8. Cautions Sired by the Arcane

Day After The Transfer

Sebas 2​

As the sun waned beyond the mountains west, a wave of relief washed over the weary butler. Frayed was his mind forced to juggle tasks aplenty this day, he had at some point wondered if the day's demands would ever end. 

A mild fear of the ever-day had begun to bloom in his chest— he had heard tales of the ëlf-home being such a realm and had worried the same might be true for their new home.

Yet the end did come, and with it the closure to the hordes of men beckoned by the elven ruler's benign edicts.

Thinking back on his worries he found them rather foolish.

A smile, unbarred by his usual sternness, graced the well-mannered butler's countenance as he wandered aimlessly through the sixth floor of the palace.

And in his wander, he enjoyed the pure splendor of the corridor's gleaming walls and carpeted floors, the views permitted by the drawn curtains filtered through arched windows, and the pleasant orange glow of dusk, now slumbering and replaced by the light of the mounted lanterns.

Yet even with the day's end so near, the floor was not empty.

A host of maids still teetered by with dusters and cloths in hand, bowing to him whenever they caught his passing. It seemed that little change had come to the palace, even with the great miracles bestowed by the new realm.

This gladdened him somewhat, though he remained uncertain as to why.

He suspected prying would ruin his mood and heart both which was still swelled by the day's developments. He had been a feather at the news, and he still was now…

"And who wouldn't?"

…not only had the king declared the day one of national celebration, but he had also made prosperity a less arduous endeavor for those who had long been deprived of its privileges

And though the royal had made himself scarce after these benevolent decrees, Sebas could not begrudge him, even if he knew the high-elven had only done so in avoidance of the tedium echoed by many of the opportunists he himself had invited.

No, as a dutiful aid, he had allowed the king his leisure, and only had their fair city been imperilled with catastrophe would he have disturbed him.

Upon reaching the corridors north of the sixth floor did something halt his stride, moving closer to the unbarred window, Sebas gazed toward the procession of carriages slowly moving towards the palace exit gates.

It seemed there were more visitors than he had initially expected. 

He frowned, his eyes narrowing as his vision accumulated clarity.

Seamlessly, almost instinctively, the butler's intent slipped through the ghostly wall that kept his bloodline in slumber. He drew upon a fraction of his heritage, blending his mundane sight with that of the draconic.

The phantom echoes of hot scales rippled across his skin as the metamorphosis took shape in his eyes, the azure hue of his gaze blazing into a slitted crimson.[1]

The twilight world warped as sharpness and vividness became his vision. Privileged with this new clarity, his gaze roamed, searched, and understood. Perhaps he should have expected it sooner, yet wisdom was more often than not a conditional affair.

Among the visitors' carriages, there were also Liaqen— not the gaudy, luxurious ones reserved for royals and their esteemed peers, but the modest ones designated for common serfs. It appeared a few of the servants desired to enjoy this festive-occasion with the general public.

He hummed, seeing the desire for such a thing.

Incidentally, the dragonoid also caught sight of a few carriages bearing the heraldry of Odle departing from the palace.

"Oh?" He exclaimed involuntarily; such a development he had not foreseen. 

'It also seems to be the entirety of his household.'

Sebas was drawn out of his observations and befuddlement by the soft tapping of footfalls approaching in his direction. The rhythm was familiar, disciplined, and often heard within the castle proper.

"Lord Tian?" Came a voice that echoed with a high pitch. Its lilt betrayed a base upbringing, the kind that even eloquent training could not fully mask. "Is something the matter?"

The butler turned to regard the kind girl, unsurprised to find her to be one of the many maids tasked with maintaining the shine of the walls and furniture on this floor. She was rather small of frame, with dull amethyst doe eyes and long, curly red locks. Her face was heart-shaped, and her skin a light olive hue.

A name immediately came to him as he watched the girl develop some apprehension at the queer tint of his eyes. 

Hoping to reassure her, the dragonoid allowed a tiny smile to tug at the edges of his lips. "Ah, not at all, Miss Étoile," he replied to her concern in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Then he pursed his lips, feigning a glance toward the palace gates. "I was merely surprised by Lord Odle's departure from the royal grounds."

The maid's eyes had widened at the mention of her name. He surmised she must have considered herself unremarkable, a failing common among many of the peasant-serfs in the royal's employ. 

Yet she quickly recentered herself, catching on to his unvoiced question and mirroring his gaze toward the gates.

"I did indeed see Lord Odle visit His Majesty just an hour ago. I suppose he must have gone to announce his household's departure from the palace grounds." The girl told him, her eyes gaining an accomplished gleam at his nod of appreciation…

In his mind, the dragonoid wondered how the queen would react if she knew how eager to please the common servants were. Information they thought mundane did in fact hold extreme value, and they were ever so eager to share it.

He mused, doubting she was ignorant of this. The queen was no fool— more than that, she was a schemer, a close rival to the demonologist. No doubt this was one of her many ploys.

Fortunately, it was to the dragonoid's benefit, provided he did not become too reliant or blatant about siphoning intelligence from the gossip— lest he himself became a pawn.

…armed with affirmed knowledge, he decided this was not a surprising development; with the privilege of free roam, it was expected that many noble houses would begin to settle their affairs and prepare to rebuild their fiefdoms.

Perhaps it was high time he began prioritizing his own familial duties, a rather sad development, since he had come to enjoy the role of butler and the absence of much court intrigue. 

'I should also inform my retainers to prepare matters while I'm at it,' he pondered. 'I doubt I'd have much time for miscellaneous matters once the role of Master of Relations gets reinstated.'

Sebas's right brow twitch, already feeling his mood wane at the mere contemplation. He had long wondered how the other nobles dealt with such pressure and demands… Well, he already knew the answer to that, however he was still unable to fully comprehend it.

At least without the Odle's constant dark influence, he could afford a long absence from the palace. Furthermore, the loom of the vanir-corruption was no longer a constant shadow, thus any of his prior extenuates would hold no sway.

"As it would seem," he finally said, twice acknowledging the maid's assistance. Withdrawing his gaze from the gates, he looked once more to the small woman. "Miss Étoile, is His Majesty currently entertaining any other guests?"

She had already revealed to him King Arathron's current location, thus the butler was skeptical that this question would prove difficult. Additionally, he wished to alert the monarch of his intentions early, so that preparations could be arranged.

'Though I don't see Éklare needing that much time.' 

The maid nodded, the act filtered through graceful motions. "There was talk of the Ordinis Sorcelier being summoned to the lounge room. However, I haven't been near enough to confirm whether he's left or not, Lord Tian."

An expected development. The butler had been alerted of Lord Gown's visit during his investigations in the kitchens, and it had always been the norm for the king to develop a sudden interest for the mystics following such occurrences.

And, as usual, rather than discussing his concocted ideas with calmer counsel, the head of the court mages was summoned. The Nine knew what madness Magus Secundus might be whispering into the royal's ears.

"I see," he said in a low voice, turning towards the leisure room. "However, it seems I'll be requiring your assistance with something, Miss Étoile."

Sebas did not wait for an answer, immediately beginning to head towards his destination. Behind him, the maid hurried to follow, her rapid footfalls tapping lightly against the polished floor. 

His own gait was stiff and sharp, yet graceful, as elegance was a well-taught practice to them of high prestige.

"What aid might I provide, your lordship?" The small woman's voice was unsteady from her rapid movements, yet the eagerness and joy within her were evident to his heightened hearing.

He supposed that the monotonous nature of her tasks must have dampened her zeal.

Showing consideration, the butler lessened his pace and addressed the maid's curiosity— albeit such an act was unnecessary, as his noble status and higher rank demanded her unquestioned obedience.

"I suspect my meeting with his majesty will hinder my ability to perform my duties. I would ask you act as my substitute in the meantime."

The rhythm of the maid's gait became awkward, losing all grace. Such a display would have led to a reevaluation of her employment had she been in the presence of anyone other than himself.

Thus to avoid her additional shame, the butler feigned ignorance to her impropriety.

"Lor—Lord Tian," she said, having regained some composure, though the dismay in her words was unmistakable. "N—not to seem ungrateful for such a blessed offer, but I fear I lack the capabilities to serve as an adequate substitute for your noble self."

Unbidden came a chuckle out his throat. It was not condescension. "Do not undersell your competence, Miss Étoile. I'm quite sure you would do just fine. Besides, there may be nothing for you to do— His Majesty is such a person of few desires."

Few were those who understood their own limitations. The mere fact that the young lady recognized her inability to undertake such a task was commendable. Had this been a true replacement, she would no doubt have failed. However, the dragonoid intended to filter the tasks, if even any came her way.

There were a few moments of silence as they walked before the maid softly echoed her acquiescence. "Th—then I sha—shall try not to disappoint you, Lord Tian."

"Do harbor some pride in yourself, Miss Étoile." He jested, a fact that seemed to have escaped the maid.

She instead trusted in his words and took a gracious breath, stilling her heart. "Thank you, Lord Tian."

"Just Sebas will do."

"Of course, Lord Sebas."

With a more genuine twist on his lips, the dragonoid supposed that was close enough.

—————

His second visit to his liege yielded a better showing than the previous one, with the monarch's nearer vicinity no longer devoid of the crown-shields. The butler was gladdened by this, as their reappearance hinted at a return to normality— at least for the king's general conduct.

He came to a stiff halt two-arms before the royal guards, the sirs waiting a few moments until the maid joined him proper before they made for official greetings and inquisitions as per the right of their station and duty both.

"Lord Tian." Sir Henrik proved to be his greeter, a barely perceptible defer of his head showing the difference in their heritage still unbridged by their official ranks.

The butler accepted the ingratiation for what it was, already alerted of the guard commander's eventual leave of the royal order in the wake of his sworn-promise to the Regent of House Bloodfallen.

A wondrous development, though he would have preferred them to have preserved their virtue until their merger was witnessed and sanctified.

'Yet a faerie tale is not this generation's romance.' 

His own king had been the initiator of such a rogue tradition when he took the queen's maidenhood barely a week before their sworn ceremony. And despite his efforts, news of that scandal did end up among the queen's circle, thus its diligent practice among the noble bloods.

"What can we do for you?" The azure-eyed commander finally asked, his gaze briefly flicking to the maid, who had maintained a rather demure— though still respectful— position since her stop before the guards.

Sebas did not begrudge the common serf her nerves. Even within the castle, the royal shields did enjoy exemplary prestige, one that was further enhanced by their absence in the general circles among the royal serfs.

…not forgetting the formality question from the guard commander— albeit only a dozen heartbeats had passed since then— the butler gave a short and swift nod of acknowledgment. "I would like to request an audience with his majes—"

The king's song, undaunted by the woven veil of incomprehension, cut through his request mid-speech, and into his ears loud and proper without wait for the expected procedures to achieve fruition.

"You are unbarred from entry, Sebas, nor am I too busy to have you wait."

Perhaps the butler ought to have been appreciative of this gesture of unfair favour. Though would it prove persistent after he had impressed on the monarch his desire to retire from his current post?

Before him, he saw that the commander was allowed the same comprehension as he, as by the ease of his tension and the gesture for entry mirrored by the Sir Bellriver beside him.

Sebas's gaze flickered beyond them, into the thrice-deranged spatial marvel that was the leisure room. Removed from the cast of dusk, this entire section of twisted space existed in its own miniature reality, with only a tenuous connection to the true world.

Brilliant was the room over which hung crystal chandeliers whose glow descended across gilded railings and marble floors. Tall, arched windows exposed a world of ever-summer, its false brightness licking over the carved ceilings and stoneworks with a perfect radiance.

Plush sofas arranged with finesse stood center in an alluring beckon, a prophecy of greater comfort and conversation its promise. Rich carpets, woven with deep blues and silvery threads, stretched beneath its floors, and from the stairs above its folded space, the hall seemed a place reserved for those whose blood was touched by the hands of divinity.

Beyond its splendour, and within its center, he saw clear the figures of the king and sorcelier seated and engaged in a conversation not much far from animated. 

He hummed, nodded, and turned to his substitute with a smile. The maid startled, of course, but such improprieties were an easily forgiven affair.

"Miss Etoile, you will have to wait here for further orders." He then looked toward the knights. "I'll trust you to ensure her position remains undisturbed, sirs."

"Aye, my lord." 

Assured, the butler strode past the pair guards and into the room proper. 

His intrusion garnered no notice, nor did he seek any in return. With deliberate grace and a facade of impassivity, he proceeded forward, the exchanged words he now discerned as bordering on contentious. He ultimately paused behind the king's sofa, assuming a post as a sentinel.

Looming.

"…thus far, you've offered me nothing but excuses and condescension." The king's words were a drawl, barely showing much interest to anything that was not the book in his hands. "Lord Gown himself has assured me of the viability of this endeavor."

Sebas was not surprised to find this a direct result of the royal's earlier consultation with Magus Gown; the unchallenged spell-weaver had long wielded considerable influence over the king's arcane interests.

Before him, the sorcelier appeared every bit the man burdened with the desire to be anywhere but here. The dragonoid could not fault him for it.

Hard were the times when royal desire was invoked.

"Your greatness," the mage intoned with forced calm. "Though it be true that through enchantment many things be possible, yet possibility doth not mean likelihood. I fear such is the nature of your demand."

Bored and unmoved by the mage's plea, the king allowed his gaze to drift from the fictional tale held in his hands. "To acknowledge one's limitations is no great shame, Titus." There was amusement in there, the butler felt, yet his silence was gold, thus he kept it. "But to consider oneself the embodiment of all that is possible— now that is the height of arrogance."

The magus sputtered in shock, and the dragonoid had to battle the urge that tried its greatest to seduce him into buffoonery— to laugh loud at such manipulations.

Belittlement. Provocation.

He had believed his dearest king to be above such pedestrian indulgences, but it seemed he had been mistaken. Not that Sebas was any better, though he had at least mastered his amusement and maintained his composure…

…partially.

Magus Secundus took longer to regain his wits. Once he did, he quickly attempted to salvage his dignity. "Never have I claimed mastery over the supreme magus, your greatness."

"Nor have you ever professed your inferiority," the king was quick to remind. He placed his novel atop the low table and fixed the court magus with an unimpressed look. "I despise arrogance, sorcelier, and thus far, you have been nothing but."

"Your Majest—"

Whatever sycophancy— and it was such— the mage might have intended was abruptly interrupted by the king, "My request is neither ridiculous nor outside your capabilities. Difficult, yes. Perhaps even tedious. But I am considerate, so I shall grant you a generous timeline. Five years."

The monarch paused, thoughtful, before nodding in decision: 

"Yes, that should be more than enough. But I am mercy, thus I will lighten the burden more. The old treasures…these slumbering relics, I'll permit you one of them, to burden less this endeavour."

Sebas paled, his sternness broken. He dared not even act the fool by feigning deafness, for his king's words were as clear as the fountain waters. Unable to remain silent, he spoke his first words in this room, his tone betraying more emotion than he had intended:

"My king intends to permit the use of one of the great treasures?"

Incredulous. He was very incredulous. And horrified…

These treasures…these relics of old, granted existence by Creation itself, were no mere trinkets, no items of the holy or magical. No, they were something beyond— something absolute. 

Even the gods had desired them, once upon a time, and pantheons had fell in their power. The Realm Devourer had wrought unparalleled devastation with its insatiable hunger for them, leaving both Order and Chaos in tatters after its defeat.

'No items of man are these treasures, for even the Mimics of the Nine had witnessed countless nations engulfed in flames during their pursuit.'

The House of Tian possessed such a Mimic— The Paladin's Passion. Yet even this was due to the fact that the Liaqen and the Grand Cathedral housed many of the ancient relics in their vaults.

Still, the dragonoid treasured the Mimic so, and would not see it poked by the ever-inquisitive magi. 

…alas, his worry was not shared by the king.

"I do," King Arathron affirmed, casual, as he directed yet another gaze to the sorcelier. "Though, I strongly advise you temper any grand ambitions once it's within your grasp, Titus."

Even through his clear thrill of being granted unsupervised access to the ancient relic, the magus did still possess some level of cognition. "Your greatness, I would neve—"

Sebas shot the man a withering glare, his patience frayed by the attempt at sycophancy. "You lie, mage," He hissed, silencing the deceit in its infancy.

Not to be outdone, the court magus returned the glare, old contempt brimming in his hazel eyes. "These matters are beyond your compreh—"

"That's enough out of the both of you. I will not have my leisure ruined by your bickering." King Arathron ordered, and the both of them ceased. 

"Bloody fuckin' flavour-text and its unreliability." That bizarre tongue was used again, this time with no lack of deprecation…and rage.

It fled quickly, and the royal sighed.

"Yet I must agree with Sebas. Your excitement has made you a liar, and I will not tolerate it." He continued, retrieving back the novel. "You will calm yourself and exercise restraint while in possession of The Gauntlet of Generosity, lest it makes a martyr of you."

Titus rose and bowed before the seated and reading king, placing his right hand over his heart in a solemn vow. "Your greatness, with my predecessors as my witnesses, I shall not betray the trust you have placed in me. I will dedicate every moment of my time to see this task through."

Not even a geas to anchor this promise, the butler doubted its authenticity.

The sorcelier then attempted to reach for the monarch's hand, seeking to perform a grace-smarch. As anticipated, the ruler dismissed the gesture with a flick of a spell that ailed the eyes to see. "That's enough groveling out of you."

With little regard, the sorcelier allowed the spell to envelop him, the void energies consuming his silhouette with ravenous eagerness. Sebas frowned at the sight, disbelieving. He then sniffed the air, and disappointment became his mood.

"Simulacrum." He sneered, "I shouldn't be surprised."

"And yet you are," his liege replied, already engrossed once more in his fictional tale. "Come, sit. You need no longer glare at Titus."

The butler complied, bracing himself to conceal any signs of indecency in the face of the pure luxury and comfort of the sofas. And as he sat, the cushion of the furniture immediately started to devour his fatigue…or at least acted like it did.

Magic, it was never just a simple matter. 

He let a few moments pass, still distracted by comfort and the slowly disappearing magical copy of the magus, though the latter thing held much of his attention.

This ritualistic spell, [Eidolic Rebirth], was indeed a most useful one, and he regretted not having access to it. However, witnessing its use in this manner did diminish its appeal…and justified his decision.

While he would not call the arcane discipline diseased, he did believe it had a sinister effect on the mind— Elgroth had far too many mad sorcerers for it to be otherwise.

With the last particles of the copy devoured, he shook his head and looked at the king. "Was that wise?" He inquired of the royal.

King Arathron hummed at his concern, patient with his thoughts. "You disagree with my decision, I suspect?" 

The butler hesitated, for he indeed disagreed with the decision. But he dared not keep private his wisdom, not if it could help. "These relics, they are not mere trinkets to be given to hands as curious as the ordinis sorcelier, my king."

"Hmmm, mayhaps that's true." The royal looked at him, searching. Then he turned back to his story. "But I grow tired of these relics catching dust. Besides, I believe your worries are ill-placed."

The dragonoid wondered what the king meant by that. If he thought that Sebas did not trust the court magus than he would be mistaken.

"But that's enough about Titus; you certainly didn't come here to bud heads with him." Again the royal looked at him, "At least I'd hope you didn't."

"I didn't, your majesty."

"Good, then I'd have the reason for your visit. I have a promise to keep, and I don't want to disappoint the dead much." 

The butler nodded, "As you wish. I've come to inform you of the many visitors who have arrived today seeking an audience with your royal self."

"Merchants and the heads of various institutions, I presume?" The king lifted a brow.

"There were several lesser nobles as well." The dragonoid added, yet the royal seemed unperturbed. 

"There were several lesser nobles as well." The dragonoid added, yet the royal seemed unperturbed.

"I have little doubt that most of their requests were of any importance. Did my love attend to them?" 

"The queen was— is occupied with managing the logistics that this endeavor will—"

His rehearsed words were disrupted by the king's. "You need not echo her falsehoods, a simple yes or no would have sufficed. Then you must have attended them?"

The butler nodded. "Aye, but there was only so much I could do. Still, you have piles of documents awaiting your royal approval."

He paused, considered, and then added, "Most of the merchants have expressed significant interest in meeting the young marquis."

A broad grin came by the royal's face. "That was my intent when I issued the decrees. Young Mare needs to establish connections with the affluent members of our society. Sole dependence on my favoritism would only breed discontent in the long run."

"I had feared you'd be unaware of your…prejudice." Sebas admitted freely. 

"It is a failing rooted within mortal behaviour, and I try not to be dishonest with myself. That doesn't mean I'm ignorant of my faults." This time, the king's expression twisted into one of impatience. "Yet that is still not the primary reason for your visit."

Sebas froze momentarily before relaxing. "Aye, it is not. However, I wanted to ensure that I addressed all the minor matters before attending to that part."

A shadow of sadness crossed the monarch's face, even as he made an effort to turn it neutral. "Sebas, be careful of what you say next." The king warned him, "You might just earn yourself bad karma."

He frowned at the warning…pondered it, and ultimately decided it is secondary and thus containable.

After all, he was a Son of Buddha.

Resignation became the king's face, and the dragonoid suspected that the monarch knew what he wanted to talk about.

"I had decided to…"

————

Information [Magics]

1. [Eidolic Rebirth] : A high-rank arcane spell-ritual that creates a mirror-like copy of the caster, imbued with the caster's skills, attributes, personality, and even a facsimile of the external items the caster was adorned with at the moment of casting. The spell forms a faint mental link between the copy and the original, though distance may weaken this connection, hindering the transference of experience and knowledge.

2. The Gauntlet of Generosity: one of the 200 relics that embody the Uniqueness of Absolutism, stands apart as a paradoxical treasure. It is forged from a radiant metal that gleams with a serene, golden light. The gauntlet's intricate engravings form a complex lattice of interconnected symbols representing wisdom, unity, and the boundless flow of life. However, its true power lies not within itself, but in the grim potential it draws from its sister item: the Gauntlet of Avarice.

Twisted Benevolence :

Unlike the other ancient relics, the Gauntlet of Generosity is fundamentally linked to its counterpart, the Gauntlet of Avarice. While the latter hoards the souls it reaps, trapping vast knowledge, skills, and power within its dark grip, the Gauntlet of Generosity functions as a channel to release those gifts. Through this connection, it can grant the powers, knowledge, and skills locked away within the countless souls consumed by its sister item.

Abilities:

- Bestowal of Souls: The gauntlet can selectively transfer the talents, abilities, and memories of the countless souls stored in the Gauntlet of Avarice to a chosen recipient. The knowledge could range from masterful swordsmanship to arcane secrets, instantly elevating the recipient's capabilities to extraordinary levels. However, the transfer is limited to only a fraction of what the sister item contains at any given time.

- The Gift of Empathy: The gauntlet allows the wearer to share another person's experiences and emotions on a deep, spiritual level. This ability not only bridges understanding between people but also facilitates the sharing of specific skills or insights, temporarily empowering others with the wisdom of ancient souls.

- Elevation of Existence: The gauntlet allows the user to alter, empower, or even fundamentally change the nature of a person or creature. The effects can range from granting a commoner the strength of a warrior to transforming an entire population into something more evolved or unified, provided it has thrice the excess to draw upon.

Curse of Generosity:

- Individuals altered with this item might see their fundamental nature changed as a hunger for disastrous sacrifice takes a hold of them.