Noble Arcana

Villages are full of superstitious fools. It’s just their nature. You get a bunch of inbred buffoons that have been tilling the same soil for generations together for long enough and eventually they start seeing coincidences everywhere. Suddenly the rooster cawing is what’s raising up the sun instead of the rooster reacting to the sun rising. The men and women in the palace are much the same of course, they’re just far better dressed.

Darnassus Ryland in a letter to Abigail Rowland

The following morning Solomon awoke to a knock on his door and breakfast being set on his desk. He wasn’t sure which maid had awoken him, but he gave a bleary-eyed thank you as he drew himself out of bed. He splashed some water in a basin by the bed on his face to freshen up and sat down at his desk. As he sipped his coffee and ate he began making the final touches to his correspondence. He had the obligatory letter to Chorde and his mother, as well as a letter to Bernice, one to Edmure, and a few to potential business partners. At this point they would just be simple letters of introduction, but he hoped they would grow into something more concrete over time.

He finished his breakfast. It was the exact one he usually took back home. Heavily spiced eggs, toast and rich coffee. The spice was a bit different, but still quite good. Claire, his new cook, must’ve asked about his preferences.

Once he was done, he double-checked the list of supplies he had put together along with his more knowledgeable servants before he’d left. It took a lot of material to keep a manor running, and a lot of gold. Luckily he’d given himself plenty of cushion when he’d forged his father’s will. He smiled at the memory, and took another moment to look around the room, his room. It was nice to have something that was his own. He’d have to make his own mark on it.

He went over to his closet and opened it. He would still be trapped in his black mourning attire for some time, but he layered a dark purple vest under his coat anyway. It took him a bit longer to get dressed on his own, and for a moment he missed Edmure, but he pushed that to the side. A pathetic thing to miss having a person help you dress.

With fresh clothes on and his hair combed he began to walk toward the door when he hesitated. He looked back at the odd cloaked statue in the corner and walked over to it, taking the walking stick in his hand. He liked the weight of it, and as it was his home now that meant everything in it was his as well.

He twirled it once as he walked back to the door and decided to open it very quietly. He managed it with little noise, and then he closed it just as quietly. He walked softly down the hall, taking a few moments to peer into the guest rooms. They were just as bare as his own room, but each did seem to have a distinct color. One had walls of lavender, one of deep blue, and one of dark red. It seemed an odd thing based on his uncle’s clear aesthetic preference for minimal decoration, but perhaps he’d never made any changes to the original decorations because he never had any guests.

He continued creeping until he reached the edge of the living area and stood there for a few moments. When he was young, he’d made it a habit to sneak all around the Morrow estate. He wasn’t sure of exactly why he did it, but no one ever found out. They were never paying enough attention to care where he was. He’d seen a lot in his sneaking. Many things he shouldn’t have. Many he wished he hadn’t. What he’d learned often proved invaluable though.

He stood there for a few moments. He could hear some movement, some cleaning, and the lighting of the oil.

“What do you think?” asked one of the maids. He wasn’t sure which, he couldn’t yet identify all of them by voice.

“I like it so far. Don’t have to share quarters with four other people, and it’s clean. The master seems kind as well. I feel like I never saw him before at the manor.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

That sounded like Melissa, the tall maid with the red hair.

“You don’t think it’s a little… I don’t know, provincial?”

“Of course it is, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“I don’t know. When I heard of the manor I was hoping for something a bit more grand. The house’s status reflects ours after all.”

“I’m rather certain it reflects the master’s actually.”

It seemed like there were mostly positive feelings. He also didn’t disagree that the manor was lesser than the Morrow estate. The Morrow estate was likely one of the finest in the country though, so that was like comparing a horse to a rat. He walked back a few steps carefully, then walked normally out into the sitting room.

“Good morning Melissa, Nelda.”

They both turned to curtsy at him.

“I’m going to be back in the study, probably until we leave for the town. Please have Barnabus and his brother attend me when they’re available.”

They nodded and he left them to walk down the hall. In the middle of it he saw Felicity wiping one of the walls. Felicity was a woman of medium height with long blonde hair, pale skin, and beauty that wasn’t well hidden by the plain uniform she wore. He didn’t know much about cleaning, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing any of his servants wiping down a wall. Though she had been a dressing maid for his mother prior to him taking her with him. Perhaps she knew as little as he did.

“Felicity,” he said mildly and the girl nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning around and putting her back against the wall. She looked at him with terror in her eyes for a moment before angling them down.

“Yes, sir?” she asked meekly.

Solomon’s heart broke for her and he felt a stab of rage at Jude for what he had done to the poor girl.

“The guest rooms seem not to have been touched in some time. Could you take one of the other girls to take an inventory of what’s within them?” He worried that if he sent her alone she would think he was planning to prey on her as his brother had.

She curtsied and shuffled quickly away.

He shook his head with concern and walked the rest of the way to the library. The damage was even more pronounced in the daytime. The rents and burns and tears seemed to have even reached the ceiling in some places.

The library itself was a sea of shredded paper and book spines. With the increased light he actually recognized quite a few of them. The Early Histories of Drakthiss by Tolmey, Observations of Orcish Culture by Vrimm, and even the awful propaganda piece Drakthiss: The Jewel of the World. They were all in pieces, but they were such familiar texts that they were easily recognizable even in that state. The thing that surprised Solomon about them was that they seemed… dull. The only things he’d ever heard about his Great Uncle were that he liked to be alone and he enjoyed study of all things. The texts that were scattered around him were basic, simple things, pedestrian and popular. Perhaps he’d overestimated the old man.

He waded through the papers a bit more and saw, on the ruined desk, two books neatly stacked atop one another. He frowned as he saw them. He didn’t recall seeing them there the previous night, but it had been dark, and he’d been more concerned that there was someone hiding from him. He pushed his way to the desk and lifted the book. It was brown leather, with the pages sewn inside with green thread. He opened it and began to read.

I have been seeking out old practitioners in order to find hints at untouched magic. The Union has such tight control of all of it, but there have been a few old men and women scattered around that practice magics that seem to have escaped their notice. Most of it is minor, but considering one doesn’t seem to need mana in order to cast these simple rituals they warrant study. A few have turned out to be fake, and some are suboptimal for what they should be able to do, but I have recorded those I have determined to have an effect. Many of those practitioners I gained this information from swore me to never write it down, but their Volk Magic is easy to disrupt so I have ignored it.

Solomon turned the page.

A spell for sweet dreams

Ingredients:

Mandrake Root

Fresh Milk

1 drop of blood

Place a bowl of fresh milk under the bed of the target. Prick your finger and draw a line across the ‘throat’ of the mandrake, then place within the milk.

This is effective, but too many uses can create an opposite effect as can leaving the mandrake root inside long enough for the milk to spoil. Possibilities for an intentional nightmare spell exist with some experimentation.

Solomon shivered and closed the book looking around. He was certain he was being watched, but found no one. He slid the Volk Magic grimoire into his coat.