Noble Arcana

Section 1: Crimes Against Nobility

1.1. Assault of a Noble

(a) Any individual who is found guilty of assaulting a noble of the Drakthiss Empire shall be subject to capital punishment.

(b) The method of execution shall be determined by the Imperial Court, based on the severity of the assault.

1.2. Kidnapping of a Noble

(a) Kidnapping of a noble, whether through coercion, deception, or force, is considered a heinous crime against the Drakthiss Empire.

(b) The punishment for such a crime shall be death by starvation.

1.3. Murder of a Noble

(a) Any individual found guilty of murdering a noble of the Drakthiss Empire shall be subject to execution.

(b) The punishment for the murder of a noble shall be death by torture, carried out in accordance with the laws and customs of the Empire.

Drakthiss Imperial Code of Law

Solomon didn’t increase his pace. Instead he steadied it, and raised his walking stick so that it wouldn’t make noise as he moved. He moved quietly through the halls, just as he had through his family’s estate when he was younger. He heard more screaming and some cries, but he kept himself calm, bracing himself against the hallway wall as he reached the sitting room, the source of the sounds.

He slowly peeked out from around the corner. He saw a dozen men in the uniforms of guards dragging his servants to the sitting room and throwing them into a group in the center of it. Barnabus was badly beaten, and his brother Bart was backhanded across the face after biting one of the guards. He didn’t see Duncan, Melissa, or Poth. Two of the guards were lying on the ground, one of them with a terrible wound across his head as if it had been bashed against something and another crying in pain as he held the handle to a kitchen knife that was embedded in his gut.

Barking orders at the men was Marcus. His broad frame was unmistakable and his First Watchman’s uniform immaculate.

Solomon found himself absolutely astounded at the man’s audacity. He presumed that somehow he or his brother had found out that he meant to bring evidence against them to Etling. Perhaps the Third Watchman had lost his nerve, or perhaps they had a man with the Message office that was monitoring outgoing postage. Whatever the case, the punishments for attacking a noble and his servants like this were severe. To do so in full uniform showed baffling confidence that nothing would be done. Unless there was a piece of things that Solomon was missing.

He took a moment to worry over Melissa, but she was resourceful. There was a chance she was okay. He was more worried for those that were with him at that moment.

Once all the servants were gathered, Marcus looked them over.

“Where’s your master?” he asked simply. “My men have looked across the manor and found no sign of him. Where is he hiding?”

He must’ve not heard them sweeping the house while he was working.

“We don’t know, he disappears sometimes,” said Nelda.

He gestured to one of his men that stepped forward and struck the girl across the face.

“His carriage wasn’t holding him when it left and it’s now abandoned in town. I know he’s here. Has he gone out into the grounds?”

“No,” said Emery, one of the maids. “Last I saw him he was in the library.”

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“We checked the library, sir,” said one of the men.

“Check again,” he said calmly. “Berk, go with him.”

Another man nodded and they both began walking toward where Solomon was hidden. He pressed himself against the wall, grateful he was wearing his mourning coat still. Yet another reason to be glad of his father’s death.

The two men passed by without a glance and walked toward the library quickly.

“You better hope they find him,” said Marcus. “The longer this takes, the worse things will be for all of you.”

Solomon watched everything coldly. These people were his responsibility and they’d been harmed. He wanted to skin Marcus in a field and leave him exposed to the insects outside. He quietly backed away from the hall and moved toward the library. It seemed that his hand was forced. He was no warrior. He would never be able to deal with all of these men. His only chance was chained beneath the library.

He reached the wide open doors to the library and peered inside, seeing one man on the first floor searching behind the suit of armor, and the other looking around the upper levels. Checking to see if he was somehow on top of the highest shelves.

He raised his cane and considered sneaking up behind the nearest of them, but decided against it. There was a good chance he could take on the first of them with the element of surprise, but there was no way he’d be able to disable the first one, then fight the second one. He knew his limits.

He instead smacked the cane against the door to create a loud knock, and then took off running down the hall. There was yelling behind him he couldn’t make out, but as soon as he rounded the corner he drew a curtain that was hanging loosely from the wall over himself and stood still. It wasn’t a great hiding place for a focused and calm pursuer, but since they believed he was running ahead of them they moved right past without giving him a second glance. Once he was sure they were out of sight, he moved quickly, but carefully back to the library.

He activated the sigil that opened it, and once the Knight was aside he walked quickly down the steps, hearing the opening seal behind him. He made his way to the bound god. His breath was visible from the awful chill in the air, but he barely felt it. He grabbed the spell breakdown and his notes. He’d already memorized the spell, the ritual of it, but he wanted to make sure he didn’t make any mistakes. As he opened his mouth to start reciting, he stopped.

Making a split second decision, he grabbed the rag and alcohol he’d taken from the maids. He carefully poured some onto the tip of the cloth and knelt down at one end of the circle. Even with the stakes he didn’t trust the additional runes. He didn’t have the magical knowledge to be certain that they were malicious, but even just not knowing the intent to them made him not want them there. He worked quickly, but carefully, scrubbing away every last rune and mark that wasn’t absolutely necessary and listed in the original spell. Luckily, he’d been going over it so thoroughly he didn’t need more than a few cursory glances at his notes to get it done. The cold seemed to build even more as he worked, his sweat seeming to actually freeze against his skin. Was it the god causing the cold? And he was affecting the binding with his actions? That didn’t follow based on what he’d seen, but he couldn’t be sure.

He finished removing the runes and took up the grimoire, his mind filled with images of massacred servants, their blood on his hands. He opened his mouth, and began the recitation.

“Bind, Steal, Take, Consume, I eat the power within you and make it my own. I drink deeply of the mana within you and it is made my own. Iche, tha’an maraquas, duntesh-”

The spell varied languages as it went. He’d had to memorize them phonetically as the handful of orcish and elvish he knew wasn’t enough for fluency, not mentioning the languages he didn’t recognize at all. After the first few words, his mouth was no longer his own. It spoke the words of the ritual, but now that it was started, he could feel it was no longer something he’d be able to stop. His voice raised up higher, and he began yelling each phrase, each syllable at the top of his lungs. A shard of light appeared in the center of the god’s head, and from it a black energy with an aura of blue light began to extend. As this happened the god’s eyes grew more hateful than they ever had before, and for the first time since Solomon had found him, he actually began to move. His body shifted by only millimeters, but the chains that bound him began to glow, as if the magic within them was suddenly being strained.

Solomon kept speaking, his throat raw and the tips of his fingers feeling numb from the cold that surrounded and pressed down on him. The point of dark energy that had formed on the god’s head began to extend, like a lengthening piece of rope, and reached Solomon’s chest. It seemed to pause for a moment, then it stabbed into him.

It felt as if a real blade had been pressed into his flesh. It burned like fire as more and more of it pushed into him. He could see veins of blackness against his pale skin, spreading all throughout him. In spite of the pain, he kept reciting his ritual. The edges of his vision darkened, but he forced it away. He had to stay conscious. He had to stay aware.

As the last bit of blackness left the god, it struggled one final time. The chains binding it glowed like magma and it managed to let out a cry that seemed to leave a rend in Solomon’s soul. The chains tightened one last time, then the body of the god went still.

After a few more moments, that last bit of dark power entered Solomon’s chest, and when it did he let out a scream that matched the god’s own.