Fiction logo

Sorceress Supreme: Flame of Atlantis

Story based on a dream I had, where atlantis is the capital of magic and magic users and religious folk live and work side by side.

By LefsaPublished 2 years ago 4 min read
Sorceress Supreme: Flame of Atlantis
Photo by Yusuf Evli on Unsplash

She stormed into the bishop’s office and tossed something onto his desk.

“Ms. F, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Bishop Briggs asked. She pointed to the item on his desk. “A rosary?” he queried.

“Look again.” she replied.

He picked it up, inspecting it.

“It looks normal enough, silver beads and cross, nicely made and…is that…blood?” He cried the last part, dropping the rosary back onto his desk.

“Yes. I found that on the body of one of my patients.” She informed him angrily. “They had come to see me after one of your apothecaries poisoned them-”

“Surely not. Our physicians are well versed in-” The bishop interrupted. She interrupted back.

“I wasn’t finished. Your apothecaries prescribed this person medicine to cure their affliction.” She snapped at him, and pulled a number of small glass bottles from her coat pockets. One bottle was larger than the others and still half full of some sort of mixture. The other were small and seemed to hold only one ingredient each.

“This,” she pointed to the large bottle, “is the medicine prescribed. I separated the ingredients and what I found was appalling.” She pointed to each of the smaller bottles, naming the ingredient inside them. “Arsenic, silver nitrate, mercury, hemlock, vinegar, and boric acid.” Her hand fell back to her side.

“What was the affliction?” Bishop Briggs asked. (Surely not one of his physicians would prescribe boric acid as any sort of cure for anything).

“The condition. Werewolfism.”

“Ah, Ms. F, you understand that in the eyes of the Church, werewolfism is an affliction. This apothecary-uh physician was surely trying to cure this person. They probably didn’t know what substances are harmful to those with this…unique affliction…” He trailed off as she reached into her bag and pulled out a book.

“A dossier on treating werewolfism, written by a priest and approved by the Church. It is one of the most accurate books currently available.”

“Yes, but-”

“If you will flip to the bookmarked page, you will find a list of substances toxic to a werewolf, and a diagram of a werewolf’s transformed body.”


“And if you consult your copy of ‘Common Medicine and Herbs’, you will find that all those substances in those bottles are harmful to nearly all living things,” she continued.

“Ms. F, I’m sure you’ve done your research but-” the bishop fell silent as she lifted an arm, holding her hand out toward the bookshelf on her right. A book pulled itself from the shelves and floated to her outstretched hand. She opened it to the toxic substances section and set it in front of the bishop. As he read down the list, she continued speaking.

“My patient first came to me nearly dead years ago. I managed to save them, and began treating them correctly, giving them medicine to help control certain aspects of their condition. Your church likes to act as if abstinence and prayer cures all, but for werewolfism, control is the key. Control over hunger, control over rage. There is no cure for werewolfism, but learning control and treating some of the urges can make the condition more bearable.”

Bishop Briggs was silent for a long moment.

“I see. I don’t understand how this is connected to the rosary.”

“That rosary was found on the body of my patient. They are now dead, and that rosary had merged into the skin of their hand and neck. If you look closely, you’ll see the mark of your church, this location, on the bottom of the cross. That rosary was made here, and it is meant to kill werewolves.”

“Good God, surely not! Did this person carry around a rosary? Perhaps this was theirs and something else happened.”

She shook her head.

“No, their rosary was not so fine as that one there.” She pulled a small, simple, undyed white cotton cloth bag out of her satchel. “This was their rosary. I sold them that bag. I order those bags from your church whenever my patients want a bag or cloth that has been purified and blessed. If you look on the inside, you’ll see the symbol that proves it.”

He opened the bag and turned the edges out so he could see the stitched symbol of the church. The rosary itself was made out of wood and nothing more.

“Furthermore, if you inspect the silver rosary, you’ll notice that spells of harm have been placed on it.” She watched as he crossed himself and murmured some prayers. Magic symbols appeared above the fine rosary before him. (A painstakingly slow process. Why couldn’t he just reach into his magic to test the rosary?).


About the Creator


Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments (2)

Sign in to comment
  • gaston raphael2 years ago

    This article is well written

  • Frosch Pernice2 years ago

    Very well written

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

  • Explore
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy
  • Terms of Use
  • Support

© 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.