Noble Arcana

There are many gods. Major Gods that lord over the archetypes of man, minor gods that watch a city or a town, gods of the abyss, gods of blood, ancestor gods, and many more. Some can be touched and seen, and others only visited in dreams and visions. Some can even be killed.

The Writings of Mad Bayne

Solomon didn’t shrink from the glowing red eyes in front of him. Instead he looked into them curiously. Nothing that could be trapped under a tarp was going to kill him. He pulled on the tarp, finding it caught, and adjusted his stance until he could pull it free, drawing the tarp completely off and stepping back with it.

The being was large, maybe ten feet tall if it had been standing, but also gaunt to the point of being skeletal. It had long limbs that ended in clawed feet and hands, and its skin was the reddish pink of exposed muscle hidden in some places by patches of dark fur. The top half of its head looked like the skull of a deer, with a tremendous forest of antlers spreading from the top of its head. The lower part of its face looked almost human, aside from the long sharp teeth within it.

Its body was completely motionless. Not just still, but completely without movement. It was chained to the ground by thick silver manacles over which small runes had been carved by the thousands, and around it was an intricate arcane circle.

There was no sign that it was breathing, or flexing, or anything else. The only sign that it was alive was its eyes. They followed him as he moved.

“A god,” he said, to no one in particular. His uncle had bound a god in his secret study. He had never seen one before, but they were mentioned frequently in many of the books he’d read. The accounts of war with the elves was filled with examples of elven forest gods that were similar to the one that was bound in front of him. Those had been described as lush, muscular, and powerful though. A far cry from the shriveled beast in front of him. Even in the state it was in though, he was certain it possessed tremendous power. Those gods had been described as being able to tear knights limb from limb, summon deadly spirits with a roar, and bind entire squads in thorny vines with a gesture.

He looked at the creature bound in front of him for another moment, then he walked quickly back to the book on the table, Living Mana Transference: Permanent empowerment by sacrifice and cultivation. He didn’t understand all of the details on the sheet, as he lacked the arcane knowledge needed for it, but based on the diagrams and basic instructions for the ritual its purpose was to transfer mana from a magical creature and into the caster.

He looked up at the god bound in front of him and to the small Union textbook to his side. It was perfect. A path to immediate power and the means to use it, served up to him on a golden tray. He’d have mana, and the knowledge needed to start using it. He let out a long exhale, his breath visible in the coldness of the room. He must not have noticed it before with everything else going on.

He shook his head. It was too perfect, and that made his instincts scream that there was something wrong with it and that hesitation let his common sense overwhelm his ambition. There were too many questions for him to begin jumping into some previously unheard of arcane ritual with no preparation or research. How had his great uncle Victor captured a god? Why did he prepare this ritual, but not execute it? How had whoever tore apart the library not been able to find this hidden room? Was this what he was looking for, or was it something different?

No, in spite of the temptation, and all it would grant him, he needed to be certain of more before it was something he would attempt. He pulled the small watch from his pocket. It was nearing the afternoon. His lunch would be brought to an empty room soon and the servants would begin looking for him, not to mention the trip into town to visit the guard that he’d planned with Melissa.

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He closed the ritual grimoire, but grabbed the Union textbook and what appeared to be the earliest of his uncle’s journals and tucked them into one of his inner jacket pockets. He’d been right to be concerned that his uncle had even more magical contraband than just the Volk Magic grimoire. The existence of this room, the captured god, if it was ever found even his status as noble of a founding family wouldn’t be enough to protect him from the headsman’s axe. Moonfallow itself would likely be razed to the ground as well.

He walked back up the steps, listening to make sure he couldn’t hear anyone at the top. When all he heard was silence he pressed in the eye and the passage opened again, the suit of armor again moving itself out of his way and bowing toward him.

Solomon nodded to the suit, no sense being impolite to it, and stepped into the library. Once he was clear, the passage sealed itself again and the armor returned to its watch. That was something else that didn’t make sense. Using a suit of armor as the method by which the secret room could be opened or closed seemed needlessly ornate. From what he’d seen of his uncle’s tastes he preferred things to be simple, convenient, and comfortable, with little ornamentation. He guessed there was likely more to the silent sentinel in iron that was in front of him than what he’d seen so far.

He started to walk out of the library when Melissa appeared in the doorway.

She gave him a quick bow, hiding a brief look of confusion that had flashed across her face.

“Sir, your afternoon meal is ready. Would you like to take it in here or in your room as usual?”

“My room, Melissa, thank you.”

She nodded. “You also asked me to remind you of your meeting with the guard.”

“I recall it, but thank you.”

She bowed again and left the doorway, heading back toward the main hall and the kitchen. Solomon waited for a moment, looking back at the suit of armor, before heading into the hall and back toward his room. Once there he slid the two books into the locked drawer in his desk, next to the Volk Magic grimoire, and then placed his walking stick back on the statue of the hooded figure in the corner of the room. He’d begun to carry it even just around the manor. Perhaps he felt he needed steadying with all that was happening and all that was left to do, but it was admittedly a bit silly to need it. It was like a four year old still wishing to see his mother and father more than twice per day at mealtimes. Though he supposed with what he’d just found it was more justified.

His meal arrived as he’d just finished removing his coat. It was a large cut of pheasant in a rich orange sauce with fresh greens and rice on the side. He forced himself to give it his full attention rather than immediately grabbing one of the books he’d found and delving into it. He needed to approach things with a clear mind and a full stomach. He ate each bite carefully, looking out the window in front of his desk at the unkempt garden. Poth had made good progress beginning to tame it, but wouldn’t be able to get things completely under control without help. Once he was done, he placed his fork and knife carefully on the plate and reached into the desk. He was most tempted to look at the stolen Union text first, but decided against it. He would need to leave soon and didn’t want to be interrupted once he began to go through it. Instead he grabbed his uncle’s journal, opening it to first place.

qsldvts sw hqvasi ywkysn

qvmyc 1:

ugm mv xyq vtayiq wy alv dqmbece igk qrsqvz ayuka p mefmgk xf qfissiq, q fbwk yidl e iqkhyh fr eav m ry, igk aymb b oemq lhui. dgka vj ntim p azxt xetvdqflrk iqmo grz ptci r pifhkzzo xmjvob hu xyq ubuh. pac vhr ja mtzmck thzi ttcgrw fr ghbvjqty, vj pack tmep. jr dvzfqgn hfiv ff lzebhyc z twil xf rwkamwk ur tmep igk tiqaxyzv m khyi fr urzicr qg alv qdxux gmzm vj dq ql ssjf.

Solomon looked carefully over the ciphered words. The first thing he did was identify the solitary letters. As long as Victor had been writing in the common language of Drakthiss those letters would be I’s or A’s. After that he began to look at the two letter words, trying to see where the I’s or A’s might fit. He thought he may have identified an in which would lead him to N, but there was a knock on the door before he could continue. He quickly locked the journal away.

“You may enter,” he said.

Melissa and Nelda entered at the same time and Nelda made her way toward his desk. He handed her his empty plate, and she curtsied and left.

“Duncan has the carriage ready to take us into Moonfallow,” said Melissa.

“Excellent, thank you.”

She bowed and walked out.

Solomon took a deep breath and stood, pulling on his black mourning coat and walking to grab his walking stick. He had just found the magical equivalent of a kidnapped king in his basement and he was off to go speak with the guard. At the rate in which he was uncovering secrets he was expecting to find out that they were all orcs in disguise.