Lance stared up at Hoplite in shock, trying to keep her eyes from moistening. She could not allow herself to cry right now, or he’d think that he had scared her. Yet his insistence that he was little more than an object, a tool for this ‘Eighth Arm’ strained her nerves. How could his own nation treat him in such a way? According to Michael, Hoplite was considered a hero amongst his people, the Ternans… so why did the man himself think he was a mere object? How could he have been made to think himself no better than a hammer or shovel? He was almost like a Clipped elf-slave from Umant…
“Calm down…” Lance whispered, “We don’t want to wake the others, why don’t we… why don’t we talk about this?” She asked calmly, “I’d like to hear your perspective.”
His fingers, which had furled to nearly resemble claws, slowly but surely relaxed as he eased back into his earlier sitting position. He said nothing, that blank helmet hiding both his eyes and face from her, leaving no way of reading his emotions aside from the tone of his voice. Now that he sat silently, his current feelings were totally obfuscated. Was he still enraged, or did he regret his sudden outburst? She didn’t know, but the only real way to tell would be to ask him a question. If he answered, she’d determine his mood and go from there.
“Why do you think of yourself that way?” Lance asked in a neutral tone. She didn’t want to make her opinion on this show in her voice, else he may be prone to another outburst. “Michael does not, and you’re both of this Eighth Arm, yes?”
“Affirmative.” Hoplite replied in his usual soulless monotone, the former heat having seemingly dissipated, “Michael is a marine, not a Hoplite. Their training and recruitment differs from ours.”
So Michael wasn’t taught to be a tool, as Hoplite was. A marine must have been a standard rank and file soldier, unlike a Hoplite. A Hoplite. There were others like him? Was Hoplite not even his real name? She struggled to remember if he had mentioned this before, her mind was still foggy with emotion and shock… she needed to keep talking.
“Are there many of your kind?” Lance asked, taking another deep breath to steady herself. Curiosity was slowly eroding the sorrow she felt for Hoplite, but it was still there, still threatening to flood her eyes with tears.
“There were.” He replied, “I’m likely the last one in action.”
So his comrades he had trained with were all dead then, likely killed by this Final Kind that Terna warred with. Had they all thought themselves tools, as Hoplite himself did? It was likely, but she asked him anyway.
“Affirmitive.” He replied.
“And… When did you start this training?” She asked, leaning slightly closer to listen.
He didn’t reply for a long while, perhaps he was considering if this counted as ‘classified intel’. Or maybe he just didn’t want to tell her. What if he wasn’t considering her question at all and was just ignoring her until she would ask about something less personal? If it wasn’t for that damnable helmet of his, she’d be able to tell! Well, if he was waiting for her to ask something else, then so be it-
“Since I was a child,” he said finally.
Her heart sank and she had to fight the urge to shake her head in disbelief. Since he was a child? By the Pillars, who could take a child and knowingly twist their minds like this? The tears threatened to spill down her cheeks again, and she had to cover her face with her hands. If Hoplite felt anything at seeing this, he didn’t show it. Knowing him, he would probably just think her baffled… By Draoi don’t let him see the tears…
“My mother volunteered me for the project before I was born, I was projected to have the optimal genetics needed to join the next generation of super-soldier.” He said, maintaining his monotone despite the horror of his words.
Given up… by his own mother? Because he was going to have ‘optimal genetics’? How horrid could someone be that they’d willingly give away their child? How could any mother allow strangers to turn their child into a nigh-emotionless husk? It was no wonder that Hoplite was always in a rush; always seeking the next fight…
“As soon as we can link back up with command, I’ll be able to continue my duties as my superiors see fit.” He said, “It’s my place.”
It was all he knew how to do, and it was all he was made to do. Hoplite could only be comfortable in war, in a command structure. It was no wonder he was so overly-protective of Michael, the young man was more than just a comrade to him, he was a semblance of the chain of command that Hoplite so dearly wished to return to. He has never experienced anything aside from war and all that it encompassed. He had never felt love, not from the Eighth Arm and almost certainly not from his mother. Someone that could do that to their own flesh and blood were likely incapable of emotion.
“The first few years of my life were spent in my mother’s custody up until I became six years of age.” He said, “After that, I was officially conscripted.”
Lance, her voice muffled by her hands asked, “And she still gave you up, even after raising you?”
He didn’t say anything for a long while once more, until finally he broke the silence, “Terna’s needs are greater than its people’s wants.”
Greater than its people’s wants? What did he mean by that? Had his mother changed her mind at the last second and had tried to keep Hoplite in her care? Raising little Hoplite for six years had likely changed her by time the Eighth Arm came to collect on what was offered. Yet, from what she knew of Terna so far, it was unlikely that they’d leave Hoplite be after he was promised to them.
“What…” She started, trying to keep her tone neutral, “What was your name before?”
“Irrelevant.” Hoplite replied, “I am a Hoplite, I don’t have a name.”
By the Pillar’s, what was she supposed to do? Continuing to call him Hoplite after these revelations felt so wrong… almost like she was perpetuating the crime done to him by the Eighth Arm. She almost insisted that he tell her, so she could use the true name given to him rather than the title he’d been branded with. Yet she hesitated. Given his earlier state of mind, she was unsure if he would stay stable if she pressed him. What if he lashed out in a fury once more at her incessant questioning?
No, she would need to be patient, she’d wait until she was certain that he was completely calm. She’d seen this kind of thing before from the escaped slaves of Umant… They had refused, even after attaining freedom, to go by anything aside from the titles their master’s had given them. She had known people that had been taken by Umant that had returned as shells once their ransoms were paid and their ears clipped… even once they finally tasted freedom, they refused to go by their old names.
Because slaves were tools.
The names had been beaten out of them permanently. Hoplite, with all his might and power, was viewed as merely a slave by this Eighth Arm, not as a hero or valiant warrior, but a slave. Michael might not think so, but she had a feeling that he was an outlier amongst his people. The boy was rude, brash, and arrogant beyond belief, with a vulgar sense of humor as the cherry on top. That wasn’t to say that she disliked him, there was something charming about the… ‘assishness’ of the boy. Certainly he was an exception, there was no way that the other marines behaved as he did.
“What was it that you wanted?” She asked, “I doubt that you as a child wanted to be taken from your mother.”
“My emotions at the time were irrelevant.” He replied curtly, “She was just a woman who gave birth to me, nothing more.”
Nothing more? Just the woman that gave birth to him? What kind of twisted warping of the mind had been inflicted upon him? She was gonna feel sick… He needed more help than she had thought. Yet, how was she supposed to do that? She was no thought-bearer, she was a warrior, she wasn’t cut out for reversing indoctrination. Especially when it was this intense. The thought-bearers back in the Faewood had a hard enough time rehabilitating Umanti slave-elves, and none of them had ever been in servitude for nearly as long as Hoplite had.
What made it even harder though, was that Hoplite seemed to prefer living this way. He wanted someone above him to tell him what needed to be done, that was why he was so insistent on reuniting with his comrades. It wasn’t just so he could save their lives, it was that he merely wanted to return to being a slave. She grit her teeth, still hiding the tears from Hoplite with her face in her hands.
Lancela was certainly not a thought-bearer, true, but she wasn’t going to be. The best thing to do here was show Hoplite that there was more to life than being a tool. She could subtly guide him to those trains of thought and let him just come to those conclusions on his own. If she tried to force him to think differently, then he’d dig his heels in like the stubborn ass he was. She almost laughed, donkey’s were far less stubborn than this man. This idea might actually prove fruitful, already he seemed more thoughtful and considering than he had been when they first met.
“It’s nothing to cry about.” He stated flatly.
Lance froze for a brief instant before she replied, “I’m not crying.” She was proud of how steady her voice was, it lent a lot of power to the lie that it was.
“Are you tired already?” Hoplite asked, “I thought you slept back at the celebration.”
“I did, I just… My eyes are dry, I’m keeping them closed for a bit.” She said after a brief instant of hesitation.
“You shouldn’t leave them open for so long, remember to blink.” He told her, “I have the same problem on missions.”
Her brow furrowed at those words, and after a moment, she started laughing. Of course he wouldn’t remember to blink, the man needed to be reminded to sleep!
“I didn’t make a joke.” He said.
“No of course not.” She laughed, “You don’t make jokes, right?”
She lifted her head from her hands finally, wiping away her tears as she continued giggling. She tried to play off the moistness of her eyes as it being from her uncontrollable chuckling, using a single finger to wipe them away as Hoplite watched, unmoving. She didn’t even understand herself why this seemed so funny, perhaps it was just his deadpan delivery that really sold it.
“Remember to blink.” She said in a mocking monotone before she burst out laughing again.
“Shhhhh!” Alistair hissed from his bedroll, violently turning to face away from she and Hoplite.
She stifled her giggling, clearing her throat as she wiped away the last of her tears. Had she been laughing that loudly? She’d thought she was barely audible, but perhaps this domed chamber carried sound better than she had originally thought.
…
…
…
What was so funny? Hoplite didn’t understand it. All he had done was remind her to blink every now and again, there was no humor to be found in it. Sure, it went without saying that he wasn’t an expert on comedy, but her reaction seemed completely unfounded. The sentence had been delivered in his normal tone of voice, there was no ‘funny’ inflection or anything like it. He pondered this as Lance regained control of her faculties, her chest heaving as she tried to repress the laughter that still threatened to spill out. She continued to wipe away tears, new ones forming along with every shake of her shoulders.
Absolute insanity. It couldn’t just be that he didn’t get the ‘joke’, this journey had already managed to crack her mental health. They’d only just begun, what if this got worse and she became a liability, or even worse, a danger? He pursed his lips as he considered. Was he just jumping to conclusions? Maybe it would be best to simply ask her what she had found so funny about his words. Once he did, Lance just gently shook her head.
“When you said that you forget to blink,” she said with a smile.
He stared.
“That’s it.” She told him with a shrug, “Its just funny that you forget to blink.”
“I don’t understand,” he said honestly, “What about that is comical?”
Again, she shrugged, “It just is, I can’t give you specifics.”
His brow furrowed, “I just told you that I forget on occasion, that isn’t a joke.”
“Not everything has to be a joke to be funny Hops.” She said grinning.
Hops? What was she doing? It was highly inappropriate to be giving nicknames to people without their consent. Right as he was about to voice this complaint, Elum sat up, glaring at them both beneath a furious brow.
“Can you both, please, for the love of the Pillars, shut your mouths.” He said in a barely polite tone, “We have a horribly long day ahead of us and I’d rather not be exhausted for it.”
Hoplite then stood, Lance copying the motion without thinking, “We’ll move further away.” He replied.
Elum huffed but said nothing, laying back down and turning away from them in his blankets. Lance looked up at him curiously, and he responded by turning, walking off toward one of the far walls. He wouldn’t allow himself to be outside of Twindil’s range, but he’d go to the edge of it so he could continue to speak without disrupting anyone’s rest. It was like Lance had said earlier, the more rested they were, the less they’d complain in the morning once they set out.
Again, the two of them sat and a long silence passed before Lance asked, “What do you want to speak of now?”
Hoplite considered. What else could he learn from Lance today before everyone awoke? He looked from her, to Twindil, then back again.
“Twindil’s Pillar-God is a part of the Knowledge Pillar, not Foundation, but she can cast magic?” He asked.
Lance nodded, “It’s a tad bit more complicated in her case. She’s a paladin of Afina, tranquility.” She stopped for a moment, thinking, “She doesn’t access Foundation directly, Afina does it for her. It’s sort of like Building a House, but I think since Afina is the one providing the Foundation, Twindil doesn’t have to build anything.”
“She can just cast whenever she want’s with no drawbacks?” Hoplite asked.
If the Pillar-God was handling all the casting, then that could explain why the aura was ongoing while Twindil slept. If it was still going, he reminded himself. It was still unknown to him if it really was still active with her being unconscious. Yet it made a certain amount of sense; she didn’t have to maintain the magic if she wasn’t really the one casting it.
“Paladins can cast safely without any problems, but there are a couple catches I know about.” Lance said, leaning a chin into a palm, “First off, they’re limited to what spells they can use, as their Pillar-God will only allow a certain kind. Afina wouldn’t allow Twindil to throw fireballs or anything of that sort since she is supposed to represent peace and harmony. That aura she’s casting? That’s specific to Afina, no other House could use it… unless someone used raw Foundation to make it so.”
“So Twindil isn’t really a mage at all.” He said, “She’s just borrowing Afina’s power?”
“Pretty much.” Lance confirmed.
“You said there was a couple drawbacks to this kind of casting.” He continued, “What is the other one?”
“A paladin has a code of conduct, all of them are very strict and vary from god to god, if a paladin follows that code to the letter, they won’t have any problems… but if they break it, they become shunned by their Pillar-God and can no longer rely on them for casting.” Lance replied.
“They could just serve another deity.” Hoplite said.
Lance shook her head, “No other Pillar-God would take them if they did. If a paladin breaks their oaths, no other Pillar would take them in. They’re viewed as unreliable scum from then on by every other god.”
So if a paladin broke one oath, they couldn’t simply jump to the next god with a new set of rules, they’d be cut off for life. That made sense to him, a soldier that didn’t follow orders in one branch was unlikely to do so in others.
“So is Kid’ka a paladin of Zodd?” He asked, gesturing towards the snoring warrior.
“I don’t know.” She said with a shrug, “Maybe he is? I can’t really say.”
Kid’ka hadn’t really shown off any magical abilities since Hoplite had met him, but perhaps his nigh-superhuman speed was an effect of serving Zodd? Was every single Tongue a paladin of the Might Pillar? It was doubtful, he’d seen other Tongues fight before at the broken Fiendwall. They were talented fighters to be sure, but nothing they had done spoke of supernatural aid. They had all fought at standard human-level speeds, so it was more likely that paladins of Zodd were more rare amongst them, or perhaps they were completely separate organizations?
“I’ve been curious about Kid’ka myself actually, but for different reasons.” She said, drawing him from his thoughts.
“He moves and fights like a Watcher,” Hoplite said, “Is that right?”
She nodded, her eyes shifting to the sleeping Kid’ka for an instant, “Yes exactly.” She confirmed, looking back to him, “But he’s a human.” She said with emphasis, “Watcher secrets are never given to outsiders, no exceptions.”
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“Even with torture?” He asked.
Again, she nodded, “Even with torture. If outsiders knew anything about how we operated, it would reduce our capabilities.” She continued, “If one of our own gets captured by the enemy, they bite off their tongues.” She then put a hand to her mouth with a grimace, “I’m sure you’ve noticed in our time together that some of the other Watcher’s never spoke?”
Hoplite nodded, but he hadn’t thought about why they weren’t speaking before. So they had been captured and had opted to remove their ability to speak? He seriously doubted that every single Watcher who’d ever been captured bit their own tongues off, it took serious mental fortitude to willingly sever a body part. He voiced his doubts, and she nodded.
“It's true that not every Watcher will bite their own tongue upon capture. Usually they only do so if they believe that escape or rescue is impossible. And before you say ‘Negative, its unlikely anyone would ever bite their tongues off,’” she mimicked his monotone, “A Watcher would always prefer self-mutilation over the shame of being the first one to spill Watcher secrets, in fact, death would be preferable.”
He then gestured to Kid’ka, “Then why does he know how to fight like one?”
Hoplite had spent plenty of time fighting with Watchers during his short campaign in the Faewood, when the wood was flooded with a legion of Fiends. As such, he’d become familiar with the way they fought. Kid’ka matched every single detail Hoplite had observed down to the way he gripped his sword, there was no way that he didn’t learn it from someone among their number.
Lance fell silent, her lips pulling tight as she glared up at him, “That’s what I want to figure out.” She said after a moment, her brow creasing, “Yet every attempt I’ve made to pry the truth from him has been fruitless. I do not want to torture him mind you, but this isn’t something I can allow to go unsolved. What if this rogue Watcher is going about teaching other humans about our ways? I need their name so justice can be delivered.”
Justice can be delivered? Would the Watchers execute this AWOL soldier or merely imprison them? If they handled their courts as the Eighth Arm did, then he’d be executed… Publicly of course, as Lord Jyn commanded be done to traitors. Yet, the elves were not subject to Ternan laws, perhaps they would simply imprison him for life. As for Kid’ka… what would be intended for him? He seriously doubted that the Harkhall would suffer him to live after he’d learned those secrets. Why hadn’t Lance mentioned this to the Harkhall before? She had the opportunity to before they’d left the Faewood… could it be that she didn’t want to indirectly kill him?
He asked this very question, and she frowned, falling silent for a long moment before finally she said, “I’m only pretty sure that he was taught by one of us.” She sighed, “But ‘pretty sure’ isn’t good enough for me to tell the Harkhall about him. He’d be hunted down until the day he died... I have to know for certain, else the guilt will eat at me for the rest of time. It still might after the fact, but this isn’t something I can let go.”
This was surprising coming from Lance, she was usually more altruistic than this… or so it had seemed. Yet he respected her for it, this was her duty and letting secrets fall into enemy hands was intolerable. He did not think that Kid’ka deserved to die of course, he had done nothing wrong thus far and, surprisingly, Hoplite wasn’t sure if he’d allow the young man to be killed. Why was that? He struggled to come up with a logical answer, but found nothing justifiable as he racked his brain.
A strange desire then filled him as he continued to stare at Lance, something that made him horribly uncomfortable. He desired… to assist her in this objective. He wasn’t quite sure as to why he wanted this, maybe it was because she was helping him with his own goals? She was putting her life on the line to come into the Fiendwood with him after all. This concerned him though, for desiring to help someone else with a task was another dire sign of him ‘thawing’.
Still, if it would help keep Lance’s mind off the dangers of their surroundings, then it might be worth the effort. Also… what if Kid’ka was innocent? What if his fighting style was just incredibly similar to that of a Watcher? Once more, he compared Lance’s form to Kid’ka’s, brow furrowing as he thought. It wasn’t an exact copy at all… there were slight differences here and there, the way his feet had moved, the way he ducked his head, the way he parried… There was a real chance that Kid’ka hadn’t learned Watcher secrets.
“...Can I help somehow?” He asked her after a long pause.
Lance blinked, her mouth hanging open slightly in apparent shock, “You…” She started slowly, blinking again, “You actually would want to help me with this? I didn’t think you’d want to take any interest in Watcher affairs.”
He shook his head, “I don’t. I just want to help you.”
“Oh!” She gasped, putting a hand over her mouth, “Well I- I think that’s very-” She stammered, her face reddening as she struggled to find the words, “That’s very sweet of you.”
Sweet of him? He was not sweet, his skin only tasted like skin, it wasn’t sugary-
He stopped that train of thought before he could continue making a fool out of himself. It was clearly just a figure of speech, there was no need to overthink it like that. What then, did it mean to be ‘sweet’? Sweetness implied a good taste, like something sugary… Yet, how would a good taste apply to this conversation? After a few more brief milliseconds of thought, he was pretty sure he got it figured out. Him showing kindness meant that he would taste good.
He frowned. That didn’t seem right either but he’d put more thought into it another time.
“I will just ask him who trained him,” Hoplite said, “He shouldn’t have any problem discussing that with someone who isn’t a Watcher.”
Lance stared for a long time before she said, “No, that’s not going to work. We have to be more subtle than that. He knows we’re companions, Kid’ka isn’t going to open up on that subject with you.”
She was right, if he approached Kid’ka and directly asked that question then he’d likely assume that Hoplite was spying for Lance.
Yet being indirect was hardly his strong suit, Lance seemed to realize this as well, for she said, “Just let me handle that part… but if you could get some hints out of him during conversation, be sure to share them with me, okay?”
Hints in conversation… again, this wasn’t exactly his area of expertise, but he’d try his best regardless. It shouldn’t be absolutely impossible, after all, Kid’ka was just as much of a conversationalist as Hoplite himself was. He then blinked as he considered the man… No, Kid’ka was somehow worse than Hoplite at talking. Hoplite never stuttered or tried to save sentences as Kid’ka did. Perhaps it was a mere difference in confidence? No matter.
“Affirmative.” He replied.
“I appreciate it,” She smiled, “So I had another question for you… about that armor of yours.”
The sudden shift of topic almost caught him off guard, but they had been switching topics quite rapidly since this conversation began, so he adapted quickly, “What did you want to know?”
“How can you move in that thing?” She asked him, “It looks and sounds so cumbersome, but you run faster than any man or elf I’ve seen, are you just that strong?”
Would discussing the Phalanx suit be considered a breach of protocol? There were still some things about its construction that even he is uncertain about… yet he had been given no strict orders to keep that intel classified. To be safe, he’d only tell her things that any citizen would understand about power armor.
“It carries itself.” He said, “I don’t have to exert myself to stay mobile.”
“It.” She started slowly, “It carries itself? How?”
“It is powered.” He replied, “This armor has an intricate network of microhydraulic systems that stretch throughout the armor. Highly pressurized fluids are used by these hydraulics to move the suit.”
She blinked, her face scrunching up as she considered his words. He thought he had explained it quite well, but if she was reacting like this then perhaps he would need to dumb things down a bit. Power armor was an alien concept to Ahkoolis, there wasn’t anything like it, at least as far as he knew. This would all be new to her, as it would be to anyone else, he could not hold her confusion against her.
“These fluids,” She began slowly, “I doubt its something as simple as water, yes?”
He nodded, “It is an oil-like substance that was discovered around the time more advanced power armors were being developed,” He paused, patting a hand on his breastplate, “This liquid flows through the entire suit.”
“So its like blood then?” She asked, gently clapping her hands together.
He supposed it was in a way, so he nodded in affirmation.
“I doubt that this fluid can move on its own, you mentioned that it was ‘power armor’ right?” She asked, tilting her head slightly, “So what powers it, and what is this liquid called?”
“Its officially called Sanguis Pulpi, but it is more commonly called ‘Pulp’.”
“Pulp?” She asked, a smile playing at her lips, “That’s a silly name.”
Hoplite did not refute this claim, “As for what powers the armor and moves the Pulp, there is a miniature cold-fusion reactor embedded within the suit, I will not disclose it’s location so do not ask.” He continued sternly as she opened her mouth.
She paused again, seeming to rack her brain before she asked,“What is a reactor, and what on Ahkoolis does cold-fusion mean?”
“Cold-fusion is a nuclear reaction at or below room temprature, as for a reactor-”
And so they went on like that, talking back and forth, asking questions and changing subjects when a new topic of interest popped up. She asked things of him, as he did her, and he found the time spent to be… satisfying. He enjoyed both learning from Lance, as well as informing her. Time seemed to fly by, and before long, sunlight could be seen coming from the tunnel, just barely creeping in as Lance began explaining the Akan-Dari Expansion War to him.
“The humans of Akan-Dar were constantly needing to grow their domain,” She said with a frown, “Too many people were bunched up inside its walls, so their Lord Ruler at the time had decided to expand… aggressively.” She leaned back on her palms with a sigh, “There was once a time where this land was occupied by more than just four nations, but the Akan-Dari destroyed or absorbed them, only leaving the Faewood and… Umant.” She said with a low growl. “The Expansion-War ended properly once Muro humiliated their Lord-Ruler in a duel.
Hoplite shook his head, “I doubt that was the only reason they decided to stop the fighting.”
A mere duel would not have stopped a military campaign of conquest, especially considering the fact that the Akan-Dari had superior numbers against the Watchers. There had to be more to it than just that.
“Indeed.” Lance nodded, “It wasn’t the duel itself, it was the politicking between the Block-Lords after that. See, the Akan-Dari nobility are known for holding martial ability in the highest regard, its so important to them that it resides even in their courts. Disagreements are resolved through contests of arms far more often than diplomacy. When their Lord-Ruler was thoroughly walloped by Muro, the Block-Lords believed him unfit to rule.”
“So they all plotted to take power.” Hoplite said with a nod, “Correct?”
Lance nodded back with a grin, “Exactly. Each Block-Lord saw this as an opportunity to rise to the place of Lord-Ruler.” She then leaned forward, “We didn’t beat back their armies, they did it to themselves.”
“Civil war.” He stated confidently.
Again, she nodded, “That’s right, the Akan-Dari fell into a power-struggle that lasted for nearly twenty years; their population of fighting-aged men had decimated itself so severely that only in the current day have they fully recovered. Even after hundreds of years, there are still countless bodies being found from that war littering the plains between the Faewood and the city of Akan-Dar.”
The death-toll must have been something comparable to one of the three World Wars back in Earth’s early history. No, it must have been worse, Akan-Dar’s population was only now back to what it used to be, and this war had taken place over two-hundred years ago. The remains must have been boundless, an ocean of skeletons and rusted arms threatening to drown the land beneath it. For Ahkoolis, it may be one of the worst wars in its history, at least during the span of Decuma…
For Terna however, such casualties were almost standard… at least it became so after Lord Jyn disappeared. He turned his thoughts from that subject, not wanting his mood to become grim as he thought of another question.
“I have heard Umant mentioned a number of times now. You said it was a nation, where is it and why do you dislike it?” He asked her.
There was no doubt in his mind that Lance despised Umant, every time it had been brought up in conversation, she had seemed borderline furious. Had the Faewood went to war with them before? Had they committed atrocities against the trees? Maybe they had been logging them for their own purposes, drawing the ire of the Harkhall?
She frowned at the mention of Umant, and she spoke, “Its less a nation and more of a city-state really. You never got to see its walls when we were fighting the Fiends, but it resides within the Faewood… its the greatest shame we have ever suffered.”
In the Faewood?” Hoplite asked, leaning forward, “How is that possible?”
The Watchers and the Harkhall would never let anyone build a city within the forest, so how was it that Umant had come to be? It’s founders must have been overwhelmingly powerful to be able to do such a thing, especially right in the middle of Watcher territory. He could barely imagine what it must have been like to try and raise civilization with the Watchers constantly harrying laborers. Was it magic? A sufficiently powerful caster might have been able to shoo away any elves, but the Harkhall itself was comprised of significantly gifted mages.
“Their leader, Creetan, is a magician without equal in Decuma. He has lived since the beginning of the age, and has mastered the building of the Three Houses. Few alive today have ever witnessed him outside Umant, he is content to simply stay there, ruling from within the Rose Walls. In a way, its a good thing that Creetan doesn’t wish to expand, for if he did I’m not sure anyone could stop him.” She finished with a sigh.
“How long has Umant been there, and why do you dislike it aside from their being in the Faewood?” He asked.
“Creetan and his humans despise elves with a fervor.” She said bitterly, “They look down upon outsiders and those who are not human, but it is we that are their most hated foe. They…” She hesitated, biting her lip, “They take us as slaves when they can, clipping our ears and breaking our wills to the point that they embrace servitute.”
“That sounds excessive.” He pointed out.
Keeping enemies as slaves was nothing foreign to him. Terna’s factories were filled with captured aliens and rebels, but they didn’t clip their ears, that was unnecessary. Slaves needed to be kept healthy in order to work, severing body-parts served no purpose. He knew that gibs, the common term for slave in Terna, also didn’t have their ‘wills broken’. There were countless addictive drugs that could be provided that made gibs both dependant, and euphoric. Of course, addiction couldn’t nullify aggression, so other measure’s had to be taken to ensure that gib-rebellions didn’t happen.
Even still, he did not support the idea of letting Terna’s enemies work in such critical environments, but it wasn’t his place to question the First Arm’s methods. It would likely be best to not bring this up to Lance, he had a feeling that this intel might upset her. Even if he told her that the Final Kind did the same thing to their own populace.
“Um… Yeah, I suppose you could say that.” She replied after a moment, “But it is the victims I’ve seen that have been subjected to Clipping that drove me to truly hate Creetan and his invader-city.” Her lips drew into a tight line before she continued, glaring at the floor, “The Harkmother never mentioned Umant to you, isn’t that right?”
He nodded. He remembered distinctly that the elven matriarch had only told him about Grayshane and Akan-Dar. Had he known at the time that another human settlement had been so close by, he’d have immediately sought contact with them. It would have been a comfort to see others of his race, primitive as they would have been… wait a moment…
“Creetan has been alive since the beginning of Decuma?” He asked, “Is he an elf?”
She had mentioned that it was a city-state comprised of humans, but their leader had been alive for millenia. It shouldn’t have been possible for a man to live for so long, but perhaps with his proficiency in magic, he found a way to extend his life? It was a possibility to be sure, but the humans he encountered here on Ahkoolis weren’t the humans he knew. In a way, they were as alien as the elves were, or the orcs. In fact, the more he thought of it, the more he came to realize that they weren’t human at all. They certainly followed the same path of evolution to a point, but they were made of the Blood of Zodd, they were completely seperate from Ternan humanity.
They were another species entirely. Michael had even mentioned during the trip that humans here have three sets of teeth throughout their lives, rather than just two, as was standard. He’d need to treat them as alien from here on out as he did for the elves. Yet… did he really treat them like extraterrestrials? He had not treated Lance all that differently from how he treated marines… why? She was an alien in every sense of the word, perhaps even more so, considering that this was an alternate dimension. Life did not start here as it did in his realm, but when he looked at Lance, he thought of her as a person, not an alien.
This troubled him, the other Hoplites, if they were still alive, would not have even tolerated her presence. Why was he acting differently from them? What if this was a result of twenty-five’s meddling? What if a vestige of what he had said all those years ago still lived on in the recesses of Hoplite’s mind? The itch of the rogue Hoplite’s words almost replayed themselves in his mind, but with great effort, he stuffed them back to the decrepit pit from which they came. Instead, his eyes found Lance again, and he examined her face, her sharp features, those brilliant green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the chamber. He looked to her long black hair, flowing down her back like silken drapery and sharply contrasting her pale skin.
She looked exactly like a person.
The elves looked human, spoke like humans, acted like humans, even if they seemed like they’d prefer to deny it. The humans here were the same exact way, he hadn’t put thought into it before now of course, but even now after these revelations he struggled to classify them as less than what they were… which was undeniably human.
“Hoplite?” Lance asked, her tone concerned, “Are you alright?”
“Affirmitive.” He replied, “Did you hear my question?”
Her eyes widened, and she stood, slowly approaching him, “Are you feeling well?” She asked him, “I did answer, but you didn’t say anything.”
He blinked in surprise. He hadn’t heard her? How was that possible? He shook his head, bumping his chin to check his vitals. A couple holographic screens popped into his vision, and he took in all the information given in only a second. Everything about him was fine, so why had he not heard Lance? She must have only thought that she replied, he would not have missed her speaking to him.
It was impossible. Yet, would she herself had made such a strange mistake? Was that really more likely than… He grimaced, thankful that his helmet his his expression. Had he been lost in thought? Had he been so engrossed in his own mind that he hadn’t heard her over his musings? This was bad, things were getting progressively worse every day it seemed. It just wasn’t fair, why was he turning back into-
He grit his teeth and ignored the useless thoughts, replying to Lance with “Affirmative.”
“Well… if you insist.” She replied, “What I said was that nobody really knows, but no one from the Faewood would want to think that someone could enslave their own people to serve humans.”
What had they been speaking of? Ah, Umant and their leader, Creetan. “What about Terlin? He’s been alive for about that long as well.”
“Not that long.” She replied, “Theres about a hundred year difference between Creetan and Fire-Eyes.” Again she sat, but instead of resuming her place a few paces away, she sat only a few inches from him.
Their knees were almost touching… why this sudden proximity? The way she was poised it looked like she was ready to try and catch him. That would not be a wise plan, if Hoplite fell, there would be no one to stop him from hitting the ground. The Phalanx armor was just too heavy. She must have thought that he had come down with an illness or some such, if she understood more about his biology she’d understand that it was almost impossible for him to become sick.
“Terlin was still learning the Houses by the time Creetan had founded Umant with his gang of humans. I’m sure Fire-Eyes has considered challenging him, but it would be a big risk,” she said.
“Why not assassinate him?”
The Watcher’s were considerably competent when it came to stealth, sneaking into a city should have been no issue considering their skill. Yet he doubted that this hadn’t been tried before, and considering the fact that Creetan was still living… well-
“Oh believe me,” she answered with a sigh, “We’ve tried. Every single Watcher that has gone into the rose walls never returned. At least… not in one piece.” She said meaningfully, a hand reaching up to one of her pointed ears.
So Watcher’s had been returned, but they had been made into slaves. ‘Clipped’ as Lance had called it.
“Have any returned to active duty?” He asked.
Her eyes darkened, head drooping slightly before she gently shook her head, “None ever do,” she muttered.
“Affirmative.”
She said nothing for a long while after that, her eyes looking pained. Was she remembering former comrades that had gone into Umant? It was hard to say…
Again, a long silence passed between them, Lance seeming lost in her own thoughts. Finally, the silence was ended, but not by either of them. Twindil sat up slowly in her bedroll, letting out a yawn before her tired eyes found him.
“Morning…” She half-mumbled, “Is it daylight?” Her long blonde hair, now worn loosely, flipped in the air as her head snapped toward the exit. Once she saw the light of day peeking out from behind the wagon, she breathed a sigh of relief, “I finally slept… praise be to Afina for that.”
“Good morning Twindil,” Lance said, coming back to reality, “You’ve been having trouble resting?”
“Before this journey started, yes.” Twindil confirmed with a nod, “Much weighs on my mind and rest has been escaping me for a long while.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Lance replied, standing from the ground to move over to the paladin, “I’m amazed you could sleep at all, considering where we are.”
Hoplite stood as well, sparing a glance for Michael before he too moved over to the chatting women. Now that she was awake he’d be able to confirm how it was her tranquil aura worked.
And yet again… he failed to notice the golden eyes, staring at him intently from beside the snoring Theopalu.