by Kell Inkston
“My ears hear true, but my heart denies ... Oa, the lord of the necromancers, the first of the undying?” he asks, putting aside his reading, and leaning in.
“If that’s the case, then the necromancers could be mobilizing,” Order notes.
“Verily, then, it must be approaching us at the one time our kind holds in the greatest admiration, The High Tea of the first realmlings,” Pitch states with wide eyes.
“Aye, ‘tis quite the ordeal,” a voice speaks from aside the room. Everyone looks over to see Gallin, the courtly advisor.
The dwarf, fairly tall for his race, stands upright with an iron like posture, covered in part by his long, bright red, expertly-braided, generic-dwarf beard. He moves forward with a sturdy, quiet walk. In his hand is a half-filled tankard, which he puts aside the moment he steps up to the table in the middle of the room.
“Ahh, good Gallin. He who owns my ear in every ordeal worthwhile. Be ye aware of our visitors, our accomplices in this business of peace?” Pitch asks, nodding over to Order. Gallin nods slowly, keeping a sharp eye on Law, who frowns.
“Aye, indeed I am. I canna’ help but overhear the mention of necromancers,” he notes quietly, locking his gaze over to Order.
“That’s right. They attacked me and my assistant knight down in your very own death halls. It was lying in wait,” Law says, labeling himself the current expert on the situation.
The dwarf crosses his stout arms. “I see. So, hrm, Knight Law, was it?”
“... Yes.”
“I am curious. Have you brought any proof of the corpse’s identity?” he asks with a subtle rising of the brow. Law scoffs.
“Well of course! All we need to do is go on down there and ... well … damn.”
“Pardon me, mate?”
Law averts his gaze in disgust. “…I don’t have any proof.”
“Oh, but you killed it, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So why is there no evidence to present the people? Won’t they be suspicious of a cover up?” the dwarf says, stroking his beard as he leads Law along the obvious route.
“I burned it, to a crisp.”
Gallin smirks crassly. “Aye, as expected of your kind, so prone to emotion,” he says, winning a quick rise from Law.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You Dragon-Bastards are incapable of logical discourse, mate. Yer all ignorant, blithering animals, capable of nothing else but killing n’-” Gallin stops short, hearing a disapproving hum from Pitch.
“Animals? Ironic coming from a dwarf,” Law breaths back, feeling a sudden rush for the taste of short blood.
“You got a problem with dwarves, mate?” Gallin asks with a wide smile. Law looms over the dwarf, making the difference in stature blatantly clear.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Law spits, burning fumes wafting from in-between his fortress of teeth.
“Oh, and what’s this?” a calm, collected voice rings from the main hall. Everyone looks again to find Love and Lain.
“Don’t intervene, Knight Love. This local needs to appreciate why we’re here.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, honestly,” Love says gently. “You should relax. We have a pretty important job to do, you know.”
“Stay out of this! You’ve always been in my way!” Law snaps as his eyes whiten with rage.
Love coos gracefully. “Mmm, no, I don’t think that’s quite right, Mister tough guy Law.”
Rayull draws back in shock, as if struck by an invisible force. “Don’t mock me!”
“Oh, and why not? Such impolite demeanor towards foreign diplomats is something worth mo-”
“You didn’t hear what he said about me, about my kind!”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re failing in your duty to be a respectful and reserved Knight of Reinen,” Love notes back amidst the shocked onlookers.
“And let this bearded turd disrespect my kind?”
She takes a deep breath, as if expecting something. “You earn respect by being an example, Hosy. You’re quite wro-”
Love is silenced as Law promptly slaps her across the face. The fairies draw jolt in shock, and Order gets up to her feet. She’s usually pretty lax with her inferiors, but this too much for even the most loose-handed of commanders.
“Knight Law, stand at attent-” Order is halted, as Love raises up her finger for time. Love, showing no signs of discomfort, looks up to Law, and Law down to her. There is a short pause, and then Love gestures with her head for Law to come step out with her.
“I’ll be just a moment, you all. I have some fairly disturbing news to present with my investigation,” Love says, putting others in front of the mission as she usually does. A moment of intense silence passes, and then the two step out of the room, walking down the hall as Law tries to regain his calm. Gallin scoffs.
“Dragonlings- No one told me the knights would be dragging one here,” he says.
“You should be more careful with them, Gallin. They take a good deal of pride in their race, faults and all,” Order says, retaking her seat.
“I do as I please, ambassador knight. Unlike you, I have extensi-” Gallin halts his speech, hearing a snicker from Tylvania, and a scoff from Pitch. Order sighs, and waits to be identified. “I-if I may ask my rulers just what is the matter?”
Pitch nods like a father to the dwarf. “Good Gallin, surely the drink weighs heavy on your mind, otherwise you would recognize the woman in front of you being gallant Order, slayer of ... the number of twelve during the wars of great blood, if I’m correct,” Pitch explains, referring to Order’s hand in the extermination wars.
“Fourteen, actually,” Order corrects, looking away. Seven thousand years and it’s still unclear if you’re supposed to correct someone if they’re incorrect when speaking your praise.
Gallin’s expression lightens with fear and admiration.
“O-of ... oh! Order! My greatest apologi- eh well. I had no idea it was you ... you know, without your armor and Monument drawn I eh ... had no idea you were so ...”
“You can be honest,” she allows.
“... Tall?” he says, quickly attempting flattery.
Order smirks, finally having been called “tall” by a dwarf, something on her secret mental bucket list that is now thousands of items in length. “By the standards of some; thank you, and yes, it is me. Redemption sent me specifically on the chance that Chaos might be involved, though that doesn’t look like the case anymore,” she explains, wondering how Gallin keeps his job being smashed by drink as much as he is.
Pitch sighs.
“Well there’s a matter in the essence of that thought. We still haven’t evidence great enough to outweigh the doubt of our people, especially the court of the forest, who seem all too sure of your many kingdom’s piece in this,” Pitch says.
“We’ll have to wait and see what Love has to offer. She’s done this sort of thing a few times. That aside, Oa and its necromancers are currently our most likely suspects, we’ll have to prepare for the chance that it’ll pay us a visit ... although I’ve never seen it in person myself,” Order says.
“Aye, few have, even less left living to tell of it,” Gallin states, attempting to redeem himself in the conversation after mistaking Order as a common knight.
“Let us be still then and hold time in eager regard as we await the arrival of your companions,” Tylvania suggests, waving toward the chess board. The others agree, but just before Order makes her next move, Love returns.
“Law offers his utmost apologies for his brash behavior, and will return after he’s paid some time in deep consideration of his decisions. Now then, my news,” Love re-greets, the singed-red mark of the slap still bright across her face. The others exchange glances and look back at Love.
“Necromancers?” Order asks.
Love draws back with put-on surprise. “Oh! How ever did you guess?”
“Law had the same matter. How’s Lain?�
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“Fine, he’s waiting outside now.”
“Did you, perchance, catch it alive?” Gallin butts in. Love hums in thought.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say ‘catch’ but it probably is still alive.”
“... Probably? Lass, we need it alive as proof of the Western Kingdom’s innocence. Without the necromancer, I doubt Pitch will be able to persuade the people it was not of human treachery,” Gallin says with a stern expression. Love bites her thumb in thought.
“Oh, that so?” She asks, nail still in her mouth.
The Lord Knight General crosses her arms and squints a perceptive eye. Love is definitely her best friend, but over the years she’s realized that Love’s also capable of more ridiculous bullshit than anyone or anything in the Omniverse. “Where exactly did you put it, Meeo?” Order asks, pretty sure of the answer, but asking in the hope she didn’t actually.
Love hums cutely, looking away in embarrassment. “I suppose I may have allowed it into Everlo-”
“Damn,” exclaims Order as Love peeps with an awkward tone, “looks like we don’t have much to go on, then,” Order says, tapping the table nervously. Love lets out a light, humorous sigh.
“Well, actually, I could just enter Everlock myself and get it,” she offers, quickly sharpening the expression of concern on Order’s face.
“This isn’t the time for jokes, Meeo.”
“Oh, I’m quite serious.”
Order’s expression darkens. “You’d be killed.”
“I know it’s connected to a lower minus space, but to try and have me kick ol’ buckeroo would probably be better than starting another war,” Love says with a gentle, expectant smile, knowing precisely what to say to her old friend. Order pauses a moment amidst the group; the others have no idea what the two are talking about, but it sounds intense.
“Alright, good luck. Many lives are at stake, so I suppose you have a-… Good luck again, Meeo Letlind. Thank you.” Order says simply. She knows she couldn’t stop Love even if she were to command her not to go; Love does as she pleases when her mind’s set on it.
Love nods curtly. “Well then, no time like the present,” she says as she pulls out Everlock, causing expressions of awe from among the fairy folk who have never seen someone with a door in their pocket. She steps over to a position in the room that would not endanger the others, and turns to Order as she steps in front of the door.
“Ranalie,” Love addresses with perfect confidence, looking from the side of the door to her commander. There is a slight pause, and then she speaks.
“Yes?” Order says.
“Do me a favor and take care of Law for me, won’t you? Just in case something happens to me. He’s pretty buttery on the inside.”
Order looks down to her drink, then back up. “... Yeah.”
“Take care, then,” Love says with a joking smile, expecting this to be more of a minor inconvenience than a life or death situation; though her old friend feels differently. Order’s never heard of someone walking in and out of minus-space dimensions; she’d be beside herself to find that Love’s done it in secret quite a few times.
Order quickly gets up and promptly steps over to her friend. Ranalie hugs Meeo, and buries her face into her shoulder.
“I- ... I would prefer you didn’t go,” Order says, unsure of the dangers her friend will face. Love embraces Order in turn, and delivers a wide, almost motherly smile, as if dealing with a child afraid of something as simple as swimming in a low pool.
“Oh, you. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just one life for many, a pretty nice trade I’d say. I promise I’ll do the best I can to get the necromancer back here to impress everyone and make sparkles, okay?” Love says with a complete peace radiating from her. Order’s eyes, holding a deep blue at this moment, shimmer as she nods.
“I’ll miss you ... if you, you know,” Order says, holding her very oldest friend.
Love nods with a smile, starting to lose patience. “I swear, you can kill overlords but little things like this worry you all that much? Golly, Ran, you’re a piece of work sometimes,” Love says with a good-humored tone.
Order sighs and releases Meeo from her embrace. “Take care, Meeo.”
“And you, Ranalie,” Love says as Order steps away from the door. Love winks at the crowd, and then turns to face the door.
Love takes a deep breath, readies her hand and then, in an instant, opens the door, leaps in before she is assaulted by the unfathomable masses that await at the other side, and closes it shut behind her. Everlock stands vigilant, waiting for its next entrant. There is a short silence, and then Order looks over to the others. Her grasp tightens around the stem of her wineglass, she didn’t even put it down to say goodbye.
“I suppose we should also discuss what we’ll do in case she doesn’t return,” Order says blankly. Pitch shakes his head.
“Nay, good knight; the hour grows late. Let us settle in our backs into their holders and dream upon its entirety. I will send out fairies to bid your knights to their cloth-bound chambers. Be you amiable to such plea?” Pitch asks, knowing Order well enough to guess she’ll need some time to get over this. Order puts down her glass, and straightens herself.
“Yeah, you’re right ... thank you.”
“Ever a pleasure to please,” Pitch says with an optimistic smile. Order turns to the chess board to finish, and moves in her queen, slaying Tylvania’s queen and check-mating the king into her own pawns. Tylvania sighs, and shakes Order’s hand as the two call it match.
The guests of Liefholn Keep rest for the night, with the seeming exception of Love, a wannabe Order, and a few rather-chained minions.
Chapter Eleven: Being a Knight
Around this time, perhaps a bit before, perhaps a bit after, Lain walks the block around the keep, eyes peeled to take in the sights and sounds of Liefland at his own pace. He looks over a group of giggling fairy children, huddled around a point on the block as they craft colorful paper lanterns with the help of an aged fairy woman. He sees a dutiful pair of dwarves signing off a trade deal with an ent— trusting, friendly gazes and chatter steaming from both parties as the documents are exchanged. He even spots an astute-looking elf perusing a pair of wooden crafts formed by the hands of none other than an orc, who is relaxing in his chair reading a book on pottery. It’s a blissful scene— but every now and then, a fairy will look over him in passing; they’ll recognize that he’s human and frown.
All around him are the characteristics of bliss— a vibrant peace that pervades every soul who walks the street under Liefland’s colorful lamplights. He feels like he’s invading, somewhat, as if he were reading a novel and looking in on the finer lives of others- filled with just enough adventure, just enough discourse, just enough romance to make any other reality seem dull by comparison.
It’s a curious feeling, and its one that he’s all too well accustomed.
He takes a seat on a bench and folds into himself pathetically. All these years of hearing stories of Liefland from his parents, and now that he’s here, the inhabitants look down on him. It's as though he’s an unsightly blot of ink upon the long, flowery paragraphs of fairy life, something that detracts from their day, rather than improves it.
A nearby mother fairy stands in the square along with her child. Lain smiles and nods towards the child’s curious gaze, but once she has seen his human features, she takes up the little boy’s hand, murmurs something into his ear, and swiftly ushers him away.
He couldn’t hear the full sentence, but he very clearly discerned the word “bastard”. Lain realizes that his neck is still visible, the glowing mark of Algandar’s Syndrome glinting faintly with the proof of forbidden love.
Lain covers his neck, gets up and enters the nearest tavern with his head down.
The tavern’s a lively place. A joyous harvest-time jig fills the room by the hands of a trio of fairy folk, each a different race and each with a different instrument in hand. Lain slowly merges
into the warm fairy bar, looking for somewhere to sit when he spots a spectacled Spirakandrin boy downing a dwarven stout- Dresmond Ulveroth.
Lain takes the seat next to him. “Hey.”
Dresmond’s gaze draws to Lain sharply, quickly, a speed expected of a war survivor; a sort of nervous alertness that never quite disappears when out in public, especially in unfamiliar lands like this one. “Evening, Gainswold,” he greets.
“You’re off-duty too?”
“Technically, yes,” Dresmond says, looking back to his drink.
Lain nods and takes a moment to order the manliest-sounding drink on the list: 'The Bleeding Dragon'. “Lucky us that the drinking age is the same as it is back home, huh?” Lain says with a smirk, thinking back to the brief time he went with his parents to the Ulterian border to visit relatives and suddenly wasn’t allowed to drink.
Dresmond nods. “Yeah. I haven’t had a pint since I was deployed. It sucks because I should only have a couple.”
Lain nods again in agreement. “Yeah, we gotta be ready should the need arise.”
“So, what brings you here, Gainswold?” Dresmond asks with a bland, forward expression, staring at the drink shelves.
Lain shrugs. “Oh, you know. Did my job and Knight Love gave me leave. Thought I’d see the sights.” He says this with a businesslike, disinterested look about him that he assumes looks 'cool' to others.
“Alright. Well I’d be happy to share some drinks with y-” Dresmond stops as the bartender delivers Lain’s Bleeding Dragon; it's a small, fruity, pink liquid that has enchanted rainbow fizzles zipping out— one girly drink to rule them all.
Lain addresses the bartender with a look of pure horror. “Th…thanks,” he says bluntly, taking up the tiny-stemmed glass and looking over it.
Desmond, a boy with an appreciably-dry sense of humor formed from his time on the battlefield, raises his brows and looks back to his own drink. “A little something to light up the night, eh?” he notes in a way that sounds serious to the untrained ear.
Lain scoffs, spinning about the fabulously bright drink. “This? Yeah, you know, a girl let me finish hers once and I thought it was pretty tasty, actually. You know how it is…”
