As soon as Rulak mentioned the university, the pieces fell into place. The Magnus was here representing the University of Natural Sciences. Any of their founding faculty qualified as powers on the plane in their own right, and they always had a presence at this event. Just like the Auction House, the University had no physical location, at least not one that was accessible by regular means, and for the uninitiated, even the existence of a campus was something steeped in rumor. Mochizuki had mentioned them last night as one of the outlier powers, important, but unpredictable.
They hardly ever got involved in conflicts as an institution, however, some of its faculty were known to participate in large-scale warfare, more often as an experiment than for the sake of any agreement or loyalty to a particular side. It was a Faction that was said to have released atrocities and miracles on the plane in equal measure.
Now here he was, with a chance to build a bridge with one of the most elusive organizations on the plane. Tilly’s eyes sharpened, and he allowed a predatory smirk to curl the sides of his lips as he pretended to recognize an upper hand in negotiation. He had something they wanted and he would be happy to trade it for future favors… not that he would tell them that right off the bat.
“Knowledge of the Scorch is precious indeed, and I doubt those I represent would smile on my sharing of it lightly.”
Rulak bobbed his head in response, the actions strangely bird-like, and then in a blink, he was standing beside Tilly holding out a coin. Tilly did his best not to flinch as the raptor's recently bloodied maw was suddenly a foot from his nose, “Of course! Of course! Here take this university token into your World Ring. It is recognized as quite a high-value currency by the Commerce Guild, and they will hold it for you without any risk of you giving us any information you do not desire to share. When you are ready to speak, simply draw out the coin, and I will answer. I promise I will make it more than worth your time.” he said enthusiastically, waving the coin in Tilly’s face.
Tilly slowly reached for the object, maintaining eye contact with the Magnus, or more accurately the Magnus’ set of stained teeth which were far too close to the offered coin for comfort. As soon as his hand touched the coin, he felt a reactive warmth come from the ring, and he instinctively directed the feeling to the coin, which disappeared without a sound.
“Delightful!” the Magnus barked, the far edges of his jaw pulling back to reveal even more teeth in what TIlly hoped was a smile. Then, as if the sharp rapport of his exclamation had snapped his existence in half, he was suddenly not there. The space where he had been holding nothing by a wisp of purple smoke.
Once again, Tilly found himself fighting to not flinch at the sudden disappearance he muttered under his breath, “Is everyone here too powerful to just walk away? This is beginning to feel like a Batman convention.” Tilly shook the interaction from his mind and did his best to Lay on even more layers of conceit. It was then that he decided he had spent enough time acting as bait to see who he could attract. He turned decisively, pretending to ignore Mochizuki’s submissive presence, and began to pick a route toward their stairs and more importantly, the security of their booth.
He didn’t know how long it had been since the break started, but after two encounters, he needed some air. The worry that he had already made some huge mistake was eating him up from the inside, slowly chewing through the brash confidence provided to him by the suit, and he was finding it harder and harder to maintain his Emissary persona. He was sure that Mochizuki had taken in plenty of information, and they would get another chance after this next round of bidding.
Moving with sure confident steps, Tilly turned the corner of a particularly long table, slowly being consumed by a huge worm thing at its other end when he saw that their archway was completely blocked. A huddle of four or five larger figures stood in quiet conversation at the entryway to the stairs in a position that should have been completely coincidental.
That didn’t stop Tilly’s heart from beating faster as he noted various signs of Corruption marking each of the very different powerful beings. Finding another way wasn’t an option, he had no clue if any of the other archways even led to his booth. Plus his destination was obvious to anyone watching, and such a display of submission would be contrary to the rumors he had hoped to start…
So instead, he dived into the protections that Draconic Authority offered, oozing superiority, and bearing his teeth at those who would block his way. The closer he got to the group, the odder they revealed themselves to be. He only had a clean line of sight on the three of them facing him. One was a diseased-looking werewolf, to their left was a tentacle-infused jack-o-lantern, and towering over both of them was something that reminded Tilly of the swamp thing but with a lot more teeth.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
They had positioned themselves to be all turned inward and Tilly could hear a faint murmuring coming from a smaller figure he could not see. A quick glance backward showed him a few more small huddles had formed, all carefully placed to block any route he might have taken to avoid this group. His mind raced… This was clearly not their first rodeo, and while they hadn’t shown any outright hostility, they had maneuvered him into an encounter on their terms, and somehow Tilly doubted it would be as friendly as the last two.
His steps slowed to a halt as he neared the back of the maggot-ridden werewolf, and he surprised himself with how conceited and cool his voice sounded, “How very clever… Will I have to wait until the bell rings or will you make way for me now?”
The werewolf did not turn, or even flinch at Tilly’s attempt to prompt a response, so he tried again, “Ahem. I am sure there is a fascinating reason that I am being blocked from returning to my booth. But I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what it is. Would be so kind as to share it with me?” Tilly finished loudly with a smile, throwing subtlety to the wind as he rested his hands on the heads of his belted hatchets.
At that, the group stirred and shifted and Mr. Mange turned in a silent snarl, revealing the figure at the group's center. The man standing in their midst radiated a beauty so sharp that it cut through Tilly’s senses, leaving an impression of hard angels and broken glass. He had long silvery hair, and a rapier so elegant it seemed to be spun of glass was belted to his side.
On his face was a comic impression of surprise, made deeply ominous by the onyx black eyes that bore into Tilly under the expressive silvery brows.
“My apologies! Some of these cretins can be so rude at times!” He mocked coldly, eyes locked in on Tilly’s in naked challenge. The figure released his aura along with his words and wave after wave of sociopathic disregard for life attempted to sweep Tilly away. The feeling of the soul before him was wild, braying with madness. Yet at the same time, shackled by the coldest logic Tilly had ever experienced. It felt like he had been dunked into an ice bath if ice could scream with laughter.
Every muscle in his back tried to seize, but he forced down the reaction and turned the subtle tensing of his shoulders into a shrug, “Just keep your pets on a leash and we will be fine, Mr… Uh, what should I call you?”
Something about Tilly’s lack of reaction to the aural assault, followed by the ignorance of the figure’s identity shattered the silver-haired man’s composure, and suddenly, the ten-foot gap between them had disappeared.
“I am Oberon, King of the Fey, and soon to be ruler over much more.” He spat, his face now inches from Tilly’s. This time, Tilly didn’t flinch at all, not because he had suddenly developed perfect control of his faculties… No, it has much more to do with the fact that the motion had been so fast that Tilly simply hadn’t comprehended it in time to do anything but stare blankly back into the insane Fey’s eyes.
Tilly’s Draconic Authority raged against the challenge, urging Tilly to smite the fool who taunted him, but the urge barely caught Tilly’s attention. This close, he could see that the black of the king’s eyes was not perfect, it shifted and squirmed, almost as if the orbs themselves had been filled near to bursting with microscopic worms.
“That's… nice,” Tilly answered lamely. Deep under the layers of his armor's magnified aural defense, Tilly felt his courage begin to drain away in the face of whatever hid behind those eyes. It was unlike anything Tilly had ever seen, and just the hint of its presence pulled at the edges of Tilly’s mind in a way that left him feeling fuzzy, and confused. He had fought Corruption many times at this point, but whatever had dug out this king and made it their home was one another level entirely.
However, none of this was apparent to Oberon, who took Tilly’s slow response and distant stare as boredom or even disdain. The fury twisting his face ratcheted up another level until something cracked and his features shattered into an insane smile. The Fey king stepped back, all the tension easing off his form in an instant.
“Yes, I suppose it is. I see you bear not one but two Dragon Glass weapons, a set if I am not mistaken… I myself am very fond of the substance and can’t help but wonder at their origins.”
Oberon’s transition from furious snarl to casual conversation was almost as off-putting as whatever had begun whispering to Tilly from behind his eyes, but Tilly’s mind sharpened at the reference to his weapons. He had a job to do, no matter how creepy the audience was, he had an act to keep up. He needed to lean into their chosen deception while avoiding any outright lies, a game the fey probably excelled at.
“They, like this armor, are the result of generous patronage, something that many have felt the weight of this evening. I assure you that as mighty as my benefactor is, they are better served than fought…” Tilly breathed, letting the intensity of his internal turmoil color his words into something that sounded like fervor.
The implications, intended or otherwise wound through the king's twisted mind, and his already manic smile began to radiate an almost childish glee, “So the overgrown lizards are finally coming out to play! Wonderful! This is just the news I was hoping for and I so feared these Contested Lands would be boring when I arrived.” He squealed, the pitch of his words going up and down several octaves and he excitedly declared his intent.
Tilly almost got lost in the wild swinging pitch of his answer. There was something haunting in its nearness to Tilly’s understanding of how music should sound, yet otherworldly in its unfamiliarity, like a song that he thought he should be able to recognize if he just listened to it a little longer.
From behind his belt, Oberon pulled out a horn formed from twisted bone and shot through with the black veins of Corruption. He considered it fondly, shifting it from hand to hand with gentle caressing fingers, and began to speak again, his words twisting Tilly in strange knots.
“My name may have escaped you… but surely you have heard of the wild hunt?” He muttered, seeming lost in his inspection of the item. Tilly's blood ran cold as his instincts screamed at him to find a way out of this trap but his body seemed to suddenly be locked in place. The maggoty werewolf stood to his right, still as a statue except for the things worming in and out of its festering wounds. Mochizuki stood stalk still just behind him, trapped as thoroughly as he was. Tilly could feel the tension radiating from her body.
“You will move…” Tilly growled, fear giving way to fury as a roaring rage built inside him in the face of whatever strange force was holding them in place. The bell sounded to announce that the rest of the bidding was about to begin, but Oberon didn’t finch, and neither did any of his lackeys.
“No, I don’t think I will.” He declared, looking up from the horn, smiling. Then his expression fell as his eyes locked on to something just over Tilly’s shoulder.
“Naw mate, you’ve got that all wrong.” declared an Australian-sounding drawl from over Tilly’s shoulder.