Blake was lost in a giant, spinning pool of magical creation. Both halves of his mind were filled with True Making, the details of his constructs moving like 3d computer models as he turned and inspected, considered and changed. They had to be perfect.

He'd decided on several variants for Ilya's tower. Most were pure brute force—a typical base model Arcane with some combination of arms and weapons; the other a psionic defender with huge, grasping hands to crush with, and a body meant to ram.

His attempts at making 'ranged' models hadn't gone very well. At least nothing that could keep shooting like a bow or a crossbow.

But he took some inspiration from the Roman army and began making what he called his 'legionnaires'. They were Psionics with a shield and several spears they could disconnect from their bodies to throw like javelins. That version worked just fine.

He'd had to adjust the arms and body to help with their aim. The power was there, and the spears were sharp and well made to fly. But hitting a target was thus far...somewhat random.

So he'd toyed with some more flexibility in the joints. It made them weaker and probably less strong, and he grinned at the thought of a gorilla compared to a human. It felt like he was 'evolving' them.

He also had to decide—make both arms the same and the shield detachable? Or have one arm with the shield basically built in, and the other made for weapons?

If he went with the latter option and they lost the weapon arm they were useless. And he just didn't have the space to fit another arm. Ultimately he went with the flexible version, and even included a short stabbing blade attached to their chests.

Legionnaires indeed, he thought with a grin.

He made two in a row, and would have done more if it didn't take so damn long. He wanted as many tests as possible.

This time the 'legionnaires' threw their spears with considerable more speed and accuracy, hitting their targets at least half the time at twenty paces. Every hit ripped the sharp point through with ease, usually sticking into the wall behind. Blake grinned and adjusted, then went to summon another.

"A rest, please."

Blake blinked at the sound of a woman's voice. He turned and noticed Seul-ki was practically sagging behind him. Her hand was on his arm, her re-charge and boost a constant for the past...how long had it been?

"We've been going for ten hours, Blake. Aren't you...tired?"

Was he? Blake blinked dry eyes and cleared a dry throat. His legs and back hurt, and his mouth tasted vaguely sour. As soon as he stopped to think his head felt slightly too large, and a pulse of dull pain pulsed through him like a tide.

"I suppose I am," he said, with an apologetic smile.

He glanced around his hall to see a dozen new constructs. A part of him wanted to destroy them because they weren't perfect. But they were still serviceable and he was in a hurry.

Anyway, he'd already 'granted' them to the tower, which meant technically he no longer owned them. Though Ilya had given him full access to the tower constructs, so he could still command them.

"Go and rest," he said, patting Seul-ki's hand. He looked around to see what else was happening in his...distraction.

Pliny the half dead goblin engineer was still at work in his section, fussing over something that looked like a steam engine. Where exactly he'd gotten the parts Blake had no idea. He tried not to think of the goblin and himself as too similar.

Annie was sitting on a nearby chair, staring out a tower window with a blank expression. Blake really needed to sit and talk with the girl about...well, everything that was going on with her.

It just seemed like there was never enough time. He hadn't even talked to Ilya since the meeting hall, save for the briefest discussion of when they'd speak next.

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Which, he realized, was almost now.

"Shit."

He expected he looked and probably smelled terrible. He rushed over to his water basin and started Making a new set of clothes. He really needed to work on functional plumbing.

"Or maybe Pliny could make some pipes. Instead of a damn steam engine with nothing to put it in," he grumbled. "Good thinking, Pliny, very helpful."

Of course he'd have to figure out how to pump water all the way up the tower from the ground. And actually dig some kind of well. If they even had ground water. And if they didn't then possibly he could...

"I don't have time to think about this,” he announced to no one in particular.

Then he tossed his shirt and cleaned himself, noticing Seul-ki's eyes were on him as she rested on the nearby couch. Whether she just wanted to look or was wondering what he was doing he wasn't sure.

But with the clever Korean one truly never knew. Unless he read her mind, of course...but...no. He didn't do that sort of thing. Not anymore. At least unless it was strictly necessary.

Bad blake. Very bad.

He adjusted his collar and took a deep breath.

"I'll be back shortly, ladies," he said to Seul-ki and Annie. "Get some rest. Because then it's straight back to work on constructs."

Seul-ki nodded, and Blake made his way up to the top of the tower.

* * *

He couldn't decide if he was excited or nervous as he ascended towards Ilya. He nodded politely at the orcs he passed, trying to look always the calm, collected High Wizard he technically was.

The orcs were clearly afraid of him, and he supposed the half dozen constructs marching behind him didn't help. But fear was useful, especially now at the beginning, and he decided it was best to reinforce it.

But how would Ilya feel?

Would she feel he'd somehow betrayed or taken advantage of her by bringing the goblins? That he wasn't intending to help her with the demons and had some other plans of his own? He sincerely hoped not. He really had no other intentions except to help her, to help her people, while helping everyone else at the same time.

And...he had some other, rather more personal intentions...

The thought brought him to that strong, young orc lord in Ilya's audience hall, and brought a slight pang of unusual jealousy.

Blake had rarely been possessive of his women. In fact he had eventually realized that a piece of him knew he wasn't much good for women, and so if they actually believed his charm and slept with him it made him think slightly...less of them.

A terrible realization, of course, if still true.

But he didn't feel that way with Ilya. Maybe not even with Seul-ki. Though she was far more devious and...well, like him. Ilya was different. She was genuine and good and loyal. Blake didn't think she would ever betray him. But she might very well fear he would betray her, and prepare herself to...

He blinked, thinking about the orc lord.

Of course the 'Stonebloods' would be desperate to marry the single lady of the white tower to their family. And Ilya currently had almost no protection. If Blake didn't return or otherwise neglected her, she would have no choice but to ally with another, stronger house.

Blake had been in plenty of orc minds, but he was still no expert on their culture. Would Ilya be essentially forced to take a husband? If not for practical reasons, but for religious or cultural? Maybe even because of roboGod...

Blake practically shivered at the thought. He hurried his steps towards Ilya, the constant thumping of construct feet like a orchestra's drumline in his wake.

A piece of him wished he'd never left the tower at all, never made Ilya feel vulnerable or abandoned. That piece wished he'd stayed and sorted things out, despite knowing that he'd had to leave.

If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been there to help Nassau and Mason when they were attacked. And he wouldn't have any human help at all against the demons.

Not that he had much now. But Annie and Seul-ki were a hell of a lot more than nothing. He just wished it made him feel better about Ilya.

He finally arrived at the top level, and all the orc presence vanished. It seemed Ilya kept no guards on her own level, and as yet had no guests. Blake left his constructs at the stairs leading to her doors, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Come in," he heard her call, and reached for the handle.

He was usually so calm and collected around women, but suddenly his hands were a little clammy. Some butterflies twirled through his gut. He snorted, giving himself a shake, and a quick shot of Mentally Influenced courage to steady himself. It was a trick he sure wished he'd had in grade school.

Ilya sat at a table with an ink and quill in a well furnished, comfortable looking room, a pleasant fire burning in the corner.

"You've come alone?" she said, her face and tone neutral. Blake nodded, a paranoid part of him already flicking through Partitioned Mind to make sure his 'trigger' effects were properly sorted. Ilya's face transformed into a smile.

She stood and rushed him, practically leaping into his arms and squeezing into his chest.

"I have a lot of questions," Blake said, unable to fight the smile and flood of warmth in his chest.

"Me too," Ilya said, then pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "Can it wait?"

"Wait for..." Blake said, and Ilya blushed a little. His grin widened a little. "For me to satisfy my wicked, inappropriate human lust?" he suggested. Ilya nodded, and Blake closed the door behind him with Telekinesis.

"Yes," he said, sliding his hands down her back. "Yes it certainly can."