SpicySpaceSquid Here's the illustration of Arciel that goes with 186
Spoiler [collapse]Chapter 194 - Skyreach Spire VI
The clattering of plates echoed through the dining hall as Claire sprang across the hundred-seat table. She turned lyrkrian as she charged, her claws and hooves crushing the leftovers and shattering the silverware. Raising her foreleg, she drove a knee straight towards his face. It was a heavy blow, carrying with it all the force required to crush a solid block of iron.
Though he clearly saw it coming, Timaois did not react. He sat where he was and accepted the strike with his forehead. A grin spread across the warlord’s lips as he felt his head ring, as a tiny trickle of blood flowed from the cut above his brow. It was not her brute force that had injured him, but rather the blade of true ice that had extended from the joint; the bone she had grown beyond its usual length. A second attack came immediately after the first. The talon beneath his chin snapped forward; its sharpened claws wrapped themselves around his throat and gripped it like a vice. Her natural blades pierced his skin, but not his muscle. His neck refused to snap, no matter how much she tightened her grasp.
Still, Claire continued to attack. She began sapping his life through their point of contact, stealing his health. But the speed at which she robbed it was not in excess of his regeneration. Because unlike the artificer, he was a flagbearer, a frontline warrior that drew more fire than his peers. Damage mitigation was nothing if not his speciality.
The marquis made a thoughtful humming noise as he grabbed her talons and squeezed their joints. Claire was unable to resist. Her claws were bent and her grip was forcefully loosened, but she refused to give him the upper hand. She pulled his body forward with a force and dragged his face towards the table. Crafting another vector, she raised the utensils that sat in front of him, propping them up and angling them at his eyes.
The strange magic caught him off guard, but he was able to resist its pull. Stiffening his neck, he locked it in place and kept himself safe from the silverware.
Until the knives flew.
Both the butter and steak knives were plugged right into his sockets as an axe made of ice was brought down on his skull. Knowing both efforts to be exercises in futility, Claire locked him in place with her eyes and wrapped Shouldersnake around his neck. The venomous serpent dug its fangs into his arteries and diluted his blood with a deluge of poisons, but Timaois cared little.
He was the man that had charged straight through the Grand Magus’ spells. Nothing Claire did harmed him in any obvious way. The axe shattered on contact, the tableware failed to pierce his eyelids, and the serpent’s bite did nothing to stop him from breathing.
A faint smile playing on his lips, he threw Claire into the air and reached for his unwanted tie. Shouldersnake dove out of the way, but even empowered by all of its master’s recently bolstered ability scores, the noodle was unable to escape. It was soon caught and tossed across the room, where it joined the other idle observers.
Claire was not as quick to land. Releasing herself from gravity’s pull, she hovered around in the air before slowly floating over to her chair and dropping down in her seat. Her body was turned humanoid, her armour was transformed back into a dress, and her posture was made perfectly correct, as if she had not just destroyed the table and attempted to murder its owner.
“I believe, Lady Augustus, that you were meant to throw a glove at me before you attacked.” Retrieving a handkerchief from the pocket in his chest, the marquis lightly cleaned off the scarlet droplets featured on his forehead. The wound itself was long gone; it had vanished by the time she struck him again.
“My sincerest apologies. I must ask that you excuse the breach in etiquette.” She smiled sweetly as she spoke, her expression as lovely and amicable as the tone of her voice. “My runecloak does not allow for its parts to detach in such a manner.”
“Then I suppose it cannot be helped,” he said, with a smile of his own.
“Wait, wait! What the heck? How come you guys are talking like nothing just happened?” asked a flabbergasted Sylvia. “I thought for sure that it was gonna turn into a full blown fight.” The vixen’s question earned her a confused look from the lord and a head tilt from the lady. “Oh, come on! Stop looking at me like that! You two are the ones being weird, not me!”
“This is normal,” said Claire.
“That can’t be right!”
“Well it is.”
“You literally ran up to him and tried to take off his head!!” Sylvia got up on her hind legs and acted out a flying kick. “That isn’t normal!”
“Having visited a number of foreign lands now, I see easily the reason for your lack of understanding.” The fox’s disbelief prompted an explanation from the marquis. “In the Cadrian court, those that wish to be acknowledged as warriors often challenge renowned fighters to prove themselves worthy of greater respect and fair terms of negotiation.”
“Wait so you guys pick fights with each other because it’s good manners?” Sylvia blinked, thrice. “No wonder Lia thinks you guys are all barbarians…”
“Paunseans are the barbaric ones,” said Claire. “Their sense of etiquette is flawed. Have you seen how she holds her utensils?”
“How’s that got to do with anything!? She’s just holding stuff weird! You’re literally kicking someone in the face!” shouted Sylvia. “At that point, I don’t think you can even call it etiquette! That’s like saying a cat is a dog.”
“The system disagrees. And cats that are dogs are just foxes.”
“No they aren’t!” The fox stopped shortly after making the objection to put a paw on her chin. “Actually… I think you might be onto something…”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”
“Wait, now I’m letting you get me sidetracked! Kicking isn’t etiquette!”
“It is. Now shush.” Sighing, Claire turned back to the manor’s lord and put on her best sad frown. “I am terribly sorry, Lord Pollux. It appears that I have failed to instruct my companion on the terms of Cadrian mannerisms. I shall endeavour to correct this error by our next encounter.”
“Worry not, Lady Augustus. There is no need. You have transformed, in a few scant months, from a wallflower with little purpose, to a full fledged combatant. You have become a respectable warrior and truly your father’s daughter. It only stands to reason that an individual in such a position requires associates of a less refined background.”
Claire nodded, regally, and pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank you, Lord Pollux. It is a pleasure to learn that my efforts were not in vain.”
“Yeah, I was definitely right. You guys are weird." The fox’s mutter was, of course, completely ignored.
Though not as troubled as her vulpine companion, Claire found herself fighting back the urge to frown. She was supposed to have come to terms with her identity.
“Please, tell me of your adventures, Lady Augustus,” said the marquis. “As I stated earlier, I wish to know the details of your escape from the library. If it can be reproduced, then we may well have discovered an incredible source of power, and a method by which we may train our lesser soldiers.”
“Unfortunately the details are strictly confidential on account of an oath I swore to a celestial,” said Claire, with a smile. “But I advise that you pay it a visit. It will certainly be worth your time.”
“I am bold and foolish, but I do not seek ruination,” the old gentleman laughed. “Very well. If you cannot inform me of the specifics, I will move onto another order of business.”
The lyrkress nodded.
“To address what I believe to be your primary concern, I have yet to report your presence to your father,” he said with a smirk. “Though as it stands, I am certain that he would be delighted to learn of your current location and the strength that you have acquired. Perhaps, he will even reinstate you as his heir.”
“Do not beat around the bush, Lord Pollux.”
“Apologies,” he said with an even wider smirk. “I have only one condition. Provide me with your hand in marriage. Do not worry, I shall see that you are treated well and taught the true meaning of plea—”
“Durham was once known as House Augustus’ perverted lapdog.” To the relief of the fox sitting beside her, Claire cut the centaur off with an innocent smile. “Would you like to learn how he was cured?” She raised a finger into the air and formed with her ice magic a large screw covered in sharpened points, thick as a finger and remarkably phallic in length. Slowly, ominously, the magical object was rotated, and all its jagged edges put on display.
“I will have to refrain, thank you,” said the marquis, with a laugh. “But my silence will still have to come with a price. I would not mind accepting that catgirl companion of yours as a concubine instead.”
Raising another finger, she crafted a small mallet; a hammer with one end for smashing and the other for prying out a screw of a very specific size. “The tale begins quite simply. Though bound by duty, Durham was unable to resist the urge of playing the part of a peeping tom. And it was for that reason that I procured one of my father’s magic ropes and bound him to one of the manor’s pillars.”
Timaois sighed. “Fine. How about the fox? I’ll settle for her as well. I was never one for animals, but a hole is a hole.”
“Hey! That’s rude! I’m not an animal! And I’m definitely not letting you anywhere near me!”
“Oh, Lord Pollux. You have always been such a joker,” said Claire, with a beaming smile. “I have no doubts that your wife would be delighted to hear your jests repeated to her, especially after you promised her that, for the duration of her tenure, it would only be she whose hand you took.”
A bead of sweat dripped down his brow as he spoke. “Unfortunately, my fair lady, her love for me burns brightly enough to dull her sense of humour.”
The lady of House Pollux was the product of the marquis’ third marriage. That was not to say that the first two had ended in failure. Both were fruitful, loving relationships, their ends driven primarily by the length of the marquis’ life. He was even older than her thousand-year-old father, and neither of his first two brides had extended their chronometers with ascension. His third partner, however, was a military woman with no fewer kills under her belt than the flagbearer himself. They had been married for over two centuries, during which she had tightened the vice she held around his loins. Still, she was unable to control him entirely. It was known to many that he had lovers in various places, but few dared to publicly announce themselves the recipient of his affections for fear of death by jealous cuckquean.
“Not to worry,” said the lyrkress. “Humour is the sort of sense that develops with continued exposure.”
“You are a dirty fighter, Claire Augustus.” The marquis frowned. “I suppose I will have to settle for a lesser condition for the time being.”
The halfbreed said nothing. It was not the first time an old centaur would treat her as an object of desire, nor would it be the last. Such was the fate of a lady with long, shapely ears, a fate she had tolerated for as long as she could remember.
“I propose this. I will refrain from speaking to your father of your presence under the condition that you aid in the capture of Nymphetel Blackroot.” Timaois continued speaking with his second mind, even following the threat. “You are not to deliver punishment for her treason yourself, but rather to ensure that she is arrested by or handed to either myself or one of my men while no unaffiliated witnesses are present.”
“I am not that much of a fool, Lord Pollux.” Claire puffed up her cheeks and pouted. “Another clause is required. You may not write him any letters or reports that allude to or explicitly state my presence until he learns of it through another means.”
“Your terms are acceptable.” Timaois gestured to one of the maids standing by in the room’s far corner, who brought him a scroll, an inkwell, and a quill.
His hands moving slowly, he carefully drafted the document before having the servant deliver the materials across the table. After checking the terms listed, and confirming that she was not being deceived, she inscribed her signature and confirmed her participation.
The maid moved to the center of the room following the document’s receipt, held the scroll in front of her, and crafted a magical formation beneath her feet. “In Flitzgarde’s name, I invoke this contract and place a geas upon both of its members, to be removed only upon the completion of their respective conditions.”
The parchment disintegrated, reforming itself as a pair of bright yellow lights. The glowing spheres shot towards the agreement’s signatories and embedded themselves into the backs of their left hands, where they transformed into a pair of mirrored symbols that soon faded away.
Log Entry 6824
You have been marked by Flitzegarde, goddess of order, for the swearing of an oath.
Each represented one of the pact’s underwriters; those that successfully fulfilled their oaths would have their symbols turn blue, while violators would be marked in red. Either party could check the status of the other with an invocation of the goddess’ name.
“It is done,” said the marquis. “Now let us both be off on our ways, for there are many preparations to make, and very little time to see them through.”
“I concur. I wish you luck in battle, Lord Pollux.”
“And I to you, Lady Augustus.”
Both parties still smiling, they exited the room and went their separate ways.
SpicySpaceSquid Here's the illustration of Arciel that goes with 186
Spoiler [collapse]Chapter 194 - Skyreach Spire VI
The clattering of plates echoed through the dining hall as Claire sprang across the hundred-seat table. She turned lyrkrian as she charged, her claws and hooves crushing the leftovers and shattering the silverware. Raising her foreleg, she drove a knee straight towards his face. It was a heavy blow, carrying with it all the force required to crush a solid block of iron.
Though he clearly saw it coming, Timaois did not react. He sat where he was and accepted the strike with his forehead. A grin spread across the warlord’s lips as he felt his head ring, as a tiny trickle of blood flowed from the cut above his brow. It was not her brute force that had injured him, but rather the blade of true ice that had extended from the joint; the bone she had grown beyond its usual length. A second attack came immediately after the first. The talon beneath his chin snapped forward; its sharpened claws wrapped themselves around his throat and gripped it like a vice. Her natural blades pierced his skin, but not his muscle. His neck refused to snap, no matter how much she tightened her grasp.
Still, Claire continued to attack. She began sapping his life through their point of contact, stealing his health. But the speed at which she robbed it was not in excess of his regeneration. Because unlike the artificer, he was a flagbearer, a frontline warrior that drew more fire than his peers. Damage mitigation was nothing if not his speciality.
The marquis made a thoughtful humming noise as he grabbed her talons and squeezed their joints. Claire was unable to resist. Her claws were bent and her grip was forcefully loosened, but she refused to give him the upper hand. She pulled his body forward with a force and dragged his face towards the table. Crafting another vector, she raised the utensils that sat in front of him, propping them up and angling them at his eyes.
The strange magic caught him off guard, but he was able to resist its pull. Stiffening his neck, he locked it in place and kept himself safe from the silverware.
Until the knives flew.
Both the butter and steak knives were plugged right into his sockets as an axe made of ice was brought down on his skull. Knowing both efforts to be exercises in futility, Claire locked him in place with her eyes and wrapped Shouldersnake around his neck. The venomous serpent dug its fangs into his arteries and diluted his blood with a deluge of poisons, but Timaois cared little.
He was the man that had charged straight through the Grand Magus’ spells. Nothing Claire did harmed him in any obvious way. The axe shattered on contact, the tableware failed to pierce his eyelids, and the serpent’s bite did nothing to stop him from breathing.
A faint smile playing on his lips, he threw Claire into the air and reached for his unwanted tie. Shouldersnake dove out of the way, but even empowered by all of its master’s recently bolstered ability scores, the noodle was unable to escape. It was soon caught and tossed across the room, where it joined the other idle observers.
Claire was not as quick to land. Releasing herself from gravity’s pull, she hovered around in the air before slowly floating over to her chair and dropping down in her seat. Her body was turned humanoid, her armour was transformed back into a dress, and her posture was made perfectly correct, as if she had not just destroyed the table and attempted to murder its owner.
“I believe, Lady Augustus, that you were meant to throw a glove at me before you attacked.” Retrieving a handkerchief from the pocket in his chest, the marquis lightly cleaned off the scarlet droplets featured on his forehead. The wound itself was long gone; it had vanished by the time she struck him again.
“My sincerest apologies. I must ask that you excuse the breach in etiquette.” She smiled sweetly as she spoke, her expression as lovely and amicable as the tone of her voice. “My runecloak does not allow for its parts to detach in such a manner.”
“Then I suppose it cannot be helped,” he said, with a smile of his own.
“Wait, wait! What the heck? How come you guys are talking like nothing just happened?” asked a flabbergasted Sylvia. “I thought for sure that it was gonna turn into a full blown fight.” The vixen’s question earned her a confused look from the lord and a head tilt from the lady. “Oh, come on! Stop looking at me like that! You two are the ones being weird, not me!”
“This is normal,” said Claire.
“That can’t be right!”
“Well it is.”
“You literally ran up to him and tried to take off his head!!” Sylvia got up on her hind legs and acted out a flying kick. “That isn’t normal!”
“Having visited a number of foreign lands now, I see easily the reason for your lack of understanding.” The fox’s disbelief prompted an explanation from the marquis. “In the Cadrian court, those that wish to be acknowledged as warriors often challenge renowned fighters to prove themselves worthy of greater respect and fair terms of negotiation.”
“Wait so you guys pick fights with each other because it’s good manners?” Sylvia blinked, thrice. “No wonder Lia thinks you guys are all barbarians…”
“Paunseans are the barbaric ones,” said Claire. “Their sense of etiquette is flawed. Have you seen how she holds her utensils?”
“How’s that got to do with anything!? She’s just holding stuff weird! You’re literally kicking someone in the face!” shouted Sylvia. “At that point, I don’t think you can even call it etiquette! That’s like saying a cat is a dog.”
“The system disagrees. And cats that are dogs are just foxes.”
“No they aren’t!” The fox stopped shortly after making the objection to put a paw on her chin. “Actually… I think you might be onto something…”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”
“Wait, now I’m letting you get me sidetracked! Kicking isn’t etiquette!”
“It is. Now shush.” Sighing, Claire turned back to the manor’s lord and put on her best sad frown. “I am terribly sorry, Lord Pollux. It appears that I have failed to instruct my companion on the terms of Cadrian mannerisms. I shall endeavour to correct this error by our next encounter.”
“Worry not, Lady Augustus. There is no need. You have transformed, in a few scant months, from a wallflower with little purpose, to a full fledged combatant. You have become a respectable warrior and truly your father’s daughter. It only stands to reason that an individual in such a position requires associates of a less refined background.”
Claire nodded, regally, and pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank you, Lord Pollux. It is a pleasure to learn that my efforts were not in vain.”
“Yeah, I was definitely right. You guys are weird." The fox’s mutter was, of course, completely ignored.
Though not as troubled as her vulpine companion, Claire found herself fighting back the urge to frown. She was supposed to have come to terms with her identity.
“Please, tell me of your adventures, Lady Augustus,” said the marquis. “As I stated earlier, I wish to know the details of your escape from the library. If it can be reproduced, then we may well have discovered an incredible source of power, and a method by which we may train our lesser soldiers.”
“Unfortunately the details are strictly confidential on account of an oath I swore to a celestial,” said Claire, with a smile. “But I advise that you pay it a visit. It will certainly be worth your time.”
“I am bold and foolish, but I do not seek ruination,” the old gentleman laughed. “Very well. If you cannot inform me of the specifics, I will move onto another order of business.”
The lyrkress nodded.
“To address what I believe to be your primary concern, I have yet to report your presence to your father,” he said with a smirk. “Though as it stands, I am certain that he would be delighted to learn of your current location and the strength that you have acquired. Perhaps, he will even reinstate you as his heir.”
“Do not beat around the bush, Lord Pollux.”
“Apologies,” he said with an even wider smirk. “I have only one condition. Provide me with your hand in marriage. Do not worry, I shall see that you are treated well and taught the true meaning of plea—”
“Durham was once known as House Augustus’ perverted lapdog.” To the relief of the fox sitting beside her, Claire cut the centaur off with an innocent smile. “Would you like to learn how he was cured?” She raised a finger into the air and formed with her ice magic a large screw covered in sharpened points, thick as a finger and remarkably phallic in length. Slowly, ominously, the magical object was rotated, and all its jagged edges put on display.
“I will have to refrain, thank you,” said the marquis, with a laugh. “But my silence will still have to come with a price. I would not mind accepting that catgirl companion of yours as a concubine instead.”
Raising another finger, she crafted a small mallet; a hammer with one end for smashing and the other for prying out a screw of a very specific size. “The tale begins quite simply. Though bound by duty, Durham was unable to resist the urge of playing the part of a peeping tom. And it was for that reason that I procured one of my father’s magic ropes and bound him to one of the manor’s pillars.”
Timaois sighed. “Fine. How about the fox? I’ll settle for her as well. I was never one for animals, but a hole is a hole.”
“Hey! That’s rude! I’m not an animal! And I’m definitely not letting you anywhere near me!”
“Oh, Lord Pollux. You have always been such a joker,” said Claire, with a beaming smile. “I have no doubts that your wife would be delighted to hear your jests repeated to her, especially after you promised her that, for the duration of her tenure, it would only be she whose hand you took.”
A bead of sweat dripped down his brow as he spoke. “Unfortunately, my fair lady, her love for me burns brightly enough to dull her sense of humour.”
The lady of House Pollux was the product of the marquis’ third marriage. That was not to say that the first two had ended in failure. Both were fruitful, loving relationships, their ends driven primarily by the length of the marquis’ life. He was even older than her thousand-year-old father, and neither of his first two brides had extended their chronometers with ascension. His third partner, however, was a military woman with no fewer kills under her belt than the flagbearer himself. They had been married for over two centuries, during which she had tightened the vice she held around his loins. Still, she was unable to control him entirely. It was known to many that he had lovers in various places, but few dared to publicly announce themselves the recipient of his affections for fear of death by jealous cuckquean.
“Not to worry,” said the lyrkress. “Humour is the sort of sense that develops with continued exposure.”
“You are a dirty fighter, Claire Augustus.” The marquis frowned. “I suppose I will have to settle for a lesser condition for the time being.”
The halfbreed said nothing. It was not the first time an old centaur would treat her as an object of desire, nor would it be the last. Such was the fate of a lady with long, shapely ears, a fate she had tolerated for as long as she could remember.
“I propose this. I will refrain from speaking to your father of your presence under the condition that you aid in the capture of Nymphetel Blackroot.” Timaois continued speaking with his second mind, even following the threat. “You are not to deliver punishment for her treason yourself, but rather to ensure that she is arrested by or handed to either myself or one of my men while no unaffiliated witnesses are present.”
“I am not that much of a fool, Lord Pollux.” Claire puffed up her cheeks and pouted. “Another clause is required. You may not write him any letters or reports that allude to or explicitly state my presence until he learns of it through another means.”
“Your terms are acceptable.” Timaois gestured to one of the maids standing by in the room’s far corner, who brought him a scroll, an inkwell, and a quill.
His hands moving slowly, he carefully drafted the document before having the servant deliver the materials across the table. After checking the terms listed, and confirming that she was not being deceived, she inscribed her signature and confirmed her participation.
The maid moved to the center of the room following the document’s receipt, held the scroll in front of her, and crafted a magical formation beneath her feet. “In Flitzgarde’s name, I invoke this contract and place a geas upon both of its members, to be removed only upon the completion of their respective conditions.”
The parchment disintegrated, reforming itself as a pair of bright yellow lights. The glowing spheres shot towards the agreement’s signatories and embedded themselves into the backs of their left hands, where they transformed into a pair of mirrored symbols that soon faded away.
Log Entry 6824
You have been marked by Flitzegarde, goddess of order, for the swearing of an oath.
Each represented one of the pact’s underwriters; those that successfully fulfilled their oaths would have their symbols turn blue, while violators would be marked in red. Either party could check the status of the other with an invocation of the goddess’ name.
“It is done,” said the marquis. “Now let us both be off on our ways, for there are many preparations to make, and very little time to see them through.”
“I concur. I wish you luck in battle, Lord Pollux.”
“And I to you, Lady Augustus.”
Both parties still smiling, they exited the room and went their separate ways.
