I am introducing meetings to this world. So my legacy is one of unspeakable, merciless revenge. Yet, a need for a legacy presumes a condition I am ready to go to extremes to avoid. Melo states „How many councils of war can you have per day?“. Branislava just answers „How long can you stay awake?“
Should I get one of those little bells? Anyway I start with an introduction:
I think we have found a way to decieve Dark Elves by failing a deception. I had made the logical error of thinking that we need to make a claim to them that they believe. I now think that that was wrong. We just make a claim that they’ll think we have a reason to falsely make.
The most obvious reason would be money. Hence I suggest that we play the role of thieves having stolen Marental’s mithril, who are pretending to ship out his power source.
Zewrepa speaks out first „What exactly does pretending to ship out the power source get us?“. Anjali grins „We will demand that the transfer be done in two batches and that the elves keep some important people in this cave until they come back for the second group.“. Zewrepa asks back „But we will ship Mithril instead of the source and hope for the elves to find out. But why would we demand two transfers?“. I also grin „Also for money. We can be two groups; one of traitors to Marental and the second the external thieves cooperating with the traitors. After pulling off the heist both groups have no reason to trust each other. In particular the traitors would be weaker in combat, so they want to be gone when the robbers arrive, lest they decide to take all the mithril.“ Zewrepa is still not satisfied „But why now at the start of Ragnarök?“. My grin gets even broader „Because they had to strike now. The preparations for such a heist take time. Hence they began before the start of Ragnarök, but as Ragnarök began, it was clear that Marental would soon come for his reserves. So they had to strike quickly or write off all the preparations just as life was really becoming dangerous. That will also make the errors we will make believable. We acted in haste.“
That actually makes Branislava speak up „Who is the traitors and who is the robber?“. That is something I need to answer „I am the robber and you all are the traitors. That means that I, you and Julia will stay here for the second transfer. I am sorry, but they must not meet me and you and Julia are too hard to justify.“. She hangs her head. I continue „I am pretty sure I can manage a teleport to the coast with two passengers on my own reserves, if the need arises.“
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I considered working on weapons research with my crossbow. I’ve decided against it. I fear that my motivation is at the end of the day petty and emotional. I don’t want to fight. The side of me that is a sword fighter is an artificial addition to me. Fighting and killing my enemies feels good. Even addictive. And that is something I cannot take lightly. Learning about my true nature has not been good for my peace of mind.
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But there are also fundamentally rational reasons. One man can only be at one place. A lot of men that one man’s spells keep alive can man city walls and the ships bringing in supplies and trade. To keep something resembling civilization running it needs people. And that thought burns on my mind. I am a healer of sorts. But am I also a magical midwife?
We’ll also need metal workers, plumbers, cobbler and, let’s face it, servants. I am not going to let the mothers of my children do household chores and I am not going to do much of it myself.
I am recharging my mushroom experiment. I think we will harvest in two days. Thus I decide to devote the rest of the daylight to processing cow shit. I intend to give this technique to the public at the place we flee to. Under the current circumstances bringing such a technique with me looks like a good way to convince people we are worth taking in.
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We are standing in front of the village’s gate house as the sun rises. That is, I am floating half a meter or so over the ground and conjuring a bit of fog just to make us look like the messengers of doomsday. It turns out that I can make black and red dyes, so the sheets we are wearing look accordingly. This time we want to be seen and feared.
Some smoke is rising from chumneys; less than the number of houses suggests. They are ringing a bell. We hear it, but don’t see it, the gate still closed for the night. I don’t want to burn down the gate house. This village is still plan B or C. The problem with being scary is that it gives the people you are scaring little incentive to let you in. This will take some violence. I hesitate. It is no use. These people are likely to die anyway and sure to die if we leave them here. Besides, I have a family to defend. Still it costs us nothing to give them a chance. I ask Zewrepa, who is happy to oblige.
OPEN THE GATE AND BOW TO US !
It sounds like an army of demons from hell riding godzillas is demanding entry. In this world that is a real, albeit unlikely possibility I am afraid. The bell is possibly getting a bit more frantic, but the gate is staying close. After a performance like that you either go on or give up your credibility. I teleport onto the gate house and let the lightning loose. I am glad that the remains are so charred that they become unidentifiable. Nobody else is outside. I suppose opening the gate by hand is less demonic and impressive than just blasting it to bits, but we may need it in the future.
We proceed to the village square with the communal facilities. Zewrepa repeats the command to surrender to us. No reaction. An arrow from an upper floor window streaks towards us. Zewrepa shatters it in the air with an energy claw. I return fire fire with literally, faintly impressing myself by actually hitting the window the arrow came from.
That does it. People are coming out of that house with their arms stretched out to the sides. After a short time people from the other houses join them. Apparently they are assuming that we would burn them alive if they don’t give up. A minority of them is sobbing. An even smaller number, mostly boys on the threshold to their teenage years and a few surviving grown men stare at us with hate in their eyes. Most are just looking at the ground. Or us with wide eyes. As we have planned, I am leaving the talking to Leuma.