NOVEL SIMPLE The Court Mage of Castle Mourneheart
Victor and I leave the confines of Pimpington's cell, but before we go, he instructs the guards to give the prisoner a brief reprieve before they bring back in his girls for another round of torture. Good for him. Gods know his blue balls could use a break. At this rate, they’re probably bluer than that Frost Dwarf of his. I can tell Victor still feels sympathetic. Otherwise, he definitely would've had them go straight back to work.
Now, the massive soldier escorts me to the lab of Gloomcrest's Court Mage, Xothan Xolius. As we talk, we start to speak however briefly.
"Good work back there." He says, dispassionate and quiet.
I wouldn't call it good work, personally, but I digress. "If you say so. It's not like I got anything useful out of Pimpington."
Victor retorts with a surprising stubbornness, "Your ideals were challenged. His words shook you, yet you pushed on. For that, I say good work."
His sincere compliment draws a smile out of me. "You're a pretty nice guy, Victor."
"Nice... cruel... those are just labels. Nothing more." He shrugs off my attempt at a compliment, only saying, "I am who I am."
"Abigail thinks highly of you, and now I see why."
The man in the dark, powerful armor stops right there in the dirty dungeon hallway. He turns to face me, his tattered cap billowing behind him like a plume of smoke behind a giant. "Abigail is... important to me."
"Yes, that much seems to be a recurring theme here amongst the Duke's servants."
"My sister was equally fond of her. Although we were born commoners, I rose through the ranks of knighthood, and we were allowed to live in this beautiful castle. Viola grew up alongside Abigail..."
"She told me a little about you and your sister. I'm sorry for your loss..."
"I didn't lose anything," Victor grunts his words with absolute certainty. There is unmatched anger in his eyes, anger that reminds me of the darkness seeping out of Gloomcrest's door earlier this morning. "She's still out there, and I will find her."
"I hope this doesn't sound too opportunistic, but if you ever catch wind of a hint as to her whereabouts, feel free to submit a quest to the Dewhurst Adventurer's Guild, and we'll do our best to find her."
Victor stares at me long and hard, to the point where I worry that I just offended him. As unafraid as I tend to be, I can't help but feel unsettled as the nine-foot-tall mountain glares at me with unknown intention. Then, right as the tension becomes unbearable, he places his gigantic, plated fist and pats my shoulder as gently as he can. "You're a pretty nice guy, Guild Master." He says without a smile, yet I feel like he's trying his hardest to be playful.
I smile back up at him awkwardly, and the Knight nods before turning around and continuing his path through the dungeon. He goes on without so much as telling me to follow, knowing I'll do it anyway.
Just as noted, Xothan's laboratory isn't actually that far from the dungeon. Rather than being the type of Mage to lock himself up in a tower, Xothan is apparently the kind who keeps himself underground, far away from prying eyes. When we reach his lab, we approach a massive set of brass doors with alchemical sigils and signs carved into them. Victor knocks, but there is no answer. Opalina must still be upstairs, giving Osbourne a 'strict talking to' while Xothan might be out.
"Feel free to wait," Victor says. "Someone will show up eventually."
"What's the matter, can't stick around and chat?"
"No. I'm always needed elsewhere." Whether he gets my joke or not, the severe knight pays it no mind and merely turns away from me. "One last thing," Victor stops in place and twists his neck to face me.
"Yes?"
"Abigail is single."
"Gods damn it, you too?"
Victor walks off the way we came with purpose in his stride, leaving me alone in the depths of Castle Mourneheart. As he goes, he raises his gauntleted fist and gives me the coolest thumbs up I've ever seen. I thought for sure at least Victor, of all people, would refrain from trying to hook me up with the noble Lady of House Gloomcrest, but it seems I can't let my guard down for even a moment less I am swept up into a potential marriage discussion.
As I wait here in the dungeon for Opalina to show up, I'm lucky enough to still have the Bag of Holding she gave me in my pocket. This means instant access to the many books I borrowed from the Duke's library. So, with nothing better to do, I lean against the wall and get to work. After getting through around ten pages of 'An Introduction to Dwarves and the Realm of Hal Moldihr', though, the doors of brass begin to slowly open up with a loud creaking sound. Dust that was once settled on the stone floor now bellows out of place, creating wispy shrouds of filth that fade away to reveal a grandiose laboratory filled with more alchemical supplies and devices than I've ever seen in one place.
Throughout the room lit by hundreds of flickering candles, cauldrons the size of vats bubbling with noxious odors fill the air with the sound of stirring liquids, plumes of multicolored smoke erupting from each one as an automated spell stirs the contents of each one. There are about ten different work desks set up in the middle of the room, and all of them seem to be working on something different. One is covered in spell diagrams and ancient reference books, one desk is in the middle of dissecting a large, scaly drake, while yet another desk seems to be an alchemical coffee-brewing station. The bitter smell of the coffee, while enticing, does little to cover the scent of the surrounding scenery. Lastly, each lab wall is covered head to toe with shelves holding transparent jars labeled this and that, while some of the pots seem to preserve human body parts or fetuses within them. Lovely. I'm sure Zutiria would find herself in heaven with facilities like this.
Now, I'm no fool. Just because the doors are open, I don't assume this means I can walk straight in. Opalina has had nothing but negative things to say about the owner of this lab, so I'm keeping my distance. Albeit faint, my eyes tell me there's magic at foot. "Is anyone there?" I ask, standing cautiously outside the lab.
"Come," An echoey, magically-boosted voice belonging to an old man trails out from the depths of the expansive lab. The candles waver to the sound of his call, creating an eerie effect of light and darkness. "Come in, Guild Master..."
"I have no time for sorcerous shenanigans. Reveal yourself, and drop the mysterious crap."
After an extended period of silence, the mysterious voice sighs. "Shrewd one, aren't you? Hmph. No fun, you young folks are. Magic is more commonplace to your generation, no doubt, but it used to be a little trick of the light, and a creepy voice was enough to strike fear in the hearts of the simple folk."
From out of a row of bookshelves on the far end of the laboratory walks an ancient relic of a man. His appearance is baffling to me. As said before, Mages have considerable control over their appearance and typically stop aging after a certain point that's often of their choosing. This one, though... this one is old. Older than it should be humanly possible to look.
Xothan Xolius is around five feet tall but hunches his back forward to the point where he looks much, much shorter. For support, he hobbles on a mighty staff barely clutched by the bony fingers of his left hand. The man wears haggard black and red robes stained in dozens of colors thanks to his many experiments, a large brimmed wizard hat, and from his chin, a long gray beard spills out, which sweeps the floor beneath him as he walks. In his right hand, he holds up a crystal ball matched by four other crystal balls magically orbiting around his body. Each one displays a different scene unfolding, and his saggy, golden eyes dart between each of them, studying one before moving to the next.
"Sorry, but I don't consider myself as part of the 'simple folk'." I respond to the old wizard, still not trusting him enough to walk openly into his den.
"No one ever does," Xothan says with a growl, revealing his apparent dentures. "You're early, and the Nightshade is late. Where is she?"
"Why does everyone keep calling her that?" I finally ask, my patience growing thin.
"Aren't you her alleged lover?" He laughs. "Ask her yourself. Or..."
"Or?"
"I suppose I could tell you myself, although I won't hold anything back in my account of things..." His eyes glimmer with malice and resentment as he talks about Opalina. There's a bitterness in his voice that speaks plainly to a longstanding hatred of the witch.
Might I actually get some clarification here? I wasn't expecting this... but, much to my luck, my hope is crushed as quickly as it sparked.
"I would prefer if you didn't," Opalina says as the sound of her heels clicking against the ground becomes louder and louder. I look down the dungeon hallway to see her coming. Her face has a weary expression, and she seems a lot more annoyed than I've ever seen. Seems like her talk with Osbourne took a lot out of her.
"Feh," Zothan spits a disgusting lob of spit into a nearby jar, unhappily.
"Damn, and here I was hoping I might actually get to learn about you for a moment..." I cross my arms and look straight at her, indicating that I would actually like some answers.
Probably not the best time to taunt her, as she sighs, looking stressed enough as it is. Still, she puts on a weary smile for my sake, and as she approaches me, the witch places her hand on my shoulder. "There's not much point in hiding it any longer. We'll talk about it tonight."
"Alright. Did everything go ok?"
"Not for him," Opalina smiles a murderous smile that unsettles me to my core. "Osbourne won't be bothering you like that again. Rest assured."
"About time someone kicked that little brat's ass," Xothan smirks as he holds the crystal ball aloft in his right hand, changing its display to right outside the Duke's door. Was he watching my entire business meeting...? And for that matter, what else has Xothan been using those crystal balls to spy on? He looks straight at me as if noticing my apprehension at the implication, then creepily licks his lips.
Opalina must be reading my mind as she smiles, leans in, and whispers, "Don't be threatened by him. Our room is protected by all sorts of anti-scrying spells."
Xothan is clearly annoyed at the witch taking away his fun and shrugs. "Are you coming in, or what?" He asks, his impatience growing more apparent.
"Disarm your traps, and we'd be happy to." Opalina playfully teases as she confirms my suspicions. I knew this bastard couldn't be trusted.
"Feh, I would have put his eyes back once I was done researching them... to think that a bearer of Taskmaster would set forth in my lab..." The Court Mage raises his staff with even more grumbling, and a series of spells fly out the top. Each trickle of magic hits different places throughout the room, dispelling all sorts of magical traps in the process.
Nowhere was safe here, it seems. Some traps were triggered by walking on different parts of the stone floor, some from books on the shelves, and interestingly, one would have triggered if I took hold of the coffee pot on the coffee table. Is Xothan aware of my habitual caffeine intake?
Now that everything's safe, Opalina and I enter the domain of this nefarious, untrustworthy Mage.
