#morphsuit
I
“S-Sire! You c-can’t be serious…!” A small, dirty elf pleaded before the feet of Lord Alwin Xilvyre, who poised in his chair as if it were a throne. “I-I only took a c-couple coppers off the girl, I s-swear!” Alwin glared down at the elf, remaining silent for several seconds that felt like ages to the beggar. Finally, he spoke in a cool, yet firm voice: “Thievery, assault, and an attempt to escape capture. All of these violations have consequences under this company’s roof. Unless you can cough up several dozen shillings, I’m afraid I have no choice but to force your hand into years of physical labor. Any attempt at resisting will grant you a swift execution.” “B-But sire,” the elf stammered, “we’re of the same blood. I’ve a family to return to. Please, s-spare me…!”
Alwin stood up suddenly with furrowed eyebrows and one clenched fist. “Do not ever compare us, you pathetic forest urchin,” he spat. “Five years of labor in the murkiest, most putrid conditions imaginable. Take him away.” Alwin motioned to the burly men who had carried the dirty elf into Alwin’s office. Alwin walked to the window, looking down at the city of Prinath as he tried to clear his mind from the fading screams and accusations from the elf as he was carried down the hallway, never to bother him again.
There were only two kinds of people in this world. The successful, and the unsuccessful. Whether you were human, elven, orcish, argonian, or even a mutant, it didn’t matter. You fell into one of these two categories. That is what Alwin had always believed. Being born into a family of high elves with some of the highest social statuses in Prinath, Alwin had fallen into the former section and had developed in thinking that success was simply his birthright. Same blood, don’t make me laugh, Alwin thought to himself. The shape of our ears means nothing when you live in a tree and I stand atop a utopia.
Alwin returned to his mansion later that evening. Inherited from his late parents, he had more space to himself than anyone would’ve known what to do with. Although he was still a bachelor by choice, he was hoping to woo a certain lady within the coming months. Aah, Countess Iris Guttmacher, Alwin daydreamed, if we were to start a family on this estate, well…I’d be well on my way to achieving new levels of grandeur for the Xilvyre line!
Countess Iris Guttmacher, unwinding in her own posh mansion, let out a sneeze and briefly trembled, getting an uneasy feeling that someone was thinking strange thoughts about her. Her smooth pale legs peaked through the gaps in her towel as she stood up to refill her water to accompany her reading. She unraveled the smaller towel on her head, unleashing a torrent of recently-washed raven-colored hair down her head and back, accenting the soft glow of her violet eyes. For the moment, she also lived alone, but not by choice – her former husband, the earl of a county within Prinath, had been assassinated some years ago, leaving all of his power and prestige to his countess. Iris had a cold, calculating, and realistic outlook on life. Those lucky enough to be within her presence could smell her favorite applied scent of lilac and gooseberries.
Alwin awoke the next morning feeling groggy. It was only the second day of the work week and he was already exhausted at the thought of returning to his office after what had happened yesterday. Acting as both a general manager and a regional manager for the company he was to own one day, Terres, every day was filled to the brim with paperwork, questions from his inferiors, and thinking of how to please the few people he could call his superiors as to ascend to their positions one day. Alwin was also in charge of development and expansion within Prinath, buying land and creating new buildings to further expand his company’s reach. His latest goal was to find suitable land for a bathhouse to be built, although he had no ideas of where to begin searching. Prinath was highly developed compared to most cities, and buildings made of wood, brick, and concrete were already stacked tightly together.
Alwin summoned a young boy to his office. He was a recently acquired contractor, human, and could not have been older than 16. “Boy,” Alwin began, not bothering to ask his name because he knew it wouldn’t be remembered, “I’m lending you a map of Prinath. Today, your duty is to scout around highly populated districts and mark potential locations for our new bathhouse. I’ve already marked a few potential candidates, too.” Alwin also gave him some schematics of the bathhouse’s dimensions, and the contractor nodded without a word before leaving Alwin in peace.
Not an hour passed before one of Alwin’s coworkers burst into his office without warning. She was breathing a bit harder than normal, and her skin had the faintest tinge of red from a recent exercise. In other words, she had run up many flights of stairs to reach Alwin, and was thus inconsequential to him due to being so far beneath him on the corporate ladder. “Sir Alwin, Lord Alwin,” she began, noticeably trying to steady her breath, “have you seen Emil? I received word he was sent up here earlier today.” Alwin mentally rolled his eyes, but with him being so influential and important, he was always sure to put on a good role model front for the inferiors. “I’m sorry, I’m unclear of who you’re referring to. I don’t know any ‘Emils.’” Alwin had hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but when the woman described him, he knew that more of his time was about to be wasted.
“Ah, yes,” Alwin began, “I sent him to comb through a few districts todays. I’m far too busy to find a suitable location for our new bathhouse myself at the moment. He should be back before evening.” “But sir,” the woman’s shoulders dropped, “he was to begin architectural design training today. With all due respect, he is not your errand boy.” Alwin shook his head, explaining his philosophy to the woman that he had explained countless times to other lesser employees: “Look, my dear. The boy is young and eager, but he comes from an unremarkable background. He was not born as a winner like me…or like you,” he added the last part in simply to be polite, then continued: “Either he will barely advance within Terres, or he will burn out trying. By interacting with me, I’ve given him the chance to earn my good graces.” Alwin paused before continuing, thinking about how to unravel this lie into a full story. “Anyone with my recommendation can soar to new heights… Even if he begins his career as a novice architect, he could be designing your next house within a few years under my wing!”
Anticipating that she couldn’t win this argument, the woman sighed. She couldn’t have known the truth; that Alwin simply called the boy to him due to being a bottom-tier contractor that wouldn’t question anything he requested. Recomposing herself, she meekly stated, “I suppose I will move his training to tomorrow. Thank you, Lord Alwin sir,” then returned to her work.
The boy never returned throughout the day nor the evening. Come the next day, a missing warrant was issued, and after one more day had passed, Emil was found dead in a small pond, having been robbed of his clothing and other belongings. While the murderer was being tracked, a brief investigation linked the boy to Alwin’s rash decision to send him out alone. A prestigious name being connected to such a crime made its way all the way up to Countess Iris herself. Gritting her teeth, she decided to pay Alwin a visit at work that day.
Prior to this, Alwin had become increasingly annoyed at the people around him. Many of his coworkers had blamed him for the tragedy. Although he cared little for the boy, his mind was working on overtime thinking about how he could restore his image. As if the murder wasn’t bad enough, the confidential documents that Alwin had given him were also stolen, meaning someone out there had private information about Terres.
A knock rung from Alwin’s door. He knew the countess, the apple of his eye, was due to visit around this time. Clearing his throat, he was prepared to pull out all the stops in order to convince her that he had done no wrong. “Come in,” he said, standing up. The beautiful Iris, wearing a boa of black feathers around her neck with a matching dress, opened the door and graced the room with her powerful presence.
“Lord Alwin Xilvyre,” Iris began, “it has come to my attention that a young man has been murdered within our county here in Prinath. Records state that the boy should not have been given whatever task you had ordered, and had you not ordered such a chore, the death may have been avoided. Does this sound correct?” “Lady Iris,” Alwin began, “I assure you that this sequence of events was simply a terrible coincidence. I instructed the boy to scout, yes, but only the safest and most populated areas. Why, is it such a crime for a young man to walk about on his own? If not for him, someone else may have fallen victim to whatever the murderous fiend was planning.”
Iris thought for a moment before responding. “The boy had confidential documents on him, did he not? I assume I don’t need to assure you how much they may be worth. Alwin, you gave a young, inexperienced boy the equivalent of over a dozen shillings to wave about as he pleased.” Alwin clicked his tongue in thought, ashamed that she had seen this far into his blunder. Attempting to shift blame, he responded: “Lady Iris, I realize that I may have overestimated my employees, and for that, I am truly sorry. But I can promise you, I hadn’t the slightest bit of knowledge that the boy was due for training. I assure you, I only wanted the best for him. I wanted to give him an opportunity to shine.”
Iris’s brow furrowed. She had interacted with Alwin just a few times before today, so she knew how honeyed his words could be. Although she didn’t fully believe him, she knew that she had to find a way to protect him lest the commonfolk began to doubt and ultimately turn against the people in places of power. “Alwin,” she began, “I will do everything in my power to sever your name from this incident. But please, and I beg of you, please do not do anything to draw further suspicion or distrust to yourself. You need to instill faith into the people of Prinath and into the people of Terres. Today, I will leave you with immense disappointment. If this were to happen again, shame to your family name would be the least of your worries, to put it mildly. Have I made myself clear?”
Alwin nodded, taking a breath of relief knowing that the countess was on his side. “You needn’t worry about a thing, Lady Iris. Compensation has already been sent to the grieving family, and the compromised document situation is currently being handled.” Alwin wanted to end his train of thought by asking Iris if she would be interested in attending the theater with him during the weekend, but he refrained given the circumstances. “Good,” Iris said, turning around to leave. “Next time we meet, I hope it to be on better terms. Good day to you, Lord Alwin.”
Alwin thought long and hard to himself that evening. On one hand, he was thrilled that the incident staining his name was being taken care of. On the other, he knew he still had a lot of work to do, especially in getting back within the countess’s good graces.
I will not be coddled, Alwin thought to himself after waking up the next morning. I too can achieve great feats. As today was the fifth and final day of the working week, Alwin decided to push his current responsibilities to next week to spend the whole day scouting for a location to build his company’s bathhouse. The high elf traversed quickly throughout Prinath, marking many potential candidates on a map. However, all of them would require the demolishing of a currently-active building. Alwin also took notes on whatever business was running at the bathhouse’s potential areas, thinking about how cheaply he could buy them out.
Toward the end of the afternoon, Alwin found himself somewhere on the outskirts of his county. The general activity of the population was lower, but that only made Alwin realize that it would be easier to buy land off of a home or company here. A she-orc walking into a small building caught his attention – orcs were very rare in Prinath, and this was the first one he had seen all year. Orcs typically lived in the wilderness and – in Alwin’s opinion – were even stupider than forest elves. On the fat chance that an orc actually lived in Prinath, Alwin knew who his target had to be in order to score the cheapest deal.
Alwin walked into the building a few minutes after the she-orc. The atmosphere had changed completely. The small room was dark and filled with all kinds of exotic scents and artifacts. “Welcome,” the old she-orc behind the wooden counter greeted him. Despite being hunched over, the woman still towered over Alwin by at least half a foot. In this lighting, her pale green skin almost seemed to match the hue of her thin white hair. Alwin grimaced at seeing an orc as the receptionist, but he quickly regained his composure and walked forward. “Hello…” Alwin began, “is this place a…business? A home? I would like to speak with the owner, as I believe I can forward an offer suitable for the both of us.”
“I am a shaman, and this is my home and business,” the she-orc began. “People come here for medicine, rituals, healing… all sorts of things. Very popular with all races and all walks of life. Some fellow orcs even come from forests to visit.” The woman’s breath, being poured down on Alwin, reeked of meat and unclean water. Taking half a pace back, Alwin began his proposition. “Eh-hem, yes, how very lovely. Well, today is your lucky day, Miss-err…” “Tanze.” “Miss Tanze! The pleasure is all mine. I, Lord Alwin Xilvyre, am humbled to meet you,” Alwin said with a very practiced and artificial sincerity. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I would like to buy this plot of land from you so that Terres may develop a new bathhouse for the citizens of Prinath. It will be a brand-new form of healing and serenity to the people. And I’m positive you and your fellow o-orcs would love it as well!” Alwin said, almost stumbling on his final line.
Tanze didn’t reply, so Alwin continued: “Naturally, you would be heavily compensated…to the point where you could even retire! Living the rest of your days among your fellow orcs while indulging on the benefits of our new bathhouse – I know it simply seems too good to be true.” Alwin pulled out a case of several guineas to show to the orc – an amount that was trivial to him, but was more than several years’ worth of labor to the orc.
Tanze thanked him for his offer, but respectfully declined. Alwin inched up the ante a few times, but was met with the same result. “I-I don’t understand,” Alwin began, “why will you not accept my offer? By doing so, you will be helping the people in Prinath and yourself immeasurably!” “I like working,” Tanze replied simply. “I like healing people. I like seeing new people. I like my small place here in Prinath. Very few orcs can live in Prinath. To some orcs, I am a beacon, showing them that anything is possible. I worked hard to be where I am today, and that, to me, is invaluable.”
Alwin’s patience was running out. I need a location by the end of the day, he thought to himself. The sooner I plant the site for the bathhouse, the sooner the compromised documents lose their value. This is the cheapest spot…there’s no reason this damn orc should be refusing me! I’m giving this animal the deal of a lifetime!
“Very well,” Alwin said dully, maintaining his outward composure. “Thank you for your time, Miss Tanze.” Alwin left the area, feeling confused, angry, and defeated. An ugly emotion bubbled within him. A significant part of him wanted the bathhouse to replace the shaman’s home simply to spite her, and to get his self-justified revenge. He wanted Tanze driven back to the wilderness where she belonged. I, Lord Alwin Xilvyre, will not lose to a cursed, wretched, disgusting orc!!!
II
Alwin kept a low profile throughout the weekend, dabbling in his hobbies of reading and writing, but also plotting on how to present his location for the bathhouse and having the shaman’s hut demolished all without the process being traceable back to him from the outside. He drew up a plan to only disclose the information to his most trusted coworkers and would, to his annoyance, forfeit the credit of finding and setting up the location to a different employee to keep his name clean after the last scandal that had almost broken out.
On the other hand, Countess Iris Guttmacher worked to clear Alwin’s name for her own sake and the sake of the citizens’ trust, even though she would have preferred not to come off as rewarding his careless behavior. She sought news outlets like bulletin boards throughout different districts on horseback, signing her name with statements along the lines of saying that Alwin did not make the final judgment call to give the child documents of importance or to send him into the city alone, and that Alwin would instead be responsible for punishing the non-existent realoffender.
Iris sighed, tacking another sheet of paper to a board as the sun was beginning to set. She had lost count of how many papers she went through. A beautiful day that would have been perfect to enjoy at the theater had gone to waste.
Come the first working day of the week, Alwin quickly and meticulously grinded away at the work he had put off last week before calling a few select people to his office. Two elite mages adept at pyromancy were summoned; their existence was not even known throughout a majority of Terres, let alone Prinath. Then, he summoned the supervisor that was closest to his own managerial ranking, spinning a fable of how the great Lord Alwin had the heart to bestow such a unique opportunity onto his underling by assigning him the task of making the final call to place Terres’s new bathhouse over the orc shaman’s hut, and that solving this dilemma so quickly would reflect better upon the supervisor than it would Alwin himself.
The supervisor asked questions, such as: “Has the agreement already been made? Is the building ready to be demolished immediately? Have we already provided payment to the land’s original owner?” Alwin assured him that everything had already been taken care of, and that, with this information, the supervisor could order a demolish permit to be written. During the day, as well as the following day, Alwin returned to the she-orc’s hut undetected, taking note that she seemed to leave the building during noon for lunch. Alwin forwarded this information to the supervisor with the added lie that the building’s owner would leave the place around noon expecting it to be destroyed upon her return.
Towards the end of the fourth working day of the week, Alwin looked down on the city of Prinath breathing a sigh of relief. Things were finally starting to return to normalcy. The case of Emil had been closed. The thieves of the stolen documents wouldn’t be able to make a meaningful profit. The beautiful Iris Guttmacher was working toward his benefit, and the construction of the bathhouse was being taken care of by a separate party.
During the next day at the allotted time, the supervisor Alwin had chosen, alongside the two pyromancers, had arrived at Tanze’s hut. As Alwin had said, the she-orc was out of the building with unknown whereabouts. Without even looking inside, the mages set the building ablaze. The supervisor, enjoying his moment in the spotlight of doing something important, barked commands to the mages to control the fire as if they didn’t already know how to do that. Within a half hour, the roaring flames had died as quickly as they had risen, and the shaman’s hut remained as little more than piles of wood and ash. The supervisor placed a sign firmly into the ground before leaving, claiming the plot of land under the Terres company name.
Tanze felt a twinge of fear at the sight of smoke on the horizon. She ran forward, unable to believe that the ashy, fallen building could be hers. “No, no, no,” she panted, her trot turning into a run. “No… No…!” The smell of the burnt wood and smoke overwhelmed her as she ran closer. “NO!!!” Tanze fell to her knees in front of her home, crying into her palms. A few townsfolk hovered around several paces away, unsure of what to do or say, as most of them thought this burning occurred under agreed business terms.
Rage bubbled within the normally calm and stoic Tanze, mixing with and eventually overpowering her sadness and despair. Noticing the foreign signpost, she ripped it out of the ground and smashed it to splinters with loud, guttural shouting. She picked up the paper, almost disintegrating it beyond all recognition until one word caught her eye. Terres.
Alwin’s scornful face reared its way back into Tanze’s mind. She took a deep breath. The body that was shaking uncontrollably from emotion found its way back to its usual stillness. After another deep breath, Tanze tossed the paper to the wind and walked over her hut, seeing if anything had remained intact. She collected a few trinkles and baubles with clenched teeth, trying to prevent her tears from welling up again. Memories of her starting her business in Prinath were coming back. Memories of her orcish friends visiting her from their village, congratulating her and throwing her a celebration party. Memories of making friends with other humans, elves, and even the occasional mutant. She had regarded the people of Prinath to the highest standard, the ultimate melting pot where every kind of person could get along with one another.
It took a few more hours before Tanze had fully collected herself mentally. Although the loss of her home and business spelled the end of her time in Prinath, she was thankful to be a member of a nearby orcish settlement, the Xoroku tribe, that she could return to. The journey back home led Tanze through a damp, thickly settled forest. She arrived just before sundown. The other orcs were overjoyed at the sight of her until she told them the reason for her return.
“This is a hate crime! To war with Prinath!” A large, hairy orc yelled in the tavern, slamming his massive fist against the counter. Tanze, taking a sip of her beverage, remained silent. “I agree,” said a she-orc, one of Tanze’s female friends. Tanze was touched by the emotions her people felt for her, but she had to speak up soon before the orcs led themselves to an unnecessary conflict. While Tanze had been walking home, she had glanced at one of the only papers she had found within the ashy remains, a page from an old tome that even she had long forgotten about. She had smiled as she read it, realizing that fate hadn’t been as cruel to her as she first thought.
“Brothers and sisters,” Tanze began, “there will be no need for war. No need for bloodshed over what has happened.” “Tanze, you are not serious!” the hairy orc exclaimed, spilling a few drops of ale as he moved his mug around. “Oh, but I am, dear Jogug,” Tanze replied, turning to look at her large friend in the eyes. “Everyone,” she continued, “I will ask your help on another matter. Bloodshed is not to occur, but we will see our pride tended to in another way. I will need your help in finding materials…an emerald or two, fungi that only grows many miles south, and the rib of a deceased brethren, among a few others.” Tanze explained the spell that she was planning to cast, although she remained vague, as she didn’t fully understand every detail herself. The burns and tears from the page she had found describing the spell rendered several aspects undecipherable.
As Tanze and the rest of the tribe toiled throughout the weekend, Alwin had finally found the time and peace of mind to enjoy a show at the theater. He invited Iris to continue courting her while passing the invitation off as a guise to thank her for all of her hard work, but he received a swift decline at her estate. Alone at the theater, Alwin was still able to enjoy the outdoor play centered around sword dancing. Various themes, such as animal sacrifice for fertility, battling evil spirits to protect the land, and combat miming were all expertly performed by the actors and actresses with an equally talented band heightening the performance with their music.
Although the play held deep thoughts, ideas, and traditions passed down throughout history, Alwin became inspired to see a play or hear a ballad about himself with Iris at his side, depicting the would-be lovers battling against the evil stigmas that had plagued him lately. He played the scenes out in his head throughout the night, seeing himself in regal elven gowns vanquishing shapeless foes that represented the thieves that had killed Emil; Emil himself, the wrinkly she-orc Tanze, and other various clumps of lesser humans, forest elves, and orcs. Iris assisted, but was mostly looking to Alwin with sheer admiration and lust – a scenario that Alwin would hope to see outside of his fantasies one day.
The weekend had passed, and the first working day of the week was coming to an end. Tanze wiped sweat off her brow, hovering over a cauldron as she poured ingredients in. The room was dark, lit only by a few candles. Orcish runes and markings had been carefully painted on the floor, with the cauldron being in the center of the shapes that were contained within a large circle. Her brothers and sisters had been diligent in bringing what she had requested. “Jogug,” Tanze called to her friend standing outside of the circle, “do you have the blanket? The spell is almost complete. Do not be alarmed, but I will need assistance shortly.” Jogug nodded.
Tanze pulled a tough dagger off of her hip. Holding her left arm above the cauldron, she sliced the outside of her arm using her right hand, unable to contain a shout of pain as her blood poured into the mixture. “Tanze!” Jogug called, stepping forward. “Do not step closer, not within the circle!” Tanze barked. She walked to the other side of the cauldron, pushing up and against it as if to tip it over. The fresh wound on her arm made it painful and difficult, but she didn’t suffer for too long before the contents of the cauldron were spilled onto the floor. There were many crevices within the floor that took the liquid like water to a river. The red, pungent potion soon filled the outline of the circle and began to overpower the light of the candles with its bright demonic glow.
“O spirits, O spirits,” Tanze whispered in an old orcish dialect, clasping her hands together. “Bringeth forth change for whom who takes, steals, rapes, and plunders us without remorse. Bringeth forth change to whom who is wont with prejudice and injustice. Bringeth forth change to Lord Alwin Xilvyre of Prinath…” she chanted with a clear image of Alwin in her mind. Jogug continued to call her name, as he wanted her bleeding wound to be treated, but Tanze remained chanting and praying for several long minutes before the glow of the potion finally died out. Only then did she look to her friend, step out of the circle, and allow her tribe to take care of her.
Jogug and several other orcs asked her about what she had done. Tanze simply replied that the tribe would have to have faith, as she never expected to see the result of the blood curse she had placed on Alwin. Fluttering her eyelids closed with her wound treated and wrapped, she slept well and made peace with the fact that she would spend the remainder of her days with her tribe.
Alwin woke up the next morning, finding that an odd grogginess stuck with him throughout the afternoon. The workday passed typically – paperwork, meetings, bossing around lessers – but the lethargic feeling continued to persist into the evening. He halfheartedly passed the time and told himself he deserved a moment of boredom after all he’d been through recently.
To Alwin’s annoyance, the sensation did not clear after a good night’s sleep. Light aches were felt around his bones, and work seemed to take more energy than usual. He couldn’t believe it was only the third day of the working week. Occasionally, he would feel a rumble beneath random areas in his body. Come the next day, Alwin’s pale skin had become just a touch darker, and his silvery white hair just a touch grayer. Alwin didn’t notice when looking at himself in his silver mirror, as he was more irritated by how he was feeling. After a grueling day of work, he made his way for the city’s best doctor.
The remainder of Alwin’s evening was spent applying and storing medically prescribed herbs, as well as bloodletting through a leech, as the doctor did not recognize Alwin’s condition and thought to try a bit of everything to start. Through the fourth and fifth working days, the herbs helped lessen the aching pains, but the apathy persisted. Alwin returned to the doctor on the evening of the fifth working day, demanding a more proper solution.
“Bring me your magician or your shaman, I know you have some. You know who I am, there should be no question of my eligibility to be treated by one,” Alwin crankily stated. Agreeing, the doctor called for his medical sorcerer. A tall elf entered the room, a high elf in similar stature to Alwin. Kneeling before Lord Alwin, he stated, “Arkil Aedael at your service.” “You may rise,” Alwin dully stated, in no mood for formalities. Arkil rose and hovered around the sitting Alwin, moving his hands and whispering spells to decipher what ailed his patient. Small multicolored clouds appeared around and above Alwin’s head as the spells were cast.
After several long minutes, Arkil mumbled, “A…blood curse. Milord, no common sickness ails you. I’m afraid it is something much more severe.” Alwin thought for a moment, having limited knowledge on curses. Alwin asked, “Who cast it? Who is it linked to?” “I’m afraid there is no link, no other end.” “What? Explain yourself.” Arkil cleared his throat, then began: “A blood curse is one of the most difficult curses to cast. Not only because the formulae are widely unknown, the magical prowess to cast one require expertise far beyond even myself. Moreover, as the name suggests, a blood curse requires a great deal of the caster’s blood. Throughout what little is known of history, curses of such magnitude have oft been used to sustain the life of another. For example, there is a record of a wizard casting blood curses on his henchmen in order steal their youth, not unsimilar to a vampire. There is also another record of a devious witch casting a blood curse on a man in order to control his mind and make him hers. As you can tell, the curser is actively benefiting from the victim. But, in milord’s case, there is no benefitting party. You have been stricken by a blood curse, and yet the curser is reaping no benefits.”
Alwin, unsure of what to think, simply asked, “So how do we remove it?” Arkil paused, knowing that Alwin would not like to hear the answer. “I-In the previous cases,” he began, “there were two ways to dispel such a curse. The curser had to remove the curse himself, or the curser had to die. The latter case worked since the caster was linked to the curse itself. For this situation, I do fear that only the former will work…”
“Nonsense!” Alwin stood up in a sudden fury, blowing away the colored clouds. “Are you to tell me that nothing can be done for me?! That not even a trained high elf brethren can break a curse?! Do you know how much we pay you for your services?!” Alwin paused for a moment, then continued. “A blood curse without a traceable curser, it is simply nonsense! Why would anyone go through the trouble of casting it? Why would they target me? I am Lord Alwin Xilvyre, damn it!”
“W-Well,” Arkil started after another moment of silence, “as I’m sure milord knows, curses are oft cast for revenge. Has milord made any recent enemies?” Alwin sat back down, feeling a pit widening in his stomach. His head slowly slipped down into his palms. “Arkil,” Alwin said, devoid of emotion, “are the dead able to cast such a curse?”
“Hmm, not likely,” Arkil replied. “Remember, a blood curse requires the caster’s blood. The dead have no such ability to both give blood and cast a curse. I’ve never heard of a blood curse being cast with another’s – especially a corpse’s – blood; it seems inconceivable.” “But what if it is similar to a blood curse? What if I’m not ailed by a blood curse, but something incredibly similar?” Alwin said, returning his head to face the sorcerer. Arkil did not have an answer for his patient, simply stating, “New discoveries are being made daily. I suppose it’s not outside the realm of possibilities…but I do insist that a genuine blood curse has been cast upon you. The only difference between your case and cases of the past is a traceable curser. Everything else is consistent.”
“Thank you, Arkil,” Alwin said, standing. In his mind, Alwin had figured out the reason of his cursing. Any more discussion with Arkil would be going in circles. Alwin left the building as solemnly as he had entered. “O gods…” he mumbled as he trudged home. “I may not be worthy of your forgiveness yet. But if you could find it in your heart to forgive me and lift this curse, I would be forever in your debt, Emil.”
Read chapters III and IV here!
A patron reward for Rei and my longest story yet by far, split into four chapters! The story features the noble high elf Lord Alwin Xilvyre trying to ascend to the greatest possible heights on the corporate and social ladders, only to find himself in a completely different life after taking a few hasty steps too far. Thanks so much for reading!
