The last member of a once-great family that traced its legacy to the rulers of the Kingdom of Gwynedd, now in its death throes and teetering on the very edge of ruin. The House of Llewellyn had ascended to hold one of the seats among the Lords of the Association for five generations, on account of the line’s traditional proficiency in the wind and water elements, as well as their ties to the mysteries of Cymru. At the height of their power, the Lord of the House was also the head for the Department of Spiritual Evocation, a position he held for the better part of the 18th century. In a twist of fate, it was the issue of his succession that would prove to be the beginning for the family’s downfall.
When Taliesin Llewellyn retired from his position on account of infirmity, having long passed the family’s Magic Crest to his firstborn, the choice of his replacement fell between two young men who were considered to be the foremost prodigies in the field of Spiritual Evocation. Incidentally, both of them hailed from families with ties to Lordhood, held the same elemental alignment, and were already embroiled in a rivalry that had long provided amusement for the gossip mill of the Association’s aristocracy. For Pryderi Llewellyn and Meinhard Archibald, this was merely another elevation of a rivalry that had begun from their childhood.
The House of Archibald was one of the up-and-coming families that had recently hit their stride with exceptionally prodigious heirs, rising to take their place among the old guard, displacing the declining families from the closed circle of aristocracy. But not many families could claim to have the favour and endorsement of the Barthomeloi, and the assignment of Meinhard as head of Eulyphis was a reflection of that patronage. That alone might not have incensed Pryderi so, if the newly appointed Department Head had not taken advantage of his title to secure an arrangement to marry a certain daughter of the Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri; as she had also been the target of his affections since childhood, this perceived insult was the last straw for the hotheaded and prideful Lord. Openly contesting the Eulyphis succession with accusations of favouritism and political scheming, he foolishly brought his will against the absolute authority of the House that was said to rule the Clock Tower even more thoroughly than the Director; and the verdict for that challenge spared no mercy for his audacity.
The Barthomeloi decreed a trial by combat to settle the dispute, citing antique regulations to resolve the insult to their name in the most exemplary manner possible. Unable but also unwilling to back down, Pryderi agreed to terms that he did not fully understand, and met Meinhard in the magecraft duel with fantasies of finally showing his erstwhile schoolmate and perennial rival who the better magus of the two was.
Naturally, the Barthomeloi did not intend to have the duel be anything less than an exhibition of their unchallengeable force. The enemy Lord Llewellyn met was not only armed with his House’s magecraft and creations, but also with an array of powerful Mystic Codes taken directly from the arsenal of the Barthomeloi. Weapons created by the most powerful House in the Association rendered upon Pryderi the full weight of his hubris. The end of the day saw the Llewellyn Crest, with its long centuries of accumulated knowledge and mystery, stripped from his corpse, and the title of Lord conferred from the disgraced lineage to the victorious Archibald.
That was how the end began.
Bereft of their magical legacy and noble title, the Llewellyn struggled to pick up the pieces of their work and reputation largely thanks to the industrious work of Pryderi’s younger sister, but no amount of work could replace the priceless inheritance lost to a moment’s folly, much less make up for the derision that the fallen House was treated with. For the next two centuries, a family in whose blood still pulsed the mystery of aeons past was consigned to the class of commoners, unable to ascend the social ladder of magical aristocracy. Heads held down in brooding acceptance, they slowly built anew a Magic Crest, drawing from the ancestral texts, patents, and relics that had remained in the family’s possession; although those too did not remain theirs for long, as they were pawned or given as a humiliating form of dowry in order to arrange marriages with a bloodline that would ensure their heirs’ circuit quality and magical potential. And what a humiliation it must have been for the erstwhile Lords to be forced to beg families that used to be their inferiors, giving away priceless heirlooms for the third or fourth daughter of a House with barely 5 generations to its name! But even so, the production of an exemplary heir was their only hope, and in this manner they persevered, until the end of the millennium saw the birth of Ceridwen to a family barely hanging on to the few remaining coins of their coffers and the last scraps of their dignity.
To her credit, Ceridwen was an heir the likes of which the family had not seen since before their catastrophic fall from grace. Exhibiting all the desirable traits of a Llewellyn magus, she was seen as the last hope of the House to bring itself to its feet and finally rise from the abyss. All it would take was for her to receive an education at the Association, and earn the credentials that would force the scornful magi to respect her projected genius. Her parents made such plans for their daughter, and put everything they had left into providing her with the tools to succeed in the Clock Tower’s academia both as a student and as the object of ridicule and shame for her fallen lineage. Hired tutors and purchased grimoires entered Llewellyn Manor for the first time in centuries, paid by the two parents abandoning their pride and taking on such occupations as assistants of any random magus that needed a hand around their workshop, or that would part with a wage for the amusement of bossing around the heads of a former noble House. Popular rumour had it that they even engaged in the practice of cash-strapped students and dropouts to sell their bodily fluids and hair; but whatever the case may have been, Ceridwen’s blossoming talents must have made up for the indignity. This was, after all, not an exhibition of any affection for their offspring; it was merely the necessary actions for the House of Llewellyn to be someday restored.
The reconstructed Magic Crest was transferred to the new heir sooner than it was customary, and eventually Ceridwen was admitted to the Department of Individual Fundamentals at the age of 14, planning to hone her craft in the family’s elemental magecraft before taking on the ultimate goal of the Llewellyn, the ever-coveted Eulyphis. For two years she studied there, provided with books and materials that her fallen House could not acquire. Exhibiting the potential of her ancestral blood - the only thing that could not be stripped from the family - it seemed that the long toil of the Llewellyn was finally about to bear fruits.
That was not to come; perhaps by will of fate, but probably because the penance of the old sin was deemed to not have been completed. And despite the whispers of how the Barthomeloi never forget those that slight them, the official story was that Einion and Cerys Llewellyn’s demise was an unfortunate accident that was nevertheless covered by the contract of employment they had signed as assistants to a particularly imaginative Zoologist. With their death, the amassed debt that had accrued in order to provide for their daughter’s education, no longer covered by any guarantee or installment, now called for the immediate repossession of family property, castle included. Just when the Llewellyn had been posed to shake off the inherited shackles of ignominy, the iron rule of the Clock Tower had struck them down once more.
Ceridwen barely had enough warning to salvage the final, most precious of family artifacts before the one bastion of her family’s legacy was finally taken from them as well. But even then, the debt was not fully covered, and she was instructed to willingly surrender the artifact, as well as the reconstructed Llewellyn Crest to the Association’s Repository, or else have them be taken by force. Once again, the toil and knowledge of many generations would be lost in an instant, as if to signify that for all the times they would raise their heads, history would only repeat itself again.
Without a single means to support herself or cover for her tuition, she was faced with the choice of consigning herself as a marriage pawn for some upstart family’s breeding program and tossing her millennium-old name to oblivion, or continuing the struggle of the Llewellyn to survive and rise again, even if it brought the whole of the Association against her.
She cared not if they took her home, for the Llewellyn's home was the whole of Cymru.
She would let them have the Crest, for the Llewellyn's magic ran in their very blood.
But the theft of their greatest Mystic Code, the heirloom that not even in the direst of times any of her ancestors had even considered selling, the material proof of the Llewellyn's pride as magi, was something she would sooner die than allow.
Naturally, it was never a choice. Not for her, and not for any of her ancestors. If the bitter end ever was to come, it would not be by their own resignation.
It should be understood that in the Clock Tower, the Llewellyn are the archetype of a family that overreach their station and foolishly challenge their betters. To have lost their Magic Crest, the crystallisation of a magus family's purpose, and yet persisted in clinging to the vestiges of their former glory only compounded on that fact. Whoever cared enough to spare a thought on them would expect their end to be fittingly ignominious, a disgrace to the very last. That was why - despite the corpses of the magi sent to collect the debt, despite the devastated remains of the Manor, despite the words of mundane witnesses - the Observatory hesitated in issuing a Sealing Designation for Ceridwen Llewellyn. That, after all, is a mark of great honour and recognition, even as one that consigns a magus to permanent imprisonment at best.
But the Dragon-fire that still smouldered amidst the ruins was proof enough. Centuries after Pryderi's folly, the Llewellyn finally won back their prestige.
Originally Posted by Sandstorm77
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