He felt a soft breeze and breathed the fresh countryside air. The wind had been gentle and the green pasture at the lakeside of Hawl’s Den had proven to be a perfect place for a picnic.
Simos, with his usual carefree personality, did not pass this opportunity to spend their day off to sightsee at the famous lake.
It was famous, not because it was a tourist spot, but because people would offer a limb or two to avoid the seemingly calm body of water. Instead of the clear luminescence, the whole lake was black. The water was normal, clear fresh water with no abnormality whatsoever, but the lake itself was so deep that from a distance, the water had become black as midnight. No one had ever reached the bottom of this lake. Even brave talespinners and barbs could not muster a lie of a singular person to have done so.
It was said that a mysterious being had crawled itself from the lake causing the lake to form and water accumulated over time. Others had said that a strong magical explosion had dug itself so deep on the Frears surface.
Be it a treasure or a monster of mythical proportion, no one knows for sure.
"Is that Delica?" Simos asked.
A small figure bobbed up and down on the surface of Hawls Den, waving at their location.
"Should we get her?" Aiven asked, already readying a rope.
The boy sighed and scratched his head, "Nah, she would get bored before night falls," and as if a disclaimer, he added, "hopefully."
The boys of the party were comfortably dressed down in a simple canvass shirt and breeches and were sitting cross-legged. They were surrounded by simple baskets of fresh fruits, bread, and cold cut meats. A nice set for a lazy afternoon. Beside them was Mieu with her three attendants, the triplet undead. Being the closest to age among the undead to the young girl, the triplets had become the official playmates of the demon lordling. Though in their usual chattering, they had proclaimed themselves as Mieu's personal bodyguards.
Aiven continued overlooking the mass expanse of the lake. Unconsciously, he raked his hand at his now shoulder-length hair. He was still unconvinced at Delica's version of 'having fun' when five tentacles strutted out to surround her.
She yelped and instantly was dragged down underneath.
"Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh," she screamed playfully and made a paddling sound as she emerged once again, unscathed, with a creepy octopus-slashed-man as her mount at the dark gloomy waters. "Lacrimal! Onwards!" She commanded, cheerfully.
The octopus must have felt the other masters looking his way, that the seafolk automatically swerved and gave a wistful smile at their direction.
Aiven's facial expression didn't change, but his eyes somewhat became dead at the wantonly way the androgynous octopus kept swaying on the waters and glancing at him as if to catch his eyes. It was obviously laughing but thankfully, the distance carried their voices away.
Aside from Lacrimal, twelve other seafolk undead were swimming alongside their mistress. Their dark scales and shells gleamed as they surround the girl like glorious elegant synchronized swimmers. As her voice raised higher, another melodious voice came accompanying her screams and then was harmonized by other voices until they sounded like they were singing in a chorus.
Their time of hiding was coming to a close, so the peaceful excursion was also a way to treat the familiars, with great considerations with the seafolks race.
Afterall, aside from the illusory magic, the seafolks had been useful in providing a cascade of illusion on their camp through their mist and chant spells, making it harder for anyone to know of their location. Also, the moment the undead seafolks had learned of the existence of a body of water a few days ride from their camp, they had been sneakily giving hints and pleading eyes towards Delica everytime the lake was being mentioned.
It came to a point where they became a huge hassle to deal with that even the other familiars were coming up with daily complaints. They loved to play tricks to people, and that same trait seems to have been carried over to their undead state.
According to books and logs of some adventurers, seafolks were amazingly sensual people and was rumored for their skills in that particular area, making them a sought-after slaves for obvious reasons. It was no wonder for them to have deep-rooted hatred towards humans. Afterall, it was man alone, with their greed and lust that would hunt their coves for anything of value. Elves were forever linked to their lands and fae and would not dream of leaving the continent of Frear that they love. Similarly, beastials had always maintained mutual respects to their sea-dwelling counterparts, and the orkans were too stupid to manage a boat let alone traverse the unmerciful Bermuda Seas.
Being landlocked for so many months after their summons, their strength and use had been limited and confined to just providing illusions. Even at the previous battles, they had not contributed much in terms of kill count and only became useful for support.
Having been treated to this excursion, the siblings hoped that that overly-frustrated racial undead would not stir any more troubles, troubles that were too mature for their ward to be mentioned carelessly.
For undeads to pursue procreative activities, on what end were they trying to achieve by 'that'? Aiven mentally shivered.
Looking at the pink tentacles being used as a mount by Delica, he can't help but inwardly cringe. His negative bias on Lacrimal didn't improve much for the past months. He did avoid the undead seafolk afterall. Even if his work had been greatly influential to the skull unit (which the octopus unfortunately led), their interactions were almost close to zero. Even after months of Leaf Solstice, and not once had they even exchange words.
Lacrimal was starting to feel left out. Of course, he had Vomer and Malar to thank for that.
But hopefully, most of them would go back to the inventory black box and be on standby again for who knows how many months.
"Oi, Aiven, we're on a break and you're still working?" Simos said sourly and eyed the fabrics still stacked beside the dark-haired boy.
Before he could finish his sentence, Aiven raised the fabric for his friend to see his newest craft.
With the tan on Simos, you wouldn't have noticed even if his face became heated, but right now the boy was as red as a tomato. He snatched the flimsy material out of Aiven's hand and quickly stashed it behind the picnic basket.
He glanced once at Mieu who was thankfully playing this-world version of chess with the triplets, oblivious of the happenings, and then glared at his friend, "are you insane?! We have a child here!" As if that term doesn't apply to him still.
Aiven innocently furrowed his brows, "but that was for her..?"
He could see his friend's eyes widening in shock and quickly recalled the cloth he just snatched.
"Don't tell me..." he stuttered for a while before he finally said completely, "you made a lingerie for Lady Mieu!?"
With the delicate laces, the streamlined cut and ribbons and just from the shape of it, Simos' grip on the clothes became tighter that he's afraid he might damage it.
"It's a swimsuit though," Aiven corrected with a flat voice.
At first glance, it might looked similar to a woman's underwear, but it's considerably lighter. He used silverspun carapace that doesn't absorbed much water and the design was a conservative one-piece swimsuit that had a skirt-like frill at the waist. An appropriate swim wear for a young girl. In his opinion, that is.
Piecing delicate undergarments with a small innocent child in the same area should have been a crime. But he can't be bothered by that now, also, it was a swimsuit, not an underwear. It might be similar but very different.
Simos smacked his hand in his forehead, he gave a sidelong glance at the undead mermaids and sea creatures blissfully swimming with his sister, "I understand that you'd make scant swimming wear with the seafolks but this is..!" the accusation was strong on his words.
"They hate clothes," Aiven defended.
The race had always had an irrational biased notion that clothes would hamper their freedom, and so it was normal for them to be always in nude.
It was one of the reason he had designed the swimming clothes of the familiar seafolks to be that skimpy. Any more inch of clothe added and they would wallow on the waters and professed themselves to be drowning even if they were still in fact on the more shallower banks of the lake.
Seeing the arrogant and mesmerizing undead merpeople brought down a nudge and looked like paddling salmons on dry lands did wonders to his mood. He memorized the scene to heart, just so he could have something uplifting to look back to.
But that had earned him another scolding from Delica and multiple crafts adjustments until he finally decided to make a loose set of brassieres for the pathetic bunch.
It did made it harder for him though, with barely enough space to work on, but he could easily supplement the bonus stats with [rune ornaments] and [rhinestone engravings] making the brassieres the merpeople used became studded with colorful manastones, dangling rune-gems and laces upon laces of runescripts. On waters, the adornments added more mystifying elements on the undeads and they all looked like belly dancers from his old-world.
You would think the seafolks would hate it, but they actually fell in love and was seduced with the designs. They even helped him finalizing the whole look. Their weakness had always been their vanity, afterall.
They were also easily attracted to beautiful things, and music. Aesthetics were their joy and weakness, which somehow also included the swimsuits he made.
The considerations he made for the undead seafolks somehow cemented his status with them and they had been given to adulations and praise of respects on him being one of their masters.
He had already finished with the maid costumes, and so the break to work on another line of clothing wear was a challenge he took rather well.
In his part though, he had never been affected with working with the undeads since from the start, he had never viewed them as people, but rather like mannequins for him to dress with. Useful for practical application of his crafts.
Though having zero reactions from naked beautiful high-class harem-level girls was troubling. He doesn't know if he should be concerned that he was not affected, as a man, to their charms, or should he be thankful that he was mentally healthy not to look on walking corpses with lewd eyes of a psycho?
It was like looking at Renaissance and old paintings. They were pretty but he never got a boner from looking at them. Very crude way to take things that way, but it could be because his perception about sensuality was still that from an outsider point of view. Having a child body and hormones, and a mature over-exposed but almost distant outlook towards it, made the idea of sex a bit too troublesome for him to think about right now, to say the least.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
For a philosopher to say that sex was the core motivator of humans, that person must also had some weird suppressed subconscious baggage, in his opinion.
Hn, Freud, wasn't it?
Aiven coughed at the sudden thought and tried not to think too much on the subject.
"Ah, so that was not on your taste, Suzerain Simos," a sultry voice was overheard from their spot. Simos shifted slowly to the side to look behind Aiven. Just a few feet from them was a long elongated stretch of quilted cloth where the few elites of the familiars were comfortably sitting, they were still remarkably behaving restrained despite enviously looking ahead towards their mistress.
Lamina, the one who spoke earlier, was on recline. An umbrella was opened by one of her attendant above her. The black kimono, edged with red chrysanthemums maid outfit that Aiven had made for the head of the torso unit, draped on her body well and did not lessened the dignity that the pyro elf held herself with. It was designed to loosely cover only the half right of the body, leaving the other side exposing a strapless, black laced corset with a high collar crisscrossed with leather strappings underneath. An apron was delicately stitched above the kimono, for the sake of the maid theme costume their Mistress was pushing for.
"Swim wear, is it?" Sharing the shade of the umbrella was Ulna, sitting with her legs crossed. The slit on the skirt revealed shapely and gorgeous thighs. She was leaning sideway with her pristine hand supporting her chin in a languid manner, her eyes were half-closed. Despite having a servant uniform, she was able to make the clothes suffused with an air of superiority. Her wings were folded behind into a trail of glistening dark feathers that mirrored the little ones adorning her lashes that swayed enchantingly everytime she blink.
"I say, swimming had always been done unclothed, did times had changed since our shadows' death?" Tarsus remarked before tipping his goblet. The dwarven had a very deep drawl on his voice that even if he could be joking, his words still fell in serious gloom.
"And pollute the scenery? Have mercy to those who are not blind, Tarsus," Acromion said but there was only light teasing on the insult.
The male counterparts of the undead generals were currently predisposed to empty the barrel of aged alcohols taken from the caravans of the looted bandits. The beastial and dwarven were drinking in a contented subdued spirits but they still kept challenging each other on drinking and breaking into good-natured cheers, though it was Acromion who always raise his voice towards the very serious dwarven.
The head of the foot unit sputtered his alcohol and grimaced, "You are no better Acromion. Though with your innate furskin there would be nothing to show for."
The beastial stared at the young dwarven for seconds then laughed heartily while slapping his hand on his knees. His sharp canine teeth can be seen, while boasting that if Tarsus had seen the entire lineage of their beastial races then he wouldn't be saying such things.
The two were equally dressed in servile clothes but in a different manner entirely.
Even with how much Aiven tried to design equipment for the two, their crude and bearded/furred appearance and bulky stunted physique made all his attempts looked comical and ridiculous. His tailoring craft made it only possible for him to work on cloth-armors and not on the metal ones so he basically just left their armors untouched with only a few additions on the ornamental side, especially on the dwarves. Dwarvens afterall had the minority on Delica's familiars with only sixteen undeads under those race so there was no need to rush his work on metallurgy.
Acromion toned down when he saw Aiven who had been staring at them unblinkingly. He gave one swift swing on a wineskin and offered it to him, "a drink, lesser master?"
The boy shook his head 'no' and lowered his head contemplatively. The beastial tiger undead merely shrugged as if saying if you say so, then proceeded to fill his belly with the ale.
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"Ainee, I won again," a little voice interrupted their talk. Mieu walked over to their side, carrying the chessboard like a tray.
The small voice was filled with joy but it held enough hesitation and curiosity, as if testing whether her words came through.
"It's Aiven," he answered as he peered over the set of corsets he's working on.
"Ai-neechan?"
"Aiven," he insisted.
"Ai? Ai..." the little girl cocked her head innocently to the side.
As with all things that irritated him, Aiven kept the mental lashings off, and simply ignored the pet names being unconsciously given to him by the young demon lord.
Being called 'love' in his native tongue was not working out well for him.
The girl however was oblivious on the heartache she was giving to Aiven.
He raised his sight away from his sewing work and on his view was Mieu, her doll shoes, designed with a ballerina ribbons crisscrossing on her legs didn't made any noise as she made way to Simos' sitting place. She sat on his legs, her back turned to him and balanced the chessboard carefully on her lap.
Understanding the silent plea of the girl for their attention, Simos smiled and wordlessly took a pawn on the opposite side of the girl's game.
In between them were this-world's version of chess, only it was supposed to be played by four players. It was the first time Simos had introduced the game. It was one of the boy's favorites so Aiven was not sure why it took a long time before he pulled out the old boardgame. The set was made of pearl ivory and dark ebony matched glass set. It was something worthy to be part of the Canary Gold's treasuries.
Mieu seemed to give up on correcting his name altogether, her eyes focused again on what was infront of her and squeezed herself more snuggly in between of Simos legs.
"Another round!" Mieu said happily getting the little pieces and putting them one by one in place, "I think I am getting it, Simos!"
"As you wish, princess," His elbow was resting on his bunched knee when he said, "say, howabout a history lesson, princess?"
The little girl tilted her head at the question. "History? Unless it is about the history of this game we are enjoying, then I don't mind."
"Uh, yes. It is about the boardgame's origins, but..." Simos trailed off, "I take it, you don't like history then?"
"History would tell me I am destined to die, so no, I don't like history that much," she answered seriously, the queen piece was rolling on her palm.
"I see. That is quite a heavy subject to learn."
"And much harder to unlearn. Your books are quite extensive, and creative, on descriptions about how your people annihilated my race."
Her looks were still the adorable little girl, but her way of processing information was too fast for her age that Simos was conflicted whether to be proud or despondent at her comments.
Wanting to cheer her up, Aiven took down his stitching and said, "don't mind it, Mieu. History could also be entertaining. Most of the focal points in Man's history afterall were centered on people killing each other so it wasn't all that bad."
"Hn," then she laughed making her appearance resemble a cherub, "you really know how to cheer me up, Ainee!"
"I aim to serve," he replied, taking his needle again.
"So, about the game's origin," Mieu asked, placing the last piece on the board in an audible clank of glass, "did people died?"
"Thousands, hundreds of thousands," Simos said.
"Ah, that sounds horrible," but her smile was so serene and contented.
He patted her head "well then," he stretched his hand pulled out the four differently-colored kings from the board game, "the land of man was once divided, by four cornerstone kingdom. The Cessine city-fortress was once a vast kingdom of the south, and the other three city-fortresses also had their own kingdoms, vying for supremacy..."
He continued his explanation while placing each kings at each corner of the boardgame.
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Right after their brief history lesson, Simos proceeded to mercilessly dominate Mieu at a few rounds of chess.
There were times that the lordling was on the verge of tears from frustration, but Simos steeled his heart and continued teaching Mieu on tactical strategies disguised as past time.
"Nee, Simos, why do they sounded like they wouldn't go for a swim?" During one of their breaks, she pointed at the undead generals, curiously eavesdropping with approval at their game.
The little girl had been taking note of the other familiars. Some were even on the sidelines, and were simply silently taking watch over the merriment of the undead seafolks.
"It's not that they wouldn't Lady Mieu, but rather, they couldn't," he replied smoothly for the both of them.He continued smiling down warmly at the girl who took a liking on making him her personal chair. Their image was too gentle that you would think that they were brother and sister, playing.
Mieu took her side of the gameboard, a black pawn, and placed it two blocks on the front as an answer to Simos' initial move, and they started to play another round of chess. "Why not? I would...like to swim with them," she asked, in a low voice.
"Unless they were affined with water, undeads normally sunk on waters," he explained apologetically.
"Eh? Really? That's...a shame," she replied, her dainty lips pursed in a childlike manner. At her obvious disappointment, a commotion suddenly appeared at the side of the familiars.
"Oyaaah, if it pleases her majesty, then a hallow body of water would not stop us from granting her wish," Acromion was the first to announced and started to shed his outer clothing, while Tarsus was nodding and silently followed suit with the same unbreakable determination of a brainless fanatic.
"If it is only swimming, shouldn't we be able to fulfil something so simple for her majesty Mieu?" Lamina added, untying her constraining ribbons and catwalking dangerously towards the lake, and possibly towards her end.
"To dare make our lord and creator unhappy, isn't this Hallow Den too bold for a parcel of land of man?" Unfortunately even Ulna, who was supposed to be their manager, said something equally ridiculous.
Before a mass suicide began, all the familiars found themselves restrained by a notification window infront of them.
Please pick the next course of action.
Please pick the next course of action
Unable to repair due to incompatible crafting tool
Unable to repair due to invalid item craft
Repair [Command Revoked] Dismantle
All familiars stopped and blinked confusedly at the strings of mana that were hardly visible to their enhanced eyes, all of which leading to Aiven.
Simos didn't know when Aiven took his crafting tools out, but the dark-haired boy was at it again with his tailoring, silently embroidering a flowery runic design at what he supposed to be another 'swimsuit'.
"Stay," Aiven said, slowly, casually, like commanding some dumb domestic animals.
He didn't looked up, or even acknowledged the familiars as his one hand raised slowly. Slivers of manathreads came to and wrapped their bodies. It was obvious that at the end of those threads were his needles, already piercing inside their armory and precariously stabbing their soul gems.
Their expression crumpled as if they were physically in pain when their manic-impulse to lay down their lives for the whim of Mieu failed.
Aiven doesn't mind if they lost their souls in the pits of Hawl's Den, but if he'll end up fishing their souls out of the lake, then, wouldn't it be better they got destroyed here and now?"
"Simos, aren't you supposed to babysit these brain-deads?"
His friend looked up from the game, settling a knight to take out the lordling's bishop, "I have my hands full," he replied while grinning, "and anyway, you have to raise your affections to them."
Aiven was incredulous. The familiars also stiffened as if the idea of the lesser master being affectionate to them was just as distressing.
"You're still skulking," Simos concluded, repeating his observation when they have a one-on-one talk months ago, "I really can't blame you, really, I mean, if my subordinates still addressed me as someone 'lesser', then I guess I won't be merciful."
The familiars didn't mutter anything, knowing they have no right to speak out of turn.
It was an indirect rebuke on the familiar's given title to Aiven. Despite having the same standing as guardians to the demon lord, he was still on the bottom of their regards.
But the person himself was acting like it didn't have anything to do with him and simply shrugged, "why should I care?"
Simos sighed deeply and commented, "no wonder they treat you poorly."
"Well, they are being honest..." All the familiars jolted, torn between the self-deprecating statement of the youngling. "If they started calling me anything else, it would only feel derogatory," he added matter-of-factly.
If they started calling him on the same line as those goosebump-inducing titles given to Simos like 'Great Suzerain', 'Exalted General', and such, he might have more impulses to make use of the familiars as his personal lab-rats.
"Hah, you, being the lesser among us three is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Simos pushed the subject. "I don't have any class, so technically I'm still a novice while the Delica already gained a calamity-tier class and you, my friend, got an unorthodox one...a rare variant even among the rares!"
"Said a god-blood," he tsked at Simos, "and what good does class do when I am but an amateur with no maester to surpass?"
"An amateur..?" he raised his brows and quirked a smile at his creations that is now being used by the undeads. "Being able to use runescripts?"
"That's the limit of my self-study," he said goading Simos to imagine what he could create if he did have a teacher to guide him on the arts, and not denying the fact that that was the best he could actually amount in their quest.
Then he felt a deadly glare aimed at him, when he looked around, he saw a beautiful pair of green eyes with golden flecks. The unmistakable hate from Ulna's eyes was not something he had seen before. Listening to two human younglings debating on who was 'lesser' among them, and to think that these two stood above among them undeads, seemed to still grate on her pride.
He didn't back down on her stare, but he did loosen his hold on the undeads.
All of them staggered and recovered on their rightful places in a tense almost dissatisfied state, whether for the part that they can't grant Mieu's wish for them to swim together, or that they had been caught off guard by the lesser master and cannot exalt any form of retaliation towards him due to his position.
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Simos [https://scissorsnscribbles.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/22.jpg]