Drunk Wizard Novels & Stories

His weary and old eyes fluttered at him in both confusion and denial. “Whatever you mean, young man?” That old voice asked for the second time. “Young man… this old man is at least double your age. Show some respect to me, will ya?” And oh, Hashim enjoyed every moment he saw that wizard was having a stroke but still wanted to maintain his coolness. It was both hilarious and stupid. “My name is C.” “An alphabet name? So anticlimax.” Rolling his eyes. “I am the strongest wizard.” “Yeah.” Yawning.

said Aza as he put the plate in the sink, then took a bottle of water to take him to the room. The sound of the door creaking sounded in the quiet room, Aza immediately took the book then began to take a comfortable position to read it. "Among a group of magicians, the core of the magician itself is called the Cube magician who controls the crystal cube, there are eight cube magicians including blue, red, maroon, green, brown, white, gray and purple cube magicians," When Aza turned the next page, it was blank. "Huh? Empty? Give me a break!" grumbled Aza.

Every predator in expensive clothing gathered under one roof pretending to be civilized. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and forced myself to breathe. I would rather just get drunk tonight and be over with this whole display of power. Cassian was becoming unpredictable, and this new problem called Lucien was becoming a pain in the ass, and I was losing control of a game I couldn't afford to lose. The realization sat heavily in my chest as I scanned the crowd. I needed a new strategy, a better plan, something…Anything, because if tonight had proven one thing, it was that both Draven men were far more dangerous than I originally thought.

from magic ice, of course. “Knudlac, my friend,” the wizard stood up from his ice throne. “Nakutsck ...” The two hugged each other. "We haven’t seen each other for so long, dear friend," said the white sorcerer. “That's right. For too long.” The white wizard greeted Herntikn and the other stone elf, Zagrobf. “Is this your team?” the white wizard asked slightly worried. Knudlac nodded. “You know what they say. Strong liquors are in small containers,” Knudlac smiled.

One slammed his staff into the floor, the other twisted his body to create leverage. “Don’t—!” the elder Draenor shouted, to no one in particular. The first collision sounded—the rustle of fabric, a small clang. The hooded figure was dragged against the stone wall, the hood lifting halfway, enough to reveal a face adorned with tattoos: black lines curving from the temples to the jaw, runes connecting like roots. There was a faint pulse, like living ink beneath the skin. A black wizard. No need for debate. The warrior on the left fastened rune cuffs to the wizard’s wrists; a small speck of white light pierced the darkness, then faded.

Maybe because we were younger than Kyros, she thought my father went back to my mother or something. The wizard, Driviar, was found dead in his mansion next to what remained of his son. It looked as though he had taken his own life. We were shocked when we heard his story. Driviar was a wizard who got greedy and wanted to do more than he was granted by the gods. Driviar once had a reputation for having powerful magical skills throughout the land, but he also had an insatiable thirst for power. Despite his talent, he craved even more power and was always searching for ways to increase his magical prowess.

He tossed in dried herbs, crushed bone powder, and a vial of dark liquid that sizzled as it hit the hot water. “This belonged to Garrick,” the wizard said grimly. “One of the warriors who raided your village. I killed him years ago, His soul never rested. But now, it’ll serve a purpose.” As the water in the basin boiled, the wizard traced strange runes into the air, his voice rising into a deep incantation. The room darkened unnaturally, the shadows clinging to the walls as if they were listening. “Strip and step in,” the wizard commanded. James obeyed without a word. He lowered himself into the water, wincing as it burned against his skin, not from heat, but from something far deeper. The l

"You want to help me go against your people?" "Yes" I affirmed. "The name is Lucian Drake. I'm sure you're quite familiar with that name. I have no intention of siding with the werewolves. I'm fully ready to help you exert your revenge." "What?!" The wizard spat in shock. "So, it's you!... No wonder." "So, do we have a deal?" I asked. "Not so fast" He snarled. "I need proof. I need to be sure that this isn't one of your schemes to annihilate my brothers and I."

I thought as a slight tears dropped from my eyes. I raised up my heads and saw Dracon casting a spell but I don’t know why he was casting it. It was an healing spell but not just a normal healing spell, a powerful healing spell, the one that doesn’t just work on normal wolves or witches but a very powerful one. “What is happening ?” I questioned myself but my head was blank because they was no answer to my question. Dracon was still casting the spell when he started loosing consciousness and blood was slowly gushing from his nose.

So no Scooby-Doo mysteries were solved here. "You're right." Drunko leaned into my space, specifically in the "your too close zone" as he chugged some drink that smelled like pure gasoline. He belched, obnoxiously loud and right in my face. The nerve of some people's children… "Hey, dude." Do not scissor-kick this dingus in the face, self, don't do it! "You mind easing back some? Trying to strip here." My complaint fell on dumb drunk deaf ears: "Hey you, elf chick, do some magic or something! Do a spell!"