The cool, damp air of my very English countryside style town of Nichtshire D’Locke is immediately replaced by the fragrant, humming, calming warmth of the Hidden Heart. Something I’d been holding out hope for, for a long time begins to occur about my neck. Bud’s pulse, within his enchanted aura, slowly begins to regain the most minuscule amount of strength. It could take him decades to recover here, but at least he’ll be able to recover. The lush dark greens of the canopy overhead that protect the entirety of the Heart from the ceaseless Worldstorm are a welcome sight, despite not having intended to visit here again for quite some time.
When a pitchy, adorable voice that’s fighting back sadness cries out in surprise, “Tiki!?” I know I’m about to need to give Tiktik privacy.
Wide-eyed and slack jawed, Tiktik gulps before querying, “Bitty!?” Terror overtakes Tiktik as her eyes dart about, looking for an opportunity to flee, but she fights to collect her wits so that she can offer up, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or make you hate me. You don’t have to worry. I, I know I’m like a sister to you, or, or was.”
The adorably vivacious goblin woman’s skin is a beautiful matte moss. She’s wearing grease-stained overalls, and what might be considered a tube-top. She’s got a toolbelt on, fully stocked with a variety of tools, and she’s wearing some heavy-duty stompers. This must be the goblin gal known as Littlebit. She stalks up to Tiktik, followed by several clanking contraptions. From the intensity of her gaze, the intellect behind her eyes, the care, love, and adoration visible in this woman’s countenance, and her obvious drive, creativity, and inventiveness, I could definitely understand why Tiktik is smitten with this incredible, adorable, and frankly sexy woman.
The two just stand staring at each other, both crying silently for a fair length of time. I try to excuse myself, but Tiktik is still gripping my hand tightly. Littlebit makes the first move by grasping Tiktik’s gorgeous face in both hands, and bringing it to hers. Through the passionate kiss, she mumbles, “Idiot.”
I can sense the confusion within Tiktik welling up, and that this could probably take a while to work out. I really don’t want to intrude on something so personal, so deep for her. As much as we both love each other, I know her heart belongs to Littlebit. Tiktik has some irrationalities or conclusions that she jumped to too quickly, in the way she perceived things, so there’s probably a bit of air to clear. I still can’t withdraw my hand from her deathgrip though, so I bring it to my lips to kiss her fingers softly several times, until she relents and releases me.
Whispering, “I’ll keep checking back here for you once in a while Kitten. Do what you need to do. I’m not abandoning you. I’ll never leave you, but you deserve this. You deserve to get to be happy with Littlebit. Take all the time you need.”
Stifling my own emotions, my own sadness and tears, I leave the two to catch up and clear the air. I don’t want my love for her to intrude on whatever is going to transpire. Reaching into the magic of the Hidden Heart, I tug a string that leads to Jarrah Bettergrove, and the Enochian Enclave.
I receive plenty of stares, raised eyebrows, and gaping jaws as I stroll out of the courts, the section of town reserved for the more political-ploying highbrow families of the Hidden Heart. With my horns, I could be mistaken for some subspecies of satyr, but my thick, smooth, tapered tail gives away the Fel nature of my current mixbreed species. I’m lucky I don’t have any of the other traits of demonic creatures. Wait, am I blue again? When did that happen? Well, anyway, just shapeshift it back I guess. I really don’t pay attention to or notice myself all that much.
There’s the slightest bit of temptation to check in on Percival the Potted Plant, or Flint or Alanea, but, well—. Like with the Aasimovians, I think it’s presumptuous of me to believe I can just drop back into their lives unannounced for what might be only a few seconds of conversation, only to leave again. Plus, I can’t exactly converse with Percival unless he summons his celestial meerkat familiar, Tinpu. Deciding that it’s best to just let them go on with their lives, without the disruptions that I seem to bring with me, I need to at least catch Jarrah up to speed on the state of things. He’s a large reason for my successes so far in some ways, and he and I share common goals that we both have to work for on the larger scale, the safety of the Enochian Enclave amongst them.
There are less gaping jaws as I enter the Enochian Enclave, though I still draw stares. The people of the Enclave are much more welcoming than the courts. For the most part anyway. Ascending the spiral of the great tree that makes up the Enclave, I make my way towards where I know Jarrah Bettergrove will be located, or will return to shortly if he’s off on some other errand. It’s strangely dark, almost opaque in his room. I’m worried I might be walking into some new warding spell, so I cautiously press a fingertip into the odd obscurement within my mentor’s crazy magical room. Nothing seems to occur, so I step inside. As I’m about to call out, I sense a rush of movement, the rustle of fabric, a sharp object piercing the wind between the aggressor and me.
Rolling my eyes, groaning, I allow my danger wraps to guide me away from Jarrah’s strike as I utilize telekinesis to carefully nudge him in ways that prevent him from injuring either of us. Grumbling, I request, “Stay your hand Jarrah you crazy old coot, it’s me. Mentor, it’s me, I’m not—.”
The darkness recedes, and Jarrah stands before me, a hand splayed across his mouth as his wild, never-settling eyes take me in. At least, I think they’re taking me in as he cuts me off, “Flames of the Fel, so it’s true, your source is infernal.”
Rolling my eyes further once more, I respond, “No. Look, I died while chaotic magic was going wild around me, or, well, I loosed a spell and purposely triggered chaos magic, because I was dying to a Damnation while having a panic attack. That chaotic magic burst happened to hit me with a very very very short term reincarnation enchantment. As luck would have it, I died during its short duration. When I came back, well, that reincarnation enchantment apparently destroys your previous body, and anything physically wrong with it, in order to provide it a healthy body of a random species. Stupid thing left my cursed illness intact though. Still no source, absolutely no source. Check my runework, roll your dice, or whatever. Please don’t try to attack me again Jarrah. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”
My mentor paces around, keeping me in the periphery of his crazy-eyed vision as he mutters to himself, “The gall on this child, the ego, and yet—,” his pacing stops only momentarily as I can feel his senses probing me, ,”— Yet perhaps they might. Their potency is leagues beyond what it was when last they were here. I haven’t felt threatened, ever perhaps, but this is perhaps the closest I’ve ever come. How very odd a sensation.”
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Sighing to myself, I could almost laugh as Jarrah appears to think that I can’t hear his self-mutterings. Perhaps he forgot about my hypersensitive hearing. Remember that Jarrah? My hypersensitive hearing, and the fact that I know you’re telepathic? Remember those things? I’d never intentionally harm you or the Enclave, or anyone from it, if I could help it. I just came by to—.
Sighing, I shrug, realizing that Jarrah likely doesn’t need me to inform him on the state of things. I don’t even know. I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced. I was hoping to catch you up on the state of things, but you don’t seem interested in speaking with me. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, and I’m happy to see you’re well. I guess I’ve got a war to return to. Thank you for seeing me.
Suddenly Jarrah ceases muttering, and in a demanding tone, offers, “Sit, please, a cup of tea with your mentor. Fill me in on your war, your travels, these Damnations you speak of.”
Oy vey, where do I start. I feel like I could fill a book, hell, several books since the last time we spoke. I glance side to side suspiciously for a moment. My brain feels suspiciously near a BSOD, but I’m not sure what’s causing it. I suppose it’s best to start with my failure, and work my way up from there. With a few motions, Jarrah has the room maneuver a table and two chairs into position for us. He then proceeds to work some magic in a small alcove over a tea kettle. If I weren’t at my exact limit of safe SP spent for the day, I’d love to show off my progress to my mentor, but alas that will have to happen another day, should we ever see one another again.
Still, Jarrah could use some more comfortable seats, so I think I’ll sit in my own levitating telekinetic grip rather than on the chair itself. When Jarrah turns to face me, after hearing my thoughts, and seeing the proof of my ability, his brows are quite piqued from curiosity. Or, his brows are peaked because his curiosity is piqued. Something along those lines.
Despite attempting not to, as I begin with my failure to protect Dawn, my inability to save her from the curse, I break down in tears for a short while. Jarrah nods grimly at the news, having feared as such. Worse, when I let him know the Fel hordes have overrun Aasimovia, that I had to battle them with Tiktik Clocktok and Teuila at Autumn Brook, barely buying time for an evacuation, and fleeing with our lives, he looks stricken. I never thought I’d see my mentor look worriedly ill, but here he is. When Jarrah presses me for details, I fill him in as best I can, but I don’t truly know much about the forces I faced, other than the names that I gave them. I still share their abilities and so on. Their aversion to sunlight, and seemingly water for the smaller ones.
Sighing, I continue on, retelling my tale once more, as is apparently a reoccurring theme in my life as well in addition to the accidental assassinations. Skimming over the time in The Gap that broke my soul upon seemingly losing Teuila, and the short stint in the swamps when she was returned to me by the graces of some noblewoman, I pause a moment, soaking in my good luck to have Teuila back. Stifling my tears as I blink them rapidly away, I share that the hydras are more easily taken down not by the mythologically assumed way of providing fire or cauterization, but by utilizing frost, sapping their heat, or necrotic magics, thunder, or bludgeoning force. Well, or of course, copies of Gae Buidhe. We’re trying not to flood the world with those though.
My mind harkens back to various prophecies that I’d been given, or at least prophetic statements made by the Sisters Hidden in the Mist. Revealing my Latent to Jarrah, and what a Latent is, he nods and waves dismissively as if it was obvious. I roll my eyes at the fact that I could have benefited from the information if he’d known it prior to my leaving.
Catching Jarrah up on the Order of the Onyx Dawn, our war against Terrorzin, the abilities I’ve earned or created or gathered and so on, I skim over the interpersonal nonsense that has happened in Mount Solace. I let him know about each of the offensives I’ve been on, the powers that I gained through titling, how I keep getting closer to my cure, and then having dragonforce stripped from me or wasted. I guess I’m technically at ten out of fifteen or sixteen or seventeen paid so far, if the Sisters’ portent is accurate in that I just have to have absorbed them to pay the price. Since it seemed obvious that Kozzurth’s wouldn’t last until I got all the rest.
I’d had Kozzurth’s, and it was nearly gone, when the sister said I’d paid one, and must now pay five and five and six. That’s a total of seventeen, right? Yeah. My brain feels mushy. I lament the fact that I probably caused the deaths of the Plains Colossi, by subconsciously, or unintentionally slowly drawing in the dragonforce that Kozzurth had imbued them with.
Jarrah’s crazy eyes seem to take in the whole of me in a new light when he hears how I’ve been struggling, striving to grant mercy to our foes. Especially that I just granted mercy to perhaps hundreds of Draconiacs this very morning. I’m debating whether or not to let him in on one of the biggest secrets of the world. I know I can trust him. I know he wants the best for the people under his care, and he wants to stop the evils of the world, but—. I don’t know if it’s fair for me to do the telling of something so private and secret to someone else.
Sighing, I admit, “Jarrah, one of the possibly most ancient secrets kept, it—. It belongs to my lady, my wife, Kinzul, Administrator of the Order of the Onyx Dawn. To protect the rest of Rayileklia from dragons, to keep them from being able to fly and land freely anywhere on the continent, to reduce their ability to level the continent with each landing, she devised, and holds up, the—. Huff, I—.”
Gulping back sadness, I don’t know if it’s right for me to share this with anyone. Kinzul technically didn’t even share it with me. My mind pieced it together, and she confirmed my logical leaps. I try to gauge Jarrah’s feelings on my intent, or desire to continue, and his face is as inscrutable as always, especially with those wildly shifting eyes.
As I’m about to speak, Jarrah guesses, “If this is about those acid-dragon-breath clouds permanently darkening our skies, then don’t fret over it. I can put two and two well enough together. Keeping dragons at bay? I’d not thought it so benevolent. Given the state of your war though, I can see its need. Forces in those numbers, with that much hatred and power behind them, yes, it’s good they’ve been balked. Hellspit and Fel fires though child. You crossed half the world in what was a week for you, but only an instant in time if your surmisings on this ‘Twixt are correct. I knew there were odd things in the courts, but to think, a gateway to a realm that has other exits across our land. It’s simultaneously a most enticing, yet utterly terrifying prospect. Should our foes gain access to it—.”
Breathing deeply and sighing, I nod. If they could access such a thing, they could overrun the Heart. Thankfully, the only entrances and exits we currently know of are the two, one here, and one in Jeegoobotstan. The one in Jeegoobotstan is going to be well-protected, and as far as we’re aware, only very specific mixbreeds of Fae can even enter the ‘Twixt. Plus, since you can only bring in one person at a time, the first person you bring in could be decades, or centuries older by the time you get a large number of people into the ‘Twixt.
For all I know, the Draconiacs I left in the ‘Twixt have all perished of old age already, based on how much faster time passes there. Though, time might pause entirely while the originator of that segment of the ‘Twixt is outside of it. I have no idea. I think that for now, Jarrah and I can make some contingency plans, without having to focus entirely on the prospect of foes invading the Heart through the ‘Twixt. Plus, there are some pretty easy ways to keep it from becoming a big issue if needbe. Spike walls surrounding the portal to the ‘Twixt for example.