ROD - Chapter 112

Chapter One-Hundred-Twelve – Favors – Part Two

The study of magic is an old practice. One that traverses history and has always been shrouded in mystery. The question of whether magic is real is now answered since the system arrived, the question of whether or not people on Earth used magic before it arrived… that’s another matter entirely.

-UWO Occult Historian Alberts-

Carl seems to be a somewhat eccentric person, but he is tidier than I originally thought. The upstairs is actually fully cleaned and polished. There isn’t a single thing out of place, except a book that’s open on a table with a small lamp next to it. There’s something strange about the lamp though, it doesn’t have a wire connected to it, and the dim lights in the room, they don’t appear to have any either. Perhaps it’s some kind of recessed clever design. Seems strange though given the thick stone, none of it looks fixed or out of place. I wonder how they routed the wires.

“Tea?” Carl asks.

“If you don’t mind,” Clayton nods, moving toward the fireplace, he mocks like he’s warming his hands, but he shifts a few things on the large mantle. The fireplace itself is somewhat beautiful, like one of those old style mosaics with the family crest on either side. There were suits of armor in the halls that led to this study of sorts. It reminds me of Mythren’s office. Filled to the brim with books, some of them have strange bindings, the mana in the air also feels a bit strange here, like it’s constantly vibrating at a low frequency or something, I’m not really sure. Adaraic said I was quite shit at mana sensing… to be fair though, he doesn’t like me much.

After a minute, Carl returns with a teapot and a tray of cups, he pours one for each of us. It smells like Earl Grey.

“Do you have milk and sugar?” Jennifer asks.

“What was that?”

“Oh, apologies,” she says louder, “Do you have milk and sugar?”

“Of course, dear,” he says, pulling a small glass bottle from his bath robes breast pocket, “Fresh from Tina this morning.”

“Fresh milk, what a treat,” she smiles, there’s worry in the smile too, and I notice when he hands her the sugar she pours a lot.

“My, you’ve got quite the sweet tooth, dear,” Carl smiles.

She nods and gives him a small smile in return.

We all sit in high backed chairs that surround the fire once we get our tea. Vella is tapping her nails on the arm chair with an annoyed expression. She clearly doesn’t want to be here.

Carl’s eyes are measuring as he looks at each of us, I don’t think he’s a simple man. He moves toward the fireplace and tilts his head for a moment at the rearranged things on the mantle. He slowly moves them back into their original place. After putting a few more fresh logs on the fire, he grabs his shotgun and sits down next to Clayton, filling his pipe once more before striking a match and lighting it.

“So, who are your friends?” Carl asks. He has his break action shotgun open and slung over his arm again, I notice there aren’t any shells in it though. The barrel has some intricate patterns carved along it, so does the buttstock. Really intricate…

“Only one friend here,” he motions toward me, “The others are… acquaintances,” Clayton says, stretching his neck.

“Acquaintances, interesting,” Carl says, shifting the muzzle to line up with Vella and Jennifer’s direction.

Vella tilts her head at the change, “That’s a fancy shotgun you have.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Carl asks, leaning his ear toward her.

“Fancy shotgun!” she yells overly loud.

He blows an angry puff of smoke at her, “I’m hard of hearing, not deaf you harpy.”

“Harpy?” she asks loudly, “I’ve only just met you, did you forget your meds?”

Carl drags on his pipe and shifts the barrel more toward her now, the end is still pointed at the ground, but the intent is clear.

“Fucking hostile prick,” Vella says under her breath, rapping her nails louder in protest.  

“Speak up,” Carl says.

“Get a fucking healer for your damn ears!” she roars, standing from her chair, she looks at me, “Surely we can find better arrangements then this?”

“What crawled up her taint and called me uncle?” Carl asks Clayton with a furrowed brow, he turns, grumbling, “Telling me to get a damn healer,” he pulls the pipe from his mouth and points it at her, “Don’t you tell me what to do you vile temptress.”

“Temptress?” she scoffs, then turning to Clayton, “Does he have an off switch?”

“If he does, I haven’t found it yet,” Clayton sighs.

“Why don’t you like healers?” I ask, loudly enough for him to hear, but not so loud as to be rude.

Carl drags deep on his pipe, “Unnatural spell weavers they are. Playing with forces they shouldn’t be. No telling what they’re actually doing while they’re in there. Could be giving you cancer or hollowing out your bones, carving weakness runes in your belly,” he drags again, “I dated one of their kind once,” he lifts up a pant leg, “She tried to turn me into a werewolf.”

His leg is unusually hairy. But it’s not necessarily unnaturally so. Also, the system doesn’t really allow for us to do much outside of a healing scope, it’s like a guiding hand, so long as we understand the basic mechanics of what we’re trying to do. It could technically do the opposite of help though... interesting thought.

“You’re a hairy twat and a bigot, what a wonderful combo,” Vella spews, leaning her arms on the chair, she seems hesitant to leave the room, despite having already made a scene by standing.

“I’ve told you, speak up,” Carl says, puffing more smoke.  

“Come on, apologize, Carl,” Clayton asks with a frown.

“Apologize? For what? It’s just banter, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Clayton said something similar earlier today, I notice some of the tics the man has I’ve seen Clayton do as well. The way he triple wraps his tea bag string on the handle and puts it to the left, even the posture is similar…

I’m thinking that Carl either raised Clayton or they’re very close. I’m also somewhat curious still about his take on healers.

“You said that your ex was a healer, but I’ve never heard of a healer trying to make someone into a werewolf.”

He puffs, “How many healers have you met?”

“A few.”

“Were any of them a witch?”

I blink at him, is he being serious? He looks serious.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well then, that’s the problem innit.”

“I don’t think I understand, a witch class and healing class can’t pair, they’re both base classes, aren’t they?”

He chuckles, “Wasn’t talking about a class, boyo, I’m talking about a witch.”

“Like the broomstick kind?” Jennifer asks, she has a strange interest in it.

“Never seen a witch on a broomstick, dear, unless she was, well, anyway, more likely to use a waystone than a broom anyhow, much faster innit.”

“Clayton,” Vella asks, with an eyebrow raised, “Are we really staying at the mad hatter’s rundown estate?”

Clayton shifts an eye to her, “You’re welcome to leave, your highness.”

She scowls back before rolling her eyes, tapping her nails again, “Jimmy, I’m cold, lend me your coat, please.”

She gives me a pouting face as she strides toward me with her hand out. But I can’t give her my jacket, Ratboy is in there tangled up in a metal chain that I found on one of the shelves on the way up. Just in case he decided to try and run… I may have squeezed him a bit hard a couple of times. Every time I think about what he did to Fisban, I just want to wring his neck.

I really hope he’s the Marauder.

“Jacket, please,” Vella says, with her hand outstretched.

She shouldn’t be cold at her level, did she notice my pocket moving? Or does she have a skill that lets her see heat signatures or auras or…

“I’m freezing,” she says, tapping her nails on the back of my chair.

“You don’t look…” I begin, but she huffs and grabs my arm and sits on my lap, wrapping it around her.

I blink as she presses into me, her hands are cold as she tucks them under my leg.

“Told you I was freezing,” she says with a scowl.

Carl gives a large puff of smoke as the barrel shifts toward us, Clayton gives him a look as he spins his ruby dagger on his palm.

“Vella, get off,” I say, moving to shove her lightly, but she doesn’t budge, she’s stronger than me, and if I try to use all my strength to push her off… she’ll know that I’m not level seventy-one.

Is this a test? Or is she trying to get close to take Starman? I’m not foolish enough to think she’s doing this because she’s cold or interested in me. I’ve seen her use ice before, she might be making her hands colder on purpose to confuse me.

“You don’t seem to want me to leave,” she says, leaning back into my chest, “In fact, you seem rather happy to see me.”

“This isn’t a brothel, harpy,” Carl protests with a large smoke ring.

Vella presses firmer against me, running her hand up my leg, then she slowly squeezes my thigh, I feel pricks as her sharp nails dig in. Why the fuck does she have such sharp nails? She releases my leg and holds her hand up slowly in front of her face, a strange and sinister smile wraps her lips as she eyes the red splotches of blood on them.

“Your constitution seems to be very low for someone in the seventies, dearest.”

My heart thuds in my chest, in a blur of movement, she reaches back and squeezes my jacket pocket.

A sickening squeal and crunch resounds and I feel warm blood seeping from it…

Jennifer stands, dropping her cup of tea on the thick fur carpet, she blinks at my pocket.

“Oops,” Vella says, standing quickly, “Sorry, was that important?”

The air twangs as the chain I wrapped around Starman snaps. My jacket rips and a butt naked and mangled Starman appears. He slides down my body and slumps to the floor in a heap, blood pours from his ribs and his extremities as he chokes violently, gasping for air, spasming.

One of Clayton’s daggers whips through the air, Vella barely dodges it as a pulse of despair aura rips against my senses. It’s thick and oppressive, but I’ve stood in worse, I’ve stood in Adaraic’s before I was chosen by Ulana. Will focuses my resolve as I slide to the floor and grasp Starman’s leg, one of my remaining three runes of healing burns down my arm and transfers to him. The air quakes with a tremor as mana and blood alike pull into his body, reshaping his bones and flesh.

Clayton moves like a jaguar in the night, bounding to her in a single leap, he manages to cut her abdomen before she grabs his shoulder. Ice traces down his chest and he stops moving… stops breathing… his eyes are wide as the ice travels over them.

There’s no time to debate what to do.

I stand, readying myself to use Abyss and my assortment of random items.

A pulse slams into the air and I feel something strange rolling up my body as my legs collapse. A glitching black notification box appears in my vision.

[ Paralysis Debuff Received ]

Debuff… debuff… her Bard class… she was tapping her fucking nails earlier. Fuck… fuck… fuck…

Carl is slumped in his chair, seemingly paralyzed as well with the pipe still smoldering in his mouth, the shotgun still open and folded over his arm.

“Well, well, well,” Vella says, holding her belly wound as she kicks Jennifer in the jaw so hard that it unhinges and sends her flying across the room, “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

Dread becomes my existence.