A/N: This first chapter? DEDICATED TO WEIILA'S BIRFDAY BECAUSE I LOVE HER SO XD (And because I'm late on her birthday present kthx!)

This is my chronicling of Magus' life. My twisted, intentionally-jumbled, deliciously tortured chronicling of Magus' life and relationships with Flea and Schala and all other important lovelies.

Not really a story so much as a series of events.

Enjoy!

-.-.-Rules-.-.-

Flea is a he. Or rather, a Mystic hermaphrodite who prefers to recognize its male identity. I call him a her in the beginning because of the estranged third-person POV.

Any first-person POV will be Flea's.

OZZIE IS SO SCREWED UP I'M SORRY ;.; And rather gollum-ish.

Above comment applies so Slash too omg sosososo sry. (My mind insists they have no concrete personalities! Gag!)

There WILL be time-jumping. One chapter will be 590 AD, the next may be a non-italicized flashback.

Italics equals SPESHUL!

Flea is flamboyant sadistic love, Magus is tortured love. The End.

-.-.-.-

Old Magic

-.-.-.-

"Ozzie? Tell us again." The voice was sweet and practiced and cold.

The bare castle lay heavy and gray to all sides, seeming to give the four figures a wide berth. Three stood in the darkness, while one remained an inhuman lump curled on the ground.

"Where did you find this thing?"

"It popped into the mountains." The lowest grunted, shifting his horizontal weight from foot to foot, a flabby sound resulting.

"And why did you drag it in?" The inquirer continued, voice mockingly even.

"It stinks of magic." The last word was a relishing hiss. He gave the beast a tickle of his blunt fingers, leering as it retreated further into its shuddering ball.

He was hunting, if that's what you could call it. He had left several treasures in this canary-yellow mountain stretch, and all the pesky leaves had tried to hide them, yes.

His goblins were milling around halfheartedly, shining bald heads like buoys sticking out of the thick bushes. Ozzie stood up straight as the croaking noise of a Warp Gate wound up behind him, nudging aside the fabric of reality for an impossibly inky, lapis-laced blackness. He honestly screamed. His Goblins scattered at the noise and the sudden airlessness. Ozzie ran away far faster than he would ever admit, and had almost heaved his bulk behind a bush when there came a thump, and the distinctive dwindling of the Warp Gate.

Still, he sat panting. Gone. Gone? Yes, gone. His skin no longer prickled like needles.

Heaving, gasping, he looked up and over. The centerpiece, the delivery, was obvious. A dwarfish little thing-- a human child--- was on its side on the damp autumn ground, cottony tuft of blue hair matted to his back. Soundless, he shook and shook, then gave a plaintive shriek and lay silent again.

Ozzie was going to seize it anyways, just for amusements sake. But when he came closer, always loving the swift, jibbering assault of the goblins like so many mice as they hefted the human child up onto their shoulders… he felt something. Or rather, smelt it.

The boy twisted and let out a hoarse moan, eyes clenched shut, sending up a whole new wave of smells which his minions were completely unaware of. They simply marched on. But, of course those ignorant squats didn't notice anything, but him? Ozzie the Great, Ozzie the Bold? He tailed the procession blindly, flat-footed as though love-struck, infatuated. His prize was a bright pale blur in his eyes, perched on muddy gnomes.

Yes, his minions knew nothing, but him?

He was a connoisseur, and the boy stank of his finest of wines. Little and squirming and ugly though he was, he was redolent of something dark and restless and nearly bottomless. Something pure and direct. Innate, not learned. Something absolutely impossible.

Old magic.

Magic. In a child.

This news fell flat. Meanwhile, the image of squat Ozzie sniffing wetly around their new prize, nudging into its white neck, was enough to make anyone shudder. The female gave birth to something that would have been a suffering sigh, had she been completely classless.

"Just like you, Ozzie, to ferret out the smell of something worthless. The Gate probably just left some magic sparkles on our little treat. Gilded it." She gave the child an experimental kick herself, frown deepening as it let out a throaty shudder. It was a wet, small thing, and duly disgusting. She flipped her cape away from it, firmly.

"It's human. It won't have a speck of magic in it-- best to kill it before it skitters off and reproduces."

"No, no. Shan't kill this one. I thought so at first-- thought I would, I mean, but then Ozzie got a whiff." He said wickedly. "He popped through that Gate and nearly scared Ozzie half to death, but I have him. We have him," he finished with gravity.

The pink one didn't seem impressed, and so the squat leader turned to his tall companion, nearly sniveling. "He stinks of old magic, Slash."

Slash's flat face constricted, hollow eyes suddenly searching.

"Old?" He said, in a voice as deep as a well.

"Old?" Repeated the beautiful one, and the word was a pursing of its petal-like mouth. "You tell me a time when humans could use magic, and I'll tell you where their bones lie. This thing looks a split hair over three! The last of the old mages died out ages ago-- and you think you found one."

"It's not impossible." Ozzie said stoutly, while the pink one rolled its eyes and the stringy male remained placid and thoughtful.

"Ozzie, would it be rude to call you too much for yourself-- both in weight and bloated ambition?" She sighed now, only to have Ozzie raise himself to her waist height and fairly shake with rage.

"You will see!" He seethed upwards, something of a fat dog chained by its own weight.

"I'm certain we will see something." She said sweetly, smiling into his face.

Turning, she left her companions and the boy alone.

"I'm afraid I just can't fathom what."