Several hours later, Moriah and Shaskie entered the camps’ main cavern, Moriah pushing a cart topped with several bulging bags laid over a brimming load of ore and crystal. As usual, activity ceased as Ker pushed the cart across the main cavern and entered the depot.
A guard spotted the two scramblers immediately and strode over to them. “Shaskie, have Ker use the special counter. In fact, for future reference, no matter what you bring, just go there first, even if it’s nothing but dirt.” He pointed at an empty counter off to one side. Moriah did not look at him, merely turning and walking over to it, Shaskie following behind, her tail lashing back and forth under the pressure of the guard’s attention. Guards were bad and should be avoided at all costs. She did not like having them spotlighting her friend like this every freaking time.
A different head clerk from before stepped to the other side of the counter. He glanced at the guard but jerked his eyes forward again. His hands trembled, sweat dribbled down the side of his face and he was breathing harder than a moment ago. Moriah plopped the three bags onto the counter, her expression as dead eyed vacant as always.
The clerk took a steadying breath and calmed down. Dumping the bag’s content onto the processing counter, the man froze for a moment in surprise even though he was somewhat prepared for something unusual. His eyes narrowed. He could already tell the ore was of the highest quality, excess rock cut away to leave behind only that of worth. Swallowing and wiping the sweat from his brow, he forced the presence of the guard from his mind. He dared not make a mistake. The head clerk did pause once as he processed the submission to look at Ker, swallowing. It crossed his mind that the weird anomaly of a human-looking girl might actually have earthen fae blood in ascendence. That or some equally unlikely phenomenon. How else could she consistently bring such high value ore?
After tabulating the deposit, he stepped back and addressed the guard, his eyes lowered. He truly disliked dealing with the guards, as much as any of the miners did, but the mere presence of Ker brought their attention no matter what and not to acknowledge them would be the riskier path.
“Sir,” he indicated the terminal screen.
The guard moved casually so he could see, but then he took a step toward the screen and adjusted it so he could see better. “Sweet mother,” he muttered, glancing at the two small miners, but then focusing on Ker. “Wait here for a moment,” he commanded and then he took a step back. Several long moments of silence passed before the guard stepped forward again and addressed Shaskie. “Shaskie, Ker is hereby exempt from daily and weekly quota, just keep bringing stuff like this when she does make deposit.”
Moriah stared ahead at nothing, not giving any indication she heard the guard at all. Shaskie said, “Understood sir. What about me?”
“You just keep Ker safe. Keeping her alive and making drops is your quota.”
“Understood sir,” Shaskie said, a bit of trepidation in her heart. Ker fought deadly wars with crystal ferrets and such like. She really did not want to be responsible for the crazy girl’s wellbeing.
The clerk put Ker’s deposit into a box and the guard took it away personally. Once he had left the cavern, Ker turned and left with Shaskie walking beside her. Ker’s eyes never glanced to the side or even twitched. Crossing the main room, her relief knew no bounds once they made Klorachamol’s cave.
As soon as she entered, Jenna pounce on her, picking her up and hugging her and kissing her. “How did it go? They didn’t give you any trouble, did they?” Shaskie explained what happened in the depot and what the guard said since Moriah still maintained the dead eye persona.
“I’ll be damned,” Jenna shook her head. “I didn’t think that kind of thing ever happened.” She grew serious, “But be careful. The guards do not always play with a full deck. If you’re too much in their thoughts, they may do something bad.” She shrugged. “But what can we do?”
When Jenna first hugged her, Moriah once more sensed the fae woman’s hag, even through her dead-eyed state. Or perhaps it would be better to say, she saw Jenna’s resident hag in a completely different way being without the normal distractions and reactions she normally possessed. The difference was subtle, but ever so significant . Jenna’s hag did not try to hide like with Shaskie. Instead, its tentacles openly pervaded the woman to such a degree it threatened Moriah’s equilibrium. She would have pulled away, but she really did not care, like at all.
Yep, that hypnotism really was quite effective.
Two days passed, Moriah and the others staying clear of the camp by taking up residence in some distant caves. The dwarves set them up as Moriah’s semi-permanent residence a solid three hours hike from the camp proper. Jenna continued to brood over Klorachamol’s absence, and Moriah’s empathic awareness thoroughly picked up the loneliness from the woman. Thus, when the man in question returned without warning, Moriah threw her arms around him in a spontaneous welcome-hug. Finally, some relief from the fae woman’s brooding emotions.
Moriah almost died for real as the agitated assassin reacted, the blow to her body knocking her back against the far wall hard. “Urk,” the girl-child grunted, coughing up a bit of blood. She slumped to her knees and held her stomach. She looked up at the assassin with a confused expression.
Radar interposed himself between his queen and the dark one, hissing his warning. But he was somewhat confused. He was sure that his queen cared for the dark man, even after he hit her. Should he just attack? Should he just keep the creature away? What the heck was he supposed to do?
Klorachamol shook his head and sighed, “Girl, don’t ever attack me like that, or you’ll die early.” He glanced at the hissing ferret, but then his eyes scanned the rest of the room, quickly finding what he sought. “Jenna, I have returned,” he declared as he strode over to the fae, who stood from her rock to greet him with a hug and passionate kiss.
Breaking her lips free from his for a moment, Jenna ordered everyone out of the cavern. Jenjen immediately marched across the cavern, Shaskie dangling by the scruff of the neck and complaining loudly. Jenjen grabbed Moriah by the wrist and hauled her behind him as he passed her.
“But why do we have to leave,” Moriah demanded as she stumbled along behind the implacable dwarf.
“To them be privacy granted,” Jenjen answered.
“They haven’t needed it before,” Shaskie countered, dangling loosely as she apparently had given up all struggle. “You know this is really undignified, don’t you, you vig vully.” Only her mother had ever carried her about by the scruff of the neck, with the occasional exception of Jenna, who sort of counted as a mother anyway.
“The rules of the Jenna and the Death Master need no logic,” Jenjen said. “But upon the Jenna’s command, leave we must.”
When they returned to the cave several hours later, all seemed normal again, both Jenna and Klorachamol in more stable moods. Not stable, per say, but normal stable for them. When Moriah gave the assassin a careful and well announced hug, she found even Klorachamol’s hag had returned to its normal strength.
Over the next few weeks, nothing amazing or interesting happened. Moriah finally felt comfortable enough to approach the assassin. “Klorachamol?”
The dark man had been aware that his ward had been brooding about something, had in fact watched with some amusement as Ker prowled around him for nearly half a day. Now that she acted human again, instead of like a zombie, she was as easy to read as anyone else, easier in many ways. “What do you want girl?” he finally said, exasperated by her pacing like a nervous predator.
She grinned impishly at him. He was not very much of a conversationalist and her plan to get him to ask first had totally played out in her favor. “Lots of things!” she declared with cheerful smugness. “I want to be your friend, and that seems to be going okay. I want to be Jenna’s friend, and I think I am. And Jenjen’s and Corko’s and Shaskie’s, and I am. I even want to be Mr. Elf’s friend, but I am not there yet. Oh, and Ms. Karen’s and Mr. Restorm’s too. I am going to have to work hard!”
Klorachamol frowned at mention of the elf. “Why would you want to be that elf’s friend? Do you know what he is?”
Moriah had noticed that everyone disliked the elf, of course, but no one would explain why. He did not seem that bad, except those horrible chains she sensed binding him, back during her dream. To be honest, she had included him in her answer accidentally. If she had thought it through before so blithely answering, she would have edited him out. Still, she could not exactly pretend she had not included him at this point, so answered, “No sir, not at all. All I know is he has a kind heart that is bound by really icky chains.”
Klorachamol’s frown deepened. “Don’t mess with him, Ker. He’s bad news in the worse possible way.”
Moriah frowned. He had said something similar the other times she had mentioned the elf, but refused to tell her why. She doubted he ever would, which frustrated her. In response, she decided if he would not explain it, it must not be important. Dropping the subject, she plowed ahead with her original intention in approaching him.
“Klorachamol, I want you to teach me how to fight like you fight.”
He sighed. Not exactly what he had expected, it was still a nuisance. “I don’t have time. I have to meet quota.”
“But I have it all figured out,” she pleaded. “I’ll provide your quota for you. I know it will work out. Jenjen and Corko are going to teach me too! They’re already teaching me how to speak gnarly. It’s lots of fun. So, when do we start?”
Klorachamol never knew exactly how it happened, but the lessons started that day, Shaskie tagging along. Being very serious about it, Moriah did everything Klorachamol told her to do and could hardly move the next day. Still, by some miracle she managed to provide his quota as she had promised, much to his disgust. He forgot her ‘connections.’ Of course her ferret minions would be able to produce as much ore as she would ever need.
Days, measured by quota deadlines rather than the passing of time, passed into equally vague weeks and months. Moriah’s life fell into a routine. Formal lessons in gnarly in the morning and evening, practice drills assigned by Klorachamol mid-morning and then general lessons in things any young human ought to know. These were given by Karen and Restorm since Moriah secretly doubted that either Jenna or Klorachamol acted normal, at least based on her pre-mine memories.
But more than anything that she was being taught, Moriah wanted to deal with the hags in her friends, for even Karen and Restorm had some form of that monstrosity. However, she learned quickly that none of them seemed able to discuss the hag for long and never remembered having discussed it before. She stopped trying to discuss it at all, seeking to find a way to eliminate it in more indirect ways.
Karen gave lessons in religion, reading and writing, history and several other interesting subjects, even covering some very basic instruction in the workings of magic in general, and runic patterns more specifically.
Karen also possessed a solid telepathic gift, if somewhat on the weaker side. She picked up on Moriah’s telepathic link with her peers, as well as the young girl’s more broad empathic sensitivities. She thus began instructing Ker, and Shaskie when the kyt inserted her into the lessons, mental disciplines and meditation exercises to prepare them for when they started puberty and began going through the ordeal of their mental gift maturing. The priestess had no doubt that both children would manifest in time.
An ex-Emerite officer, Colonel Restorm taught her about the militaries of the Emerite Empire and its surrounding neighbors. His lessons also contained other military based topics such as strategy and tactics in its many iterations. He especially liked space applications of it, both with large fleets and single craft combat. The man also supplemented Karen’s lessons on magic with military runic patterns and arrays, and Klorachamol’s lessons on the fighting arts.
Both Karen and Restorm also included lessons on the different languages they knew, to the girls’ uncertain delight.
During off hours while Moriah studied her lessons with Shaskie, the two of them watched Klorachamol and Jenna covertly. Despite being evicted back when Klorachamol had returned from that outside mission, the two adults did not seem to care that they were present during intimate moments. This inconsistent attitude confused the two youths greatly.
Time passed. One day, the two scramblers headed out as usual for one of their forays again. About forty minutes out from Moriah’s caves, the two girls came around a bend and saw a tall man standing in the middle of the passage.
“Mr. Elf!” Moriah cried out. She had been wondering if she would ever see the elf again since he had not appeared at all since her return. Without hesitation, she ran up to him as he stood staring at her with a peculiar expression. She stopped several yards away and said, “I’ve been waiting for you to show up, sir. I’m so happy.” Moriah grinned up into his eyes.
Klierallan gazed down into the child’s bright smile, perplexed. He had kept his distance and given the others time to explain their understanding of who he was. To be honest, he somewhat dreaded this moment of confrontation and had been putting it off. Why he stood there now even he could not explain.
But what he sensed from the girl was far more perplexing than his own weird actions. Now that he was this close, he could tell that Ker had changed fare more than he thought possible. Much of the potential he had sensed, potential which should not have emerged for many, many years yet, lay awakened. In fact, the girl’s awakened potential far exceeded what he had originally perceived.
But beyond even all that, he was most perplexed by the open, unguarded welcome Ker greeted him with. While he could remember that there had been a time when such was given him, he could not actually remember such times or happenings. He did not know how to react to this strangeness at all.
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Finally the elf whispered in a rough voice, “Do you know what I am?”
“Nope,” Moriah chirped, her expression turning surly. “But nobody will actually tell me anything about you, so it must not be very important,” Moriah declared.
“You are wrong, Ker,” the elf said, amusement now coloring his tone. His voice sounded hollow to Moriah’s ears and senses. “They will not tell you because they do not think it something to be discussed lightly or casually.”
Moriah tilted her head at him for a moment. She then took one step toward him primly, hands clasped behind her back. She grinned at him and leaned forward with a rocking motion on her heels. “Is it about those chains that bind your heart to that really icky thing?” The facade of amusement froze on the elf’s face, except his eyes hardened to flint. “Don’t worry about it.” Moriah wagged a finger at him. “You have a good heart!” Suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed, she darted past him, “Let’s go Shaskie!”
Shaskie skirted around the elf. Besides all bad things the adults hinted at, Shaskie could feel the very warp and woof of reality complaining. She really did not understand Moriah at all sometimes. How could her friend act so blithely around this thing? Could she not feel how the very fabric of reality warped and twisted at the elf’s very presence?
Racing to the narrow tunnel the two planned to explore this time, Moriah stopped and turned back to the elf as Shaskie darted into the entrance ahead of her. The elf still stood watching them. “Hey, Mr. Elf? I would like to learn your language. Would you be willing to teach me the elvan languages? The others are teaching me a bunch of other languages too, but none of them will teach me elvan. Think about it if you would. I like you and want to learn lots of stuff from you too!” With a grin and a nod, the girl spun and dove into the hole after Shaskie without waiting for a response.
Klierallan stared after the girl, his whole world shaken to its core. Not since his hundredth birthday over nine-thousand years ago had anyone said they liked him, or wanted to learn from him, or done a single act of kindness towards him. The universe of sentient life had to a single person rejected him and cursed his very existence. All because of something he had no choice in. Something he opposed and tried to prevent. Something others forced on him against his will.
But this one had done all those things, seemingly knowing more about his condition than he could credit. An uncontrollable tear rolled down his cheek. Spinning around, he vanished into the utter darkness of the passage.
Shortly after that meeting, Moriah began disappearing from the camp for hours on end. During those times, she met with Klierallan, learning the Sylvan language in its three dialects, Common, High and Court. Common Sylvan contained the everyday speech patterns, syntax and words used by all elves. High Sylvan, on the other hand, contained those used in formal settings and more elegant occasions. It was considered coarse and unrefined in elvan society to use Common Sylvan in contexts where High was appropriate, but the reverse was not true. Thus, if in doubt of the appropriate manner of speaking, one should use the high speech patterns.
Court Sylvan was reserved for royal occasions, most holy ceremonies and other exceptionally significant events. It was considered arrogance and presumption to use Court Sylvan in any context other than where it was appropriate. It was better to speak Low Sylvan during all occasions than to incorrectly use the Court dialect, but it was best to take the High road whenever in doubt.
Moriah really enjoyed learning from Klierallan. Still, that one held himself always in reserve and the mask of his fake amusement became more and more apparent to the empathically sensitive Moriah. Moriah did not know exactly where she fell with the elf. Sometimes she thought he liked her, other times she wondered if he really wanted her around.
However, one day a couple years after he began teaching her, Klierallan opened up to her and told her his full name, which turned out to be quite the mouthful - Klierallan mes mes Rancill lrem Xianall, AcheronLegato.
Moriah repeated his name and smiled at him warmly. “Thank you for telling me, Klierallan.”
“Do you know the significance of it?”
Moriah’s smile turned into a grin. “Of course! It’s your wonderful name.”
“Stop that. You wanted to know why I am so despised at one time.”
Moriah’s grin faltered and she shook her head. “It does not matter. You are my friend and I don’t really care what reason others conjure up against you.”
Klierallan ignored her and continued, “AcheronLegato, called the black house in the realms of elves and gnarly both, and nothing so nice by the fae.” Klierallan almost sounded bitter as he spoke, which was unusual. Normally he hid behind his ever slightly-amused mask.
Moriah bit her lip, torn. She did want to know, and yet she didn’t. Klierallan did not seem to notice her reserve, his eyes looking into a vast distance of time and space.
“The house of traitors who betrayed all life in exchange for a moment of power. They discovered the existence of a powerful being in another dimension close to our own, but kept it a secret from the other noble houses. At first, they did not understand its true nature and conversed with it freely. At least that’s what they claimed. During that time it so corrupted them that when they finally did understand its foul nature, they no longer cared - evil incarnate, a being of unfathomable malice and greed, but also of unfathomable power it seemed willing to share for a price.
“The lords and ladies of the house I was born into, the AcheronLegato, craved the power the demon offered. The desire for ultimate power, to be the supreme rulers of the universe consumed them.” Raw bitterness saturated the ancient elf’s whole demeanor more and more as he continued to talk. Moriah felt that she had almost become superfluous to his need to speak. “They came to despise their position in the courts of the elvan kingdoms, though they were blessed exceedingly in that position, being equal with the greatest. Being the greater partner of equals. They hated it. They had become minor reflections of the demon itself. In the end, they forged the demon-pact with that vile one in the great endeavor to usurp their rightful power and position.
“And they truly did gain great power through that demon-pact. They now had the power of terror, and destruction for all they touched. War broke out, the houses of the elvan kingdoms, the gnarly realms, the faery glens, and human tribes and kingdoms forged an alliance against the AcheronLegato and the demon-pact. (That alliance birthed the Emerite Empire, incidentally.) Even a few of the kobolos clans sided with the alliance, though the majority sided with the demon-pact.”
“The kobolos?” Moriah inquired. Hearing such ancient history from one who had lived it captured the child’s curious nature. That he remained patient with her ignorance of things he considered common knowledge helped greatly too.
Klierallan nodded, the bitterness slipping away as her question brought him out of his past memories. “You know how the gnomes and dwarves are actually the same race, the gnarly? ‘Dwarf,’ ‘gnome,’ words similar in significance as ‘red-haired human’ and ‘black-haired human,’ came about because of an early misunderstanding. The gnarly people adopted the names because they think the misunderstanding hilarious.”
Moriah nodded, staring at the elf with eager eyes, glad that the bitter edge in his words had lessened. Her rapt expression actually disconcerted the exile considerably. No one since before the demon-pact had been forged had looked at him with such an openly honest and adoring expression.
Clearing his throat, he continued, “Well, the same is true for ogres and goblins, though on a much more dramatic scale. They are kobolos. An ogre can have two goblin parents, while a goblin might have two ogre parents. Goblins and ogres are often siblings, just as dwarves and gnomes. Again, it was a misunderstanding that started the two designations, but there are significant, and rather consistent personality traits that attach to goblins as opposed to ogres, and vice versa. Thus, the names stuck, even though it is questionable whether the kobolos, on the whole, wanted it to or not.”
“So goblins and ogres are the same race?” Moriah asked, incredulous. Goblins were generally the size of young human children while ogres were supposed to be huge, often over ten feet tall and proportionately wider than even the most buff human males.
“Indeed, but do not make the mistake of dealing with them the same. They respond as differently to the same situation as any two independent races ever could.” The elf held up one cautionary finger.
“So, some of the kobolos sided with the alliance. Are some good then, or did they do it because they recognized the true danger the demon-pact presented?” Moriah asked to bring the conversation back to the history lesson.
Klierallan stared at her for a moment. “That is a very astute question, Ker. One wonders if you are truly as young as you appear.” Moriah grinned at him, pleased by the complement. Shaking his head, the elf answered, “Some of the kobolos have indeed defied their natural bent toward the darker traits and turned to the Light. Those are often more dedicated to the Light than those races who claim a leaning toward more civilized behaviors. However, some have rejected darkness and uncivilized behavior without embrace the “light,” as some would put it. Usually, those fall back to their baser instincts and dispositions - be wary of them.”
“Promise!”
The elf paused, frowning. He was not sure if she was being impertinent or not. He had very little social experience in the last nine thousand years, especially with those who did not actively despise and ridicule him.
“So this alliance of races waged war on the demon-pact and its allies. The war lasted for over five-hundred years. In the end, the house AcheronLegato lay defeated, the Demon’s form utterly destroyed, though its essence retained some efficacy. That happened some eight and a half thousand years ago. The few surviving members of the black house were executed after fair trial, save myself. In truth, those of the alliance gave them a fairer hearing than any of them deserved.”
“But they did not execute you,” Moriah prompted, leaning forward in her eagerness.
“I was the only exception. You see, I was never a willing participant of the demon-pact, the only dissenter. No, I was the pact seal. The payment. When I realized what my family intended, I fought against them, but they used me anyway. The demon needed a ‘house’ in this dimension to further its own agenda - me. He would consume my essence and then have free reign to do as he wanted. However, because I resisted, he was not able to enter me, though I am bound to him for all eternity. When I die, he will resurrect this body with his own essence as its sole inhabitant.”
“But I thought he was destroyed!” Moriah cried out, horrified for her friend.
The elf shook his head, “That is not what I said. His form was destroyed, but not his essence. That is, his ability to manifest himself directly in this dimension and universe was utterly destroyed, but what amounts to his spirit still has some presence here.”
“But how can a spirit exist without a means of manifesting itself?” Moriah demanded.
Klierallan allowed a shallow smile. “That happens all the time, Ker. However, in this case, the demonic essence survived because of me.”
Moriah gasped, “Those chains! That means that icky thing at the other end of those chains is the demon’s essence?”
The elf sighed. She was forever interrupting him. Still, this was an opportunity. “I have been meaning to ask you about these chains to which you keep referring.”
Moriah nodded, “I saw them in a dream, back during the contest with Hank. I’m pretty sure the fenguar spore caused it, though I don’t really understand.” Moriah shrugged acceptance of her lack. She had asked lots of questions, but no one else had an explanation either. “I saw you in the main cavern when you touched Hank and sent those pretty sparks into him. Too bad his darkness rejected them, huh?” She looked at him until he nodded. “Anyway, that’s when I saw the chains, but then the hag showed up.”
Klierallan’s smiled at the growing plant that was Moriah, yet to be determined weed or flower, or perhaps something else? Not all plants fell into such neat categories. The elf blinked, drawing his thoughts from the analogy back to the moment. It interested him that she had seen those events and he did not want to lose this opportunity to rambling thoughts. “Hag?”
Moriah nodded, big eyed as it occurred to her that maybe Klierallan might be the answer to her dilemma. Moriah described the disfigured old hag and how she had defeated it, “And there were a bazillion weeds!” She threw her hands out with utter abandon and dramatic flair. “It took me a bazillion years, I’m not exaggerating, I’m telling the truth.”
“You would be dead,” the elf said, putting his hand to his brow and rubbing his temples.
“It was a bazillion dream years, silly elf. Besides, it was a bazillion years and I’m still alive, so you are patently wrong.” She crossed her arms and dared him to contradict her. The elf could not help it, he laughed. Moriah grinned at him. She liked that laughed, she liked it very, very much. Not the mask amusement, but the real thing which she had never heard before.
She dropped her arms and sighed. “I like it when you laugh like that. The universe could use more of your good laughter.” She paused as her friend regained control. “Klierallan?” He nodded to her, so she continued. “Everyone in the mines has some form of the hag, except the guards, you and me. Do you know what the hag might be?”
“Yes, child, I do. It’s a compulsion placed in their minds to keep them from escaping and keep them mining. So, you can sense it.”
Moriah nodded. “Yes. Except . . . I think the dwarves, Klorachamol and Jenna’s are fundamentally different than the others.”
Klierallan nodded. “That is correct. Those ones are a different breed from the others in this place. The simple compulsion laid on the average miner would not be affective at all in minds of their quality.”
“The dwarves’ seem to get weaker every day. Klorachamol’s too, except it gets stronger again after he has sex with Jenna. I really notice it whenever he returns from one of those terrible topside missions. Jenna’s always seems strong.”
Klierallan gazed at Moriah with inscrutable eyes. “You want to know how to remove the compulsions from your friends?”
Moriah nodded, grinning at him. “Yes sir! Do you know how? Can you do it? Can you teach me how? I can’t get anyone else to focus on the subject long enough to get them to teach me,” she said, pouting.
“The compulsion protects itself. However, to answer your questions, yes, no, yes.”
Moriah paused, dredging her memory for the order of her questions. “Why can’t you do it if you know how?”
“Because it requires the trust of both parties. We both know they do not trust me, and truthfully, I have no reason nor inclination to trust them either.”
“But you’ll teach me how to do it?”
“If you like.”
“I like!” She threw her arms around him in one of her spontaneous hugs. She leaned back, still keeping her arms around the elf’s waist and looked up into his eyes. She knew her hugs made him uncomfortable, though he seemed to tolerate them for some reason. Now that she had learned something of his past, she suspected that he needed them more than anyone else in the universe. However, something had just connected for her about her ancient friend and those chains of his. She buried her face in his chest, hugging tighter. She would just keep that thought a secret for now until she knew more both about him and herself. “Thank you Klierallan. So, when do we start?”
Klierallan put his arms around Moriah, hesitantly returning the embrace. “It is not a simple task you seek. You have the ability, but not the knowledge or experience. You must build yourself up. I will think about it and have a curriculum the next time we meet.”
Moriah grunted and then said, “Just what I need, another lesson in patience.”
“You need the practice and you are the one asking for more lessons.”
“Whatever. Okay, so the demon lost his form in this universe, but his essence survived for all this time because of those chains, just biding his time until you die so it can reclaim its ability to materialize or whatever. But it’s not here right now. The chains stretch out for-ever!”
Klierallan considered following up on those chains again, but decided to drop the subject just then. He felt exhausted already and needed time to think. “Yes. The demon made a last moment gamble. In a desperate act, when it realized it was going to lose and be destroyed, it hurled its corrupt essence into the Fae realm. A risky move, of course, as the Fae realms contain power enough to oppose it tit-for-tat, but it had nothing to lose at that point. I’m sure it felt that even if it had to die, it would do as much damage as it could in the process. “However, I think the real purpose was to either be able to revive itself through the natural power resident in that place, provided it could convert it to its will, or to survive long enough for me to die.
The result of that gamble has been catastrophic: over the millennia, the mere presence of his essence has acted upon the Fae realm’s own essence and slowly corrupted it like a cankerous disease. The daemon are the children of that corruption, the fae who did not flee their home and have become twisted beings with little or no resemblance to what they once were. Those evil creatures now continue the war for control of the realms of this universe, driven by the last desire of the Demon.
However, the Fae realms have as yet denied the demon its desired house.” Klierallan shrugged. “Of course, it may be that the Demon cannot accept any other house while still bound to me.” He grimaced. “For now it is just an indistinct, cancerous seed sending out roots of corruption and decay to destroy the beauty of those realms. Most of the Fae have abandoned their home, hoping to find a cure for that cancer, but many think it may already be too late. The cancer has done so much damage already.”
“Sad,” Moriah said with heart-felt sincerity.
Klierallan just nodded his agreement. He thought it was something very much more than sad. He had loved the Fae realms and visited them often before the demon-pact and all that had transpired since. Silence fell over the little alcove they met in.
Klierallan shook himself. “Enough history and morbid talk. Tell me the greetings for all the different classes as you would say them in low, high and court.” Moriah groaned but then grinned. She knew how to do that already.