Christmases at Sandringham Adapted from Meet Ella by James Middleton
At Sandringham Christmases, we joined in the family gathering. Beatrice and Eugenie, whom I knew from school, would be there and we’d all go to church in the morning.
One year the Queen and I sat down to do a jigsaw puzzle. It was the sort of activity I’d have enjoyed with my own grandparents, all four of whom had died in the space of three years when I was a teenager. So in a way, I felt the Queen was filling a granny-sized void in my life.
And there we were, engaged in this everyday pleasure, which was elevated to the extraordinary by the company I was in. It still feels surreal, the fact that I was there with the Queen: I look back on it with amazement.
She frequently put down five pieces to my one, deft-fingered while I was inept, scanning the board with practised eyes, not even stopping when people came to talk to her, but still chatting as she slotted in the pieces. I hoped she wouldn’t notice how little I contributed.
There were presents, too, modest but wrapped with care. Mine from Her Majesty was a pair of socks; I gave her a card with a photo of Ella on it and a few jars of my own honey, which I brought down to breakfast on Christmas morning.
The Queen talked to me about beekeeping and I knew she appreciated the effort it takes for a colony of bees to produce enough honey for a jar.
I’ve been a passionate advocate of these ingenious, industrious little creatures since I became a beekeeper nearly a decade ago, having fallen for them as a child. I now have almost half a million bees in eight hives in a meadow at Bucklebury, and I’m in awe of them.
Hives are highly organised communities presided over by a queen bee. So a jar of honey, a gift from a queen to the Queen, seemed fitting.
In this solo TTRPG, you play as a Magus, someone talented (or perhaps delirious) enough to dabble in the arcane magics. Using oracle cards, you have the choice to create bonds with others that have, for one reason or another, chosen to speak with you as Bonds or to double-down on learning Spells at the cost of your own mental well-being or sacrificing Bonds.
I decided to play as Lord Oussou, a middle-aged man who was cast off from his religious sect as he was caught stealing a forbidden tome of magic from his church. A haughty man, he looks down at everyone as weaker than him. He now aims to return, stronger than ever, to prove them wrong.
'I disappear into the south, a quiet and deep swamp that will be my new sanctuary. There, I build a spiraling tower, cobbled together from stones. I leave my church behind, those poor lost sheep. For now.'
Event Entry #1
With my tower fully completed, I felt a sort of calm come over me. This was where I could practice and fully write down all I could remember from the church’s hidden book. Just as I was about to delve into my memories, a knock on the door stopped me. I opened the door to find a young woman almost soaked to the bones, she looked more like a starving cat than human. When I asked who she was, she explained that she had come to seek me.
I am loath to admit it, Dear Reader, but I bristled and acted quite ungentlemanly to her; I demanded she leave the premises and let me return to my studies. She flung herself to the ground and grovelled at my feet most pitifully, explaining that she had nowhere else to go, she had told the wrong person their fortune and now she was being hunted. When she noticed my hesitation, she leapt at the chance to say how she had heard of my existence, how I had managed to behold an actual magical tome. Quietly, she hoped that I would be able to teach her some kind of magic (or even perform a spell on her to protect her!) so she could live peacefully.
How could I deny this poor creature safety? It felt horrible to cast her out once more in the pouring rain. So, with the goodness of my heart, I bid her to enter. Seemed to be of good timing, as the sudden downpour did not abate for quite a long time.
Event #1: Met Mab, a fortune-teller who has run out of luck, with the hyper electric encounter
Event Entry #2
I hesitate to put this to paper, Dear Reader. Although it pains me I, Oussou, did so when it mattered the most. After days of racking my brain and writing everything I could (which, unsurprisingly, was quite a lot for the few precious seconds I engorged myself on the book), I convinced myself that perhaps I was looking at this at the wrong way: why should I toil at figuring out how to convince those that betrayed— no, abandoned me, when I could go back and rewrite what happened?
A genius solution, I understand.
However, in my eagerness to start the spell, Mab became emotional and disrupted my process. I hesitated to keep her downstairs, perhaps if I would have…
There were too many sigils drawn. Instead of the natural occurring three, now there was an uneven and unsightly four that stared back at me.
Before I could demand how she was going to rectify this situation, we were flung back in time.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Reader, I have forgotten how many times I have been stuck in this loop
I cannot remember why I started this spell
It’s always that accursed four. Over and over and over and over
Am I stuck to relive this? Am I cursed to be trapped inside of this tower? I know that now I shan’t draw four, no no no no no, it is the perfect, the beautifully triangular three that I must draw, but I cannot stay my hand the chalk lifts like I am but a mere puppet in this absurd play
I am tired.
I find my bones weighing down like an anvil is tied to my back.
Four, not three
I have noticed that Mab says the strangest things at the start of every loop. Could she also be aware of what is happening?
It is a miracle that we managed to get out of the paradox. I shudder to think what might have happened if I had not quickly deduced that even though my hands must make a fourth sigil, I am not bound to draw the specific design. Mab became animated in each rewind, which I concluded meant that we were bound in time to key moments: I dash upstairs to start the process, Mab follows, and I draw four runes.
With speed that surprised even myself, I cancelled out the spell, a fail-safe rune for maguses like myself.
Finally, we were free.
I nearly wept for joy and almost lost myself in the emotional distress, nearly hugging Mab in the process. I begged her forgiveness and bid her to leave me be, to recover.
I do so hope that fraught experience did not shatter her mind.
I have never felt so tired before; I feel as though I will never fully recover. My shoulders hunch with the reminder of that crushing power. I must push myself more so that that experience never happens again.
Event #4: Nurtured existing bond with Mab - drew card with ropes tying a person back and used the word “paradox” on the second card to have a loop spell go wrong. Oussou gained 1 Focus.
Reflection #1
Although that slight hiccup occurred, I nonetheless endeavored to learn from my mistake. After all, it is a wonder that I managed to even get close to performing a spell right that I had no written tomes to look through. My previous flock saw my potential; I am sure of that. And they were scared. If I am able to control such a powerful spell at this stage, I wonder what it will be like when I manage to get stronger.
Event Entry #3
At long last, I have discovered a spark of hope: through interacting with the locals and encouraging them to tell me what they know of maguses, I have learned of one such person. Although long-dead, this magus was renowned for honing this craft, stopping at nothing to get new spell. His tower was said to be impenetrable.
I bid Mab adieu, but not before giving her a thorough explanation of how to maintain my tower while I was gone. She said she has it under control, but I wonder if it will be too much for her. My desires for a new potential point of interest outweighed my concerns for my homestead, so I left her, letting her know that if she did need company or aid of any kind, she must only go into the town nearby.
It took me a fortnight. I shan’t bore You with the details, Dear Reader. The only thing You must concern Yourself with is that I happened across a rather grisly sight: an enemy town to my own old one was overtaken by a mad man who had made a deal with the Forge God. The only remains were those who were enslaved, shackled to one another. A divine punishment I was sure; I am not aware of who they angered, but I assume that it was well deserved. Something that became true when I was able to move closer to my target unseen.
When I reached the tower, I realized how splendid it still looked. Made out of bright blue crystal I had never seen before, I felt a flash of energy I had not felt since the unfortunate accident just by beholding its splendor.
Almost immediately I endeavored to make my way in, though soon came across the issue of not knowing how to enter. Not a door, nor crease, nor seam, nor crack could be found, despite my constant searches and, if the entrance was something of a magical sort, my cajolings for it to open.
In a stroke of genius, I laid my hand upon its facade and almost immediately felt the tower accept my unconscious offer of power. A large shard shimmered with before unseen magic and I pressed my hand towards it to find it had become an illusion!
I strode inside, coming upon not a large tower, but a singular room. Along the wall’s perimeter, oak bookcases stood, crowded and crammed with old tomes. My fingers itched to plunder their troves of knowledge, but my eyes, instead alighted upon a large lectern in the center of the room. Getting closer to it, I saw that it was surrounded by a ring of runes, all of them still intact.
Reading the texts, I saw the faint scribble of the words “Disruptive Visions” and as soon as the words were in my mind, I felt a sudden surge of energy — a spell.
Hunger blinded me to the process, before I knew it, I finished the final sigil and stood back and
I have the spell now.
I do apologize, Dear Reader, but I shan’t reveal what I saw. For it would have made the strongest of warriors shudder. It was horrific, I wept bitter tears as I was consumed by what I saw, the visions will not leave me for the longest time, I do promise that. Yet. And there is the important word: Yet.
Despite the yawning mouth that I saw, the putrid flesh that I was forced to choke down and swallow, and the pallid, worm-like appendages that stuck to my body, flakes of skin around my eyes continue to peel, and the oily slick tears that continue to fall down my cheeks even as I write this entry
The spell is mine now. How magnificent is that?
Event #5: Gained the spell “Disruptive Visions” (casts unimaginable horrors on the target). Had to get above a 7 - rolled 3, 2, and 2. Used Focus (now at 0) to reroll the d12. Got a 10. Received the spell, though gained the “Rotting Disease” Scar, a disease that causes the skin to peel around the eyes and cause oily black tears to forever trickle down his cheeks.
Event Entry #4
It seems as though I have managed to catch the eye of some yet unknown entity. Truthfully, dear Reader, I am shaken to my core. My fingers tremble even as I hold my pen to paper. Mab has refused to come out of her room, she trembles so.
A shadow creature — nay, a demon — came to haunt me today.
I heard of a spell called ‘Distorted Ocean’ that I hoped to master; I had been working on said project for quite a couple days at that point. My mind was as though it was full of cotton, I could barely keep my eyes open. But I know that if I kept at it, I would be one step closer to adding another spell under my name.
Imagine my surprise when I felt something behind me. Thinking it to be Mab, I asked if anything was the matter. I was not given an answer.
Fingers like ice wrapped around my throat. As I began to choke, I struggled to grab a hold of my assailant, but my hands passed through naught by cold mist. My heart thundered in my ears, as I gagged.
A pressure built up in my head, as a freezing weight pressed against the base of my skull. Ice began forming along my neck, my breath plumed with condensation, as I struggled to breath.
My watering eyes fell upon my notes I had written for ‘Distorted Ocean’. I had a chance!
Though my words were strangled, I managed to complete the incantation, my hands shaking in the air to complete the last sigil.
There were sounds of shattering icicles.
Blessed be! Blessed air!
I heaved for breath, struggling to right myself. Finally, I got a good look at my assailant. Like an ever shifting fog, I could scarcely make out its features. It stood about my height and from where I suppose its hands must have been, now were two small stumps. Black mist dripped from its wounds and pooled at its feet, like blood. It let out a deafening screech. One stump began twitching and snapping, then a long, clawed hand appeared. The fingers danced in the air, before I comprehended what was happening.
It was drawing sigils.
The swirling whirlpool arced around my head and shot at the creature. With a gurgle, the creature was entrapped within. The final sigil hung in the air, sparkling with that bright orange glow, waiting to be completed.
The creature snapped and clawed to escape, its mouth yawning like a mad dog, as it tried to lunge at me. There was another cracking sound. Its head thumped to the ground, face frozen in pure hatred.
I am loath to admit it, but I did jump back.
Just as soon as it appeared, it puffed away, like a strong breeze had wafted through the room.
The whirlpool went away on its own, after a while, having seemed bored without a target.
With hesitation deep within my chest, I approached the still twinkling sigil. I swallowed back a gasp when I got near it. How strange it is to see my own craftsmanship that my fingers did not draw in the air.
I know naught where this being came from. I have heard of maguses claiming to see ‘shadows of themselves' haunting them, but I thought them fools. Soon after, however, they were all found dead. I wonder if they were unable to fend off these beings completely. Maybe they returned to finish what they started.
Thankfully, I have not seen or felt a similar presence for quite some time.
I cannot look at myself in the mirror; the pattern of bruises on my neck perfectly match my own fingers.
Event #6: Gained a new spell “Distorted Ocean” (entraps the target in a whirling and prison of water that endeavors to sever limbs). used to protect Oussou from a shadow creature trying to possess his body. Need a 7: 5, 8, 8, perfect success. Gains 1 Focus.
Reflection #2
It has been almost two months since Mab has joined me in my tower. How strange that I have become accustomed to her presence. In the beginning, I assumed that maguses are to be solitary creatures (after all, that is what the stories I had read expressed). I still have not witnessed any magical capabilities within her, yet she seems to have an uncanny grasp on predicting events. Just last night, she stopped her organization of my growing collection of tomes and mentioned, almost drowsily, that we ought to prepare a feast for the following day. Bewildered, I asked her what she meant. She merely repeated herself, before she strode away with such purpose, it shocked me.
Lo and behold, a merchant comes knocking on my door in the late afternoon. Dreadfully exhausted young fellow. I invited him inside and he offered to sell me a scroll he had recently acquired (although it was, alas, a fake). He offered me a discount, saying what wonderful hosts we had been, exulting Mab’s baking skills. She flushed a lovely red and curtsied, before leaving us to our gentlemanly trade.
How odd it was, when he asked if she was my wife. I explained the situation, claiming her to be a student of mine. He chuckled and said that that was quite useful. I was not entirely sure what he meant by that. But yes, he was not wrong; she is a useful creature.
Event Entry #5
It pains me to admit, but I reached out to them. Everyone knew their name, of course, but how embarrassing is it to ask for help from someone?
Annoyingly, they responded that they would come at once. I assumed this meant I had a couple days to anticipate and expect their arrival. Apparently their version of “at once” translated to “as soon as I opened their letter”. For it was not until I scarcely read their neat handwriting that a knock alighted on the door.
When I opened the door, Magus Levelle rushed in like an uncaged bird, flittering here and there, their gentle voice asking what happened, how horrible that bruise looked, how I was feeling. I explained what happened (with perhaps a few details missing here and there), and asked if they could help with the healing process.
Their green eyes lit up and they readily agreed, setting me down (without asking first; if I may be so bold as to say, it is quite rude for someone to rush into one’s abode and thrust one down upon a chair, even if one was planning on sitting on it). Their cool brown fingers laid upon my neck, which had been consistently freezing since the shadow creature attacked me. Warmth that I had never felt before radiated from the base of my skull, the still lingering crystals of ice melting away with just their touch.
Unfortunately it is not easy to get rid of someone who has just helped you; one feels as though one should at least play host for a bit, for the sake of saving face. It was not until nightfall when Magus Levelle left. They promised to write, exclaiming how strange it was that my bruises had not vanished in quite some time.
Curiosity, it seems, has gotten a hold on them.
Event #7: Met Levelle, a fellow magus who is renowned for their healing magic. Oussou asked for their help when their bruises refused to fade and their neck still felt frosted over.
Event Entry #6
I am left exhausted.
I assumed that their interest was merely scientific. Their probing questions just innocent curiosity.
They asked to examine my body after the assailant attacked. I thought it odd, as they had cured me. But no, they were curious about the other effect: my constantly crying eyes.
Even though they promised that they would teach me a spell, the absolute violation of my body remains. They experimented on me.
I am lucky the third eye that formed on my temple popped after the third day. I saw too much during that time, the light blinded me, as my brain was overwhelmed with too much information. I vomited multiple times, begging them to stop.
In my haste to push back
Dear Reader, I hesitate to write this down, but I consumed them. Not in a cannibalistic way, but I consumed their magic.
They are but a husk, hidden in one of the many closets.
I am not sure if Mab knows.
I cannot burn their body, though I have tried.
They remain.
Event #8: Levelle comes back and asks to experiment on Ossou’s body, absolutely fascinated by what has occurred. They offer to teach him the “Sleep of Honor” spell (sends the target into a lulling sleep that rejuvinates the soul with the ability to speak with souls that have not passed on yet). Had to get above an 8: 4, 5, 12. Used one focus to reroll the d10: got 10. Flawless success. Sacrificed Magus Lavelle to get to 3 focus to increase power to 2.
Reflection #3
I see it now. I understand. Those maguses that have passed were too weak-willed. Magic does not corrupt everyone. No, no. It corrupts those that are unable to fight against its power. Like the shadow creature that attacked me, magic too will try to possess your body. Yes, magic is a spark, and it is up to the user to control that fire. Give it too much, and it will burn you from the inside.
I shan’t worry.
With Magus Levelle’s control, I am able to keep the magic but a flickering, warm, fire. It crackles inside me.
Changed worldview keyphrase of magic from "Magic corrupts anyone who uses it" to "Magic corrupts anyone who has a weak soul."
Event Entry #7
Mab is dead.
In my attempts to master the previous spell, I sent myself into a deep sleep.
Those that I met there (they were my previous flock, I am sure of it), demanded I right my previous wrongs. I begged them for clarification, not understanding what they meant. They said that my actions had cost too many lives and I could not fathom what they spoke of. Like a swarm of locusts, they doggedly followed after me as I attempted to escape. I lashed out, demanding that they leave me be.
I am not sure when a dagger came to my hand. She must have come upstairs to see what was happening.
Her corpse should still be in my studies.
I fled as soon as I could.
The sigils of “Relentless Tempest of Conscience” dance in my head. A sick, cosmic joke.
Event #11: Learned “Relentless Tempest of Conscience” (past mistakes and shame mentally assail the target, daggers of justice skewering them). Had to get a 9: 2, 3, and 6. Utter failure. Sacrificed Mab.
Reflection #4
By the time You are reading this, Dear Reader, I am long gone. I will have found a new land, a new place to settle. How silly of me to believe that it would take but a couple months to discover how to return to my flock. I will have changed my name, though if You have found my now hopefully crumbling tower, I assume You have some intelligence. I wonder if You knew Mab or Magus Lavelle. Are you here seeking revenge? Or perhaps You have come here to find guidance.
Unfortunately, I shan’t die that easily and I have now endeavored to find solitude and refuse anyone at my new door.
Let this be a caution.
Do not attempt to find me.
Do not attempt to assassinate me.
I have lived through worse and done worse still.
I shall survive.
Let this be the last remaining entry of Magus Oussou.
Goodbye, Dear Reader.
Mind the traps on Your way out.
Final character 'sheet' and world-building notes
Focus: 0
Power: 2
Control: Perfect X || Cracked || Broken
Scars:
Rotting Disease - skin begins to peel off around the eyes, as visions of horrible nightmares haunt you
Bonds:
Mab
A seemingly otherworldly young woman with pale skin and striking red eyes. She claims to be a fortune-teller, though I sense no magical energy coming from her. Interestingly enough, she wants to learn under me; although nonmagical, she is smart.
Level 2 bond
Levelle
A curious person with warm brown skin and startlingly bright green eyes. They are a famed magus, known far and wide to heal others that cannot be. My wounds were much too strong to ignore, so I called them and asked for their assistance. Shockingly, they accepted.
Level 1 bond
Spells:
Disruptive Visions - Twisting dark memories and fears from the target's mind, you summon an apparition that appears real to them in sight, touch, and smell.
Distorted Oceans - The target is entrapped in a whirling storm of an oceanic prison that aims to rend limbs.
Sleep of Honor - The target is lulled into a gentle sleep, where their mind lines up wholly with the spirits of the dead. They are able to ask those ghosts 3 questions, which they must answer truthfully.
Relentless Tempest of Conscience - Daggers of justice skewer the target, as they are assailed with past shame and mistakes.
What is magic like in your world?
There are many established wizarding families, with lineages dating centuries.
Magic corrupts anyone who uses it → Magic corrupts anyone who has a weak soul.
Magic is incredibly taxing on the soul of the caster.
Your talent for arcana reveals itself one day.
You stole a forbidden book and spent tireless nights trying to learn its secrets.
I was caught almost immediately and ousted to the congregation as a heretic. No one thought to ask why the church kept such a book in the first place.
Acquiring ultimate power attracts you.
I must prove them wrong and ensure that no one is able to make me feel small ever again; they will rue the day they cast me out of the church.
You begin your solitary quest.
You have been shunned. Others fear your magic, unable to understand.
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