A cloud of ravens loomed above Buranikka. An innumerable flock of feathered scavengers circled over the city, voiding it of light from the waning sun. Wave after wave, refugees left through the gates, while it wasn’t too late. Many of these people would fall victim to profiteers, eager to sap every last bit of savings from those fleeing.
Cawing, swearing, the crying of children, frustrated moans – the jostle was terrible. Clearly, not as much as losing your life in an upcoming skirmish, but still.
And yet, in the very heart of the storm, in the city hall made into a headquarters for the invasion, it was quiet. Every plan was outlined, every drill has been completed. The day was soon to end, as the crimson luminary nearly vanished beyond the mountain ridges.
“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.”
Only a quiet prayer emanated from within a small room. A powerful and charismatic voice whispered the ode to the supreme deity.
“Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
It was Organ Trist. The Champion of Jioral knelt before a window, holding a small homemade cross. His eyes were closed…
“Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” … and yet Hawkeye was never truly blind. Even now he watched over the whole military base his army turned the centre of Buranikka into. Nothing escaped his gaze…
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” …not even the gloomy figure of the warlady standing in a dark corner of the room. “I have left the report in your chambers, Your Highness.” The archer said, rising on his feet. Although he always maintained a cold-blooded mask, this time, in the fleeting illumination of twilight, he looked to be in peace. The princess, in turn…
“Read it, memorized it.” She muttered with tangible frustration. “How is Keyaru? Is he alright?” The warlady asked nervously. Usually, she maintained a calculative collected demeanor, but now, she cared nothing for that image.
“Between slaying monsters, collecting herbs, brewing potions for sale, and engaging in debaucheries with Flare and that demi-human child, I would say he is doing pretty well.” The Champion of Jioral reported, trying not to get overly concerned over the girl’s bitter face. Being an all-seeing demigod, he failed to do so. “The fallen angel, though, remains outside of their acts of lust. Although, it should be noted, that your sister is still maintaining a palpable camaraderie with the entire group.”
“I see… Good for them, I guess.” The warlady uttered, slowly walking toward the table in the centre of the room. In silence, she sat on the chair, in a place devoid of natural light.
“This expedition was never about Jioral’s strategic goals. All you wanted was to reunite with him.” The gentleman deadpanned, unable to look away from the shadowed hunched figure. “You are a dreamer, Your Highness, just like him. That is why you both are drawn to each other.”
To the archer’s statement, there was no vocal answer. Yet, there was eloquence in silence, interrupted with nothing but a fresh evening breeze.
“Damn, at this point even my brain-dead sister might’ve noticed…” But stillness couldn’t last forever. “Organ… I came here to reclaim what’s mine. My feelings for him may still be there, but I swore on my mother’s grave, that I’d make this world better. I won’t rest until the even the smallest human life is worth more than any wealth gained from conquering or plundering combined.” Norn admitted, reflecting on her own goal. After all, she was murdered by demons, whose entire existence was put in question by the warlady’s military success.
“In times of crisis, you can only rely on the strength of your spirit. When in disarray…”
“Enough! You won’t recruit me into the sect of your celestial tyrant!” The princess snarled, interrupting the Champion’s sermon. “I know he doesn’t answer your prayers, so this entire charade is just a bunch of escapist bullshit. Your god-daddy is dead, and if you want to worship a hollow idol, convert to Faranism. At least you’d have friends there.” The girl lamented, clutching her hair. To her, Organ Trist was the greatest hypocrite she’d ever known. A living demigod, praying to a long-forgotten avatar of petty childishness. “Look, Organ, I’ve been there too… Do you want to hear the story of Ellen the Adopted?”
“If you wish to tell me, then I would listen.” The assassin replied. There were only two men in this entire city with which the princess could have a sincere talk. Two who were destined to clash in battle.
“First thing first, she never existed.” The girl admonished, taking out a small notebook in a leather cover from within her left boot. “I began writing it last year, right before my first trial of fire. This is a story of Ellen, a girl kidnapped from her beloved brother by an evil king who wanted to make her his henchwoman. He called himself her adopted father and began educating her in the arts of war. All the while the king had a daughter, who was kind and compassionate… Haa… This was disgusting. I wrote it entirely and specifically for myself, I spent three years, scribbling this nonsense instead of doing something about my problems. When I killed, Ellen saved. When I kicked the hell out of my father figure to feel better, she remained gentle and polite. When Flare turned into a monster, instead of dragging her out of that shit, I resorted to describing my sister the way I wanted her to be instead. I felt at peace, being a creator of Ellen’s life, her struggles and her ultimate happy ending. In the meantime, I didn’t notice my real life crumbling to shit.” The princess spoke, not even trying to look inside the book. Not like she would even see anything in the darkness of the night to come. “You see the point? No matter how much I tried, I never became her, I never met my imaginary ideal ‘brother’, who would save me in the end, and my enemies killed me when I was yet to unseat Margurth. Let it be a lesson for you, old man. There’s no salvation in hollow hopes.”
This was Norn’s confession. A tale of vanity, a precept against escapism. She never told it to anyone, as the original manuscript was lost in the fire, that happened in the year of 779, two years in the future. Hawkeye listened, because nobody else would.
“My apologies, Your Highness, but I disagree with your conclusion.” Organ was one of the very few who would dare to talk back to the warlady, and honestly, the latter loved it, as long as her interlocutors were capable of amusing her. And because she knew, how much a person can degrade without contradictory thoughts to ponder. “My mother taught me how to live as a man, and how struggle is common for every last being here. Instead of discarding your creation; you may use it as a guideline, simply because, after all, it is our own will that defines our being.” The Champion uttered, looking in the princess’ emerald eyes. In them, he saw Reeharoze’s heritage. For him, that woman was the purest soul to ever step foot in the royal palace (aside, maybe, from his wife Gizelle). And it was Flare forsaking the memories of her mother that aggravated him so much against the first princess.
“Then, what if I want this whole expedition to lose in the worst way possible? What if the little girl inside me wants to surrender to Keyaru? What if I want him to brew me tea and restoration potions every day? To hug me, tell me that everything would be fine? What if I want to find peace as one of his sex slaves?” Norn provocatively wondered, as her left hand began twirling a curl of her pink hair.
“Ha, in that case, I offer you a choice, Your Highness. As we speak, your ‘brother’, under a disguise of one of our soldiers, is poisoning our wine. If nothing is done, by tomorrow your troops will be spilling their diarrhea all over themselves, this building and the streets outside. What would you have me do?” Hawkeye asked with a bloodthirsty sneer on his lips. He was a believer, yes, but more importantly, he was a highly professional assassin. One word and he would pursue Keyaru until one of them falls.
“Don’t touch him, Organ. Use whatever antidotes we have at our disposal, but make sure he doesn’t notice you.” The princess ordered, rising from a chair. “And if you’re wondering, my inner warmonger just punched that pathetic wuss in the gut and said this: “We have our responsibilities to uphold, you pathetic cunt!” And so I will face my lovely hero as a war leader. And then, it’ll be his performance that determines our fates.” Norn scoffed, walking away. She had a book to burn, and another to write from a scratch in a matter of a single night, after all.
…
It was the last day before Norn’s punitive operation. The tension was high, scouting squads from each side kept an eye on each other. Despite all of that, it was an atmosphere of drunken carelessness that prevailed among Norn’s troops. They had every right to deem themselves superior, after all. They already had a foothold in the heart of enemy’s domain. Some were already chugging booze, some went straight to the local brothels, and some…
“Harris, you son of a bitch, I told you to stay away from the warehouse, you drunkard swine!” Some had to sneak to get their pals a spare barrel or two of wine.
“Oh fuck you, Joe! You know nobody gives a shit! The Princess allowed it.” An ugly soldier in just his under-armor gambeson replied.
“Yeah, she said one barrel per squad. Now fuck off before I kick you.” A fully-armored guardsman insisted. Honestly, at that point the drunkard grew tired of this.
“Ya know what, dude…” Harris approached the man, rested his arm on his neck… And a green hue of magic sedated the warden. “You never saw me.” Keyaruga sneered, entering the warehouse. He didn’t dare kill the grunt, even if he was to die on the next day. There was a tacit agreement between him and Norn, after all that forbade either side from hurting another till the day of clash.
“Well-well, time to make things spicy.” The masquerading lad said under his breath, getting a few vials of laxative medicine of his own doing. It required a precise dosage; add too little, and there’ll be no apparent effect. Too much would ruin the surprise. Why not use something lethal? That would be ineffective, as even the dumbest moron understands that you shouldn’t drink something that makes your comrades die. Things would get even worse, if Norn decided to get back to her old alcoholism; the lad couldn’t bring himself to kill his beloved after all.
Keyaruga even thought about taking on the entire army on his own, and with Georgius, he had pretty decent odds of success. What stopped him, though, was another of his goals. This wasn’t just the battle between the warlady and the Hero of Healing. It was also between Jioral and Tenanullic.
“Heh, think we’re done here.” The man muttered, exiting the warehouse. Nobody seemed to notice his diversion, so it was time to take his leave. Before going to his girls, Keyaruga had one last place he had to visit. There was only one last person to speak to.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” A spearman on the edge of the camp stopped the masquerading lad.
“Fuck off, I’m gonna grab a whore or two.” The ‘drunkard’ responded in an unnecessarily churlish manner.
“Heh, then go with Faran’s grace.” The watchman chuckled, tapping Keyaruga’s shoulder. The latter shuddered; he fended off the soldier’s arm, brutishly suppressing a desire to kill the defiler. This happened each time another man touched the hero. Most other times, though, he could just slay the nuisance, but not now. “Ha, fucking pussy! Get your ass out of here! Oh, and if you don’t return till the morning, your ass is mine, deserter! Pha-ha-ha-h… UGH!!!” The moron gargled, as he got a fist right in his solar plexus.
The world would be so much better, if imbeciles like him got punched more often. Don’t you agree; my mysterious companion?
…
By the time Keyaruga reached the edge of Buranikka, nothing of the sloppy Jioral spearman’s stench remained on him. A lone proud figure walked along ma-zok turf on the far eastern part of the city, as his enchanted cape fluttered in the wind. He was armed, confident, and bold enough to just stroll toward the inconspicuous mansion with at least two hundred eyes carefully watching his every move.
Crowds upon crowds of armed and aggressive tribesmen gathered around the brave man. Fox-eared marksmen aimed from the rooftops, raccoon-looking brawlers formed a vanguard, round-horned goats pointed their longswords at the man, imposing ox-looking halberdiers threatened him with their polearms – many tribes lived there along with their tamed monsters, even humans could be seen among the formations. Their sheer number and aggression would be dreadful for all who dared show up all by themselves.
“Heh.” To Keyaru, though, it was the perfect plan of action. Should he bring along his girls, the lad would be excessively concerned about their safety. Standing his ground on his own, though… “Hey, Adrian! I’ve come to bargain!” The hero yelled, pulling off a green glove from his right hand. A mere hunch, that kept deterring the locals from overwhelming him, was now revealed. Whispering, curses, battle cries – all had been silenced in the face of the blue bird-shaped brand.
A cloud of uncertainty had fallen upon the street. The lone young man stood against the crowd carelessly, and yet even Keyaruga fidgeting his foot deterred the other group just enough for them to not do anything. The healer hated such moments, for they lacked the certainty of friendliness, nor the brutish honesty of sincere animosity.
Are we fighting, or what?
“STOP!!!” For better or worse, the eerie silence was broken by a mighty bellow cry. A rotund man in a green kaftan came to the balcony, accompanied by his loyal attendant. “Keyaru, the Hero of Healing! Come inside, we have a lot to talk about!”
“Good evening to you too, Adrian.” The man smirked, greeting the exiled lord of Buranikka. He got no salutations back, but at the same time, the very fact of the ruler showing him some manner of hospitality resulted in the main door opening. Two exalted women came forth, accompanied by the guards of their respective tribe. One was a fully-armored woman with cow horns. She, just as her people, bared almost no similarity to Rikish Gi, as they looked much more like humans, than animals. Not overly attractive for Keyaruga, but her mere presence demanded respect. And so does the other matriarch, a bipedal goat-like figure in a fancy red robe, she may have looked frail, but the lad sensed strong arcane power coming from her person.
“Anua, nakua shia haki (please go inside).” The goat lady said, offering Keyaruga a safe passage right into the heart of their shared residence.
“Tu katari? Anasaru danena, nanue sahu (Just like that? What if I’m an assassin)?” The healer asked sarcastically, probing who seemed like his escorts.
“Heh, danue, gura tanoutu (In that case; I’ll kill you, obviously)!” The cow halberdiers’ female chieftain offered her words of warning. She seemed rash, relentless, and eager to fight a strong foe. Unfortunately, she would be disappointed in the healer. After all, he didn’t come there to play games.
And so, the man was accompanied to the mansion. He wasn’t too impressed by its interior, or with the seeming turmoil inside. What did leave a nice impression, though, was a vast hall with the oval table in the middle of it. At least twenty armed men of different tribes guarded those sitting there.
“Greetings, sir Keyaru. I suppose this is how I should call you, after all.” The first to share his voice was Adrian Mirt himself. The old man looked tired, he had grievous violet sacks under his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s me. The Hero of Healing, and the most hated man in all of Jioral, apparently.” The lad introduced himself with a small bow to greet the lord of Buranikka, and its prominent leaders. The bald armored vampire, speaking in archaic Phasian, the raccoon-like lady, a man with dark-brown fox ears, a black tattooed man, who apparently was one of Karman’s contacts, a buffed red-skinned ogre, Keyaruga and Setsuna met in the night of black dogs purge (speaking of which, not even one trace of that tribe remained in Buranikka). Two women, who accompanied Keyaruga into that room, took their seats, but they remained ever vigilant about him and his actions. The last, but not the least, the red-eyed lad spotted an aging lady at Adrian’s side.
“What is your purpose here, boy?” It was a stern-looking female who made no attempts at hiding her wrinkles or painting her graying hair, instead she relished her gracious aging. And she demanded an answer.
“Ladies, gentlemen, we don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief. I came here to save the city.” The healer declared, slowly walking back and forth. He wasn’t offered a seat, even though there were at least four to choose from. Most probably, they belonged to the black dogs. But they were forced out of the city.
“How can we trust thee?” Chris Malcolm wondered, as if he never encountered the man, never spied on him. As if it wasn’t the young man that caused fires of rebellions around Ranalitta.
“How do I put it?.. You don’t have to, nor should you.” Keyaruga deadpanned, moving away a chair that blocked his path to the table.
Without any worry or concern, he grabbed a map from the table and stared at it, looking through the memories of Harris, his last mask. “I want to make one thing clear: the only factor that puts us on the same side is a thousand of those Jioral thugs you let in! I won’t question, why you did that, but you and I now have a common goal.” With that said, the hero grabbed an inked quill and began drawing lines from the downtown. “What Norn wants is not a battle. It’s a bloodbath! Tomorrow, her troops will gather folk in the central square to listen to her speech. Don’t fall for that! Her only goal is to sow discord and make humans fight their ma-zok neighbors, while here, here, and here…” The man pointed on four lines. “…the order of Holy Spear will begin their onslaught. They’ll move in brigades of three hundred men. Their directions might change, but not the goals. They want to occupy the entire city and kill however many people they can!” The man spoke in Phasian, this was his way of asserting his dominance. After all, most of the locals were bilinguals, and their children spoke a mix of the two languages.
“Kuyaka gadu wor tanoute, ushi (It was you, who killed the black dogs)!” Still, the raccoon matriarch stood her linguistic ground. She came up with an accusation to use against the hero. The latter glanced at his bloodsucking acquaintance, but Chris Malcolm pretended he never heard of it.
You knew it’d happen, you insect.
“It was me, yes. You all know about Kyuntarnur Gyukanze (the Obsidian Throne), I presume. Hakuo’s reign is coming to an end, and I work under the next Me-ua to claim Kinacrith! They worked for Hakuo, I protect my kahul (candidate), this is how it is, and I have nothing to feel sorry about! Karu yukusa (this is war)!” The man declared, bumping his fist on the table. A visible dent remained afterwards. “We may be friends, may be enemies, but if we hand over Buranikka, Jioral will not stop! They’ll take more, region after region, until nothing remains! Do you want that?” The lad stated, looking at each and every member of the meeting, including the lowly guards. Barely anybody wanted to allow another human to rule over their discussion, yet they had no choice but to listen to a reason. “Good. How many troops do we have?”
“Two hundred crossbowmen, and around six hundred militants on foot and mounted.” Adrian Mirt unwillingly admitted, glancing in the faces of his allies. “Less than a half of what I hoped for. Our people are split, many flee, and some wish to return under Jioral’s nationality.”
“Hmm, no wonder. Norn can be quite persuasive, if I may say so.” Keyaruga shrugged, knowing all too well, how charismatic his former lover was, when she wished to be. There was no way the man could beat her in rhetoric. But someone else could…
“You, sassy kid!” This was Bagran, the red ogre and the second in command of the local self-defense forces. He wasn’t heavily impressed with Keyaruga, but he could get some help from that enigmatic hero. “Have anything to suggest, huh?”
“I do. Build barricades, help people leave Buranikka, prepare traps, and… Well, persevere.” The lad shrugged, facing the horned man of the dar-it-nuka tribe.
“Tanout wor shotni (we know that)!” The cow-looking armorclad woman exclaimed. “Ushi, nanue kade shia tasu (how would you help us)?”
“Help? I already did. I poisoned their wine barrels, so if everything goes as planned, your enemies will shit themselves right when the assault starts.”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Adrian’s wife wisely wondered. “That brat goes by the title of goddess of war, do you think she haven’t predicted this move of yours?”
“We can cut off the snake’s head now.” The fox man suggested. He expected to attract at least some attention to his idea, but alas…
“Muna yinene, Korb-murnaz (we’ve already tried, chieftan Korb).” The goat-headed witch admonished, pointing at her personal guardians. One had no arm, another got her eye gouged.
“Exactly. Princess Norn is guarded by Hawkeye, a nasty fellow only I have a chance at dealimg with. So don’t even try, unless you want to sacrifice your men and women for nothing.” Keyaruga warned, knowing all too well they’d need someone of Tafias scale. Hakuo’s right hand was far away from Buranikka.
“Utwasha, huli (fuck you, human)!” The armored woman snarled, tappping her polearm on the ground.
“Fuck you too, lady!” The healer replied just slightly loud enough to be heard through the background talks. The cow-woman reached for him, but her underlings turned out wise enough to stop her from certain act of fatuity.
“When the time comes, I will be there to help you with my saber.” The hero promised, rattling his blade. “In the meantime, get ready. Build fortifications, hope that my laxative works, and pray to whatever gods you worship.” Not like I put my hopes in either of them. “Oh yeah, and don’t you touch Norn! Her life is mine to take!”
“Hm…” Chris Malcolm smirked, planning his next move. He could ask, if that remark was connected to the hero’s obvious meeting with the second princess, but instead… “Is lady Flare with thee?”
“Yes! Flare! Is the princess with you?” To contrast the vampire’s cold demeanor, Ardian’s wife suddenly got agitated upon hearing about the Hero of Magic.
“She is, but don’t hope for to solve all of your problems with a single miraculous fireball.” Keyaruga said, clearly disappointing all the chieftains and whatnot.
“Is that… because she is Norn’s sister?” The black man, the representative of all local traders and craftsmen, wondered with cautiousness.
“Yes. But that’s not the whole reason. First, Norn brought with her a potent magic disruptor specifically to counter Flare. Second, even if she overcomes that obstacle, there’s no way she can defeat Hawkeye and his men without scourging half of Buranikka. Trust me, she tried.” Keyaruga admonished, recalling Panakea’s images of her and Takemikazuchi saving his girls. That thought didn’t make him happy, and other people in the room weren’t exactly in high spirits either. “Believe me; none of you want to see that happening.”
“Forgive me, but I have a question for you.” Adrian Mirt rose to speak about his specific concern.
“Of course, go ahead.” Keyaruga responded, distancing from the table.
“Do you know, what happened to Blade? And why nobody seems to seek her out?” The old man all but demanded an answer. The healer could easily say no and call it a day; but instead, he raised his left arm and clad it in a menacing purple gauntlet.
“What you see here now used to be Ragnarok, the weapon of the Hero of Sword. There’s no such hero anymore.” The healer declared, withholding the details of Josephine’s fall. The representative of the merchants clearly knew more, being friends with Karman, but even that charismatic beastman only knew what Keyaruga told him. Either way, with his goal now reached; more or less, the man began searching through the room with his jade eye. “Are we clear about our terms?”
“No. You never said what you want in return.” The lord of Buranikka pointed out.
“Let’s see…” In that moment, the lad began walking to the other side of the room, and nobody dared stop him. “I want this thing.” The man demanded, grabbing a barely hidden set of lingerie off a shelf. A bra, a panties with a tail attached to it, and a pair of plush ears. Adrian was a man of taste, and so was Keyaruga.
“Ehm… That’s it?”
“That’s it, Adrian.”
A cloud of ravens loomed above Buranikka. An innumerable flock of feathered scavengers circled over the city, voiding it of light from the waning sun. Wave after wave, refugees left through the gates, while it wasn’t too late. Many of these people would fall victim to profiteers, eager to sap every last bit of savings from those fleeing.
Cawing, swearing, the crying of children, frustrated moans – the jostle was terrible. Clearly, not as much as losing your life in an upcoming skirmish, but still.
And yet, in the very heart of the storm, in the city hall made into a headquarters for the invasion, it was quiet. Every plan was outlined, every drill has been completed. The day was soon to end, as the crimson luminary nearly vanished beyond the mountain ridges.
“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.”
Only a quiet prayer emanated from within a small room. A powerful and charismatic voice whispered the ode to the supreme deity.
“Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
It was Organ Trist. The Champion of Jioral knelt before a window, holding a small homemade cross. His eyes were closed…
“Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” … and yet Hawkeye was never truly blind. Even now he watched over the whole military base his army turned the centre of Buranikka into. Nothing escaped his gaze…
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” …not even the gloomy figure of the warlady standing in a dark corner of the room. “I have left the report in your chambers, Your Highness.” The archer said, rising on his feet. Although he always maintained a cold-blooded mask, this time, in the fleeting illumination of twilight, he looked to be in peace. The princess, in turn…
“Read it, memorized it.” She muttered with tangible frustration. “How is Keyaru? Is he alright?” The warlady asked nervously. Usually, she maintained a calculative collected demeanor, but now, she cared nothing for that image.
“Between slaying monsters, collecting herbs, brewing potions for sale, and engaging in debaucheries with Flare and that demi-human child, I would say he is doing pretty well.” The Champion of Jioral reported, trying not to get overly concerned over the girl’s bitter face. Being an all-seeing demigod, he failed to do so. “The fallen angel, though, remains outside of their acts of lust. Although, it should be noted, that your sister is still maintaining a palpable camaraderie with the entire group.”
“I see… Good for them, I guess.” The warlady uttered, slowly walking toward the table in the centre of the room. In silence, she sat on the chair, in a place devoid of natural light.
“This expedition was never about Jioral’s strategic goals. All you wanted was to reunite with him.” The gentleman deadpanned, unable to look away from the shadowed hunched figure. “You are a dreamer, Your Highness, just like him. That is why you both are drawn to each other.”
To the archer’s statement, there was no vocal answer. Yet, there was eloquence in silence, interrupted with nothing but a fresh evening breeze.
“Damn, at this point even my brain-dead sister might’ve noticed…” But stillness couldn’t last forever. “Organ… I came here to reclaim what’s mine. My feelings for him may still be there, but I swore on my mother’s grave, that I’d make this world better. I won’t rest until the even the smallest human life is worth more than any wealth gained from conquering or plundering combined.” Norn admitted, reflecting on her own goal. After all, she was murdered by demons, whose entire existence was put in question by the warlady’s military success.
“In times of crisis, you can only rely on the strength of your spirit. When in disarray…”
“Enough! You won’t recruit me into the sect of your celestial tyrant!” The princess snarled, interrupting the Champion’s sermon. “I know he doesn’t answer your prayers, so this entire charade is just a bunch of escapist bullshit. Your god-daddy is dead, and if you want to worship a hollow idol, convert to Faranism. At least you’d have friends there.” The girl lamented, clutching her hair. To her, Organ Trist was the greatest hypocrite she’d ever known. A living demigod, praying to a long-forgotten avatar of petty childishness. “Look, Organ, I’ve been there too… Do you want to hear the story of Ellen the Adopted?”
“If you wish to tell me, then I would listen.” The assassin replied. There were only two men in this entire city with which the princess could have a sincere talk. Two who were destined to clash in battle.
“First thing first, she never existed.” The girl admonished, taking out a small notebook in a leather cover from within her left boot. “I began writing it last year, right before my first trial of fire. This is a story of Ellen, a girl kidnapped from her beloved brother by an evil king who wanted to make her his henchwoman. He called himself her adopted father and began educating her in the arts of war. All the while the king had a daughter, who was kind and compassionate… Haa… This was disgusting. I wrote it entirely and specifically for myself, I spent three years, scribbling this nonsense instead of doing something about my problems. When I killed, Ellen saved. When I kicked the hell out of my father figure to feel better, she remained gentle and polite. When Flare turned into a monster, instead of dragging her out of that shit, I resorted to describing my sister the way I wanted her to be instead. I felt at peace, being a creator of Ellen’s life, her struggles and her ultimate happy ending. In the meantime, I didn’t notice my real life crumbling to shit.” The princess spoke, not even trying to look inside the book. Not like she would even see anything in the darkness of the night to come. “You see the point? No matter how much I tried, I never became her, I never met my imaginary ideal ‘brother’, who would save me in the end, and my enemies killed me when I was yet to unseat Margurth. Let it be a lesson for you, old man. There’s no salvation in hollow hopes.”
This was Norn’s confession. A tale of vanity, a precept against escapism. She never told it to anyone, as the original manuscript was lost in the fire, that happened in the year of 779, two years in the future. Hawkeye listened, because nobody else would.
“My apologies, Your Highness, but I disagree with your conclusion.” Organ was one of the very few who would dare to talk back to the warlady, and honestly, the latter loved it, as long as her interlocutors were capable of amusing her. And because she knew, how much a person can degrade without contradictory thoughts to ponder. “My mother taught me how to live as a man, and how struggle is common for every last being here. Instead of discarding your creation; you may use it as a guideline, simply because, after all, it is our own will that defines our being.” The Champion uttered, looking in the princess’ emerald eyes. In them, he saw Reeharoze’s heritage. For him, that woman was the purest soul to ever step foot in the royal palace (aside, maybe, from his wife Gizelle). And it was Flare forsaking the memories of her mother that aggravated him so much against the first princess.
“Then, what if I want this whole expedition to lose in the worst way possible? What if the little girl inside me wants to surrender to Keyaru? What if I want him to brew me tea and restoration potions every day? To hug me, tell me that everything would be fine? What if I want to find peace as one of his sex slaves?” Norn provocatively wondered, as her left hand began twirling a curl of her pink hair.
“Ha, in that case, I offer you a choice, Your Highness. As we speak, your ‘brother’, under a disguise of one of our soldiers, is poisoning our wine. If nothing is done, by tomorrow your troops will be spilling their diarrhea all over themselves, this building and the streets outside. What would you have me do?” Hawkeye asked with a bloodthirsty sneer on his lips. He was a believer, yes, but more importantly, he was a highly professional assassin. One word and he would pursue Keyaru until one of them falls.
“Don’t touch him, Organ. Use whatever antidotes we have at our disposal, but make sure he doesn’t notice you.” The princess ordered, rising from a chair. “And if you’re wondering, my inner warmonger just punched that pathetic wuss in the gut and said this: “We have our responsibilities to uphold, you pathetic cunt!” And so I will face my lovely hero as a war leader. And then, it’ll be his performance that determines our fates.” Norn scoffed, walking away. She had a book to burn, and another to write from a scratch in a matter of a single night, after all.
…
It was the last day before Norn’s punitive operation. The tension was high, scouting squads from each side kept an eye on each other. Despite all of that, it was an atmosphere of drunken carelessness that prevailed among Norn’s troops. They had every right to deem themselves superior, after all. They already had a foothold in the heart of enemy’s domain. Some were already chugging booze, some went straight to the local brothels, and some…
“Harris, you son of a bitch, I told you to stay away from the warehouse, you drunkard swine!” Some had to sneak to get their pals a spare barrel or two of wine.
“Oh fuck you, Joe! You know nobody gives a shit! The Princess allowed it.” An ugly soldier in just his under-armor gambeson replied.
“Yeah, she said one barrel per squad. Now fuck off before I kick you.” A fully-armored guardsman insisted. Honestly, at that point the drunkard grew tired of this.
“Ya know what, dude…” Harris approached the man, rested his arm on his neck… And a green hue of magic sedated the warden. “You never saw me.” Keyaruga sneered, entering the warehouse. He didn’t dare kill the grunt, even if he was to die on the next day. There was a tacit agreement between him and Norn, after all that forbade either side from hurting another till the day of clash.
“Well-well, time to make things spicy.” The masquerading lad said under his breath, getting a few vials of laxative medicine of his own doing. It required a precise dosage; add too little, and there’ll be no apparent effect. Too much would ruin the surprise. Why not use something lethal? That would be ineffective, as even the dumbest moron understands that you shouldn’t drink something that makes your comrades die. Things would get even worse, if Norn decided to get back to her old alcoholism; the lad couldn’t bring himself to kill his beloved after all.
Keyaruga even thought about taking on the entire army on his own, and with Georgius, he had pretty decent odds of success. What stopped him, though, was another of his goals. This wasn’t just the battle between the warlady and the Hero of Healing. It was also between Jioral and Tenanullic.
“Heh, think we’re done here.” The man muttered, exiting the warehouse. Nobody seemed to notice his diversion, so it was time to take his leave. Before going to his girls, Keyaruga had one last place he had to visit. There was only one last person to speak to.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” A spearman on the edge of the camp stopped the masquerading lad.
“Fuck off, I’m gonna grab a whore or two.” The ‘drunkard’ responded in an unnecessarily churlish manner.
“Heh, then go with Faran’s grace.” The watchman chuckled, tapping Keyaruga’s shoulder. The latter shuddered; he fended off the soldier’s arm, brutishly suppressing a desire to kill the defiler. This happened each time another man touched the hero. Most other times, though, he could just slay the nuisance, but not now. “Ha, fucking pussy! Get your ass out of here! Oh, and if you don’t return till the morning, your ass is mine, deserter! Pha-ha-ha-h… UGH!!!” The moron gargled, as he got a fist right in his solar plexus.
The world would be so much better, if imbeciles like him got punched more often. Don’t you agree; my mysterious companion?
…
By the time Keyaruga reached the edge of Buranikka, nothing of the sloppy Jioral spearman’s stench remained on him. A lone proud figure walked along ma-zok turf on the far eastern part of the city, as his enchanted cape fluttered in the wind. He was armed, confident, and bold enough to just stroll toward the inconspicuous mansion with at least two hundred eyes carefully watching his every move.
Crowds upon crowds of armed and aggressive tribesmen gathered around the brave man. Fox-eared marksmen aimed from the rooftops, raccoon-looking brawlers formed a vanguard, round-horned goats pointed their longswords at the man, imposing ox-looking halberdiers threatened him with their polearms – many tribes lived there along with their tamed monsters, even humans could be seen among the formations. Their sheer number and aggression would be dreadful for all who dared show up all by themselves.
“Heh.” To Keyaru, though, it was the perfect plan of action. Should he bring along his girls, the lad would be excessively concerned about their safety. Standing his ground on his own, though… “Hey, Adrian! I’ve come to bargain!” The hero yelled, pulling off a green glove from his right hand. A mere hunch, that kept deterring the locals from overwhelming him, was now revealed. Whispering, curses, battle cries – all had been silenced in the face of the blue bird-shaped brand.
A cloud of uncertainty had fallen upon the street. The lone young man stood against the crowd carelessly, and yet even Keyaruga fidgeting his foot deterred the other group just enough for them to not do anything. The healer hated such moments, for they lacked the certainty of friendliness, nor the brutish honesty of sincere animosity.
Are we fighting, or what?
“STOP!!!” For better or worse, the eerie silence was broken by a mighty bellow cry. A rotund man in a green kaftan came to the balcony, accompanied by his loyal attendant. “Keyaru, the Hero of Healing! Come inside, we have a lot to talk about!”
“Good evening to you too, Adrian.” The man smirked, greeting the exiled lord of Buranikka. He got no salutations back, but at the same time, the very fact of the ruler showing him some manner of hospitality resulted in the main door opening. Two exalted women came forth, accompanied by the guards of their respective tribe. One was a fully-armored woman with cow horns. She, just as her people, bared almost no similarity to Rikish Gi, as they looked much more like humans, than animals. Not overly attractive for Keyaruga, but her mere presence demanded respect. And so does the other matriarch, a bipedal goat-like figure in a fancy red robe, she may have looked frail, but the lad sensed strong arcane power coming from her person.
“Anua, nakua shia haki (please go inside).” The goat lady said, offering Keyaruga a safe passage right into the heart of their shared residence.
“Tu katari? Anasaru danena, nanue sahu (Just like that? What if I’m an assassin)?” The healer asked sarcastically, probing who seemed like his escorts.
“Heh, danue, gura tanoutu (In that case; I’ll kill you, obviously)!” The cow halberdiers’ female chieftain offered her words of warning. She seemed rash, relentless, and eager to fight a strong foe. Unfortunately, she would be disappointed in the healer. After all, he didn’t come there to play games.
And so, the man was accompanied to the mansion. He wasn’t too impressed by its interior, or with the seeming turmoil inside. What did leave a nice impression, though, was a vast hall with the oval table in the middle of it. At least twenty armed men of different tribes guarded those sitting there.
“Greetings, sir Keyaru. I suppose this is how I should call you, after all.” The first to share his voice was Adrian Mirt himself. The old man looked tired, he had grievous violet sacks under his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s me. The Hero of Healing, and the most hated man in all of Jioral, apparently.” The lad introduced himself with a small bow to greet the lord of Buranikka, and its prominent leaders. The bald armored vampire, speaking in archaic Phasian, the raccoon-like lady, a man with dark-brown fox ears, a black tattooed man, who apparently was one of Karman’s contacts, a buffed red-skinned ogre, Keyaruga and Setsuna met in the night of black dogs purge (speaking of which, not even one trace of that tribe remained in Buranikka). Two women, who accompanied Keyaruga into that room, took their seats, but they remained ever vigilant about him and his actions. The last, but not the least, the red-eyed lad spotted an aging lady at Adrian’s side.
“What is your purpose here, boy?” It was a stern-looking female who made no attempts at hiding her wrinkles or painting her graying hair, instead she relished her gracious aging. And she demanded an answer.
“Ladies, gentlemen, we don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief. I came here to save the city.” The healer declared, slowly walking back and forth. He wasn’t offered a seat, even though there were at least four to choose from. Most probably, they belonged to the black dogs. But they were forced out of the city.
“How can we trust thee?” Chris Malcolm wondered, as if he never encountered the man, never spied on him. As if it wasn’t the young man that caused fires of rebellions around Ranalitta.
“How do I put it?.. You don’t have to, nor should you.” Keyaruga deadpanned, moving away a chair that blocked his path to the table.
Without any worry or concern, he grabbed a map from the table and stared at it, looking through the memories of Harris, his last mask. “I want to make one thing clear: the only factor that puts us on the same side is a thousand of those Jioral thugs you let in! I won’t question, why you did that, but you and I now have a common goal.” With that said, the hero grabbed an inked quill and began drawing lines from the downtown. “What Norn wants is not a battle. It’s a bloodbath! Tomorrow, her troops will gather folk in the central square to listen to her speech. Don’t fall for that! Her only goal is to sow discord and make humans fight their ma-zok neighbors, while here, here, and here…” The man pointed on four lines. “…the order of Holy Spear will begin their onslaught. They’ll move in brigades of three hundred men. Their directions might change, but not the goals. They want to occupy the entire city and kill however many people they can!” The man spoke in Phasian, this was his way of asserting his dominance. After all, most of the locals were bilinguals, and their children spoke a mix of the two languages.
“Kuyaka gadu wor tanoute, ushi (It was you, who killed the black dogs)!” Still, the raccoon matriarch stood her linguistic ground. She came up with an accusation to use against the hero. The latter glanced at his bloodsucking acquaintance, but Chris Malcolm pretended he never heard of it.
You knew it’d happen, you insect.
“It was me, yes. You all know about Kyuntarnur Gyukanze (the Obsidian Throne), I presume. Hakuo’s reign is coming to an end, and I work under the next Me-ua to claim Kinacrith! They worked for Hakuo, I protect my kahul (candidate), this is how it is, and I have nothing to feel sorry about! Karu yukusa (this is war)!” The man declared, bumping his fist on the table. A visible dent remained afterwards. “We may be friends, may be enemies, but if we hand over Buranikka, Jioral will not stop! They’ll take more, region after region, until nothing remains! Do you want that?” The lad stated, looking at each and every member of the meeting, including the lowly guards. Barely anybody wanted to allow another human to rule over their discussion, yet they had no choice but to listen to a reason. “Good. How many troops do we have?”
“Two hundred crossbowmen, and around six hundred militants on foot and mounted.” Adrian Mirt unwillingly admitted, glancing in the faces of his allies. “Less than a half of what I hoped for. Our people are split, many flee, and some wish to return under Jioral’s nationality.”
“Hmm, no wonder. Norn can be quite persuasive, if I may say so.” Keyaruga shrugged, knowing all too well, how charismatic his former lover was, when she wished to be. There was no way the man could beat her in rhetoric. But someone else could…
“You, sassy kid!” This was Bagran, the red ogre and the second in command of the local self-defense forces. He wasn’t heavily impressed with Keyaruga, but he could get some help from that enigmatic hero. “Have anything to suggest, huh?”
“I do. Build barricades, help people leave Buranikka, prepare traps, and… Well, persevere.” The lad shrugged, facing the horned man of the dar-it-nuka tribe.
“Tanout wor shotni (we know that)!” The cow-looking armorclad woman exclaimed. “Ushi, nanue kade shia tasu (how would you help us)?”
“Help? I already did. I poisoned their wine barrels, so if everything goes as planned, your enemies will shit themselves right when the assault starts.”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Adrian’s wife wisely wondered. “That brat goes by the title of goddess of war, do you think she haven’t predicted this move of yours?”
“We can cut off the snake’s head now.” The fox man suggested. He expected to attract at least some attention to his idea, but alas…
“Muna yinene, Korb-murnaz (we’ve already tried, chieftan Korb).” The goat-headed witch admonished, pointing at her personal guardians. One had no arm, another got her eye gouged.
“Exactly. Princess Norn is guarded by Hawkeye, a nasty fellow only I have a chance at dealimg with. So don’t even try, unless you want to sacrifice your men and women for nothing.” Keyaruga warned, knowing all too well they’d need someone of Tafias scale. Hakuo’s right hand was far away from Buranikka.
“Utwasha, huli (fuck you, human)!” The armored woman snarled, tappping her polearm on the ground.
“Fuck you too, lady!” The healer replied just slightly loud enough to be heard through the background talks. The cow-woman reached for him, but her underlings turned out wise enough to stop her from certain act of fatuity.
“When the time comes, I will be there to help you with my saber.” The hero promised, rattling his blade. “In the meantime, get ready. Build fortifications, hope that my laxative works, and pray to whatever gods you worship.” Not like I put my hopes in either of them. “Oh yeah, and don’t you touch Norn! Her life is mine to take!”
“Hm…” Chris Malcolm smirked, planning his next move. He could ask, if that remark was connected to the hero’s obvious meeting with the second princess, but instead… “Is lady Flare with thee?”
“Yes! Flare! Is the princess with you?” To contrast the vampire’s cold demeanor, Ardian’s wife suddenly got agitated upon hearing about the Hero of Magic.
“She is, but don’t hope for to solve all of your problems with a single miraculous fireball.” Keyaruga said, clearly disappointing all the chieftains and whatnot.
“Is that… because she is Norn’s sister?” The black man, the representative of all local traders and craftsmen, wondered with cautiousness.
“Yes. But that’s not the whole reason. First, Norn brought with her a potent magic disruptor specifically to counter Flare. Second, even if she overcomes that obstacle, there’s no way she can defeat Hawkeye and his men without scourging half of Buranikka. Trust me, she tried.” Keyaruga admonished, recalling Panakea’s images of her and Takemikazuchi saving his girls. That thought didn’t make him happy, and other people in the room weren’t exactly in high spirits either. “Believe me; none of you want to see that happening.”
“Forgive me, but I have a question for you.” Adrian Mirt rose to speak about his specific concern.
“Of course, go ahead.” Keyaruga responded, distancing from the table.
“Do you know, what happened to Blade? And why nobody seems to seek her out?” The old man all but demanded an answer. The healer could easily say no and call it a day; but instead, he raised his left arm and clad it in a menacing purple gauntlet.
“What you see here now used to be Ragnarok, the weapon of the Hero of Sword. There’s no such hero anymore.” The healer declared, withholding the details of Josephine’s fall. The representative of the merchants clearly knew more, being friends with Karman, but even that charismatic beastman only knew what Keyaruga told him. Either way, with his goal now reached; more or less, the man began searching through the room with his jade eye. “Are we clear about our terms?”
“No. You never said what you want in return.” The lord of Buranikka pointed out.
“Let’s see…” In that moment, the lad began walking to the other side of the room, and nobody dared stop him. “I want this thing.” The man demanded, grabbing a barely hidden set of lingerie off a shelf. A bra, a panties with a tail attached to it, and a pair of plush ears. Adrian was a man of taste, and so was Keyaruga.
“Ehm… That’s it?”
“That’s it, Adrian.”
