AbyssalRoadTrip
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Fluid - 39
🕑 Added 2023-04-22 13:16:41 +0000 UTCThe terrain beneath my flight path oscillates between plains, swamps, and marshland. After the cliff outside the village, the most significant change in landscape is how deep the swamp water gets. I catch signs of the Lizardfolk hunting in the long grasses of the marshlands, whereas the Goblin tribes avoid them, sticking to the plains and wooded swamps. Though the far east coast is over a hundred kilometres away, skip teleporting means it doesn’t take long.
With only a vague idea of where the Isil territory starts, I take the same number of hops north before I slow the pace.
The wards’ song gives away their presence first rather than sighting a building or dock.
Despite that first Isil settlement being a village smaller than Apollo’s Reach, its wards give off a slow solid rumble from kilometres away. The vibrance of the energies presents a mixture of divine blessings and Wizard’s Mana at work.
Swooping in, I land at the southern end of a long shallow cove, far short of what I’d initially taken to be driftwood jutting from the shore. The dock isn’t as rough as I’d first thought; it just uses a minimal touch on the environment. Strands of magic obviate the need for pillars or foundations, keeping the dock straight despite floating on woven air bladders.
The harbour’s crystal clear waters allow a quartet of children to spearfish from the docks’ end, where it splays out across the water like a frond. Though the oldest is forty, the youngest is barely eight, and the others show him how to aim and avoid spooking the fish they’re targeting.
Perching in the upper branches of a red maple gives me a clear view across their floating dock and deeper into the community. Near the floating docks, the buildings start as open-sided treehouses stretching between multiple trees, almost like stilt houses I’d seen travelling other worlds. Further from the shore they become more substantial, and fortified structures coexist among the trees. Within the wards, their buildings seem to blend the Andúnë and Taurë approaches.
There aren’t any roads, only narrow pathways between buildings. Various individuals I spot have baskets floating in their wake. A mother with a young child walking before her uses a carved bird bobbing in the air—just out of reach—to keep the child’s attention and set their pace.
It's a relaxed scene, and my squawk makes me realise I’m laughing at a spike of envy. Most elven races—even those that get close to Human heights in their late teens—don’t consider their children to be adults until their late seventies. For some it was the century mark, yet I crunched my growing up into twenty years. My crazy rush to grow up had been no one’s decision but my own. With my skewed perspective, I’ll need to learn what makes for a real childhood one day.
With it being such a small community, I want more places where I can gather information. That desire makes it tempting to resume my Taurë form and find one of this community’s foraging teams, but I take to the air again and continue north.
I find two more, similar in their setup, before it's time to head back, including one at a river’s mouth with indications of at least one more upriver. Teleport sets me above the tower, and I spot groups of children heading towards the village.
Spiralling for a landing, I aim for a spot out of sight from the hall. Transforming back, I stop and listen to the children’s music, their themes sparking with electric notes. It sounds like four or five adventuring groups are in the dissection hall. Hopefully Taras has enough help to butcher everything they’ve brought in.
While the surrounding villages might not benefit from a transport Gate, the guild will need to do something with the volume of meat, hides, and alchemical herbs being brought in. I’ll need to chat with Edras and get a perspective on what they used to do, whether it was magical preservation or something else.
With no one in the banquet hall, I pick a spot along the hall’s side, away from the head table, and set my floor harp down. Playing an airy drifting melody evokes the feel of the air currents my teleports had skipped me between on my trip. Relaxing into the music, I consider my lessons in the theory of trade, and more questions arise than answers.
The village has such a limited production and trade base that nearly every option I can think of would need someone brought in. Aside from local stone masons, wood crafters, brewers, weavers, and smiths, they’re mostly fishing folk and farmers. Hiring elven crafters and getting them to teach any interested locals is an option, but that could get pushback from parents about taking children from their family’s business.
The discussion with the Grand Master the other day has me seeing the fluid nature of things I’d expected to be static. But just as shifting fluids within a body cause reactions from arteries and organs, I can see a kingdom as another living thing—its health counts on people, just as it should serve the people’s interests. Coin, goods, and trade need to flow in patterns that support all the communities within it, not leaving some isolated, desperate, and ignored.
All the ways things can go wrong have me slowing the music’s pace, turning it grim and stagnant. The shift in music causes Maition to shift uncomfortably on the seat he’s taken nearby while I practice. I let the song’s weight settle on him for a time before I still the strings.
“Not liking the composition, Maition?” I ask, without turning to look his way.
“The merriness drew my steps to the hall, but the piece turned sullen,” admits Maition.
Storing the harp, I swing around to face him. “Little alterations can sometimes make as much difference as major changes, in both the short and long term.”
His gaze barely narrows, but Maition’s focus narrows onto me. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?” I ask, wondering how many games they play between themselves.
“It’s your statement though, surely you know what you meant,” says Maition quietly, and he restrains a defensive tightening in his posture.
“I know what I meant by that, but how do you perceive it?” I ask and continue when his posture fractionally straightens. The question on his lips has me shifting forms from a male Dwarf into my Anar form, and then my claws dig into the soft grass when I become a Cat-folk.
“Appearance to me is a little thing. But how house crests are set in cloth completely changes how an Andúnë will address another. My flesh is merely clothing for my Soul and thus unimportant; it's what I wear, not who I am. How did my race shift your perception of my use of True Song?”
Maition freezes at the sudden question, and his tension eases off. “No one would have expected to meet an Anar. A Taurë with True Song was an impossibility, likely meaning an item was involved.“
“If I had been a Taurë with an item that I had recovered and wasn’t hurting anyone with, what would give you the right to seek it?”
“Even if you weren’t harming others with it, we needed to determine its limits and whether another could use it. What if a monster could take it from you and wipe out countries? Or should we sit by and leave it in your hands if you were mad?”
“Nice response, but none of those were why you came, were they?”
“You asked questions about my right to seek such an item. I answered what would justify such removal,” counters Maition.
“Why did you come along?” I ask, switching to my male Anar form I grow my hair out until it's a platinum curtain down my back, pooling on the floor.
“To further the School of the Arcane’s interests and counter my mother,” admits Maition. “Just as she has often worked to counter the school's interests and wrest control of certain aspects of the kingdom from us.”
“The song that attracted you and the one you found uncomfortable were fundamentally the same. I slowed the tempo, added more pressure on each string, and shifted its octave to a deeper tone.” I explain, and from the understanding in his gaze, my explanation was unnecessary. “You’ve had formal musical training?”
“My mother would have preferred I joined the tower,” advised Maition. “How long have you played the harp for?”
“Only ten years now, I’ve got a lot to learn. At present, the instrument is far better than my skill warrants,”
“Without the right training and equipment, natural talent can’t express fully,” asserts Maition, a sudden undercurrent in his tone.
“Do any of those elements give the School of the Arcane trouble?”
“Equipment and time to train. The singers focus on ritual magic, but it is the duty of those from the school to tend to the alerts their wards convey.”
“You said the other night that various arcane resources limit what you can create, but the artificers have their guild, correct?”
“The school determines the priority of what needs to be crafted; otherwise, the houses might distort the priority of the kingdom’s needs. The artificers and alchemists' guilds report to the school as the scribes and sages report to the tower. There are other smaller guilds, but those are primary ones that report to each,” recites Maition.
“Why do you split them up so much?”
Maition frowns. “It would dilute the prestige of the school’s members to have them associated with mere craftsmen.”
“Artificers need access to Mana.”
“They have no affinities and without proper materials can craft nothing, the same with alchemists,” argues Maition.
That alchemists can create magical potions expending no personal Mana and that an Artificer can put runes into nearly any material in the field—even monster bones or scales—seems an aspect he’s ignored. They can get more substantial results with better tools, and he takes it as an absolute that they need them.
“Did you study either?”
His frown softens in confusion. “Why? I’m a Wizard. I know what those classes can do without embarking upon them.”
“I know you’ve Wizard, Sage, and Andúnë Scion, the same classes Yngvarr started with. If you’d studied Artificer and Alchemist properly, you’d know the limited tools required to produce results,” I explain. “I’d suggest you ask Sarah to show you what’s possible with a claw and smoothed stones.”
“A Dragon’s claw would be considered a superb tool by many,” retorts Maition.
“I don’t believe either of us said Sarah was always a Dragon,” I counter. “Beyond Tier 7 Prestige classes, there is an identical Tier that also provides a species evolution. It takes a hundred levels in the classes included, and the best results are from combining four classes.”
Maition licks his lips and swallows almost convulsively. “Yngvarr reported about those, but he didn’t provide examples, so the school and tower dismissed the report.”
The same reaction from the Adventurers’ Guild and the Andúnë is hardly surprising. “Do you want my impression of what I’ve heard about the Andúnë guilds so far?”
“I’m not sure,” admits Maition.
“That’s fine.”
“What?!” Maition blurts.
Smiling, I shrug. “I’m not going to force you to listen. If you get curious, let me know, and we can discuss it and debate my viewpoint if you disagree. I might get conflicting information beforehand, and I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
“Most people, in my experience, ask a question like that right before lecturing,” states Maition.
“I’m not like most people,” I counter. No longer wanting to shake him, I transform again. My hair shortens into what my aunt Am calls a pixie cut, though I’ve never seen a fairy wearing the style, and I switch to an Anar female.
“Why do you keep changing forms?”
“Appearances are annoying me today; so many people want to judge by them that it's upsetting. I’m not trying to stabilise my form but letting my mood shift it.”
“You said you’re mother is Celestial. Is your father still alive?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“What would you be doing if we weren’t here?”
The question set me laughing, and he looks at me warily.
“Care to join me where I’d prefer to eat dinner?”
“That’s not what I meant. More than the dinners because you set a limit on the discussion due to your practice session.”
“Exploring the peninsula is stretching my capabilities. Part of the reason I am here is to retrieve something and get stronger,” I reply and wave my hands towards the tree. “The need for this and the time involved is annoying; it takes me away from developing a collaborative focus with my team. Though, speaking of those efforts, it was a nice collaborative show the other night with Litthor. Want to know what collaborative effort would have impressed me more?”
“What mistake did we make?”
“I spoke with the Taurë Royal couple today. That the Andúnë would contact a Taurë maiden—given the Andúnë’s court and delegation’s beliefs—without letting them know, was shocking.”
Maition almost knocks over the chair in his rush to stand. “I should go speak to a few people.”
The buzz running through him isn’t anxiety but excitement, and I wonder what factions have left themselves exposed.
“Go ahead, but please inform all the representatives. I think you’re seeing this from too narrow a perspective. When I discussed this with them, it reinforced existing Taurë beliefs about the Andúnë. It seems your people haven’t been doing themselves any favours with any species I’ve met.”
That news briefly freezes Maition, and he bows before he departs, the wind already taken from his sails.
It seems my body clock is off today, perhaps with all my jumping around and the excessive amounts of tea. Sarah arrives when I hear nervous songs approaching the hall.
“Where is everyone?”
Giving her a wink, I start pointing towards the closest song. “On their way, I let Maition know I’d spoken to the Taurë Royalty today.”
Sarah whistles softly, and I move towards the head table. “I thought you’d keep that up your sleeve.”
“Do you think the Andúnë court won’t receive something from the Taurë?”
“No idea; they’re very different people now,” allows Sarah.
It's a while before they all appear in the Hall, and their mood is sombre. Ellother eyes them all warily.
“Do any of you need to return to discuss things with your faction?”
Aerneth clears her throat and nods. “They informed me that the Taurë court didn’t believe our attempt to discuss your presence here.”
“Well, that seems to be false. I suggest we have some dinner, and everyone except Ellother can decide if they need to pack.”
“You’re dismissing us all?” gasps Tarlanc, and Litthor turns to look at him flatly.
I hadn’t planned for that, but it seems like a great opportunity.
“You’re welcome to leave,” I reply, but ensure I make eye contact only with Rúcinion, not buying his manoeuvre. “After all, your faction believes in your right to order the Andúnë and Isil around. If anything, this issue with the other courts being kept in the dark smells of your faction. Especially with your shallow attempt to get everyone sent home.”
“That wasn’t-”
The sour notes give him away, even though his expression remains composed. He cuts off when I lift a warning finger.
“You can either pack after dinner, or I can send you home now.”
“But-”
“Maition, will you show me an image of a location outside the capital’s wards?” I ask. “I don’t intend to make Tarlanc also travel from Inziladûn.”
Maition’s image appears as Tarlanc protests further.
Aerneth clears her throat. “I’d best leave with him if you send him to the capital. I want to head off the rumours he’ll start in person. Would I be welcome to return later?”
“I wouldn’t want to include you in his punishment, Aerneth; after dinner is soon enough,” I say and look at the other member of the Isolationist’s faction. “You don’t get to stay without him; you're his negotiator. One thing to keep in mind is that I neither need you nor your people. I’m listening because I’d like to help. Anyone thinking they can take advantage of me is sadly mistaken; even if you slip something by me, when I find out—and I will—I'd be sure that you don't continue to profit.”
I get an understanding nod before he fixes Tarlanc with a nearly open glare.
“You’d cast aside all the service our ancestors did you?” accuses Tarlanc, ignoring the others' hiss of displeasure at his words.
The entitlement in his words is so disappointing that, for a moment, I can only shake my head. “There is no debt between your people and me.”
“You do not speak for us, Lord Inthavros,” warned Litthor.
“I’ve not yet had any contact with the Isil royal family, Aerneth. Can you ensure that is corrected?” I ask. Aerneth murmurs an acknowledgement, her gaze still fixed on Tarlanc.
After that, our dinner is quiet, and the hall quickly empties when people are done. Aerneth and her delegation return with Tarlanc and his negotiator while most of the remaining representatives retire for the evening. I catch a few messages exchanged during dinner, and it sounds like I’m only getting a stay of execution with the diplomatic fuss.
Sarah and I are left with only Litthor, Maition, Ellother, and the wine specialist Mallach after the others go on their way.
“Has Ellother spoken to you about her reception at Duskstone yet, Litthor?” I ask, retaking my seat after the wards have sent the others and their luggage away.
My question sees Litthor giving Ellother a polite nod before he speaks. “Yes, and given my house's proximity to the dwarves, I appreciated the advice Ellother provided. Might I enquire if you’ll be returning to Duskstone soon, or venturing to Stoneheart?”
“I’ll need to go back in the next week to determine the auction results. If you are looking for someone to discuss the situation with, you’re welcome to come along.”
“That would be appreciated,” replies Litthor.
Maition clears his throat. “With so few of your guests remaining, would we be allowed out into the village? I’ve been asked to discuss purchasing alchemical materials from the swamp with someone.”
“Ellother, can you introduce Maition officially to Guild Master Alfarr? Arrangements for such jobs would need to be made directly with the Adventurers’ Guild.”
“Of course,” agrees Ellother.
“I’ll even unlock the entry so you can come and go. Please be mindful that the locals might still be wary of you,” I add.
Giving me a nod, Maition turns to Sarah. “I’ve been advised you’re an—expert seems insufficient—perhaps, well-experienced Artificer.”
“If you need some information, I’m open to bargaining,” replies Sarah, and her gaze lights up “I was an Artificer across dozens of lifetimes and even more worlds, so I know techniques not even known to the local dwarves.”
“That’s between the two of you and outside the terms of my agreement with you, Aunt Sarah,” I say, knowing Sarah doesn’t need the reminder my words were more a warning to Maition. “I was discussing with Maition that your current species was from your Tier 7 Prestige Class evolution.”
“I gave Yngvarr those details years ago. Didn’t he pass them along?” asks Sarah, and though she frowns, I catch a hint of playfulness in her gaze.
Maition coughs. “He didn’t advise the school of examples for evolution classes, so they were discounted.”
Sarah starts laughing, and I want to hide my face in my hands. “Another lot? Does the school at least believe in Tier 7 classes?”
“Yes, but an Elf evolve?!” starts Maition.
The question causes Sarah to blink. “I’d say, like most things we’ve seen, it would depend on the classes combining with the species. You get offered something based on what you’ve earned and the relative achievements atop your species. Gideon doesn’t give anything without a risk involved.”
“Gideon, that tale,” huffed Maition.
I manage to keep my heckles from rising. “Gideon is real and existed in this realm before any of the elven courts. They told me more histories than I remember while I was waiting for rebirth in the Titan’s forge room.”
Maition and the others freeze, but Sarah leans over and gives me a high-five. “You managed that so casually; you’ll learn to execute a proper mic drop yet.”
“I thought that qualified.”
Sarah wrinkled her nose thoughtfully and then shook her head. “Close.”
Ellother just sighed. “You two are very strange.”
With that, Sarah and I burst out laughing.
When we settled down, I caught Litthor controlling his impatience. “Would you like to come along to Stoneheart tomorrow? I know a few high crafters you can seek to discuss the histories with if you’d like to progress matters.”
“That would be appreciated,” says Litthor with a polite nod.
“I’d appreciate learning more about your issues in the northern reaches.”
My opening starts him talking about various families and their holdings, though he’s clear on the line of command in each. Both within and without the region and, in particular, which hold hereditary command versus those granted by the current ruler.
