[RAW]Heathomancy -- Chapter 1

So this is one of the slice-of-life stubs I mentioned in my earlier post, essentially its the first few chapters of a story I wrote as an exercise/for fun.  Sometimes these stubs go on to become full-on books and series, sometimes they stay in my literary junk drawer.

Be forewarned, there is basically zero editing here, and I make no promises the premise, characters, or setting will remain the exact same if I carry this stub forward.

Let me know what you think!  I have two different stubs I'll be posting this week and next week -- let me know which one you like!  One of the might fill in my new fall series slot!

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Chapter 1

The ancient manor house sagged before me, lying a dying beast.  Most of it’s windows had been smashed out, and its exterior was covered with clinging vines and illegible graffiti.  Part of the wrap-around porch had been set on fire, leaving it blackened and scorched

The yard was overgrown, full of old beer cans, broken bottles, and a toilet that had apparently been thrown out of a third-story window.

“It’s perfect,” I said, standing before my new home, my heart swelling with pride.

Sure, it was a derelict hellhole that had been condemned to demolition, but it was mine.

And more importantly, the mana around the old building was outstanding.  Even standing out on the wed-strewn lawn, I could sense the magic flowing off the place.  In my senses, the place burned like a blue and green bonfire, with flickers of black and free minging in the conflagration.

I had never set foot inside, the seller had demanded that it be sold as is, but I imagined the mystical power inside was even more powerful.

It would be the perfect place to make my home and to level up my Hearthomancy class.

But before I could claim the manor as my lair, I had to make sure it didn’t collapse.

Closing down my magical senses, I got to work, trusting my more practical skills to help me get done what needed to be done.

The real estate agent was set to arrive later in the afternoon with the keys.  Before he arrived I wanted to cover all the broken windows and take a look at the roof.  Based on a quick inspection I knew it was shot, which made me glad I had bought roof tarps along with all the plywood I had purchased.

My truck was pulled into the driveway, the Pennsylvania woods stretched off on both sides of the rutted gravel path.  The house was sitting on nearly twenty acres of forest land; I couldn’t even see my neighbors through the thick foliage.

It was a spring day, and the weather was supposed to be warm, but I kept my flannel jacket on as I set up my tools and set up my generator.  The area around the manor was damp and cold, likely influenced by the sheer amount of mana accumulated in the old structure.

“Windows, first things first,” I said, mentally reviewing my list of tasks.

Thankfully, I had spent years working as a part of a construction crew, allowing me to level up my skills.  I was best at Carpentry and Construction, but I had points in Plumbing, Roofing, and even Electrical Wiring.

Despite all the work ahead of me, I knew I was up to the task.

Brent Owens

Race: Human

HP: 200/200

MP: 1200/1200

Ability Scores

Strength:

Finesse:

Fortitude:

Resilience:

Wisdom:

Discipline:

Classes

Craftsman Lvl 8

Wizard (Hearth Adept) Lvl 2

Skills

Mana Bolt Lvl 1

Proficiencies

Carpentry Lvl 7

Construction Lvl 8

Plumbing Lvl 3

Roofing Lvl 4

Electrical Wiring Lvl 2

Hearth Magic Lvl 1

Mana Detection Lvl 2

I waved away the stat window I had inadvertently opened, thinking of my skills.  Reaching into my truck, I put on my tool belt, then grabbed a ladder out of the truck.

It was time to start fixing up my new home.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I just screwing the last piece of plywood in place on the third story when I saw the real estate agent’s car pull down my driveway.  He parked a few feet away from my truck, mindful of all the tools and equipment I had scattered about.

Climbing out, he waved.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Owens!  I’m impressed you managed to get so much down already!”

I made sure the last piece of plywood was securely in place over the broken window before I climbed down.

“I got here early, hoping to get the place secure before you arrived,” I said, dusting off my hands to offer him a handshake.

Vincent Debroise, my real estate agent, grinned as he passed me a thick, manilla envelope.  “Done and delivered!  Rotwood Manor is now yours!”

I rolled my eyes.  “Vince, please, it’s Rootwood Manor.  Come on man, you know it!”

Vince laughed.  “Tell you what, once you fix it up we’ll talk about changing the nickname.  But until then?  I’m pretty sure Rotwood Manor sticks.”

We had gone to high school together; we had never been close friends, but in a town as small as Ashlings Grove, everyone knew everyone.

And we had all heard the ghost stories and tall tales about the haunted Rotwood Manor

Vince looked at the boarded-up windows.  “How bad does it look on the inside?”

“Bad,” I admitted.

I hadn’t gotten much of a glance through the windows as I had worked, I had been too busy clearing away the remaining glass and screwing in the plywood coverings, but the interior of the building looked shot.  It’d be a complete gut job, but I was hoping my hearthomancy would help me with that, provided I was able to successfully bond with the home’s hearth.

Looking up, I spotted the black, soot-stained chimney rising off the back of the main building.  I had never been allowed inside, but I had confirmed the manor did have a fully working fireplace.

Vince tapped the envelope.  “Keys are inside, let’s go take a look around!”

I chuckled as I opened the packet.  “Why, do you want to see a ghost?”

“Just simple curiosity,” he said with a shrug.  “We grew up hearing all kinds of hair-raising stories about this place, let’s see if the legends match reality!”

He leaned in.  “Who knows, maybe there’s a goblin or something inside!”

I really hoped not; goblins might have been low-level monsters, but they were still tough sons-of-bitches according to the few adventurers I knew.

Vince returned to his car and returned a few minutes later with a small shield and a spiked mace.

“What?” He laughed.  “My primary class might be Merchant, but my subclass is Warrior.  Marlene made me train it up, she likes her men big and bulky.”

He flexed, showing off his gains.  In high school, before The Reckoning, he had been a skinny goth, but now in his thirties, with several Warrior levels under his belt, he could have passed as a Conan wannabe.

I was happy he had at least decided to drop the black mascara and Dead Kennedys t-shirts.

Turning off my tools, I armed up as well, just in case.  Reaching into my truck’s glove compartment, I grabbed my focus, a short steel rod with a brass orb at the end.

“I still can’t believe you went with Wizard as your subclass,” Vince said, looking at me as I tucked the wand into my tool belt.  “You know it takes forever to level up mystic classes, right? And the stats do nothing for your day job.”

“Vince, if I’m right, I won’t need to worry about my day job ever again,” I said as I palmed the keys and walked onto the front porch.

It took a few tires to get the door open.  Even after I removed the padlock and chains, the thing refused to open; the wooden door had warped and swollen, pinching it in the frame.  It took both Vince and I working together to shoulder it open.

Stepping into the foyer, the first thing that hit me was the smell.  The interior of the mansion reeked of mold and decay, with the acrid stench of piss just below that.  Vince instantly pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket while I used a dust rag to cover my face.

“Fuck man, why did you buy this place?” Vince said, looking at the destruction all around us.  “I knew it was cheap, but come on man, the frat that used to own this place tore the hell apart!”

He wasn’t wrong.  The interior of the manor was basically destroyed.  The wood paneling, which had originally covered the walls, had been torn off, leaving gaping holes.

The carpet squelched underfoot as I looked at the ruined grand double staircase that rose from the foray to reach the second floor. Most of the treads were gone, along with the banisters and landings.

Rotwood Manor was divided into three wings.  The main building, where we were standing, held the foray, the living room, the dining room, and a few smaller spaces used as offices, studies, and libraries by the original owners.  The left wing held a banquet hall and atrium while the right wing had been dedicated to bedrooms and guest rooms.

The frat that had occupied the house from the 1980s to the 1990s had basically wrecked the place. Gamma Chi Theta had spent two decades partying like there was no tomorrow.  I could still spot old beer cans, liquor bottles, and trash left from their last days of reverie before they had been evicted.

“Come on, let’s check the rest of the first floor,” I said, waving for Vince to follow me.

“Glad I didn’t wear my good shoes,” he replied, mace and shield still in hand.

The electricity was out, and the windows were boarded up, but plenty of light seeped in through the holes in the walls and roof.  I made note of the largest, so I could patch them up.

Water ran everywhere, dripping down the walls and puddling on the floor.  The smell of mold grew stronger the deeper we went into the decrepit building.

“Check it out,” Vince said, pointing to where the kitchen had been.  “Guess that’s where the bed and breakfast guy had tried to clean this place up.”

The walls had been stripped down to the studs, and the floor was missing, dropping straight down to the unfinished basement below.  Despite the amount of moisture in the air, I was glad to see the wooden support still looked good.  Mana wicked off them, protecting the bones of the house from the worst of the damage.

After the frat had been kicked out, Rotwood Manor had changed hands a couple of different times before a Doctor from Philadelphia purchased the place.  They had planned on turning it into a bed and breakfast and had even begun some simple cleanup and renovation efforts before The Reckoning hit.

It took a few years for humanity to make peace with its new place in the multiverse and the seismic changes that followed the introduction of Jobs and Skills. The Doctor and his wife had dropped the project, and Rotwood passed through even more hands.

Until I had seen it pop up on a local realtor site, being offered for a song. One visit to the house had been more than enough to convince me to spend my life’s savings, and then some, acquiring it.

We entered the house’s main living room.  It spanned up all three stories, filling the back of the main wing. Along the ceilings massive wooden beams I could spot hooks where chandeliers had hung.  Empty doorways leered out of the damaged walls, indicating where balconies had once stood.

Below the filth and garbage that covered the floor, I could see the remains of a once gorgeous parquet wooden floor.

But what really pulled my attention was the gigantic, riverstone fireplace that dominated the room's rear wall.

Mana had been coursing around me since we had stepped foot inside.  The interior of the mana was alive with elemental power; I saw spectrums of power for light, dark, water, air, life, and death.  But the hearth was the center of the mystic blaze.  It burned with all those colors and more.

I had no idea what had happened to Rotwood Manor in the past, to make it such a nexus of the arcane, a conduit of such immense power, but I once again thanked my lucky stars that no other wizards or mystics had found the place before I had.

“Brent?” Vince called.  “Earth to Brent, you there, man?”

I stopped myself.  Without even realizing it, I had waded through the trash to approach the mouth of the fireplace.

“It’s perfect,” I told the real estate agent. “Trust me, when I bring this place back to grandeur, nobody will call it Rotwood Manor ever again!”