[Dwarven Archking] Hreidmar rubs his temples in his study. He wished again his constant, throbbing headache was just a hangover. A potion can cure a hangover.
He glares at the scroll on his desk. The mundane scroll details everything that has happened since last night, the city wide party, afterparty, and chaotic consequences, in almost comically simple terms. In four hours, a single bard turned his entire kingdom on its head.
As he contemplates the current crisis, the door to his study opens and his [Page] gives a bow, “Mister Eludo has arrived. Should I bring him in?”
Hreidmar takes a deep breath. He grabs for his goblet, and frowns when he discovers it’s empty. He reaches for the bottle for a refill, and finds it is also empty.
“Send him in with a bottle… several bottles.”
The [Page] nods again and walks out.
The door to his study closes shut, leaving the [King] once again to his own thoughts as he stares at the damned report on his table.
He reaches to the side and retrieves a dusty old journal written by a predecessor. He flicks to the page describing the last time a similar- actually, exact same, crisis had visited the dwarves and caused the reigning [King] to seal the Uaithine.
The [Page] knocks twice and then slowly opens the door and waves Quasi into his study. The man grins cheekily at Hreidmar, which almost instigates the [King] to throw his goblet at his skull.
Almost… it wouldn't be good to take an aggressive action against an [Emperor], even if said [Emperor] single-handedly incapacitated his kingdom.
“You look like you want to kill me,” Quasi says as he places several bottles on his desk, “your [Page] said to give you these.”
“I want to strangle you,” Hreidmar admits. He leans forward, pops open a bottle and pours the contents into his goblet. He takes a sip and glares at Quasi who takes a seat opposite him. Quasi sprawls in the chair, one leg dangling over an armrest.
“Sounds kinky, but I’m not into men.” He grins. “So, why did you call me over?”
Hreidmars glare intensifies, “I want you fucking out of my kingdom.”
Quasi raises an eyebrow, “Why? Is it because of the riots outside? Honestly, how was I supposed to know it isn’t safe for dwarves to dance?”
“ITS NOT THE FUCKING DANCING!” Hreidmar screams, “ITS WHAT CAME AFTER THE FUCKING DANCING!”
Quasi rolls his eyes, “Yelling at me won’t help me understand your problems.”
Hreidmar glares at the young man, disgusted at his honest ignorance.
“You don't know, do you?” He finally asks.
Quasi shrugs, “No idea, I just saw people brawling in the streets on my way here. I didn’t pay much attention. Seemed like a Dwarf thing.”
Hreidmar, realizing that Quasi didn't do this intentionally, leans back with an aggravated sigh. His anger burns, but without a focus now. Instead, he is forced to blame himself. After all, he was the one who allowed him to play the damn harp.
“When the music ended and the dancing stopped, your aura lingered on everyone affected by the music. Your aura, for a lack of a better explanation, is a potent aphrodisiac to anyone who is not trained to defend themselves against aura.”
“Ohhhh.”
Hreidmar grimaces, “Yes, after the music ended, the entire kingdom went into a lust-filled craze that had everyone fucking anyone nearby.”
“Shit.”
“Yes. Fights are breaking out en masse as boyfriends, husbands, and fathers are fighting over their daughters and wives. Injuries are piling up, my [Guards] are outnumbered, and property is being destroyed throughout my entire kingdom.”
“Damn,” Quasi comments, “I hope they were using contraceptives. I imagine all those pregnancies are going to cause a lot of problems.”
Hreidmar groans as his migraine jumps up a notch. He had not even thought of the future repercussions.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
“I still want you gone.”
“Why? I didn't intend this.”
“I don't care! You’re a walking mass of chaos and destruction! I want you out!”
“Well, I can't exactly leave yet. I’m looking for something called the Holy Grail. The dick lovers at the guild said you might know of it.”
“If my kingdom has and I give it to you, will you leave?”
“Sure,” Quasi agrees.
“Talk to the [Artifact Keeper]. She will know if we have it.”
“The girl with the mismatched outfit?”
Hreidmar nods. He grabs a piece of parchments, a feather, ink, and begins writing. He pushes the paper towards Quasi, “As obnoxious as she is, Amethyst is very good at her job. Show her this writ, and if the Holy Grail is in my possession, you will have it.”
Quasi frowns, “Huh. You’re just going to give it to me?”
The [Dwarven Archking] leans forward, “As soon as you get the Holy Grail, I want you fucking gone.”
Before Quasi can answer, Hreidmar presses a bell on his desk. The door to the study opens. The [Page] enters. “You called, your highness?”
“Yes, take Quasi here to Amethyst.”
The [Page] bows. “Yes your Highness. Mr Quasi, please follow me.”
Hreidmar looks at Quasi expectantly.
Quasi snorts. He hops out of his chair, waves goodbye over his shoulder and follows the [Page].
When the door shuts, Hreidmar releases a sigh. He reaches for a bottle, and discovers the bottle is missing.
_______________________________________________________
As one would expect of a major kingdom, the hallways leading to the vault are enchanted to shit. Glistening streams of puissant energy pulse through the corridor’s ornate metal walls, Just passing through sends Quasi’s hair on end. As he gets close to the vault, the potency and complexity of the enchantments nears the level of Mimir’s own- which means that the vault was created when people’s average levels were higher and advanced forms of enchanting still existed.
At the entrance, Amethyst, the [Peerless Artifact Keeper] who had been knocked unconscious by a goblet, lays on a hammock hung from dwarven statues standing on either side of the door.
She is, quite aggressively, snoring up a storm.
The [Page] clears his throat.
Not seeing a reaction, he clears his throat even louder.
Still, no reaction. He grabs the near side of the hammock and pulls it upward.. With a panicked scream, Amethyst falls to the floor with a metallic thud. In the instant she was airborne, metal flowed and surrounded her body, protecting her from the face-first impact.
Disoriented, Amethyst sits up.
“Fucker,” she groans.
The metal morphs again, pushing her up into a standing position. “I was having a great dream about a guy ravaging me, so waking me up better be fucking important.”
The [Page] is unfazed. Completely ignoring her words, he gestures to Quasi, “Mr. Eludo has been granted by his Majesty permission to obtain an item from the vault.”
She raises an eyebrow, “Really?” she looks at Quasi, “The old fart is pretty strict about keeping artifacts secured. Did you suck his dick or something?”
Quasi grins. He hands her the writ, “Nah, he just found my musical skills so amazing that he fears it could cause the city’s downfall.”
She snorts, “If that's true, then I wish I was awake to hear it instead of waking up horny as hell. Now, let's see what - Ughhh, the Holy Grail. Why the fuck do you want that useless shit? It’s just a stupid key for some other stupid item.”
“So you have it?”
“Yes, we have it,” she grins thoughtfully, “it's in my random shit pile, and I’m not going through that for a useless cup. There's like ten thousand useless, semi-magical items in there. It would take me half a day to just find it, and I’m not doing that for nothing.
“Your job, Miss Amethyst, is to serve the [King’s] needs- which includes finding specific items in the vault.” the [Page] interrupts cooly.
“Yea, well, what about my needs?” Amethyst glares at the [Doorman], “Ever since I woke up, my crotch has been itching for some dick, so how about I get satisfied first, and then we can talk about me wasting half a day.”
“That is not his majesty’s problem, nor is it mine.”
Her glare moves from the [Page] to Quasi. She looks him up and down… and grins. “Fine, then I’m making it his problem,” she points at Quasi, and then moves her finger down from his chest.
“Miss Amethyst!” the [Page] yells, “Quasi Eludo is an honored guest of the [King]. Propositioning him like this-”
Quasi raises a bottle in front of the [Page], silencing him with a resigned shake of his head.
________________________________________________________________
“NO!”
Zeus roars with the anger of a storm- a manifested storm directly above Mount Olympus. The storm rumbles constantly as it rains lightning down upon the mountain. Innumerable flashing lights are awarded with the cacophony of shockwaves, none of which seem to bother the Olympian gods as they sit on benches, silently watching as Zeus paces back and forth while screaming a single word.
“NO!”
He yells again, manifesting a bolt of lightning and throwing it into the clouds, enraging the storm further.
“NO!”
Hera, sitting upon her throne, rolls her eyes at her easily enraged husband. She’d tried to snap him out of it, but it seems the situation is rather dire.
Breaking the silence with an audible sigh, she gets the attention of the other gods, including the usually neutral Hermes. Out of all the gods, Hermes is the most neutral, refusing to help or hinder any disputes between gods. But now, the information is dire indeed.
“Those titans still exist? Are you absolutely sure of this? Maybe they are lesser versions that are similar?” she asks Hermes, hoping for a different answer.
Hermes shakes his head quickly. “T-they are real-l. All six l-live and march. C-Crius destroyed the d-demons with Thor's champion.”
Grim expressions mirror Hera’s own. They remember the titans, those elemental monstrosities that had nearly destroyed the world before they had been put down. It had taken the combined might of all the pantheons to subdue them.
A woman in glowing golden armor and swirling long crimson hair slams the stone table in front of her. “They should all be dead. I remember clearly that their cores were severed!”
“I do too, Athena, but it seems we must have missed something.” Artemis explains.
“NO!”
“The cores! What happened to the pieces?” Hepaestus asks, “How did we dispose of the destroyed cores?”
“We didn't need to,” Hera starts explaining, “they were shattered into thousands of pieces. You would have to find every single piece to have any chance of reviving them…” Hera’s eyes widened, “After our war, I remember Odin’s [Prests] all over the areas where the titans were destroyed. Would he truly search for all the pieces?”
She asks the question, but every god already knows the answer.
“NO!”
“Hermes,” Athena calls, “where are the titans headed? Are they going east? Towards our armies?”
Hermes swallows as all eyes turn to him-
“NO!”
Most eyes turn to him. “O-one goes east… b-b-but four go south. Odin wants C-camelot.”
With the revelation made, all go silent to digest the information.
All except for one.
“ODIN, I WILL RIP OUT YOUR REMAINING EYE AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR GERIATRIC ASS.”