Breeding Madness 1.2

Note- I'm waiting for my friend to revise some drafts for WGL. As such, I started up an outline for Coye 7. Not sure how fast I'll be moving along with it, but it's happening.

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Chapter 2 - Morning Paranoia

Zethras awoke in a sudden start, shouting and jolting upright. He fell back onto the bed shortly after, clutching tight the sheets in his trembling fists. His body and bed were covered in a mire of sweat, amplifying the overarching wetness and discomfort plastered all over him. Visions of gaping mouths dripping with slimy drool flashed through his still-tired mind until his connection to the dream was severed. More and more, his consciousness returned to him and shoved the surreal memories into the pit from whence they came.

Gasping for air, Zethras swung his addled head around to look around his darkened dwellings. With no sunlight reaching the basement he called his bedroom, it was as cold as it was dark. The only light came from the clock on the wall, whose candle burned perpetually unless purposefully snuffed or the wax ran out. It wasn’t bright enough. Zethras didn’t want to wait for his eyes to adjust to the meager luminescence it provided, so shaking with adrenaline and shivering from the coolness of the air on his slimy skin, he forced himself out of bed.

Zethras extended his hand towards the sconce on the wall nearest his bed, muttering, “Burhnit,” under his breath. A sparkling flare no bigger than a firecracker zipped out of his fingertip before puffing out of existence.

His brow twitched.

“Burhnit,” Zethras grumbled, only for the same results. His anger rose, as did the level of his incantation. “Enflarhal. Inferflarhal. Fucking-” Breathing in through his teeth, the mage steadied his head and hand and returned to basics. “Burhnit…”

At last, a respectable wisp of flame shit from his hand and lit the sconce. It didn't make for a gratifying accomplishment, so Zethras fell back in frustration, not even caring for the sweaty mess waiting for him when he arrived. Staring at his ceiling, the haunting recollections of his night terrors scratched at the edges of his troubled mind.

“Wild dream, that one…” Zethras muttered though he couldn’t remember the extent of it.

His dream recall was rather poor- embarrassingly so for a mage. He honed in on it and tried to make sense of what little he remembered but was only met with his usual failure. Whatever had crept in slipped away just as fast, as if the very memory was frightened and skittish by the presence of his mind’s eye.

Another sigh escaped him, this one from resignation. He didn’t need to remember his dreams to know they were messy affairs, but even now, something about this one seemed off. Like something that shouldn’t be forgotten was slipping from the palm of his hand.

“Curses,” Zethras grumbled, if only to hear the sound of his own voice.

The frustration was enough to make him wrack his brain in an attempt to come up with answers, but after another few minutes of continued failure coupled with unhelpful and paranoid imaginings, Zethras gave up.

And why shouldn’t he? It was likely something stupid. Something meant to distract him from the gods-awful day he was on the cusp of experiencing. Zethras welcomed the attempt of his subconscious at distracting him, only wishing it could do so more productively and less terrifyingly next time around.

Zethras glanced at his clock, a large, clunky thing carved from bogwood without much style. It hung across the room, and the enchanted candle stuck out from under its face on a plank. He quickly noted that it was almost time to replace the damnable thing before he raised his gaze to read the time.

Relief washed over him. At least his dream hadn’t woken him too early this time. It happened often enough, and being the sort of man he was, Zethras could not fall back to sleep after waking up, especially not after having one of his terrors of a stranger nature. The feelings they left were real, and they left their marks on the man.

It was about time for him to wake up anyway, so he dragged himself from the bed towards the other sconces in the room. Zethras didn’t bother with his magic this time, opting for matches to save himself the embarrassment. That was the intention, but he dropped the first two matches and burned himself on the third.

Infuriating.

Each lit sconce revealed more of the room as the darkness was cast. Despite being little more than a forgotten dungeon, his living space was relatively large, and Zethras had slowly yet surely warped it as much of a home for himself as possible the longer his residence stretched on. Bookshelves of varying heights took up most of his wall space, and three desks with matching desk chairs swallowed about half of the floor, with scattered boxes taking up the rest and creating manic pathways about the place.

His single-person bed was tucked into a corner, made of old wood, and topped with a lumpy straw mattress. A few boxes of shabby clothes were shoved beneath it, along with reference material of a more illicit nature than was fit to display on his shelves. In another corner was a small area to wash, furnished with only a sink, toilet, and washtub separated by a partition hanging from the wall. The third corner was originally a kitchen, but as he had access to the maid staff, Zethras obviously didn’t cook for himself and had repurposed the zone into a small alchemy lab complete with specially warded cabinets that kept his sensitive materials preserved at their most useful states.

Most every piece of furniture Zethras owned was cheaply sourced, having inherited none of the facilities of his predecessor because a certain foolish Lord thought it wise to sell off all his assets before hiring a replacement. Zethras made enough gold to afford better creature comforts should he have desired, but nearly everything the man earned from his hellish toiling went into the most notable feature of his dwelling- his collection.

Dark, magical knickknacks and dusty books and scrolls from eras bygone dotted every last corner of the home Zethras had made for himself. His space was dedicated to his work, interests, and studies. His comfort was not a concern he troubled himself with.

Just about every available space on his shelves was stolen by his obsessions. Bones of all sorts with a favoring for skulls were strewn about. Crystals, gemstones, and unnatural rocks sat wherever a smidgen of space was to be had. Small statues and occult figures were looming from the tops of his bookshelves and cabinets like gargoyles. These sculptures were from across history and realmspace itself, each displaying a countenance of mysterious intent. Some looked benevolent in their wickedness, others protective, and others still like there was no subtlety shielding their ill intent from the world.

Zethras’s literature received the most care of his curios, each organized by subject and slotted into a precise place on the shelf where they would be most relevant. He handled them with care- some of them even predated the founding of the Lundreame dynasty and were so old that the pages crumbling at the slightest touch was a valid concern. While the information they contained was worth that risk, Zethras had also copied their contents and illustrations onto his own journals to better preserve them for future consideration.

One such book and journal was sprawled open on the nearest of his desks, proudly displaying the diagram he’d been copying the day before. On the page was a half-finished drawing of the human body with numerous pressure points that could provide pain or pleasure when certain magic was applied to them. It was a dangerous technique, but nothing interested Zethras quite like knowledge that ought not to be learned.

Zethras began his morning routine with his room completely lit by slowly spinning in place. He studied his surroundings, looking for anything misaligned or any sign that someone had snuck in during his slumber. His paranoia was satisfied after two full circles, but that was until he looked for his robe.

Where was the damn thing? Zethras squinted his eyes. It wasn’t where he remembered leaving it.

Either his imagined enemies had something to do with that, or he’d left it somewhere amongst the disorganized chaos of his chambers. For now, Zethras would ease his mind and assume his memory was playing tricks on him as he checked the usual places it tended to turn up. It could’ve been at the foot of his bed or hung on one of the sconces after he’d blown out the light for the night, and at times he’d just randomly strip and throw it out of the way while committing to memory wherever it landed.

Zethras found it after searching for not even a moment. It’d been thrown on one of the desks, covering up a stack of books he’d been reorganizing. Frowning, he held the garment out and straightened it, the soft fabric swaying gently as he looked it over. The faded blue rags were the same as ever, clean aside from the myriad stains earned from his years of experiments.

As Zethras slipped it over his sleep pants and tied it around his waist, he was overcome with certainty that he’d draped it over the back of his desk chair before. With that certainty came a troubling possibility. Raising his hands defensively, he spun around a third time, his wide eyes searching the darkness and jumping around in frantic panic.

“Make yourself known, fool! You truly believe you can escape the scrutiny of one such as I?!” Zethras bellowed and blustered.

Nothing jumped out, moved, materialized, or happened in response to his demand. That didn’t mollify him, however. Zethras’s paranoia only let up after another minute of silence, and even then, he was still shooting looks over his shoulder every now and again. In this state, he began his morning routine and visited the toilet while muttering to himself all the while.

“Kobolds… must’ve been. Oh, how crafty those overgrown geckos believe themselves to be! Thinking they can just sneak into human society and control the realm, pulling our strings without a soul even noticing… yet how embarrassing must it feel to know that I am onto them, hm? Yes, yes, yes… unlike all the other sheep, I am incapable of being fooled so easily! Hah!”

His first paranoid rant of the day was cut off when Zethras stuffed some breakfast into his mouth. He always ate early, born out of habit from waking up late and having to cram it in there before rushing out. Eating always took precedence over self-care and grooming, and it showed.

Zethras was in such a state that he had little idea what the food in hand was, and he didn’t care. Occasionally he’d ask for certain meals from the maids, but most of the time, Zethras would raid the kitchen every few days and take whatever random food they had leftover. He’d stash it all in his cabinets and paid it no mind past that, leading to a few unfortunate incidents before he’d made the investment in his current enchanted cabinets.

Now fed, Zethras crossed the partition to the bathroom and his water basin to wash his face. His self-care was minimal, merely splashing water on his face and half-heartedly rubbing in some alchemical soap that promised to help oily skin. Zethras was anything but convinced, believing it to be snake oil without considering the possibility that he had to keep up a steady routine to see any long-term effects.

Next, he stripped off the robe and peeled his sweaty sleep pants from his body, kicking them aside so they might be picked up later. Zethras filled his washtub with cold water from a barrel and lathered a washcloth with more soap. This one had a lovely scent, but it was only in his possession because he’d picked it up after a maid had thrown it out, evidently disliking the smell.

Wasteful fools.

Always chucking their precious possessions into the garbage so wantonly... it was a good thing Zethras was there to rifle through the trash and ensure nothing was ever wasted. Just another way he went under-appreciated in these parts.

Zethras lathered and washed briskly, moving on after hardly any scrubbing. His oily hair received the same lackluster treatment as his face. A while back, his personal maid had gifted him a tonic meant to dry out the unruly, oily mess of his hair. A kind gesture from a kind girl, but his faith in it was equal to that in the soap, so he rushed through it, inadvertently ensuring the hair product didn’t do its job.

After drying up and giving his teeth a lazy brushing, Zethras had finished with what little hygiene he practiced. His eyes found the mirror, and he could not suppress a snort. Seems like some sort of albino goblin had found its way into his chambers again… oh, wait. Nope. Just him, same as always. Cleaning up well didn’t wipe away the ugly, so why bother?

He left his bathroom and dressed himself using clothes he’d laid out the night before on his freest desk. It was a small comfort that they were right where he’d left them and hadn’t mysteriously shifted places in the night. He pulled them on layer after layer until draping his mage robes over everything else, ending by slipping on a pair of flats with barely a hint of sole remaining on either. His clothes were old, the colors faded, but they had no holes, and the edges were still appropriately hemmed, so they were good enough in his book.

As he straightened out his clothing, Zethras thought about his plans for the upcoming day. Instant dread overtook him at the prospect of leaving his room. Groaning, he closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Being a court mage wasn’t all it was chalked up to be. Not when it entailed serving the whims of a certain Lord by whom Zethras was employed. He’d worked this position for three years now, and his master hadn’t grown more tolerable since then and presumably wasn’t about to start, meaning his day would be like all others before it- miserable.

Zethras only allowed himself to wallow in pity for so long, opening his eyes and shaking his head. No matter how frustrating and demeaning it might’ve been, he had a job to do. Sighing, he extended his hand and called his staff to him. It was a cheap old thing, made of twisted black oak with a core of rotroot. Its power was moderate, only slightly bolstering his meager casting abilities, but it got the job done like everything else in his life.

Function over form- a motto Zethras swore by.

Just as the mage steeled himself with a deep breath and made for his door, a knock came from the other side. His eyes became pinpricks, his heart raced, and paranoia took control.

Who could it be?

It might’ve been his maid here to straighten his room up how he liked it, but he felt a tingle down his spine telling him that whoever was on the other end was no mere maid. Drastic measures it was, then. Zethras pointed his staff at the door, reflexively firing off what was meant to be a concentrated ball of dark energy. Instead, only a cotton ball of shadows wafted before dissipating into the stagnant air.

His failure and subsequent humiliation humbled Zethras into calming down and thinking more rationally. Probably better that the spell fizzled out, anyway. He could get in serious trouble if he hurt the wrong person, but… whatever he felt that compelled him to do such a thing couldn’t be understated. Zethras was paranoid to a fault, but he rarely reacted to such a degree at perceived danger.

Caution was still a must.

Clearing his throat, Zethras put on an exaggerated, commanding tone as he pointed his hand dramatically toward the door. “Who dares trespass upon my domain so early in the morning? State your business or away with you!”

The response was as immediate as it was harsh. “Early? It’s past noon, fuckwit, and I’m here to drop off more of the magic bullshit you ordered. Open up, or it’s going straight in the hearth.”

Zethras felt further humiliated upon realizing it really was just one of the maids- one he’d had several encounters with and who wasn’t in the mood for any of his shit. More accurately, she wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s shit, and she came across as the sort of woman who would violently take out her irritability on anyone who made it worse.

Expanding his collection was the only solace Zethras had with his lot in life, and the thought of his hard-earned spoils used as kindling was more than enough to make him drop his self-important act. He hurried to open the door, uttering, “Sorry, sorry! Strange dreams, you see. Left me in something of a jumpy mood. There’s no need for threats. I’m here.”

The door swung open to reveal the maid in question. Zethras had never caught her name, but he’d seen her around now and again, and she was pretty enough for him to have committed her to memory. She was tan, with long, ruddy-red hair pulled into a high ponytail, narrow, green-and-blue eyes, and a face set permanently in a scowl. She wore the same dress all the other maids of the manor wore, with the black skirt barely covering anything, a white apron, and white lacy edges in just about everything.

She pushed past him and into the room without a word, lugging a big wooden box like it was nothing. Zethras was used to her rude behavior, which seemed to be her default state of being. He put up with it outwardly, giving her a vacant smile, but within the inner world of his mind, he imagined the vengeful ways he might teach this servant some manners. Perhaps making her write a written apology repeatedly until her hands cramped up or until she begged for forgiveness?

Or… perhaps something more drastic was in order?

The maid passed by his desk with the still-opened journal, bringing his eyes back to his notes on pressure points and, with them- an intrusive thought. Interesting topic, pressure points. Some were located in the most fascinating of places. Two notable ones were the nipples, with another on the navel. There was even one right between the legs, and if you knew what you were doing…

Zethras wasn’t really considering such a thing. It was a passing, spiteful thought brought about by mere proximity, and yet the maid stopped in her tracks, dumped the box to the floor, and swung around to stare him in the eyes.

“Something you want to say to me, creep?” She asked in a harsh tone.

“W-What? No, of course not!” Sweat covered his forehead, already undoing the fruits of his bathing. Her timing was impeccable- suspiciously so. A coincidence? Most likely, the paranoid didn’t believe in such things, and Zethras was no exception.

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “You think I can’t tell exactly what kinda thoughts run through that sick head of yours? Pervert.”

Sensing no reasonable way out of this, Zethras opted for honesty. “In my defense, wandering eyes and short skirts are an ill-fated combination. Only one way for that to go, really.”

The maid’s eyes tensed up with further anger, but it lasted only a moment as she dumped the box on the floor between two others that had yet to be unpacked. “...Whatever. Go through this shit right here now and make sure everything you ordered is all there.” She said as she straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest.

Zethras moved around to her other side. “I’ll get around to doing that on my own time, thank you,” he insisted, nodding towards the door.

“No. Now.” The maid kicked at the box, ignoring his insistence. “You think I want to be held accountable when you go through this junk and something turns up missing, huh? What do you think would happen to me?”

Zethras knew full well what would happen. Getting fired would be the luckiest outcome, as their Lord much enjoyed thinking up creative punishments. He could sympathize with the angry maid over that much, at least.

“Fine,” Zethras sighed and nodded in acquiescence. “Give me a moment, and it shall be done.” He flapped his hand at her, and she stepped back, giving him room to sit in front of the box and carefully open it.

He’d used the warpstone network the other day and popped up at Grimme’s Grotto to check out one of his favorite dark curio shops. Leaving empty-handed was never an option. Zethras had returned that day with a small bag carrying as much as the warpstone would allow him to and a receipt promising more items for delivery in a few days' time.

One by one, Zethras pulled his conquests from the box and gently turned them over in his hands for inspection, setting them down before him after verifying each. There were the usual crystals, some with purpose and others that he believed looked nice. Books, of course, and scrolls of various sizes, along with numerous bottles of ingredients that were out of his reach in a city like Hollobell.

Eventually, he found what he’d been anticipating the most. Wrapped in a long strip of fabric was a new figurine to add to his collection. This one featured a naked woman ‘entangled’ with a monstrous snake in a manner that many others would find obscene. They were face to face, mouths wide open and tongues stretching forward on the precipice of a kiss.

The maid stared unimpressed as Zethras openly ogled the erotic carving. He soon became aware of her judging glare, putting the statue down to the side and explaining, “I know how it might look to the common observer, but you have no idea what that statue represents! It is-”

“A testament to your virginity?”

“Yes, indeed. I-” Zethras eyed the statue and then the maid. This was a bit much to handle, so he threw the hood of his robe over his head and tried to disengage. “...Bah, it matters not. I believe I’ve checked just about everything, so you’re free to take your leave of me. And see to it that Fleur comes around to tidy things up if you happen to run across her.”

The maid’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance from being commanded like an ordinary servant. Zethras felt that slight itch of danger again, but it was gone as soon as he forced himself to look upon its source.

“You missed something. There, at the bottom.”

“What? No, everything is accounted for. I remember every purchase down to the last-” As Zethras averted his eyes to check, he noticed something at the bottom of the box that he’d somehow missed.

He reached in and pulled it out, grabbing hold of a stone slab covered in strange and indecipherable glyphs of unknown origin. Raising it to eye level, Zethras stared intently and squinted his eyes. Several long moments passed, and he was so absorbed that he failed to notice that the maid was watching him with the eyes of a hawk.

As Zethras continued to dwell on the dusty old tablet, one thing stood out more than anything else. “I didn’t buy this,” he said. “There must be some mistake.”

The servant grew irked at his comment and took the thing, shoving it in his face. “Forget about that. Are you sure you don’t notice anything weird about this thing?”

Zethras looked over the slab again, this time with greater suspicion. “No?” His reply was slow, measured, and confused.

Adding to his confusion, the maid swore something unintelligible under her heart and rubbed her temples as she turned away. With her back turned to Zethras, his mind was free to wander, and things spiraled from there.

Was this some sort of trap?

Zethras hadn’t ordered the slab, and he couldn’t be convinced otherwise. He was curious about its origin and what it might say when deciphered, but his personal safety came first. He stood up and commanded, “I don’t know how that got there, but I want it gone. See that it’s disposed of.”

His order was met with another glare after the maid turned back around. The tension between them was thick, with Zethras fearing he’d made another as she stepped closer into his personal space.

“When will you get it through your foolish head, human?” She growled, baring her teeth and shoving the slab back into his possession. “You don’t tell me what to do, you-”

“…Human?” Zethras narrowed his eyes, and then he felt a pressure on his head like the sudden onset of a headache. It only lasted for a second, but his eyes darted to the long pair of elf ears coming out the sides of the maid’s face when it was over.

He felt like an idiot and wasn’t sure how he’d missed those until now, then thought little of it.

Fearful as he was, he was reaching his peak with this haughty elf and had better things to do with his time than argue with her to do her job. He stood up straight and set his shoulders, giving him a tall yet lanky appearance as he thrust the slab back at the girl.

“Look, woman. My presence is expected in court, and I must be on my way. You also have a job to do, and my tolerance towards your insubordination has ended. See to it that this strange tablet is taken care of, or one of Lord Grovewick’s punishments will be the least of your concerns.”

It was a significant threat, one he couldn’t hope to back up. Zethras was leaving out the door before he could take in the maid’s response. In his haste, Zethras remained blissfully unaware of the woman’s eyes lighting up and glowing with arcane fury as she watched him leave his chambers.