The Alkahest

Chapter One: Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest

The slow, methodical beats of the mana-engine lulled through the wooden walls of the airship. Wood creaked around the bedroom that Cedric Alkahest inhabited, the young man of nineteen gazing out of the ship’s porthole and staring down at the rolling landscape dotted with small farms and smudges that he could make out to be dirt roads of the countryside. He yawned slightly, still waking up from the restful sleep he’d taken while traveling within the Old Blue, an economy trade-transport hybrid airship he’d taken from Yal-Hest to the Old Capital of the Orestien Empire, Paraval.

Old Blue yawned, banking as it turned, allowing Cedric to gaze upon the distant city; his destination visible, as the call of the ship’s nearing arrival was what had woken him from his deep slumber. He turned to his bedroom’s amenities, a quaint little smattering of a small bed, an exceptionally minimalist desk, and a resting trunk at the base of the bed.

He walked over to the trunk and opened it with a deftness borne of familiarity, quickly pulling on his long coat and finding the small kit of hygienic supplies he’d sequestered within his traveling bag. With his mind clearing of groggy fog, he started getting ready for the day.

He tapped a long silver needle’s tip against every tooth within his mouth, each bit of contact followed by a pulse of cleansing mana scrubbing his teeth of bacteria and plaque. He then took a short draught of an alchemical potion, a breathy and exceptionally long-lasting minty coolness settling into his breath. He continued with his ritual, taking out a simple rag and using it to scrub his dry body. The rag too was enchanted, and with an additional dab of alchemical cologne and sanitizer being applied to his body, he rubbed at his dry body with the implement, the enchantments woven into the cloth absorbing, destroying, and stripping his body of excess oils, dirt, and a very slight dusting of necrotic energies killing off and stripping bacteria clinging to his dermis. It functioned well for what was a hastily designed traveling kit, solving his hygienic needs quite well.

He completed his routine by drawing out his casting implement, a cracked length of blackened bone with a masterfully cut gem of painite embedded in the base of the curved rib-bone of an infant red dragon. The cracks within the rib-bone were melded with melted adamantium, the magical material a bright crimson-red, highlighting itself on the blackened bone and complementing the gemstone that furthered the color palette of the wand.

The wand was softly tapped onto the crown of his head, a generalized cleaning charm stripping his scalp of dead skin and cleansing his hair of oils. He then took out yet another alchemical product, lacing his hands with an oily liquid that he then streaked through his hair. Well-practiced motions shaped his hair without the aid of a mirror, and before long he knew through tactile touch that his hair was perfectly messy to a fashionable degree without looking sloppy or unhygienic. ‘Like he rolled out of bed looking like a Ten’, was the look Cedric was going for, his looks pulling it off rather well with the clothing he often sported.

He adjusted his coat and fixed the suspenders of his trousers, smoothing out wrinkles with a light application of mana channeled into his clothing during the brisk brushes of his touch. Cedric pulled out his travel mirror, flicking open the circular device and inspecting himself in the small disk of reflective material. His hair was indeed as he felt it, just how he liked it, while his dress was also of suitable quality for Paraval’s climate.

Paraval was a colder city, located to the far north and was subject to heavy blizzards, weathering rain, stormy-overcast clouds, and was altogether a cold and wet climate. Cedric had familiarity with these climates, although it felt like a life-time ago since he’d needed to actively remember how to prepare for them.

Likely because it was a life-time ago.

He chuckled at his internal inside joke, inspecting the two pairs of high-quality high-boots coated with a water-proof coating of alchemically rendered slime resin, something that his coat lacked; instead, the long-coat was enchanted to resist the elements and conditions of Paraval’s climate, filled with down feathers, although in his testing he’d found the enchantments to be somewhat lacking. His tests were done in simulated arctic conditions, as Cedric was anything if not someone to take something to full completion. If he wanted an outfit capable of withstanding cold climates; then he’d make one capable of withstanding any climate. Even with the ‘lackluster’ enchantments -to only Cedric’s perspective- the warming and cooling enchantments were a valuable addition.

Cedric had done his research on the city and knew that if he wanted to live comfortably within the region, he’d need to dress accordingly. Not to mention that his current outfit was also inspired by the city’s current fashion trends, being the burning heart of the Orestien Empire’s cultural roots.

The city itself was fighting several cultural wars with other provinces within the empire, as the incorporation of several different peoples and human territories with unique cultural identities, many with ancient and bitter rivalries with one another had created a toxic political environment for a culture to exist within. Many parties within the empire refused or bitterly worked with one another, let alone the culture that conquered them. Imperial Law and the Edicts of the Emperor, an ancient and legendary figure that founded and still ruled to this day -even two-hundred years after the fact- kept the provinces in a state of stable civility with one another. Even then, provinces rebelled in their own unique ways by staking out a unique identity to cling to.

While the Emperor’s word and power kept blood from being split, bitter rivalries between ethnic, cultural, religious, and regional groups twisted into more politically acceptable methods of decompression. Intrigue, social sabotage, strained relations, trade disputes, or duplicitous and outright scandalous methods of harming one’s neighbor were employed in war’s stead. The politics of the Orestien Empire was a messy place to step foot within, one filled with the greedy, gluttonous, hedonistic, and traditional. A stifling environment, and one that Cedric had grown up within.

‘Thankfully, I’ve escaped. At least for now.’ Cedric thought wryly.

Not something that was commonly thought, to say the very least. Many born within the ranks of nobility desired to be the first son and to inherit. That wasn’t truly incorrect, but this Empire was different in terms of succession. Largely because Succession itself was rare. To succeed one’s father or mother required the current reigning patriarch or matriarch to die, which with the resources, medical care, and protections available to keep a house’s leading figure-head in good health was difficult; even within a world as deadly as this one. Old age was kept at bay through alchemical, magical, and physical might won through hard work or potent and valuable treasures.

It created a messy case of a house needing places to throw their spawn and young, allowing them to generate renown for the house and not become wastes of space.

Children of a House would be trained and invested within, built up and raised to certain expectations and given the opportunity to prove their continued worth. Showing oneself as a good seed would see more investment from the main house, eventually culminating in the potential to establish a branch. A branch house that would ultimately swear fealty to the main house, but there was a great difference of social status in being ‘one of lordly titles’, and not just a Scion.

This incapability of inheritance, save for in the direst or carefully prepared of situations, had young spawn from all houses, large and small, racing off to various paths of life; all hoping to carve together enough acclaim and renown to their name that their deeds would grant them the capability to raise a Lordly House with titled land for themselves. Failure would be met with disownment, banishment, public exile, or a quiet life outside the view of political enemies depending on how liked one was or how merciful a house’s leading figure felt they could get away with.

‘My two brothers were always competitive brats…’ Cedric sighed, not thinking fondly of the two significantly older men who’d always sneer and stymy his efforts in learning the arcane and mystical arts. He was six and they were in their late teens and nearing twenties; Cedric could still remember their petulant and spoiled bullying, trying to dissuade or cripple the opposition early in its gestation.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Glad they left for the Royal Academy to go do Knight shit. Gave me plenty of peace to study without their antics.’

Military status and reputation went a long way to establishing one’s value within the eyes of a House, as serving the Empire directly led to ties with the Imperial Standing Armies, an army that had conquered a great swath of the continent of Orevale. Disciplined, with internal organizations and logistics that supported the army, a standing banner of Arcanists, Magisters, and Sorcerers, paired with the physical might of well cultivated Aura Experts known as Knights within the Orestien Empire. They were power manifested, and ranking high within the military as a potential ranking officer like an Imperial Marshal would easily be seen as grounds to be rewarded with one’s own lands and titles, not even by their own family, but by the emperor himself.

Cedric’s brothers had gone this route, and he could deduce why. They were afraid of their oldest siblings.

Cedric and his two elder brothers, Calem and Tyvalt, were the youngest within their family. Their parents were old yet were still biologically capable of producing children. They’d had children ‘late’, not seeing a real need when even now, Cedric’s grandfather was ruling the House of the Alkahest. His father was the sole remaining heir in line for the seat, his other siblings either dead or having claimed their own houses or positions requiring political neutrality. They were in their sixties when they’d had their first children, having been using contraceptives consistently throughout those years without children, as houses that spawned children like rabbits during heats were a headache to manage. Two children were born in their sixties, two girls, and they were his eldest siblings. They were thirty-eight and thirty-five as of now, and due to slim pickings of men with comparable status as their own, and their personal strength; willingly unmarried.

His eldest sister had a nineteen-year age gap between himself and her, which was an age gap as old as he was. Cedric had seen precious little of his eldest siblings, beyond a few paintings and one or two meetings when he was exceptionally young.

The eldest children of their family would be the female line, consisting of two exceptionally competitive and talented Knights. With his brothers also falling into the path of becoming Knights, it was quickly discovered that Tyvalt and Calem were comparatively untalented when placed against their sisters in martial tournaments. Cedric knew that the two brothers were exceptionally competitive and had developed an insecurity complex from their elder sisters; it was whispered by the servants whenever he was picked on by the two.

It was sad to know that they’d chosen to take that traumatic experience out on their youngest brother, but Cedric was mature enough to move past it. He cared little for his family, in all honesty, struggling to see any real bond or heart-tugging attachment to a family that was as removed and competitive as his own.

He was apathetic to his abusive brothers. He was indifferent and an effective stranger to his absent eldest sisters. His father was a frigid man that he met ‘once-in-a-blue-moon’ to be gauged by his inquisitive stare and demanding voice. His mother was often traveling, a sorceress who had an active job in applying wards and defensive enchantments in key strategic locations throughout the Empire. Her work was secretive, demanding, and had her innately closed off to most all connections that wanted to dig past the polite and disarming smile. Even to her son she was professionally cordial, uncaringly dismissive when busy, or mockingly patronizing towards.

He snapped his hand-held mirror shut, a deep frown on his face. Cedric was an isolated young man, one that took refuge within libraries and deep sanctums spread out through several estates that the Alkahest House owned. He was raised by servants and tutors assigned to his education, although much of his education was merely refinement of what he already knew. Reincarnation would do that to a young man, and in some ways, Cedric preferred it that way. Without being a reincarnation, he wondered what his upbringing would’ve created. Broken, instead of merely being damaged, perhaps.

The staff that he associated with during his time within the estates while growing up were professional and often rotated out. The staff were all slaves, ordered to refuse any sexual advancement on pain of death enforced by magical bondage. The male staff were to report any homosexual or deviant behavior. They recorded his every move, reporting to whoever held their chain.

Watching eyes hounded him, suffocated him. He had no friends, no confidant, no support structure; nothing.

At age four he learned a beguilement spell that would distort and confuse a person’s senses, and with glee he had all his watchers see a studious boy either exercising, studying, or dallying about. ‘Perfectly normal behavior, nothing wrong here,’ was the enchantment he applied to their weak broken shells they called minds.

All the while he studied and wandered his estates, exploring dark ruins and secret entrances, enjoying the ancient knowledge of old libraries, learning from respected tutors that reported excellent mental acuity in absorbing their teachings. He performed adequately within social functions as a polite, disarming, and moderately charming young man; another face in the crowds of scions making forgettable connections with one another.

By eleven he was experimenting with alchemy, exploiting his family’s lost or stashed wealth, hidden within odd places or forgotten rooms, leaving dazed and beguiled servants behind to purchase laboratory equipment and key potion ingredients from cities and towns he’d visit when venturing to various estates or tutors. He brewed, enchanted, cast, and practiced the arcane arts.

Then a turning point came into his new life, one that would see his already worsening viewpoint of his lot in life fall into cynicism and isolation. At the culturally vital age of twelve, he was summoned to his Grandfather, Lord Alkahest.

Cedric frowned deeply as he remembered his first time interacting with that old fossil. A man older than the current Empire, a loyal supporter of the Emperor, and acting Royal Magister. He walked into an ornate office, inspected by the old man for three minutes, his blank white eyes stabbing into him, before being waved away dismissively. Not a word was spoken.

It wasn’t until the next day that he discovered the Patriarch had assigned him dedicated tutors within the mystic arts, along with an allotment of alchemical reagents and a dedicated lab.

His father had summoned him promptly, demanding he explain why his lord father decided to invest these rare and expensive resources in him. No fatherly pride was to be found, and instead a cold and brutal man stared down an anomaly within his house.

He’d played dumb and was forced to experience eight consecutive days within the dungeons, and out of pure spite he suffered through those days, any resemblance of growing love or kindness towards his new family killed off root and stem by this act of cruel abuse. He lived off water drizzling from cold and damp stones along with the gruel he’d be served with periodically, shivering on cold stones, naked as the day he was reborn. Each day he was asked by a masked servant, and each day he was silent. Then, as the eighth day came, without explanation, he was let out of that damp cell and brought to his promised lab, to which he got to work without pause or second doubt.

Not to prove himself to anyone, or to avoid such treatment. He respected no one within the House of Alkahest and would thus be remiss to attach emotional value in a desire to be respected by those who wouldn’t give him the barest minimum of their time. He was not a dog who whined at the lack of his owner’s touch, no matter how nice his bed was. Cedric worked and slaved over the refinement of his magical talents due to several reasons.

The seed was his own innate interest in the mystic arts. Every boy on Earth has tried to cast Fireball. He remembered the embarrassing moments in middle school when he’d stare at his palm, flexing the muscles and tendons of his hand to get a flame alight. The seed was always there, the desire for power. The mystic arts were the water that let that seed sprout full.

The roots of his passion, the things that fed that seed its vital nutrients to grow were unique. In his desire to learn the mystic arts, he desired to improve his ability to learn.

Alterations were taken to his own mind using enchantments and mental manipulations, enhancing, culling, shaping, and distorting his own mind. His roots grew; wild and free.

Cedric at the young age of four, frustrated with his lack of freedom due to the constant observation of the servant staff, stumbled upon a primer for the illusory arts. With no-one willing to cast these magicks on, he used himself as a test-dummy. He started to hypnotize himself. It started small. Better habits, more motivation, great highs of rewarding brain chemistry when he worked on anything magical, an extension of patience.

Then it escalated. A removal of boredom during times of tedium, heightened focus and mental acuity, codified memorization tricks correlating to specific qualia induced via magical stimulation, and on he went. Years went by and he constantly built, artificially modifying and dissecting his own mind, learning how he ticked, how he broke, how he could make himself better. Nuts were knocked loose, welds were broken, and in their place mythril and adamantium plates were alchemically bound to create a mind that was verifiably divergent from humanity itself.

These alterations and enchantments that Cedric had placed on his own person, enchantments that he described as ‘Study Aids’, led to a real and false love of the art. An ingrained habitual desire and rewarding behavior similar to exercise, applied to a mental study with flowing creativity and tangible aspects of power and expression led to real attachment to his attainments within the craft. This attachment was enhanced and exacerbated by his artificial inducement of psychological and chemical addiction towards performing and improving within the art, tied to the real survivalistic need of becoming better within it if he was to thrive within society.

He sighed audibly within his cabin, sitting on the bed as he reminisced about his life and family.

Or the lack thereof.

His family was invested in him so-long as he displayed a willingness to develop himself in their interest. His father was suspicious of him and his attainments of his magical prowess and abilities, as was reported back to him by his tutors. His mother followed in that suspicion after testing him shortly during his fifteenth birthday, finding his control and connection to his magic to be leagues beyond his age group, and his finesse in defending his mind from mental alterations was at such an adept level of skill to be a gritty challenge for a Sorceress of her class.

Memories of said lesson had his already present frown deep into a scowl, brow furrowing with those memories. Scathing fires dancing along his mind, burning hot iron nails lancing into his temple, sharp serrated nails clawing at his temple and frontal cortex…

He sneered. Every encounter he’d had with his new family within this life had only ever led to bring him pain or uncertainty. He’d recognize that he benefited greatly from their wealth, archives, libraries, and connections. His name had weight from the womb. He was significantly advantaged compared to nearly any other person on this globe. The logical side of him stated he should be thankful for the opportunities granted to him by the family, the wealth he indirectly benefited from, the resources he had access to, and all he had to pay for it was some discomfort and pain.

The human half of him knew that this House was not his family and recoiled from any thought that tried to connect emotional attachments towards the House; even those that were born from logical transactory gratitude. For he remembered the sleepless nights, fearing that he was being watched at all times. He remembered the distinct lack of privacy that he experienced in every aspect of his life. He remembered the harsh rebukes from his tutors, expecting absolute perfection from a student that performed at levels far beyond his age.

Yet, Cedric was no genius. He was hard working to an extreme, motivated, determined, and absolutely passionate. However, the leaps of logic, innate natural connectivity, and clicking concepts that so demarcated a genius had him floundering. Conversely, this ‘lacking’ talent, pushed him ever onwards. Potions supported him and his body for days at a time, not once sleeping as he studied, practiced, studied, practiced, and kept doing so until his body and mind were so broken that studying and practicing were all he could do. He remembered a time where he spent an entire month locked away within his laboratory, refining that damnable solution and catalyst he needed for an abominably difficult potion that grew any desired form of gemstone when poured over a mineral. It was how he’d obtained the Painite for his wand.

As the memories flooded his mind Cedric took a deep breath and began practicing a breathing exercise, recognizing that he was having a panic attack. Slowly, his body eased away from the tension that had racked it. Instead, a soft relaxation and determination took the place of the anxiety and trauma that his domestic situation inspired. Another enchantment that lurked within his mind, identifying the rapidly increasing stress hormones and acting to resolve and reduce their effects on his body.

‘I’m past that. I’m nineteen now, headed for the Academy. No more servants, just my…peers.’ He sighed, a grimace on his face. The social functions he’d attended throughout his youth, parties, balls, and period of celebration and displays of decadence from various political factions rubbing one another’s success in the other’s face were his own personal hell. It was networking, to put bluntly, with competitive, ambitious, and cunning snakes all bunched up into a tightly packed room with thinly veiled masks of social civility budging together with old rivalries, newly burgeoning friendships paired with just as many -if not more- enemies.

Cedric did…okay during those periods.

He took the path of the magister, mage, wizard, or whatever one wanted to call a magical practitioner. Each title had its own connotations in how one served or functioned within society and the Empire itself. A Magister was a servant directly tied to the Emperor, a Sorcerer was a free-lancer of significant power, a Wizard was a jack-of-all trades and usually a scholar or professor, and a Mage was an umbrella term for all magic practitioners regardless of gender. Arcanists were usually purely scholarly, but they were also the best curse-breakers and anti-mages due the sheer depth of their knowledge. They were usually lumped in with Wizards, although a woman could be referred to as an Arcanist; Witch was avoided by principle. A Mystic was an even more broad form of an Arcanist. It was generally used to refer to a ‘very wise magic practitioner’ who dealt with the most obscure and esoteric forms of magic.

His siblings took the path of the Knight, physically powerful and skilled individuals who called on an internal reservoir of ‘vital energies’ known as Aura to fuel their body with supernatural abilities. The Empire referred to these individuals as ‘Knights’, although other regions and cultures had their own terms, such as ‘Fighters’, ‘Warriors’, ‘Monks’, and so on.

Social functions were the path for those that lacked talents within magic and aura, acting as an area of expertise to pursue, and one that was keyed towards the political and economic sides of running an Empire. While personal power was extremely valued within a world that was filled with magical entities, rival empires, fantasy races, demonic influence, and on the list went; an Empire was built not off the backs of those with a strong arm, but by those who could talk and trade ideas with one another. Nobility who specialized within social functions used these periods during their youth to, one, find that talent, two, hone it, and three, to develop meaningful connections with the talented, powerful, connected, or socially important of society. Ambitious youths would form cliques of other ambitious youths, creating blocks of power that would form the foundation of the future empire’s political map.

Cedric was taken out of his distant reminiscence by a brass horn extending from the wooden facade of his cabin that crackled with static. A voice echoed from the pipe it was attached to. “All passengers, we have docked at Paraval High-Port! Calling for departure!”

Cedric took a deep breath, gathering himself mentally and spiritually. He stood a minute later, taking up his trunk filled with his belongings, and cast a lightening enchantment on the contents and wooden trunk itself. It drifted to his side, hanging like an over-large briefcase freed from gravity. He made his way into the hallways, empty save for himself as he’d caught a rare flight to Paraval from Yal-Hest, the ancestral arid desert that his family inhabited.

The Alkahest House, to an Earth-Born man like himself, was a family that descended from a strange mixture of Germanic and middle-eastern ethnicity. That was just a comparison, however, and his ‘mixed race’ was just an ethnicity in and of itself, an old combination of the northern tribes that migrated from the Long Frost ages prior, settling within the arid deserts of the Hetal Region. Natives of the Hetal mixed with the Northern Tribes, creating the now-named Hestites; but in antiquity were known as the Het-Kal.

Cedric himself was pale for his ethnicity, lacking the dusky tone that people of his region usually inherited. This was due to him inheriting the pallor of his mother’s skin, the woman originating from a Paraval itself and was in fact a daughter of Duke Paraval, City Lord of the ancient northern settlement and cultural home of the Empire. His lacking melanin, paired with his dark hair, gray eyes, and dower features would have him pegged as a Northman. However, his softer features, slimmer body type, and moderate height of five-foot ten made him different from the far stouter and taller men of the far north.

He exited from the living quarters and narrowed his eyes to the natural sunlight that briefly blinded him. He quickly adjusted, glancing towards the lowered ‘plank’.

‘Walking The Plank’, in his world, was a form of execution done by pirates and navies in older ages. In this world, it was how one disembarked their ship.

Cedric walked to the plank and inspected the plank’s inscribed enchantments and the mana fluctuations emitting from the thick plane of hardwood. He found the ‘feather fall’ enchantments adequate, if somewhat inefficient, but doable for their intended purpose of cheap mass production. The moment he stepped on the plank, its magics infused his being, glowing specks of white light dancing around him. He walked it with firm strides, before stepping off its edge.

He drifted off, the winds of the cold weather billowing and stealing him away from the ship itself, however, the enchantments of Feather Fall allowed a soft form of wind-propulsion, allowing someone even tentatively familiar with internal energy manipulation to guide surrounding winds to be protective or forceful, controlling one’s decent.

Cedric aimed his descent down towards the processing center, as not doing so would have Gryphon Knights sent after him, and they were often unapologetic when being rough in arresting those who failed to float within the allotted air space.

His gaze drifted towards where several crates and mercantile goods were being off loaded, automatically being guided by magical forces on the ground using long-distance ritual foci to guide the winds around the tightly bound shipments of goods towards loading areas. The airspace of a city was fervently protected and surveilled, as ever since the goblin hijacking of The Cloud Whale, and subsequent usage of the ship’s armaments to bombard and raid two villages and one major port town, Lords and Imperial Agents have been exceptionally strict on the observation and allotment of air security. It wasn’t hard to down an Airship with static defenses or a mage tower that many cities held, but a sneaky deployment of explosives or volatile alchemical reagents were a security threat.

It reminded him of nine-eleven and the subsequent air-port security increases.

Cedric floated from the sky, shivering inside his warm coat as the cold winds invaded the enchanted article of clothing. It wasn’t long before he landed within the customs area. The few passengers that were joining him on the flight had already been processed, leaving him to be the last. A knight, wearing a decorated great-coat with a popped collar to protect his face from winds, along with a sharp military cap walked up to Cedric, a scholarly page by his side.

“Papers of identification, sir.” The knight stated politely, if bored and blunt.

Cedric dug into his coat, promptly pulling out an envelope, and a booklet. He handed the envelope to the knight, before opening the booklet and holding its pages down with a thumb, bearing its pages up towards the two.

The knight took the envelope, pausing to scan the booklet, before coughing abruptly and cleared his throat, “Aa-h, L-Lord Scion, welcome to Paraval!” The knight saluted with surprise and a bleed of nervous anxiety. “I, erm, I’m afraid I must confirm your identity, as one of a Great House, we cannot have any imposters or shapeshifting rogues causing chaos.” The knight recovered from his bout of anxious nerves at meeting the Empire’s elite, shaping up and conforming to his training.

The page, a boy of roughly fourteen years squared his shoulders as well, glancing nervously between both his senior and the apparent member of high-nobility.

Cedric smiled casually, “Please, go right ahead.” He said with a relaxed demeanor. Cedric himself was a handsome young man with a smokey voice that had been roughened from inhaling one too many vats of potion fumes during synthesis. Lasting if minor damage had been done to his vocal cords, although his respiratory system had been healed by inhaling an oxygen rich healing fluid that restored their function. Said fluid failed to restore his vocal cords to their optimal state as they were overseen during diagnostics. He’d been deep in his studies and had hardly even noticed the difference in his vocal pitch, the diagnostic after-the-fact reporting them healed, but he’d failed to consider how they healed.

By the time everything was said and done, Cedric took it as a lesson to wear proper safety gear and use his fume hood, as just because things were easy to heal, doesn’t mean he was capable of diagnosing and repairing everything; for even minor wounds can kill.

The knight nodded and turned, waving another man over and turned to leave, leaving Cedric and the man’s Page to shiver within the cold.

Cedric frowned, waiting, thankfully not needing to wait long for a man dressed in a resplendent great-coat with shining epaulets and medals decorating his chest to burst into the loading dock. Wisps of silver faded from his form, indicating he was reinforcing his body using Aura. The man himself was giant, standing at an estimated six foot eight and was as broad as a barrel. His great strides at up distance, his face heavily obscured as it was covered by his raised great-coat’s collar and a bicorn hat that shadowed his eyes. He stopped before Cedric, towering over the smaller man and leaning down, the action revealed a heavily scarred and weathered face, one that Cedric stared into without fear and hesitance.

“Ha.” The giant grunted. “Heard ye’ were comin’. Welcome ta’ Paraval, Cedric Alkahest.” His chest and throat rumbled as he hawked a ball of phlegm to the side, having to lower his great coat lest he shoot it inside his clothing. “I assume ye’ have an acceptance letter’?” His accent was thick, and his massive leather glove covered hand extended out in expectation.

Cedric jerked his head to the knight that shadowed the man, and the giant turned and snagged the quickly offered letter.

The giant ripped the paper sheath with dexterous sausage fingers, bringing the small sheet of paper to his weathered eyes and reading it with intent. He grunted, “You’re a bit early, the big-wigs and Great Houses start sending their kids over in yay’ ‘bout a week or two, most.” He grumbled, “Brats with no sense, those ones.” He glanced down at Cedric with narrowed eyes, “Weh’ ain’t gonna’ be seein’ any foolery from ye’, are weh’?”

Cedric chuckled at the playful intimidation, “Depends on what kind of foolery you speak of.” He deflected, an amused smile crawling on his face.

The Knight Captain laughed, a hand clapping down on Cedric’s shoulder, nearly sending him sliding into the snow. “Haha! He barks, he does! Now, ye’ cheeky laddie, '' The man’s hand tightened, “I aint’ playin’ now.” He growled, “We’ er’,” He gestured around to his accompanying knight, “We’s havin’ a city ta’ protect, we does. You braties come er’ and stuff up da’ place with yer’ snobby whinin’, and we’ll toss ya’inta’ da’ pens, we will. Got dat’, little bratty?”

Cedric’s eyes crinkled in amusement, schadenfreude dancing in his eyes at the thought, “You’re a good man, Captain. Keep at it.” He said with real gratitude, patting the tall man on the forearm.

The Captain’s eyes widened a bit in surprise at the complement, chuffing as he reared back up. “Mayb’e yer’ not al’ bad.” He murmured, “Now den’, I heard ‘bout ya’ from da’ Duke. He’ll be wantin’ to talk ta his Grandson, he will. I’ll send up word, be expecting a message ‘bout some meetin’ to be comin’ round from the Duke, ya? You’s gotta’ place to be settin’ up while da’ waitin’ for da’ Academy?”

Cedric nodded, “I have a place booked within The Warrens.”

The Captain reared his head back, “Da’ Warrens, he says?” He repeated, shocked. “Tha’s where da’ Adventurer types gather and sleep, laddie. Why ya’ restin’ yer’ head there?” He narrowed his eyes, “You lookin’ to get inta’ trouble, ye’ are?” He warned tonally.

Cedric shook his head, “Business, connections; but of the type we ‘braties’ tend not make.” He shrugged. “I have my reasons besides that secondary goal, though.”

The Captain stared at him for a long moment, before chuffing again. “A smart one, ye’ are. Good head, but an adventurous heart, ye’?” He hummed, “Yer’ lookin’ fer’ work, aren't ya?”

The younger man blinked, hesitantly nodding, “I have been…sheltered.” He admitted softly. “This world is dangerous. I do not know how much.”

“Aye,” The Knight Captain muttered, “Wiser words never said.” His accent thinned. “The Guard posts plenty of mercenary contracts, jus’ so yer’ aware. Come by tha’ office and talk to Knight Warden Grant, tell ‘em Yoknir sent ya’. He’ll get ya’ somethin’ ta’ get started, but you best come prepared.” He rubbed at his collar, “Don’t wanna’ send back no frozen corpse to yer’ southern lands. Holds bad in em’ heats.”

The black humor had Cedric chuckling.

Yoknir’s eyes crinkled in respect to the noble who could stomach it and find it funny. That, and the fact that as far as Yoknir had seen, this young High Noble had been entirely genuine to him, no petty mask or false words, just a young man, far from home, looking to make a life that has meaning to him. It made an impression on the giant Knight Captain, and with one last clap to the back, had Cedric on his way.

Cedric was guided through customs and was soon left deposited on the streets of Paraval. The city itself was a grand sight, and Cedric made no waste of time exploring. He was first drawn to the unique architectural design of the city, done with what to him felt like a mixture of late-medieval architecture blended with the advancements in city building taken from the magi-tech revolution sweeping through the city. It was coated with Germanic, Norse, and Bavarian styles of building and decoration; an eclectic mixture of northern tribes combining to form one people under the Empire, sweeping south and taking the world by storm.

White plaster walls were done up with homey facades, paired with bits of wrought iron fences and elaborate arches. Stone arches formed overpasses that lifted over heated sewer streams or walk paths, narrow bridges extended over the very same walk paths, paired with arterial cobblestone central roads that allowed large amounts of foot and carriage traffic to pass through the large city. Brass piping and the clunky machinery of gnomish and dwarven engineering ran rampant through the streets, their automata pulling along through foot traffic as they navigated their loads of materials to the industrial or mercantile district.

The city itself was packed, even during this chill. Every other building he passed by seemed to be a pub, tavern, or inn filled to the brim with rowdy individuals cheering, songs of bards, or the cat-calls of service women showing their tantalizing bodies for display within the chilling cold. Cedric was aware that this city was a den of crime, petty and grand. As ancient as it was, people have long since learned the ways to integrate themselves within its status quo without upsetting law and order enough to warrant brutal crackdowns on their morally and legally gray business.

Brothels and sex work ran rampant, as did smuggling, unlawful slave trading, and the sale of illicit or restricted goods. Cedric knew such information due to how infamous the black markets of Paraval were, catering to many within nobility. For the city thrived on its free trades, and the wise forces within knew to pay their dues to the ones that truly controlled the city.

He obtained directions towards his living arrangements from people off the streets, being led to areas that showed this side of the city. Its darkness only grew more and more dense and blatant as one went deeper into the city’s old districts and things became more crowded with the average citizenry.

Cedric had everything on him managed, wary of pickpockets. His posture was tight and guarded, keeping a certain level of attention on his pocket, coat, and hands. Even then he wasn’t too worried about getting finessed, as his wand and other valuables in person were cursed to only be held by his hands. Anyone that dared try to take it with intent to steal would find that the item they’d tried to grab was in-fact so hot that they’d experience the full pain of a sixth-degree burn.

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That was a burn that went bone deep, and the curse wasn’t physical, but entirely illusory; meaning that instead of one’s nerves being burned away in that same instant and the target not feeling anything, they felt the full intensity of a sixth-degree burn for however long they touched his stuff with intent to steal.

While one might think it overkill, in the empire, theft was an offense punishable by dismemberment, being sold into slavery, or death. Cedric’s wand was also his most precious of valuables and was utterly priceless. Stealing from a High-Noble already was a death-worthy offense, but to try and steal something so precious to one was worthy of a fate worse than death itself.

The Wand’s value came from its production and the materials needed to create it. It was the product of his attempt at hatching an old and ancient dragon egg found within one of his family’s estates. He’d succeeded in hatching a dragon but failed as the dragon died in its infancy mere moments later.

Cedric wasn’t too broken up about the death, as he obtained dragon scales, blood, and bones to be used in alchemical works.

The rib cage of the infant dragon was alchemically rendered into an ultra-dense curved length of bone, the base and original design of his wand. However, in his attempts at attuning with the bone wand, he shattered it when he infused an ungodly amount of magic into the bone. To fix this issue, Cedric used ‘golden joinery’, often known as Kintsugi with a stolen adamantium show piece short-sword. This bound the shattered bone with the melted metal, and the attempt at attunement went through with wondrous results.

A wand functioned as a foci, the lacing of enchanted adamantium infused with his mana allowed it to easily channel his energies, drawing on the innate strength and power of a dragon’s lineage and blood to add a bit of extra potency to his spells. The painite gemstone held at the butt of the wand acted as a battery and amplifier for magical spells casted using the tool. The unique and ridiculously rare gemstone made up of zirconium, calcium, boron, aluminum, and oxygen held interesting mystical effects too.

The gemstone had a unique coloration of being utterly black with streaks of burning crimson throughout its transparent crystalline form. The exact purities of these elements were alchemically altered and modified to enhance this unique coloration. Painite itself was used in his wand’s creation due to its unique coloration and rarity, but even more critically was its mystical symbology and how it affected the casting of certain spells.

Painite granted Cedric an uncanny ability in casting cursed flames, fires that couldn’t be snuffed, caused horrifically painful and incurable wounds, and fires that fed on unique energies like Aura or Magic instead of base oxygen. These flames were usually horrendously difficult to control, but using a painite gemstone as a focus allowed eerie dominance over those formidable forces.

Other gemstones held similar abilities in the control, power, and finesse in casting magical spells of certain schools and discipline, but Painite held itself as utterly unique and synergized wonderfully with the bones of a red dragon and the unique coloration of adamantium. Cedric had been debating a name for his wand for ages, and even now was hesitant on what to name the item. This was due to the fact that Cedric was painfully aware of the fact that the artifact he’d created was absolutely unique, if not legendary.

The value of the wand was unknown, even to Cedric, for it was a truly one-of-a-kind work. Wands that he’d been offered to use by tutors were tools of dramatically worse quality, made from wood and alchemically rendered magically receptive catalysts; far worse than the natural synergistic ingredients he’d use to make his own. Other wands he’d seen were often unadorned with gems, and those that tended to be exceptionally overpriced for their practicality; either falling into one of two categories, blatantly gaudy, or decorative showpieces. From auctions he’d attended, social functions, or even his inspections of his mother’s wand; they were all significantly poorer quality, showing just how powerful of a wand he’d managed to create for himself.

His wand thus deserved the most protective of curses and a powerful name, a name that he’d been tongue tied in applying to the implement.

‘It will come eventually.’ Cedric decided as he kept himself wary of thieves, as it’d be a shame to become the center of attention when a would-be fool starts screaming in utmost agony.

In his travels, he soon found himself within a location most interesting within the city. Located near the Northern Gates, the towering stone walls protected by mystical wards and magical enchantments dominated the skyline. The homes and buildings within this area were far sturdier, constructed out of stone, brick, or insulated wood. Gates of iron and steel separated this area into easy to control blocks, and the pedestrians thinned away. People still populated this district, but it was filled with a different sort.

Men and women of all kinds of races and cultures, even those not belonging to the Orestien Empire milled about the streets. They wore armor, cloaks, heavy clothing fit for the environment, and all manner of weapons decorated their bodies. He couldn’t help but stare at a man covered entirely in white fur, a thick circular shield of steel attached to his furry left forearm, while a heavy mace dangled from his right hip. His face was savage and monkey-like, primitive, yet holding undeniable sapience and intelligence within his eyes. Joining him was a thin and tall figure that Cedric had seen too many to not know was an Elf; a pair of sabers were at his side with a cloak of white made to camouflage into snowy terrain hiding his features.

It was rare to see an elf not in a collar within The Empire, the Western regions of the empire constantly raiding and skirmishing with the eclectic mixture of tribes and dominions located within the Great Eshal Forests. The Eshal Forests was a massive expanse of forests that expanded from the far north with boreal pines and dense primeval winter wonderlands. This Great Forest extended to the dense jungles of the south, unseparated by prairies and instead melded with a rainforest folded within the Great Eshal Forests; for the feature consisted of dozens of conjoined forests that evolved and mutated to their environments; uncut by mountains, and those that did exist were dominated by the forests either way.

From the moderate temperate forests in the west, along with the famous giant redwoods along the coast of the continent, to the sweltering heats of the rainforests down south, and the freezing boreal forests that bled off into the northern tundra and southern deserts. Within this massive expanse of land lived ancient elvish peoples who remembered the last empire that bordered them, one that fell and shattered, only to be recently reunited under a new culture and banner. Isolated within these massive forests, the Empire’s existence was likely a myth or boogieman to the Elvish people who lived in its depths.

The Empire was a beast that fed itself on war; conquering nations, engaging in rapid expansion, employing the integration of average citizenry into the empire, and the enslavement of any and all that rivaled them. There were massive industries established all across the empire, from combat sports, sexual slavery, trained servants, warrior slaves, and more. It left the Empire with few allies that didn’t share the human-centric ideology that it so espoused and created a xenophobic culture to go along with it.

The Empire, however, did have quite a few allies; surrounded as it was by enemies, concessions were needed to be made to survive the game of global politics. From the Dwarven Clans and Gnomish Kingdoms, and even other Human City States led by extremely powerful and independent individuals; the world was more than just the Empire. However, with the human-centric policies of the Empire, it led to a nation dominated by stigmas; all built to feed the engine of war, to feed itself, and to constantly advance its imperialistic desires.

If there was a breaking light within this grim situation, it would have to be the enforced international neutrality that was allotted to the Adventurer’s Guild, allowing the free wandering of non-human individuals he saw before him today.

In a world with magic and monsters, there were people who were powerful enough to cleave the mountains in twain, or rewrite reality; the talented few who desired to put their talents to the good of all raised a banner that stood tall throughout ages and weathered the fall and rise of empires and nations. The origins and history of the Adventurer’s Guild was a mystery, although Cedric had suspicions about an individual like himself starting the stereotypical cliche organization in ages past.

The Adventurer’s Guild was an eclectic mixture of men and women from all walks of life, all races, cultures, and ethnic groups that wanted to put their talents in adventure, exploration, and combat to good use; they ranged from merely adventurous spirits, mercenaries, people on hard times, to outcasts and wanderers. Whether it be rare artifacts needing to be recovered from dangerous depths, a rescue mission of gnomish miners lost in dark tunnels, the slaughter and extermination of a goblin camp, the exploration of a newly discovered desert temple filled with unholy undead, or the bounty of a black dragon that has been terrorizing the northern waterways for the last few years; Adventurers were the ones to call.

Adventurers traveled the globe in search of the next mission that would pad their bank accounts, enjoying diplomatic immunity within nations that employed their kind, although often with several caveats and restrictions.

The Empire employed the Adventurers Guild in cities that needed a Guild, which were usually frontier cities and towns. Despite being an old capital of the nation, Paraval was a far northern city that was neighbor to plenty of nasties and monsters native to its region. It attracted the sorts that saw wealth and danger aplenty within its mountainous valleys, tall mountains, and northern wastes. The nobility would pay out the nose for a Desert Snow Fox pelt, or a mantel piece of a felled Great Elk, or ancient ruins and archaeological finds dating back to the oldest of civilizations.

Adventurers held a twisted reputation with the nobility and social structure within the Empire. The common citizenry disliked Adventurers, being fed propaganda that alienated foreigners, outsiders, and those that were different to the cut standards of the Imperial Dogma. The nobility were an eclectic mixture of opinions, of course, but most either fell into two camps; one regarded them with disdain, viewing them as uncultured ruffians and vagrants, hypocritically purchasing goods that were obtained through their exploits. Others offered bare levels of respect, seeing them as competent mercenaries with wide ranging experience obtained through years of travel and exploration. Valuable and expendable tools worth the price needed to purchase them.

They were integral facets to many cities private and public economic sectors, providing martial assistance, information, or magical aid to a city’s law enforcement and guard when offered a contract. They also at times were recruited with standing armies, although the imperial armies would only recruit the best and most powerful of Adventurers to use as ‘Heroic Units’, as hiring undisciplined mercenaries would ruin the formation and fighting style of their armies. Adventurers often conformed to Party Mechanics, operating in elite and small groups; although outliers that organized themselves with traditional professional formation fighting indicative of Mercenaries were present just as well. Any general knew that obtaining the services of a powerful foreign mage or skilled Warrior could help turn the tides of battle, as those that were skilled in magic or Aura were often seen as tactical -and in certain rare cases- strategic resources.

In a private sector, they were recruited and offered contracts to serve or perform a service or duty by a private citizen or nobility. This allowed, say, an Alchemist to obtain a rushed order of a specific plant species they need to brew a potion. With enough silver or gold depending on how rare and dangerous it would be to obtain said reagent, they could get a squad of newbies or professional rangers to head out and collect a hefty supply of ingredients that an alchemist without the means to travel to far-off -and often dangerous- locations wouldn’t otherwise have been capable of obtaining.

Cedric himself had done so plenty of times, ordering entire shopping lists of alchemical reagents from Adventurers and citing inside his contract that he needed them to be of utmost quality. The first time he’d tried doing so, the livers of the dark fay he’d requested were mulched inside glass jars. It required a premium cost of service, of course, but it was worthwhile for a young boy just reaching into his teens and was otherwise incapable of ranging out into the wilderness to search for reagents on his lonesome.

This district within Paraval was known as ‘The Military District’, and wasn’t just populated by Adventurers. Adventurers were usually regulated to residing within the area, both for security reasons in the city wanting to keep an eye on the population of super soldiers, but also to separate the rough-and-tough drifters from the culturally dismissive or derisive folk of Paraval itself. The military folk of the Military District were far more ambivalent with the Adventurers, discipline keeping them professional at worst with the foreigners despite propaganda and prejudice leaking into personal bias. It at times led to conflict, but it was a manageable conflict done within an area that risked little civilian casualties. Officers were trained to de-escalate situations between both parties, and Adventurers were briefed that the Empire didn’t often rule in the favor of non-humans when it came time to punish the parties involved in the disturbance of peace.

There was another reason that the Adventurers were kept in the district. The Military District was home to a wide variety of garrisons and was kept to the most northern section of Paraval, which was also the most fortified and defended position of the city. This was due to the commonality of raiders and enemies from the distant north; from frost goblins, to barbarians, giants, jotun, ettins, werebeasts, and rogue necromancers. Paraval had weathered sieges for centuries and was built into a geologically advantageous position of high ground. The southern and eastern half of the city was built into the edges of a cliff, with the lower slum districts being located at the bottom.

To attack those high-density living situations, often referred to as the ‘Weeping District’ for the howling winds that crashed against the cliff edge, an invading army would need to round the Northern and Western wall and swing further south. Then they’d need to clear the remaining cliff edge, then head back north to attack the southern walls that protected the dilapidated and less economically supported portions of the city. Even then, there wouldn’t be anything much to be gained from attacking the slums, as it was exceptionally easy to block the freight elevators and winding narrow foot paths that climbed up the cliff faces leading into Paraval proper.

Adventurers located within the district would be exceptionally willing to defend the Guild and their current sleeping arrangements in the case of a siege scenario, and in this way Paraval kept a garrison of powerful mercenaries that just needed the promise of some form of reward to assist in the defense of the city in a state of emergency. The City Lord and the Empire couldn’t force the Adventurers to fight, but situation and circumstance could often force even the pacifist among them to lash out.

Cedric made his way through this district, passing by formations of on-duty guards that passed by lounging and relaxing soldiers that were off duty. At times one could see Adventurers and Paraval natives interacting, although a keen eye would notice that these interactions were almost always with gnomish, dwarven, and human adventurers. Elvish, demi-human, beast-kin, or otherwise divergent sapient species were generally ignored or avoided by the off-duty soldiers, far more willing to engage in conversation with allied species.

Dwarves and Gnomes were viewed as equals by many within The Empire, usually within regions that housed those races natively. Natives of those regions had grown up and had innate cultural relations with those races and were familiar with the fact that they were little different than themselves. Populations that were foreign to the dwarves and gnomes saw them as inferior, which usually consisted of the southern states as it was only in the northern mountains, along the Rachtan Ridges, and the Highland Foothills that one encountered their populations. Paraval had a large population of gnomes and dwarves who worked the forges and created the ideas that inspired the recent technological advancements into some form of renaissance.

The technologies that came from Paraval were advanced, however, the fame and renown that was brought with these advancements were little despite how great they were advancing the Empire’s economy and power. Technology and its advancements were seen as gimmicks and tricks when compared to the power and convenience that magic professed, with the rest of the Empire seeing the clockwork factories that produced their clothes, textiles, industry standard shipping containers, swords, armor, and so much more as ‘mere novelties’. The floating airships that sailed the skies and the powerful magi-tech cannon arms were less seen as an engineer and tinker’s labor, and more as the enchanter and artificer’s construction. Their effectiveness was applied to magic, not the technologies, ideas, and automated labor that leveraged magic to not need constant maintenance and observation from a mage to function.

Cedric soon arrived not to his chosen living situation, but instead to his primary destination, one that he’d refrained from telling the Knight Captain; although he had little doubt that the man surmised his goals. He took a deep breath, smoothing out his coat, before bowing forward and opening the thick and heavy reinforced pine doors that barred the Adventurer’s Guild.

The doors opened to a wild house of activity, his eyes going wide with the sights he saw off rip.

A gnomish man, or teen rather, was hanging on the flailing body of an irate elf, the two stumbling through the crowds of roaring and laughing men and women of several different races and species. A wood-kin ent slowly lumbered along, a tray of wood fused to its long branch-like hands supporting a dozen stacked drinks that were maneuvered to skillfully dodge the stumbling and gyrating motions of the packed house. A table filled with bulky orcish or brutal-looking humans roared and cheered as their fellows engaged in card games, slamming their tables with thick mugs filled with sloshing alcohol that had them buzzed and slurring.

Cedric glanced over to where a band of merry fae-looking men were playing flutes and lutes, the joyous sound of a steady beat from a drum being played by a goblin and dwarf duo dancing along the floor with laughter and shouts of ire and outrage echoing through the music’s buzz. A satyr’s hooves clapped and clopped on the wooden stage of the band of bards, a calming melody of magic swimming through the air; keeping tensions low and things peaceful. Cedric felt the magic easily, the weak enchantment failing to breach the fortress and citadels of mental defenses he had woven into his mind.

Staff and waiters served dishes of rich stew, hearty meats, and delicious rich meals fit for a hearty adventure. All the while at the edge of this ferment of activity and revelry, serious parties of adventures murmured in dark corners, spreading out maps and charts, inspecting pages of worn and cut contracts nailed or stabbed to walls and tables by many patrons. Then to the far back where the noises of a kitchen’s activities sounded out, an adjacent selection of booths were lined up on the far wall filled with clerks conversing with party leaders as they engaged in negotiations and debriefings of various contracts. Others cheered as they left those lines, hefting a thick bag of clinking coins that was tossed onto a table to reveal the contents of gold and silver, eagerly inspected by the party at large.

Cedric stumbled and made his way through the organized chaos, more familiar with balls of waltzing couples and dancing motions than the vibrant energy that populated this guild hall. He soon made his way through the crowds, mumbling apologies out of reflex as he bumped into every odd patron, and eventually stood in line and waited patiently for his turn to talk to a clerk.

Cedric soon arrived at the front of his line and smiled at the dwarfish man who inspected him with narrowed eyes over gleaming spectacles.

“Don’t quite recognize ye’, laddie. You’ve got the Paraval colorin’, but yer’ features foreign as could be.” The dwarf grinned and rapped the counter of his box. “Name and registration, then we can get to what ya’ need.”

“Cedric Alkahest.” The dwarf froze, eyes snapping up to stare at Cedric’s amused gray eyes. “No registration, I’m afraid. Although, I’d like that to change.” He smiled.

The clerk swallowed visibly, “Registering, aye?” He wrung his hands, reigning in his nerves as he fell back onto his training. “As a member of da’ nobility, yer’ barred from the protections of the Adventurer’s Guild and will be limited in accepting requests and contracts confined to yer’ country of entitlement.” He ducked down and pulled out a file, then fiddled with it, soon pulling out a selection of papers. “I have er’ some papers yu’ll be needin’ ta sign, then you’ll be verified with da’ truth stone and we can get ya’ registered.”

Cedric nodded, taking up the papers and briefly scanning over them. He bid his leave to the dwarf and exited the line, heading over to the busy tavern area. He found a secluded and recently abandoned table, still somewhat filthy from food and spilled drink. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand, banishing and removing the filth before setting himself up at the table, placing his trunk within the feet of the table. He spread out his forms and documents, eyes roving over them within short order, dissecting legal information and binding wordage

He started work on filling out his information, rummaging around inside his jacket to reveal a fountain pen with a golden tip, before touching it to paper and citing his full name: Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest. He then filled in the circle of being a ‘Mage’ with the optional Party Roles section. Then he was prompted to write a brief description of his abilities.

Cedric wrote that he was a talented and skilled alchemist, an adept enchanter of both mind and matter, and a proficient illusionist. He further stated that his skills within warding and abjuration were his current focus in study and stated an ‘average’ level of capability in removing, assaulting, or creating such defenses. For his offensive capabilities, he declared that he focused mainly on three types of magic; acidic transmutation and the manipulation of said acidic compounds, cursed fires that were tied to an extreme level of control in his pyromancy and was also skilled in the usage of lightning as a long-range offensive element. He neglected to mention a few other details of his magical proficiencies and abilities, like his fascination with learning any and all magic capable of making life more convenient; like his hair cleaning magic. Most mages would find it a hilarious and vain waste of time to learn a spell to specifically clean one’s hair. Cedric found it quite practical, as hygiene was always important in his mind.

After that section, Cedric moved onto a long bit of legalese with complex wording that omitted the Adventurer's Guild from incurring repercussions from his actions, before eventually ending with a consent form that stated he would willingly undergo a verification process that required a short admittance to questions answered under a truth orb.

The Questions were listed on the document and were basic things like if he’d ever committed a crime worthy of the death sentence, if he was wanted in any province, if he had a bounty, and one’s intent in becoming an Adventurer.

Cedric signed the document with his signature, a fancy slap-dash of a cursive band consisting of a stylized A overlapping with a C. He went to get up from his chair, only to glance up and see a woman standing at his side. He raised an eyebrow at the human woman who stood next to his seat, a hand in her pocket and a soft infirm, but kind smile on her face. She looked nervous, or rather, anxious looking at the paper he’d just finished filling out.

“You’re signing up too?” She asked, curiosity and nerves evident in her voice. He glanced down and noticed that she held a stack of papers identical to the ones he’d just finished filling out.

Cedric smiled, “I am indeed.” He admitted, leaning back into his seat’s backrest. “Nervous?” He poked with a teasing smile.

The woman smiled bitterly, “Yeah. I, just, it’s a chance for a better life.” She whispered, glancing around the guild hall, seeing the joyful atmosphere of the diverse group of monster hunters and explorers. “Don’t quite want to screw it up.” She sighed.

Cedric chuckled weakly, “I understand that.” He said truthfully.

She perked up at that, hesitation taking over her demeanor. “Why are you…” She started but realized that it could come off as rude.

The young man shook his head, “Freedom of adventure, exploration, a challenge, the experience; all of it and more.” He said with a wry grin, “What’s your’s, if I might ask?”

She sighed, “Money.” She admitted softly, “My sister and I, we’re looking for work. I know a few spells, and I learn fast! If I can just get enough money together, maybe I could…” She let out another bitter sigh. “It’s a fool's dream.” She muttered, gazing down at her documents.

The dower woman was startled by an amused chuckle, “The fool represents a new beginning, having faith in the future, being inexperienced, not knowing what to expect, having beginner’s luck, improvisation, and believing in the universe.” Cedric recited from memory. “Perhaps all you need make, is a leap of faith.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

She smiled, the words buoying her determination. “Thank you.” She bowed, “I, erm, my name is Alice. Alice Casamer.”

“Cedric.” He held a hand out and she took it firmly. They shook, before Alice’s name was called.

From the throngs of adventurers another girl waved her over to a clear and claimed table.

“Go with courage.” Cedric intoned a common saying within the empire.

Alice smiled and waved, leaving Cedric to his doings. He stood and headed to the lines once more, soon appearing before the Dwarf once again who briefly scanned his documents. He chuffed at the description of his abilities, both disbelieving, but also tentatively restraining his doubt. Who knew what the Great Noble houses fed their kids?

“Hmm, looks like everythin’s in order.” The clerk mumbled, “I’ll head n’ back and grab a proctor. Stay around da’ tavern and they’ll pick ya’ up and take ye’ ta da’ backrooms, ja?”

Cedric nodded, “Understood.” He said, once again returning to his cleared table, his spot saved by the large trunk he’d placed by the table. He sat and waited, a wench coming to his table to take an order, where he placed one for a mug of mead. Mead was rarely served within social functions within southern nobility, more reserved for the northern regions of the Empire.

He found himself halfway through his drink when someone cleared their throat, drawing his attention. He glanced up, his eyes widening as he found himself staring at an elf.

Beyond her pointy long ears with a scattering of golden rings hanging from them, the woman’s face was a mess of scars. Her right eye was likely gone, hidden away by a length of cloth pulled over her forehead and hiding away the right side of her face. From that length of cloth three streams of cruel scars extended down from her face, carving along her cheek, skipping over plush if cracked lips, and a single scar extended all the way down along the side of her throat. Her left cheek wasn’t free from damage either, as she sported similar, if less damaging scars there as well.

Her skin was a light gray, as if desaturated from color which paired nicely with her white stringy hair that fell from a black cloaked hood, strung over the bandages that hid her right eye from view. A sole silvery-white iris stared down at him with interest. Her nose held a piercing of gold hanging above her lips, and her dress was plain, if functional with bandoliers and mail covering her form. Blades hung from her sides and chest, attached to her leathers, and it was clear that this gray elf was an experienced survivalist.

“Would you happen to be my proctor?” Cedric asked, an eyebrow raised.

The woman’s eye narrowed, “Not even a bit of scorn…” She whispered.

“Say again?” Cedric asked as he stood, the din of the tavern quite loud and her words lost in the noise.

“...Nothing.” She spoke more clearly, but it was obvious that her voice was a soft one naturally, forcing Cedric to listen closely lest he not hear her. “Come.” She stated next, turning and slipping through the throngs of rowdy adventurers.

Cedric stood and followed the enigmatic woman, following her cloak’s tail as he pushed and squeezed his way through the crowded tavern, soon finding the woman holding a door open leading to the back of the adventurer’s guild.

Cedric entered and the door closed behind him, the young noble not reacting to the woman brushing past him as he inspected the room itself. It was a simple arrangement with a heavy wooden desk supporting a large crystalline orb on its center. Two seats were placed between the orb on adjacent sides of the table, to which the elvish woman took the farthest.

He pulled out his own and settled in, inspecting the Truth Orb with interested academic eyes. It wasn’t his first time inspecting one of these devices, and he was actually exceptionally skilled in creating them; it left him aware of some of their faults, with this one being quite of a significant quality, although he noted that it was set at a very general level of ‘truth’.

The ones that Cedric made were usually sold at various auctions, purchased by those needing a means of ripping into the minds of troublesome individuals and to pry secrets out of their mind-flesh. They were less truth orbs and more interrogation spheres, although he’d heard that some called them Nightmare Orbs as they used the fears and mental weaknesses of the victim to...weaken the mind.

He sat down and sighed, staring intently as the woman’s bandage covered fingers reached out and stroked along the orb, the device lighting up with arcane energies.

“I’ll be quick.” She muttered, “Have you ever been charged with a crime within the Orestien Empire?”

“No.” Cedric stated easily. The orb held no reaction.

She nodded, “Due to your claim of being a member of high nobility, I must ask for proof of identity. Are you Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest, scion of the Ducal House of The Alkahest?”

“I am he.” Cedric chuckled.

The elf nodded, “What are your intentions in joining the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“A bit of a loaded question.” He said with mock amusement, before getting serious and answering honestly.

“Adventure, experience, a bit of wealth and greed.” He listed, “Getting to know the world, obtaining alchemical reagents on my lonesome, slaying monsters, a dash of fame; maybe some love?” He grinned, expecting a reaction from the other woman, but sighed when he saw her frozen face of stoic disinterest, “Plenty of reasons to risk one’s life if they find it has reason.” He ended with a shrug.

The elf’s face was stoic, her sole eye staring at him blankly, before she nodded. “Thank you for your time.” She reached down to a drawer inside the desk and pulled it open, retrieving a copper tag. She slid it over to him, “You can return to the reception desk and finish your registration. We will be watching your adventure with interest.”

Cedric took the copper tag, inspecting it in the soft natural light bleeding through the window. He grinned and nodded, tucking the tag away into one of his long coat’s pockets. “Many thanks.” He bowed his head and left the room, ignoring the inquisitive stare following his back.

His posture slouched once he’d escaped the elf’s gaze, rubbing a hand along his neck and trying to relieve some tension inside his body. He wasn’t truly nervous about the questions or weak interrogation, but rather it was the elf herself that gave him the chills. Like she was staring at some strange exotic animal and wanted to know why it wasn’t acting like the rest of its kin.

Cedric had adapted well to the life of a noble, for the most part. In his past life, he was a somewhat socially inactive and reclusive man, an introvert to put simply. To be reborn as a noble and to be expected to be a silver-tongued devil was unrealistic to such a man who still had that core personality. Thankfully, the noble classes had a wonderful thing that Cedric leaned on heavily, something that allowed him to get through social interactions without coming off as rude or socially incapable.

Etiquette.

A strict set of mannerisms, words, and the fast-thinking actions that allowed one to politely depart from a conversation and engage within one while not saying anything truly meaningful. His speech had been tainted by his lessons, and he often found himself speaking in a very ‘posh’ manner. He didn’t truly mind that he spoke this way, but his etiquette was truly his only defense against the sharp and barbed tongues of other nobility.

However, despite his semi-proficiency within etiquette, Cedric had holes inside his noble persona that he played when interacting with basically everyone.

Cedric didn’t have many of the noble classes’ biases, opinions, or perspectives. It came from being an American from another world, one who’s read a hundred different fantasy stories, and thus had his own personal perspectives and biases towards the manyfold races, peoples, and cultures within this world. A man who had his own thoughts before he was even born. A man who could rationalize and make opinions and conjectures, one who could moralize actions and decisions on his lonesome. One who was an outsider to this world and thus existed within it without much of any influence on his own opinions regarding things like racism, class disputes, slavery, politics, and so much more.

A noble would never speak or talk kindly with a woman of a lower class, unless they were plotting something deceitful like indebting them into slavery and kindly purchasing their contract. A noble would never willingly walk into an Adventurer’s Guild, let alone become an adventurer unless they were a fallen nobility exiled from their country. An Orestien noble would never joke and smile around an elf and not show some sign of disdain, vile lust, or other hostile response to their mere presence.

‘I wonder if she thinks I’m some kind of masterful plant or spy? Or maybe I’m just a foolish sheltered noble who’s never experienced the outside world?’ The latter was true, in utmost honesty. Cedric was sheltered, and he saw becoming an Adventurer was a way that he could break that.

He rolled his eyes and entered the lines once again, soon reaching his favorite dwarven clerk and passing him the metal tag he’d received.

“Good on ya’, lad.” The dwarf gave him a smile, “I’ll get ya’ processed in a jiffy. In da’ meantime, why don’t ya’ look around at da’ board over yonder?” He jerked his bearded chin over to the request board. “Don’t be lookin’ at any high-rankin’ quests, ya’ here? Just in da’ copper, ye?”

Cedric nodded and took back his copper plate. The Adventurer’s Guild functioned on a meritocracy-based system with members climbing in ranks of plates, with the higher valued plates being of higher ranks. Those with those higher ranks could obtain more difficult or specialty requests, as the Guild was careful in promoting and allowing certain groups to take requests, having files and reports on a party or individual’s capabilities.

If the Quest Master, the clerk assigned to the management of receiving and accepting adventurer questing requests, thought an adventurer party that was of an acceptable rank for a quest wasn’t capable of venturing on a certain quest; then he could veto their choice of request.

Said veto request would go to the Guild Master and their Adjutant where they would check the Quest Master’s power and if they were abusing it, as the Quest Master would need to cite reasons why he would veto the quest from that party; like if they weren’t equipped for the job, or they lacked a ranged unit capable of downing say, a wyvern.

Cedric was the lowest rank within the Adventurer’s Guild, Copper. He took the dwarven clerk’s advice and walked over to the request board and started perusing the various quests pasted or nailed into the cork. Most were out of his rank, and those that were Copper rank were somewhat foul in nature, however, Cedric wasn’t a germaphobe or someone afraid of getting his hands dirty. He wouldn’t be an alchemist if that was the case, as that job involved some of the foulest deeds imaginable.

With one last glance over the rest of the board, Cedric took the Department of City Maintenance’s monthly request of cleaning the sewers of any mana-mutated rats or other creatures. The quest recommended a party of at least five, but Cedric was confident in his abilities in taking this quest alone. The creatures within the sewers were somewhat deadly; giant rats, rabid and heavily mutated cats, an overpopulation of oozes and slimes that consumed and fed on the city’s wastes, along with poisonous and deadly fungi and mosses that grew on the heated water pipes.

Cedric also took the Department of City Maintenance’s quest for repair and maintenance on the sewers, something that he was confident in doing. He’d done some investigation into the technological level of this world, and the plumbing and water systems of this world were just primitive versions of his own with the cheaty addition of runes allowing easy heating and pressure. He was confident in his ability in performing some plumbing maintenance, cleaning of the sessile organisms that grew on them, repairing damaged piping, and maybe doing some water purity and safety tests.

The request itself was rather vague, largely just talking about removing sessile organisms from the pipes themselves; although Cedric saw it as a public service to employ his full capabilities in testing the exact Ph, alkalinity, and purity levels of the water.

‘It's been a long time since I had an actual goal to use my magic for…’ Cedric thought with a grin. Knowing magic meant that Cedric effectively had a truck full of power tools, industrial machines, and a fabrication bench in the form of transmutation at all times. Every bit of work he took using those tools, thanks to his modifications to his psyche, was exceptionally entertaining and fulfilling. Mastering, improving, and developing new tools was a joy that never got old. However, research and experimentation could only go so far, before one wanted to actually use those skills and tools for something.

Cedric had done a few projects in his past, his wand his crowning achievement, a few potions he’d brewed that cured illnesses he’d discovered in towns or cities his family had estates within, the time he built a railgun and shot it at a mountain; removing a significant amount of that mountain and hastily dissembling said railgun so-as-to not get in trouble.

‘Fun times.’ He thought dreamily.

Regardless, Cedric had the tools and education to perform a bit of extra maintenance on the city’s sewer systems. The pay was garbage, but it was something to get him started. He had a few weeks to kill before the Academy opened anyway, so grinding his Adventurer Rank was something that would effectively slay said time.

Once more, he joined the lines of adventurers, before greeting the dwarven clerk. He pushed forward his two quests with a grin.

The dwarf smiled, one that was frozen as he gazed down at the two quests. His eyes darted up to Cedric, inspecting him. “Looks like ah’ noble.” He muttered. His eyes narrowed, “Talks like a noble.”

Cedric laughed, “Then it must be a noble.” He joined in.

“Nah, what kinda’ noble' would wanna do maintenance work on da’ sewers?” The dwarf poked with joking suspicion.

“The one who’s actually good at alchemy.” Cedric stated blandly, “Trust me when I say that I’ve smelled and worked with worse things than feces and wastewater.”

The dwarf had to swallow his stomach back down at that, “Yeh’, not touchin’ that topic with a ten-foot pole.” The dwarf muttered. He hummed, “You’ve been trained in close quarter combat?” He asked.

Cedric frowned, “My combat experience has been limited to dueling with enchanted armors and golems that I’ve created.” He admitted, “But, in truth, adding more people to a party with me would simply reduce what I could reasonably cast; at least, not without harming them.”

“Good point.” The dwarf mused. “Fine, I’ll trust ya’ not ta’ die in dem’ dark tunnels. Be embarrassin’ for a scion of a ducal house ta’ die down der’.” The dwarf became tense as his mouth ran off without his mind. There were some things that one simply didn’t say around scions, and ‘embarrassing ones house’ came to the forefront of the mind.

Only to be bewildered as Cedric laughed. “Right?” He chuckled.

The dwarf pushed past the mortification and stamped both quests to be approved. He slid them to Cedric and the young man took them, inspecting the verification stamp. He nodded to the dwarf and left the lines, heading to his table where his trunk and mead rested. He took them up, chugging back the rest of his mead, whipped his mouth, before leaving the Adventurer’s Guild.

He needed to find The Warrens, get his room set up with adequate wards, before heading out on his quests.

‘I feel like I’m finally living…’ Cedric thought lightly, enjoying the winds and chill, the movement and sway of people. He navigated the Military District, coming to its edges where very few patrols migrated. Here adventurer populations were intense. Cedric spotted the tall five story Bavarian-looking building, one with an ornate glowing enchanted sign named ‘The Warrens’. He went to enter the building, only to step back as a beast woman and a human stumbled out of the doors, loosely dressed and drunk.

Much like elves, the Southern States had to deal with raids of Beastkin Tribes, anthropomorphic humanoids with varying levels of animalistic features. Some Beastkin were effectively animals that just learned how to talk and walk upright like humanity, while some looked like humans with subtle traits of their animal species; like a secondary pair of ears on their heads, melding with their hair, or a tail, some form of texture on their skin, strange eyes and so on.

He was three when he first met a Beast as they were called within the Empire, and ironically enough, his first thought was a Polehammer 50K meme of ‘Purge the Unclean!’. Hilarious to him, but undeniably racist inside this world. He’d admit that due to being from Earth and a part of the nerdy culture that heavily sexualized the Beast-Kin, he was objectively a racist within this world. Every Beast-Kin was a husbando or waifu that some nerdy weeb would love to simp for, and it brought him endless amusement and inside jokes.

He sidestepped the stumbling couple, before entering The Warrens. Inside he walked over to the receptionist, the human woman not paying attention before he rang the bell on the desk. She jolted and quickly apologized, “Sorry, I was distracted. What can I help you with today, sir?”

Cedric smiled, “I have a reservation for a room under the name of Cedric Ala-Khan.”

The woman nodded, paging through a booklet, only to pause in shock. “Aha, yes…” She whispered, “You’ve rented the penthouse for the following year.”

It was as expensive as it sounded. The Warrens was the high-class location that catered to Adventurers, filled with delicious catering services, service women and men, cleaning staff, a wide variety of amenities like an on-site medical center and Healer, and basically the ideal representation of luxury for any would-be adventurer weary of the road.

It was expensive even to those that were in the Silver Rank, and the Penthouse would be a place that was more reserved for Gold Ranks. To rent it out for the following year was outright insane.

It cost Cedric 7 gold a day and multiplied by 364; he spent 2,548 gold pieces to rent the penthouse for that length of time.

That was all of his own money, as Cedric himself was exceptionally rich. Like, stupidly rich. He didn’t just brew potions and set them on a shelf to forget about them. No, he signed contracts with auction houses and merchant groups wherever he visited various cities and towns to sell his potions, enchanted artifacts, and other products.

He wasn’t exactly talented at managing a business; with his constant travels to various regions across the Empire in search of more alchemical reagents and his family’s scattered libraries, his sales drifted away from bulk sales to high quality premium goods that were sold inside restricted auction houses. Very rarely he’d create high-value bulk goods and sell them to a powerful and influential merchant, all to create connections.

Cedric had a whole line of personally developed bedroom enhancers that generated a disgusting amount of wealth when sold inside said auctions. From alchemically produced gemstones, similarly produced rare metals that were transfigured into deadly armaments or hides and silks made into fantastical and modern styles of clothing, or powerful defensive artifacts, to artistic works of decadence. His market and target demographic was as broad as he was creatively willing to push it, mainly aimed towards filthy rich nobles with more money than sense.

His accounts, combined, totaled roughly 1,209 Mythril. For reference, a farmer made roughly five silver a year, a loaf of bread costing between eight to four copper pieces. A silver was a hundred coppers, a gold was fifty silvers, a mythril was five platinum, and a platinum was twenty-five gold. Thus, his accounts held, in gold, roughly 151,125 gold pieces.

That was merely his liquid wealth.

His close family was ignorant of his achievements, as he sold everything through anonymous channels and pseudo names. Although, he assumed his Grandfather was aware of his profiteering. His grandfather, after all, was getting the reports of his progress within his crafts, penned by yours truly, and how few resources he was spending didn’t align with the amount he was producing.

He wasn’t exactly dishonest or overly vague when writing those reports, but more…Concise? Less a letter that was bragging he achieved tis or tat, and more a scientific document with a hypothesis, listed variables, expected outcomes, cited sources from various texts, his process, and an ultimate conclusion and product analysis. Like he was a scientist reporting his advancements or product reports to his boss.

His expenditure of House resources was very minimalistic, as whenever he needed money he just sold some flamboyant piece of semi-useful garbage he’d created in a few hours. Boom, an influx of a baronies' yearly taxes dropped right into his accounts. The only resource he truly used was his house’s name, leveraged to establish or find connections to merchants and people who could do what he needed them to. Then he declared his intent to work not under his house’s name, citing that he wanted to prove himself, yada, yada, average Scion looking for personal recognition; and bam, instant access to the most restricted of markets while maintaining general levels of anonymity.

It was laughably easy to make money as a proficient enchanter or alchemist, and with a bit of skill in reading the market or identifying his demographics he made absolute bank. He studied the current fashion trends of the knightly lords and their desire to have the ‘coolest’ armor. Or the noble ladies and sorceresses who were just as fashion minded as their mundane counter-parts. From fancy witch hats to stockings and garter belts, to chains and conditioning collars, to whips and lashes, dresses and robes; Cedric had made plenty of high-selling articles of clothing for any potential noble niche that he could reasonably identify and target.

His skills in the traditional arts like tailoring, smithing, and so on were non-existent, but with a mixture of some artistic skill in creating a design for whatever he was making, and then using his fine control over the transfiguration of matter material; he could ‘machine’ or ‘weave’ anything he so desired so-long as he had a solid mental image and the materials to create what he needed. Effectively a human machining workshop, except even more versatile.

His work process was effectively a few hours to days spent drawing sketches and detailed artworks of whatever he so desired, from a suit of armor to a wicked blade, or an outfit fit for a goddess; then he obtained all the necessary resources he needed to make the product.

Communications and shipping between suppliers took anywhere from a week to a month, and then he needed to quality inspect and send back anything not up to his standards. He’d obtain arachne spider silk, treated minotaur leather, wyvern hide, snow fox fur, castoroides furs, any mystical ingredient or essence he needed to weave his enchantments, the alchemical reagents he’d brew into the chemical treatments he’d apply to the materials, the meta-materials like mythril, high-steel, pure gold, orichalcum, adamantium, and their alchemical treatments.

Then he’d meditate and memorize the piece of art he’d previously drawn, engage the transfiguration rituals to shape the collective materials into what he pictured inside his mind. The process was rather tedious, as he’d obtain a ‘rough product’ in the first transfiguration. He’d then need to reactivate said transfiguration ritual several times, refining details to utterly unrealistic degrees that no hand could ever replicate. Then he enchanted the final product, weaving mystical energies into binding formulas that were mystically attached to the idea of the artifact and the concepts of the essences he was imbuing into it; then came infusing his magic into the materials of the artifact, and the final coup-de-gras of binding the essences that would power and give heart to the artifact.

That was the process for his more powerful and valuable products, but shortcuts were the key to making shiploads of gold and platinum. Less detailed artworks, less refined transfigurations, less quality materials, fewer alchemical treatments, simpler enchantments; on and on the shortcuts came and went, reducing the complexity of the task and the time it took for him to perform it. Enchanting was a rare profession, and even at his reduced levels of effort to save on time and resources, Cedric still performed at the league of masters. His most time-consuming products were truly invaluable and were the foundations to his brand’s name within the mouths of the high-nobility within the empire.

Cedric was wealthy and spending two and a half thousand gold to stay within a fancy resort was nothing off his back. He was at a level of wealth that he truly didn’t know what to even do with his money, save hire accountants who invested a certain percentage of his wealth into various assets, trying to generate money with the sheer weight of it. He wasn’t selling all his products, after all, and while not hoarding his potions and enchanted items, many of his creations were made for personal use, or to practice a certain concept within the art. It meant that his ‘bank account’ was severely reduced than what it could be, as Cedric wasn’t a company devoted towards profit margins and quarterly quotas; rather he was a freelancer who took breaks and had creative hiatus, dramatically reducing output, but inversely increasing rarity and creating a new market for his branded items due to their simple rarity.

“Here’s your key, sir.” The woman at the desk meekly handed him his key to his room. He took it and inspected the number, a sole 10 engraved on the key. He nodded and headed for the antique elevator that stood within the center of the hall. The elevator was driven largely by magical programming and was lifted not by winches, but rather by rails built into the elevator shaft that had toothed gears. He called the elevator, and its iron gate folded away, allowing him to enter and then press to the highest floor.

It was a smooth ride to the top floor, and it was here that he was greeted by a short hallway leading down towards the sole room on the floor. He walked over to room ten and opened the door, entering with a grin.

The floor plan was remarkably open, alchemically tinted one-way windows allowing one to peer down onto the central road that winds its way along the edges of the Northern Walls. A massive bed with its own canopy and curtains was placed at the center of the room, with a fine porcelain bathtub laid out right next to it. The bathtub was large enough to fit around five people comfortably, and around seven if they squeezed. Across the large room was the bathroom with folding wooden windows open to reveal a large shower and another bathtub, along with a toilet and a counter with attached sinks. Cedric walked over to the closet first, located near the large bathtub. He opened it and found a few towels inside, to which he moved to the side to allow room for his trunk. Setting it there, Cedric walked over to what he recognized as a temperature gauge.

The temperature gauge was just a magical version of a thermostat, to which he set to a moderate heat of sixty-eight degrees if converted into Fahrenheit. He briefly debated on whether he wanted to rest for the day, or if he wanted to head out and get some chores done. Eventually, he decided that it would be best to get everything set up for his long-term stay within the city rather than taking the rest of the day to lounge around.

He started to brainstorm what he needed to do and get done.

From his pocket, he first pulled out his two quests. These quests weren’t in any way priority right now and he’d get them done within the next day or so, as right now, Cedric wanted to maximize his current living space and get comfortable and set up. He’d be living within this room for the next year or so, and so he got started with brainstorming what he wanted to have inside the room.

‘A desk and art station would best fit right there, then some fur rugs to cozy up the place. A few spectral lights and some decorations, along with the warding schemes and power source…’ Thoughts and ideas filtered rapidly through Cedric’s mind. The first thing that he wanted to do was get his defenses set up. Cedric was a High-Noble and assassinations were always a topic of mind for any self-respecting member of the upper-echelons of society. To protect himself from both assassination and theft he’d need to deploy warding fields throughout his room.

Cracking his neck and drawing his wand, Cedric got to work. He first pulled out his trunk, opening it to retrieve several important reagents. A fist sized cut diamond, several bags of various powdered reagents, a few pieces of blood chalk, some oils and incense to ward off demons and spirits, and on he went. With his reagents and materials prepared, Cedric got to work installing the diamond wardstone, the central power and administration base of the ward scheme he was creating. He set it under the bed, fixing it on a quickly transfigured base. His wand scored through the air while he laid under the bed, a bright magelight assisting him as he scarred glyphs and runes onto the various faceted faces of the gemstone. He then touched the tip of his wand to the gemstone, a small wound opening on his palm when he did so. Blood from that small wound wrapped around the length of his wand, before touching the gemstone and causing it to glow red.

Now bound to the wardstone, Cedric set up several modifications to the permission levels he could grant it, forming the foundations for the various counter-defenses he’d set up.

‘If Administrator is awake, active, and not under the influence of third party cognitive impairing effects; activate Guest Mode. If the Administrator is asleep, unconscious, or under the influence of third party cognitive impairing effects, activate Defensive Mode. If Ward Scheme is under active assault, alert administrator and activate Counter-Offensive Strategies.’ Cedric inscribed onto the wardstone the skeleton of ‘if and when’ statements that would soon be tied to more comprehensive and expansive protocols and observational intelligence.

He worked for the following few hours, finishing the skeleton and then getting roughly a quarter of the way through sealing his room to any outside influence that could harm him. The influence of the divines and gods of this world were ever difficult to ward against and were the largest reason he still considered himself barely an adept. He was forced to twist and modify defenses against infernal entities and the few defenses he’d found in reference to the Eldritch to suit those needs, as botched and makeshift as they were.

As he struggled to get a certain ward schema to click with the following connective systems that would govern its functions, he took a sigh and a brief breather. ‘I’ll come back to this with fresh eyes…’ He decided, standing up and walking over to his bed. He sat down, summoning a glass and pitcher of water to his hands and pouring himself a short drink. He gazed out at the city, the sun still up but setting soon.

‘Some shopping wouldn’t be remiss at this time.’ He sighed, gazing down at his discarded long coat that he’d strewn across the floor when it kept getting in his way.

He’d need to leverage his mercantile network to get into contact with organizations or individuals who could procure what he desired. Large amounts of materials that were easy to transmute and work with, enchanting materials like essences, alchemical reagents, a suitable lab and the custom equipment he’d need to remake; he had much to do…

‘Best get to it.’ Cedric sighed, picking up his coat and tossing it on. He turned and left his penthouse, a click of the door echoing out as he locked it.