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Board & Conquest 11: Night Festival
🕑 Added 2025-01-07 09:22:33 +0000 UTC------
Wepwawet believed in treating prisoners well.
In his experience, yesterday’s enemies could become tomorrow’s allies depending on circumstances. The magmorians’ decision to invade his lands to solve their overpopulation issue, while short-sighted and deplorable, was somewhat understandable and minor in the grand scheme of things. Wepwawet’s mission was to help Elphion prepare to fend off the titans first and foremost; a task which mortal conflicts interfered with.
Henceforth, he would rather find a diplomatic solution to the magmorian raids and thought he had found one in Jasper.
The raider and his crew’s survivors had been model prisoners since their capture, besides refusing to give up any information on their superiors’ plans. They hadn’t made any effort to break out of their makeshift cells in the mines—a set of barricades Wepwawet summoned to enclose a tunnel turned into an improvised detention center—although they could have easily tried. Wepwawet had kept a close eye on them in case the magmorians and their kobold allies were simply biding their time, but he had come to the conclusion that the thought of a prison riot hadn’t even crossed their leader’s mind.
Jasper was the rarest kind of fool: both loyal and true to his word. Wepwawet had promised he would ensure the safety of the magmorian’s crew if he surrendered, and so did he. The end.
I guess that’s why he has the potential to become a Champion in the first place, Wepwawet thought. His scimitar’s power wouldn’t have worked for a common mortal. A few of his followers sent prayers my way, and I’ve laid the groundwork for peaceful coexistence with my people. Let’s give diplomacy a go.
Wepwawet materialized his spirit in the magmorians’ prison tunnel, startling a handful of kobolds. Jasper, who had been sitting in a corner, simply raised his head under the glow of a torch. He had grown used to the deity visiting them at inopportune times.
“Our jailer comes again,” Jasper said with a grunt. “How do you and that witch teleport around, wolf-lord?”
“Do you ask a bird how it flies, mortal?” Wepwawet crossed his arms. “I did not come for questions today, Jasper.”
“To mock us then?”
Was that how mortals saw him? Someone insecure enough to bully prisoners so he could feel better about himself? The only person Wepwawet had anything to prove to was his dad and no one else!
“Some of you have prayed to me, and I’ve decided to answer,” Lord Wepwawet replied. Jasper glared at a handful of his kobold followers, who meekly looked down in shame. “Do not be ashamed! I’m the god of these lands, but I can be your god too!”
Jasper glared at him in response, his eyes burning with a blasphemous kind of courage. “If you expect us to bow to you, then you’re gravely mistaken! We’ll only answer to our beloved Fire Sultan Onyx!”
“But you don’t have to betray your country, or even fight mine,” Wepwawet replied. Or at least, he hoped so. “Here is my offer, Jasper of Lavaland: I’ll let you and your men return home with the solemn oath that you will carry a message from me to both your leader and population.”
Jasper’s head perked up in surprise. “A message?”
“Yes.” Wepwawet marked a short pause for drama’s sake before continuing. “Should some of you magmorians agree to become citizens of Verglane and obey its laws, I would be willing to allow them to peacefully settle in our magma chamber.”
Gasps spread around the tunnel, none louder than Jasper’s own. “Is this a joke?”
“Are you serious, Lord Wepwawet?” a kobold asked in disbelief, and his commanding officer was too shocked to admonish him for showing respect to an enemy deity.
“You bet I am! I’ll welcome anybody willing to join my flock, even magmorians, and it’s not like we can even use the magma chamber anyway!” Wepwawet nodded to himself. “If you magmorians are genuine in your desire to solve your overpopulation issue and not mere raiders fighting under a pretense to conquer territory, then this should settle our territorial dispute easily enough! We’ll welcome all law-abiding citizens as our own and take the burden off your nation!”
“That would be treason!” Jasper retorted angrily. “You would have us magmorians renounce our vows to our homeland and sultan for, for…” He spat lava at Wepwawet’s feet. “For a roof over our heads?!”
His father Set would have likely smote Jasper where he stood for this disrespect, but Wepwawet needed him alive too much to indulge in such a thing. Hence he answered his aggression with calm and reason. “So you do fight for greed and conquest rather for your people’s wellbeing, Jasper of Lavaland? Do you want more of your people to die for nothing?”
The last sentence caused Jasper to wince as if he had been slapped. His guilt remained plain to see.
“You can’t expect to walk into our lands and conquer them without consequences,” Wepwawet warned him. “You’ve experienced for yourself what a true war between us would mean for your people. I am offering them a chance to settle peacefully, for a price; one paid in homages and vows rather than lives.”
“Your people will never accept us,” Jasper replied grimly. “Not after we attacked them.”
“They certainly won’t if you keep attacking, that’s for sure, and I agree that peace will be difficult,” Wepwawet conceded. “But I am offering your people a chance to try. What would it cost you?”
This proposal was a win-win scenario in Wepwawet’s mind. Either the likes of this General Peridot and Fire Sultan Onyx would at least be forced to pretend to be willing to negotiate a peaceful solution, which will give Wepwawet time to prepare, or they would reveal Lavaland’s actions as a naked power grab for its soldiers and Verglane’s civilians alike; and if the magmorians were smart enough to take the deal, then he would avoid a war entirely.
Yes, incorporating magmorian settlers would cause issues due to clashing cultural identities and past resentment, but Wepwawet was confident he could smooth things over time. The Egyptian Empire wasn’t built in a day!
The magmorians would have to be really stupid to say no, and even Jasper seemed to understand this as he pondered Wepwawet’s offer. He reminded the god of a bear tempted to ransack a beehive, struggling between the fear of being stung and the urge to claim that sweet honey…
“An oath…” Jasper observed Wepwawet for a moment in an attempt to assess him. “What guarantees do you have that we won’t go against our word the moment we’re out of your grasp?”
“Then you will only add the shame of oath-breaking to your name, on top of that of losing your men in a pointless battle you were tricked into waging by a third party,” Wepwawet replied calmly. “You’ve shown honor when surrendering to spare your men. I will thus give you a chance to redeem yourself by serving as peace’s messenger.”
And if the carrot wasn’t enough, then Wepwawet would use the stick. His spirit leaned over the magmorian with eyes shining with mana.
“However, beware that you’ll also learn first-hand the punishment of angering a god should you prove deceitful!” Wepwawet warned him with a thunderous voice that shook the very earth around them. “Mark my word, Jasper of Lavaland: should your people insist on attacking mine after I extended them an olive branch, then I won’t show them any mercy either!”
Jasper leaned back against the mine wall, being too proud to show fear but not foolish enough to ignore the obvious threat. “I…” he cleared his throat, exhaling smoke. “I have one question.”
“Oh?” This aroused Wepwawet’s curiosity. “Which one?”
Jasper hesitated a moment before daring to speak up. “What’s an olive branch?”
A long and unbearably embarrassing silence followed. Wepwawet stared at Jasper dead in the eyes, trying to figure out whether or not the magmorian was messing with him… only to realize that no, he was genuinely clueless.
Did olives even exist in this world?
“It’s a metaphor,” Wepwawet replied simply, hoping to stop the embarrassing conversation right there and now.
Unfortunately, this only confused Jasper further. “A metaphor for what?”
“For peace and reconciliation.”
“What does a branch have to do with either?” Jasper asked in disbelief. “Trees live to burn!”
“Are you questioning a god’s wisdom, mortal?!” Wepwawet snapped in annoyance. What did his teachers say to avoid embarrassing mortal inquiries? Ah yes, being cryptic. “Meditate on this lesson, for redemption will be within your grasp the day you understand it!”
“Red… redemption?” The very word seemed to give Jasper pause. “I could regain my honor?”
“Of course you can,” Wepwawet insisted while suppressing a sigh of relief. The magmorian, thankfully, looked too deep into his thoughts to question him further. He had managed to save face! “So will you take my offer, Jasper of Lavaland?”
Jasper glanced at his troops, then nodded in assent. “I shall deliver your message, Wolf-Lord. I cannot guarantee my people will listen, but… you have my word.”
Perfect! Now all Wepwawet had to do was send a proper escort to ensure they followed through with their promise. Goreville would do, as the werewolf knew the surrounding land like the back of his paw and should prove worthy of the newly discovered relic.
Wepwawet turned his divine attention away from the cave and towards Goreville, who should be sparring with Victoire at this hour. He was fine with his followers settling their differences with friendly competition, especially since it helped them train. He expected to find the two having a private match in the spirit of camaraderie…
Instead, he found half of Narc gathered in its newly made central plaza, jeering and shouting as Victoire’s spear clashed with Goreville’s sword.
W-What were they doing?!
You couldn’t leave mortals unattended for five minutes!
—------
Sharp claws hit her silver spear and sent sparks flying in all directions.
The blow nearly forced Victoire back, but she quickly pivoted and thrust her weapon at Goreville. The werewolf chieftain swiftly dodged with inhuman agility, his muscles rippling with the power granted to him by the faint moonlight above. He tried to move to the side to flank and engage her in close combat. Victoire saw it coming and forced him back with a swing of her spear.
He’s stronger than I am and we’re about equal in speed, but I’ve more experience, Victoire thought as her rival circled her in an attempt to find an opening. The moonlight granted Goreville a noticeable surge in his physical skills and his warrior instincts showed, but she could tell he never trained as intensively as she did. We’re evenly matched.
Now if only she could focus without all the shouting!
“Kick her ass, Goreville!” A crowd of werewolves howled together all at once. “Crush her!”
“Victoire!” Other werelings shouted back so loudly that Renarde’s ‘ambiance song’ was now barely audible. “Victoire, Victoire, Victoire!”
Even Filou, who could never stand up for himself, found a new source of courage to defend her honor. “Don’t give up, Milady!” he shouted even louder than the werewolves, raising a banner with her name badly painted on it from atop Lourson’s shoulders. “Make him swallow his sword!”
The crowd gathered to observe the fight now formed a thick ring around the fighters, jeering or praising their chosen Champions. Coins changed hands in the blink of an eye, alcohol flowed, and Victoire was already sick of it all.
One witness, Victoire thought in annoyance. We said one witness each, no more. How did it come to this?
She only had a vague idea. It first started with the elders of Goreville’s pack coming to witness their chieftain’s fight as per tradition, which encouraged Filou to go around town and gather a handful of supporters for Victoire, which in turn caused Mistouffe to hear about the event and then tell everyone—before promptly selling food and drinks to the audience, of course—and then things completely spiraled out of control from there.
“This is getting tiresome,” Victoire complained while looking for an opening.
Goreville let out a sigh. He shared her annoyance. “I’m sorry,” he said before grinning ear to ear, his fangs shining in the moonlight. “Guess I’ll have to finish this quickly then.”
“Same.” Victoire decided to cut to the chase and call upon the power of ice Lord Wepwawet granted her. Cold winds swirled around her spear. “Come at me, if you dare.”
He did.
Goreville lunged for her throat in a startling dash of speed that took Victoire aback. The werewolf closed the gap between them in an instant, his sword singing as its steel cut through the air.
He’s faster! Victoire pulled back and quickly adjusted her position. The wolf bastard tried to lull her into a false sense of security by going easy on her earlier. Cunning!
They agreed on ending the spar at first blood, so Victoire guessed Goreville would try to strike at her exposed areas first: namely her head and throat. Hence she wagered everything on moving back her upper body while thrusting her spear forward to throw him off his aim.
Her gambit paid off. Goreville’s sword narrowly missed her cheek, while her spear pushed against his chest. The werewolf quickly stepped to the left in an attempt to dodge…
Only for Victoire’s spear to veer off there at the last second.
Goreville’s eyes widened in surprise. “A fei–”
Victoire’s spear grazed his shoulder and covered him in ice.
Victoire had found through her training that her newfound magic could often erupt into a burst of frost, and so it did tonight. Swirling winds encased Goreville in a thin layer of ice that paralyzed him in place and turned him into a living statue. The werewolf barely had time to blink before the process utterly consumed him.
Gasps and cheers spread across the crowd from the fighters’ respective supporters. The werewolves stared in disbelief at their defeated chieftain while Filou and Victoire’s allies shouted her name to the sky.
After taking a second to catch her breath, Victoire hit Goreville’s face with her spear’s shaft and broke the ice before he could suffocate. The werewolf gasped for air upon freeing his head, then immediately glanced at his shoulder. A thick drop of blood remained frozen there as proof of his defeat.
“You fought well,” Victoire congratulated him. Few warriors managed to push her in a one-on-one duel.
Goreville grunted in defeat. Victoire could see that a part of him wished to continue the fight, but his warrior’s pride wouldn’t let him break his word. “My best wasn’t good enough.”
“I was trained to fight since I could walk, and enjoy divine gifts,” Victoire replied before breaking the rest of the ice with her spear. Goreville quickly freed himself, though his imposing confidence was gone. “It could have gone either way.”
“No, it couldn’t have. If you could already match me in battle while the moonlight blessed me with its strength, then you’re simply better.” Goreville growled in anger, most of it targeted at himself. “It’s a new feeling, defeat… I do not like it.”
A rush of pity coursed through Victoire. She saw the way Goreville’s werewolf followers exchanged glances between themselves. A leader so shamed in front of his troops would face contestation. She couldn’t find it in herself to rejoice over this outcome.
Victoire tensed up upon sensing hostility from Goreville’s followers. A few of the werewolves glared at her and pointed at her enchanted spear. She could already tell that they were accusing her of cheating. She tightened her grip on her weapon as younger werewolves pushed their fellow supporters aside in an attempt to reach her and Goreville…
A bolt of lightning struck the arena, startling everyone. The towering figure of Lord Wepwawet’s spirit materialized in between the duelists.
“There is no shame in defeat, Goreville,” he said with his arms crossed. “Only in failure to learn from it.”
“My lord?” Goreville immediately bent the knee, as did Victoire. “Were… were you watching?”
“I was. I am pleased with both of your performances.” Lord Wepwawet turned a severe gaze at the crowd. “And less so with everyone else!”
His sharp rebuke silenced everyone, with most werelings kneeling in response. The deity’s gaze first settled on Goreville’s followers, none of whom dared to meet his eyes.
“Snowsteps, do not look down on a warrior who fought for your honor! Especially one who dared to face the sting of silver which you all fear!” Lord Wepwawet then turned to Victoire’s supporters to shame them next. “And the rest of you should not rejoice either! Goreville is as much your defender as any other Champion, and I shall prove it here with this!”
He waved his shimmering hand at Goreville, and a most exquisite relic appeared around the werewolf’s neck: a brilliant golden torc with sapphire eyes shining brighter than the stars. Victoire was no mage, yet she sensed the power radiating from the treasure nonetheless.
“This torc belonged to a great werewolf hero whom I allowed to use my name long ago,” Lord Wepwapwet declared. “I entrust you with it, Goreville, just as I offered a sacred weapon to Victoire.”
“Me?” Goreville choked in surprise and began to stammer, gazing at the relic in shock. “Lord Wepwawet, I… I am not worthy of this gift. I have doubted your word by challenging your chosen prophet.”
“And will you doubt my choice again by denying this gift?” Lord Wepwawet countered with an amused smile. “I clearly have more faith in you than you have in me!”
“No, I…” Goreville choked in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Just take the gift,” Victoire said bluntly. “Don’t you see now? You never had anything to prove.”
Goreville finally, finally realized he always had his god’s approval as much as Victoire herself; and that them being equal in his eyes did not diminish him either. The werewolf lowered his head in penance and immediately apologized. “Forgive me for doubting you, Lord Wepwawet,” he said. “You too, Victoire. You are a true warrior and worthy of respect.”
“That’s more like it!” Lord Wepwawet nodded to himself and raised his hands to the sky. “I declare this night to be the Holy Day of Friendship! Feast as friends and comrades upon my sacred food!”
The god summoned a rain of lettuce upon his followers, who all rejoiced as one people; much to Victoire’s relief.
Everything ended well.
—-------
Phew, crisis averted!
They had come this close to a riot. By the time the match concluded, Wepwawet had noticed a few werewolves in the crowd whispering to themselves that Victoire’s ice magic was cheating and were preparing to contest the result by force. He had been reminded too many times about the dangers of sports-related conflicts not to intervene.
That was why gods were forbidden from introducing football to primitive civilizations. It never ended well.
The lettuce rain cost Wepwawet some mana, but it brought peace for a time and reinforced his image as a fair ruler. He would then follow through by sending Goreville on his first official mission tomorrow to escort Jasper and his men in one fell stroke.
Wepwawet was busy congratulating himself for his masterstroke when a system notification showed up out of nowhere.
You have declared the 21st of April LCE (Local Calendar Equivalent) as your first Festival.
You can select up to three Festivals spread out across the year, each of them set in stone; during these celebrations, your daily mana yield and what you receive from sacrifices will be doubled for 24 hours.
New Quest: Holy Days, Holidays!
Choose three dates to serve as your Festivals.
Reward: Doctrine Miracle.
Oh? Oh, that was new! Holy days never had any special power in the standard system and Wepy’s teachers mostly suggested adding them for social reasons. He wouldn’t spit on more mana…
Wait.
Wait, did the notification say sacrifices?
Living beings sacrificed at your Idol and Altars will grant you a point of mana based on the sacrifice’s Rank (minimum 0). Mindless creatures or entities summoned by Miracles do not provide anything.
Oh.
Oh, well… Well that’s good to know, I suppose. Wepwawet had no intention of following through with it though. Sacrificing his followers wasn’t even an option in his mind, and doing that to his enemies would send a very bad message. The temporary mana boost he could expect wouldn’t make up for the sheer loathing and fear his religion would inspire in everyone else. Finally, the likes of chickens and most animals had no Rank to speak of, so they wouldn’t bring him anything.
His followers should thank the gods that he wasn’t born an Aztec.
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A/N: only Blood & Fur readers will understand that last joke.
Comments
George R
Amazing chapter
Void Herald
The olive prophecy will become a huge running gag ;) and corrected, thanks!
Publius Decius Mus
> The only person Wepwawet had anything to prove to was his dad and no one else! I feel you, Wepy! I can already see the Magmorian Wepwawet-sects having schism after schism about the true meaning of the parable about the olive branches. > Wepwawet turned his divine attention away from the cave and towards Goreville, who should be sparing Sparring should be two r, I think.
