Irrandor Castle: within the Keep
Hours later, Lurian sat alone within the shelter of the old library. Its cramped confines—a peaceful, forgotten home to the many books that had once belonged to the human nobles who ruled these lands in the generations that predated his people’s arrival.
Though dusty, the shelves themselves were enchanted, protecting the sizable collection from the wear of time and the ravages of fire.
Hearing the rain, Margaret, with duties of her own, had left him to his books a few hours back. Saying she would see to it that his lunch would be delivered by noon's first glass.
Truthfully, Lurian was not bothered by her departure. It was rare for him to be left truly alone, and he found himself enjoying the quiet solitude of the moment.
He felt lighter, as if his burdens were somehow lessened by the absence of the ever-present audience to his life. In the silence, he could just be himself, as he immersed himself in the faded words of men long dead, of tales not told for an age.
It brought him a strange comfort to be immersed in the ambiance of this neglected space. He felt an odd kinship with these stories—stories that were trapped, like him—within the prison that was these walls.
However, his peace was not to last, for it was soon broken by the intrusion of a damp Claire carrying with her the promised lunch. The dreary room seemed brightened with her presence; her lively red and green stood in stark contrast to the dead gray and dusty brown of the library.
It took him a moment to notice the odd assortment of dried meats and cheeses atop the tray in her hands. It was a strange mirror of the evening meal—lost to the events of the night prior.
It seemed that she wasn’t truly angry with me after all,’ he thought—both flattered and amused by the clearly intentional gesture. He was by no means an expert on women, and could not fathom why she felt the need to make amends in such a fashion.
He was under the impression that he should be the one seeking forgiveness—given the events of last night. But he decided to keep his mouth shut, just in case he was misreading the gesture as more than intended.
Tentatively placing the tray of snacks to his left, she anxiously began, “Lurian, I am sorry for last night. I’ve no idea what happened; I just—”
“It’s fine—Claire,” he interrupted
“No, no—it’s really not. I shouldn’t have... Well, I shouldn’t have ran out on you. It’s hardly your fault you suffer as you do, and given your condition, it was not the time for us to take the next step.” She sighed, “It was rushed and ill-timed... I just got a little caught up in the moment and wasn’t thinking. I mean, we’ve never really talked about it, and I just sort of jumped you. I—”
“We both got caught up in the moment, Claire, and I am not blameless in what happened. I do agree that it was ill-timed, and perhaps a mistake, given my condition and that I am soon to depart for the tower...”
He sighed; his heart dreading the conversation to come. “Claire... I’m not sure I can be who you need me to be... and—is a life with me really what you want?”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Is this about what happened last night?”
“Yes, and no.” He sighed. “I just think that we may need to be a bit more rational about this... and, perhaps, take a step back before it’s too late. We both know that I am not likely to have a bright future ahead of me,” he said, adding a gravity to his voice that he hoped would communicate his seriousness on the matter.
At first, Claire seemed confused by his words, but then she frowned, opening her mouth.
Seeing this, Lurian raised his hand—halting her interruption. “Claire, all my life has been in preparation for something, something I’m not sure I want you to be a part of. Think about it, all that brutal training, all those years of study on tactics and war. It wasn’t so I could succeed as lord of these lands.”
”What—what do you mean?”
“Look at me,” Lurian said, gesturing to his feeble state. “You don’t just break a person like this, only to spend the resources to heal them later without a purpose—”
“—They are just training you to fight so that you can survive the tower and come back as heir!”
“Claire, that training they’ve put me through, that’s not how you forge a warrior; nor a leader; that’s how you forge a weapon...”
His words rang true, silencing the room.
Claire’s anxious eyes met Lurian’s own resolute gaze; those beautiful amber orbs, desperately searching for a means to counter the truth he so casually laid bare. New chapters come out on novelping dot com first.
Lurian let out an exhausted sigh. “I just want you to really think about what sort of future you want, and if you're sure you want to be a part of mine. Because frankly, I am not in a position to give you the future you deserve. I can’t give you official status, I can’t give you the support you need—I can’t even promise you my time, for it is not up to me how it is spent.”
He let out a frustrated huff before sinking into his seat. “Claire, I’m just not sure I’m what's best for you and your future.”
“I know,” she murmured.
“Sorry?” he asked, not quite catching her words.
“I know,” she repeated, raising her voice. “Do you think me so foolish?” she asked with heat, before continuing with far less fire, “Of course I’ve considered it. You are not the only one with such concerns. I just, just wanted to,” she let out a resigned breath, deflating in the process.
“...The heart wants—what the heart wants, and there’s little we can do about it... you know?” she said, by way of explanation.
The room fell still—both taking a moment to digest each other's words. Though Lurian was reluctant to end this growing attachment he felt between them, he could not in good conscience remain silent...
For her sake, he felt it best to voice his doubts now... before things escalated...
With a heavy heart, he took her hand in his. Looking up, their eyes met. “Claire, this is my fate... But it doesn’t have to be yours...”
She opened her mouth to speak, but when the words didn’t come, she looked away...
Seeing her distress, he lightly squeezed her hand—offering what comfort he could...
And finally, she spoke: “I’ll leave you to your books, Lurian—I need time to think.” She bit her lip, looking distraught. “I’ll be back before your scheduled lesson with master Can'tarrous. I just—just need time, time alone—away from all this...”
Releasing her hand, he nodded. “Go, I’ll be fine here... there are other maids about... and I can call out if I need anything.”
She nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you later, Lurian.” Not lingering, she turned—and she left... leaving his world a little duller in her absence...
‘It’s for the best,’ he thought, letting out one final, long sigh...
. . . . .
It took a while for Lurian to recover from their parting, and—seeking distraction—he returned his attention to the modest tome laid out before him.
Its title: ‘Maddagus’s compendium on folk tales and ancient lore.’
Despite its rather misleading title, it was a treatise on all things ‘Dark magic’. It was something he found long ago, tucked away in the back of the library.
At the time, he only thought it interesting and stored it away.
But now—now he knew it was a curse that tormented him. Honestly, it was quite the lucky find, given the taboo nature of its academic focus. Lurian guessed its misleading title was most probably the only thing that spared it from Can’tarrous’s cleansing flames.
Much of the book was a collection of unverifiable hearsay, with very little academic analysis from this ‘Maddagus’, but it was a start, and using it as a reference had allowed him to understand the basics—whilst establishing some conjectures of his own. From what he could gather, Dark magic seemed to be comprised of two separate disciplines; both based in sacrificial magic.
The first of the two was that of the Dark Pact. As he understood it, at their core, pacts were not so different from conventional sacrificial magics. The source of this chapter is g.com.
In standard sacrificial magic, or sometimes called ritual magic, the caster performs a magical rite before communing with the sleeping Will of Sor’et-tarr. During this communion, one begs a boon of the dormant Goddess. And to maintain some cosmic balance that Lurian didn’t quite understand, an equivalent price is asked of the caster.
Once an agreement is reached, a Pact between caster and Goddess is established, and the price is bound to the boon, in a state of one not existing without the other. Then, once the binding is complete, the communion ends, and the balance is maintained.
A Dark Pact is different. Sometimes, greed or circumstance leads a caster to seek a boon of Sor’et-tarr whose price they cannot, or will not—bear. In such cases, the caster might choose instead to enact a Dark Pact: a ritual closer to that of a demand than any respectful communion with the Goddess; that demand most often being that another pays the price in the casters stead.
Maddagus writes that he believes that it is during the binding of a Dark Pact when something—be it the Goddess’s wrath or some disruption in the balance itself—intervenes and twists the nature of the magic, transforming both boon and price into something darker, something malevolent at its core.
Something much like a curse itself...
As for curses; a curse, not to be confused with a common but temporary hex, is when, instead of a boon, the caster demands a permanent magical affliction be cast upon another; the act binding both the caster and the afflicted together.
Maddagus writes that the inherent malevolence in such an act inevitably seeps into the magic, twisting it much like during the binding in a Dark Pact.
Lurian chuckled, feeling a sudden surge of satisfaction when he discovered that in most cases, it is the caster who most often suffers to a greater degree, due to some of the afflicted’s suffering feeding back through the bond.
He marked the page and shut the tome; his once glum mood now bright as he imagined whoever cast this curse upon him, suffering even a tenth of what he had throughout the years.
With a rare grin, he popped a small chunk of cheese into his mouth, leaned back, and listened to the sound of the drizzle outside...
He was even tempted to rouse his own blood, just to punish whomever cursed him. But no, he would not ruin his own peace just to spite another. But it did please him to know that he possessed such an option.
He closed his eyes and relaxed, awaiting Claire’s return...
“Some claim magic is much like a blade, for a blade is not good nor evil, it is simply a tool, and tools have no such will nor alignment. And therefore, cannot be assigned such distinctions. And for the most part this is true. But that does not mean there is no such thing as evil magic. For magic shapes—and is shaped by—those that wield it. It is my belief that through untold generations, we—the imperfect transient beings that we are—have let such imperfections bleed back into the wondrous natural force we call magic—corrupting it at its core. Those seeking to disprove my claims may only need look to the far east—beyond the lush green splendor of Leth’thindaria. There, swelling at their borders, is a gray mass of twisted beasts, actively spreading their own magic corruption. I myself refuse to believe such evil was borne via the workings of simple magi. No, I refuse to believe it is the work of mortals, for it is simply beyond us...”
— Taken from the many writings of Maddagus, The Forbidden Scholar.