Warped Sceptre Novels & Stories

“A High Priestess. Anyway, they have been stunned and are standing on the sidewalk. I doubt they will be there when our guys get there, but they need to keep an eye out for them. If they see them, they need to eliminate them. They are a potential threat to our pack and they are definitely a threat to us getting this spell on Rich broken.” “Understood. I’ll let them know. Give me a description.” “They are exactly what you’d expect. Big, muscly goons of guys. If they weren’t witches, I’d swear they were bear shifters. They look like brothers.” I glance at Maeve, who nods in agreement. “They smell like witches, one has a scar down the left side of his face, the other has one over his eyebrow.”

She gasped hard, sucking in a large mouthful of air. “Wha-?” She looked up at him, at the scepter and the orb on it which had now gone back to its normal dull green hue. His pupils were back to purple and he was staring at her with a smile of mockery pasted vividly on his face. “That, my dear, is how to wield the scepter.” He threw it at her dismissively and she caught it awkwardly, struggling for a moment before she held it firmly.

The metal was warm beneath my palm. Darien's eyes held mine. “We are in hiding no more.” His voice rang across the arena. “The wolves will never be without their Lycan King and Queen again.” He lifted the scepter and brought it down. The base struck a metal insert set into the stone platform with a resonant clang that vibrated through the ground. The scepter locked upright, held fast in the mount, standing between us like a pillar. Then … the lion's head roared.

Unlike Talia’s scepter which was golden in caller, Merlin’s scepter was black which was embedded with rubies from the tip to the head of the scepter that was diamond in shape. The scepter’s head, which was the size of an adult’s fist, had an oval-shaped amethyst in its center. It had a sinister aura—a direct contrast to the golden scepter of Talia. ‘The scepter of Vardur,’ muttered Talia in her mind. Talia’s pupils constricted when she realized that Merlin held this scepter. The temperature dropped around Talia and her usually calm gaze flickered with resoluteness to end everything here and now. With their weapons at hand, Talia waved her scepter to her left right after seeing Merlin’s scept

And a similarly designed stool stood in front of it. Jacob stood between the two expensive furnitures, and now he raised his two hands wide, and sideways, with his head to the sky, and his sceptre now in clearer view. “What?” I said with eyes wide My mind flew into insanity. The scepter he held was made of silver, and I looked around at the crowd, wondering if I was the only who saw it. I reached for Colin, gesturing him to come closer, and pointing in the Elder's direction. “Do you see that?”

Across the rubble-strewn wall, Varrow stepped forward through the mist. The warlord’s armour gleamed like obsidian oil, runes glowing faintly red across its black plates. The crown wrought into his helm was jagged, wrong, a set of barbs curving like broken teeth around his skull. His presence pressed against the air itself; the mist bent away from him, curling back like smoke recoiling from flame. The Guild did not move. The beasts did not move. Even the warlocks below stood still, hands half-raised, waiting.

Not full in the ordinary sense, but pressed wall to wall—every tier packed with nobles in crests I hadn’t seen in years, emissaries flown in from mountain courts and desert strongholds, former allies of my mother’s house, and enemies now playing neutrality like it might still save them. There was no music. No formal announcement. Just the echo of my boots on polished stone. I wore no crown, no veil—only armor. Steel-black, hand-forged, trimmed at the shoulders in deep charcoal—the color of my mother’s lineage—set with the Reed sigil in full silver across my chest. Not the delicate version from old court stationery, but the real one. The warborn one. Three rings wrapped by crescent. Matriline

He just had to trust that he was being taken to the tom he most needed to see right now. Just before stepping into the portal, Tricksy whispered and Agent flexed his hand. A scepter appeared. Not just any scepter, though. As his fingers closed around it, Agent could feel the familiar warmth. This was the scepter of the God of Chaos and it was his. He was now ready to go forward and face his enemies.

In his right grip, he held the Sceptre of the Confluence, a staff of blackened silver topped with a pulsing, amber stone that seemed to draw the very light out of the room and concentrate it into a single, glowing point of judgment. My father turned, his lip curling in a sneer of pure vitriol. "Solara. You finally decided to grace us with your presence? You have a habit of disappearing like smoke the moment you are actually needed. What are you doing in my house, Mediator?" Solara didn't flinch. He walked into the centre of the wreckage, his sceptre tapping rhythmically against the marble, clack, clack, clack, a sound that seemed to dampen the static of Astance's power and still the tremblin

As if his height and size wasn't enough, the grim expression he wore complimented the huge scar he had on the right side of his face, making him look intimidating. "Theresa Gray?" he asked in a deep voice. She gave him a brief smile and nodded. "Yes." He drew open the seven feet steel gate and pointed towards the Victorian like building far away. Her eyes followed his long fingers and she let out a sigh calculating the distance of the walk she was going to have to make. She managed a lazy smile before advancing towards the house.