Like all families whose name ends in worth, the Fylsworths claimed ties to the great noble lines of Iskendar and Talos, and in turn, to the retinue of Roland, the quintessential Hero-King of mankind, who freed them from the tyranny of the Giants in glorious revolution.
Thus, one would think that Runo Fylsworth, who is now known as the richest man in the Universe, began his life with significant privilege, and advantages that kick-started his millionaire frenzy. This is false: his inheritance, in truth, consisted of a cloak with too many pockets, a couple of dusty books, and of course, his famed and feared prowess as a judge of character.
Indeed, by the time the would-be Threadmaster of Finance was born, there were two distinct branches of his family: the undecayed Fylsworths and the decayed Fylsworths. Runo was of the latter, armigerous but nearly destitute. Instead of the Royal Institute of Aurel, Runo attended the school of hard knocks. Instead of pheasant and lamb chops, he dined on day-old bread and daydreams. Many of his daydreams included his uncle Dago (a first cousin once-removed, to be precise), who was an almost perfect antithesis to his father Jon.
Where Jon was sullen and droopy-eyed, Dago was radiant and charming; where Jon was neglectful of his appearance, Dago was clean and always put-together. Where Jon quarrelled almost daily with Runo’s mother, Raya...
Most importantly, Dago was rich, and Jon barely scraped by. Runo still loved his father. Behind the tattered, once aristocratic robes was a kind and understanding man, principled and brimming with Fylsworth honor, an almost comical contrast to his pecuniary situation.
Even a half-century after the decayed branch had pawned off its last pieces of jewellery, he kept a beautifully ornate pendant of the family crest–three burning oil lamps on a stripe of silver, against a field of blue with two golden stripes, symbolising Lord Nyathan Emberel, a distant ancestor, who is said to have summoned three mighty efreeti lords to help the human cause in the battle of Roncev. He often told the story of how he saved that pendant from peddlers by stealing it from his own father before he could pawn it, with a mixture of pride for preserving Fylsworth history, and shame. Whether he was ashamed of his father’s actions or of disobeying him, Runo could never tell.
Regarding his uncle, Runo had two recurring dreams. The first one’s not too difficult to guess: what kid doesn’t want to be like their hero? He often pictured himself wearing his uncle’s clothes, living in his uncle’s manor, even telling the same witty stories and jokes his uncle was famous for.
The second dream, he was ashamed of–especially because his father seemed to detest Dago, for reasons he would not communicate, but seemed a lot like envy to his son. It wasn’t the only thing Jon refused to talk about. Other than the pendant story, he never spoke about his father, and even less about his first marriage. What Runo knew about that, he learned from the indiscrete tongues of local merchants and farmers.
There was a mysterious daughter from that marriage, Syera Fylsworth, who fell in with some bad people after her mother Faldi died. Syera, Runo kind of remembered, though she fled home when he was very little. She had a kind face and was very strong for her age. He also remembered how she fought with his parents, in terrible screaming matches that often ended with her leaving the house.
Some say an illness took Jon’s first wife, others that she passed giving birth to her second child... In any case, all the tales agreed on one thing: Jon was never the same, not even after remarrying. A bright and honorable man, turned into a shadow of his former self. Runo would have liked to meet that version of his dad. He wasn't lucky in that endeavor.
Runo barely ever saw his uncle Dago, but deep down, wanted nothing more than to be adopted by him, like his cousin Davyr had been, when both his parents tragically died in a mudslide. That had been an incredible kindness, especially since Dago already had to care for his sick wife, who was so infirm she hardly ever left the house, or even her chambers. Runo had never seen her. Around town, some people said she was scarred and deformed from her prolonged illness, and that’s why she did not leave. Certain nights, when thunder roared loudly above the skies of Medar and he was sure his thoughts couldn’t be heard, he even wished for his father to pass away, if only that made it so he could be adopted by Dago, too.
The days after such dreams, he couldn’t bear to look upon his father for fear he would read those deplorable thoughts in his eyes, so he skipped meals to avoid him–no matter how hungry he grew–and instead spent his hours in the basement.
Why the basement, of all places? Well, to start with, it wasn’t like there was ample choice: the decayed Fylsworths lived in a once venerable manor, three stories high and with enough rooms for a large descendance, servants and guests, which was accompanied by a decently sized agricultural estate. Only, the fields were exhausted after a thousand years of civilization-sustaining agriculture, and required expensive fertilizers from central Iskendar to be productive.
Such fertilizers had been unavailable since the great Emberel mercantile treaties fell apart, centuries before Runo was even born–by that time, the fields were far from profitable. The abode, for its part, thirsted so much for repairs that entire sections had flooded with rains and rotted with time, and others were a severe collapse risk, if not collapsed already. All in all, the left wing of the ground floor was the sole livable section, containing a small living quarter–formerly for servants, and promoted to master bedroom for necessity–, a kitchen, and a windowless basement, turned into a library.
This last room was Runo’s prime choice for reclusion: first and foremost, it was quiet and lonely... and warm. Inside those four walls, even his parent’s fighting was a faint echo. It was a bit like a storm, miserable to be next to, but strangely cozy when heard muffled in the distance. Runo had found some books on alchemy and agriculture in that makeshift library, which he believed contained the key to producing the fertilizers that had brought prosperity to the land so long ago. In a way, he did it to redeem himself for his evil thoughts about his father, and also because he abhorred the slow, creeping squalor taking his family.
By eleven, Runo had read each of those tomes dozens of times, and had knowledge of agricultural technique that was rare even among specialists, which landed him odd jobs for neighbours–who were only marginally better off than his father–surveying fields and giving sowing counsel in accordance with his observations. The family fields, meanwhile, were worked by her mother and three uncles. At first, they resented the fact that Jon allowed Runo to spend his time reading books and giving counsel to neighbors instead of toiling the soil, but the future magnate quickly became the main breadwinner as word of his wisdom spread, and his fees mounted. The newfound chunks of meat in the dinner broth did all the convincing necessary.
Soil chemistry, however, was not all he learned from the basement library. Magic was outlawed in Iskendar since the ascent of King Harlan–save for those who somehow procured an exception, of course… But as a family of modest means, you’d have an easier time procuring seeds from a potato than an authorization from an inquisition zealot. Thus, Runo kept his forays into wizardry strictly to himself. People were weird about that, he noticed, and he wasn’t even certain his family would not denounce him, if they found out.
Yet learn he did, and he was especially motivated when he came upon a few chapters that, he believed, contained the key to synthesising the very fertilizers that had been missing from the region, impoverishing it so brutally. Was he at the verge of a priceless breakthrough? If so, who would care if a little arcane transmutation was at play? Like as not, the decayed Fylsworths would be decayed no more, and once undecayed, they could pay any bribe necessary–like his uncle Dago did.
He just had to get there, and then people would turn a blind eye to the how. That was just how things worked in Iskendar. The only person Runo shared a little bit of his pursuits with was his cousin Davyr. He didn’t do that because of his exceptional discretion, but rather because they were kindred spirits, in a way. Two scrappy and ambitious kids thrust into a family for whom the adjective dysfunctional would be a severe understatement. Aside from that, there was also another reason which some would call clever, and others manipulative.
Even back then, Davyr was known for his acute verbosity, and Runo knew that at least part of what he told him would reach uncle Dago’s ears. He wanted that to happen. He wanted him to reach out, one day, and support his craft. He wanted Dago to help him burgeon. Outside his dreams, that did not happen–probably because Davyr was very prone to exaggeration or outright lying. If he’d been his uncle, he wouldn’t have trusted tales of a magical nephew either.
As he made progress, it became increasingly hard to avoid raising suspicion. For the practical part of his experimentation, he required components that were frankly weird things to take to the basement library. Pigshit and dead bugs, powdered bone and rotting flesh, and overripe sweet plums… it all made for a fairly aromatic business. Runo inaugurated a makeshift laboratory in an abandoned cabin by an overgrown crossroads, a private spot he discovered while surveying a cabbage field some time before. By day, the risk of passersby was low. By night, it was all but non-existent–or so he thought.
One night, he slipped out of bed, alchemy books tucked under his left arm, and hit the dusty road, enveloped in a foreboding melody of crickets and owls. The full moon did not provide the best cover, but Runo sure appreciated the steady footing it allowed, and he made good time skulking the countryside, which was good–summer was creeping in, and the nights were becoming too short for his experimental ambitions. The moon cast an eerie light through gaps in the cracked roof, providing the final piece of theatrical allure to a night of clandestine arcane research.
Runo lacked the right instruments for half of the procedures he’d painstakingly reverse-engineered, but the lonesome cabin was stacked with odd bits and ends he’d collected travelling the countryside as a surveyor. Abandoned jars of winter wine–which was drunk hot–could resist the touch of an open flame, and thus made great receptacles for boiling liquid. Glass shards from broken bottles were passable refractors, when layered correctly. And of course, his proudest innovation: magic-conductive ink, distilled from the excrement of stink badgers… it had a nauseating, vomit-inducing smell, but by the Dead Gods did it conduct well. Baggy-eyed, three-in-the-morning-Runo was laying belly down on the cobblestone, nostrils covered with cotton, when that fateful encounter occurred. A shadow loomed over the cabin, but the Fylsworth youth was hardly in a state to notice such a minor perturbation.
“Why, you are… just a pup, playing as an alchemist. How astounding. Tell me true, now. Just what do you think you’re doing here?” The woman, draped in the shadow of the cabin threshold, had a velvety voice, warm and articulate, and rich with the alveolar trill of the Talosi.
Runo startled backward, frightened as a mouse. At that moment, he would have sworn she was an Inquisitor, and the young boy couldn’t produce even a stuttery excuse. Amused by his apprehension, the mysterious apparition took a step forward, and a bright streak of moonlight shone upon her face. She was pale and ethereal, with freckles that were tiny islands of color in a vast grey sea. Her eyes were pale too, with the slightest hint of blue, and her pointed lips were stained a bloody rouge. She was beautiful, in a certain way–like a vampire is beautiful.
“You have no cause for fear. Not from me, a humble cabbage merchant. I don’t care what you do on your own free time… But there are some who do, pup. Some who had already caught your…” she pointed to the transmutation circles “scent.”
This time, Runo managed to force his tongue to speak. “It, it’s not magic, ma’am. Your holiness. Just fertilizer, it’s uh. It’s a non–”
“Now, who said anything about magic, pup?” She laughed. “You’re gonna have to learn not to tip your hand, if you ever actually come across a so-called ‘holiness’. For my part, I am called Rose Duroy, and as I said, I deal in cabbages. But… It would be a foolish merchant that doesn’t have something for each buyer.” The Talosi woman reached into her breast pocket, and threw its content towards Runo in a fast flick. He reacted late, and almost didn’t catch it, fumbling it mid-air before getting a lucky grab.
It was an ink bottle, and the letters on its label read MARBLEWRIGHT. Magic ink, of the non-odorous variety. By the time he looked up again, she’d disappeared. Something took him, then, because he got up and ran to the threshold. Rose Duroy was already mounted on a cart carried by two horses, and she was accompanied by two hooded men, cloaked in burgundy.
Suddenly, he knew what she was. What they all were… Separatists. Two heavy lumps, painfully human-sized and shaped, were at the back of the cart, but he felt their weight on his shoulders all the same. He stood there, frozen. The night air had turned awfully cold. The people that just saved him were the same his family so hated. The same that murdered Lord Emberel and plunged Medar into disarray and poverty, so long ago. It was them. And yet… Rose spoke resonantly, and Runo felt her voice could have reached even the pallid moon above.
“You’d best find a new den, pup! This one’s in their sights.
Although he was on the verge of an alchemical breakthrough, Runo did not experiment for quite some weeks after that. His sleep was, more often than not, interrupted by images of cut-up corpses, and in his exhaustion, his daily surveying job was all he could do. Besides, he was afraid. Deathly so. In every homestead he visited, the farmers spoke of the killing of the two inquisition agents that were found, half-decomposed, at the bottom of the Tirthan river–not without some glee, in most cases.
Nobody liked the inquisition, he noticed, not even those who despised the Talosi separatists, like his father and uncle. Runo heard that Dago, however, was quite distraught with these killings, from his cousin Davyr. “Can’t stop talking about it, my old man. He says they were about to take down a terrible criminal.” the handsome-faced boy of roughly his same age told him, while they sat atop a barn roof, playing at being monster hunters.
Runo always found it weird that Davyr referred to Dago as his dad. He sometimes wondered if he would do the same. This time, however, his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Was he the terrible criminal? How had they picked up his trace? It felt so unfair, he was only trying to help Medar. The night he met scary Rose, he took as many of his instruments as he could with him, only to ditch them in a creek a couple miles from his house–he couldn’t very well present them to his family, and stashing it all in the basement without anyone noticing seemed unlikely.
Once, he returned to the cabin by the crossroads, only to find it burned to cinders. The inquisition’s flames, no doubt. Their presence and zealotry had increased tenfold since the killings, and they seemed hellbent on finding this Rose character, who they only referred to as the dealer, and by the Dead Gods did they hate her–about as much as they feared her.
One cloudy day, Runo found himself dwelling on the memory of the dead inquisitors as he sat hunched atop the roof of the decayed Fylsworth manor. It was not the first time these thoughts took him. He imagined their faces, the timbre of their voices, what their families might have said about them. This time, before his tortuous imagination could drift too far, the arrival of seven figures at the door of the house removed him from guilty stupor.
Cloaked in the colors of the inquisition and bearing its cross on their chests, most of the visitors seemed little more than common soldiers–the kind that went around performing random interrogations and searches. But there were two faces in that crowd that sent an immediate chill down his spine: first and leading the party, an Inquisitor–capital I–complete with snow-white hair, beaming eyes and holy sword. Like as not, the man responsible for the entire regional chapter. Worse yet was the man at the tail of the procession. He was covered from head to toe in black leather, had his face hidden behind a mask, and carried a very strange, two-handed apparatus, which he was pointing toward the house. It was a long, metallic stick–some 5 feet long–with a curved runic panel at the far point, and a square panel with buttons and switches at the close one.
That man had the air of a mercenary about him; Runo had read about such men, in the basement library. Suffice it to say, the books hardly had anything positive to say. As inconspicuously as he could manage, Runo stood up and made way into the house, feigning nonchalance right until he was out of sight of the Inquisitor’s party, at which point he dashed down the rotten second-story stairs like a madman, bound in the direction of the basement, where all the magic books–and the magic ink Rose had gifted him–were stashed.
He was forced to slow down as he passed in front of the manor doors, where his dad was already addressing a noticeably annoyed Inquisitor. Jon always played the refined aristocrat when visitors, especially visitors with station, came knocking. “I must apologize, thine honor, but this is an aristocratic residence, protected from unlawful examination by Catherine’s Charter. Hath thou a court-stamped search order?” Raya, with sweat and dirt stuck to her skin from a hard day’s work, watched the interaction unfurl from a distance, not without a certain amusement. For the time being, the Inquisitor indulged Jon with curt replies, but Runo sensed the charade wouldn’t last very long–some mercenaries are paid by the hour.
“An aristocratic residence must have servants. I see none. Besides, Catherine’s Charter is suspended. Extraordinary measures against the extraordinary threat of separatists, as decreed by King Harlan. I suggest you...” Runo heard the rest of the conversation muffled, as he scampered down to the basement.
He paced around with a stack of arcane tomes in his hands, hearing Jon talking about how a decree stands lower than a royal charter in the pyramid of law. If only he was as well-connected as he was well-read, what followed might’ve been avoided. Runo only heard his mother scream, his father utter a pained “ahhh, brigand!”, and the steps of the inquisition inching closer to the basement, pouring into the manor in that uptick, boot-stomping cadence of militiamen who’ve run out of patience.
Runo fetched a bit of tree gum from his collected components, opened a book, and flipped through the pages until he found the seventh entry of the illusion chapter. He’d never managed something like this before… He plucked one of his eyelashes and encased it inside the bit of amber gum. He spoke some words he half-understood, performed some movements he half-remembered, and suddenly, with a blooping sound, he turned completely invisible, alongside all he was wearing and carrying.
It happened in the nick of time, too, for it wasn’t two seconds later that the ominous mercenary busted down the creaky basement door, and immediately pointed his bizarre instrument forward. Runo instinctively darted to the side, as though a crossbow were being pointed at him. He stood quiet as a mouse as the mysterious man pressed some buttons and then flipped a singular switch. The Inquisitor stood right behind him, arms crossed and brows puckered, and behind him, his father, anxious as a cat. Then, in a distinctly foreign accent, the man in the black leathers spoke.
“Arkein residue heah. Some casting of spells, not many long ago.”
Runo felt as though his heart might rip out of his chest. With a tired sigh, the Inquisitor replied hurriedly. “Unsanctioned minor spellcraft. Not an uncommon sin, but punishable nonetheless. We shall have to see. Collaboration always begets leniency… Anything else?”
“Ja. Much transmutation.” He fidgeted with his godforsaken pole. “Long ago, trace is faint. But many much times.”
This time, the Inquisitor raised an eyebrow, and turned to Jon. “Well, what do you know? Evil takes root in the quaintest of places…”
Jon snapped in protest. “This man is… This man is a liar! No member of this family ever cast as much as a cantrip!” He stumbled forward, grabbing at the Inquisitor’s robes. “We toil, every day. Every single day. Even my youngest, my little Runo, even he works all day. When, I ask you! When do we have the time to learn spellcraft?”
“And when did your eldest daughter find time to learn, Sir Fylsworth?” He pushed him away tersely. Jon looked as though he’d been struck by lightning. “We know all about your family’s… tendencies. Don’t think you can keep secrets from us. Now, just what were you attempting to transmute here? Ah, and where is your youngest? I shall like to question him as well.” Runo stepped silently out of the basement, carefully avoiding the Inquisitor’s men, and then bolted. Where he would go, he did not know. His mother Raya watched, stunned, as an invisible force opened and then closed the front doors, silent as the grave.
The invisibility spell hadn’t been cast perfectly, of course, and it malfunctioned when the first drops of rain fell on Runo’s face. Fortunately enough, he was a half-mile out by then, and had managed to devise a plan. He had the books and the components; he would go out to his uncle’s house, which wasn’t too far, and beg him to take him in. He had the funds and connections to protect him, and if family bond wasn’t enough to convince him, he had the recipe for magical fertilizers to bolster his plea. Well, about 80% of the recipe, but Dago didn’t need to know that. With proper tools, he was pretty sure he could figure out the missing 20% in a week, at most. He kept running, hunching his body over the books to protect them from the water. The clouds above were dark grey and jagged, shaped like rows of steely canine teeth. It looked as though the heavens were about to swallow Eos.
It wasn’t long until Runo reached his uncle’s fields. There were usually some guards with their terrifying dogs prowling around, but he doubted it would be the case this time, with a thunderstorm looming. He jumped the fence and scampered toward the manor, whose highest tower he could already see in the distance. The first crack of lightning beamed through the grey jaws in the sky, flooding the fields in white light.
Runo reached the high metal fence of Dago’s mansion and started shouting, in a vain attempt to beat the loudness of the rainstorm, which seemed to worsen minute by minute. He resolved to climb the 8-foot-high, spear-tipped fence, throwing his books over to the other side first. Garnering all his strength, he awkwardly moved up. The metal was slippery because of the rain, which only made it more difficult. After almost impaling himself while bridging the pointed top, he jumped down, falling prone on the mud of the interior garden.
Bruised, he rose and picked up his now ruined stack of books, and made a slow way toward the main gate. The two door knockers, shaped like the lamps in the Fylsworth heraldic crest, called to him like great luminous beacons. He stumbled forward. It would all be okay. He thought of his family in the clutches of that horrible Inquisitor and his mercenary hound. Dago would clear it all up. Money solves all problems, he knew. Even his dad admitted it.
Lightning thundered just above the manor, and in the sudden burst of light, Runo saw a feminine figure approaching him from the side. He tried to turn, but she was already upon him, forcefully grabbing him by the ear and leading him away from the gates. “No, no, let me GO,” he cried meekly, as he struggled in vain against the grip of the unknown aggressor.
She took him around the main gate, to the side of the manor. Gods, she was strong. He dropped the books to free his entire body for the struggle. If only he could reach Dago, or Davyr… Not even that was enough. The woman took him inside the mansion through a small service door, and once inside, gave him a hard slap that knocked him to the floor and shut his moaning from sheer shock. He looked up to see a young, scar-covered woman towering over him, illuminated by the lamplight of the laundry room. “Shhhhh, Runo. Shut the fuck up.” Runo’s mind raced. Who in the hells was this rough-looking woman, dressed in luxurious silks?
When he looked up, he expected to see an inquisition woman, or perhaps Rose Duroy. Not this… stranger, who somehow still seemed familiar. With that strength, it couldn’t be Dago’s wife, either, who was so sickly and frail, it was said she couldn’t even leave her chambers, most days. She helped him up, and then gave him a tight hug, the kind you give to a loved one you’ve missed for too long. To shivering, damp and muddy Runo, her warmth felt like a bonfire, and though he did not understand, he didn’t dare interrupt it. When she finally released him, he took a step back and asked softly.
“Who are you? How do you know my name?” The woman looked profoundly sad with her contradictory expression: an attempted smile, while her eyes betrayed a pain too terrible to name. It wasn’t the only contradiction in this mysterious person: while her garbs were aristocratic white, she looked more like a farmhand than a noble. “I-I need to talk to Dago. You know Dago? He’s my uncle.” Runo muttered. “Please take me to him.”
“I know Dago, alright. I’m his… wife. Runo, listen, you need to leave, there’s no–”
“You can’t be his wife! She’s sick, deathly sick, everyone knows that.”
The woman slapped him again; he was speaking too loud. “He is the sick one, you stupid brat. Not only that, he is the one denouncing your nightly activities.” Runo was dumbstruck. Why would he do that? “Yes. We’ve heard all about your spellcraft, from Davyr. Dago figured it out in an instant. You’re trying to synthetize fertilizers, fool that you are. Not for trying, mind you, but for telling Davyr. Don’t you know Dago’s fortune is made by importing them, and reselling them at triple price?”
The scars, the muscles, the angry voice, the way she implied support for his magic… Runo got a queasy sensation then, a pit of nausea rising from his stomach he could barely contain. She sighed and looked back, toward the door that presumably led to the rest of the house. “Listen, you cannot stay here. You have to leave. I don’t mean just the house, I mean Medar. You know a bit of magic: there are still those in Iskendar that value that sort of stuff, kid.”
The woman hid Runo in that laundry room for the better part of three days, bringing him food and water occasionally. He barely spoke at all. He was worried for his mom and dad; he was disappointed–no, heartbroken–of his uncle’s lowness; he was especially not ready to face down the abyss of implications behind the true identity of his aunt.
But even willfully ignored, the mental dominoes fell all the same, as they had always done: she was Syera Fylsworth, his half-sister, and some type of distant niece to Dago. That was why Jon hated him. That was why he never talked about his first daughter. That was why that damned Inquisitor knew about Syera’s past… One night, she took him out of hiding, and loaded him in a cart full of cabbages, with the help of an elderly bald merchant she seemed to know well. She gave him another bonfire hug, before he left for the University of Strings, with little say in the matter.
He resolved to make something of himself, then. A man more successful than Jon, better than Dago, smarter than Davyr, and hopefully luckier than Syera. The rest is history. The only mystery that remained was why his uncle would commit such perversities, a question that would torture him for many years more, as it wasn’t immediately clear to him what he stood to gain from it all.
It wasn’t until he returned to Medar as an adult and a planeswalker, that he would find answers: Dago was not a real Fylsworth. His father had been one Ranbar Meadows, a baseborn, brutal man with endless ambition and cruelty, who’d abducted one of the daughters of Runo’s great-grandfather, and married her forcefully. From that “union” was born a splinter line of the family, which ironically would become known as the undecayed Fylsworths.
Ranbar’s success wouldn’t buy his son the right to bear the Fylsworth coat of arms, though. Only marriage could do that. So, when Runo’s half-sister–a rightful bearer of the family name–got into deadly trouble with the law, Dago bribed her off the gallows, and taking a page from Ranbar’s playbook, married her. He told others–and perhaps himself–that it was the only way to get the inquisition to drop the charges of separatism, but to Runo it was painfully obvious the sole motivation for that aberrant act was station. Perhaps that was also why he adopted Davyr, since Syera most certainly refused to give him a descendance…
With such an infancy, Runo’s knack for hiding his own emotions and reading those of others is hardly a mystery. Yet even today, the story of his family remains the single topic that can break through his charming mask, revealing the wounded child within.