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LLOTF - Chapter 20: The Anorox Townhouse and a letter
🕑 Added 2024-11-27 03:53:54 +0000 UTCLeaving the castle, Felicity wrapped herself around Tristan’s neck once more as he put on a cloak and re-did his Disguise Form spell to make sure it incorporated the new accoutrement. He could feel his mana core spinning as the spell was cast, and it felt…slightly bulkier, or unwieldy. He brought this up to Felicity as he descended towards the lower levels of Highreach.
“Oh, that means your mana capacity is growing! That’s a good sign. It will feel awkward for a bit. If we had The Matriarch, she could tell you exactly what Order spells you would be capable of casting now.” She frowned, “But you’re limited by your mana channels. We have to work on that. Slowly making them larger.”
“How?” Tristan asked as he turned down a familiar avenue and along a small lane with townhouses on either side, the front plots various designs behind their iron gates. Some were gardens, some were congregation areas, and others were small workshops for niche crafts that a few of the nobles pursued as hobbies.
“Spells. More spells. More variety within your capabilities.”
“Ah, it is like exercise. If you repeat the same techniques too much, the mana channel gets used to it and doesn’t grow anymore.”
“Exactly!” She patted his chin, “Such a good little student of mine. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?!” she said as if he was a cute puppy she was training.
Tristan couldn’t help but giggle, and this drew a few looks from the handful of servants and minor nobles out and about. “You’re silly.”
“Duh. Fairy dragons are playful and quirky!”
Tristan arrived before a solid iron fence with no way to see past it. The family’s crest was on the front, and he took off the small crown clip-on piece, set his symbol into the fence door, and turned it. The metallic lock clicked open, and after walking in he shut the door behind, re-locked it, and put the crown piece back on.
The small courtyard of the townhouse was packed gravel, save for the center pathway of raised stone. Underneath small overhangs were shooting targets and straw cloth dummies that looked to be in horrible shape; the hay all rotten inside the burlap sacks. The building itself was five stories tall, and perfectly matched the other surrounding buildings.
Walking up to the door, he fished around in a secret cubby hole hidden behind a lantern. “Tricky hiding place,” Felicity quipped.
“I hid my key when I left,” Tristan replied. “Everyone else keeps theirs on themselves.”
“Why not keep yours?”
“I always misplaced it in the house,” Tristan replied. “My bad luck.”
“Ah. Well, let’s go inside! I’m hungry.”
There might not be any food, Tristan thought as he unlocked the door and entered. He smelled the same odor he always smelled upon entering, but thanks to his enhanced senses it was brighter and clearer. The scent of wood; freshly cut. “Hello?” he called out. “Anyone here?” It was late morning, so odds are servants would be present; especially since his father or grandfather could return from their dragon hunts at any time.
Directly in front of him was a set of stairs that went up – double back on itself. To his left was the parlor, and the right was a dining room. He heard movement from the kitchen behind the dining room. A thin and tall man with a crop of medium-length, black hair and a permanently-plastered-on smile came out of the kitchen and advanced through the dining room. “Master Tristan, you return from your journey.” Despite the smile, Tristan could feel the disgust oozing from the man’s words.
“Marlowe,” Tristan replied. “How are things?”
“Oh, excellent, young master. Will you be staying for long or going on another adventure?” his voice was laced with a false sincerity, and Tristan knew this man would be thrilled if Tristan was gone. He was the worst bigot that Tristan knew who hated non-Humans with a passion. The fact that he had to kowtow to Tristan’s whims must have grated at him.
“I will be present in the capital, at the king’s prerogative, in case more dragons pop up.” He replied, tapping the black crown symbol which caused Marlowe’s smile to lapse slightly before he remembered himself and put it back on. “My family moved property here, did they not?”
“Yes, Master Tristan. The whole of the family’s wealth was relocated as per your father’s instructions.”
“And where did they stash it all away?”
“Young master, I canno-”
“Where?” Tristan’s voice was commanding as he dropped his tone ever so slightly.
“Of course. In your father’s room on the fourth floor.”
Tristan nodded, “Is Gertrude still hired on as a chef?”
“She is-”
Tristan pushed past the man, “You are dismissed for the day. Enjoy your day off.” Tristan reached into his pocket, and Felicity quickly opened the extradimensional storage space. He pulled out three gold coins and tossed them on the kitchen table. “Go get yourself something nice.”
The servant quickly swiped the coins, bowed, and left the townhouse. Tristan walked to the kitchen and heard the slight sound of snoring. A large woman, easily six feet tall and dwarfing Tristan’s build, was sleeping in a chair before a cold stove. Tristan lightly rapped his knuckles on the edge of the surface, and she roused. “Morning, Gertrude. Falling asleep at the stove, again?”
She stood up and grinned, “Young Master Tristan!” she reached forward and hugged him tightly – and he had to take care to not let his currently disguised, longer ears not touch her arms. She pulled back and smiled warmly. “You are back from your quest! Killed a dragon, eh?”
“Yes,” Tristan lied. “I’m back in the capital for a while. Would you please cook me up something with no meat?”
She nodded and began feeding wood into the stove, “Of course, Master Tristan. You know, I have some lovely sweet potatoes I’ve been meaning to turn into a soup. Oh, dear me. It’s breakfast time, isn’t it? How about some egg- wait, that’s not vegetable. Okay; I’ll think of something!”
“Sounds lovely. I am going to be upstairs.”
“I’ll ring the bell when it’s ready! Forgive me, Master Tristan, but would you allow me to eat with you? I would love to hear about your journey.”
Tristan smiled, “Of course.” He left and began walking up the stairs.
Felicity giggled, “She smushed you in the middle of her rack. That was funny.”
“Shush you. She’s like family to me. It never even crossed my mind how she was hugging me.”
“She is a big lady.”
“Broxtar really far down her lineage. She got lucky that the only manifestation of her heritage is the height and build.” Tristan ascended the stairs. The second floor had the servant’s quarters to one side, and his room on the other. The door to the servant’s quarters was open, but his door was still shut and looked like it had not been touched in a long time, judging by the dust built up on the handle.
Continuing up, the third floor had Bertram and Gisele’s rooms. Bertram’s door was shut, but well-cleaned. As expected, since he could be back any day and Marlowe never cared for me. The room opposite the landing was vacant – the door wide open. I wonder what father planned on using that space for?
The fourth floor was where he wanted to be. To his left was his mother’s room, and to the right his father’s. First, his. Opening the door, Tristan saw the neat, organized, and ornately detailed space had become more elaborate and luxurious, for lack of a better word. Going to the back of the room and into the closet, he moved aside a few stacks of spare blankets for the cooler months and revealed a large safe embedded in the wall.
Pulling out his symbol, detaching the crown, and socketing the symbol in, he unlocked the safe before opening it. To his relief, he saw a large amount of coin and gemstones. “That explains where the family’s valuables from the country estate went,” he muttered as he shut it.
“Why not take it?”
“No clue when father, Bertram, or grandfather will come back. And Gisele would have had to surrender her family seal when she married. I’d be the only real suspect. Plus, you stole quite a haul. I don’t need the family’s reserves.” He stood up and went across the landing to his mother’s room. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated. You can do this, he thought. Just open the door. Turning the knob, he entered.
The room was as he always remembered it. A small bench and desk with a bookshelf, a pair of couches that she used to read to him from, her bed…it was dusty and looked like it had not been touched. “More proof that my theory is correct. Mother stayed behind at her preferred residence with the servants when the family made the townhouse here their primary residence.”
“Could it be because of your sister?”
“Probably,” Tristan replied. “Gisele might have become pregnant, depending on the timing of the marriage. Last Winds season, and its Shine season now. It is possible. If she did, then she would not be leaving the city proper. It makes sense that father and grandfather would want to be closer to their first grandchild and great-grandchild, respectively.” He left the room and shut the door, heading up to the fifth and final floor.
Felicity got off his shoulder and roosted atop his head. “Seems to me like your theories are all correct so far. Only thing missing is the gear that you mentioned.”
“Hence why we are heading upstairs,” Tristan replied. “Grandfather’s room first.” He got up to the fifth-floor landing and entered his grandfather’s room. It was a near-duplicate of his father’s downstairs, but more spartan. It was austere and simple. No-nonsense, just like the man himself. Leaving the bedroom, he entered the room opposite – the workshop. To his satisfaction, he saw what he was expecting.
Several armor displays and weapon rack; with Gisele’s armor and blade present on one of the dummies. Hers were like Tristan’s, but instead of a dull white with black linework, it was a deep blue with green linework. Her sword was a long cleaver-type weapon meant for enormous, chopping strikes.
“Aren’t your armor and weapon special?”
Tristan walked over to the weapon rack, “Everything was forged to grandfather’s specifications. Open the storage space.” Felicity did so, and Tristan removed his armor and weapon, placing them on appropriate the appropriate rack and mannequin, respectively. “Our family has five suits of armor; one for each dragonslayer.” He pointed to the design around the torso, “See how it bulges outward here? That’s because dragon’s claws are large enough to wrap around and crush – so you need the extra space to allow it to crumple and give you time to slip out of the grip.”
He kept going around the armor, pointing out the various design choices and explaining what they did. He closed off with, “Supposedly, every one of the five suits grandfather commissioned are also items of artifice…but I don’t see any type of evidence of that.” He looked up at Felicity, “I don’t even know what I’m looking for, really.”
She flapped on top of the mannequin’s head. “Your ring is one. But I don’t know what artifice entails.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me?”
“Hey! I am s-m-a-r-t, smart. Okay? I can teach you illusion, enchantment, and flora!”
“Good thing we got that primer then. That’s going to be a secondary focus, though, until we figure out this whole assassin business.” He put his hand on his armor and spun his mana core. He pushed the mana down his arm and into the metal carapace. To his delight, the armor glowed a bright, silver color before it…shifted. The armor became more draconic and the metal plates shifted into scales. The white color became more brilliant, and the slight, black linework shifted to an icy-blue just like his eyes.
“Oooh. Pretty! Definitely an item of artifice.”
Tristan pulled his hand away, and the armor reverted to its usual appearance. “Huh. That is neat. I wonder what the effects are, or if there’s a way to find out?”
“There has to be an artifice spell for finding out an item’s purpose!” Felicity flew over to Gisele’s armor. “Do this one next!”
Tristan walked over and repeated the process. The suit of armor shifted just like his had, and he released the flow of mana. The colors had also shifted to be more vibrant. “I wonder about the swords,” he said as he looked first at Gisele’s and then his.
“I heard swords have names.”
“That’s right,” Tristan said as he walked over to Gisele’s weapon and grabbed the handle, surprised that he could heft the two-handed cleaver with one hand alone.
“What’s that one’s name?”
Tristan chuckled, “My family didn’t name their swords. But, each sword was made according to grandfather’s specifications, and their fighting style.” He pointed at his sword; a long, thin blade. “I was never very strong compared to Gisele or Bertram; so grandfather made me something well suited to stabbing at the vital spots – namely, the eyes. It’s strong enough to cut and slice – but it’s not like Gisele’s cleaver here, which can cut clean through a dragon’s foot.”
“So you’re saying you have the smallest sword out of the family?” Felicity replied, barely holding back a giggle behind puffed cheeks.
“Ha ha. A sex joke. How original.” Tristan tried spinning his core and pushing mana into Gisele’s weapon. To his pleasant surprise once more, he saw the normally dull, steel blade shift and expand. It became deep blue, with a green fuller running along the center. The blade grew longer but not heavier. Letting the mana cease, he set the weapon back on the display and grabbed his blade. Repeating the process, he saw that it shifted to a shining, silver rather than the simple steel appearance. It, too, grew in length and the blade became thicker. Letting the mana fade, he looked to Felicity who was barely holding it together.
“You’re a grower! Not a show-er!” she burst out laughing raucously, and Tristan couldn’t help but chuckle at the joke.
“Okay, that one was funny given the circumstances.” He gestured to Felicity with the tip of the sword, “Now, shut the door. Please.”
Felicity flapped over – still giggling – and closed the door. “What now?”
“Go to that cabinet and grab another mana-lantern to add to the storage space. I need to hammer out some dents in the armor, resharpen my sword, and do some other equipment maintenance.”
Felicity sighed, “Boooring. I’m going to go steal from some local nobles.” She flapped over to the window, opened it with her paw-claws, and flew out.
Tristan shook his head and set to work maintaining his gear. But as he slid open the drawer holding the hammers, he saw a letter…addressed to him. Taking it, he checked the back and saw his grandfather’s seal. Not the family seal. The old one he had retired when he became a noble for his deeds.
Tristan broke the seal and unfurled the letter.
To my dear Tristan,
If you are reading this, then you finished your journey and returned home before I did. I am proud of you for finishing your first dragon hunt. I plan on taking you to the family estate and giving you that secret I showed you that one time.
I’m sure you will have asked around, so here is some information about recent events:
· Your sister married off and is expecting only a few weeks after the ceremony (we all know what that means…).
· Bertram left to join the Pathfinder Company. Just like your father, he wants to make his own mark on the world.
· I am headed up north to deal with a dragon issue. Rumors were milling about that something else might be stirring in the south, so I might finish up in time and head there next, or your father may get called to service to deal with the issue.
· The family moved the vault’s contents to the townhouse. In fact, the whole family moved! Your mother is still in the countryside estate with the servants. She has such a good heart: we are already at maximum servant capacity in the capital, and she did not want those at the manor to lose the lives they had built. Really, I do wish she was my own daughter more and more these days.
That covers the most recent events. I cannot wait to hear about your first dragon hunt. A fairy dragon? Not even I have successfully hunted one. Ha! I want to know everything about it. Add it to the manual.
My best wishes, my dear grandson.
Grandfather Hurvun.
Tristan wiped a small tear away. The letter confirms most of my assumptions. He pocketed the letter and grabbed the hammer, pushing the drawer shut as he went to his armor and set to maintenance, just like grandfather had taught him. Father or Gisele. One of them two has to be behind the assassins killing mother. And, it means that grandfather left before the assassination. Father might have as well…I just don’t know.
He sighed as he set to work. I’ll figure it out and get justice. I promise, mother.
