So as I previously mentioned, ignoring some of this ‘Seer’ classification that the Council has lumbered me with, Warren had some company show up.
Well, I say company, because they aren’t exactly family, but are definitely on the ‘family’ spectrum (at least in my book, not exactly sure how it works for Warren).
A little history before we dive in though and it’s important.
Warren is from a Noble House, which is not the same as a Great House.
Both of these ‘houses’ are lycanthropic, but it effectively has to do with the last major lycanthropic conflict as to which one someone belongs to. I realize this is a drastic oversimplification and given that there’s been over 600 years since their last open battle (albeit not a major one), the distinction is rather muddied unless you’re on the inside of it.
The Noble Houses were the ones who sided with the wizards, witches, and similar magic users of the era, as well as even vampires and a few other groups of… I shouldn’t use the word supernatural, but it’s all that comes to mind other than ‘non-baseline’. Basically a comparatively massive alliance of the non-baselines.
The Great Houses were only half-way aligned with baselines, which is to say that they had baselines involved with their armies, but otherwise had no plans to support baseline humans.
The Great Houses dreamed up some scheme to eliminate all non-lycanthrope non-baselines and form their own territory. In order to do both, they had to effectively exterminate all other non-baselines and broker some kind of treaty with baselines to get themselves sufficient territory.
As you can imagine, this did not go over well with the Noble Houses, to say nothing of the rest of the non-baseline community. And this being pre-internet (and even pre-wiznet) days, this news came passed almost as rumor right up until the first major engagements. And based on the recorded histories, the baselines of the era were largely hesitant to get involved, but there’s always some ruthless idiot who figures that this is some shortcut to power. Said ruthless idiot’s name isn’t recorded (although there are plenty of Wiznet conspiracy theories as to why), but the Great Houses got some recognition and that was enough for them to start leveraging it into a war.
Midway, when the Great Houses started to lose ground, the baselines overthrew said ruthless idiot and defected to the Noble Houses. There was a lot more to this happening, but as an overview, this is the best I can simplify.
From there, the Great Houses ended up getting ‘beaten to a pulp’, the survivors separated and watched closely. As with most of that time, when your leader says do something, you do it or you are punished (or killed). And most of whom were captured were little more than footsoldiers. The leaders of the Great Houses are rather graphically described (and illustrated even) with their deaths.
In the end, the Noble Houses and the non-baseline community reverted to obscurity, the baselines forgot, and the remains of the Great Houses remained proud, but clearly beaten.
So… when I found out that the Noble House Warren had a guest from a Great House show up, I had a bit of concern. I was even more concerned (and confused) upon finding out it was his fiance’.
I was on my way to take my trash down to the communal bin in the basement (still not exactly sure how that works, but I’ll go into some of this place’s mysteries another time) when I heard Warren actually raise his voice. Firstly, this is remarkable in that he never raises his voice except to scream his way through his transformation. Second, I was in the hall and the door was closed.
“Mesphyr, we’ve been through this. I am not going back until my father and mother accept the order,” came Warren’s voice.
“We can’t get married without their blessing and you cannot be serious that you intend to keep living in this… tenement,” came a proud female voice with edges so sharp, you could hear the high society in her tones.
“And I’ve told you, we’re not getting married. I don’t care WHAT scheme this is of Dremo’s, but I refuse to partake in it,” Warren said again. He was clearly not having whatever this was. As much as I didn’t want to eavesdrop, I couldn’t resist. This was the most I’d really learned about Warren’s past since I’d moved in.
The door was flung open at that point and there I was, standing like an idiot in the middle of the hallway with a bag of trash. Looking back at me was a half-red-faced Warren (it didn’t suit him) and a very prim looking woman who looked as though she’d just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
There was something about the way she was dressed that spoke of ‘old-money’ and the way she held herself that definitely put one in mind of her being a Category 5 Hurricane and all the rest of us are at her mercy. She wasn’t especially tall, but her heels definitely gave her some height. By the looks of her, she had some sort of slavic heritage. Exactly what, I had no idea, but there was a definite feel of far Eastern Europe, far Western Asia about her.
She looked me up and down a moment before continuing, speaking to Warren.
“Dear, we aren’t alone,” she said.
“Good. All the more excuse to have you leave,” Warren said, noting me, but more clearly under control now.
“Come now. We still have much to discuss, Warren, dear,” she said and reached out a hand towards him.
Warren uncharacteristically snarled and halfway snapped at her fingers well before they got close.
“No. You will leave now. And don’t bother coming back,” Warren growled, his temper clearly rising again.
Mesphyr, to her credit, could at least take the hint. She stepped with only a minor clattering of heels into the hallway and the door shut behind her immediately.
“Well…,” she tossed her head a bit, her hair not moving even a fraction, before looking back over at me. “Enjoy the show?”
“Yes, actually. I don’t know anyone who’s actually made Warren get angry before,” I admitted.
“Then you clearly haven’t known him very long,” she said and began walking down the stairs.
I followed, still intent on throwing away the trash bag.
“Why are you following me?” she demanded after we passed the 2nd floor and were on our way to the 1st, stopping in her steps.
“I’m not. But this is the only way to the trash bin,” I said, gesturing with the bag.
She glared at the bag a moment before looking back at me.
“And just who or what are you?” Mesphyr demanded after a long inhalation (probably trying to get my scent).
“I’m Sam,” I smiled, and stuck out my hand.
She looked at the hand as though it were some new form of lower lifeform. I lowered it after a moment.
“And what house do you belong to?” she asked.
“None of the above,” I simply parroted (Warren having warned me about such things, although I hadn’t been sure why).
She glared a moment before reverting to a stiff upper lip that any British aristocrat would have been proud of.
“Well, I am from the Great House of Ibraev and I will thank you to stay out of my business with Warren,” Mesphyr clearly enunciated.
“I’ll keep that in mind. In the meantime, could you keep going? I don’t have all day to deal with garbage,” I muttered, failing to miss the double meaning.
She however caught the double meaning and was clearly incensed by it.
“How dare you!” she sputtered out.
This caught me a bit by surprise, given her ‘noble’ bearing, but I am used to keeping a straight face in the face of clients, so I donned my work persona and resquared my shoulders.
She seemed to take this in stride and while she looked almost ready to drop her own noble persona, she also seemed to catch herself, as though remembering her station in life versus what she perceived my own to be.
“I won’t forget this insult,” she said after a moment, a knife in the dark on the edge of her words.
“Insult? The only insult is you wasting my time,” I decided I was done in dealing with this harpy.
Without another word, she turned and stomped (which is impressive given those heels) out of the building. I ignored her and took my trash down to the basement as intended. On my way back to my apartment, I tapped on Warren’s door.
He opened it and seemed rather relieved that it was me.
“So who was that?” I prompted him.
“Officially, my fiance’. Unofficially, a tiresome pest of a woman who I want nothing to do with,” he said, waving me into his place.
“So just don’t let her in next time. If I’m remembering how the apartment magic works, it’s not like she can force her way in,” I said, sitting down in one of Warren’s nice antique leather armchairs.
Warren looked at me a moment as an entomologist looks for distinguishing features in a common beetle.
“Such… behavior would be unbecoming of someone in my station,” he said after a moment.
“Except you’re not exactly occupying that station, at least from what I overheard just a moment ago,” I admitted.
Warren ignored this admission.
“True, but notionally, that is a temporary situation. She, however, is a more permanent situation,” he said, pulling out two beers (despite it only being 10 on a Saturday) and handed me one.
“Arranged marriage?” I guessed. Warren nodded.
“I didn’t know such things were still done. Although, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised anymore,” I said, before taking a sip. It wasn’t a particularly special beer, but it was a good regular one and one that fitted the current weather, which was the start of a crisp New England fall.
“We were betrothed at birth. Some ridiculous idea that we could mend the gap between the Great Houses and the Noble Houses,” he said, before taking a long sip himself and carefully sitting down into the other of his leather armchairs.
“Oof. Yeah, wading into that kind of politics is something I’ve never wanted to be a part of,” I mentioned.
“Anyway, it’s all lycanthrope high society stuff anyway. We’re not supposed to discuss such things with outsiders,” Warren gestured a bit vaguely.
“Well, at a guess, the rest of your day is shot. So, now what?” I indicated, trying to shift the convo a bit.
“Not sure. I have a few letters to write and my pantry has gone missing again, so I need to go get some takeout,” he said, not quite reverted to the normal ‘Warren’ that I’d come to expect.
My ears caught part of that and it stuck in my head.
“Your pantry has gone missing… again?” the very words banged against my common sense of ‘what he just said can’t actually be a thing’.
“Indeed. I expect you’ll deal with it soon enough. I’m surprised you haven’t had to deal with it yet,” Warren said.
“I think I need to know more,” I indicated.
Up next - the missing pantry, what actually happens to the trash, and the house artifact (aka - what makes this place work).