Eodem: a Rifle and Sword Adventure - Chapter 57

Calelh Point stood atop of Souviel’s Bay just as Samantha remembered as she journeyed her way up its dirt road. Ever since the letter she received from the late Sandulf’s caretaker, the Goblin Okt-to. She had been made subject to an official inquiry by her superiors. That Stryder Group in its collective efforts with the previous owner had, as a group, inherited a piece of land outside of Tyr Rian. Originally, the land of Calelh Point was an important landmark in Souviel decades prior with it being the sight of the Light House that guided sailors safely onto the Bay’s embrace. One day, the daughter of the Light House Keeper married a young Sandulf who had built an Inn below Cliff’s base to entertain travelers. Unfortunately, a freak accident and the consequential death of the wife foreclosed the Inn’s fate into obscurity until now.

Much had changed in Souviel post-Chwartiadd, the Federation’s Presence has now been well established amongst the Port City’s denizens. The late-villain, Gresgi Jodent’s property had been seized by the reformed Bank of Souviel whilst his former Villa has now been converted into a Consulate to authorize the UFE’s presence in the region. The former Grey Order Office of Souviel has been put into the direct control of the Duchal Guards, with any adventurers, that for a time conducted bandit-style attacks on Federation Troops and Native Collaborators, ordered to surrender or face Duke Thibault’s ire.

There are now whispers amongst the populace of deals being spun into ink brought forth by high-paying and influential nobles of Souviel consisting of landowners are now making deals with the Colonists of both private and publicized ventures. As of the rumor milling around the Duchy, many people say that thanks to Souviel’s rich lands of plenty and its access to the Western Sea, the Duchy will be focusing itself on the industrialization of its fertile farmlands in terms of production. For services being rendered, there is the facilitation of foreign trade and tourism into the Duchy. Once Prince Clovich’s Amelioration goes into full swing, it would not be long before such modernizations reach the Draguitoise Coast, perhaps even beyond it from sea to shining sea across all of Gliesia. Souviel being its springboard to what lays beyond.

Accompanied by Agent De Sardet and a couple of construction workers, Samantha, using the time off she has to relax a moment here in Souviel whilst also taking care of some business. That business is the use of this ‘Inheritance’ she and her squad had obtained from Old Master Souviel before his tragic passing. Due to several back dealings outside of her control, however, de facto-wise the property is belonging to the Federation’s Government. But officially, according to the books of both the Federation and Souviel’s Records, this plot of land is Samantha’s private property. It wasn’t illegal per say for the Captain to still run private businesses but such unique circ.u.mstances were too hard to pass up for her superiors.

“Welcome! Welcome!” Okt-to greeted the four guests. It was perhaps the most amount of people he had seen in the past few months after that stint with those Tavai Smugglers when Samantha had last visited.

The old Lonesome Hearth Hostel… or under better days the Smiling Siren was rustic with wood furniture and cold candles to greet them. It lacked the much-expected warmth and welcome reception expected from more active dens of hospitality due to years of neglect. Yet Agent De Sardet wishes to change this.

“I know a thing or two about places like this. My Husband worked as a Baker in several high-class Hotels.” Agent De Sardet gestured his hands into a panoramic focus as he observed the interior.

“What would you do then Gary?” Sam asked.

“It’s radical I have to confess but a lot of these furnishings MUST go! Too crude, too dirty, too dreary!” De Sardet answered. “We should replace the windows with some glass… in fact… have the entire walls be made of Glass! I can barely see the sun! This place needs more sun!” the Agent stomped as he swiftly opened each individual window allowing the late morning light to fill the room.

“Ah…” Samantha smiled. De Sardet was indeed correct. The depressing aesthetic of the Hostel had now somewhat been alleviated. “Much better.” the Captain smiled in the rougher Quebecoi accent of Agent De Sardet’s metropolitan. She turned around to a chair to rest.

“Ladui Rose… Ladui Rose…” Okt-to approached trotted abjectly to Samantha. “You seek to rebuild this Inn into something Master Sandulf would be proud of?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. We will have to remove a few things before we reopen this place. I hope you don’t mind right?” Samantha nodded.

“As long as you do not disturb Sandulf and his family’s graves. Yes… but what will happen to me after?” the Goblin asked.

“Well… I guess you can be a Gardien since you are just doing that all the time oui? A Caretaker to keep the new place clean when the time comes.” De Sardet suggested.

“That is wonderful news! But… the Will…” Okt-to meekly fronted.

“Spare me more of this legal bullshit. What more?” the Intelligence Agent cussed, half of his words in French.

“Old Master Sandulf had also requested that you also inherit this…” the Goblin passed along a book written in the native script. It had a picture of a bowl, spoon, and fork at its head.

“A Cookbook?” De Sardet twitched his brow.

“Sandulf was a Cook Gary. A really good one, you want us to keep this book too?” Sam explained.

“Not only, but the Old Master wishes you cook these recipes to be able to… ‘bring warm joy’ to the future guests who come to this place. Here… I prepared one of his favorites, Braised Sea Critters in sweet Chellumbi Stew with Segor Root. I know many of his recipes.” He bowed.

On an earthenware pot, the Goblin served onto two small wooden bowls the samples of the Native Stew to them. Sam refrained her initiative to taste, allowing the Intelligence Agent to have the first bite after slowly scenting its aroma with his scrutinizing nose. Using a wooden spoon, he claims a mouthful of the crimson dish as his tongue embraced its flavor.

“Wow… Incroyable, some good f.u.c.k.i.n.g food for once.” De Sardet smiled. A smile that wasn’t his petrifying grin of cruelty that tainted him on his line of work. It was a rare bonafide moment of felicity just as the progenitor of the recipe had wanted.

Okt-to yipped happily on the man’s smile as he finished his small bowl.

“Seconds please… bigger bowl.” He demanded, that of which immediately executed by a now enthusiastic Okt-to.

“Let’s to the gist of it Gary.” Sam reminded De Sardet. “You want to make a brand-new hotel right here yeah? Have some

“Resort. Not Hotel. Hotel implies people just want to sleep and go… not ‘Stay’.” De Sardet suffused. “The reason why this place failed is because it is just too far away from all of the action for the Natives to go to. But… the opposite is true…” he waved.

“Opposite?” Samantha furrowed.

“Our own people! Travelers of all sorts would want somewhere away from the bustle of Gliesia. Somewhere remote yet close to all of the action. This place more than ideal. Kick your feet off and have a few bites before you retire for the night oui?” the Agent suggested. “I am not discounting that in the future, some of the Gliesians would like to travel here for their own business or for the p.l.e.a.s.u.r.es this place can offer. I even got a few ideas about that too. But the priority is aiming for our own people. Specifically, those on Business and for P.l.e.a.s.u.r.e.”

“Ah… so switch the target demographic? Is that what they call it? I get it I get it… But… one more question… but what are you REALLY going to do with this place?” Samantha asked him. She knows these Government Wigs don’t just open vacationing resorts. It would be the likes of which that would outrage any hard paying taxpayer from off the Federation’s coffers.

“Sweet summer’s child. The Resort is only a mask. Un site noir pour l’écoute. To look at ‘your’ Guests of all curiosities they sweeten beneath all of the honey this upcoming paradise shall loosen.” De Sardet explained. discreetly blanketed his intentions. He didn’t want to have the two contracted Construction Workers nor Okt-to to know of the true purposes of this sight. “I learned that from my Husband by the way… it sounded way s.e.xier when that V.A. said it.” he stuck his tongue out.

Samantha sighed; she knew it. Her new property is going to be another Government Black Site behind all of the intrigue and luxuries this establishment provides. She rather would keep herself clean on such Deep State machinations if she could help it. But there was no way for her to stop it. She would just have to give the façade of cleanliness beneath all of the intrigues about her now eminent status both as the Native’s Chosen Heroine and as a Star-ascendant apparatus of the Party’s propaganda.

“Listening only. I don’t want to see any blood or whatever crazy stuff you normally like to do. Save that fetishistic freak show you always like to show anywhere else but here.” Samantha set her terms

“Not even thinking about it…” De Sardet leaned back, playfully belching in satisfaction over his meal.

[-]

Lewis Crocker gentle stroked his left knuckles as he sat by the barkeep looking onto the side mirror provided in the chintzy in the El Ciggaro Boracho Pub. This Watering Hole shies off the City Centre that not many well-to-do folks or of the contemporary tastes would dare venture to. Such an establishment attracting the more common pursed of folks such as blue-collared workers or those who seek an alternative, if not antithetical experience to the more well-to-do counterparts.

The atmosphere was strictly masculine of Federation origin in all aesthetic: Urbanized artwork of scrap postings and a bit of playful if not seemingly random graffiti stuck with advertis.e.m.e.nt stickers gave the Pub a seedy-street visual. Even the furnishings were ‘decorated’ or more of just plastered with such gildings. Electro-Latino Music at a respectable volume housed the patrons with familiar tunes and rhymes from their old homelands. The scent of alcohol and nicotine permeated the noses of the Ciggaro Borracho as weekend enjoying workers indulged themselves to their heart’s content with blunts and shots of vices. The Patrons don’t seem to mind such a gangbanging atmosphere, in fact it was one such reason why they regularize this establishment in the first place. The Bar boasts the strongest mix of the everyday opiates of dulling spirits that relaxes one’s stress-aches to those drinks used for the most celebratory of occasions.

“A little anesthesia.” The Bartender smiled as he passed onto Crocker’s molded bar mat a miniature glass of the strongest drink inside the house, a round of Rum of half of its liquid being of alcoholic content

The Sergeant immediately downed the first round of the Rum onto his gullet, its intoxicating liquids dulling his senses as he readies himself. Placing his hand onto his nose, the burly second-in-command f.o.r.c.i.b.l.y fixed his nose.

“Motherf.u.c.ker!” Crocker cursed as he banged the table with his left hand, nearly toppling several loose articles near him.

“At least you won that fight, Sarge. Otherwise, that nose would have hurt way worse.” The Bartender smiled.

“Yeah… I guess.” Crocker nodded.

Earlier that day, Lewis went to a Gym and entered himself into a cross-service bout between the UFE Navy Sailors and the Army Colonial Militia with him being the representative of the latter. A Cash Prize was given to whoever managed to beat the other man by any means via 8 rounds of 120 seconds each. For Crocker’s fight, he had to endure the full brunt of the brawl as his equally built opponent stalled for a decision’s the fight was a display of camaraderie and friendly competition between the two branches but it also displayed to those Natives who so happens to witness the bout the pique physical fitness of the Otherworlder soldiers. To his surprise, rather than being intimidated by such a sight, many of those folks admittedly were mesmerized by the bare-c.h.e.s.ted warriors who fought each other for their entertainment. Not surprisingly, Blood Sports are considered the highest class of entertainment in the Slaegian Empire by his experience.

“So, what’s been troubling you?” the empathetic Bartender lay his attentive ear on the Sergeant.

“Nothin’ too crazy… jus-it gets lonely at work. Most of muh time I only talk with my squad’s C.O and spit orders-down.” Crocker sighed. “I feel like… l-like… nobody really appreciates me… being there… I don’t know. Or maybe I should start plannin’ on retiring from the Service soon. No’much juice left on dis ole’ machine.” He sulked.

“Nobody? Sure, about that?” the Bartender gestured behind him playfully.

Turning around Crocker spotted to his surprise a flock of newcomers into the El Ciggaro Boracho. They dressed in flowers, leather corsets twined in strings, and skirts that flow like water down to their silken ankles. All articles of feminine clothing contrasting to the otherwise bold robust the El Ciggaro presents itself as. They were Natives from Tyr Rian, a pack of vixens, maidens, and young lasses all of the opposite gender to be precise. Likely of those who managed to pass through the checkpoints and be permitted entry to walk, browse and interact amongst the Colonials within New Albany.

“Hey Chica! If water was a beauty, you would be the whole ocean.” One patron whistled to one Tyr Rianni girl who had decided to dress in blue today.

Several more of the men expressed their machismo over this parade of nymphs to make their presence with their collected muliebrity, exchanging a mix of l.e.w.d, gallant, and flirty remarks upon them but they seemed uninterested in the Bar’s regulars.

“There he is!” one of them called out. Her hands piercing through the bar all the way to Crocker himself.

The parade of nymphs marched across the El Ciggaro as they made their way to the Bar Top.

“You are the Ogre-Breaker, aren’t you?” one Village Girl inquired.

“Yeah… is we’re som’thin a’matter?” Crocker awkwardly kept his cool, drinking another round of rum to maintain his composure.

“A great crime has happened!” One woman fell into his arms dramatically, her face blushed with d.e.s.i.r.e. “This fine young maiden, daughter of the Horse Breeder needs fine stallion to raise her young~” She implored him.

Crocker was more than alarmed, confused, flattered, and embarrassed by the implications given the context.

“He will tire greatly from all of that work Lorneh! The Ogre-Breaker needs a hand in soothing all of those muscles of his…” another maiden c.a.r.e.s.sed methodically the Sergeant’s muscles that popped out of his sleeveless top, almost seeming to get lost in the post-fighting musk that Lewis secreted. Such excretions seemed to excite these spirited ladies to higher states of arousal. He could recognize by her uniform that she was one of the Bath House Girls from Tyr Rian during one of Stryder Group’s patrols.

“Look ladies, I am not in the mood right now for any of you right now…” Crocker attempted to defuse the situation tactfully.

“Sure you do, you just need to get more… comfortable. ~” the Bath House Maid pressed her b.r.e.a.s.ts into Crocker’s biceps.

“I rather rot than let you have him all to yourself Madleska!” shoved another woman the masseuse away.

Some of the El Ciggaro’s patrons began to brace, if not amusingly for a possible catfight between these women. Some excitedly grabbing their phones at the ready-to-record such a bawdy occasion.

“Women! Women! Halt your advances on the Ogre-Breaker!” yelled forth another voice. Loud stomps dragged all of the attention away from all of the patrons inside the bar.

To Crocker’s bedazzlement, he recognizes that voice.

A woman, one whose stature easily towers above her peers, of whose hair flowed freely like the wind and intricate tribal tattoos adorned her body as she made her way towards the Sergeant. Her body atop was of a human, but her lower half is of a Horse. It was Kimora, the Yoshandinyuddi or Centaur War Maiden he had rescued back in Neuogonia.

“There is no point of fighting! Do you harlots think the mighty Ogre Breaker would d.e.s.i.r.e to pass companionship amongst a group of Harpies like you? Shame on you!” Kimora chastised.

Many of the women soon realize that the Daosne Female was right as they turned to Crocker whose blushing face and trembling body over the sight of these women fighting over him. This, in Slaegian Courting rituals, would be an embarrassment regardless of gender. The fight was defused before it could truly start.

“Thanks, Kimora…” Crocker sighed in relief. For a second he thought there’s going to be a fight in his favorite diving spot.

“Not yet Ogre Breaker…” Kimora shook her head. “Women of Tyr Rian, I have a proposal to share among you…”

With a blush, the Centaur War Maiden stripped away from her shirt, which in hindsight didn’t cover much of her torso physiologically speaking, merely covering her b.r.e.a.s.ts and a bit of her midriff. She exposed her nubile Centaur body amongst the patrons much to everyone’s shock, both positive and negative. Some were mesmerized by the War Maiden’s runic tattoos that are said to summon the bestial aspects of their respective ancestries. Others were astounded by her supple feminine form that either caught several courtly remarks by the green-minded of Male Patrons and some form of intimidation for the Tyr Rianni Women.

Kimora blushed as she stepped forward.

“It is by many cycles immemorial from the Northern Tribes: The strongest of men are permitted to have many wives. Yet only the strongest earns the privilege to bear his child.” The Centaur proposed. “Such a prize deserves to be bestowed by the strongest female who will bear the strongest of children and that is I!”

Lewis’ heart skipped several beats. He really has no time nor the energy to entertain such a sordid act right now.

“You?! Gods damn you Beastwoman! The handsome champion is mine!” Lorneh, being the daughter of the Horse Caretaker of the Tyr Rianni cavalry unsheathed her riding whip and began to strike on to the Centaur Warmaiden.

Not wanting to be deterred for her prize, Kimora launched a wild punch onto Lorneh sending the woman stumbling towards the Bar’s tables. Such a violent act aroused the other females into a stupor filled as they turned on themselves. A fight for feminine domination erupted in the El Ciggaro Boracho as women tussled amongst and against each other of whose maidenhood shall be claimed by the gallant Lewis ‘Ogre Breaker’ Crockers.

“Bollocks! Gimme outta’ere Bartender!” Crocker leaped over the Bar’s countertop as the Bartender opened the back door to allow the Sergeant to escape.

He bears no interest in being the breeding stud of an entire harem of women anytime soon. He was a professional… that and God knows what abominable S.e.x.u.a.lly Transmitted Diseases the more ravishing folks of Gliesians could possess.

“He is getting away!” one of the fighting maidens noticed Crocker’s escape.

“Uukhai! His young are mine!” Kimora charged screaming n.a.k.e.dly in pursuit.

[-]

Leah would have liked to be here atop of this hill over a lonesome pathway that climbed over atop of their property in New Albany. But alas, this is not of happier of times, if no such times could ever be possible as nothing shall be the same anymore for the Root Family. Leah was, upon personal request by the bereaved Obediah, was buried behind the Root Family Farmstead under a loving yet lonely hill that overlooked the entire property. A landmark he called ‘the Lonesome Hill’. Obediah wished to spend these two days off with his daughter of whom he picked up from her Kindergarten Teacher who acted as a surrogate parent whilst he was off on his Military Service.

The wind breezed gently amongst the tree’s and several native flowers decorated, if not almost wreathing Obediah’s late love in its earthen embrace with its beatific comfort. It was a somber affair for him and April, wanting to visit his wife once again before he gets redeployed. Their child was still too young, or perhaps Obed was still not too sure how to phrase his sentences to explain to April of her mother’s passing. Such a grievous wound to never be able to again come to Leah’s enveloping embrace, to never hear her voice lulling them to sleep, to never be able to scent her lilac perfume as she blessed each chamber with her presence and to never see her warm smile grace their hearts. If Obediah was truly alone, he would have kicked the dirt, scream, blame himself perhaps even topple the gravestone in his grief or unthinkably turn his own pistol against himself for he could not bear such burden, not like this anymore. Yet he knew Leah would never want him to despair, not for his own sake, but for April’s own being.

Obediah turned to April who was cherishingly picking the wildflowers that littered that Lonesome Hill.

“Daddy!” April smiled, still innocent as to why her father had insisted to come with him to this hill today.

The little girl gave him one of the wildflowers and placed him onto his ears, like a wreath adorning his aged brow.

Seeing April’s smile, it reminded him…

He didn’t know if it was his own grief twisting his mind, the ghostly whispers of his late wife from beyond the grave, or a mix of all of his life formulating into this one moment.

A reason to keep moving forward…

April’s Smile.

[-]

It was a relief, for Prince Clovich to say the least as he flew back to Tyr Rian that afternoon. Although Haringpoint had its symbolic merits, the city was still too dangerous, reeling from the recently conquered peoples, for him to fully move his court. He had entrusted Ser Maghe and Colonel Polonsky to pacify the region in his absence until everything has settled down. For now, his old Castle back home is the de facto seat of power of the Amelioration and he couldn’t have it any other way for himself. It was great to breathe in the forest-mountain air from the now calm Ostalrocs, to see familiar sights but most of all to see his beloved sister Aria once more.

She had many stories, both joyous and melancholic. Joyous she was when she managed to walk several feet off of her supports with her newfound strength much to his and her maid attendee’s delight. She couldn’t frolic freely upon the hilly plains just yet but it was better than being bedridden atop of the citadel’s towers. Compared to her informal duties as the new ‘lady-in-waiting’ for the captive Princess Estrice Slaegiac who was transferred not long ago to the Citadel to be kept as he quotes ‘hostage in our guest room’.

According to Aria and her own Maids’ stories: Princess Estrice would sit quietly in her room, avoiding any modic.u.m of interaction between herself and those in charge of her well-being. This has gotten to the point that Aria would most often or not refuse to eat whatever assortments of nourishment that was sent to her side, claiming they were ‘poisonous’ or were ‘enchanted’. When she eventually be forced to eat, she would only input the b.a.r.e minimum needed for continued survival. Such spartan-like sustainability was on par with how Estrice was also observed praying incessantly when doing nothing else. From what whispers the Maids could decipher, she was praying for her father, the Gods, or a Knight in Shining Armor of sorts to come and rescue her with the naiveté of those fantastic ballads and stories Bards and Minstrels. Still, it did not deter Aria from trying to breach underneath all of the walls of unease towards Estrice.

Clovich could only pray that a ray of his sister’s words could pierce through the Imperial Daughter’s heart of this lamentable misalignment. For now, he still wishes whilst his sister gentle attempts to Estrice, for himself to enjoy the fleeting comforts of his ancestral home for the next few days.

But alas not even at his own home that he is immune to the besetting of his duties.

Today’s business was hosting a Commerce Forum with the Federation, a Convention of the local Powers intermingling with the alien traders from the Heavens, peddling their eldritch oddities. Such decadent gatherings of materialism, underneath the honeyed words, were intrusive if not exhortative in terms of the exorbitant prices demanded in exchange. Yet it was a necessary evil for the fledgling Emperor of the Amelioration, he needed to court for more power and curry favor amongst the Otherworlders if his movement and Gliesia as a whole are to survive. Amusingly, Clovich is entertaining his cousin Duke Thibault and his Souvieli Courtiers who came in person to seal the first economic treaties with the Federation and their Mega Corporation trade partners. There was even a demonstration to happen with said products that being imported into Gliesia from Osei, Maximov, Hanjin-Shibusawa, and of course Aparo Corporation.

“I do say, this Iced Cream does do great with the local berries.” Duke Thibault giggled as he enjoyed the end product that is Vanilla Ice Cream adorned with the native Crismelo Berries which complemented the mellow sweetness of the white cream with the tart taste of the Berries. Souviel has along with their rich tradition of Winemaking also has complements of Cheese and Smokehouses too. A pre-existing industry that one such Corporation wished to tap into.

“Pri— I mean… Emperor Clovich.” One such Otherworlder vied for his attention. From memory, Governor White calls them ‘Sail’s Re-pres-ent-ta-tibs’ which was a bit odd since they don’t look like they are of a maritime background such as Sailors and other Sea-Faring journeymen. “May I interest you in a fine new Steed?” he said.

“A Steed? You mean what you call a ‘Car’ or ‘Mortar-Sickle’?” Clovich responded.

“The former is what I sell.” The Otherworlder explained. He carried along with his hands a strange set of goggles, something similar of shape to that of the Federation’s own Soldiers with a wide encompassing visor with straps to wrap around one’s head. Clovich recognized that device as a ‘Veer-chul Reality Headset’ a sort of Helmet that allows the user to see Illussory Objects. A strange curiosity as culturally, most Gliesians would pay money to NOT see Illusions rather than be fooled by them.

“Well, show me this fine ‘Steed’ of yours?” the Prince demanded.

“I am afraid I can only show you, for my own… merchandise’s safety… and company policy that I show you this Virtual Reality Headset to show you what great wonders you can bestow upon yourself when you select Bosch-Galilei Motorcars that caters to only cater the best of our clientele.” He snapped his fingers enthusiastically.

“What clients buy such Steeds that the Traders cannot dare show to the ones who seeks its purchase?” Clovich questioned.

“Kings, Statesmen, Celebrities… Important People who only demand the best. Like you!” the Bosch-Galilei Representative answered.  “Just put these goggles on. It will answer most of your questions.” The Rep smiled as he fastened the VR Headset atop of the Prince’s head.

The Prince’s eyes were immediately transported from the bustling debates of the Commerce Forum to the ivory interior of what he can only describe as a Carriage. He could see, if not almost touch the

The Prince’s eyes were immediately transported from the bustling Commerce Forum he hosted to the ivory interior of a carriage. Leather seats and mahogany furnishings around him. But the physical intervention of Mr. Bianchin made sure he doesn’t get too mesmerized by the theatric image that danced in his head.

“Bosch-Galilei Motorcars would like to introduce to you the Custom Conversion: the Valdivia Traveler 2210 Sultan Edition.” The Representative casted.

“Sultan? Like from the Suzerainities?” Clovich asked.

“Worthy of a Sultan I firmly say!” the Representative gasconaded. “This Steed that combines to the power of your mounted War Horses and the luxuries of a Carriage. The Traveler sports a stylishly luxurious cabin that welcomes up to two passengers with amenities typically reserved for first-class—” the Representative was then interrupted again by Mr. Bianchin, his usual sales pitch not compatible with this potential client.

“I mean… amenities reserved for a full service of your own Palace… mee—lord!” the Rep choked.

“Fascinating.” Clovich smiled. He could begin to understand why such a steed requires that he only glimpses his illusory image first before purchase. Many of rogues would have likely killed, sabotage and ransack to steal away such a fine subject.

“From the horizontal Walnut and Gold trimmed tables to the diamond-stitched reclinable Chairs of European Leather to allow the passenger the utmost comforts. For entertainment, the passengers can enjoy a ten-thousand-pixel 48-inch satellite flatscreen Television which can be used as a Video Conference with state-of-the-art audio equipment for the most cohesive communication possible for all your business and personal conversations. Lastly, the advanced Temperature control that can adapt to any environment allows the Passengers great comforts like never before!”

The Carriage seemed to burst to life whenever the Representative spoke. The Chairs moved to adjust whatever position d.e.s.i.r.ed. The Television, a curiosity from his trip to Japan animated to full effect, and the gilded finish wetted his ego. The Traveler was firmly ‘Worthy of a Sultan’ as the Corpo explained.

“It does feel quite gloomy… the Windows are quite dark…” he had to complain once, such perfection was still beyond such mortal reaches.

“Oh, the Windows? If you are the type to enjoy the view from outside, the Traveler’s windows can adjust the black tint to allow you an un-mitigated view!” the Virtual Reality adjusted itself, brightening the windows forsee a crystal-clear view of the outside world. A march of fields that passed along an old asphalt road.

“And if that is not enough for you, if you look on top, the Traveler also includes a 50-inch panoramic Sun Roof that allows you to enjoy the shine of your local star without worrying of something insane falling atop of your beautiful new ‘Steed’.” The Rep bowed.

Lehsol’s imaginative gaze fell upon Clovich in the Virtual World as he turned his head skyward to see her nude body blessing his eyes in its illuminated glory. If traveling was as exhilarating as this, he would have wished he was born a Caravanserai than a Vassal Prince. There was no debate now, he has made a decision.

“I wish to obtain such a vessel for my personal haulage!” the Prince announced.

“Cousin of mine!” Duke Thibault waded through the crowd. “Have you thought of getting your own Imperial Flagship now from the Sail’s people?”

“Flagship? Boat… oh… Sails… and Sales… Ha!” Mr. Bianchin chuckled.

The few Gliesians who can understand English, those of Noble Powers and of Scholarly intent still retain an alienation to the more refined nuances of the English language such as the case of the homonym ‘Sails’ and ‘Sales’

“Boats? Ah You mean Yachts… we also have a subsidiary company that handles to such maritime needs milord.” The Representative said.

“Yep, looks like to me you guys do want to buy some of the finer things in life. Don’t you worry, I will help you make sure you get everything you want for the right price once you know what you’re getting?” Bobby winked.

“Oh, Praiseth be! Tell me more!” Thibault cheered like a child in a confectionary shop.

[-]

Elven Armor was the pinnacle of aesthetic and function, made from the finest materials from Alfel Nora was designed with the inscribed shape of leaves to a visually ornate examination upon their wearers. Functionally, the Armor promotes a harmonious equilibrium between maneuverability and the protection of the user thanks to the unique properties the Elves have at their disposal when they forged these beautiful attires for war. One such variety is the metal-plated armor of the ill.u.s.trious Diaonithir or Starmetal. It was a versatile alloy, able to be effortlessly enchanted over and over again for a variety of applications such as the aforementioned armor and for weaponry. However, its most often used to forge the latter rather than the former from a logistical standpoint.

The lighter version however was a much more potent substitute, Quess-Estior otherwise known as Elven Wood. Harvested from carefully protected plantations across the Elven Continent, this light and yet flexible bark is similar to the versatility of the Starmetal which can be fashioned into a leather-like cloth that can protect the user without sacrificing their bodies ability to move around or be made into indelible weapons such as Spear Shafts and Bows. Although not as great in hardiness to Starmetal, the Bark is much easier to come by for the average Elven Soldier most especially the famous Ethuilen Forest Rangers.

Yet alas, even beneath all of the Elven’s many blessings, like the crudest of inventions, Starmetal and Quess-Estior cannot stop themselves from the bindings of entropy. What is created by material hands from the flesh of Neneth, as Aliathra Lareththor remembers from her teachings, must it also return.

The Elven Cleric, Former Daughter of the Lareththor line now see’s her Quess-Estior Ranger Armor decay in front of her in spite of all of her attempts to mend its gradual corrosion. The hard campaigning and trials beforehand had accelerated the lifespan of her worn out bodice to its very limit with stitching, cobbles and a bit of slowly waning magic preventing a critical wardrobe malfunction…

Not that the former Princess of fighting N.a.k.e.d however she quite embarrassingly thought. But she still has dignity beneath for her own self beneath all of the persecution that had besieged her up until now. Cast out from both Nation, Church and Family, all that she has left was her own self and her friends, the only people who cared for her despite all of her disrepair, Stryder Group to thank for saving her from the slough of despondency that her former compatriots threw her out to.  She does on occasion wear the Federation’s Kevlar and spare Military Wear donated by Sam but they focused more on function at the cost of substance as she critiques about it and she couldn’t rely on their generosity forever. She has to eventually get some new clothes.

RING!

The Door rang on her home.

“Aly my dear, be so kind to and get that for me?” Iris, her vampiric housemate requested from her.

Today she was getting herself beautified with a selection of her glamours called ‘Make-Ups’ by the Otherworlders for a jig where she will host Kayin, Clay and her own Grandfather Martainne over this evening. She was allowed to stay and enjoy their company but alas, it wasn’t her idea of fun. She wished, nay… Needed a gimmick brought forth under her own terms.

Leaping out of her workbench, abandoning her old Ranger Armor to its disrepair, the Elf skipped across the house and opened the door.

“Hey Alie, I just here to deliver some stuff for Iris.” Diaz greeted her, carrying with him a box that Iris waited for her jig with her ‘Nightman’. “How are ya doin?”

The Elf’s heart skipped a beat upon his charming entrance. The fast-flying Corpo was quite an adventurous person beneath all of his bravado and scented guise.

“I am faring… rather… uhm… bored as of late Ser Diaz.” Aliathra confessed.

“What’s the long face? I hate it when you are sad you know that. That frown doesn’t belong there and it’s unhealthy for the soul.” Diaz playfully referred.

“My old Armor… it is breaking down and I can’t just walk around on our next expeditions with only what the Federation is willing to give me.” Aliathra confessed.

“Yeah… I noticed that on your Leather Armor… I knew it was gonna get f.u.c.k.e.d… just not that fast…” Diaz nods. “You know what? I do know that a store just opened back at New Albany that can get ya some nice threads. If you want, I can delta you Princess righta’bout now. I don’t get much to do anymore other than this quick favor from Kayin. The shit he got planned today isn’t my shit and I doubt you would want to be here when they have their idea of ‘fun’.” Vincent cringed.

“You have been nothing but being kind to me Ser Diaz. I shall go with you.” Aliathra shyly nods.

“Under one condition…” Diaz requested.

“What must I do now?” Aliathra rolled her eyes. She was rather annoyed by the Corpo’s entangling use of language.

Diaz grasped his hand by her chin and raised her sullen face towards him until her ocean blues met with his earthen coals.

“Smile and keep on smiling and I will take you to places you never dream of.” He revealed.

The Elf’s heart, even if it was only made by mortal hands still resonates with her soul. Fluttering excitedly, like the fair maidens of her youth as she and her sister heard, read, and even acted out those daring tales of the roguish bard Bandall Thunderhand. In a way, Diaz was like him in several ways: quick-witted, dexterous, and sharp of tongue.

Unlike Bandall, Vinny was more materialistic than motivated by romanticized if not overly exaggerated views of Chivalry that the bard represented. Although eventually when one grows up his ideals would be considered naïve during her and Ithiel’s youth, it was magical in its own special kind of way that not even the Aether in all of the mysteries could replicate from the sublime anonymous author.

Aliathra smiled, ready to have this chanced Prince that against all odds had charmed her to whisk her away from her Chambers.

Diaz wasted no time taking Aliathra into his Mustang after a quick farewell to Iris who is now left alone to finish her preparations for her gathering with Kayin as they sped through the now asphalt streets of New Albany. Development had accelerated to accommodate the reinforcements from the Federation for the aforementioned campaign such as the hollowed foundations meant for the expansion of the urbanized sphere of the Colony. Neon signs, concrete pathways, and bricked architectures were erected on the fertile Gliesian Earth, from what was once an untenanted moorland became a sprawling urban forest.

A tantalizing prismatic blur from New Albany’s neon lights arced around the Elf’s eyes. A grand adventure that broiled a hidden sense Aliathra had first rejected: A sense of abandon, away from the confines of her conservative upbringing as the Mustang stopped by a particular Apartment. Again, its rainbow-colored palette besieged all of her impressionable young soul as Diaz excitedly pulled the Elf deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of this banausic standard.

“Welcome to the Pop-Couture Cus—Oh it’s you again Diaz? Here to browse the latest preem threads?” the flamboyant Shop Keeper happily greeted them dressed in equally. “Ara~… who is this fine specimen you brought here?” she ogled her surveilling sight onto the Elf. By the way, the Shop Keeper smiled was analytical that pierced through the seams of her prosaic attire in comparison to Aliathra’s fey physique.

“I am Aliathra.” She introduced herself to her.

“A friend. Give her the whole show!” Diaz nodded. He firmly forwarded his Smart Phone onto the Counter.

On cue, the Shop Keeper leaped to life from her seat. “Welcome to the Pop-Couture! The finest slickest Street Wear in over 3-Star Systems.” She circled around the counter to closely examine Aliathra.

“Before we begin, first off, get rid of that ugly Militarist trash right now! I refuse to have them taint this Temple. I expected more from Elves!” the Shop Keeper growled daggers straight on Aliathra’s handed-down shirt of uninspiring grass.

“I only wear these because my old clothes have now seen too much of use.” Aliathra stepped back, shyly composing herself.

“Well, that is why Pop-Couture is here. We have the finest Kitsch Threads popular amongst such Youths from Earth, Mars, and Kesserheim! Follow me.” she guided the Elf further into the store.

The store was divided into the women’s and men’s sections. Clothes upon clothes neatly stacked and divided by occasion, cut, and sizes. Displays of human men and women models decorated the halls in a confident demonstration of the store’s wide selection of products. The Shop Keeper who guided her, a sommelier of the like on this field of consumable goods by how she analyzes and cited the client before her of what clothes best illuminated Aliathra.

“What is your style Elf? Let me get to know you… Don’t worry, there’s no right or wrong answer.” The Shop Keeper pressed her.

“Well…” Aliathra blushed. Despite the Shop Keeper’s eccentricities, she was quite progressive onto allowing her a choice.  Taking a deep breath, Aliathra confesses “I am not so sure… I have never had the choice for my own clothes before. My mother, my father, other people always choose for me… Even when they are not around, I choose what they would have chosen for me.”

“Ah… you wish to be free? Independent from them are you not?” the Shop Keeper asked.

“Yes. I want something that shows people I am not some Princess who spent all her life locked up in her tower. I have grown up. I can make my own choices. I want to be with people I want to be with, do what I want to do, feel what I want to feel!”

“To feel? You want to watch; you want to taste… and judging by your Augs… W-what happened to you?! You need to be one tough bitch to be able to wield such Cyberware. You must be really good friends with pain.” the Shop Keeper’s eyes widened pointed to Aliathra’s augmentations.

Such Combat Cyberware, especially the high-graded ones sold on the market requires a proportional amount of constitution to wear them, especially during the early days of installation as the risk of bodily rejection is prominent around the first month of use. Aliathra did experience several occasions of her body attempting to reject her newfound Augmentations but she managed to will herself through for her Elven body to accept them.

“In order? Electrocuted, Blinded, Lava’d and having a tree drop on top of her.” Diaz summarized.

“My sweetie! I am so sorry!” The Shop Keeper bowed.

“It is fine, I am no stranger when it comes to being put to the test.” Aliathra allayed. “You could say I am a friend of pain.”

“That’s why I like her!” Diaz beamed.

“I see. Let me look at your face one bit right now…” the Shop Keeper curled her finger to examine the Elf. “My… Color me with envy. But if there is one thing you Elf have met of my expectations, is that you are so beautiful you do not need much makeup. Golden Ratio… Platinum… Diamond! You can just waltz anywhere and already you would be the center of attention… If you are not wearing any of that Militarist trash again! Get it off! Get it off!” She exclaimed.

Ushering her to the store’s changing stalls, the Shop Keeper harked her that until she gets rid of her UFEAF Military Wear she would refuse further catering to her needs. Complying, Aliathra stripped them off, the monotone threads hanging over the curtain of which the Shop Keeper promptly dispose of them.

“As I said, this belongs in the Trash!” she reprimanded as she tossed them into a black plastic bag never to be seen again. “What color do you like you cute thing?” she asked.

“I do like Green, I do not lie…” Aliathra answered.

“We have much more shades of Green. I know of one you would like… wait here!” the Shop Keeper leaped to her feet as she dived back into the store and began to scour her inventory.

Diaz smirked as he kicked back his feet to his Smart Phone as he awaits what exemplary threads, he will see off of Aliathra.

Before long, the Shop Keeper hurried back to the Changing Room and passed along to Aliathra over her stall several clothes.

“I am ready.” She announced after a few moments fitting the clothes onto her body. The Shop Keeper’s well-trained eye can easily tell what the size of her proportions is for her.

Aliathra came out wearing a lime-colored light-reactive laminated bomber jacket. Paired with its brilliance is an equally olive-tinted belly shirt that exposes a playful tease of her midriff that beams a racy, if not scandalous amount of her body, especially the skin-tight moisture-licked racer pants. Her porcelain face flushed red as she presented herself to the two, shyly covering some of the more… exposed parts of her body, not used to this much of skin being freed from the confines of the cloth.

“The Jacket is versatile for style and combat complete with pockets in beneath so you can always have anything in handy, a Wallet, your phone… even a trusty dusty pistol too. In addition, Pop-Couture’s Jackets have a subtle little sleeve in between if you need to sneak in something protective for yourself like Armor, Anti-Chemicals, Electronic Shielding’s… whatever you can fit inside it!” the Shop Keeper promoted.

“Not bad… excellent!” Diaz smiled.

“Come on Elf! You are in my Temple of Fashion! Not a Slave Auction!” the Shop Keeper yelled. “Be bold! Pop-Couture is Bold! Let it go!”

The Fashionwear Sommelier articulated her body, twisting her torso and arms behind her head as she accentuated her c.h.e.s.t. Such pose, provocative yet equally pressing for such equally provocative fashion. The Elf shadowed the Shop Keeper copying her poses to her and Diaz’s delight.

“More! More! I have never seen such a muse since the late Kate Pelas graced her body onto the world!” the Shop Keeper squealed.

Such acclaim, genuine acclaim from the likes of her and Diaz melted down what vestiges of the orthodoxy of her previous subjugated life she had left. Even back on her unheralded journey into Kesserheim where her story began, she stole clothes to what she had believed to be up to her mother’s tastes being of discreet subtlety. But now, today she shall fly! A door of new possibilities opened before her, and she above all things will dive headfirst into its crevasse.

“Do… do you have more?” Aliathra asked, for today, she will take flight her new freedom. The freedom of choice. “Especially of a different color?”

“Of course! Everyone is beautiful when they can choose how to be beautiful! You deserve the Stars! The Rainbow! Every color known to the n.a.k.e.d eye!” the Shop Keeper concurred. “As we say in Pop-Couture: ‘We are not to be Sheep; We are made to rule!’.”

The Elf became like a doll, yet in contrast before by her old ways as a Doll to be used as a Political Pawn, the Doll has become a canvas for Aliathra Lareththor to paint herself onto its visage for all of the worlds to see. She indulged in a menagerie of different cloths, color combinations and a yoga session’s worth of liberating articulation of her once shy body. Confidence sprouted onto the Elf just as the bill, (much to Diaz’s own chagrin, but he didn’t mind as he could easily make the money back after a few gigs with Aparo Corp) elevated.

She could barely count the number of jackets, tops, and bottoms she carried with her as Diaz sped through around New Albany. Their next stop, the local Salon and Barber to have both of their hair done, Diaz had his ‘usual’ short cut with a shave whilst Aliathra was given the ‘Royal Treatment’, no pun intended. Her waving long hair was dressed by having her braids relocated to her right side as she hanged her hair loose onto the left giving her a feminine yet roguish crown. After their sessions were finished, the Lehsol Star above Gliesia began to slowly set upon them. It was a singular breath of the natural world that the urbanized forests of the civilized lands could not replicate as much as they tried to.

“You know for a sharp young girl like you are now… How about you get yourself a sharp new iron too? I mean… it’s good and all you can shoot a bow and magic but it doesn’t hurt to get another backup. I know nice Toledo Fifty-Twelve that should be the perfect fit fo’ya.” Diaz smiled as he observed the overhauled visuals of Aliathra. “Wanna get some take out or something before I take you back home?” he proposed.

“Vincent, can you take us to the quietest point you can find? I wish to see the sunset.” Aliathra asked.

“Why so?” he asked.

“No other reason. I wish to see the Sun Set.” The Elf explained.

“Well… I do know of a spot near some construction projects that gives us a view. Most of the workers should be off by now.” Diaz smiled.

They boarded the Mustang as it cruised away to the City Limits where the expansions were being commenced. Out of dirt, steel, and wood, the mechanical horse glided past them as it reached a construction clearing that Diaz, being an Aparo Corporation Employee can access at any time as he wishes. The sight was perfect in all senses of purpose, a clear if a slight contrasting view of the setting sun against the backdrop of the slowly growing New Albany skyline. Additionally, there are no forms nor signs of any unexpected onlookers of any sort to disturb them. They truly had this field for themselves for the evening.

“Lehsol is leaving to slumber now…” the Elf muttered. Exiting the car, she walked forward a few meters and began to kneel down in prayer. Diaz meanwhile standing behind her quietly out of respect.

“More prayers to her again? Neneth?” Diaz asked.

“I may be an apostate but I still serve the Goddess… I… I want to thank you…” Aliathra stood up.

Even in spite of her trials, Aliathra still believes her Goddess’ merciful grace despite her deviations. All she asks is prayers for forgiveness, not just for herself but for those of her own people too.

“For the new clothes? Don’t mention it.” Diaz smiled.

“No… it is not that.” Aliathra disagreed. “I want to thank you for helping me… understand myself more. It is not just the clothes, the car… but your… fellowship… with you, Samantha, and the rest of Stryder. I fear I may not be as fortunate without you.” The Elf explained.

“Oh, I see…” Diaz nodded softly.

“May I ask Ser Diaz…” Aliathra pressed closer to him. “Why did you save me? The Heart I have? You could have easily let me die.”

“You got balls,” Vinny answered. “Too many people I know back in Kesserheim boast they are hot shit… that they’re the best on whatever but when their number calls. they fold like a bitch. Not many people in Kesserheim to be honest are like that. They say they are this but aren’t. Believe me! I mean my whole job requires I have balls by reputation and the values you set forth on… without values… principles… you are just a zombie. You Aly? You practice what you preach even if it’s gonna hurt. I like it on people.”

“Are you saying you are… attracted to me?” Aliathra asked.

“Who wouldn’t be? Or maybe some poor slum boy from Kesserheim is attracted to chooms like you?” Diaz answered back. “Are you also… attracted to me?” Diaz asked.

“I admire those males with strength and wits. Your tongue, your sword, your style? It reminds me of the bard Bandall Thunderhand. I feel like I am the enchanting young maiden he has ensnared with his charms. The journeys, the attention, and all of what he does… Oh, I can only dream to rest on his arms.” Aliathra blushed, leaning over by the side of the Mustang’s hood.

Her body language as she talked, chafed along with her new clothes. Her eyes dilating towards Vincent.

“So…” Diaz sighed. “What does Bandall and the lass do next?” he smiled.

“What they do next?” The Elf stepped closer, their bodies merely an inch apart. Both of their hearts fluttering within the folly of this amorous moment “This…” Aliathra took Diaz’s hand onto her b.r.e.a.s.t and it slides down her jacket, yielding the status of the Princess of Ethuilen to the Otherworlder who had freed her.

[-]

“This is absurd!” Iris protested.

“Oh… look at her Kayin… I knew she would hate it!” Clay chuckled.

Iris was in her loose sleeping wear alongside her Nightman, Kayin. They had also invited Corporal Clay and her own Grand Father King Martainne along for their leisurely gimmick.

The topic of the day: 8 hours (or until someone drops) Movie Marathon of all things Dracula

According to their initial context as given by Clay and Kayin who both proposed such an idea: the Otherworlder’s have their own artistic representations of blood-consuming Mages from their alien stories. They wanted just for fun after one occasion when Clay asked Iris if she had seen one of the Federation’s many Vampire Movies that she said no. This weekend now is the prime opportunity to have Iris and her grandfather dive into Vampire Movies, specifically the quintessential, the classical, and the most venerated of Earth-born Vampires: Count Dracula.

“Sleeping in Coffins? I rather sleep like one of the beggars in a dingy alley than to be made to sleep in one!” the actual vampire ranted.

“Granddaughter, they all share a curse of being against the sun light. A coffin, with all of its sides closed would have been a rational choice.” King Martainne argued. “But, that scene with the Child… I would disown any of my children if I found out they would resort to wickedness.”

“And mirrors?! They can’t see their reflection in mirrors? I would be surprised if they could remain to look fair for even a month without one!” the Witch added. “I still cannot believe you Otherworlders think of us… like this! This Dracula simply cannot compare to any of us!” she voiced her disp.l.e.a.s.u.r.e.

There were so many inaccuracies of Earth Folklore Vampires and the Gleisian Sochairfuil that Iris was about to be reduced to the verge of hilarity-filled tears over. At first glance, Dracula seems to be particularly your idealized ill.u.s.tration of a Nobleman: Charming of the tongue, Educated, Poignant to a fault. However, as their midnight marathon progressed, much to both Iris and Martainne’s frightened hilarity does the Earth-made Vampire displays its discrepant mannerisms in comparison. Many of the weaknesses that the Earth Vampires were of an easy or somewhat mitigated inconvenience for the Gliesian Sochairfuil such as the aversion to sunlight which obliterates the former but merely weakens the latter without the proper wardings to stave of its gaze.

“Pretty rich from someone who spent centuries in a Coffin too.” Clay grinned at the Lich King.

“It is a Sarcophagus and it is much more dignified than a puny Coffin!” Martainne snubbed.

“Well, you are Undead after all.” Clay pointed out.

“Not my children! Just me. I made that Elixir so that my Children can LIVE long and fruitful lives! Grandaughter, you have a heartbeat do you not?” the Lich turned to Iris.

The Vampire Witch nodded.

“I can live and breathe just fine… and enter other people’s homes without their permission!” Iris added. “And Garlic… ‘the Lord of all Vampires’ can’t stand a stupid little plant?! I have seen Children would last longer than him against Van Hellsing.”

Within comparison, the Vampires of Gliesia were some of the most imposing of folks to face thanks to their enhanced physical, mental and arcane ac.u.mens. It would take about 5 to 7 several heavily armed and equally blessed Inquisitors in comparison to even stand a decent chance against one Sochairfuil. Compared that against Dracula who was bested by 4-men, three of whom are just your average man that was lead by an additional man who is an actual Monster Hunter. It was so embarrassing that Iris’ lungs nearly killed her from the inside.

“You Earthlings must really enjoy Vampires so much to make Plays of them a lot?” Iris wiped off one of her tears. “Your imaginations of us are more of a bardic comedy than those doomsaying’s I am used to hearing all the time.”

“You have no idea.” Clay nodded coyly.

“Are you saying you actually did that before? You robbed someone?” Kayin leered his teeth, shuddering at the thought that the reclusive Iris would have done such an act.

“I had at one time.” Iris evoked from memory. “Mirrien needed my help to… repossess… one of my enchanted items from a buyer who was particularly… drippy on their payment for my services. I… to say the least… not very good at keeping quiet… but I got my work back… after turning his home inside-out…” She mentioned disconcertingly.

“What about you? What do you think about Dracula?” Kayin asked Martainne.

“I dare say, but I enjoyed Van Hellsing the most.” Martainne answered. “He reminds me of some of my old hunting companions that me and the lads would sneak off and kill some monsters for the thrill of it. The way Hellsing just explains everything to ”

“Now that’s ironic…”  Clay barely contained his laughter.

“I however have one objection.” Martainne raised his voice. “That Dracula has those three brides of his… yet he STILL WANTS Mina? I would die the happiest king if I had first met Brighid and Lenane in such youth!” Martainne said.

“Brighid and Lenane?” Clay asked.

“I had two wives. Brighid was my first… Leenane was by my side when the Cenhilli fell to Alboen and escaped with my five children.” Martainne answered. His voice, head, and body retreated as he contracted back to his chair quietly.

“King Martainne… is something the matter?” Clay asked.

“I… I wish to see them again after all of these years. My greatest regret outside of having war with the Slaegians was never being there to see my children have children of their own… Cado, Tuilela, Duinn, Mairrin and Lachtin. What… became of them all?” the Lich meekly answered before he promptly collapsed onto his Lazy-Boy Throne.

“I… uhm… maybe I think its best we give your Gramps some space?” Clay tapped Iris.

“I guess so. Let us clean up everything right now.” She nodded.

The three arose from their soft seatings as they cleaned up the scattered remains of snacks, drinks, and a few pillow stuffing (courtesy of Iris’ anger-induced rantings).

Grabbing the glass goblets and bowls, Iris took them to her home’s sink to have them washed. But just as she was about to turn on the tap, the vibration of a physical tapping interrupted the relative quiescence of the now concluded marathon. At first, the Vampire Witch thought it was some wild nocturnal critter that wandered curiously out of its nest. But the incessant noise persisted as if it was calling attention to her. The source of the repeated sound came from a window on her immediate right.

Upon closer examination, to Iris’ surprise, she found a conjured bird, a Tweeter messaging Bird carrying onto its corporeal leg a sealed-off container meant for letters. The violet-colored avian, upon seeing Iris skipped excitedly, continuing to tap the window of Iris’ new home. Iris slide open her aperture and promptly grabbed the sealed letter on the conjuration’s leg, immediately dissipating upon the intended receiver’s acquirement.

At first, Iris thought when she unfolded the parchment it was some invoice yet again from Lutheor to produce another magical item. But as she read the first few words of the letter, Iris’ eyes widened. The words used and the handwriting was far too intimate and carefully inscribed to be the likes of the business-minded rush the Dwarf Merchant would have used.

Sister Cadohagan,

We have read through your many letters aloud to ourselves for the past few weeks. At first, we thought that your exile back into the wastes of our old homeland had gotten its madness through you, that all of these hearsays of the local Vassal Prince that brought the Empire’s dominion onto our old homeland had rebelled above all reasons against the Empire and that our Family’s founder, the Lich King had returned. Yet after many travelers, minstrels and bards spoke of your supposed exploits and the ongoing crisis we simply could not ignore any longer. Honestly, at least for me, what you said about the Otherworlders and this ‘Rebellion’ that Tyr Rian had underwent through was almost too good to be true.

Even though, the Slaegians, Dwarves and Ethuilen are the ones provoked these ‘Sky People’ to go to war with them many of us still fear that they are no better than them all combined by the way your account their overwhelming power that could dominate the continent to their will. With such power and the fact that these Otherworlders are indistinguishable from many mortals, we had fear that they might be just like another Slaegian Empire or Elven Empire that will try to hunt the last of us down. That you are merely a tool to that these invaders would dispose once the time had come that you are no longer of use.

However, the rest of the cabal of families still persist that you are to be given a second chance unlike your Father had done when he last violated the Tomhas and forced you into exile. Bring the one called ‘Rhannu-Prietar’ to Dimera, by the Duchy of Kalmte. You can come home again Sister. You know where exactly to meet.

When you arrive, the Eildearan shall judge for themselves and maybe they may grant you the Clemency that your attainted line sought for so long.

Do take care of yourselves when you journey from the south towards us. The Legionnaires’ presence, and thus the Inquisition have been increasing their presence within the Duchy and I had feared this Message would have been intercepted by their agents. The elimination of them should give ourselves room to breathe and if your Otherworlder friends are willing enough to wipe them out rather than allow them to flee further North then the Tomhas shall be grateful. Do also avoid the Village of Egni above all else even if it is the most convenient of routes to pass. I have heard that the Inquisition has been making their shadow known the heaviest around that small town above all else, that I am not complaining. The other roads should be clear albeit will take your journey much longer to reach us.

If all goes well with our parley with these Otherworlders you speak off we may finally have the strength to be rid of the Inquisition once and for all.

Until then, we shall see you very soon.

– Brother Yurgeor Duinnioth

“Kayin my dear!” Iris turned to her Night Man. “I have something for you!” she held the letter tightly on her hand and raced towards him.

For Iris cold heart had felt a new warmth.

The approaching warmth of being able to begin again.

[-]

The grand orc.h.e.s.tra of battle wailed loudly as tribespeople fought in vain to contain these repulsive monsters with their bows, wooden spears, spell and stone weapons but to no avail. The Southern Frontier’s tribes of wayward humans, orcs, Leo-Kin and Gaith had fought, dabbled and raided amongst each other for resources for millennia. Very few times however, they would unite to fight off against the new coming Slaegian Invaders from the north who settled by the mouth’s ends of their many rivers with their colonies.

And yet even fewer tribes had the ability to conjure or perhaps tame such implacable monstrosities. As if blessed by whatever form of shamanistic magicks that their profane pantheon had bestowed upon them, the Orcish tribe was known as the Mogoi. These warriors, famed for their light-footed soldiers combined with the pure strength of their warriors were aided by these alien constructs and divine demigods that blasted magicks onto the Gaith Tribe known as the Balu. These two tribes were the fiercest of rival, locked eternally in bitter conflict for control of the canyon’s wealth of fresh running water. The Blue Horns rely on their weapons and traps to fend off the Mogoi whilst the Orcs in contrast rely on sacrifices, divinations from their patron deity, and frenzy-inducing narcotics to fuel their aggression. For generational cycles un-counting, the two tribes fought each other into a deadlock…

Until today.

Rumor had whispered earlier those days from the Balu’s scouts of the religious Mogoi devotees speak of their patron Goddess ‘descending’ unto their cave homes in a physical manifestation. With Shakkar and an army of her heralds called War Aspects by their side, the Mogoi formed into a Great Heathen Horde in impassioned numbers. A few days afterward, they pressed their attack on the Balu devastating all they come in contact with. Try as the Gaith’s might, there were overwhelmed by the combined Orcish and Demi-God’s tide. The War Aspects sported unusual black staves that the Mogoi called ‘Fire Branches’ that spat molten metal through their bodies without honor and without thought, all fueled by amassed violence forcing many of their pre-made battle formations and defenses to scatter. Those that survive the initial magical barrage were no match for the Orc Warriors themselves who closed the distance and manage to thin their loosened numbers further in the hand-to-hand combat of which the larger and taller Mogoi held the advantage against the lighter sized Gaith.

It didn’t take long for the Balu’s own home settlement, merely wooden stakes to defend thatched houses to be demolished by the Mogoi. The Gaith warriors began to lose heart when they saw their village, families and their possessions became the target of their aggressor’s ire in an orgy of despoilation. The Balu Village was set ablaze and its defeated inhabitants pressed into the blade, the chain, and the centuries of inter-tribal frustration now concluded by their humiliating domination.

The Chief of the village, a Gaith Elder who sported a coal beard was brought forth to the triumphant Orc Leader and his divine-like supporters.

“This land belongs to the Heralds of the Los Rayos and their Chosen People: the Mogoi!” The Raid’s Leader gloated.

“The other tribes will soon hear of this! They will all stop you!” the Elder said.

“You… fool! The Goddess Shakkar blessed… her children, the Mogoi with powers beyond your… insipid imagination!” the Rayos bellowed. The figure then turned to the Orc who bowed, allowing his feet to be quaked by War Aspects steps. “Here…” the masked figure handed him over

“One of your Fire Branches of the Goddess that you wield!” the Orc Leader said. “It is… a smaller one.” He remarked.

The Demi-God’s hands guided the Orc to wield the black branch towards the conquered Balu Elder.

“You wanted vengeance against him. Of how he killed your brother right? Now do it.” the Demi-God said. “The Matriarch of the Storm, Shakkar is watching you now aspirante… do not disappoint her.” the War Aspect leered.

The Orc smiled, now his most hated foe now lies at his mercy. Egged on by his Goddesses’ Heralds, he aimed the Fire Branch onto the Gaith.

The Gaith closed his eyes, a single tear fell on his cheek as he submitted to his fate.

A loud crack followed by the lamentations of the now enslaved Gaith filled the air as the last vestiges of the Balu Tribe were devoured within a single day.