Chapter 229 - Horses, Goats, and Basements II
The group went its separate ways after lunch. Lia left to restock on supplies, Arciel and Matthais went to visit their key allies, and even Boris wandered off into the sunset, supposedly to defeat Marcelle once and for all in a game of find the shiniest object. Despite her wanderlust, the Llystletein-sourced manatee had settled in as one of the party’s auxiliary members. Specifically, she had reprised her role as Matthais’ mount and ferried him around the sky for a wage consisting primarily of shiny rocks and aquatic plants.
One would assume from the goods exchanged that the mantis was cutting Marcelle a raw deal, but in truth, it was the other way around. The only seaweeds she was willing to consume were those present in the lost library’s bounds, none of which grew natively in Vel’khanese seas. To acquire them, he had to import fresh produce from the south, the price of which was heavily inflated by its novelty. Worse yet, the sea cow did not entirely understand what it meant to be employed and would often vanish and go about her own business when she was meant to be on the clock.
Claire had no idea how Boris planned to find the blubbery mass, given her propensity to disappear, but he waddled with enough confidence to suggest that he had some sort of plan. He had even offered to take her with him, but the lyrkress had shot down the proposition in favour of returning to her residence with her fox in tow.
They could have very well warped themselves straight into their room, but they chose to walk instead. Teleporting almost seemed wasteful; it was a nice, warm afternoon, and the snow that drifted through the air was faint and powdery. Being almost entirely immune to changes in temperature, Claire could hardly feel the difference on her skin, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. The combination of the foreign city and the light flurry made for a scene right out of a storybook, a winter wonderland the likes of which the bards had always sung.
Such scenes were incredibly rare in Cadria; the mountains that bordered it brought heavy snowstorms, blizzards that could freeze entire cities overnight. The three most dominant races were well adapted to the hostile climate, however. Pureblooded centaurs did not fear the cold. Even without any resistances, they could wander through waist high snow without a word of complaint. Thorae took the opposite approach and hibernated the winter away, while the cottontails walked the middleground. They were fine with both tunneling through the snow and falling asleep inside of it. So likely was the latter that it was not unheard of for a rabbit-eared child to vanish on a cold winter night and suddenly reappear with the coming of spring.
Claire, like most that shared her mother’s blood, was not nearly as well adapted. Sthenia was only a little bit south of the Cadrian homeland, but its climate was moderate, far warmer than that of even Vel’khan’s. There was hardly ever snow in the winter, and even freezing rain was considered a rare and disastrous occurrence—the lamias that were its primary inhabitants would balk at the slightest hint of cold.
“Why are we going back home anyway? Is it just ‘cause you wanna nap?” The not-so-stuffed animal in the lyrkress’ arms voiced the question as the half-moose turned a corner.
“Maybe not a nap,” said the moose, after a brief delay, “but I think I need a bit of a break. I don’t feel like doing anything right now.”
“Isn’t that just ‘cause you’re burnt out? You guys have basically been grinding nonstop for like three straight months.”
“We’ve done a few quests here and there as well.”
“Only ‘cause Lia starts complaining whenever we start spending more than we make. And that barely counts! It’s still basically more of the same thing!”
“It’s still a break either way.”
Claire turned another corner and slowly raised her head towards a familiar hotel. Silkroad Suites could very easily be picked out from everything else in its vicinity. While most buildings were made of glass, it alone had walls made of large stone blocks, glued in place with thin layers of mortar, and not the ordinary variety either. The individual pieces were large, exactly one meter tall and three across. Not all of them were the same shade of red, but it was clear from the design that it was an intentional choice. The colours flowed neatly into each other, as if to give the impression that every single brick had been cut from the same stoneface.
“It doesn’t really matter. I’m not burnt out,” said Claire.
Sylvia furrowed her brow, unconvinced. “I think it might help you feel better if you go for a quick flight or something.”
The lyrkress rolled her eyes whilst tugging on the fox’s cheeks. “I’m fine, Sylvia.” She raised her pet just a little and buried her face in her fuzzy back. “And before you ask, yes, I’m sure.”
“Well… if you say so.” The fox breathed a small sigh. “I’m gonna get really mad and bite you if I find out that you’re just trying to act tough.”
“I’m not,” said Claire, with a giggle. “I liked leveling.”
“That’s just ‘cause you’re weird. Normal people don’t really spend that much time killing stuff.”
“Says the level thousand something,” said Claire, as she stretched the vixen’s face.
“That’s just ‘cause I was bored and didn’t really get along with most of the other foxes,” huffed Sylvia. “It was basically the only thing I had to do.”
“I’m starting to see why you’re so obsessed with children’s games.”
“Huh!? What’s that supposed to mean!”
“It means you never grew up,” said the moose.
“I’m totally grown up! Heck, I even had my coming of age ceremony just a little bit before I met you!”
“Okay fine. Your body’s grown, but your mind hasn’t.”
“Wow! Rude!”
“It’s not rude if it’s true.” A teasing grin on her face, Claire scratched her companion’s chin and clamped her mouth shut before she could voice another complaint. “Now do me a favour and keep quiet until we get back into our room. We’ve already got too many people staring.”
“Mmd whmmsmm fhmlt efff mat!?”
“Yours, of course. Now shush.”
The lyrkress walked through the front door with graceful steps. When the receptionists greeted her, she nodded at them, lightly, silently, as would any other lady of high standing. The discrepancy between her armoured appearance and her high-class behaviour often drove the tellers to make wild speculations about her origins. Their conjectures were certainly mildly annoying to hear, but Claire didn’t quite mind them in the abstract. The more exaggerated their guesses got, the less likely they were to butt into her business.
But even knowing that, Claire sometimes found herself fighting the urge to voice her thoughts, the perfect example of which had arisen right before they set out on their latest expedition. Rumours of the goddess of ears had spread across the city following a certain company’s downfall, and the gossip-loving receptionists spent no time catching wind of the word on the street. The fat one in particular, whose body was halfway between that of a pufferfish and a sea cucumber, had offered absurd interpretations that had caused the others’ imaginations to fly off the deep end. By the end of the first day, they had concluded that the goddess was quite literally a large pair of ears and nothing but, despite the event’s witnesses having described her to the local journalists in detail.
What frustrated the Cadrian the most was knowing that the claim was not entirely illogical. The Vel’khanese knew nothing of centaurian beauty standards, nor did many of them possess ears to admire to begin with; there was no reason for them to suspect that the designation was derived from only one aspect of her form. The whole ordeal had irritated her to the point where she almost regretted the stunt, but a quick glance at her status screen silenced her complaints each time.
Her divinity had skyrocketed following the incident, doubling twice in just one week. And while the pace of its growth had slowed after the initial wave of gossip, she still saw the odd spike once every few days, no doubt because the rumours were still in circulation.
Recalling the event left Claire incredibly annoyed, but she silently made her way through the foyer and up two flights of stairs. Her room was number 308, located smack dab in the middle of the hall. It had been a full six days since she last used it, but room service had refrained from entering at her behest. Everything, including the coinage she had accidentally left out in the open, was exactly where it was; the bed was still messy, there were old ceramic plates scattered all over, and the carpet was still covered in bits of orange hair.
The fur’s source had slipped out of her captor’s arms and closed the door behind them as soon as they entered. She made sure it was locked before turning herself into a humanoid and wrapping her arms around Claire from behind. Because it had become something of an established routine, the vixen had fully expected for the other girl to shrink in response, but Claire was far too preoccupied. When Sylvia followed her line of sight, she found a strange object that had her tilting her head in confusion.
“Hey, uhmm… Claire? Was that always there?”
“Definitely not.”
“What is it anyway?”
“A dagger. Idiot.”
“Oh, come on! You know that’s not what I meant!”
The foxgirl puffed up her cheeks as she separated herself from her favourite moose and approached the mysterious object. As Claire had stated, it was a weapon with a tiny blade, measuring it at only twice the length of its handle. Carved from obsidian and inlaid with gold, the jagged edge was finely serrated, and its spine featured a pure magical vein, glowing and pulsing with leftover hints of divine energy. The curious fox tried grabbing the weapon, but an invisible barrier got in her way and repelled her fingers. It almost felt like she was touching a panel of glass, albeit one that was flawless enough to be perfectly see-through.
Claire, on the other hand, encountered no such obstacle. The finely crafted blade fell into her hand when she reached for it. Its handle fit perfectly between her fingers; everything from the length, the width, the curvature, and the grip was perfectly adjusted for her hand. It was the sort of fine weapon that only the god of the inner flame could craft. Several bits of knowledge were packed into her brain when she handled it—the weapon’s primary ability, its purpose, and most importantly, its origin.
With that newfound bit of knowledge in mind, Claire promptly raised it overhead, and after rearing back to gather as much strength as she could, sprang forward and launched it out the window. The blade flew true, barely missing a particularly unlucky jellyfish before vanishing into the aether.
“Uhmmm… what was that?” asked Sylvia.
“Vella. Again.”
“Oh… I didn’t know she was so uhmm… persistent.”
“I think she’s just used to getting what she wants.”
A small smile crossed her lips when she considered the possibility that the deity was still watching. Though she didn’t know her well, she could easily imagine the humanoid spider stamping her feet and screaming in a mix of confusion and frustration. It was unlikely that the divine would immediately curse her for the blasphemy, but she knew that she would need to find another way to deal with her constant pestering before her interest turned to annoyance.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want the goddess’ blessing, quite the opposite, in fact. Vella’s affection was known to be among the most beneficial; its effect boosted the amount of experience gained when training with or fighting against sentient beings. There was no clear downside, but Claire was not keen on becoming the goddess’ next obsession. She hated the way that the immortal looked at her; whenever their eyes met, she could tell that Vella saw her not as an individual, but rather a member of the collective spawned of her blood. She was just another trophy in the case, another coin in the bank present only to be observed. And that was why she was glad to be rid of the blade.
Her triumph, however, was as ephemeral as a groundhog predicting a late spring, for the weapon returned from the great blue and stopped next to the sill. She immediately discarded it again, lightly tossing it out the window in hopes of negating its effect, but it hopped right back after hitting the ground. Claire furrowed her brow. After a moment of consideration, she grabbed the weapon, leapt out into the alley, and drove it into the pavement. She made sure to bury it as deeply as she could, and even shifted a few stones to lock it in place, but not even that exaggerated performance was able to stop the dagger in its tracks. It broke free immediately and took its place by her side like a vengeful spirit. And there, it stayed, as if physically attached. Though she swerved three times, in an attempt to lose it, it followed perfectly as she flew back up to the room and dove through the window.
“Wow, it’s almost as stubborn as you are,” said Sylvia, with a giggle.
“I’m not stubborn,” said Claire.
“Right…” The fox paused to shift her eyes before glancing between the person and the tool. “So what are you going to do with it?”
“What do you think?” The former noble lady narrowed her eyes at the undesired object. She grabbed the dagger with a thousand vectors and moved them all in different directions, but the blade refused to come apart. She followed that attempt with a tiny breath, perfectly controlled so it would hit nothing else in the room, but the dagger resisted even the innate destructive ability born of her draconic blood.
“What’s it supposed to be for anyway? Did you finish one of her quests or something?”
“Nope.” Claire formed an icy axe in her hand and cleaved at the dagger’s handle, but again, it was unaffected. “It’s a bribe. She keeps trying to convince me to kill my father.”
“Oh…” Sylvia blinked a few times before grabbing her mount by the wrist and tugging her over to the couch. “Oh yeah, that reminds me!”
“What?” asked the moose, as she was made to sit in the other girl’s lap.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, just how strong is your dad anyway?”
Claire narrowed her eyes and tried to put some distance between them, but the arms around her stomach kept her anchored in place. The overly huggy fox refused to let go even when prodded in the side by the other girl’s venom-laced tail.
“What are you doing?” asked Claire.
“Nothing!” said Sylvia. “Just helping you relax.”
“I told you. I’m fine.”
“Mmmmnnn… you don’t seem fine to me.” She pressed her own tail down on top of the half-snake’s and buried her face in her neck. “You smell really stressed.”
“I’m not stressed. And stop smelling me.”
“You’ve been grinding your teeth a lot lately too. And your tail is always really tensed up.”
“Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”
“Mmmn… if you say so.” Despite agreeing verbally, Sylvia refused to let go. She even pulled the other girl a little closer and purposefully fell over sideways, so that they laid on the sofa together. “But uhmmmm, I really wanna take a nap right now and I’ll feel really lonely if I have to do it by myself.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “At least come up with a better lie. Idiot.” Like the half-elf, the lyrkress saw a discrepancy between her actions and her words. She kept complaining as she turned around and snuggled into the fox’s irritatingly calming embrace.
“My father,” there was a long pause, “is the sort of man that even a god would struggle to smite.”
“Now that’s just silly,” giggled Sylvia.
“You’d think.” Claire grimaced. “But he killed an aspect before his second ascension.”
“Huh?” Sylvia blinked. “No way. That’s impossible! How the heck did he manage something like that!?”
The dracoqilin shrugged. “I don’t know. He doesn’t like talking about it.”
“I kinda wanna think that it was probably just dumb luck, but luck isn’t gonna make up a difference of like a whole thousand levels when he hasn’t even got three hundred.”
“I don’t think so either,” said Claire. “I don’t know what level he is right now exactly, but some of his classes are over two thousand.”
“That’s not that bad then. I’ve got a few of those too, and my bard class is like halfway through three.”
The moose paused briefly, before raising a finger and flicking the foxgirl’s nose.
“Ow! What the heck was that for!?”
“Nothing.” Claire stuck out her tongue. “You can let go now.”
“Mmmnnnn…” Her pet pulled back and took a few moments to look at her before finally nodding in satisfaction and loosening her grip. “Mmkay. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Flicking the fox again, the abyssal hoarfrost scalewarden got off the couch and walked in front of the mirror. Her magical cloak turned into a dress, a tunic, and even a suit of armour before she finally settled on a deep purple blouse in line with her mother’s tastes. Then and only then did she turn to the veranda and magically open the door to reveal Boris and Marcelle.
Both critters were covered in a thin coat of snow, but neither found themselves any worse for the wear. The lizard, like his mistress, was effectively immune to the cold, while Marcelle was protected by a layer of thick fat.
“Oh, hey guys!” Sylvia slowly sat up and waved at the pair. The sea cow happily replied in kind, and even threw in a squeal to boot, while the lizard simply greeted her with a lazy nod.
Claire removed snow off them both with a snap. But while she allowed the manatee to float over to the fireplace, she stopped the lizard by the door.
“Hold on,” she said. “I need you to do something for me.”
Boris cocked his head.
“Eat this.”
Claire grabbed Vella’s so-called gift and set it down on the floor in front of him. Having never been treated as a garbage bin before, the metallic iguana blinked in confusion, but soon did as told. He snapped it in its jaws right before it returned to its previous position, and with a clatter, sentenced it to an eternity in his stomach.
“Uhmmm… are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Sylvia. “Isn’t it gonna like… tear a hole in him and fly back out or something?”
A very panicked Boris began looking between the two halfbreeds; sweat surely would have begun flowing down his brow had he the ability to produce it.
“He’ll be fine,” said Claire, after a brief delay. “It would’ve happened already, if it was going to.”
Sylvia was still somewhat concerned, but the lizard shrugged off the event and proceeded to his usual spot by the hearth. Something in the back of his mind told him that he should have complained, but he saw no issue with the end result. It was a very tasty dagger, after all.
Chapter 229 - Horses, Goats, and Basements II
The group went its separate ways after lunch. Lia left to restock on supplies, Arciel and Matthais went to visit their key allies, and even Boris wandered off into the sunset, supposedly to defeat Marcelle once and for all in a game of find the shiniest object. Despite her wanderlust, the Llystletein-sourced manatee had settled in as one of the party’s auxiliary members. Specifically, she had reprised her role as Matthais’ mount and ferried him around the sky for a wage consisting primarily of shiny rocks and aquatic plants.
One would assume from the goods exchanged that the mantis was cutting Marcelle a raw deal, but in truth, it was the other way around. The only seaweeds she was willing to consume were those present in the lost library’s bounds, none of which grew natively in Vel’khanese seas. To acquire them, he had to import fresh produce from the south, the price of which was heavily inflated by its novelty. Worse yet, the sea cow did not entirely understand what it meant to be employed and would often vanish and go about her own business when she was meant to be on the clock.
Claire had no idea how Boris planned to find the blubbery mass, given her propensity to disappear, but he waddled with enough confidence to suggest that he had some sort of plan. He had even offered to take her with him, but the lyrkress had shot down the proposition in favour of returning to her residence with her fox in tow.
They could have very well warped themselves straight into their room, but they chose to walk instead. Teleporting almost seemed wasteful; it was a nice, warm afternoon, and the snow that drifted through the air was faint and powdery. Being almost entirely immune to changes in temperature, Claire could hardly feel the difference on her skin, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. The combination of the foreign city and the light flurry made for a scene right out of a storybook, a winter wonderland the likes of which the bards had always sung.
Such scenes were incredibly rare in Cadria; the mountains that bordered it brought heavy snowstorms, blizzards that could freeze entire cities overnight. The three most dominant races were well adapted to the hostile climate, however. Pureblooded centaurs did not fear the cold. Even without any resistances, they could wander through waist high snow without a word of complaint. Thorae took the opposite approach and hibernated the winter away, while the cottontails walked the middleground. They were fine with both tunneling through the snow and falling asleep inside of it. So likely was the latter that it was not unheard of for a rabbit-eared child to vanish on a cold winter night and suddenly reappear with the coming of spring.
Claire, like most that shared her mother’s blood, was not nearly as well adapted. Sthenia was only a little bit south of the Cadrian homeland, but its climate was moderate, far warmer than that of even Vel’khan’s. There was hardly ever snow in the winter, and even freezing rain was considered a rare and disastrous occurrence—the lamias that were its primary inhabitants would balk at the slightest hint of cold.
“Why are we going back home anyway? Is it just ‘cause you wanna nap?” The not-so-stuffed animal in the lyrkress’ arms voiced the question as the half-moose turned a corner.
“Maybe not a nap,” said the moose, after a brief delay, “but I think I need a bit of a break. I don’t feel like doing anything right now.”
“Isn’t that just ‘cause you’re burnt out? You guys have basically been grinding nonstop for like three straight months.”
“We’ve done a few quests here and there as well.”
“Only ‘cause Lia starts complaining whenever we start spending more than we make. And that barely counts! It’s still basically more of the same thing!”
“It’s still a break either way.”
Claire turned another corner and slowly raised her head towards a familiar hotel. Silkroad Suites could very easily be picked out from everything else in its vicinity. While most buildings were made of glass, it alone had walls made of large stone blocks, glued in place with thin layers of mortar, and not the ordinary variety either. The individual pieces were large, exactly one meter tall and three across. Not all of them were the same shade of red, but it was clear from the design that it was an intentional choice. The colours flowed neatly into each other, as if to give the impression that every single brick had been cut from the same stoneface.
“It doesn’t really matter. I’m not burnt out,” said Claire.
Sylvia furrowed her brow, unconvinced. “I think it might help you feel better if you go for a quick flight or something.”
The lyrkress rolled her eyes whilst tugging on the fox’s cheeks. “I’m fine, Sylvia.” She raised her pet just a little and buried her face in her fuzzy back. “And before you ask, yes, I’m sure.”
“Well… if you say so.” The fox breathed a small sigh. “I’m gonna get really mad and bite you if I find out that you’re just trying to act tough.”
“I’m not,” said Claire, with a giggle. “I liked leveling.”
“That’s just ‘cause you’re weird. Normal people don’t really spend that much time killing stuff.”
“Says the level thousand something,” said Claire, as she stretched the vixen’s face.
“That’s just ‘cause I was bored and didn’t really get along with most of the other foxes,” huffed Sylvia. “It was basically the only thing I had to do.”
“I’m starting to see why you’re so obsessed with children’s games.”
“Huh!? What’s that supposed to mean!”
“It means you never grew up,” said the moose.
“I’m totally grown up! Heck, I even had my coming of age ceremony just a little bit before I met you!”
“Okay fine. Your body’s grown, but your mind hasn’t.”
“Wow! Rude!”
“It’s not rude if it’s true.” A teasing grin on her face, Claire scratched her companion’s chin and clamped her mouth shut before she could voice another complaint. “Now do me a favour and keep quiet until we get back into our room. We’ve already got too many people staring.”
“Mmd whmmsmm fhmlt efff mat!?”
“Yours, of course. Now shush.”
The lyrkress walked through the front door with graceful steps. When the receptionists greeted her, she nodded at them, lightly, silently, as would any other lady of high standing. The discrepancy between her armoured appearance and her high-class behaviour often drove the tellers to make wild speculations about her origins. Their conjectures were certainly mildly annoying to hear, but Claire didn’t quite mind them in the abstract. The more exaggerated their guesses got, the less likely they were to butt into her business.
But even knowing that, Claire sometimes found herself fighting the urge to voice her thoughts, the perfect example of which had arisen right before they set out on their latest expedition. Rumours of the goddess of ears had spread across the city following a certain company’s downfall, and the gossip-loving receptionists spent no time catching wind of the word on the street. The fat one in particular, whose body was halfway between that of a pufferfish and a sea cucumber, had offered absurd interpretations that had caused the others’ imaginations to fly off the deep end. By the end of the first day, they had concluded that the goddess was quite literally a large pair of ears and nothing but, despite the event’s witnesses having described her to the local journalists in detail.
What frustrated the Cadrian the most was knowing that the claim was not entirely illogical. The Vel’khanese knew nothing of centaurian beauty standards, nor did many of them possess ears to admire to begin with; there was no reason for them to suspect that the designation was derived from only one aspect of her form. The whole ordeal had irritated her to the point where she almost regretted the stunt, but a quick glance at her status screen silenced her complaints each time.
Her divinity had skyrocketed following the incident, doubling twice in just one week. And while the pace of its growth had slowed after the initial wave of gossip, she still saw the odd spike once every few days, no doubt because the rumours were still in circulation.
Recalling the event left Claire incredibly annoyed, but she silently made her way through the foyer and up two flights of stairs. Her room was number 308, located smack dab in the middle of the hall. It had been a full six days since she last used it, but room service had refrained from entering at her behest. Everything, including the coinage she had accidentally left out in the open, was exactly where it was; the bed was still messy, there were old ceramic plates scattered all over, and the carpet was still covered in bits of orange hair.
The fur’s source had slipped out of her captor’s arms and closed the door behind them as soon as they entered. She made sure it was locked before turning herself into a humanoid and wrapping her arms around Claire from behind. Because it had become something of an established routine, the vixen had fully expected for the other girl to shrink in response, but Claire was far too preoccupied. When Sylvia followed her line of sight, she found a strange object that had her tilting her head in confusion.
“Hey, uhmm… Claire? Was that always there?”
“Definitely not.”
“What is it anyway?”
“A dagger. Idiot.”
“Oh, come on! You know that’s not what I meant!”
The foxgirl puffed up her cheeks as she separated herself from her favourite moose and approached the mysterious object. As Claire had stated, it was a weapon with a tiny blade, measuring it at only twice the length of its handle. Carved from obsidian and inlaid with gold, the jagged edge was finely serrated, and its spine featured a pure magical vein, glowing and pulsing with leftover hints of divine energy. The curious fox tried grabbing the weapon, but an invisible barrier got in her way and repelled her fingers. It almost felt like she was touching a panel of glass, albeit one that was flawless enough to be perfectly see-through.
Claire, on the other hand, encountered no such obstacle. The finely crafted blade fell into her hand when she reached for it. Its handle fit perfectly between her fingers; everything from the length, the width, the curvature, and the grip was perfectly adjusted for her hand. It was the sort of fine weapon that only the god of the inner flame could craft. Several bits of knowledge were packed into her brain when she handled it—the weapon’s primary ability, its purpose, and most importantly, its origin.
With that newfound bit of knowledge in mind, Claire promptly raised it overhead, and after rearing back to gather as much strength as she could, sprang forward and launched it out the window. The blade flew true, barely missing a particularly unlucky jellyfish before vanishing into the aether.
“Uhmmm… what was that?” asked Sylvia.
“Vella. Again.”
“Oh… I didn’t know she was so uhmm… persistent.”
“I think she’s just used to getting what she wants.”
A small smile crossed her lips when she considered the possibility that the deity was still watching. Though she didn’t know her well, she could easily imagine the humanoid spider stamping her feet and screaming in a mix of confusion and frustration. It was unlikely that the divine would immediately curse her for the blasphemy, but she knew that she would need to find another way to deal with her constant pestering before her interest turned to annoyance.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want the goddess’ blessing, quite the opposite, in fact. Vella’s affection was known to be among the most beneficial; its effect boosted the amount of experience gained when training with or fighting against sentient beings. There was no clear downside, but Claire was not keen on becoming the goddess’ next obsession. She hated the way that the immortal looked at her; whenever their eyes met, she could tell that Vella saw her not as an individual, but rather a member of the collective spawned of her blood. She was just another trophy in the case, another coin in the bank present only to be observed. And that was why she was glad to be rid of the blade.
Her triumph, however, was as ephemeral as a groundhog predicting a late spring, for the weapon returned from the great blue and stopped next to the sill. She immediately discarded it again, lightly tossing it out the window in hopes of negating its effect, but it hopped right back after hitting the ground. Claire furrowed her brow. After a moment of consideration, she grabbed the weapon, leapt out into the alley, and drove it into the pavement. She made sure to bury it as deeply as she could, and even shifted a few stones to lock it in place, but not even that exaggerated performance was able to stop the dagger in its tracks. It broke free immediately and took its place by her side like a vengeful spirit. And there, it stayed, as if physically attached. Though she swerved three times, in an attempt to lose it, it followed perfectly as she flew back up to the room and dove through the window.
“Wow, it’s almost as stubborn as you are,” said Sylvia, with a giggle.
“I’m not stubborn,” said Claire.
“Right…” The fox paused to shift her eyes before glancing between the person and the tool. “So what are you going to do with it?”
“What do you think?” The former noble lady narrowed her eyes at the undesired object. She grabbed the dagger with a thousand vectors and moved them all in different directions, but the blade refused to come apart. She followed that attempt with a tiny breath, perfectly controlled so it would hit nothing else in the room, but the dagger resisted even the innate destructive ability born of her draconic blood.
“What’s it supposed to be for anyway? Did you finish one of her quests or something?”
“Nope.” Claire formed an icy axe in her hand and cleaved at the dagger’s handle, but again, it was unaffected. “It’s a bribe. She keeps trying to convince me to kill my father.”
“Oh…” Sylvia blinked a few times before grabbing her mount by the wrist and tugging her over to the couch. “Oh yeah, that reminds me!”
“What?” asked the moose, as she was made to sit in the other girl’s lap.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, just how strong is your dad anyway?”
Claire narrowed her eyes and tried to put some distance between them, but the arms around her stomach kept her anchored in place. The overly huggy fox refused to let go even when prodded in the side by the other girl’s venom-laced tail.
“What are you doing?” asked Claire.
“Nothing!” said Sylvia. “Just helping you relax.”
“I told you. I’m fine.”
“Mmmmnnn… you don’t seem fine to me.” She pressed her own tail down on top of the half-snake’s and buried her face in her neck. “You smell really stressed.”
“I’m not stressed. And stop smelling me.”
“You’ve been grinding your teeth a lot lately too. And your tail is always really tensed up.”
“Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”
“Mmmn… if you say so.” Despite agreeing verbally, Sylvia refused to let go. She even pulled the other girl a little closer and purposefully fell over sideways, so that they laid on the sofa together. “But uhmmmm, I really wanna take a nap right now and I’ll feel really lonely if I have to do it by myself.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “At least come up with a better lie. Idiot.” Like the half-elf, the lyrkress saw a discrepancy between her actions and her words. She kept complaining as she turned around and snuggled into the fox’s irritatingly calming embrace.
“My father,” there was a long pause, “is the sort of man that even a god would struggle to smite.”
“Now that’s just silly,” giggled Sylvia.
“You’d think.” Claire grimaced. “But he killed an aspect before his second ascension.”
“Huh?” Sylvia blinked. “No way. That’s impossible! How the heck did he manage something like that!?”
The dracoqilin shrugged. “I don’t know. He doesn’t like talking about it.”
“I kinda wanna think that it was probably just dumb luck, but luck isn’t gonna make up a difference of like a whole thousand levels when he hasn’t even got three hundred.”
“I don’t think so either,” said Claire. “I don’t know what level he is right now exactly, but some of his classes are over two thousand.”
“That’s not that bad then. I’ve got a few of those too, and my bard class is like halfway through three.”
The moose paused briefly, before raising a finger and flicking the foxgirl’s nose.
“Ow! What the heck was that for!?”
“Nothing.” Claire stuck out her tongue. “You can let go now.”
“Mmmnnnn…” Her pet pulled back and took a few moments to look at her before finally nodding in satisfaction and loosening her grip. “Mmkay. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Flicking the fox again, the abyssal hoarfrost scalewarden got off the couch and walked in front of the mirror. Her magical cloak turned into a dress, a tunic, and even a suit of armour before she finally settled on a deep purple blouse in line with her mother’s tastes. Then and only then did she turn to the veranda and magically open the door to reveal Boris and Marcelle.
Both critters were covered in a thin coat of snow, but neither found themselves any worse for the wear. The lizard, like his mistress, was effectively immune to the cold, while Marcelle was protected by a layer of thick fat.
“Oh, hey guys!” Sylvia slowly sat up and waved at the pair. The sea cow happily replied in kind, and even threw in a squeal to boot, while the lizard simply greeted her with a lazy nod.
Claire removed snow off them both with a snap. But while she allowed the manatee to float over to the fireplace, she stopped the lizard by the door.
“Hold on,” she said. “I need you to do something for me.”
Boris cocked his head.
“Eat this.”
Claire grabbed Vella’s so-called gift and set it down on the floor in front of him. Having never been treated as a garbage bin before, the metallic iguana blinked in confusion, but soon did as told. He snapped it in its jaws right before it returned to its previous position, and with a clatter, sentenced it to an eternity in his stomach.
“Uhmmm… are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Sylvia. “Isn’t it gonna like… tear a hole in him and fly back out or something?”
A very panicked Boris began looking between the two halfbreeds; sweat surely would have begun flowing down his brow had he the ability to produce it.
“He’ll be fine,” said Claire, after a brief delay. “It would’ve happened already, if it was going to.”
Sylvia was still somewhat concerned, but the lizard shrugged off the event and proceeded to his usual spot by the hearth. Something in the back of his mind told him that he should have complained, but he saw no issue with the end result. It was a very tasty dagger, after all.
