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Black Knight - Chapter 7
🕑 Added 2023-04-24 20:41:55 +0000 UTCSomewhere Outside of the City
The darkened forest is filled with a distant knocking. Things chitter in the barren trees that groan in the mild winds. The night-bird song that would normally accompany the journey down this road in the warmer seasons remains still distant, as most of the usual smaller creatures have yet to return to the world. Winter has yet to fully end. However, the insects of the region remain, burrowing deep in and out of the soil and dead wood in their search for the ever shifting warmth.
The carriage rattles, crates clinking in the back as it moves down the road.
The sleepy man, a wandering merchant who has come down this road a hundred times before, loosely holds the reins in his hands, which are bound to a large, bipedal bird that pulls him and his wares along. Anqas, large, ornately plumed animals, are commonly used as beasts of toil. They are unusually quick and clever, and so, are well suited.
Even if he’s only half-awake, the animal is trained and practiced. It knows where to go.
— Snoring and startling himself awake, the merchant jolts together, rubbing his eyes and looking around as he tries to reorient himself.
There’s no time to stop for the night. The market is hot with the war brewing, and he has a lot of debts to pay off. He’s almost there. When he gets to the city in about an hour, he can just rent a room there, like he always does. So there’s no point in setting up camp and sleeping outside in the cold forest.
He opens his mouth, covering it with a hand and yawning loudly, his voice echoing around the dark forest and then, curiously, amplifying.
The man blinks, confused, as he sits upright and listens, realizing that the sound isn’t the same as the one he had made. It’s another one.
— A howl.
His worried gaze moves toward the forest, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he whips the reins, the anqa having already picked up its pace even without his command as more voices come from the woodland.
Wolves.
_______________________________________
Acacia
WAR BREWING IN THE EAST
Due to increasing tensions between the continents, the war has begun escalating. Thirty-seven sailors were killed last week during an unprecedented ambush on the merchant marine…
Acacia flips the page.
SHIPMENTS DELAYED
Due to increasing banditry in the countryside, several logistical shipments to the city have been delayed or lost entirely.
The city-guard has offered a significant reward of five-hundred Obols for any information that leads to the capture of these bandits.
A quest can be found within your local guard station or adventuring guild branch.
Acacia tilts her head, her hair rubbing over the pillow, as she flips the page to the next article.
MAGICAL TECHNOLOGY - IS IT REALLY THE FUTURE?
Professor Ozwald Kopernikus of the Witch’s Eye Academy is here with us in an exclusive interview, regarding the development of societally disruptive innovations in the field of magical technology. Fueled by the war-efforts, they…
- The little pamphlet falls out of Acacia’s hands, landing on her chest as the walls of the underground room shake, the heavy rattle moving through the building above her head and into the soil below.
She’s trying to stay educated by reading the news.
Acacia lays there on her bed in the mostly dark, underground room and listens as a heavy storm drowns the world outside of her shelter. The tiny, ground-level windows are shut, as opening them would flood the room. The intense storm hammers against the old glass, which is thicker at its base than it is on the top, as if trying to get in to reach her in her shelter.
Little does it know that she is safe down here from the cruelties of the world.
Acacia holds her hands behind her head, kicking her legs up into the air together in an instant. The girl arcs herself for a moment, pulling her blanket free from beneath her back while her lower half is lifted, and then drops back down, pulling it back over herself in a single, precise, expert maneuver.
“As expected of a princess,” says a voice from the darkness. Acacia worms her way down below the blanket, snuggling in as she lifts the heavy, thick fabric up over herself. Her fingers greedily hold the edge of the blanket as her wary eyes glare around the room to try and find the voice.
— With their new money from selling monster parts to the shop regularly and from Sir Knight’s soldiers, who are constantly out fulfilling quests in her name, she’s bought herself a thick and almost crushingly heavy blanket to replace the ratty sheet she had been making do with. It’s not only warm and luxurious, it’s almost smotheringly so.
Acacia has decided that she is content with dying here, if it comes down to it.
“Sir Knight,” says the youngest born princess of the nation. “Have you ever considered that it is inappropriate for you to enter my chambers without permission?” she asks. Acacia closes her eyes and lifts her nose into the air. “I am, after all, a proper lady of esteemed reputation.”
Glass rattles beneath the bed, as something rolls around. “I have, your Majesty,” says the voice. “- Your duck.”
Acacia looks to the side, staring at a fat, stuffed toy duck that is hovering in the air, suspended by a horrifying tendril of endless shadows.
She reaches out and grabs the plush, pulling it below the blanket, which she then tightly seals again. “After some consideration, I have decided that it doesn’t matter,” says Sir Knight. “We’re just pretending that you’re actually a noble, after all.”
Acacia rolls her head back, glaring at him. “I’m still a girl, you creep!” she barks, holding onto her duck. It’s a rather extravagant, expensive toy from a regional shop. The plush is made from soft, imported fabric and is stuffed with cleaned and softened wool. The craftsmanship is exquisite. By all means, it’s a splurge that cost even more than the blanket had.
“Yes. You’re a girl, and I’m an incorporeal nightmare made from the unheard screams of the forgotten eons,” replies Sir Knight, his voice shaking the stones together with the drolling roar of thunder from outside the little room that may as well be a secret chamber, hidden from the world. “I’m also beneath your bed.”
Acacia turns her head, looking down at her mattress.
The fabric next to her head moves as something nudges it from below, causing her to yelp and roll away to the side effortlessly in escape.
The blanket is too heavy, and the duck blocks her. She has been betrayed by her own extravagance.
“I think it’s weird,” she says, holding onto the traitorous duck. She tightly clenches it against herself, imbuing it with her warmth.
“It is weird,” replies Sir Knight. “But I don’t mind that you’re invading my personal space this way,” he argues. “I’m very understanding of your unusual personal situation.”
Acacia stares blankly for a moment. “…Huh…?” she asks after a moment.
– The toy duck that she’s holding moves by itself. Its head turns sharply around to look at her face from up close, popping out from below the blanket.
“Quack,” growls Sir Knight’s deep voice from inside the toy that he has possessed with his shadows.
Acacia screams.
_____________________________
Sir Knight
Fifty-Seven.
Sir Knight walks outside in the rain through the city on his next lap around the city that he has been banished to. Water pours down his armor, pooling together in the small gaps and crevices. A funny thing about the rain is that a lot of it falls into his cloak and into his inventory. This is unusual, certainly. But if he ever needs the rainwater from a few weeks ago someday in the future, he’ll be golden.
“- Sir Knight!” calls a voice from the side.
The man turns to look at the person waving from beneath an overhang. The streets of the city are mostly empty, given the heavy storm. The only people outside are only moving through brief pieces of cover now and then as they head from one door to the next. Adventurers have long since resigned themselves to just staying inside or outside of the dungeon fully for the day.
It’s the young vildt boy from a few days ago. The one he had fought together with in the dungeon, against the slime-boss. The boy’s cat ears drip with rainwater as he waves excitedly.
Sir Knight lifts a hand, waving.
“You’re really hard to find, you know?” asks the boy as Sir Knight walks over to the overhang. “As big as you are.”
Sir Knight, water pouring down his armor, looks at the young adventurer. “I get around,” he replies. “Gotta stay fit, you know?”
The boy laughs, grabbing his wrist. “Come inside!” he says excitedly, pulling on his arm to little avail. “I’ll get you a drink!”
“Thanks,” replies Sir Knight, shaking his head. “I’m already quenched, though,” replies the essentially drowning man, water sloshing around in the gaps of his armor. “Besides, I make a scene everywhere I go.”
The feline-human smiles a smug smile, staring his way. “- Exactly!”
______________________________________________
Sir Knight looks down at the dainty tea-cup he is struggling greatly to hold in his heavy, armored fingers. The cup is made of white porcelain with a leaf-gold trim and has protrusions that look like cat ears. It is… unusually expensive looking for this street.
“This isn’t what I had in mind,” replies Sir Knight, sitting at the very small table. It’s delicately furnished. The proper, trim oakwood is polished to a keen shine. A quaint table-cloth with floral embroidery sits atop it, beneath a simple vase full of freshly cut flowers.
It’s a tea-house, a very cute one at that.
“This is exactly what I had in mind,” replies the boy, setting down a small platter of cookies there, all of which are vibrant shades of pastel colors of the spring that is soon to come.
Sir Knight looks around himself. The boy isn’t a customer here. He seems to work here, actually, given the apron he’s wearing and the manner in which he’s rummaging around. “I thought you were an adventurer?” asks Sir Knight.
“That’s just to make ends meet,” replies the vildt, shaking his head. He gestures around himself toward the little establishment. “I actually work here most of the time.”
Sir Knight’s gaze wanders around the pristine and extremely charming little tea-house. It has a perfect location on the main street, toward the dungeon. The atmosphere inside is something akin to calm and homey romanticism. He examines the cookies and the tea. They’re fantastic in appearance and, as far as he can tell, taste.
— But there’s an issue.
The boy pulls out the chair from across from Sir Knight, the scraping of the wooden legs against the floor not bothering anybody as the entire place is more or less empty. There aren’t many customers. Only a few other vildt sit nearby at a table and keep to themselves, men and women in rather formal clothing for a place and time like this.
He finds himself being stared at expectantly. After a moment, Sir Knight understands and takes a sip of the tea.
“It’s good,” he says, as the scalding hot liquid runs down his fully empty armor on the inside. The boy doesn’t know that, though.
“So you never take all of that off, huh?” asks the vildt.
“It’s as natural to me as a tail on a cat,” replies Sir Knight. After a second, he lifts his gaze. “Oh, sorry. Was that weird?”
“No, that’s okay,” replies the stranger, slowly sliding the plate of cookies toward him and staring expectantly.
“What is this?” asks Sir Knight, picking up a cookie. It’s a cute little thing, round and soft. On its surface is a scorch mark made with hot wire, drawing the shape of a cute animal’s face. Each cookie has a different drawing on it. They must be very tedious to make.
“They’re made with soft cream, flour, eggs, butter, and a bit of honey,” replies the boy. “They’re a house specialty. You’ll only find them here!”
Actually, Sir Knight was referring to the situation as a whole. But it’s not bad to have some info on the cookies either. Gotta have some priorities in life.
The Vildt as a species are primarily monstertarians — that is, they only eat meat from monsters and not from normal animals — despite living with humans who are the exact opposite. In human society, eating monster meat is seen as extremely low-brow and trashy — something for the poors. It’s a bit awkward for the vildt as a species to be eating animal meat, or at least they had decided one day as a social collective generations ago. Hunting a deer and bringing it home is a little more tense when your neighbor with antlers is watching you carry it back. So they adapted as a society, and now they eat things like goblins or minotaurs, whatever they can get, together with the usual plant stables.
It’s an interesting dynamic.
The integration of human and vildt cultures has been difficult primarily because of this being a large issue, together with some other things. That leads to things like restaurants softly segregating the population of the vildt somewhat from all of the other species, including the elves, the orcs, and so on. It makes them easy targets as the ‘other’ that every society needs a little of in order to distract their population from bigger troubles.
Thankfully, there’s a war going on at the moment, so the title of the main societal ‘other’ has now shifted to the enemy from the vildt, who had once held it.
That’s why this place is empty, even if it looks like an establishment of quality. It’s not that everyone hates the vildt, it’s just that a human would prefer to go to a human or an elven tea-house, before coming here. They’re ‘closer to home’, in a sense.
Sir Knight ‘bites’ into the cookie, looking at it in surprise. “It’s delicious,” he says.
The feline beams. He holds a hand next to his mouth, whispering. “The secret is to add a little acidity. Slime drops,” he replies. “Brings out the flavors more.”
Sir Knight, water leaking out of his armor onto the many towels that had been gathered around the base of his chair, looks at his host. “I can’t help but notice that I’m sitting by the window,” says the man. “Are you using me as a prop for legitimacy?” he asks, looking at the rare few people walking by outside. For them, the monstrous giant sitting in the cute little teahouse is an impossible sight to miss. The contrast is just too much.
“I am,” replies the vildt, smiling. His ears twitch as he leans back, shaking his head with his hands in the air. “But I’m also saying thanks for helping me the other day,” he replies.
Sir Knight shrugs. Fair enough. At least he’s honest. “Glad to help,” he replies. “Where’s your fairy friend?”
He points with his thumb upward. “Oh. She’s asleep. She only helps with the adventuring stuff,” he explains. “The rest of this is all a few of us.”
Interesting.
Sir Knight looks around the area. The tea-house is empty and so spotlessly cleaned that it looks like it had been made ready for business, only for it to simply never receive any customers at all. Yet the dust has been kept away by a meticulous hand. In a sense, it’s more like sitting in a museum than in a well-kept establishment. Everything is too unworn.
“Is today a slow day?” asks Sir Knight, perhaps breaking some social boundaries by human standards. The implied question here is, of course, a layer deeper, being ‘how do you afford this place?’. Given the street it’s on, the size of the building, and its trimming, property ownership must cost an arm and a leg. Even Acacia, with her noble’s amount of ‘go away and die somewhere else money’ could only afford a basement hole in an alley.
The boy sighs, not catching on. He leans his head into his palm. “Every day is a slow day,” he explains. “But that’s why I go to the dungeon now and then!” he says, cheering up. “Gotta keep up with the bills.”
“I see,” replies Sir Knight. He picks up a cookie, looking at it as he ponders something for a moment.
An idea comes to him.
There’s more at play here than meets the eye, and he can use that. They can use that.
“What’s your name?” asks Sir Knight.
“Mietze,” replies the vildt. “Sir Knight,” he says, having not been properly introduced. But everyone in this lower-class world of this one particular street that they live on knows him at this point.
The cookie leaves his vision as he looks at the small worker. “Mietze. I’d like to bring my lady, Acacia, here tomorrow,” says Sir Knight. He looks at the cookie. “- But do you have anything healthy to eat?”
Mietze opens his eyes again, letting out a curious sound.
_____________________________________
One-hundred.
Sir Knight opens the door to the underground room, the wood slamming against the opposite wall from the force of his movement as he stands in the doorway. Somewhat perplexed, he stares at Acacia, who is doing a handstand on the back of the bed, her palms pressing into the mattress and her feet walking up the wall toward the ceiling.
She screams in surprise at his intrusion, falling over and flopping off of the bed, onto the duck-rug.
“…What was tha -” starts Sir Knight.
“- SIR KNIGHT!” yells Acacia, pointing at him. “DON’T JUST BARGE IN!” she snaps at him.
— The fat duck doll falls from the bed, rolling down next to her.
“…Uh, right,” says Sir Knight, staring at her as she quickly rises to her feet and straightens everything back out again. “I have a plan, your majesty,” explains Sir Knight. “For your ascent to the throne.”
Acacia, still in her nightgown, sighs, dusting herself off as she gets up with then crossed arms. Reaching over, she grabs the expensive house-robe, which has also been splurged on, and covers herself with it.
They might have to rein in their spending a little bit. If he isn’t careful, she might actually remember that she’s supposed to be a princess.
“The vildt,” says Sir Knight. “They’re our way in for you,” explains the man, lowering his head to step inside the tiny room. It’s an awkward finagle, finding room for himself to stand there next to Acacia and also close the door at the same time.
So far, their biggest issue is that while he, Sir Knight, is extremely popular — especially amongst the adventurers — Acacia is not so much so. But she doesn’t really make a lot of appearances. This is difficult for her to do, given her shy nature and sickly life. So while she handles a lot of the business-side of their growing collaboration, she also needs to become the face of it as well.
A new audience, one who isn’t obsessed with him just yet, are the somewhat more secluded vildt. And, more importantly, they have ties to the social elite of the region. It isn’t obvious at first, until it is.
That’s exactly what they need for Acacia to grow in status, and her newly growing local reputation as a woman of stature and wealth is going to fit here perfectly.
___________________________________
~[The Tatze-Teahouse]~
It is the next day.
Acacia’s overly shrill and theatrical noble’s laugh fills the room as she sits across from him, the back of her hand covering her mouth.
Glassware clinks and plates move around, as it is now somewhat later in the night than when Sir Knight was here by himself the day before. The establishment now has other customers in more sizable amounts, all vildt, whom seem somewhat perplexed by their presence.
“It wasn’t that funny,” says Sir Knight dryly.
A sharp, bony shin kicks his leg beneath the table. The results of the instinctual move are evidenced by the strained smile that Acacia struggles to maintain as the sharp pain of the mistake moves through her body. “I’m trying to be charismatic, Sir Knight,” she whispers quietly, leaning in over her tea-cup.
“You’re doing great,” he replies, nodding to her as he watches her cheeks flush red with the pain of her failed kick. “Make sure to compliment the tea.”
“I know to compliment the t-“ she hisses his way, narrowing her eyes.
“How is everything?” asks a voice from the side.
Both of them turn to look at Mietze. Acacia smiles, waving a hand his way with flowery intent. “Oh, the tea is excellent. Thank you,” she beams, taking another sip from her cup. “I’m guessing…” She closes her eyes and holds the cup below her face for a moment. “Granulated Dryad’s Flower and… Blueshell petals?” she asks, opening an eye to look at the vildt.
He seems more than pleased. “Oh! You really know your tea,” he beams. “We have our own harvesters in the east,” he says excitedly.
Acacia sets her cup gently down into the saucer. “Please tell them that they do excellent work,” she says.
“- Let me get some more of those!” says Mietze, looking at the tray of cookies.
“— Would you have anything more… nourishing?” asks Sir Knight, stopping him. The young boy looks his way.
“That’s quite alright,” replies Acacia, gently dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Please, bring some more of these,” she asks.
“You got it!” replies Meitze, running off through the full room to the kitchen.
“You should eat some real food too,” remarks Sir Knight.
— Acacia’s shrill, overly loud fake laughter fills the room again, as if he had told some fantastic joke and the two of them were having the time of their lives.
He sighs, turning his head and looking out of the window into the street.
It’s not raining today. In fact, the air is very pleasant and warm, despite it still being the cold season. Many people are running around now, shortly before dinner-time, as they head back from their work or the dungeon, close up their shops, and head home or to wherever they’re staying. Of course, the two of them are sitting right by the big window to the street and, as always, are drawing the usual attention.
As is, of course, the desired intent — not only for them but for the tea-house.
Acacia smiles contently, sipping her warm tea. She seems to have gotten very comfortable with this lifestyle already.
“Here you are,” says the boy, bringing back another tray with another two in his other arm as he is also working the other tables at the same time. It’s an odd operation. They have funding for real-estate, but the employees are… well, it looks like it's him and maybe somebody else in the back, and that’s about it.
“Thank you, young man,” says Acacia. “If possible, could you please arrange a delivery of this tea for me?” she asks.
“Sure,” replies Mietze, more than enthralled by having any outside business at all. “We’ll be getting a delivery next week. I can side-line some for you,” he says.
Acacia nods contently as she stirs her tea before then tapping the spoon against the side of the little cup. The gentle clinking carries around the room in an unusual tone. “Lovely,” she says. “I’d like one-hundred kilograms, please,” she asks.
Mietze’s eyes open in shock.
“— A hundred?” he asks, taken aback. For a moment, he almost drops his other platters. However, he fails to notice, to his surprise, the small shadows creeping out from beneath the table that hold them aloft on his arm. “Miss. That’s… That’s a lot. I need to, uh.” He looks them over for a moment, as if questioning to ask if they could afford it without saying so. “I’ll need to ask.”
Acacia leans down, pretending to whisper playfully. “I’ll settle for ten for now. For my immediate, personal stash,” she explains, winking.
The boy runs off immediately, the platters of cookies being delivered rather unceremoniously as he leaves the seating area in a full-sprint.
And so the game begins.
Sir Knight sips his tea as Acacia sips hers, staring his way with a smug smile, covered in cookie crumbs.
The tea-trade is one of the main industries the vildt are involved in. Given their lack of traditional animal agriculture, they’ve become masters at many other food related industries, of which tea is one of their biggest money-makers. All manner of exotic teas and herbal blends are gathered by vildt, who have extremely large plantations and knowledge of landscapes where some herbs only grow in the wildlands. They’ve invested far more effort in this industry than their human counterparts.
In turn, this means that the upper echelon of vildt society, those with money and power, are also never too many steps away from tea as a product. It’s a source of national pride for them.
Even more so, because this tea-house here is financed by a member of the social elite rather than by its own profit margins in an act of cultural exchange. That is why it can afford to stay open in poor business and why those men in fine clothing were here yesterday. It’s government funded.
And here is where Acacia comes in.
Tea is a favorite of noble society; even in human or elven society, tea is seen as a high grade, delicate, and precious commodity. Rare brews, rare mixes, and rare arrangements are a way to elevate oneself above the commoners who mix any old flowers together. Special ceremonies and practices are held and passed on from generation to generation, made specifically to exclude those who never learned them in childhood as a filtering mechanism so that the lower-class can’t work their way up into higher society so easily. In a way, tea and the ceremonies and acts around it act as a social password of sorts, a lock and key to another floor of society, hidden in plain sight where the riff-raff can never hope to notice it.
— And, as always, it’s about the little things.
The tap with the spoon against the side of the cup before. It was a tiny, subtle gesture. It is one that is not common in lower-class society, where the act of drawing attention to oneself is undesirable, as doing so might very well be dangerous. However, in the world of the refined, this clinking is meant to signal that a person is about to do something worth looking at; it is a deliberate ‘unintentional’ call to attention that is actually very intentional. The clinking of glassware is the birdsong of the rich.
“This is going to be expensive,” says Sir Knight quietly.
Acacia sips her tea. “I trust you are prepared, Sir Knight.” She smiles. “I am a woman of deeply refined tastes,” says the gangly, awkward maybe-is-maybe-isn’t princess.
“I understand,” he replies, rising to his feet. “I’ll find you a job that starts tomorrow morning.” Her leg kicks him from beneath the table again, this time with her foot, so she doesn’t hurt herself a second time. “Would you rather mop floors or wait tables?” he asks.
“Sit down, Sir Knight,” says Acacia dryly as a door opens in the back. An older man in respectable clothes looks out from the back room toward them, his hands clasped together, being gestured at by the boy, Mietze. “The accompanying show to our dinner is about to begin,” she says, quietly sipping her tea as the man from the vildt local government comes over to their table, making an entrance with very polite and excellent manners.
— As is only fitting for customers of their stature and title.
Comments
Marshall
Quack! Love this story. Worried it will get depressing soon!
Haha, that would be a lot of fun... hmm... <.<
Brian Hopson
This is probably one of the few stories I've read where I would like a school arc to happen. I can just imagine the retest for admission just having sir knight do it all for her and her excuse being he's a summonable entity or something so she gets credit.
