Lady Annetta Rosengale wanted to get roaring drunk. But she couldn't, as her son had not only nearly shattered the mind of his fiancé and elder sister simply by talking at them (which neatly explained why he stopped talking two years ago), but he had done a major working in a field of magic that was illegal. One that carried a punishment of summary execution in fact. Because necromancy was, outside of clearly defined spells that only oath bound members of the Great Church were permitted to use, something not to be touched. And her problem child had enacted a major working based on personal research and first principles.
Not for the six hundred and thirty fourth time, she wanted to scream and throw something at a wall. Because there was genius and then there was whatever her son was. At first, she had been delighted, as a son was a valuable piece in the game of alliances, blood to make deals and pacts strong and true. Even when he had, from a young age, displayed a keen mind and firm grasp of magic, well, that would make him an interesting catch, even as he looked into some other, less acceptable pursuits.
And then, slowly, pride and joy soured and became frustration and disappointment. The plans she had built for how to introduce him to society, to potentially have him catch the eye of the high nobility? Dashed before they could begin, by the simple fact that for all his gift at magic? For all that the art came as naturally to him as walking and breathing? His ability to grasp the social graces was abysmal. And he took no pride in his appearance, no care in it. But that was not even the worst. No, it was the way he held himself, with near complete indifference to everything, from the game of politics, to society, to status.
She had tried to correct his behaviour, to instil in him the correct virtues and bearings. And yet, and this was the terrible yet, none of it seemed to phase him. Beatings, floggings and whippings? Only revealed that he had a disturbing level of pain tolerance... and quickly shown that he learned how to heal himself. Restricting him from the library? He had already read all the books and had a mind palace able to recall them at will. Temporarily banishing him for a month in the forest, while they kept an eye on him to make sure he could not escape the estate?
He made a cave for himself, sealed it while leaving a small enough hole to have fresh air come in and proceeded to sit in place and meditate for three months, responding with illusions when they tried to bring him back inside. Clapping him in magic suppressing cuffs and making his rooms a cell? Yes, for all that it locked down his external magic, as far as she could tell? To her frustration his meditation tricks and internal magic was not affected in the least. All while there were snide remarks about him missing the annual Illusionary Games.
With, as she closed her eyes and sighed, angry remarks from Princess Velatha Tracan about where her rival was, that THIS was to be the year, before the cut off date when he would no longer be able to attend, that she ground him under her heel. Because he had never done the smart thing and allowed her to win. Instead, there had been pressure, not quite the knives coming out about an uppity house, let alone male, that dared to presume themselves better than a royal at anything.
House Rosengale had been the subject of whispers, of rumors, and perhaps those would have faded... if he had not continued to dominate, in a show of utterly unmasculine behaviour, the games, year after year. Taking away control of the field? Restricting the kinds of illusions? He. Kept. Winning. Kept beating a member of the royal family to the point where she declared him her Official Rival. Rival of Princess Velatha Tracan now had to be added to his name when introducing him at formal events. Which dashed almost all hopes of good marriage prospects, which made him into a bitter draft.
Almost as bitter as the orc beer she was chugging, because dear Ellaine's idea to have him be kidnapped by an orc tribe four years ago? There was now a unified city state where there used to be little more than bandit clans, the members of which bowed and groveled before her son, who refused to elaborate after he walked back in under his own power eight months after he was taken. Everyone pointedly ignored the occasional scrying draconic eye from the same mountain giving her son moon eyes every now and then.
Still, she would do her duty, as she took up the ancestral blade and walked into the boys cell. There was no resistance as she decapitated him, nor as she dismembered him. She stabbed a few of his organs while weeping and crying that why could he not have learned, that if he had just played the damn game and been a good boy, everything would have been all right! She was not really surprised when the head and limbs floated back, sealing themselves onto the stumps, the boy not opening his eyes. "Did you expect that to work mother?"
There was something deeper about his voice, but hardly brain breaking, and she sniffed, her tone bitter and sharp. "You could not have spoken this way to your sister and fiancé?"
At that, he opened his eyes, glacial lakes deep and calm, unworried and unhurried. "While in the middle of a major self-alchemical ritual that already has me splitting my focus along a large number of spell patterns? No, there were side effects and sadly, they were caught in the backlash."
Not a trace of remorse, not a trace of pity, from something colder than ice. "Alchemy, that is what you are going with?"
"Matter, Energy, Information are one. The body is a vessel for the soul, our true selves, and yet the information is encoded inside our physical bodies. I have adjusted that." Now, that was soul magic, or necromancy.
"Was the soul affected? If it was, it is legally necromancy. And someone outside of the family is aware." It hurt but... "You leave me with no choice. I will no longer tolerate this, and have given you countless chances to try and change your behaviour, and at this point? The scandal of a disowned son is better than having a necromancer in the family." She took a breath, connecting to the wards, adjusting them and priming them as she spoke. "If you are still on the estate by sundown, there will be a bounty on your head. For you are no Rosengale. Begone, and take nothing of the house with you."
Her tone was firm... and then he started to chuckle. He stood, amusement clear in his eyes. "Thank you for the hospitality Lady Rosengale, and do wish my former sisters well." With that and a smile on his face, he vanished. And with him gone? The feeling of power, of strength that was soaked into the land, vanished as well, making her stagger.
One Hour Later, Elden Grove Recruitment Office
On the one hand, it was a prime slice of beefcake that walked up to her at the recruitment station. Six feet and four inches tall and built like he broke rocks and trees with his bare hands for a living, glad only in a simple grey vest, loose pants and sandals. And the sheer presence of the man... "Could you repeat that please?"
Because there was no way a man who looked and felt like that belonged anywhere other than a high class brothel. "I am looking to join the royal army as an attached adventurer."