The Arcane Archive

“In that case,” Chance said, “I accept. Tell me what you know?”

I knew this was where most who came to me lied, bending the truth just enough to suit their needs. I did not think the Baroness looked much like a woman in mourning with a sob story. She was so steady, so controlled it must have come from years of aristocratic polish of the court.

“There is little to say,” the Baroness said, “My family has had the idol of Vorthis for a very long time. It belongs to us. We own its power. Nox, the dark lord and common thief, thinks he can release a great power that will aid him in his political plots, but we alone hold the secret of the idol and its true purpose. Nox cannot be allowed to complete his plan. Let us say it would be very bad. It would the best thing to return the artifact back in my control.”

I noted that she did not fear the idol, although it seemed to hold a horrible power. She said that it was theirs to control. And there was the suggestion that it had a hidden secret that it could be a problem for the uninformed.

After she left, I sought answers within the shelf lined maze of the Arcaine Archive. As one of the paying members, a Seeker of Knowledge, I made my way to the abbot. He stood by a towering shelf laden with ancient tomes exuding the rich scent of old leather and parchment. In his weathered hands, the abbot held a heavy volume chronicling man’s futile assault on time.

Exchanging a few pieces of gold as tribute, I leaned in and asked, “What do you have on Vorthis?”

Without a word, the abbot guided me to a secluded side chamber. Here, a solitary beam of sunlight pierced the dusty gloom, illuminating a stone floor worn smooth by the footsteps of the eternally curious. As I scanned the musty array of books and scrolls, an old parchment, nearly forgotten by time, slipped loose from a shelf and fluttered to the floor.

Bending down, I retrieved it. The faded inscription warned: the idol of Vorthis might grant wishes, but each desire carried with it devastating consequences. Moreover, the scroll hinted at a lurking, unnameable evil was intertwined with the idol’s power.

As I walked home I thought and could see that the idol had a dark side but why? If a magic user were powerful enough to make artifact that would grant wishes then dark side would have to be added why all the trouble for a trick that made it useless. There is more than what it seemed on the surface.

I walked down the city market a twisting, narrow ally way lined with venders that sold the different wares lost in my thoughts. My feet carried me home by habit and I went to the road that led to my house.

As I entered the heavy door I said, “Jarvis, bring me ale to the study.”

It just didn’t make sense too much power, misused like a teenaged prank. Who was laughing?

I sat at my desk and Jarvis brought me an ale. As I drank I could hear an evil laugh in my mind, but who and why?

I needed knowledge that was not on a scroll or buried in an ancient book. It was time to see the Gloam, but I’d have to come up with their fee, a cup of blood.

I called out and said, “Jarvis, another ale.”

When the ale was delivered, I said, “Jarvis, Where do I get a cup of blood?”

“Beef or goat,” he inquired?

“Humm I had not thought about that? Which is easier to get?”

“In the mornings Thatcher’s Meats has beef blood, but you must get there early. The goat’s blood you must wait until the day after the night of the full moon.”

I picked a book then went to bed. In the morning I woke before sunrise as usual and pulled the bell ring by my bed and the bell rang in the kitchen. Jarvis brought a tray with a plate of eggs and pancakes with bacon. After breakfast I went to Thatcher’s Meats.

I said the butcher at Thatcher’s, “Give me a cup of blood.”

A big man with smears of blood on his apron said, “Five silver.”

I gave him his coins and a sealed small jug of blood was exchanged.