Hello, Author here. I'm really tired, and it's nighttime. This probably has errors, and may be complete trash. I will probably edit it more in the morning or something. Also, should the chapters be longer?
P.S. - This is a fiction with a morally questionable main character. Don't take anything as what I truly think, as I will never state whether I believe in his decisions or not. Characters should never be the same as an author or the exact opposite in my opinion, and as such he will make decisions I both condone, and not. Another thing to keep in mind is, he is old and grumpy. He has his fair share of problems, and can say rude or insensitive things. Please don't hate me ;-;
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“Don’t you know it’s insulting to use illusions in front of others so casually, Alan?” The white haired, blue eyed woman said; looking down on her visitor with a displeased expression.
Her body was well proportioned, belying her true age. Tall, with perfect pale skin, and a natural beauty that required no enhancement. She was adorned with golden robes and glowing blue runes, accentuating her figure.
However, Alan could only look at her in disgust.
“I’ll stop using illusions when you revert your looks to your true age, Morrigan.” He responded, equally displeased.
“Like you’re one to talk, old man. And stop bringing up a lady’s age.”
“I’ll bring it up as much as possible. In fact, here you go: The only place you could get money for your body is at the antique shop. Hag.”
“You have poor tastes in jokes. At least with age I gained maturity. And power.”
“It wasn’t a joke. And you mean just power, right?”
“No no, as you can see, I’m restraining from beating up the 90 year old man. When I was 50, I would have ground you into a paste. See? Improvement.”
“You’ve lived enough years for 5 whole lifetimes, yet you’re barely able to hold back. I guess you aren’t just old. You’re also a slow learner.”
“I said stop bringing up my age! And once again, you’re one to talk!”
“I’m only this way to slow learning, out of date hags.”
The conversation continued to go downhill from there.
~~~
Jackson Aebutus, the young Palace Messenger, was having a hard time handling this development. He was a busy man, and had many things on his plate. It goes without saying that he did not schedule time to watch the pair throw insults across the room. Of course, he also had no intentions of interrupting their special moment. One was the most powerful magician in the kingdom, and the other was someone whose information is almost impossible to access. Therefore, who knows his full capabilities?
‘I suppose I better start thinking of excuses for being late.’ Jackson thought; sighing as the bickering showed no signs of stopping.
Firstly, there was Alan, whose maturity level dropped like a stone from an educated and clever noble, to a bar vulture. Secondly, there was Morrigan, who had never shown such a side before. It is safe to say, Jackson’s respect for the Royal Magician took a hit.
“Could we please get on with it? I have an appointment in around 10 minutes, and I have received no approval of my dismissal.” Jackson decided to go for it. Maybe jumping into the fray could yield some results?
“Ahhh.. right. You can leave… As soon as the old man apologizes for insulting me.”
“Why do I have to apologize? You call me all the way over here, and end up yelling my ear off…”
“You should apologize for being rude to your benefactor. And for keeping Jackson here waiting.”
“Benefactor? What are you doing for me? I mean, aside from the migraine. And also, he’s your aide.”
“Apologize, or you don’t get the information about Crouwlit!”
“....” Alan paused for a few seconds, a nasty scowl plastered across his face, before drooping his shoulders.
“... Fine... So “sorry” Morrigan.” Alan mustered all the sarcasm his voice could convey.
“That attitude isn’t helping you.”
“It’s the best you’re going to get. Now dismiss the kid before he gets too impatient.”
“Age really ruined your manners. You may leave now, Aebutus.”
~~
‘Let’s see here… Carinus… Alan Carinus… C… C… Ca… Gotcha!’
Although the form of the Royal Archives was a clear gemstone tablet, the information it displayed wouldn’t magically appear as one wished it to. You had to go to the index, and find what you wanted. Only the most skillful of navigators could find the knowledge they wanted in less than a year. Jackson was special. He had a natural affinity to both books, and the archives; not to mention outrageous bursts of luck.
Pulling up the information on the man named Alan, he frowned. There wasn’t even a full page of text. For someone well acquainted with the most powerful royal magician in the kingdom, not having pages upon pages of knowledge and countless scribed secrets appeared seemingly impossible.
Alan ___ Carinus* (Middle name not known) *May not be true name
Aliases: Samson Calidorus, Carsel Parnus, Alrof Fulminaus, Alicia Chorus
Titles/Nicknames: The Wise Owl, The Priest of Deceit, The Trickster, Samson the Great, Alicia the Slayer, Carsel the Heaven’s Wrath, Old Man (Morrigan), Geezer (Morrigan), Mind Creep (Morrigan), Alrof the Stone King
Age: Mid 90s (Exact Age Unknown)
Background: Unknown
Appearance: Unknown/Constantly Changes
Powers/Magics: Basic Arcane Magics, Basic Elemental Magics, Unknown Illusions, Unknown Mind Magics
Blessings: None
Traits/Abilities/Curses: Perfect Memory
General Information: Knowledge given by Kas Morrigan Sheria indicates substantial power, and is supported by past aliases. Subject admits to have used Samson Calidorus, Carsel Parnus, and Alicia Chorus as disguises, yet claims to not hold corresponding unique magics and abilities. True strength, powers, and full information on traits have not been revealed by the subject, despite thorough investigation and scrying. Whether he could be a threat to the kingdom is unseen, but has not been taken into much consideration due to Subject’s relative passiveness.
‘That’s… it?’ Jackson could only quip. His eyelids fell into a squint, and the right corner of his lips pulled down, forming an expression that could only be described as unamused. He sighed, thinking maybe the Kingdom’s Spy unit was getting rusty.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Pulling himself up from his sitting position, with practiced motion he swiftly reset the Archives to the index page, and began to walk towards the exit. He didn’t have to worry about security scrying into the room and finding him, because use of spy-like magic was forbidden. One could easily catch glimpses of harmful information like that.
‘I may have found very little, but what I did see is quite juicy. Who knew he is the living form of three different heroes? I’ll have fun prying out every bit of his mystery!’
~~
“The Crypt of Wrath? I certainly hope you are not talking about that horrid dungeon.” Alan spoke, speaking slowly to buy enough time for his mind to comprehend completely.
“The one and only” Kas Morrigan Sheria, the Royal Magician responded. Normally, she would enjoy seeing Alan squirm uncomfortably, but even she was thoroughly disturbed by the cursed name she uttered.
“The one that is said to hold a Sigil of Sin, one of seven magical instruments built to end the world? Guarded by one of the most notorious and powerful dungeons known to man? 500+ floors of pure torturous madness?”
“Yes. Exactly that one. No need to worry though, my source says a fully intact copy of that scrap paper you have resides there, and you only have to go up to floor 70. Plus, aren’t you going to the Caverns of Crouwlit? That dungeon is many times more challenging than The Crypt of Wrath, this I am positive of.”
The belief that all dungeons are underground or cover a large surface area is a myth. The Crypt, while having a dark name, shoots straight from the ground, a massive grey spire that reaches above the clouds, it’s twisting curving shape eventually disappearing from sight. A heaven piercing structure, completely unaffected by any attempts to destroy it.
Alan grimaced. He wasn’t specialized with dungeon clearing. In fact, it was a tedious, time consuming, and dangerous act to solo floors for him. This would normally be the time a person would search for teammates. Unfortunately for Alan, he was even less specialized with people.
“I would recommend you to take some comrades. I will lend you 5 elites from the Royal Palace!” Morrigan exclaimed, unfortunately already knowing the answer.
“Denied” Shot down mercilessly.
“Fine… 4!... 3?... only 1! That’s all!” The woman called out numbers, desperately watching for any change in the man’s facial expression. Alas, it was futile, as Alan maintained a perfect look of disinterest and mild disgust.
“Please Alan! This isn’t a normal old dungeon! I know you hate it, but I don’t want another person I know to keel over because of me! At least take someone with you, and give my mind a rest!” She begged him, tears building up in her eyes. For the first time during the conversation, she wasn’t the one holding the cards.
At this remark, the grey haired, grey eyed man’s scowl wavered, before relaxing with a sigh.
“Fine. Just one. I’ll come tomorrow morning to pick up him or her. I would prefer a swordsmen capable of taking some hits. I’m not exactly the strongest when it comes to defense.” Alan relented under his longtime “friend’s” assault.
“Promise you won’t just go off on your own?” She looked at him with starry eyes and a wide (yet shaky) smile.
“Yes yes. Understood.”
“Really now, I see. Then you wouldn’t mind signing this blood pact to ensure so, right?” Her innocent expression swiftly twisting into a malefic grin.
“...”
“Ah! One more thing! Be careful. The small city nearest to the dungeon has been experiencing some… interesting murders. It seems to be the work of someone strong, and only occurs during the night. From what the priests say, the very souls of the victims disappeared from their bodies, as if wrenched out. Forcefully. As you know, there is no chance of the afterlife if that happens to you.”
“That’s fine. I would be going to hell if I died anyways. Soul destruction is the way I’ll choose to go in the end.” The man’s eyes darkened, a somber mood exuded from them, a perfect fit to the grim smile plastered on his lips.
~~
Alan strode out of the palace, paying no heed to the guards surrounding the grand building. Each step was taken confidently, but with a hint of exhaustion. His eyes seemed to blur over, and emit a feeling of detachment. Maybe even agony. Looking closely, one would see him biting his lip in restraint.
Turning the corner, and heading onwards into an alleyway, he leaned against the wall, before crumpling into a heap. The young looking man clutched his head, holding it between his knees. Fingers reached through gray hair, fingernails drawing a little blood.
He suppressed a scream, but only on the outside. A voice representing the pure, unstoppable pain his head was feeling echoed through his mind, curdling the liquid in his veins.
Tremors assaulted his curled up body, making him tremble as if on the verge of mental breakdown. And that, he was.
A shaking, almost uncontrollable hand clumsily reached into his pocket, before taking out a small box. The box snapped itself open, revealing a multitude of white pills.
Still shivering, Alan poured the entire contents of the box into his mouth, swallowing what he could and chewing what he couldn’t.
Instant relief showered down onto his chaotic brain.
Memories of happy times flooded through his consciousness.
A mother and father playing with their son.
Learning his first magic spell.
His first love
His first kiss
His first time
A new family
A child. His child
Memories.
And just as suddenly as the sensation appeared, it was gone.
Nothingness filled his mind.
The visions he eagerly took in seemed distant.
Better to think of the good ones distant, than the bad ones near, he always rationalized.
Sure enough, the terrors that plagued his psyche fled from his head: a temporary retreat.
He stood up, albeit slowly.
Staring up at the stars with tears clouding his vision, Alan lamented upon what he had become.
One single word rung among the many conflicting, converging pathways in his mind.
One that brought him pain, and a queasy and uncomfortable feeling to his stomach.
One that stung, because it was true.
‘Addict’
He left the empty alley with an empty box, and an empty spirit.