Of course Teuila would be the first to tease, “Never thought my Airhead would get hitched, it wasn’t even an idea, a concept to you, for the longest time. Now ya gotta marry the rest of us, or we’ll all get jealous. Nyeh.”
I can’t help chuckling as Te sticks her tongue out and raspberries me at the end of her jibe. I mean, I truly don’t want to make any of my loved ones jealous. I want them all to be as happy as possible. I’d do anything to help keep Te, Lu, Lil, Lucky, Prinny, Illy, and Kinzul happy. Not that I’m romantically involved with all of them. Well, I nearly am, but not quite everyone. I love the rest of the Order of the Onyx Dawn too, in a different way, and I wish them happiness as well, though I don’t wish to be so central to the cause of that happiness for the rest of them.
For example, poor, introverted Kagired, Sponge, has scurried back to the infirmary. He’s a bit similar to Nala, and I’d like him to be able to pursue what happiness is available to him, even in the comfort of the infirmary. Another Order member that I’d like to see happy is Shaylon, and they’re hissing a congratulations in my ear both physically and telepathically.
A tingle runs up my spine at Shaylon’s pleasantly sublime serpentine accent. There are so very many gathered Order members, most of whom are seeking to bow out for the eve. Revvy for example begs pardon, taking his leave of me with Greggy, returning to their dormitories. This entire wind-down from the bonding ceremony seems to be a hell of a rapid cavalcade of social interactions, minor mingling events, for one as antisocial as myself. One after another, my allies, my family from the Order of the Onyx Dawn approaches me with well-wishes for a prosperous future with my wife, our lady Kinzul.
I’m only mildly shocked when Vylon offers up, “Don’t suppose it would be right at this point to challenge you to combat Schism. Losses and joinings and hearing your feats, these things make humble a man whose bulk and brawn tell tale of his experiences. Would that I could join you on the field, I think it’d be a marvel to behold, but safety for Solace is paramount. Strike down a thousand foes for me and my sister. That shouldn’t be too much to ask for.”
Chuckling, I acknowledge the subtle dig, that insinuates that I might let Vylon down by not striking down a thousand foes. Thankfully he didn’t say slay, because I’m perfectly content knocking a thousand people unconscious across the efforts in this war. Still, I probably won’t disappoint him in the death toll either. I nod at Vylon and shake his hand appreciatively while his sister simply passes us and offers up her usual cursory, “Hmn.”
Turning to speak with Lil, I find him being dragged away by Ixeyla, while Leezahna follows the pair uncomfortably rather closely. She looks exceedingly distraught, and I’m not sure if I should interact with her at all, or if doing so would simply cement my status as a bully to her. At some point I need to begin recovering a non-hostile relationship with Leezahna, but I laid into her pretty hard. I sigh and shake my head sadly, unsure how to approach that situation.
Lu, my beloved Luni, My Anchor, approaches and kisses my cheek before whispering, “You’ve got this Hero, always have, and always will. Give it time. Not everything will go how you want or need, but I know you’ll, *we’ll*, come through alright in the end. I love you Reggie Shellcracker. Please save the space for me in your heart as you always have?”
Half frowning, I furrow my brow at Luni, feeling hurt that she thinks she even has to ask. I respond tenderly, “Always Lu, always. I love you beyond words or reason, beyond time or space. I love you Luni Shellcracker. What are you going to do for the rest of the night?”
Sighing, blushing, and fidgeting, Luni admits, “I have to tail Lil to coach him to not be a goober telepathically. He wants to admit his feelings to Ixey. I’m not going on their date with him, but it’s still a mess of awkward that won’t add up to much fun tonight. I’ll be trying to do some portent and divination stuff too, to help make up for our Ayms being gone. Huff. I took her for granted. She was such a sweet kid. I’m still, even to this moment, jealous of her though. Being able to maintain that air of innocence, and, what’s the word, levity? Despite all that she knew and saw, she was always so pure, and mostly full of joy. Anyway, seems you’ve got a bunch of others who want your attention, so I’ll see you in bed in a few hours, right sweetie?”
Nodding, I kiss Luni’s forehead in response before she ambles away in vaguely the same direction as Lil, Ixeyla, and Leezahna. Fenric of the Vivant approaches me and sets a hand upon my shoulder. He’s still looking wounded, not at all fully recovered. All of the Vivant are still beat to hell. Furrowing my brow I wear a grim expression as I make note of his injuries, and Fenric mirrors my expression in return, acknowledging my notice. Only about a week into our war, and we’re already starting to run out of uninjured people brave enough, or simply willing enough, to volunteer to take on enough pain to keep our fighting forces in ship shape.
Fenric kindly offers up, “I don’t envy the battles ahead that you’ll be left facing, eventually on your lonesome Schism. Our Lady will be forced to deploy fewer and fewer forces, until you are all that remains at the fore, the knife’s edge of our entire offensive effort. When it comes down to it, that is perhaps the most economical use of our forces, and Sponge’s latent, simply keeping the single most powerful asset field-capable, but it is certainly not the most kind, or compassionate. I’m afraid that by now, we’re all certain that that asset is you. Our Tenith might rival you, perhaps, in many ways, but your versatility lends you capable of a wider array of engagements. Take heart Schism, Hero. You’ve the love of our Lady in a way none has had since The Platinum, and a trust that rivals that which she had in him. There is no higher praise.”
With that, Fenric offers me a slight nod before turning and heading back to the infirmary to rest up. I don’t even have the time to be floored by the compliment before Orthral lambasts me, “Schism, I don’t like admitting shortcomings, jealousy, or any of the like, but I’ll say this. The Blue passing just now hits different as a Bronze. Our rivalry wasn’t friendly per se, but—. Anyway, he was important to one of the Vivant at least. Our Copper saves all of our lives, time after time, and you’ve saved hers. I don’t need to explain further, do I? Good. Many happy returns on your new bond with our Lady.”
Passing a breath out through pursed lips and puffed cheeks, I sigh a pfshew as Orthral basically doesn’t want to admit to knowing I’ve helped save his life. I don’t need or want the gratitude or anything, but it feels so odd to be approached and *told* that the individual doesn’t want to have to be grateful. Scratching the back of my head, I blush and loose a quarter of a chuckle while shaking my head. Yeesh. Everyone’s a personality all their own. It strikes me that I hardly know much about many of them. The Vivant especially. Speaking of—.
Gilmeshtu approaches me, and sizes me up. He honestly appears as if he’s trying to figure out where best to strike me with a strong jab, one punch to lay me low. I’d be disconcerted, but I flash him a furrowed brow, and he relents his analyzing gaze. Great, is this going to be some social hierarchy power dynamic crap? As my expression morphs further towards a frown, Gil holds his hands up placatingly.
Thankfully our, “The Gold,” expresses his intentions, “My Vivant have in some ways, shared their faith in you, and I just want to remind you to remain aware of meeting that faith, those expectations. I think that perhaps you are up to the task. Perhaps. Don’t prove me wrong.”
With that, Gilmeshtu ambles away after Orthral and Fenric. Jeeze, talk about subtle near-open hostility. Teuila chuckles and slugs me in the shoulder, mentioning, “Seems like you and Aunty Zool should maybe put the foot down and curb some—. Oh wait. Should I start calling you Unky Reggie? Unky-Air? Wow that’s super weird. Also, what the heck is a non-gendered aunt or uncle? Maybe Aunky? Pibling? Piblunkle? Plunkle? Punkle. Paunty? Panky? Heee.”
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Pfft, thanks Teuila. I snort a laugh while shaking my head incredulously at My Wings. At least she’s enjoying herself, sounding her elation with the Shellcracker Family Squee, that single elongated laugh of glee. It always warms my heart to hear it. Still, her vocabulary attempts themselves are quite hilarious, but what’s more funny is the insinuation that Kinzul and I might treat the Vivant like spoiled children in order to curtail dominance-assertion-related behaviors. I snirk at the idea and continue shaking my head.
While I’m recovering from laughing about Teuila’s ramble, I’m approached by each of the eight Draconiac strategists, one at a time as they all congratulate me on the bond with Kinzul. Nietru waits til last to speak, “Schism, this seems like a momentous occasion, and it is, far beyond what any of the gathered are treating it as. Lady Kinzul hasn’t opened herself to the idea of something like this in ages. The way The Platinum was torn from her life, and his sons, their sons, it—. She hides it well, how it broke her.”
Sighing for a long moment, Nietru seems to space out before remembering she’s in the middle of communicating to me. Blushing, she continues, “There are more goals that this war should be setting out to accomplish, for her grief, her revenge, but I honestly can’t fathom if Lady Kinzul is approaching the matter with them in mind. The lack of surviving metallic Draconiacs, and similarly few dragons, it’s—. Please, in her stead, make things right, grant her that peace. If ever another of his descendants should be found, they must survive. I’m sorry for talking your ear off, and not even getting around to everything you’d wanted me to cover. Perhaps on the morrow? I think you’re due attending a strategy session. Be well Schism, don’t overwork it, but put that beautiful mind to use on this problem, I beg of you.”
Nietru kisses me softly on the cheek, blushes, and hurries off, calling after Burshis and Prent. Hm, that’s a lot to process. I knew most of it, maybe all of it, but it’s hard to think about and take in all at once as I recollect tidbits I’ve gained in my time being part of the Order of the Onyx Dawn. Still, descendants of The Platinum, at this point, to have gone unnoticed, they’d have to have been Draconiacs that could —.
They’d have to have been Draconiacs that could slip by without attention being drawn to them, like say a latent that literally keeps them from being discovered. But Errissa is a slate-gray Draconiac, not a metallic. Though the deeper edges of her scales have this slightly metallic sheen, a mild reflective quality. Wait. Could she be filing down her scales? Can a metallic Draconiac file down their scales from a sheen to a matte appearance? Is that why they’re sort of powdery and fuzzy? There’s no way that could be a thing, can it?
There are things that happened to Errissa before she came to Mount Solace, things Errissa doesn’t want me to know, that Kinzul probably knows. Could this strange conclusion possibly be one of those things? I mean, it’s very likely that she endured battles, perhaps even torture at the hands of others out there somewhere in the world. She had her vocal tract, her voicebox removed for heck’s sakes. Huff, maybe I’ll get to speak to her again some day, but that probably won’t be until this war is over, since she’s permanently deployed gathering intelligence now, and anywhere that I am deployed to will be a spot that she is no longer at, or never will be at.
Hm, hopefully I remember to pursue that line of thought at some point. Then again, I’m me, I probably have half a million lines of thought I’ve forgotten that I intended to continue pursuing. Blargh. Induul approaches me as I’m mentally berating myself, and he mutters, “Hey.”
When I turn my attention to him, Induul stands there for several moments before deciding to add, “Things uh, aren’t great, really, at all. Everything’s been kinda going to shit since you arrived. Ah, crap, not that it’s you. Just the war started, Farzhee’s avoiding me, the only good Vivvie nearly died, our Lady is looking haggard, the Damnations have been out and about for the first time in who knows how long. It’s too real Schism, and I don’t know how to cope, how to handle this.”
More agitatedly, Induul adds, “I’m going through withdrawal, and suffering alone most hours. Farzhee goes and torches a supply of piping powder right in front of me, and everyone is keeping me from running in and sucking down the fumes. I’m itchy, and jonesing. I can’t stand this Schism. Y’gotta help me. Do something, end the war, end me, find me some pipe, something, anything. Just, just, just anything, fuggin’ hell. I hate begging but I’m begging ya.”
Oh Induul. Oh man that’s rough. I can’t feed his addiction though, even if I wanted to. I don’t even know what substance the piping powder is. It seemed kinda like gunpowder, but it burned slow, and fairly cool, it had a unique thermal signature. Its smoke had strange electron bonds that seemed laced with magic. Necromancy oddly enough. Almost like they were smoking the remains of cremated undead or something. That’s just weird. There’s no way that that’s what was really being smoked, right? Then again, Farzhis has to sneak away to see her supplier, and the dragons and vampires have been hostile to each other for a fair length of time at this point.
Induul looks like he’s going to throw up on me as he follows my internal mental monologue. My inner narrative thinking that someone was smoking reanimated, re-slain *people*, sickens me as well. Still, I step to Induul’s side and lay a hand on his shoulder while he rides out a wave of nausea. There’s not much I can do for the man. I’m certainly not going to kill him, but he’s probably going to be out of action for days, weeks, maybe a month. It’d be too dangerous to deploy him while he’s going through withdrawals. If he has an attack, or episode, while in combat, it could get him, and possibly his teammates, killed. I flash Induul a sad frown, and he lets his head drop to his chest as his muscles sag droopily, defeated, before he walks back to his dormitory.
From startlingly near, Yerjhro asks, “Schism? Is he going to be okay? Can’t you help him? You helped me meet Del, my, um, new mom, my mom. Can’t you do anything for him?”
Urgh, Yerjhro’s question twists like a knife in my gut. Closing my eyes, trying not to let it show how very overwhelmed I am at the possibility of having to be responsible for the wellness of Members of the Order, I respond, “Sadly his is one battle I can’t help fight. It’s an internal one. I’m sorry to let him, you, or anyone down, but I’m not going to hurt him to stop his pain, and I’m not powerful enough to just fly out right now and take down the entire rest of Terrorzin’s armies at once. Sorry Yer. Are you disappointed to have me as the Order’s Hero?”
Shaking his head, Yerjhro looks abashed at having basically disquieted me. Something along those lines anyway. Del steps in and cuffs him lightly, playfully on the back of his head before responding in his place, “Ye’ve got plenty of responsibilities, plans, and all manner of things going on Schism, no one can help, or save, everyone. That’s why different jobs exist, why there’s shields, armor, swords, medics, poets, authors, crafters. Some battles though, no one else is suited for.”
Sighing, staring after Induul, Del continues, “Sad to see someone struggling with the pipe, but our, ‘The Green,’ is a fighter. He’ll come through on the other side, probably sooner rather than later. Pay it no mind. Not everything is on you, despite how it may seem. Plus, take heart, some things that aren’t on you, you still made better. For example, I’d never get the chance to be a mother, never would have gotten the chance, if it weren’t for you making that speech.”
Smirking, my blacksmith friend finishes, “As tasty as they are, those legendary metal bits are a bit too dangerous, at best we can give ‘em a few licks. Can’t exactly go eating even a thin sliver of something that won’t bend or break as it slides down your gullet unless you desire a painful surgery. Word from some of the ones keeping an eye on your projects is we’re one or two days out from the budding finishing up in some of the more tantalizing warrens. We’re working at grinding down the bits you’ve gifted us into a fine enough powder to use as spices, to give all the volunteers just a little taste like you said. Speaking of tasty treats, c’mon kid, let’s leave the nice Hero alone, I wanna see if you can handle spicy food.”
Excitedly, Yerjhro licks his lips, exclaiming, “Can I!?” before racing off apparently towards Del’s home cavern. I flash her a grateful smile, and we offer each other a strong forearm-gripped handshake. I’m glad to have such stoic, kind people residing within Mount Solace. As Del is leaving, chasing after her excitable son, Lucky approaches me and leans heavily against my right hip. Scratching his skull, I find Lucky’s emotional wavelength warbled and muddied. I need to spend more time with my own son, it seems. Zayzi offers me a half-hearted wave from nearby, apparently having been waiting until I was mostly alone before approaching. Hopefully they won’t mind a bit of company as we share sweets. Lucky deserves my attention, and Te still needs me.