Windemere was a safe kingdom to live in. It had five major factions. The Kin, both beast-kin and were-kin, were the most numerous. Then the silk-folk, or "clothies" as they were called behind their back, followed by the Lamias who gathered under the banner of House Nagini and their "snake knights" (also pejorative). Finally, the dwarves occupied the eastern valley and the Eleons in the forests to the north.

As for minor groups, you had the magic school at the capital, then the fairies and elves in the northeastern virgin forests, and the descendants from the human slaves scattered everywhere. Pure humans were hard to find. Eric and his descendants, Lorna, and I enforced that people should date and fuck and breed with whoever they wanted. That means that most humans have some small animal characteristics.

Honorable mention to Kazuyran's assassins. They weren't a faction but a sort of FBI that didn't arrest someone for liking goth lolies. They just stabbed them dead.

Nenandil suggested.

I replied.

How hard would it be to survive the Tabard? I set the bloody thing to just make sure the person wearing it would do what was best for Windemere. Did it get corrupted or something? At least that I was curious about.

Pandora changed course and we went north to the fairy forest. She dropped her invisibility and flew in front of the basket, to shield me with her own body.

"Who goes there?" We were asked by an elf in their musical tri-tonal voice in Lierin elvish. It was hard to tell if it was a male or a female elf.

"Nenandil," Nenandil answered with just a word. She was relying heavily upon the memories of the people there. But since we weren't arrow pincushions yet, it might be working.

"Lady Nenandil?" The scout suddenly found his manners. "Are you here with the Matriarch?"

"Speak not of that name," She warned with a stern and firm tone. "My mistress dislikes being exposed carelessly."

We dove under the treeline and followed the elf scout to their settlement. Finally, Nenandil instructed Pandora to land and undid the bag, letting the [Wisp of Creation] float free.

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Even the Lierin were getting political nowadays. Some elves wanted a shot at the Tabard, claiming that King Locksley was a half-elf. In my basket, I rolled my eyes but kept pretending to be asleep while they rambled on about their woes and politely interrogated Nenandil. I didn't give a rat's arse about their situation, on how some merchants were eyeing the pristine heartwoods of their forest with greedy intentions.

It was stale shit if I ever smelled one. Same old story everywhere. Someone has something, another someone thinks the first someone isn't using something to the best of their ability and the shithead thinks they can do better, then decides to settle the stupid feud with violence. Everyone loses and usually the resource everyone coveted was sabotaged by the loser so nobody won anything.

That probably applied to the Tabard. There was no need to set a "delay" or a "line" for the tests. Just don the bloody rag and if the glorified washcloth didn't kill you, congratulations, you've won the shittiest job ever. If not, get the now bloodier bloody washcloth and don it yourself. Rinse (or not rinse, the bloody washcloth doesn't mind the bloodstains) and repeat.

Fucking retards, I say. All of them.

I didn't know I was so tired until now. Tired of being the good girl, of being the savior, the martyr, what the fuck was I thinking? Let this bloody blood feud churn in the shit of their own making. Maybe it was just my mixed-blood brain speaking, but as Arista that prudish cunt used to say, "I'm my own flippin' mermaid." Ha! Flippin' piece of shit, I say!

Let them eat each other out. I'm fucking tired of dying for other people. I should go back to sleep. And that's when the bleeding elves decide to pick me up from my basket, because why not? I see baby, I molest baby. Ugh.

"I see," an elven matron mumbled, inspecting me like I was some stinking rotten fish at the market. "A half-dwarf-kitsune. No wonder the dwarves were swarming around like headless ants."

I would bite her if I had teeth. Alas, all I had were baby gums.

She replied apologetically.

Nenandil whistled.

I kicked the elven matron's arm to show my disapproval.

"Is she hungry?" The elven hag asked, with a stupid maternal grin on her face. I swore to Loki if she bared her flabby chest to shove a freaking nipple in my mouth I was going to flip.

"Maybe," Nenandil replied, barely containing her mirth. "I think she misses her milkmaid."

"Oh! I think Faerala is lactating. Let's take her there," the elf smiled at me.

I had more Royalty titles than the fucking Queen of the Commonwealth, dammit. Why did I have to be subjected to that kind of humiliation?

At least the Lierin milkmaid had nice tiddies. And sweet milk.