[Back to Part 1]
Yesterday I shared the introduction to my novella, which I intend to accompany my game. Here is the next drafted part. Please, again, give me feedback. Sharing this is incredibly nerve-wracking!
“I grew up resenting my father.”
Edric’s voice was quieter now, more reflective. He glanced down at his hands before continuing.
“I thought of him as an angry, violent, distant man. A man drunk on both booze and power, who cared more for his empire than his family. I respected him, of course. How could I not? He was wealthy, influential, feared by many. But love? No, I never felt that from him. I saw only a man who barked orders and drowned his demons in drink.”
He exhaled, his fingers pressing lightly against the table before him.
“So I ran away. After my mother died, I left before his anger and paranoia could turn on me alone. I wanted nothing to do with him, with his legacy, with any of it. I thought I was freeing myself. But I had it all wrong.”
He glanced at Mitch, his expression unreadable. “Mitch, you know something about what happens when you don’t live up to a father’s high expectations, don’t you?” Mitch shifted uncomfortably but gave a small nod, his jaw tightening.
His students sat in silence, the weight of his words settling over them.
Pouring himself a top-up of coffee, as much to give him a moment to collect his thoughts, he raised the coffee jug to signal an offer a brew to Garith, his massive silver-haired colleague, who had just quietly returned to the room.
After acknowledging his friend was good for now, Edric furrowed his brow and continued.
“And now? Now, I know the truth. And every day, I live with the regret of never seeing it sooner.
“But my father was not always a wealthy merchant. Far from it. He was born a humble fisherman, one of a long line of fisherfolk, barely scraping by. His hands were calloused from hauling nets, his clothes always damp with saltwater. Our family was not one of wealth or influence—we survived, but that was all.
My father spent his youth on the open sea, battling tides that cared nothing for the people farming it, taking what little the ocean offered and praying it was enough.
Yet, somehow, he rose. He built an empire. But that rise came with a cost—one I didn’t understand until it was too late.
Edric let his words hang in the air before leaning back slightly. “Do any of you know the source of our magic? Where it comes from?”
The students exchanged uncertain glances. Orin, who had been quiet until now, pushed up his glasses and spoke, crisply. “Zero-point energy. The vacuum energy of space itself. If magic exists, that’s the closest scientific equivalent we have.”
Edric gave a small, knowing smile before looking up, his expression grim.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” Edric said with a brief smile before his expression darkened. “How we come by access to this raw source energy matters a great deal, however.
Power is available to some directly, some must use amulets or magical artifacts, while still others need to have their power delegated to them from a more powerful entity.
“What about Garith?” Edric gestured toward the warrior-priest, taking up two seats of the ample-sized sofa. “Do you know the source of his magic?” He looked across at his huge, silver-haired mentor, brooding in the corner.
Meera immediately chimed in, “Faith!”
“Correct. His magic comes from his faith—his unshakable belief in the Creator of all things. Through devotion, he acts as a conduit for divine will. His magic isn’t his own; it’s granted to him.”
Orin frowned in thought, watching Edric closely. “And you?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “How did you get yours?”
Edric exhaled, his fingers tightening around his cup. “I inherited magic from my father.” He paused. “Though I didn’t understand it at first.” He looked at them, searching their faces. “My father was a warlock.”
His words landed like a thunderclap. Each student stiffened. Meera gently lowered her teacup as it audibly shook in her saucer.
The shock was so visible on the students’ faces that Garith chuckled in his bass-heavy, lion-esque growl of a voice.
Edric bit his lower lip and let them sit with the revelation momentarily before continuing.
“A warlock’s power isn’t their own. It’s granted—just like Garith’s—but instead of coming from faith, it comes from a pact. A deal, a bargain, a contract signed with something far older, far darker than any god.”
He looked around at their faces, making sure they understood. “A warlock gets their magic from a demon. And that kind of power always comes at a price.”
Part 2 is pretty cool too. Priests and devil dealmakers in a magic power struggle. Let's see what happens in part 3. :)
Uncanny resemblance
If he wasn't such a nutter he could have played him in the premium tv streaming mini-series :D
Not sure what you mean.
Which premium tv streaming mini series?
What sort of nutter? I liked him in Person of Interest, but I don't know anything else about him outside of the fact he did some movie to raise awareness of sex trafficking or something.
I was joking that my story would be made into a series
QAnon/adrenochrome conspiracy