Practical Voodoo

There was a hive nestled in the Balish swamp, tricky to find unless you knew the path. The locals had the path memorized, and would offer directions to visitors. The hive was on the small side, with a large screened in porch to keep the bugs at bay. This was the hive of the Witch-Doctor, who fucking hated that everyone called his home the Balish Swamp. It was Bailic, not Balish. Idiots. His Ancestors had owned and lived on this land for thousands of sweeps, and the lowbloods couldn't even bother to get the name right. Morons, he was surrounded by morons.

He sat on one of the cushioned chairs on the porch, the sounds of the swamp putting him at ease. He worked quietly on a small cloth doll, each stitch needing to be perfect. Voodoo dolls were most often requested by his customers. Few knew how to use them properly, and would use them for petty pranks mostly. But it kept his fridge stocked.

There was a small smudge of dark grey face-paint in his braids. He must not have spotted it when washing the makeup off of his face. The customers seemed to love the juggalo act. He couldn't care less. But again, it kept his fridge stocked.

You did not often venture down into the swamps but you have heard rumors of a witch doctor of considerable skill. You don't know much about him other then a rough location. Still you have some questions, about your own abilities and about the things you have forgotten.

It had taken several days to arrive down in the swamp and then it was a nother hour or so walking behind one of the local guides, who you are pritty sure overcharged you but you really don't care at this point. It was so bloody hot and humid out, you did not even bother to place on your paint. It was melting in your makup case, you will probably have to make more. You feel like you are melting, you were raised in mountains and near cool rivers, not this hot boggy mess. As it is you are sweating so bad you are staining your gray shirt a indigo color.

When the guide finally brings you to the hut you almost faint from happiness, but as it is. You could go for some cool water. Walking up the steps you try the door, finding it unlocked you open it and call out.

" 'Ellos? Anyone home?"

Oh look, it's the floor.

Sersen had spotted the incoming party with dread. He stood, gathering his materials and bringing them back inside. He considered putting his face paint back on, but he could not be bothered. The locals should know better than to bother him during this time of the night, unless someone was mortally wounded. And no one in the party seemed to be carrying someone or limping. They'd brought him a tourist, one who was obviously not acquainted to swamp life. He gritted his teeth when he heard someone call out. 'Dis bettah be fuckin' good he thought as he headed for the door.

He opened the door to the screened in porch, not seeing anyone at first. In the corner of his eye he saw something on the ground.

"Oh fa FUCKS sake. C'est magnifique." He did not have the patience for this. But he couldn't let the guy get eaten by Caimon either. He flipped the troll onto his back and looped his hands underneath his armpits, grinding his teeth at the amount of sweat on the troll. "Ech! Je vas te passe une calotte!" Sersen dragged him inside, muttering expletives under his breath. He stuck the troll on his couch and fetched his smelling salts, picking out a particularly nasty one to get his revenge for the amount of sweat now staining his sofa. He waved it under the trolls nose, scowling.

((TRANSLATIONS: c'est magnifique- this is great. Caimon- alligator (his lusus). Ech- gross. Je... calotte: a threat to slap someone))

Holy shit! It smelt like someone had stuck a ripe cadaver under your nose. You sit up faster then a zombie back to life.

"Ah motherfuckin' shit! What the...?"

You bend forward for a moment holding the bridge of your nose as you try to get your head to stop spinning as you remember.

" Ah my apologies, Doctor. The heat and I get along as well as ice and... well heat. Not quite sure where the fuck I was going with that one."

You sit up again, you would stand to make introductions, but you do not think you can right now.

"My name is Aarush Dasura... I apologize for coming so close to dawn." "

Sersen fought against the snicker rising up his throat, keeping his scowl plastered on. Docta? Oh fa fucks sake... He stood to put the salts away. Yeah, he would be sorry for coming so close to dawn. Dawn was not a good time for him, because the day meant horrorterrors. His daymares had gotten so bad sopor slime no longer helped.

"'Nuff of tha' docta shit, saleau. An' you will be sorry fa comin' so close ta dawn- you mal pris iz w'at it iz. Da' hell you visite for?" The locals shared a similar dialect to Sersen, one visitors didn't often understand. He would usually slow down for them, but he was too angry to care that this point. This idiot would be stuck here for the day. If he sent Aarush away, the next evening the locals would bring the troll back to have his sunburns healed.

He jerked a thumb towards hisself. "I'm Sersen. And you here co faire?"

((Translations: salaeu- dirty smelly person. mal pris- stuck in a bad situation. visite- visit. co faire?- why?))

You knew he was probably not saying anything complementary to you, not that you could blame him.

"I've been having troubles... I was told threw others that you may be able to help."

You look at him. You feel just so damn tired, and it echos in your eyes.

"The 'slime doesn't help any more... I've been to the normal doctors, they say make it stronger and just get over it. But it's more then that... I feel him in my head... I used to be a laughsassin. I can show you my colors if you need proof. My voodoos let me summon spirits to possess me while in battle... But this one... hasn't let me go."

Your voice is hollow and your shoulders are slumped.

"I can't even remember summoning it... It's all just a blank ya know... I've tried everything, from rituals to visiting different carnivals, hell I even tried nearly drowning my self in sopor. If I don't get rid of it... I know I'ma do something bad... even for Alternia."

Sersen chewed on his lip, thinking. "Normal doctas are motier fox. Dey dunno shit 'bout chucklevoodoo, or any kind a' voodoo." Possession, now that was worth being disturbed at this hour. He couldn't remember the last time someone said they were possessed, even then it was usually a hoax. But he could feel something evil in this troll. He could feel it in his bones.

"Ok, I give you a' cure-all, see how dat works. Then I'll give ya somethin' that will put even b'glob ta sleep." He always kept a good supply of his special mix of cure-all on hand, it was a spell that was supposed to cure all problems. Of course, it wasn't always effective. He took a small flask of it from his sylladex and handed it to Aarush. "You sip dat slowly, ya hear? It tastes zeerahb. Don't cha go spittin' it out."

The next stop was the kitchen. A sleeping poultice was an easy fix, but it was probably best to make something stronger than usual. It took about ten minutes to get it right, then tipped it into a bottle and set it down my Aarush. "You sip dat slowly as well. You should be out before ya finish it. It'll give ya a dreamless sleep."

Sersen knew most of the day would be consumed by researching. The cure all may give him temporary relief, but a mojo hand was what would banish the spirit entirely and keep it at bay. And that was hard to make.

You drink the potion. Oh dear messiahs it is horrid, you can almost feel it curdling in your gut. Your head is starting to pound as you continue to drink it. It almost seems bottomless. You cough, the taste was getting to you a little. Ah shit! You had not meant to do that, your hand just shook and it slipped from your grasp. You remember seeing the flask fall to the ground and shatter before it all went black.

Your body would slump on the chair for a moment before straitening. You cross your legs and rest your head on a hand in an almost princely manner. He waits.

Sersen swore loudly, not only would he have to clean that up but he'd have to buy a new flask. As he muttered to himself and stormed to the kitchen, he wondered if he should tell his kismeisis that he had company. Or was Castel his matesprit? The pair flipped between the two often. There was a chance Aarush was loyal to the hemospectrum, loyal to the point where killing lowbloods was a sport.

He cleaned up the glass and the liquid with a towel, careful not to cut himself on the class. Hopefully, the other purple blood would sleep through the day, leaving Sersen to begin preparing the Mojo-Hand in peace.

He would chuckle.

To think my Decedent would be so desperate to get rid of me, he would go to some two-bit slime dealer. Pathetic.

His voice is cold and sure, proud and noble the accent would have changed slightly lost it's soft edge. He would stand crushing the remains of the flask peaces under foot as he would look down on the witch doctor.

You do not even wear the paint, you are disgrace, and you think to be able to banish me?

A wind rattles the inside of the hut as he would sit again, lifting his chin up so that he would look down at Sersen. His gaze was cold, a look of one who had culled dozens at a blink of an eye. Aarush was no longer himself that was sure.

Sersen, to say the least, was not impressed. He stood, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes, glinting purple in the low light. So the demon running around Aarush's body was the spirit of his ancestor. He himself had suffered a similar fate when he was very young, he had only been in the cult for a week when it happened. "Tink I can banish you? Actually, I know I can banish you. If you were all 'high and mighty' as you act like, den mebbie you wouldn't be ded."

At the mention of the paint, a cold rage consumed Sersen. His fist connected with Aarush's cheek bone, growling as he did. "If you tink dat bein' a juggalo makes a highblood wat he is den you are sorely mistaken."

The punch would connect but the spiritually enhanced body of Aarush would go nowhere. His eyes would look at Sersen, slowly darkening to the typical dark orange of the onsent of Rage.

Died? I died of old fucken age.

A mace-club was in his hand in an instant and he would swing it up at Sersen's elbow as he would explode forward letting out a roar.

Sersen took several steps back, knowing that there was definitely something broken in the vicinity of his elbow. He could feel the healing charm on his shoulder activating, like fire burning just beneath his skin. His strife deck activated, bringing three long and deadly sharp pins to his hand. One was held between his thumb and forefinger, the other two held in the spaces between his fingers. He growled, keeping his cocky grin in place. If there was one thing he learned from dueling with juggalos, it was that rage was blinding and anger caused mistakes. "And yet in all your sweeps you didn't figure out the secret to eternal life. Pahaps out of you and me, I am the voodoo master."

Sersen's eyes quickly changed, the orchid rings around his pupils expanding. His eyes glowed with the colour of his blood as he jointly activated his protection and power charms and summoned spirits to his aid. The tips of his pins seemed to glow as well, the hand of his broken arm clawed, partially hidden in a purple glow.

But Sersen did not attack.

He slid his foot forward, twisting his body, pointing his clawed hand towards the possessed Aarush.  The spirits at his aid carved lines and circles into the wood beneath Aarush's feet, each mark glowing as it got deeper. Sersen was creating a exorcism charm. He only hoped the protection charm tattooed on his chest would be enough to keep Aarush's ancestor from possessing him.

The Clown Prince smirked as a dark shadow enveloped his body. He took his mace and slammed it into the wooden floor, shattering the wood the charm was taking shape on. Taking his own claws, he would etch designs into Aarush's forearm. Runic devices and symbols for strength, power, and the attraction of spirits, to amply his descendents still underdeveloped gift as he would fight Sersen for control of the spirits. His grin would grow wide.

I will make my descendent strong. We will feast together on those lesser dead.

He would laugh, a high manic sound. He died of old age, but he was not sane at the end.

Aarush's eyes would start to dilate as the shadow consumed more of his body, and blood would drip from his nose as his Ancestor asked more and more of him to control the spirits.

"Oh fa fucks sake. Do you know how long it will take to fix dat? Its bad enough my mate literally sets my hive on fire and now dis? You are a piss poor hive-guest." Sersen was pissed to say the least, his annoyance masking that he was actually pretty scared. He had not expected that Aarush's ancestor would destroy the spell circle so easily. No matter, but he was now unsure how to continue. Strengthening his stance, he concentrated on the runes and charms he had carved into the wooden walls of his hive. One by one they began to glow, forcing weaker spirits from the hive, then banishing the stronger ones as more of them activated. It would at least stop Aarush's ancestor from summoning more power. Hopefully.

Sersen wiped the blood steadily streaming from his nose on the back of his hand, trying to think clearly with the chaos happening around him. He was angry, to say the least, and it was muddling his thoughts. His injured arm was throbbing, the healing charm had fixed the damage caused by the spiked club hitting his skin, but the bone (bones, perhaps) was still broken. He was just going to have to grin and bear it until he had time and the energy to fix it.

He thought hard, trying to remember under what means his Ancestor had possessed him all those sweeps ago. It wasn't by either of their wills, it was done by the cult leader. After his ancestor's memories and knowledge had been seared into his brain, he was gone. Details, come on remember the details. How did he die? It wasn't of old age... Sersen dragged the memories to his mind as he pushed power into the charms. His ancestor had left the juggalo cult, much like his decedent, and had turned to a life of helping others with his powers, much like his decedent. There used to be a entire town here, with Bailic senior at its head. But how had he died?! Think Sersen think!

It hit him like a brick wall, his eyes widening. The entire town had been bombed. His ancestor was being hunted down by his old cult, he was too powerful and posed too much of a threat to them. He knew that they would never stop hunting him, and heard of the bomb headed his way. So he ushered the civilians to safety and let the bomb take his life. The swamp was born from the ruins.

His ancestor would still be fucking pissed at the juggalos, maybe, maybe he might know this one. Glob it was a stretch. But it was time to do something he had sworn he would never do.

Sersen closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, seeking out his ancestor's spirit. Glob, he hoped this worked and didn't backfire completely.

The Clown Prince waited. This was entertaining to him, this young highblood had skill. He reminded him of someone... Someone aggravating and annoying.

His hand would grip on his club as he would walk forward, he would toss it up and around in a juggling motion. It was getting close to time to end this little game. There was enough voodoo and supplies in this hut to allow him to create a spell large enough for him to take full control of Aarush's body. It would be annoying to train up again to his full strength... but he was already this strong and he had broken the boy's limits.

He smerked.

Why thank you, Doctor.

He would swing his club at Sersen's head.

When Sersen's eyes opened, it wasn't Sersen who saw through them. He stepped back casually, dodging the club. With a bored expression on his face, he flicked his wrist, the spirits at his control physically forcing the club to the ground, shrouding it in a orchid glow. The spirits at his hand were much stronger and much angrier than the ones Sersen could produce.

"Are you still using clubs, Clown? I'd say they are rather barbaric. Then I suppose, all of you juggalos are rather barbaric by nature." His posture was quite relaxed and he was rolling his wrists, quite pleased with the amount of strength his young decedent possessed. He raised an eyebrow at the Clown Prince. "You should recognize the voices of these spirits. You did slaughter them, even after I gave myself up. They are quite angry, if I do say so myself." The floors were becoming coated with carvings as the spirits did their work. "I've been biding my time, you see. I knew you'd pull a stunt like this. Of course, I would have enjoyed more time to live my life, who wouldn't. But I think making sure I am around to stop you from pulling these stunts is more important than a few extra sweeps of living."

The Clown Prince Laughed.

Now I remember you. Things keep going in circles on this planet don't they? Beginning and endings all tied in knots together. I've never doubted your Sayings... But then again, I've always been one step ahead of you.

He would take off his shirt. Aarush's geometric tattoos were actually the designs of a one large spell. Permanently binding the Prince to his body. They glowed softly with a dim green light.

You've always been one to leave it up to fate. That is why you died.

He continued to laugh as his presence would be decreasing.

The Curative was fighting to stay in control of his descendant, at the same time pouring strength into the spell circles. His descendant was more powerful than he had expected, and the protection charm tattooed into his chest was making it difficult to keep Sersen locked in his subconscious.

"The cards never lie. You should know that by now. You may win the battle but never the war."

The charms were nearly completed, weakening him to a lesser spirit. He hoped that the Prince's descendant would have enough strength left to eject him.

He grinned sarcastically at the other ancestor, spreading his arms wide, his palms turned upwards. "You underestimate me juggalo. I have held my thirst for revenge against you for this long." His face darkened, growling. "You will pay for what you did to the town. I will make sure of it. And I have forseen it." He grinned again. "The cards never lie."

The Prince laughed again.

They didn't see the whole truth neither~

He would grip the sides of his head suddenly snarling as Aarush fought back, strengthened by the Curative's spells. He could not fully eject the Clown Prince thanks to the marks tattooed all over his body, but he could stick him back in his subconscious to fester for a while.

You do not know how long you had to fight against your ancestor. You keep pushing him back further and further into your mind, back into his hole. By the time you finally bring your hands down from the sides of your head, the shadows had left you and your tattoos have stopped glowing. You've never felt this tired before, blood drips from your nose, staining the ruined wood floors a deep indigo. Your hair around your face is matted with sweat and blood. Your forearm adds to the color on your gray skin as the marks he had dug into your skin continue exude indigo. You take a step forward only to have your legs give out from under you and you collapse with a great fever. Your body burns with the side effect of having your voodoos' manipulated beyond your normal limits.

The Curative relaxed, slowly calming. The Prince's descendant was back in control, exhausted and a bloody mess but alive. He contemplated killing him now. But, then he wouldn't get his chance to make the Prince pay for what he did. For now, it was his time to depart. His descendant wasn't exactly in a good state either, his arm was broken for starters and the charms on his body were worn down. His nose was bleeding as well, his energy levels practically non existent. He could fix his arm, but if he remained any longer he would use up the protection charm, leaving him susceptible to other spirits as he recovered. Exhaling deeply, the curative left his descendants body.

Sersen was conscious for perhaps two seconds, before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell to the floor, quite like a marionette who's strings had been cut.

You knock for the fifth time in a row, he doesn't answers so you guess he stayed awake researching again, you're so going to kill him. You force the door open and as soon as you do you feel something strange, a dark presence, that soon vanishes, he didn't summon something powerful and deadly right? As you enter the hive you find a... can you even call this a mess anymore? You're pretty sure is more than that. There are two trolls lying on the floor, their noses are bleeding and they completely passed out, the stranger troll seems to have more injures though. The floor is ruined just like a lot more of things in this room -What... What the fuck?- you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

You force yourself to move to Sersen, you kneel by his side and touch his back carefully, he's as cold as always, maybe even colder? -Sersen? Sersen, hey, don't do this to me again...- you say in low voice, almost whispering.

You are out cold, muttering and shivering in your fever enhanced daymare. In your dreams you are still The Prince and this time he is culling an older troll, a seer. He keeps sending the spirits that are controlled by the other troll ageist him. His foot connects with the older troll's head sending him to the ground, when he finally has enough of having the spirits claw at his skin. Your fever spikes turning everything into a red haze in your mind.

Sersen had been fighting for consciousness for nearly two hours, but it was Castel's voice that dragged him fully awake. He pushed himself up with his non-broken arm, coughing up blood while trying to suck in air. He isn't even sure what happened last day. But he saw the other highblood out cold on the floor. He kept his eyes glued on him, unsure if Aarush's ancestor was still controlling him. Sersen's nails dug into the floor as he tried to sense what spirits remain, the effort making him cough even more.

"C-Castel, can you help me up? I tink my arm is broken."

-Your arm is... what?- you look at him for a couple of seconds until you manage to react -You know what? Don't even answer the question, you need all the energy you have right now- you help him stand up carefully, as careful as you can be. You then stare at the other troll in the floor, it seems he's having a daymare, and he's also covered in blood, did both of them had a fight? Maybe it's better if you find out later.

-Should I help him? Or should I just let him lay on the floor?- you ask sincerely, you're not the one to help random trolls, even if they are highbloods, 'cause you don't want to be betrayed again, and that's of course why you don't have friends.