I had the pleasure of spending time with Cygnus and Druella, as they resided in a dwelling that was nestled near a natural wellspring of enchantment, positioned at the lower echelon of average magical potency. Interestingly, Salazar, having visited the Blackhouse at Grimmauld Place, noted that the head residence was fourfold superior in magical strength, yet the one they inhabited here proved to be quite satisfactory. The home exuded an atmosphere of tranquility, indicating not only that the inhabitants performed rituals over the magical source but also that the family maintained a harmonious atmosphere.
Nonetheless, despite the fact that children, even those without magical abilities, can influence their surroundings, this dwelling was inhabited by wizards, and any negative energy would have permeated the space, leaving an indelible mark on the walls with each child's spontaneous magical manifestation.
The only thing that troubled me was the fact that the altar was cursed, and this was due to its connection to the family headstone at 12 Grimmo Place. However, it was not the fault of Bella's parents, but rather the curse could only be lifted in the main residence and only with direct involvement from the head of the family and his lady.
Nonetheless, that is not the point. My decision regarding Bella - whether to accept her as an apprentice through a contract or an apprenticeship oath - largely depends on Miss Black's parents' decision. Meanwhile, as I was immersed in the emotional and vibrant atmosphere of the house, Nigelus revealed the circumstances of his untimely demise, which came as a shock not only to me but also to those present, particularly his descendant Cygnus.
"My enemies have brought me to this ignominious end!" Nigelus responded to my inquiry regarding the cause of his sudden and unforeseen demise, his voice laced with a feral growl. "They succeeded in ousting me from my post through the machinations of the school's board of trustees, temporarily suspending me, yet they orchestrated it in a manner that preserved my connection to the castle. My removal as headmaster was merely nominal. Once I was no longer in power and beyond the confines of the school, they conducted some sort of dark ritual within the grounds of Hogwarts, managing to enact a spell that dealt the fatal blow. However, unlike the usual process of rebirth, I did not regain consciousness. The scoundrels had seized my soul!
They exploited my soul's bond with the castle and my access to the Hogwarts altar, employing these connections to entrap my essence within a soul-trapping device."
My God! And this has just happened in my domain without my attention being directed towards it? Indeed... Where were my eyes, and why did I not realise it immediately? And furthermore, who is the one being jumpy here in England?
"Do you know who was involved in and responsible for your demise and fate?"
This was the first question I posed to him, following Nigelus' interruption.
"Dippet, of course, for he was appointed interim headmaster during my suspension, and after I received the backlash from Hogwarts that claimed my life, he became the full headmaster. He is undoubtedly involved, and Dumbledore must be aware of it as well, for when he assumed the position of headmaster and swore his vows, he could not help but notice the unaccounted element in his connection to the castle. My imprisoned soul now serves as a barrier between Hogwarts and the headmaster. And once he breaks the pact he made with the castle upon his altar, it will be me, not he, who receives the backlash!"
Upon hearing this, I wanted to strike my head against a wall. How could I, a fool, have failed to perceive the truth about the events unfolding in my own castle for the past three months? I had assumed all was well when I saw Dumbledore sworn to the school, believing he had a standard agreement with the castle. Knowing the history of the canonical narrative, I wondered how the headmaster had not met a grisly end in the canonical history of the world, given the inevitable consequences that must have followed his repeated breaches of his obligations towards the castle, codified in the form of a binding magical contract, sealed on the altar of Hogwarts.
Having found myself in this school, I was satisfied to note that the aura of the headmaster was adorned with a working contract bound to an altar. I somehow felt that this would be a different reality. I would not be able to evade responsibility, and thus, the game would not be played in school.
Ah, but this had long been decided, and the headmaster would not be threatened in the event of non-compliance with contractual terms. No, no, there were better ways to proceed! Soon, this school would be attended by laces who were currently preparing to venture into the world, and who would have to lead their Mrax families and at least one of my own students in due course. Whether it was personal or in accordance with the contract I had drafted and signed with Nigelus was still to be determined.
I shall resolve this matter today, Nigelus, and not only that, but I shall also assist in the restoration of your soul, which has been grievously afflicted by the repercussions of the retributions you have incurred for the actions of Dippet and Dumbledore, both of whom swore to uphold the rules of Hogwarts.
How fortunate is the erstwhile Headmaster and the Lord Black to possess me in this temporal existence! Had events transpired as they did in the canonical narrative, such vast quantities of calumny would have been heaped upon him in this life that in his next incarnation he would be reduced to a mere unicellular amoeba, at best. The magnitude of the backlash that Albus' actions were destined to engender in the foreseeable future ought to have shattered your soul to its very core, leaving naught but an unblemished atman in its wake.
I thank you, my liege!
Indeed, if I had not inquired about Nigelus' demise, his fate would remain a mystery to all. My word alone could supersede any headmaster's directive and compel him to speak. Now, as the rightful proprietor of the castle, my word is paramount!
I need not resort to intricate machinations to amend the school's charter, as was once done through voting. Instead, I need only contemplate it and will it within the radiant aura of the enchanted castle.
As Blank, I am duty-bound to maintain order in my domain, whether literally or figuratively, though it is doubtful that anyone here would take my words seriously. I am now the professor of Hog, and it is my responsibility to ensure order is upheld. Nominally, I hold ownership of the castle.
I deeply regret having so gravely affected the ambience of this evening with my conversation with a former acquaintance. There is no need for concern. I shall intervene in his fate, liberating him from the bonds of captivity.
The expressions of those who witnessed my interaction with the late Lord Black were a testament to the shock they experienced at the revelation of his untimely demise. His spirit had been coerced into serving as a repository for his ill-gotten gains, foreshadowing the challenges he would face in his subsequent incarnations. I resumed my seat at the table as if the events had not transpired.
After me, Cygnus automatically mimicked my actions, but his movements were more akin to those of a puppet deftly manipulated by the hand of its master, and his expression resembled a waxen mask. No outward sign of emotion, yet within him a volcano of passions raged! How dare anyone dare to mock the Black so? This thought flashed through his mind, igniting a tempest and fueling his fury! The blood of his forebear demanded the harshest of retribution for an ancestor's wrongs. And this was no mere metaphor. The Blacks, by some unknown curse, had damned themselves. Some mad forefather of the erstwhile Niggers, perhaps on the brink of death at the hands of another, had concocted a twisted ritual to ensure a one hundred percent guarantee of ultimate vengeance in the most savage of fashions. In his final breath, this gifted individual committed ritual suicide upon an ancestral altar.. And as he was sacrificing himself upon the family altar, with but a brief span of life remaining, he imbued his aura with a curse that infiltrated the family stone, now manifesting itself in every member of the Black lineage. The intent of this curse is to compel all mages within the Black bloodline to engage in a relentless pursuit of vengeance against any who share their blood. This entity now permeates the consciousness of each Black, rendering any attempt at resistance futile unless one possesses mastery over mentalism. Through this mastery, one can either shield their consciousness from its influence or employ blood magic to eradicate the curse within their own essence. It is a dire predicament indeed!
But what I admire about aristocrats is their adherence to a set of unwavering rules and etiquette standards, meticulously crafted and cherished. Even in the face of uncertain circumstances, like the recent developments, when we all gathered around the table, the Black and Greengrass family began to execute the ritualized motions of the algorithm.
An aristocrat savors his meal in the company of others deserving of his esteemed presence, where each person is at least equal to him in status. And finally, our meal comes to an end, allowing us to engage in discussions about matters of personal interest and relevance to those gathered at the table. Conversations can now shift away from superficial topics like weather, fashion, and rumors, which might have been appropriate during the course of the meal.
Cygnus, I perceive your predicament in selecting an appropriate manner and form of address for me. Rest assured, I am far surpassed in status by anyone here, regardless of how one may view it. In terms of social standing, I possess a higher title bestowed upon me by both the crown and the realm of magic, boasting a longer lineage of gifted ancestors. My kind and I surpass the Blacks in all aspects, not merely in specific instances. However, as you might have observed, I do not flaunt this fact. I reserve its use for situations where it serves my advantage, while striving to remain as unassuming as possible in most cases. Therefore, without further formalities, please inform me of your intentions and the reasons behind inviting me to this visit.
As I regaled my audience with tales of my own magnificence, punctuating my narration with sly asides about my own humility, Cygnus listened intently, observing the reactions of the erstwhile Rosiers. When the question was posed to him, he cast his gaze towards the portrait of his forebear, which nodded its assent. He sat back in his seat for several moments, allowing his thoughts to coalesce into a coherent request. The discovery of his ancestor's plight had left him deeply unsettled, his mental state in disarray.
Dear Mr. Drake,
My wife and I are faced with a difficult choice that has arisen from a complex situation. We are torn between our loyalty to the primary branch of our family and our love for our daughter, who is also our extended family, as she is not only my child but also the daughter of my beloved sister and her husband.
A few days ago, I received instructions from my sister's husband, the head of our family, to prepare my oldest daughter for a wedding on Yule. She is to be given in marriage to a man whom I find repugnant. I cannot directly defy the wishes of my sister and her husband, as it would be considered treason, leading to my immediate expulsion from the family.
I am unwilling to risk exposing my family to the consequences of excommunication or the fate of those who oppose the will of the head of the family. My sister would not hesitate to take revenge on me through my own family. The only solution I see to protect my daughter is to send her to be apprenticed to a skilled magician.
Cygnus's throat constricted with a surge of hormones in his bloodstream, the stress induced by the fate of his ancestors and the revelation of a disconcerting glimpse into the inner workings of the Black family's kitchen causing his mouth to go dry. However, after taking a long, thirsty sip of wine, he resumed speaking moments later.
"My wife and I are willing to pay fifty thousand gold coins for you to accept her as your apprentice, and we will also provide several valuable items of the rarest kind. Among these are the heart of the last Nemean lion that was slain, which is currently being preserved under a stasis charm in an enchanted box, and a one-of-a-kind treasure from the past — the original laboratory journal written by Salazar Slytherin himself!"
The room fell into absolute stillness after Cygnus's offer, and I smiled to myself at the fact that my own journal was being offered as payment, forcing myself not to burst into laughter. Cygnus, interpreting my smile in his own way, thought I considered the price too low, and after exchanging a glance with his wife, he augmented his offer.
It was still amusing to witness and hear so much admiration, excitement, and awe in the voices of these strangers to my former identity, known as Salazar Slytherin.
"If my initial offer is insufficient, I would like to make a solemn vow of personal allegiance to you."
Henry, who was seated at the table, was visibly enraged, and had he not been raised in such a manner, he might have shouted at his friend, calling him an imbecile. For those present, Lord Greengrass' words were particularly unexpected, given his reputation as an intelligent man. Druella and her sister were not surprised by Cygnus' behavior.
Enough of this delay. It was time to address the expectant audience.
"No, the initial payment I have offered is sufficient, and I do not require your oath of fealty."
A disappointed sigh could be heard from the corner of the room, followed by faint, but discernible words of displeasure: "I have refused you."
I have two proposals for you. I can take your daughter on as an apprentice. It so happens that I have a contract, drawn up and signed by Lord Nigelus Black, which gives me the right to accept any member of the Black family into my service as an apprentice. This is the first proposal.
However, I am also willing and prepared to follow the second option, which you suggested, and to take Bellatrix on as my personal apprentice, under an oath witnessed by the world and attested to by Nigelus. This is proposal two. Choose whichever you prefer.
Now, I was curious: what would a father so concerned about his child's welfare choose? A contract that obligates me to make her a wizard of some guild before her twentieth birthday, or will he entrust his daughter to my full care, allowing me to teach her everything she is capable of learning as a personal student?
Before I presented Cygnus with the choice, I paused the portrait of Nigelus in the dining room. "I would like my daughter to become your personal apprentice!"
"A fatalist, indeed! And an adventurer as well. I can understand his desire to secure his daughter's future by offering her to me as his personal protégé, ensuring that she would not be consigned to a marriage with the Lestrange heiress in the absence of any other option. However, now that she is already bound to me through a contract signed by Lord Black, what could possibly compel him to choose such a harsh path for her?
Having delved deep into his mind and sensibilities, I have been unable to discern any rationale behind his decision. I am at a loss to explain it."
"Well, then, I shall honour my pledge to your forebear and accept the daughter of the House of Black as my own apprentice. In return, I require nothing but the heart of a Nemean lion."
Ahem. I accepted their invitation, but I did not divulge my true identity. Everyone at the table wondered who I was, for the late Lord Black had referred to me as "my Lord". I would have continued to keep my identity a secret, had the following question not been posed.
"Would you part with the laboratory journal that descended from the hand of Salazar Slytherin?" I could not determine whether Druella felt more relieved that such a treasure would remain within the family or indignant at my disregard, for to any self-respecting pureblood mage, such an action was akin to blasphemy. How could someone abandon the legacy of one of the founders?
"Why would I desire it? My memory is impeccable, and I recall everything I've ever written."
They took some time to process what they had heard. After two minutes of contemplation, Henry approached me.
"Am I correct in my understanding? You claim to be Salazar Slytherin?"
Despite the fact that the query was posed in a tone that was even, devoid of any inflection that might betray Lord Greengrass's sentiments, I could discern his emotions. They included incredulity at his own deductions, having arrived at such an inference. Then there was a cautious denial, if even he understood it correctly. Accompanying this was fear and reverence at the mention of such a prominent figure as Salazar Slytherin — the greatest and most infamous Dark Lord in human history, whose memory endures to this day.
In order to dispel any doubt from Henry's mind, I circumvented his protective wards and his mental shields, beginning to transmit my response directly into his consciousness. After a brief pause for reflection, I decided to extend this approach to the other senses in the chamber, which I subsequently did.
"Permit me to introduce myself by the name I have come to be known by. Salazar Slytherin — later known as Sviatozar Zmiev — and now a humble teacher at Hogwarts, Ormarr Drake. Do you still harbour any doubts regarding my words or your own interpretations of them?"
I spoke, opening my aura wider and more encompassing, allowing a sliver of my power to seep into the external world. Simultaneously, for dramatic effect, I suppressed all shadows in the room, causing them to absorb all light, dulling it and drawing it towards me. As I was enveloped by snow-white flames, my eyes assumed their natural form. The eyes of an ancient serpent — formerly a basilisk, and now seemingly the closest kin of Quetzalcoatl — gazed upon everyone in the chamber!
Henry's emotions were dominated by fear after my display of power, which had begun to take the form of sovereign terror. He immediately realized that his thoughts had not been a secret to me all along, and that during our time at the table, he had uttered some unkind words about me. Specifically, at the moment when Cygnus offered himself as a vassal to me in exchange for taking Bella as his apprentice, he had been speaking ill of me. And now, he was terrified for his own safety, the safety of his wife and daughter.
Salazar left behind a reputation for being unforgiving, and this was partly due to the fact that no one who had been rude, uncouth, or disrespectful towards the Slytherins had survived.
"My dear Henry, I must say that I was not offended by your concern for Cygnus. There is no need to be so agitated. Please, calm down," Lord Greengrass thought to himself, his snow-white complexion now even more pallid after I had revealed myself. However, he did not require such an emotional state, so I felt free to influence his sentient essence and calm his turbulent emotions.
But I was not at all surprised by Cygnus' reaction. I had anticipated something similar from him. His response to my confession was utterly Blackish, with the childlike delight and joy of a youngster who has met his hero. It was likely a feeling akin to that of a first-grader, aged seven to twelve, upon completing a genuine Spider-Man, Iron Man, or Captain America comic book. There was a certain purity and luminosity about it that I could not reconcile with Cygnus' personality.
Wow… In the midst of the overwhelming emotions, Cygnus' mind was flooded with childhood memories of his mother reading him historical accounts before bedtime, recounting the exploits of Salazar. For instance, how Slytherin brought plague upon the goblin army that besieged Hogwarts, with the author sparing no details in their vivid descriptions of the cannibalistic xenos vomiting their own entrails and bleeding from every pore after being poisoned.. Or how Salazar, in a bid to exact revenge for the Inquisition's repeated attempts to eradicate and assassinate him, unleashed a plague upon Europe that claimed the lives of tens of millions of sentient beings. How utterly reprehensible! His deranged mother did not even consider shielding these details from her son's fragile psyche, but recounted them in full detail, leaving nothing to the imagination! What a despicable lot they were, the Adams family of English lineage.
But what was most astonishing was that, at such a tender age, Cygnus already resembled his mother's favorite, and Slytherin's deeds held a particular fascination for him. It was not a desire for harm, but rather a source of aspiration, and when he struck, he aimed to do so with the same flair and display as Salazar, whose essence I had consumed.
Now, his mind was consumed by a single thought, not even a wish. A vision! How might he secure his two remaining daughters as his personal disciples?
Were I to tarnish the innocence of the young ladies of my acquaintance when they reach an age when they might become objects of desire for a man, it would not lessen the esteem and honour of the Black lineage. The persona of Salazar Slytherin has become an idol for ninety percent of pure-blooded individuals in England, and even those ten percent who do not share my sentiments still hold me in the highest regard, cherishing my name and being proud to be a part of England's history.
What was it that Garrick Ollivander once said about Tom Riddle, when young Potter received his wand with the quill of Fawkes? "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has done great things, both good and evil, yet great nonetheless." These words seem even more aptly describe Slytherin's life and actions.
Thus, should a young lady's attention be suddenly caught by Salazar Slytherin, leading to the loss of her innocence at his hands, it would constitute a great honour both for the young woman and her family. Her relatives and acquaintances would view this development with envy rather than any other sentiment. Were she fortunate enough to bear Slytherin offspring, her family would celebrate the event. The child would be embraced into the family as soon as they were born, cherished like the apple of the eye.
There would be no fools, save for the most extreme zealots, who would resist acknowledging this lineage through her genes. Such was the fate of Salazar's sole illegitimate child, born after his first encounter with Godric over a mug of Avalonian ale.
The sisters, Druella and Rosalie, were only slightly behind Cygnus in their eagerness. They were on the verge of bursting with delight and joy, for they had been fortunate enough to draw the coveted ticket in the form of their young girl. Little did I know at the time. Lady Greengrass had begun to consider having her daughter apprenticed to me.
In fact, why not? I could easily recruit a hundred apprentices without any difficulty, as I could contract hundreds of illusions to assist in their training. By now, I had one thousand, three hundred and twenty.
"It is a great honor to have you as our guest, Lord Salazar, and I apologize that tonight's meal is not worthy of your esteemed presence."
"Never mind, Mrs. Black. It was a delightful meal. You have even underestimated the talents of your housekeeper, Ollie. Her culinary skills are beyond praise. But let us skip the trivial conversation, and you may finally ask me what you wish to inquire about."
Salazar and I share a common trait in our aversion to lengthy discourse and indirect approaches. While we may excel in the art of juggling words, their meanings, nuances, and inflections, enabling us to elicit virtually any desired response from our interlocutors without resorting to magic or mystical practices, relying solely on the principles of psychology and neuro-linguistic programming.
Well, they are already making a mess of it. It was Druella who initiated it. Apparently, as the boldest of the triplets, she decided to entrust her niece to safe hands without consulting her sister. She had already agreed to wed Black, and marrying Cygnus was her own decision. Their parents wanted all their daughters to marry future lords, so they sought only the heirs of the most ancient and noble families for their daughters.
But Druella managed to persuade her parents, even though she was not an heir, that marrying a member of this family was an honour and a recognition for any family, particularly for an outsider like the Rosiers. Thus, Druella did not put much effort into preventing her from marrying the candidate of her choice.
«I doubt there is anything in your pocket that could surprise or intrigue me. So, how will you repay me if I agree to take Sylvia on as my apprentice?» I said. «In principle, I have no objections. Your daughters are studious and responsible, which pleases me. However, I would appreciate it if we could see your family library — the part that is not intended for public viewing.»
«When it suits you, we would be delighted to have you visit Greengrass Manor, where you will have full access to the library», said my husband.
The extent to which these people were willing to overlook my past and allow their daughters to become my apprentices was truly remarkable. Their trust in me was understandable, considering Nigelus had not spoken a word against me. Combined with the power I had demonstrated as an archmage, it all made sense.
Now that we have reached an agreement, I intend to claim Bellatrix's tutoring fee. Tomorrow morning, I shall transfer the girls to your care, allowing you to engage in discussion with your daughters. In the evening, they shall become my personal students, and I will escort them back to Hogwarts.
Having acquired the divine magical fabric, which I had understood through the structure of Helga's cauldron, I now possess the ability to replicate any liquid, including magical essences extracted from various substances. My alchemical prowess, enhanced after achieving godhood, grants me the capacity to extract essence from concepts, let alone material objects. My intention is to first isolate the essence from my own heart and then disperse it through the use of Thor's divine fabric.
********
After I had obtained what I desired and bid farewell to the hospitable Black family and their guests, the Greengrasses, I proceeded to Hogwarts, where I promptly commenced my search for the soul trap in which Nigelus had been confined. I reasoned that I need not confront Walburga herself. I harbor no particular animosity towards the female gender, yet I do not relish the prospect of attempting to set their minds straight. I am not inclined towards confrontation, and all of my battles to the death in this realm were not my own initiative, instigated by a desire for violence.
Thus, I resolved to alter the Black family's course by replacing their head of household, not in an abrupt manner, but rather most positively and admirably. I shall return this glorious family to their deceased ancestor's legacy! I possess the power to work miracles and bestow blessings upon the virtuous. In my personal and subjective assessment, Nigelus embodied an abundance of virtues for any self-respecting sorcerer.
While I contemplated the idea of Nigelus employing birch to heal his parents and ancestors who had lost their limbs, I encountered him within the confines of the castle. Oh, how I would have relished the opportunity to dissect the mind of this extraordinary individual! I had never encountered such a unique school of necromantic arts before.
The soul trap, concealed within the Headmaster's office, was embedded in the very wall behind Nigelus's portrait, hidden beneath runes designed to shield it from my perception and detection. This was a formidable challenge, for I faced a formidable and skilled adversary. He had swiftly ascended to the top of my list upon his decision to exert control over my school. My ability to locate him was limited only by my access to the Hogwarts Magic Source Room, allowing me to trace the pathway of communication from the altar used to channel remuneration back to the unfortunate Black, to the one trapped within his skull.
Oh, dear me! What a state he was in! My thoughts were quite profane when I witnessed the state of the former headmaster's soul. How fortunate that there is a backup in the form of a portrait, which contains a complete copy of his mental, astral, and partially sensual spheres of the soul. The rest can be restored on my own, but the damages to the aforementioned cannot be undone without the backup.
Any attempt at recreating it on my own, guided solely by my logic and comprehension of these three layers of a rational person's soul, would result in a different entity. It would no longer be Nigelus the deceased, but rather someone else, someone who embodies my idea of what a dead person should be.
Having retrieved the skull containing Nigelus's soul and copied the portrait, crucial for the restoration of his identity, I immediately leapt from the headmaster's office into the egregore of the One, entrusting the materials for the repair and revival of the faithful Lord Black to my clones.
But my visit to the egregore was not yet over. Today, a thought suddenly occurred to me: what would become of the heavens here should a cataclysm befall planet Earth or the Magical World, leading to their destruction? It became clear that the egregore as I now know it could not survive such a catastrophe. It would be fortunate if some fragments of it, after the dissolution of the egregor, were drawn to one of the many realms where the flock of souls of future returnees who have been reborn can begin their missionary work.
My family and I are prepared to face any scenario, even the most dire, for the sake of the fate of these realms. I would simply transport all my subjects to my world, and that's it. However, this approach is not effective against an egregore. This issue cannot be resolved so easily. Instead, we must first develop a strategy and then execute a ritual that will allow me to sever the egregore from the union of Earth and the Magi World, which previously belonged to Yahweh. Afterward, I will transplant it to my realm, where I will assist it in establishing itself and integrating into its new environment.
In this endeavor, I rely on the assistance of Zakhar, my trusted assistant, who is akin to his friend Leshem. Additionally, I intend to harness the resources and capabilities provided by the Serpent Tree for this task. These are merely the particulars of my plan.
Having assessed the intricacy of the ritual, I became aware that its calculation necessitated the involvement of at least several hundred of my clones, which I promptly implemented. Based on my estimations, it would require them several months to complete the calculation. With a high degree of probability, we must anticipate a significant event on a local universe or world scale.
More than the supplementary energy obtained from the ritual during the same planetary alignment would be required. We must think in terms not only of star systems but of entire galaxies. After all, the task I have in mind demands a substantial amount of energy, and I had not even considered depleting the ba-hyonic reserves accumulated in the egregore.
I have a demon roaming the world, eager to invade with an army of its kin, and I would not be content if it succeeded and I ran out of ammunition!
Oh, there is a communication from the clones who are actively engaged in the process of reconstructing and restoring Nigelus to life. How delightful! He is back in the physical form, alive and thriving like a bull. While he remains unconscious and is positioned next to the altar, which was specifically set up within the egregore for such purposes, I have discreetly deposited the still-living member of the Black family into my dimensional pocket.
He is but an ordinary member of the family, yet when he steps foot on the threshold of Grimmo Place, the very stones of the house will acknowledge him as the former patriarch. His ascension to the position of head of the household was not by his own choice, nor did he relinquish the title of lordship and pass it on to his heir, but rather through the unfortunate event of his passing.
This situation is fraught with controversy, for there are now two contenders for the role of head of the clan, each bearing the marks of their lineage within their auras and souls. The altar, in its wisdom, will resolve this matter simply: he who possesses the greater strength will retain the title, while the weaker will relinquish it and assume the status of a mere clan member.