Noble Arcana

The roof spirit is believed to have been an ancestor of someone within Moonfallow that died falling off a roof. Many claim to be his descendants, but there has been no definitive proof of ancestry from any of them, nor has the original claim been verified. What has been verified is that the use of the green shingles in Moonfallow does result in his blessing. Their roofs can last as long as fifty years without issue. Ironically that means that local craftsmen rarely have the work a leaky roof can create.

Local Gods of Moonfallow

Solomon left doctor Isaacs with a gold piece to pay for his treatment as well as that of Colm and also left the trapper his payment along with several extra silver and a note encouraging him to avoid the woods in the short term given what had happened and offering him work at the manor if he needed it in the meantime. After that he walked back out to the carriage where Duncan was waiting, leaning on his walking stick harder than usual. The stitches stung with every breath and movement. The doctor had offered a treatment for the pain and he’d agreed to only a quarter of it. He wanted to keep his focus.

He had Duncan head for the Estate with a brief stop at the guard garrison to ask that more guards be placed at the entrance to the wood. At the estate itself Solomon went to his room with only a few nods to each of his servants and a request for a pitcher of water and something to eat. There were a number of stares at his torn and bloodstained coat as well as the fact that he was shirtless and bandaged beneath it, but none of them asked questions.

Solomon finished buttoning a fresh shirt when he heard a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he said.

Melissa entered with a pitcher of water and a cup. She walked over to his desk and poured the cup before standing off to one side.

He drank from the cup slowly, trying to pace himself though he wanted to simply grab the pitcher and throw back all of it at once.

“Solomon,” said Melissa, using his first name for the first time. Her tone was almost scolding.

“I was attacked by something in the woods. Colm was hurt as well. Probably just some frightened animal. I already saw a doctor, I will recover without issue.”

She nodded. “I’ll have your food brought to you, and I’ll have the coat mended and washed. Please rest.”

“Thank you,” he responded, handing the coat to her.

She took it and refilled his water before leaving. Once she was gone he grabbed Local Gods of Moonfallow from the corner of his desk and opened it. His more general research into the town had been put on hold for some time, but given what he’d just experienced he felt he needed to broaden his understanding of Moonfallow. He’d initially attributed the Mayor and his wrongdoing to the terrestrial and mundane, but given what he’d just seen he needed to amend those expectations.

He opened the book and began skimming it. Gods could take many forms. They could be powerful spirits, extraplanar entities, guardian ancestors, or even devils. Most villages had a minor god or two with a small shrine, and major gods had cathedrals in major cities. Some of them relied on mana, others were powered by energies beyond mortal understanding. The only thing that marked an entity as a god was that it required worship or sacrifice from mortals. It was quite possible that the creature he’d seen in the woods wasn’t a god, but as he only had limited resources he felt that he should look into them first.

Looking through the book he found that near moonfallow were a number of river and lake spirits, as well as a spirit of good roofs that was honored by using a particular kind of green tile. It wasn’t until he was near the middle of the book that he found a short listing that might be applicable.

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The Lord of the Black Wood

Wanders the woods with his brides. Direct worship is discouraged. Offerings of bread and milk by those living at the edge of the wood keeps him from harming them.

There was no additional information, but his instincts told him that this entry was referring to the being he’d encountered. The mention of brides brought to mind the wavering figures in white he’d seen in the gaps between the trees. He turned the book over in his hands, noting its age. It was likely old enough to have been written when Moonfallow was still a prosperous mining and logging town, otherwise the book wouldn’t touch on their local deities at all. He was lucky even to have this slim entry to work off of.

The mention of brides brought his mind back to what Dame Pryor had mentioned about the Bythars. That they’d perhaps lost their titles due to killing their wives. Was there some kind of deal between their family and the Lord of the Black Wood? Providing him with wives so that they could hold power over Moonfallow? The garrison from Etling had never determined exactly how Marcus had known that Solomon was taking action against him and his brother, if the answer was arcane in nature it would answer that mystery.

There was another knock on the door and Melissa entered with a platter that smelled heavily of meat.

“Claire insisted on liver. Says it’s good for people that have lost blood.”

Solomon nodded, letting her place the food in front of him. He didn’t favor liver, the texture was always unpleasant, but he had no intention of refusing Claire’s thoughtfulness. He ate it slowly as he took some time to focus on his mana.

It was… calm. Not completely still, but like a lake with gently lapping waves. He aimed his hand with his fingers and wrist aimed downward at the nearby book. He gently fed just a bit of mana into the spell, then flicked up his fingers and wrist. A gentle breeze ruffled the paper, nearly turning a page.

He raised an eyebrow as he forked another piece of liver into his mouth. He leaned back as he chewed it. His mana had been in tremendous flux since he first gained it. Even that morning he’d been unable to truly feel where it was and how it was flowing. Now though it was steady enough for him to sense. He didn’t believe it was the blood control spell. While he’d had no issues casting it with good control it had felt more like an exception, and his mana had been running wild aside from that cast.

Could it be a matter of exertion? He’d cast a large number of spells and physically exhausted himself in his flight from the wood. Perhaps his mana needed to be drained occasionally in order to steady it, or his body needed him to do so in order for it to better adapt to it. He mentally logged each of his theories away. There was just so much he still didn’t know.

Once he was done eating he made his way down to the library and into the hidden study. He determined the ciphered words for Bythars and Lord of the Black Wood and searched the journals for any possible mentions of them. Unfortunately he found neither. He wasn’t too surprised by that, given the parts of the journals he had deciphered so far his great uncle had been very uninterested with anything outside of his studies. He even recalled a particular quote along the lines of

“Spells and Grimoires are the only company I need, and the only responsibility I care for.”

He closed the last of the journals and put it to the side. The room was cold. It was always cold lately. He wondered if his uncle hadn’t been right to some extent. Had he not pried into what had been going on with Moonfallow’s finances he would’ve avoided the assault on his manor as well as coming in conflict with a god. Then again his uncle also died alone and mourned by no one, unable to save himself with all the knowledge and power at his disposal, so perhaps he didn’t have as much figured out as he’d thought.

That thought warmed him a bit and he stood up, making his way out of the secret study and back to his room. His stitches stung and his body ached from the exertion earlier in the day.

He undressed and laid in his bed to rest. He needed to be sharp for the meeting with the Arcana the following evening. After sleeping in until the late morning he spent the rest of the day studying and ensuring that he was prepared to demonstrate blood control to the Arcana. He received a message from Isaacs that Colm was recovering well, and from First Watchman Vantus that there had been no activity on the edge of the woods.

That night he stood in front of the statue of the Hermit, watching as the glow on it began to grow brighter and brighter as the full moon rose. When it reached its zenith, he began to feel the pull of his walking stick. He raised it up and returned it to the statue’s hand, sending his mind to meet the Arcana.