An ethereal, ghostly smoke billowed out from the end of a pipe, as a middle-aged man removed it from his mouth to exhale. His teeth were yellow and lined with plaque, a nearly permanent stain of kezza, an opiate native to Messaris. Slicking back his salt and pepper hair, his beetle black eyes narrowed on the young man that sat in a dusty leather chair on the other side of his desk.
This was Arnor Lockridge, a real estate mogul, loan shark, and one of several information brokers representing the shadier side of Enzen and the neighboring villages.
“Mr… Orchid, is it? Surname?”
His voice was akin to scraping the serrated edges of two butter knives together as it wheezed up and out of his leathery throat and tar-stained lungs. Embers of curiosity burned in his eyes as he spoke.
“Nerza. Orchid Nerza. I’m originally from a small town east of Vrissk.”
“Vrissk… ah, yes. That Vrissk.” An ugly sneer washed across his face, toxicity dripping from every word. Each time he repeated the city’s name, it came out as a hiss.“I’d say it’s a shame what happened to them, but I suppose that’s what happens when you choose misguided ideals over survival. Did the city ever fully recover?”
Feigning indifference, Orchid pretended the jab was merely the irritating bite of a summer fly.
“I’m not in the market of passing judgments on ideals or their consequences. The only market I’m currently interested in is real estate. I was told that you’re the man to speak with about discreet property purchases in Enzen.”
“I am the man for that, and what’s more, you brought up my favorite subject; money and property,” he punctuated the sentence with another puff on the pipe, a rasping cough following it.
Orchid adjusted his posture slightly, he shifted the conversation.
“I hear there’s an old town here in Enzen. Tell me more about that.”
“Yes, there is an ‘old town’, so to speak. It meanders snakelike from the end of the noble district down into the southernmost finger of the residential housing. On the noble side, many of the manors haven’t been kept up and some have fallen into quite a sorrowful state of disrepair. However, this means the prices are… opportunistically low.”
“In other words, families are trying to cling to their ancestral homes but have no desire to renovate or invest the capital required. I can easily remedy that problem for one of them.”
A smirk met Orchid’s comment.
“Yes, exactly that. You’re a pragmatic sort of fellow, I admire that in a prospective client.”
With an absentminded wave of his hand, Orchid swatted away the meager attempts at flattery. Turning to his side, he seized a small case off the floor beside him and unceremoniously set it on the desk with a small thud. His fingers gingerly undid the latches, raising the lid to reveal a small fortune of lunars of varying denominations.
“Is this enough to land something practical for my purposes?” Orchid’s voice was flat, already bored of their meeting.
A carnivorous chortle escaped Arnor’s mouth as he greedily eyed the money. Cartoonishly rubbing his hands together, he nodded eagerly.
“Yes, my boy, this will be perfect. Many of my customers take out a line of credit, but cold, hard lunars will always go further with me. I even have just the property in mind for you with this… generous down payment.”
“If you do want these lunars, I’d appreciate seeing the property as soon as possible.” A subtle sneer graced Orchid’s expression, finding every fiber of Arnor’s being repugnant.
“Excellent! I was supposed to meet with a few clients begging for leniency on their payments, but this will be far more lucrative than wastrels sniveling at my feet. Let me grab my cane and we’ll depart!”
Outside of the rather drab building beneath a sign that read “Lockridge and Associates”, the odd pair stepped into a carriage that Arnor had called for them. The ride was mostly awkward silence as the shady suit tried to ask leading questions that Orchid mostly ignored.
“Tell me more about yourself, Mister Nerza.”
“There’s not much to say. Born in Vrissk, lived in Kiteka to the east where I was educated in construction and magic, and returned to help oversee the re-construction for those who still wanted to call Vrissk home. I outgrew my roots and decided to replant myself in Enzen.”
Arnor’s eyes narrowed, not fully buying the story.
“Interesting… Interesting you want to live amidst the nobility and fabulously wealthy when you’re from such humble circumstances. Not that you seem low born, mind you. Just the opposite, rather…” He trailed off intentionally, eyeing Orchid to see if he was picking up on his implication, before continuing.
“You carry yourself with a noble air. Your clothing and mannerisms are refined to a striking degree. Your hands are quite… soft, for someone with a background of labor.”
Refusing to acknowledge the man’s prying, Orchid maintained his gaze out the window. His words, however, shot out in reproach.
“Are you saying that someone of that background is incapable of being refined?”
“No, sir. Not at all. I’d just say that it’s… uncommon.”
“Unless this is necessary for the home buying process, I hardly see how it’s relevant to ask me these things.”
“Apologies, Mister Nerza, apologies. It’s merely my unchecked curiosity.” His hands absentmindedly fiddling with his kezza pouch as he spoke. “I simply love getting to know my clients, especially ones as promising as you are. Yet, you are quite the private individual.”
Orchid responded very matter of fact. “Yes, I am. Is that a problem?”
“How do you remain so secretive when you’re clearly so successful for such a young age?”
“Funny you ask, I find being private and keeping secrets rather easy things to do. Would you like to know my special technique?”
Curiosity peaked, Arnor leaned forward, a crooked smile on his face.
“Yes, go on.”
Gaze finally shifting from the window; he leaned forward to meet the man in the center of the aisle.
“The trick is… keeping my mouth shut. I find it’s quite the easy task if you have any self-control at all.”
A little taken aback by the sudden flippancy of the otherwise straight-laced man, Arnor Lockridge leaned back and let out a raucous laugh.
“So, there’s some humor in those veins after all! I love the snark! Let’s see if we can’t break you out of that shell!”
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Drawing back against the seat, Orchid let slip a bemused smirk. To him, this man was a simple crook that could be manipulated and used to his advantage. The entire encounter he had been assessing Arnor’s personality, habits, and vices. He was especially thankful to the gods above that the man had a fondness for kezza, knowing some of his more sinister abilities could take advantage of that.
Orchid feigned a wider smile than the smirk, trying to lull the shady slug of a man into a false sense of security. The decision now lay at his feet of whether to solely keep Arnor as a business contact or to turn him into a thrall. Thralls were something of a useful nuisance to him, and although they could be quite utilitarian for keeping someone on a leash, they had downsides as well.
With the carriage finally arriving at its destination, Arnor opened the coach door and waved for Orchid to leave first. Outside, Orchid found himself properly in the Selenza District, where the bulk of the local nobility dwelt. The avenue they had parked on was extremely well kept and far more developed than some of the lanes and streets in the lower districts, particularly compared to the outer residential neighborhoods.
Actual sidewalks lined either side of the road with a row of trees acting as a buffer for pedestrians with the street. The trees themselves bore pinkish, carnation-like flowers at the end of their branches with broad leaves that were enjoying the last warmth summer had to offer. Much like figs, these were often the last flowers of the season to bloom.
Each estate had stone walls that connected to metal gates, not unlike the entrance of Brydelgard. From what could be made out from the street, most of the homes seemed to be well kept and in use, although about every fourth home seemed to be in a state of disrepair.
Several passersby eyed the carriage and its occupants, whispering amongst themselves on the otherwise quiet road. The coach driver was a dwarven man with elaborate and ornate braids in his beard, waiting patiently and calling out affectionately to his horses while his passengers approached a gated home.
“This here is Rosaria Manor, formerly belonging to the Amalar family. They were a displaced noble family from Cadifa during the war that settled here until they were able to return to their homeland. They had the wherewithal to sense tensions were rising and uprooted without having to leave behind their wealth or belongings like many of their peers.”
“Amalars, as in the famous botanists and spell crafters? Cousins to the royal family of Osuna?”
“Well read, my boy, well read. Yes, those very same Amalars’. I’m now acting as the escrow agent on behalf of the property. The manor itself isn’t as grand as some of the others, but it’s the most affordable while still being in the heart of Selenza District. It’s currently going for-“
“I’ll take it.”
“-lunars and… wait, I beg pardon?”
The gates formed a raven in the center that was clutching a steel-wrought rose in its feet. This was the Amalar family crest; however, it made Orchid recall the infamous silent patron of house Bastogne. The grounds themselves looked relatively well kept. Several Heaven’s Willow trees cast a sweeping shade over the lawn, with a cobblestone path that lead to a fountain just before the house itself.
Orchid didn’t waste a single moment to explain himself.
“The location and aesthetic fit my tastes. Hearing the price solidifies that fact. Consider the briefcase the down payment until the rest of my funds are sent this way to pay off the difference. This will include your paltry commission fee as well.”
A shining greed filled the eyes of the loan shark, as Arnor Lockridge once more rubbed his hands together in excitement. He stared at the tall young man and although his conniving curiosity desperately wanted to pry open the vault that contained Orchid’s secrets, he would easily settle for a small fortune first.
“That said, I would still enjoy a tour to pass the time and get to know my… gracious real estate agent.”
With the gates hastily unlocked, Arnor and Orchid walked down the cobblestone path until they found themselves before the double door entrance leading into Rosaria Manor. The entrance hall wasn’t as ostentatious as many noble manors could be, instead emphasizing the notable members of the family and their accomplishments. Straight ahead was another pair of double doors, on the right-hand side a door lead to the bedrooms of the manor, the opposite side leading to the parlors, studies, and library.
The home was three stories yet was only two thirds the size of most manors around it. It was smaller than the residence Orchid had left but he found it quite tasteful nonetheless, admiring the attitudes of the architect who designed it. Even more so, it gave him the sense of aristocracy he felt he was owed.
Their tour was uneventful as Orchid gave relatively flat responses to Arnor’s commentary, not deigning it worthwhile to share his inner satisfaction with the house. Concluding their tour in the back garden, they took a seat under a gazebo for the loan shark to draw up the initial paperwork for the property purchase.
“Do you mind if I partake of the root?”
“The root? Oh, you mean kezza,” a sigh escaping his lips as he responded. “Whatever you need to do, I suppose.”
“Not to be cruel, but I am a man with few words to parse. Vrissk was an agricultural hub for its region, and it was a supplier of quality kezza. Really knocked the price upwards to buy the good stuff after that fiasco. Could’ve kept quite comfortable if they hadn’t mouthed off. That’s the reason I make the distasteful jokes.”
Although Orchid didn’t particularly hate Eryx or his ideology, he had been robbed of any semblance of a childhood due to the massacre of his hometown. The closest thing he truly had to a family after his sister’s death was Monsignor and the many residents of Bastogne Manor. Yet, those scars of the past still shone through his soul, no matter how much he tried to hide them beneath his stoic exterior.
Yula’s death still haunted his dreams, after all.
It seemed nearly unbelievable; a complete caricature of a scoundrel ripped straight from the pages of a pulp novel. Yet the entire morning had proven that Arnor Lockridge was exactly the kind of cutthroat to value his inebriates over the lives of an entire village. It was knaves like these that justified Orchid’s increasingly misanthropic attitudes.
Had Arnor not taken that moment to continue beating a dead horse and displaying the level of apathetic cruelty that many whose affluence was claimed off the tears of others, things might have gone differently for the man. Yet, his fate was sealed after his second callous comment.
It was also a rare twinkling of the humanity that remained beneath the armor that Orchid had been constructing since his childhood.
“You seem awfully fond of the root, as you call it. Do you have many vices?”
The tone was barely masking a sinister icy tone forming around the edges of each word.
“Oho, now you’re speaking my second language! I’m most fond of any leaf or root that numbs the senses. Especially if it’s far stronger than the drink. But I’m a man of diverse taste!” His cackle filled the gazebo as he recited off his interests. “I am fond of gambling, unsanctioned fighting rings, and, of course, women.”
“You’re a man that loves to loosen the belt, as it were. I can appreciate that.” Orchid’s eyes narrowed, a frosty look glinting in his steel-grey eyes, a cruel smile twisting the ends of his mouth.
“Aye, I am! Considering our business relationship went from bud to bloom over the course of three hours, I’d be keen to let you in on the places you can find the satiation for every vice one might possess.”
“What if I told you I possess a narcotic that outshines anything else on Messaris? One that can make you feel bliss beyond reason, a state of dreamlike trance as if you could pluck the moon from the night sky, and like you are in the presence of the gods themselves?”
Leaning forward, Arnor shot a skeptical glance at Orchid.
“You jest. Such a concoction would be rampant already, if it existed, that is.”
“Well, yes. If it was regularly available, that would be true. This particularly drug isn’t a mere substance, it’s a grace I was born with. So, it can’t even be learned like an ordinary spell.”
A ‘grace’ was an inborn magic that only a select few were born with, often considered a divine gift from the gods and seen as a blessing. Maybe one out of a hundred children were lucky enough to receive one.
“Incredible! I mean, if true. I’d be more convinced if you can demonstrate this ability.”
Arnor’s tone was devious, desperately wanting an invitation to experience the claims made by Orchid.
An intangible darkness filled Orchid’s eyes as his smile now warped into a sadistic grin.
“I can help you see beyond the heavens and the world. Now come, sit closer, my new friend. There are sights to be seen, and I am the sole guide capable of leading you into those depths.”
Raising two fingers to Arnor’s temple, the sclera of Orchid’s eyes grew darker than obsidian, his pupils widening as ochre flames flashed across their orbit. A sigil emerged on the back of his palm, as if an invisible artist had inked it in mere seconds, scarlet lines like infection racing off it towards his fingertips.
For a mere moment, Arnor Lockridge had an expression of horror etched across his face as those sinister fingertips pressed against his temple. He silently tried to mouth a scream, spittle flying off his lips. Yet, the moment passed faster than rain into the sea.
His pupils swiftly dilated as the man sank into a stupor on the gazebo seat. Mutters of unintelligible gibberish left his mouth as an intoxication beyond anything he had ever before experienced took over his senses.
Orchid seized him by the jaw, his jowls nearly bruising under the grip of the cruel fingers.
“You are going to be my pawn, snake. You are nothing more than a useful fool, a wretch that will be lower than the fleas on the back of a wild cur. You are my first inroad on the path that will secure this city for house Bastogne and our silent goddess.”
