Elia left Mahdi’s armory with an honest pep in her step, followed by Karla, and a dozen nasty looking dregs.
“How could you talk to mister Asinus Stultus like that?” Karla asked.
“What?” Elia didn’t think she had been too rude. “He’s a mercantile swindler and the only thing I’m good at is intimidation.”
“But he is our quartermaster, the Asinus himself. He’s fought in wars and he has scars. Real ones!”
Ah yes, the real-fake scars. They gave his face some much needed contrast. Maybe she should ask him for some scar-stickers for herself.
Elia hummed in thought. “If chicks dig scars, what do guys like?”
“Also scars?”
Elia looked at Karla, who looked innocently right back at her. At least she had taken her preparation seriously.
Karla didn’t appear overly encumbered by her new armor, even if it looked like someone encased a knight’s plate armor in yet another suite of full plate, then slathered both with hardened lava. She looked like a bonafide JRPG main character stacked with end game gear.
“So,” Elia said as she peered around for any potential spies and stalkers. “New armor.”
“I’m glad you noticed!” Karla clapped her hands together with an audible clunk. “This is a Tarakon armor set of the knights of the Twin Tarakon. That’s old Empyrean for Dragon. In fact, this here shoulder plate is made from the hind-scales from Gneiss himself, one of the two great dragon gods! Or maybe it was from the other one? Anyhow, it has a hardness of nine point two on the Mohs scale, but it’s lighter than it looks. Or, well, it would be, but I chose to have this one up-armored just a tad. Can’t go wrong with too much armor, can you? Haha–”
Karla missed a step and almost toppled over, but Elia pulled her back by the scruff.
Great Tarakon set
An armor carved from discarded scales of Malm, a great wyrm that fell in the rebellion. He was reared from his egg by the god of travel and between them, they shared an inseparable bond.
She was right, Karla looked like she weighed a metric ton, but in truth, it was more like half a ton. Maybe. Elia wasn’t good with metric.
“S-so, do you like it?” Karla asked, shaking the ground as she nervously hopped from one foot to the other.
Elia vaguely nodded her approval as they arrived at the grug fertility statue. There was no sign of Zane, of Cat and Crow, or any of the numbered ninjas.
“Y-you can say if I’m a bother, you know. Is it too much?”
Elia blinked. “It’s not. I was just wondering why you didn’t wear this on your outing to Glenrock castle.”
“I needed light traveling armor of course,” she said, as if her other set was not also full plate. “I can’t walk around in this all day. It gets very hot and I’m not a demon… despite what the rumors say.”
“Yeah, I know.” Elia set her eyes on her surroundings again, but when after minutes nobody arrived, she started growing nervous. This was roughly the time when Zane should have started hitting on her. If he wasn’t here, that either meant that her little detour had screwed up the order of events, or that Rhuna’s little birdy already got to him.
Rhuna was being awfully quiet after all those deaths. She really hoped that was a good sign. It felt more like the calm before a storm, like the tension was palpable in the air before the world hit her with one of its characteristic haymakers.
“Alright, this is leading us nowhere. Let’s go visit the thieves guild.”
“Oh, the thieves guild.” Karla said.
“You know them?”
“We’re good friends. They are the ones saving me when I can’t find the way back home after a kidnapping. I stumbled upon their hiding place when I was six, but you’ve barely been here a day. How do you know where they are?”
“Oracle.” Elia pried a manhole cover open with her bare hands. “Down here, we’re walking through the sewers for a bit.”
“Sewers? That is not a place for a princess to be. How indecent. Hehe…”
“What was that?”
“Nothing!”
Karla followed her down with some difficulty, but throughout the short climb only one of the ladder sprockets gave away. Together, they walked through the sewers in silence as Elia followed her memory to the best of her ability. Which even without the north-duck-cloud was fairly decent.
“You got nothin’ on the big maze,” she muttered as she walked past a way up, then rounded the corner until she was at her goal. “Hey Karla, wanna see a magic trick?”
Elia walked against what should have been an illusory wall, but was in fact a very, very sturdy one. She rubbed her forehead. Karla had to be smirking beneath her mounds of dragonscale plate.
“Damn– everything looks the same down here. It’s one bend further.”
It was indeed. Karla was suitably impressed as this time Elia did phase straight through the wall.
“I’m friends with an oracle. An oracle!” she sung.
“Uh, yeah. Friends.” Elia rubbed her face where that one touch still lingered. Now was not the time to think about love, what it meant, or if she could even still feel it.
But Karla was not as split as she was. In the time it took to think a thousand thoughts, she had already scooted right up to Elia, their faces only a foot apart.
“Is friends not alright with you?” she asked. “Would you prefer less? Or maybe… more?”
“... we’re moving on.”
And that was the end of that conversation. Elia was almost relieved when she entered the thieves guild through the secret entrance, and noticed the slightest movement in the shadows.
“Number one, number two!” she yelled. “I come in escort of your princess, the great lady Karla!”
Karla straightened up a bit. The floorboards creaked ominously under her armor’s weight. Of the ninjas, there was not a single sound, not of movement, nor of conversation. Yet only moments later, the taller ninja appeared from seemingly nowhere out to greet them.
“Lady Karla?” asked lanky number one.
“In the flesh.” Karla opened her outer visor, and then her inner one, so he could barely see her squished, sweating face. That armor could not be comfortable to wear. Someone with lesser tenacity might cook themselves just by their body heat.
Number one blinked. “I see. And what, perchance, brings you to our hiding place which, may I say, is supposed to be kept a secret?”
Elia nudged the girl. They had gone over this.
“A-as Karla, princess of the maroon pact, I declare a localized national emergency!” Whether she even had the authority to do that was less important than making her subjects believe as much. Elia was betting on the rumors surrounding the princess doing the work for her because without it, Elia didn’t have any immediate proof that held any weight.
Number one did look suitably impressed, but there was still convincing to do.
“And how, perchance, did you happen upon this information?” he asked.
“May I introduce, the great and glorious Oracle, Elia!”
Elia smiled and waved politely. “Hey, nice to meet you mister mud-boon. No, don’t reach for your kunai, I’m not the enemy, but I can tell who yours is. Let me guess, you’ve lost contact with a few of your agents? Dregs going missing, bumps in the night?”
Half of that was guesswork. Number one’s expression betrayed that she had hit it spot on.
“You could be reading my mind,” he said. “In fact, is that how you got the princess to follow you? Mind control?”
He readied his blade. Elia was unimpressed. “I’m insulted. Do I look like I know how to speak adulations, or look like a goop knight?”
“Well, no,” Karla said, “The knights of Avon, or what you call ‘goop knights’, wouldn’t be caught dead wearing just mail. Their bracers are flared more towards the elbows as well. And they tend to not have skin, or muscle, or blood, but sticky, living tar instead.”
“See?” Elia turned back to number one. “Now, do I have to exsanguinate myself to prove that I’m not your enemy, or can we move on to the part where I explain how you are all in mortal danger?”
“That… is above our station.” Numero uno contemplated in silence for a moment. “But on the off-chance you do have information we overlooked, then we should entertain it. I shall fetch the master. Number two, keep an eye on these folk and the princess.”
He left, leaving the smaller number two who had been standing perfectly behind him to look after Elia, Karla, and her wicked guard-dregs. If she was afraid, she did not show it. Elia shot her a thumbs up and all she received was a quiet, judging scowl for a whole minute.
“You look like a hobo,” number two finally said. “Your vambraces don’t match with your sabatons, you’re wearing a knee-high hauberk over a torn up toga and pants, and for some reason all of it looks like it cost less than your silver fucking circlet? You have no taste and no class and aren’t worthy of meeting master Zane. Look, the chains of the hauberk are stretching; it’s as if you just put on whatever could fit over your massive tits.”
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“They’re not that big.” Elia looked down at her chest. “I would love a sports bra if you have one though. Or a chestplate.” She turned to Karla. “Does the pact have sports bras?”
“I-I’m sure we can find something that fits, if we ask my aunt,” Karla said.
But ninja two did not let her off the hook so easily. “Bet you can’t even fight, being so top-heavy.”
“Says the edgy oompa-loompa.”
The girl opened her mouth in shock. “I am not short.”
Elia walked up to her with a grin. “Oh, you’re a head smaller than me, and I’m already pretty challenged height-wise.”
She measured the difference and realized that she was about two inches taller than before. Courtesy of affixing body stats, likely. If she swapped those greater souls, would she grow shorter?
“Smaller ninjas are quieter! We can fit in more places! We’re better!” The little ninja said, flashing an impressive array of hidden weapons. She readied a small kunai knife, a favorite judging by the wear on its leather straps, and pointed it at Elia’s chest. “Shall I demonstrate?”
Elia grinned at the indignant little ball of ninjutsu and size-complex. Then, with the tiniest of [Frog leaps], she jumped forward and pinned her to a wall. “Lesson number one about being a good ninja: Don’t lecture the masters.” The knife aimed for her neck stopped inches away as Elia twisted it out of the girl’s hands. “Lesson number two: Don’t wait for a monologue to finish; Always take the initiative. Lesson number three: Small, loud ninjas are easier to pick up and toss around. Shall I demonstrate?”
Number two swallowed, struggling for a vain moment, before sagging in defeat.
Elia smiled and gently sat her down, inspecting the knife.
Improvised Kunai
A throwing knife from a land in the far east. The grip is stained with the blood of a thousand hours spent in relentless training.
“Here,” she said, offering it back. “It’s a good knife. And you have nice reflexes. Just don’t judge a book by its cover next time, right?”
“R-right,” number two said, disappearing the knife somewhere along her outift.
“I’m sorry, this may be a poor time to ask, but can someone get me a chair?” Karla asked, wafting fresh air to her face. “All this standing and… watching is making me feverish. It’s rather unprincesslike and while I am a rebel, I am not a masochist.”
The little ninja showed them to a small common room, one that was cleaned and ready as if they were expecting guests at all times. Karla took the largest chair and carefully aligned herself with it. The chair flagged and splintered, Karla falling on her back like a flipped pillbug.
Number two burst out laughing. Elia came to know that maybe it was possible to literally die of laughter. She came very close, and the giggling ninja trying to help the flailing princess only made them all double down in riotous laughter.
Ninja number one arrived with Zane in tow, and they just stared the scene unfolding in front of them.
“What exactly is going on here?” he asked with a hint of annoyance.
“I don’t know,” Elia said, pulling Karla up with aplomb, “I guess we found out what counts as ‘too much armor’.”
----------------------------------------
“So, what took you so long?” Elia asked. “I thought you were supposed to be on my tail.”
“I was held up,” Zane said. “I needed a permit to enter Karla’s tower.”
“Which is where I was an hour ago.”
“You’re not a very good spy, are you?” Karla asked.
“Shut up!”
Elia indulged in the indignant way he avoided her eyes.
He couldn’t look down either, looking up would make him seem stupid, and to his sides were other people he also did not want to stare at. Elia never did have a period where she could enjoy the attention on her body without it either being medical, or murderous. Who knew that just having one could make her feel so much power?
She swayed left when he turned left, looked at him from below when he was trying to bore a hole in the table. She made a face and he snorted, before quickly covering his own. Yep, it was official, this guy had a weird little crush on her.
As did Karla. The princess was certainly not taking this with the humor that Elia was, aggressively scooting right up until their hips were touching.
Who knew that attention could feel so good?
“Back to the issue at hand…” Zane said in an attempt to steer the conversation back on track.
Karla raised her hand, affecting denseness. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening. Where were we again?”
That sparked a discussion that was lengthy, repetitive and entirely full of small jabs between the voice of the thieves guild, and the pact’s princess. But the young master of the thieves guild did seem to have a higher operational clearance on the threats that plagued this pact. Combined with Elia letting Karla do most of the talking, it got their point across smoothly.
By the end, Cesare and Mouggen were released, and everyone had scooted to the side. Zane and Karla were all smiles and daggers. There was an unspoken agreement here, on the field between love and war. Elia was pretty certain half of the tension was her fault.
Sure would be nice to have Rye around for smoothing things over. But for now, they had things to do, important things, world-changing, lifestyle-saving things.
And yet, despite his agreement, Zane could not help but complain. “Why should I trust an oracle for the specifics, who have been proven time and time again to be unreliable, fickle, and duplicitous?”
“Whaaat? Me, lying? Never!” Elia smiled prettily, catching his head in an arm lock. “Now come on pretty boy. We’re in charge of the defense of your little home base.”
“We?” he asked, flustered and about as surprised as Elia was at the sudden contact.
Elia let him go, cleared her throat. “Right. We never agreed on who was the leader of our little expedition–“
“Raid,” Karla clarified. “And you never call me pretty girl.”
“– our little raid, yes my pretty princess. I, of course, vote for me.”
“As do we,” said Cesare and Mouggen.
“Then I vote for myself,” said Zane, “And numbers One and Two vote for me as well.”
“Umm.” All eyes went to Karla. “As a princess, the very concept of democracy makes my bile rise. Therefore, I nominate myself as raid leader. You can be my sub-commanders. Together, we shall smite the encroaching foe, or we shall never see the light of day again!”
Elia and Zane watched as blackish sigils drew themselves in a band across Karla’s skull at eye-height.
“Fuck,” they both said, recognizing the marks of an oath.
“Karla, what the heck?”
“I-I was caught up in the moment,” Karla said, defensively.
Zane groaned. “Gods, what did I do to deserve this?”
“Maybe you were a bit of a twat in your past life.” Elia said. “It’s officially do or die now. But hey, at least this oath implies that there is an enemy we can kill.”
“We already knew that! But time and time again we have not been able to find anything but traces! This is going to be such a waste of time, father’s going to be furious. How long until the enemy arrives?”
“Seven to eight hours?” Elia said.
“Seventy eight!?”
“Seven too eight.”
He did a double take, but Elia only had pretty smiles and zipped lips for him. “Fine. But if this ‘great foe’ doesn’t show up by then, then you’re all landing in the brig.”
“Fine by me,” Elia said. “Dibs on the big cell though.”
After the initial planning was over, everyone spent their time preparing or enacting small rituals. The ninjas were busy setting traps and tripwires. Karla’s dregs were sent to patrol around the perimeter and report back like clockwork. Elia found a kitchen knife to supplement her jagged shortsword, some ninja stars, and a few multicolored potions she… liberated from Zane’s personal storage space. The man had more concoctions than a drug lab. Hopefully, none of them were of the blowing-up variety.
Soon enough, she was testing out a series of new boon-empowered moves. [Frog leap] was practically a new boon after she had squeezed Mahdi for all he was worth.
[Body] Frog leap [Uncommon] [Essence of endurance] [Essence of control] [Socket x3]
Through heritage or affinity, you have gained the ability to jump like a frog. Your legs transform upon command into ones akin to these majestic critters, allowing you to leap great distances. Too great, sometimes. Overconfidence is a fast and insidious killer.
Distance scales with strength, accuracy with finesse, recharge rate with constitution. Repeated use within a short time frame no longer leads to cramps, but the damage is spread over your entire body. You have some control over your body while airborne, scaling with finesse.
Thanks to the essence of endurance, instead of getting cramps and tearing her muscles, she could rapid-fire two or three jumps, then stop, then rapid fire again with impunity. Managing her ‘jump-economy’ added a layer of complexity to her build, but it was worth it. With three consecutive hops down a single hallway, she could already pick up a ridiculous amount of speed.
Her essence of control allowed her to twist and turn in mid-air. More than that, Elia felt that if she leaned in one direction, she could drift half a foot while airborne.
“It’s-a meee,” she said, overestimating her power and missing the chandelier she was practicing on by inches. “Waaaaah!”
But the highlight here was how it synergized with her new stats. Instead of breaking a bone, her foot smashed straight through the floorboards. Looking around, the people of the pact all had a smaller powerset. But despite only possessing one or two boons, they had the safety of the pact to fall back on, and assemble a duo of boons that synergized well.
As an example, the smaller ninja also had a movement skill, but hers was more based upon pulling herself towards things. They made a race of who could run a lap through the guild’s corridors faster. Number two was quicker, but only barely.
“I bet I could lift more than you,” Elia said, out of breath.
“Probably ‘cause you put all your souls into strength,” the girl ninja huffed. “Nobody likes buff girls anyways.”
“Excuse you, I am buff and cute as heck. Isn’t that right, boys?”
There was a muttered chorus of vague agreements (Karla’s was the loudest) and denials.
Eventually, when they started hearing the party outside, the final two hours had fast approached. Elia sat down, taking a small swig from her bottle to take the edge off her exhaustion. Karla was in the process of trying to wash her oath-tattoo off, with predictable results. “Does it look ugly?”
“No,” Elia said and didn’t fail to notice how Karla’s breath tingled on her neck. Now was not the time for this. As Cesare walked on past she pulled him in as an appropriate deflection.
“Cesare, my friend, is there something you want to say? To Rye, specifically?”
The pink man flinched. “... not particularly, no. But waiting sure is the worst. Aren’t you nervous?”
Elia was not worried one bit. Her heart was pounding, sure, and she felt like a loaded spring ready to jump through the ceiling. But that was a normal amount of tension, for waiting at least.
“If we fail, we fail. I can always try again.”
Cesare stared at her without meeting her eyes. “You don’t think we’ll win this time?”
Elia shrugged. “I’m not one to put my life in the hands of a coin flip. But if I had to take a bet, I’d bet on myself.”
“… I’d take that bet too.”
They waited in silence for another few moments.
“Dreg number two is five minutes late for his report,” Karla said.
Elia immediately shot to her feet. “They’re here early. We need to move.”
“How are you sure?” Cesare asked.
“I’m not. Just not gonna let the small failures build up to a catastrophic one.”
The two of them discreetly gathered Mouggen and Cesare, Zane, Cat, Crow, and Ninja one and two. The second dreg was scheduled to patrol the sewers below. They took a different secret entrance, emerging from a pile of wooden debris and barrels. Drawing near to the sounds of combat unheard thanks to Cesare, everyone readied their weapons.
Dreg number two was lying on the ground, torn completely apart. A long, feathered hand was choking the life out of dreg number two. Cesare’s silence bubble dropped, and the sound of a wet blade scraping on metal filled the air as the six-armed fiend drew one of its claws back.
It struck fear into their hearts. But they were nine, with three times as many arms between them as their foe.
Then another bird-face peeked around the corner. And then another.
“Friend?” the trio squawked in unison. “Not-friend. Not-not-not!”
You have challenged: Rhuna’s little birdies, the Sun-Bleached moonstriders
The air burst into a dreadful disharmony of violins and an unsteady choir, their discordance a monument to how royally screwed they really were.