Wizard Writing Novels & Stories

A note of chamomile hit my lungs as she took another ship. Finally, she seemed ready to speak. “A long time ago, Dakota Buzzard’s great-great-grandfather infiltrated the woods near here, taking them over and turning them black as he drew the power from the region. He was eventually driven out by a powerful, good mage. However, the Buzzards continued to take part in questionable activities. Until the generation before Dakota’s. His mother, Mage Priscilla Magpie Buzzard, married into the family and changed everything. Her husband, Ross Buzzard, was just as evil as his great-grandfather had been, but Priscilla changed all of that. She got him to see the evil of his ways, and he reformed. For he

Belle sat up in bed, using the buttons on the side to adjust the positioning as the nurse had shown her. The book, white with a pentacle on the cover, described the basics of witchcraft in terms even a layman could understand. Her older sister had been kind enough to drop it off, along with a change of clothing and a box of Thornton's continental—her favourite chocolates. According to this book, the spell Damien cast on her would be returned to him threefold.

"My father said…" The leader of the Wizards stood tall, his pale face tilted upward with arrogance, as though the world itself were beneath his feet. His voice echoed with a tone that sliced through the tension in the air, sharp and unsettling. "Witches are the hunters of Wolves and Vampires. The most thrilling moment of a wizard’s life is to make a stew from their blood… and drink them." He chuckled, a slow, rotten sound that sent a ripple of discomfort across our group. His sunken eyes scanned us, predatory and gleaming with amusement.

Maliya added, “he had procured the services of a group of wizards specialized in creation and restoring magic.” I sighed as I finished wiping the dining table—a task Zuleika had insisted I should’ve allowed to be done by magic. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t hurt to try.” “True,” Zuleika agreed. “But do not bring the children. I know you are excited by this lead, but what if the house does not exist yet? It will just disappoint them. So perhaps it’s best if we accompany you instead.” I weighed in on Zuleika's suggestion for a couple of moments while I watched with mild intrigue as she spelled each washed dish dry with just a quick flick of her finger. “I suppose you are right. But I do not wi

Before Andreza can finish her sentence, Maya interrupts her with an enigmatic smile: “Prata.” A grimace of irritation crosses Andreza's face, but she decides not to dwell on it: “Come on, Maya. Everyone in the supernatural world has heard the story of the fallen wizard.” Maya lets out an initial, almost dismissive laugh. The legend of the fallen wizard and the wolf Prata had always been told as a dark fairy tale, passed down from generation to generation among supernatural beings. However, upon noticing the seriousness in Andreza's eyes, she controls herself, her expression becoming more attentive.

Wanda called out loudly. All the witches hurriedly started preparing for the ritual. They draw a huge Pentagram in the middle of their town. They placed fresh heads of human sacrifices, which were arranged just for this purpose. Blood was splattered all around, making the pentagram shine blood red. Wanda arrived then, wearing a black robe. She walked into the center of the Pentagram. The other witches stood around the drawings, just outside the freshly severed heads. Wanda started chanting, and soon all the other witches followed suit as one. Different tones chanted the same spell in a chorus. As the intensity of the spells started to increase, the pentagram started to fill with a strange en

“Look. There’s space underneath for both of you.” He slid the book toward me and Mirra. My fingers hovered over the page. The idea of writing anything down felt strangely huge. Writing meant admitting this wasn’t temporary. That we weren’t waiting to wake up from this changed version of ourselves. But that also meant it was something we could shape. I took the quill. My hand shook a little as I wrote. Rule Four: My magic is allowed to be messy if it means I am the one choosing how to use it. I paused, then added:

‘How about you wait for few days, I am busy these days because of working on security plan of the pack and pack house specially, so we can go together after I get free and find the book’ I sighed and shook my head. ‘Caleb, I am white wolf. Irene can absorb their magic so attacking on me will be just the waste of their power’ I shrugged my shoulders as if can’t say much about the stupidity of those witches but nope, he can’t agree with me. ‘Even, if you are white wolf and can absorb the magic, witches do not have only magic to kill someone. They have numerous methods of killing anyone; therefore, you are not going alone. I won’t keep myself focused on work and my mind will drift towards you.

It's the next paragraph that makes my blood rise. "... However, the High Wizard has a preferred method of punishment. The Salt Purgation: In a scenerio falling under the conditions previously listed, the High Wizard chains the offender in heavy iron by their hands and feet to a ring bolt. The offender is then flogged. I get to the part about salting wounds until the offender loses consciousness and I don't think I can continue." The scars are invisible to normal eyes, only visible through witch sight. Many a time, Winter is the offender.

Your mom and grandmother’s spells,” he said. I growled at that. Most witches/warlocks write in a sort of journal. As they create lasting spells, things others might be able to replicate and have success with, they document it. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, and for a witch to get recognition for something amazing that works … well that’s the goal for most. Witches love glory.