Blackmail

King Richard the Lionheart 

The Sheriff of Nottingham strode past the hatchery and into the forecourt of the King's own summerhouse. He walked as an important man does; acutely confident, almost arrogant in step. King Richard suffered his presence with an impeccable grace.

Both chose this informal meeting place to escape the comments and speculations of the court. The Sheriff Marc was not much loved, being understood to be a torturer who enjoyed his work too much, it was commonly thought.

King Richard had a encumbrance owed to this keeper of all debts - it was his silence now bitterly paid for.

Marc had discovered Richard's affiliation with the Fey and was threatening to use this to disadvantage. For all things presumed as involvements with magic brought the punishment of death - so ruled by the justice of the Church - and if discovered, Richard was not immune - he, and his beloved family would perish, merely by the implication.

And so he was burdened under the heavy mantle of the one who wore a suit of blackmail.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Younger Flesh

Marsden waited the twelve months out before Mark was to become of legal age and entitled to collect the finances - he then raised him out of the bed and reanimated him back into life once again.

The plan was executed brilliantly, for on the farm Marsden-Mark could sleep late and wake in the very early hours, giving time to still function in the UK as Marsden who was conscious and then sleeping in the alternate hours. It was this way, over two time zones; he could inhabit two separate bodies, without skipping a beat, so to speak.

That was, of course, until the routine bothered him, and he consolidated back into just the one. It just seemed to make absolute sense - he preferred the younger flesh, and this one was a perfect fit - all things considered.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Perfect Vessel

The ensemble was assembled, and the preamble was a shambles, the constabulary gave the obituary, for the man who was no man...

Mark Forsythe was a man of.... means and excessive good looks. His charm and character were exceeded by his exquisite wit, with which he polished with observations, which made him almost, and very nearly, endearing.

For the past three years he had been the CEO of Phoenix USA and had held the controlling shares for that country. Who better to take over after Marsden's unfortunate passing? He was, of course, also the perfect vessel for Marsden to now inhabit.

This had been no coincidental occurrence as Marsden had prepared the body a few years earlier. He had caused a car accident that had eclipsed the spirit and sent it hurtling out of his young body, far into the spaces beyond.

Marsden was of course, first at the scene, having caused it. He pulled the body from the tangle of metal, and breathed his breath inside the corpse. During the heroic revival Marsden did not give a chance to the poor boy to re-enter; but rather he himself jumped in and took occupancy of his body, blocking the spirit entirely.

This was a rare opportunistic possession indeed.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Phoenix Rising

Phoenix Rising had Trojans and back hollows through which its hierarchy monitored their members continuously.

Electronic demons work more efficiently than any human clerks can do - for they do not sleep and their surveillance is keen. The moods of the mortals online were recorded, assessing anxiety spikes throughout the game.

Phoenix worked in the presumption that algorithms of thought could be altered very effectively at those times when emotions peaked - and that thinking was influenced successfully by introducing suggestions during those micro-periods of elevated tension, which came throughout the game.

Subliminal tags would flash at moments of high emotion, and in the space within a single heartbeat, their product preferences would infill an opened mind.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Master of Mishap

Puck was paying the Master Kybosh to work his magic on some thugs he had come across in a small village of Africa. They had been extorting their community and torturing the children.

Puck himself rarely did anything nasty to anyone; he much preferred putting the Kybosh onto them if he thought that their actions were insufferable. Problem was, Kybosh’s influence was only ever transitory – it had a record of things turning back the way they were not very long after his interference.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

Grand Master Rufus Kybosh

"For the love of Puck!" Rufus retorted ... 

"Expletives are not, I repeat not, meant for ordinary incantations!"

"What are you going on about?" asked Rybold, a junior assistant dwarf to the Grand Master Rufus Kybosh - who was best known for his grand triple interference in the year 1211 when he managed to create strife across two continents for three consecutive days, when everything and anything kept going horribly wrong.

He was also known for his very bad temper when crossed. Rybold was yet to learn of his wrath, but every assistant before him had ended up in knots.

"Swearing, my boy, releases the power of the spell and draws the life from it prematurely. One must never invoke with a passionate tone, else the drama will repeat directly on oneself."

Rybold had no understanding of what was meant by this, but thought it best to nod accordingly.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

I give you my Heart

It was raining in Faerieland ... big drops would pop when they bumped onto the ground or impaled against a spiky branch, to then expire a fine mist all around. No actual water came from it; just some refreshing energetic mist that exhaled a living ether.

Brogan went to the door expecting another tray-o'-muffins but instead he found a small parcel with a card attached. There is always great excitement around a parcel - any parcel - no matter how unimpressive its wrapping.

Puck was still finishing his supper and motioned Nervina to attend to it.

Inside the cardboard carton sat a smaller box that was lined with red tissue paper. And inside that box lay a bloodless human heart - still soft, and therefore not recently separated from its once living host. It looked grey and exhausted.

"Marsden" said Nervina, tossing the boxes and contents into the rubbish chute abruptly.

They all knew this to be right for the Fey could see his trace-markers, his living signature, still within it.

"But who actually sent it?" asked Marley repulsed by the sight and thought of it being there, actually with them.

"Marsden" said Nervina.
Goober explained: "Must have been pretty close by, jumping from one body to another like that. Did you read the card?"

Nervina winced. “I forgot to look for a card – hurled it into the garbage just then.” He looked uncomfortable, adding – “the compactor would have turned it to mulch by now.”

"What do you think it might have said?" It was anybody's guess.

"I give you my heart?" said Puck ruefully, "I'm having cheesecake, anyone else?"

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series