Epiphany — one

A while later, you find yourself in the washroom reserved for servants, cleaning away the grime trails your duties has left on you. Your body is sore and aches as you dab at it with a rag. But still you try to manage, gritting your teeth and hissing through the pain. Just because Robbin has branded you a mutt doesn't mean you have to smell like one. As you turn to your right side, which hurts a lot less, a looking-glass on the wall, about the size of a saucer, catches your attention. Your face is all sharp angles, telltale signs of malnourishment. Your greasy auburn hair and green eyes are the only thing that bolsters the truth that your father's noble blood indeed runs in your vein. With your long arms, rather defined ribs and a hollow stomach, you look like one of those gangly harlequins that fools around in the King's court. With a sigh, you tear your eyes away, you've never liked mirrors anyway. They just show too much at times.

Throwing on your clothes, you head for your room only stopping by the kitchen to grab your supper. The meagre amount of the food tells you Robbin is once again in charge of your ration tonight. Thankfully, the cook slips you a few extra morsels with a kind smile. You have always had a friendly rapport with most of the servants of the house, largely because of your mutual disdain for the bloated heir. Once you are in the confines of your smallish chamber by the east end of the library's alcove, you start to eat, and by eat, you are ferociously licking the platter clean a few seconds later. Minimally fulfilled, you are about to drowse off on your cot when the sight of books reminds you of the one you had kept aside earlier.

You rummage through your pocket for the strange tome and pull it out. The size amuses you once more and you can't help but wonder where your father had brought it. You then draw the lamp closer for much better clarity and slip the first page open. Its content were as forth:

Clear your mind
Bare your soul
For what thou shall find
Hast never before been told

For as long as knowledge has been hitherto, the Gods have ruled the cosmos and all that existed in it. Each Gods with their own sovereign and contrivance of power. Yahweh, the greatest of them created the very essence of life as we know it. Gaia, his wife, became the earth herself, the mother of Man, beasts and things within her. Lucifyre the twisted, beget deceits and lies that fall from the tongue of all creation, and Eros, the son of the two greatest deities presided over love, and many other gods, over their own. And so, the Gods crafted a fraction out of their tremendous power called the Grails and gifted them unto men. Yahweh forged a Cup that granted the power over mortality to those who drink from it. From Gaia, came the Staff of destiny that possesses the power to harness the might of nature itself. Lucifyre devised a Mask that warps the fabric of truth to the the wearer's heart content, as terrible as it may be. Eros, to spread love and joy amongst all creatures, designed what is called the Affection Multiplier. A form changing **** that waxes love and adoration shown to the wielder. For as powerful as the first three may be, there is no gift greater than the gift of Love.

You let out a short breath of bewilderment. No surprise there, when what you have just read could be regarded as the mother of all epiphanies. It goes deeper than what your tutors (the ones you had before Robbin fired them) had taught you about the workings of the universe and influence of the Divines on your lives. And it even allege that the Holy Grail — Grails, might not be a myth after all. You would have scoff at the implausibility but, then again, one must never judge a book by its covers. What other mysteries might the book contain? Your scholar side appeals to you to open another leaf, which you do.

Written there in bold letters, is a rather peculiar instruction asking you to place your thumb on the page. Not willing to let a piece of tome tell you what to do, you try to jump that section but the rest of the pages all turn up blank... Strange... You give a **** shrug before obliging the previous order. Partly because you still see the book as an hoax and you definitely want to see where it leads. Suddenly, you feel something prick your finger, then a sensation of slight pain that makes you yank back your hand. A droplet of your blood has smear the page. Alas! you watch in amazement as the paper sucks it in and letters appear as though written by an invisible hand. 'Magic' you gasp in horror.

Not at the Magic, no. Albion has plenty of Mages in no short supply, and you have seen and marvel at their display of wonderful feats a lot of times. What truly chills you to the bone is what was written:

"Welcome Jakob Holloway, you are now the true owner of the Affection Multiplier."

If you had been an uncouth child, what would have come out of your mouth will be — What The Fuck?! — But since you aren't, you make do with gaping like a Fish.