RFC-Mini Arc 2: Elven Garde-01 (Patreon)

Miniarc 2!

A few things. As I said before, we're switching perspectives, going from Lou's first person to a new character's 3rd person. I want to describe our favorite characters from someone else's eyes. Let me know how you feel about it and if you would/wouldn't like to see more of in future miniarcs.

We're starting with a dump of five chapters to start because I don't want these miniarcs to take too long, as they could go on forever, but it'll update regularly.

This particular miniarc is to give a little insight into what Kierra gets up to throughout the day while Lou is at class, though it takes place at the same time as The Temple, while Lou is messing about in the Sanctuary. 

If you haven't seen it, there's a post where I'm asking for people's opinions on the tiers and future adjustments. I'd especially appreciate feedback from my cultists, my most dedicated supporters! It's my hope we can work together to improve everyone's reading experience and spread the word of Cosmo, heh.

Alright, that's all. Here we go!

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The setting sun at his back, Callan Atkinson walked through the residential area of the Grand Hall. Manors fit for any noble sat on either side of the perfectly paved road, each home unique in its splendor. He looked to one side, seeing a marble fountain, clear water springing from the mouth of a stone dragon with its wings spread proudly, and felt the familiar heat of envy simmering in his chest.

It used to be when he saw those who had what he desired, his heart burned fiercely, the smoke from the fire clouding his mind, pressing on his thoughts so tight only curses could slip through. He struggled to control himself, resulting in surly moods and uncivilized behavior that had gotten him in trouble when he was younger. He railed at the unfairness of the world, at his bad luck for being born of the common masses, barred from the best of life by his blood.

Later, as he matured, he learned to accept his lot in life. Callan didn’t have a title, no, but he had his own boons. His was born in a peasant family, but a family of artisans rather than laborers. His father was a carpenter of some renown and Callan had inherited his skill with wood.

His luck continued that his father’s skill had been recognized and he was offered a store in the Grand Market. With the money his father made making custom furniture for the wealthy casters of the Hall, they lived more like lower nobles. Seeing this, Callan dedicated himself to his craft. Perfecting his art until his father was not just willing, but eager for his son to succeed him. But then, Callan was taught a lesson by a particularly aggressive acolyte. A fire caster who burned his face when he took exception to being put on a waiting list.

He used to think money made a noble, that as long as he accumulated gold, he could live a good life. Be someone. Scorching magic taught him that gold might buy fine clothes and big houses, but that meant nothing without respect and respect came with power. True power, as in the ability to reduce someone to ash rather than knowing which ass to kiss.

He wasn’t sure if it were good or bad luck that he lived in the Grand Hall. There was no better place to obtain the power he desired but, for someone with an air affinity, considered unsuitable for combat by most, and no talent for casting, his chances for being sponsored were hopeless at best. Having his goal right beside him but so far out of his reach was maddening.

He had long learned to channel his negative feelings into motivation. With a few years of work, he could save enough gold to pay the tuition and rent a room in the Silver Dorm. It was important he had the whole amount as conversations with acolytes informed him that his initiate year would be intensive.

The sum was not small. As he was still only an apprentice being paid a wage by his father, he estimated it would take three years to save enough. By then, he would be 26, positively ancient in terms of initiates. With the same amount of money, he could buy his own store, with a second floor for living and a separate workshop. His father had pointed that out to him many times. Yelling to his son to give up silly dreams of knights and magic when he had a guaranteed future taking over from his father as Atkinsons had done for generations.

The last thing Callan wanted to be was his father and he worked with a single-minded determination to achieve his goal.

Then, an opportunity dropped into his lap.

Spying a small sign at the end of a dirt road leading up to another estate, Callan came to a stop. Pulling a note from his pocket, he checked the address against the sign, and started up the road. He admired the garden as he walked, taking in the well-trimmed hedges and brilliant blooms.

He knew a florist in the Grand Market and could appreciate the effort it must take to care for them. A luxury that screamed affluence as well as the finest clothes or gaudiest of jewelry.

Taking a deep breath to settle himself, Callan grabbed the door knocker and gave it three strong taps before stepping back.

It only took a moment before the door was open. He was familiar with the servant that answered, a woman of otherworldly origins. A heart-shaped face, dainty smile, and a simple dress concealing an insidious nature. He found the best way to handle her was to speak quickly, listen to her words with half an ear, and never look into her eyes. That always spelled doom.

“Mr. Atkinson,” a playfully chipper voice said.

“Ms. Geo. I’ve come in response to the invitation.”

“Of course. One moment.” Despite knowing better, he couldn’t help looking up when he heard approaching footsteps. A boy slipped through the doorway. Dressed in an impeccable dark violet uniform with his dark hair brushed backward, he was easily recognizable as a servant of the house, but the tension and confidence he radiated made him remarkable.

“This is Earl, the steward of the Tome estate. He’ll escort you to the location of today’s festivities.”

Festivities. He wouldn’t use the word but he was not surprised she did. The creature seemed to delight in struggle and pain, though some were charmed by her innocent smiles and attentive care. He too had been charmed until she let him see beneath the veneer. Why she revealed her true face to him, Callan didn’t know. It made him uneasy so he tried not to think of it. Let sleeping dragons lie, as his father would say.

“If you would follow me, Mr. Atkinson.”

Callan was eager to follow the boy down the steps. He briefly considered engaging him in conversation but Earl didn’t give him a chance. It was fine as they walked through the main garden but the path became narrower as they moved deeper into the estate. Earl walked quickly, moving deceptively fast with his measured walk, and Callan had to focus on his footing as the vegetation became more aggressive.

By the time they reached the line of trees, Callan struggled to keep up with the boy who seemed to move through the roots and underbrush as if they didn’t exist. Many times, he thought he would lose sight of his guide but it didn’t bother him. He could already hear the energetic jeers and roars of his destination.