In a grand villa, somewhat secluded from the hubbub of the city of Eidyn, a line of engine carriages was parked in its vast courtyard. A crowd of people—most of them with fiery red hair and eyes—stepped into the palace of worldly luxury one after another.
The customary dinner party of House Crimsonmane was in full swing, held every time they were called and gathered. First after a lifetime, Leith and his father were finally able to mingle and delight in royal dishes with kin outside their own, as a normal family member should be. His father was mired in the banter with grown men and women about government, politics, and other boring, complicated matters that a young lad like Leith did not care about. Leith preferred to talk with other youths about the whimsical musings of their age. Sometimes they flirted and teased the girls present there. Absurd, considering they were also part of the clan. But it was wise to let the folks have their fun.
With the relatives busy socialising, one of them tapped a wineglass with his spoon, a plea for collective attention. The lively atmosphere shifted. There was an implicit message behind that gesture, that much they knew. Those seated rose from their chairs, forming a solemn procession that proceeded in an orderly line towards a specific door leading to the basement. Along the way, they collected scarlet robes embellished with pointed hoods before descending down a narrow passage.
"Seriously, why don't just go straight into the room without wearing the dress, anyway? This makes me feel like a part of a strange geek secret society!" Leith muttered.
A hiss rebuked him. It was none other than his father's.
As they made their way, a guide blessed them in the form of mint green torch-shaped lights mounted on the left and right walls. A moment later, they already arrived at a large room that housed a vast array of books, magic artefacts, and more. A storehouse of family knowledge, while also used to hold conferences regarding problems and disputes of the clan. Its ceiling was a circular dome, with a mural comprising wizards in the same robes as them and a burly, red horse with flaming eyes posing mezair behind them. At the front end, a fancy mini bar was set. On the far right, there were several soft sofas, a pool table, and a collection of board games neatly arranged in a cupboard. Besides studying and giving speeches, the elite Crimsonmane youths utilised this hall to spend their leisure time.
The Crimsonmanes gathered in the heart of the room and took seats at a long oval conference table, fitted for thirty people. Those who did not get one stood or sat in the nearest chair they could reach. Hoods were flipped up. An elderly man, apparently the family patriarch based on his chair position at the end, opened the meeting by singing the Crimsonmane shibboleth in the tongue of the Eternal Empire.
"Nos sunt in igne ferrum divinae!"
"Ut silentium divina perducat, ut per stampedes!" replied the other Crimsonmanes.
"My children! My brothers and sisters! I express my deepest gratitude for your attendance at this impromptu gathering." A momentary pause, before Alasdair continued his oration. "My fellow Crimsonmanes! I summoned you because not long ago, we stumbled across a journal. Not from our storehouse of knowledge, but from the Camelot headquarters of Magisterium of Arcane Plane."
As someone came to give the patriarch the journal, Ulysses Crimsonmane, a man in his thirties sitting near the patriarch, queried, "What makes this journal so important, Father?"
"This journal," the patriarch held it aloft, "is not just any journal. We did not pilfer it from the Magisterium's archives. It was gifted to us, along with the remains of one of the Magisterium's most distinguished members."
One of the distinguished members of the Magisterium. Who would that person be? How significant was this Magisterium's honourable person that the family elder himself dared to interrupt another's affairs?
Significant enough that the eyes in the room began to focus on the figure of Leith's father, who sat with a stoic expression as whispers began to circulate. In contrast to Leith, who stood away from the conference table, he was disturbed by his peers' ogling.
So this is why they called Papa and me to a meeting after a long schism? Clipe, It better has nothing to do with that Trinketshore nerd! he thought.
"This journal belongs to our beloved relatives, daughter, sister, wife, Ailsa Crimsonmane," revealed the patriarch.
Eyes remained fixed on the said husband of Ailsa, as the whispers turned into murmurs. He sat, impassive as ever.
"If I may ask, Father Alasdair," he spoke up. "What relevance does Ailsa's journal have to our family's fate, that you deemed it necessary to summon us all here?"
"As I expected from Donar Crimsonmane, my astute son-in-law," Alasdair praised. "This journal does indeed hold information that could greatly impact House Crimsonmane. It appears to be a combination of a travel journal and a puzzle book. From what we have gathered, Ailsa had been researching ancient Camelot codexes found throughout the continent of Europa, which led her to your hometown of Trinketshore."
The room fell silent as all eyes were fixated on Alasdair's words.
"Perhaps that is the reason for your move to Trinketshore, apart from it being your hometown," Alasdair continued. "Ailsa had left a clue there, marking it as a crucial location. The last entry in her journal speaks of her investigating the tomb of Languoreth and other ancient sites in the area, in an attempt to solve a riddle that would lead to something very... valuable. So valuable, that even the wizards of Camelot, and all of Europa, would kill for it."
"What do you mean, Father?" Donar asked, his face contorting with curiosity, echoed by the expressions of his kin.
"In the small town of Trinketshore hidden the source of pure Arcane, waiting to be discovered."
And the silence crumbled into an erupting excitement. The hall was now a rowdy market. Who would have thought that this small, forgotten borough had such a rare source of the strongest magic might?
But Ulysses took the journal with a grain of salt. "Naw, naw, naw, you cannae be serious, Father, can ye? Did ye truly believe the tales written in the journal? Dinnae mean to cause offence, but perhaps, with all the conflicts within our own house and the pressure from all 'directions'," Ulysses shot a glance at Donar, twirling his fingers beside his head, "maybe she had... ye ken, Father, gone mad, so—"
His words were met with outrage from many, as some defended Ailsa's honour while others lent him support. A splitting ravine of sides, with the peaceful Donar standing out as the voice of reason amidst the chaos.
"You shouldn't be speaking ill of your sister like that!" one family member spoke up.
Ulysses, irritated that his train of thought was interrupted, retorted, "You there! Could ye not just keep yer mouth shut? I'm still talking to Father!" And so, the argument between the family members continued, all because of one woman in their family.
Seeing the situation spiralling out of control, Alasdair slammed his hand down on the table. A loud thunder, enough for all to freeze in their tracks. Alasdair glared at them with a warning before closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. "Please continue, Ulysses."
"I'm just saying, Ailsa had a wild imagination since her bairnhood, ye ken, and she'd often spin tales. This one was nae different. She was under a fair amount of pressure and strain due to her family situation! So, she sought an escape by fleeing to Trinketshore and playing the role of a treasure hunter, roaming the Europa plains before returning to her new abode, all to make it seem like she had struck the 'jackpot!', stirring up intrigue among the other kin."
The ones who honoured Ailsa showed disdain for Ulysses' words, which implied the woman was in a questionable state of mental health. Even Ulysses earned him a serious visage from Donar, a soft cue that he was going beyond the barrier.
"She may be the finest witch in the Crimsonmane family tree for centuries, ken?" Ulysses continued his rambling. "But just 'cause she's a great mage doesnae mean she's worthy of being hailed as a professional archaeologist! I reckon she acted on her own, nae givin' a token's worth of explanation to the Magisterium, for she knew they'd deem her daft, ye ken? Pure Arcane is what we're chatting aboot! There's nae an ounce of Pure Arcane in any hemisphere other than in the Eternal Empire! This here was her way to cope, but nae a healthy yin, nae at all!"
"Trinketshore." Someone sitting next to Ulysses let out a scoff. A woman, a wife of his own, called Florence, was being cynical. "Maybe she's not that daft. Maybe she was weaving a fairy tale under the cloak of fiction. Here's my rational spiel: She was sharing her wanderings around the globe, seeking pure Arcane, and finally stumbled upon it at Trinketshore. And guess what? The pure Arcane was actually an allusion to one of her 'children', whose presence is nowhere to be seen in this room! And guess what again? The journal was meant for that child as a birthday present! By the by, where's she now?" In a hushed tone, Florence lashed sarcasm at Donar. "What a dream family, always leaving their special child alone in Trinketshore!"
The audience was once again in an uproar, but this time with confusion. Leith barely held back his anger at his father's advice. Had his father not done that, Florence would have been found dead in a random alley in Eidyn with her head shattered and full of holes from magic shots.
"I thought you invited us here not to discuss Alicia," answered Donar, still a calming gesture, while trying to keep his temper sealed.
"I did invite you not to discuss your daughter. We made a promise to the Donar's family, and once again you say inappropriate words at this meeting, I personally will not hesitate to slit your throats!" Alasdair's threat flashed by means of his finger pointing to the couple.
The ultimatum managed to silence Ulysses and his wife, almost biting their tongue due to the humiliation of the Crimsonmane patriarch himself in front of the clan.
"Ailsa did have an unorthodox way of thinking, but one has to admit that's what made her stand out from the rest of the Crimsonmanes. She had solved many of the toughest cases of magic abuse her way. And this journal...," Alasdair slammed it onto the table. "Maybe this journal sounds like the ramblings of a mad person, but that's just one possibility. Alternatively, it could lead us to the source of a mighty blessing!"
A distinct lady amongst them with skin the colour of brown and a wolf skin headdress asked the patriarch, "Could this journal have something to do with… her disappearance?"
The room returned to its bleak silence. Alasdair sighed, a slight devastated on his expression. With all the conflicts experienced by Ailsa's small family with the entire house, she was one of the family's pride, and perhaps for Alasdair, the child he adored the most; even though she decided to rebel against the patriarch's will. Donar and Leith probably felt the same way.
"It's unlikely the case, Penelope, considering her latest records say that the pure Arcane's existence was at Trinketshore, while Ailsa disappeared on an 'investigation' to... another realm."
"Then what do you want to do with that power once we obtain it?" Donar asked.
"The stability of Caledoniascire, the greater defence of Camelot, and the strengthening of the position of House Crimsonmane," replied Alasdair. "We are living in an era of conflict all over the world. Imagine with the new Arcane source, we no longer need to depend on the Eternal Empire of Roma. We can strengthen Caledonia's military power and better yet, people will depend on us. We can easily take over important government agencies. Nothing will ever stop us, Donar, not even the rival wizarding families who have been trying to get rid of us. They are the ones we will destroy first! We can build a better Caledonia. Camelot can become a powerful country on its own!"
The notions of dominion and power always worked wonders in making the Crimsonmanes in the room display their burning passion. Holding the greatest source of power that ever existed could, of course, exert significant political influence and elevate the clan's status in government. That meant they could advance their own interests and agendas in the political meddling of the shire of Caledonia, and of the Camelot Kingdom as a whole.
"Therefore, Donar," Alasdair continued. "I urge you to return to your wife's research at Trinketshore. Look for letters, documents, and other findings that may be in your house related to this journal. Do whatever is necessary to find the source of this power!"
"You immediately entrusted the mandate to me, Father? I am a member of parliament. What makes you believe I will do this for the Crimsonmane's interests, not for the interests of the Caledonian government, or worse, my own?"
"Caledonia's interests are Crimsonmane's interests, as well as your personal interests," Alasdair said. "There's a reason why Ailsa chose you to be her soul mate. It's not just a feeling of deep love. You, originally a foreign wizard from an ordinary family, showed great interest in joining and serving the great pure-bred nobles of Crimsonmane, The Watcher of the Round Table. The Great Five of Lailoken's apprentices. If Ailsa can entrust you to bear the Crimsonmane name, then I too must trust you that you will put family above all else."
Donar took his time with his thoughts. When his eyes dared to glance Alasdair again, he stood up and declared, "I! Donar Crimsonmane! I am the Divine Horse of Fire!"
The nods were ignited from the kins. Alasdair stretched out his arms with a gentle smile, inviting the rest of the family to respond to Donar's statement in unison, "May the Silent Divine bring order through your stampede!" []
In a grand villa, somewhat secluded from the hubbub of the city of Eidyn, a line of engine carriages was parked in its vast courtyard. A crowd of people—most of them with fiery red hair and eyes—stepped into the palace of worldly luxury one after another.
The customary dinner party of House Crimsonmane was in full swing, held every time they were called and gathered. First after a lifetime, Leith and his father were finally able to mingle and delight in royal dishes with kin outside their own, as a normal family member should be. His father was mired in the banter with grown men and women about government, politics, and other boring, complicated matters that a young lad like Leith did not care about. Leith preferred to talk with other youths about the whimsical musings of their age. Sometimes they flirted and teased the girls present there. Absurd, considering they were also part of the clan. But it was wise to let the folks have their fun.
With the relatives busy socialising, one of them tapped a wineglass with his spoon, a plea for collective attention. The lively atmosphere shifted. There was an implicit message behind that gesture, that much they knew. Those seated rose from their chairs, forming a solemn procession that proceeded in an orderly line towards a specific door leading to the basement. Along the way, they collected scarlet robes embellished with pointed hoods before descending down a narrow passage.
"Seriously, why don't just go straight into the room without wearing the dress, anyway? This makes me feel like a part of a strange geek secret society!" Leith muttered.
A hiss rebuked him. It was none other than his father's.
As they made their way, a guide blessed them in the form of mint green torch-shaped lights mounted on the left and right walls. A moment later, they already arrived at a large room that housed a vast array of books, magic artefacts, and more. A storehouse of family knowledge, while also used to hold conferences regarding problems and disputes of the clan. Its ceiling was a circular dome, with a mural comprising wizards in the same robes as them and a burly, red horse with flaming eyes posing mezair behind them. At the front end, a fancy mini bar was set. On the far right, there were several soft sofas, a pool table, and a collection of board games neatly arranged in a cupboard. Besides studying and giving speeches, the elite Crimsonmane youths utilised this hall to spend their leisure time.
The Crimsonmanes gathered in the heart of the room and took seats at a long oval conference table, fitted for thirty people. Those who did not get one stood or sat in the nearest chair they could reach. Hoods were flipped up. An elderly man, apparently the family patriarch based on his chair position at the end, opened the meeting by singing the Crimsonmane shibboleth in the tongue of the Eternal Empire.
"Nos sunt in igne ferrum divinae!"
"Ut silentium divina perducat, ut per stampedes!" replied the other Crimsonmanes.
"My children! My brothers and sisters! I express my deepest gratitude for your attendance at this impromptu gathering." A momentary pause, before Alasdair continued his oration. "My fellow Crimsonmanes! I summoned you because not long ago, we stumbled across a journal. Not from our storehouse of knowledge, but from the Camelot headquarters of Magisterium of Arcane Plane."
As someone came to give the patriarch the journal, Ulysses Crimsonmane, a man in his thirties sitting near the patriarch, queried, "What makes this journal so important, Father?"
"This journal," the patriarch held it aloft, "is not just any journal. We did not pilfer it from the Magisterium's archives. It was gifted to us, along with the remains of one of the Magisterium's most distinguished members."
One of the distinguished members of the Magisterium. Who would that person be? How significant was this Magisterium's honourable person that the family elder himself dared to interrupt another's affairs?
Significant enough that the eyes in the room began to focus on the figure of Leith's father, who sat with a stoic expression as whispers began to circulate. In contrast to Leith, who stood away from the conference table, he was disturbed by his peers' ogling.
So this is why they called Papa and me to a meeting after a long schism? Clipe, It better has nothing to do with that Trinketshore nerd! he thought.
"This journal belongs to our beloved relatives, daughter, sister, wife, Ailsa Crimsonmane," revealed the patriarch.
Eyes remained fixed on the said husband of Ailsa, as the whispers turned into murmurs. He sat, impassive as ever.
"If I may ask, Father Alasdair," he spoke up. "What relevance does Ailsa's journal have to our family's fate, that you deemed it necessary to summon us all here?"
"As I expected from Donar Crimsonmane, my astute son-in-law," Alasdair praised. "This journal does indeed hold information that could greatly impact House Crimsonmane. It appears to be a combination of a travel journal and a puzzle book. From what we have gathered, Ailsa had been researching ancient Camelot codexes found throughout the continent of Europa, which led her to your hometown of Trinketshore."
The room fell silent as all eyes were fixated on Alasdair's words.
"Perhaps that is the reason for your move to Trinketshore, apart from it being your hometown," Alasdair continued. "Ailsa had left a clue there, marking it as a crucial location. The last entry in her journal speaks of her investigating the tomb of Languoreth and other ancient sites in the area, in an attempt to solve a riddle that would lead to something very... valuable. So valuable, that even the wizards of Camelot, and all of Europa, would kill for it."
"What do you mean, Father?" Donar asked, his face contorting with curiosity, echoed by the expressions of his kin.
"In the small town of Trinketshore hidden the source of pure Arcane, waiting to be discovered."
And the silence crumbled into an erupting excitement. The hall was now a rowdy market. Who would have thought that this small, forgotten borough had such a rare source of the strongest magic might?
But Ulysses took the journal with a grain of salt. "Naw, naw, naw, you cannae be serious, Father, can ye? Did ye truly believe the tales written in the journal? Dinnae mean to cause offence, but perhaps, with all the conflicts within our own house and the pressure from all 'directions'," Ulysses shot a glance at Donar, twirling his fingers beside his head, "maybe she had... ye ken, Father, gone mad, so—"
His words were met with outrage from many, as some defended Ailsa's honour while others lent him support. A splitting ravine of sides, with the peaceful Donar standing out as the voice of reason amidst the chaos.
"You shouldn't be speaking ill of your sister like that!" one family member spoke up.
Ulysses, irritated that his train of thought was interrupted, retorted, "You there! Could ye not just keep yer mouth shut? I'm still talking to Father!" And so, the argument between the family members continued, all because of one woman in their family.
Seeing the situation spiralling out of control, Alasdair slammed his hand down on the table. A loud thunder, enough for all to freeze in their tracks. Alasdair glared at them with a warning before closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. "Please continue, Ulysses."
"I'm just saying, Ailsa had a wild imagination since her bairnhood, ye ken, and she'd often spin tales. This one was nae different. She was under a fair amount of pressure and strain due to her family situation! So, she sought an escape by fleeing to Trinketshore and playing the role of a treasure hunter, roaming the Europa plains before returning to her new abode, all to make it seem like she had struck the 'jackpot!', stirring up intrigue among the other kin."
The ones who honoured Ailsa showed disdain for Ulysses' words, which implied the woman was in a questionable state of mental health. Even Ulysses earned him a serious visage from Donar, a soft cue that he was going beyond the barrier.
"She may be the finest witch in the Crimsonmane family tree for centuries, ken?" Ulysses continued his rambling. "But just 'cause she's a great mage doesnae mean she's worthy of being hailed as a professional archaeologist! I reckon she acted on her own, nae givin' a token's worth of explanation to the Magisterium, for she knew they'd deem her daft, ye ken? Pure Arcane is what we're chatting aboot! There's nae an ounce of Pure Arcane in any hemisphere other than in the Eternal Empire! This here was her way to cope, but nae a healthy yin, nae at all!"
"Trinketshore." Someone sitting next to Ulysses let out a scoff. A woman, a wife of his own, called Florence, was being cynical. "Maybe she's not that daft. Maybe she was weaving a fairy tale under the cloak of fiction. Here's my rational spiel: She was sharing her wanderings around the globe, seeking pure Arcane, and finally stumbled upon it at Trinketshore. And guess what? The pure Arcane was actually an allusion to one of her 'children', whose presence is nowhere to be seen in this room! And guess what again? The journal was meant for that child as a birthday present! By the by, where's she now?" In a hushed tone, Florence lashed sarcasm at Donar. "What a dream family, always leaving their special child alone in Trinketshore!"
The audience was once again in an uproar, but this time with confusion. Leith barely held back his anger at his father's advice. Had his father not done that, Florence would have been found dead in a random alley in Eidyn with her head shattered and full of holes from magic shots.
"I thought you invited us here not to discuss Alicia," answered Donar, still a calming gesture, while trying to keep his temper sealed.
"I did invite you not to discuss your daughter. We made a promise to the Donar's family, and once again you say inappropriate words at this meeting, I personally will not hesitate to slit your throats!" Alasdair's threat flashed by means of his finger pointing to the couple.
The ultimatum managed to silence Ulysses and his wife, almost biting their tongue due to the humiliation of the Crimsonmane patriarch himself in front of the clan.
"Ailsa did have an unorthodox way of thinking, but one has to admit that's what made her stand out from the rest of the Crimsonmanes. She had solved many of the toughest cases of magic abuse her way. And this journal...," Alasdair slammed it onto the table. "Maybe this journal sounds like the ramblings of a mad person, but that's just one possibility. Alternatively, it could lead us to the source of a mighty blessing!"
A distinct lady amongst them with skin the colour of brown and a wolf skin headdress asked the patriarch, "Could this journal have something to do with… her disappearance?"
The room returned to its bleak silence. Alasdair sighed, a slight devastated on his expression. With all the conflicts experienced by Ailsa's small family with the entire house, she was one of the family's pride, and perhaps for Alasdair, the child he adored the most; even though she decided to rebel against the patriarch's will. Donar and Leith probably felt the same way.
"It's unlikely the case, Penelope, considering her latest records say that the pure Arcane's existence was at Trinketshore, while Ailsa disappeared on an 'investigation' to... another realm."
"Then what do you want to do with that power once we obtain it?" Donar asked.
"The stability of Caledoniascire, the greater defence of Camelot, and the strengthening of the position of House Crimsonmane," replied Alasdair. "We are living in an era of conflict all over the world. Imagine with the new Arcane source, we no longer need to depend on the Eternal Empire of Roma. We can strengthen Caledonia's military power and better yet, people will depend on us. We can easily take over important government agencies. Nothing will ever stop us, Donar, not even the rival wizarding families who have been trying to get rid of us. They are the ones we will destroy first! We can build a better Caledonia. Camelot can become a powerful country on its own!"
The notions of dominion and power always worked wonders in making the Crimsonmanes in the room display their burning passion. Holding the greatest source of power that ever existed could, of course, exert significant political influence and elevate the clan's status in government. That meant they could advance their own interests and agendas in the political meddling of the shire of Caledonia, and of the Camelot Kingdom as a whole.
"Therefore, Donar," Alasdair continued. "I urge you to return to your wife's research at Trinketshore. Look for letters, documents, and other findings that may be in your house related to this journal. Do whatever is necessary to find the source of this power!"
"You immediately entrusted the mandate to me, Father? I am a member of parliament. What makes you believe I will do this for the Crimsonmane's interests, not for the interests of the Caledonian government, or worse, my own?"
"Caledonia's interests are Crimsonmane's interests, as well as your personal interests," Alasdair said. "There's a reason why Ailsa chose you to be her soul mate. It's not just a feeling of deep love. You, originally a foreign wizard from an ordinary family, showed great interest in joining and serving the great pure-bred nobles of Crimsonmane, The Watcher of the Round Table. The Great Five of Lailoken's apprentices. If Ailsa can entrust you to bear the Crimsonmane name, then I too must trust you that you will put family above all else."
Donar took his time with his thoughts. When his eyes dared to glance Alasdair again, he stood up and declared, "I! Donar Crimsonmane! I am the Divine Horse of Fire!"
The nods were ignited from the kins. Alasdair stretched out his arms with a gentle smile, inviting the rest of the family to respond to Donar's statement in unison, "May the Silent Divine bring order through your stampede!" []
