At present...

“Well, duh. A Chaotic Twenty Warlord, and a Warp Gate singing with the siren call of slaughter. They’re pulling you in like a hungry lion to bleeding bait. Of course you were going to be here!”

He didn’t look all that happy at hearing that, frowning at the impression he was a toy and a pawn before greater forces. For the willfully independent Fey, it was a maddening feeling.

“And so... you have come to fight me? To chase me off?” he asked, irked.

“Of course not. That is a total waste of my time, and doesn’t accomplish anything whatsoever,” I snorted, and he actually relaxed a little bit. “No, no, I’m going to do things Properly. That means pissing the gods of the Warp off entirely, and turning their baited prey into a royal pain in the neck.”

His head tilted with the sharpness of an eagle spotting a target. “What do you mean?”

I waved my hand, and from the trees behind me a couple of Marked elves came out, pushing a Disk with a decent amount of proper victuals on it. Elves were a neutral party to the Fey, so he could tolerate them much more easily. A couple chairs were set up on either side of the Disk, I waved him to one, and we both took a seat.

He watched with naturally unblinking eyes as I poured the wine, and then he sampled some of the pastries. He was more a meat lover, naturally, but the nutty things were still acceptable, and they were Real, unlike the crap largely spun out of Glamour in Fey Courts.

“Hearing you have designs upon me does not set me at ease, Sage Sama Rantha,” he said pointedly.

“Oh, well, if you want to become a slave to the Warp Gods by charging out there with that force of incompetents you’ve assembled, you’re totally free to do so, I won’t stop you. I’ll just slaughter you once you give in.” My tone was so casual he flushed, because he knew I could do it, too.

“So, what machinations have you spun around me, then?”

I reached over my back to my Masspack, and pulled out a Torc made of adamant, something all of my personal supply had gone into; an inhumanly shaped and horned Skull that looked like it had been dipped in a weird combination of silver and gold Runes; and a Diadem carved of dark bone, silver-filled scrimshaw etched over it in the form of several watching ravens.

His eyes narrowed sharply, especially at the Torc. There were many, many Runes scrawled over it, limned in mithral, and an Aura coming from it that, while not opposed to him, was not exactly harmonious, either!

“And these are?” he asked shortly, eyeing them strangely.

“This is a Crown of the Eternal Foe.” I flicked it towards him, and it skidded across the Disk to stop before him. “We both know that while you will be useful against the Warped simply because you’re a Twenty and you can heal yourself endlessly, you won’t be dominating unless you restrain yourself to just picking on humans, who number a third or less of the incoming forces. The mutants that look so much like the centaurs, satyrs, and even minotaurs with you, you’re just not going to be very impressive against.

“The crux of that is your hatred of humans makes you very strong against humans, and a complete putz for your Level otherwise.” His face flushed, he tensed up again, and I blandly went on before he let his anger get to his head and I would need to beat him down. “The Crown changes that enmity, what we call a Favored Enemy Bonus, to the Warped.”

At that he blinked, and looked down at the bone crown. He reached out with nails more like talons, picked it up, and inspected it despite himself.

He was a Twenty, and could appreciate Craftsmanship at that level. QL 35 was not something he often saw, especially in bone... and then he saw at least four different types of bones represented, and some familiar gemstones from a certain breastplate, and his eyes glittered in appreciation at the irony.

“So, while wearing it, your natural, Fey-born enmity for Humans will fade away, but you’ll be filled with the same level of revulsion and disdain for the Warped... and all the miscellaneous effects that can operate off Favored Enemies will work for you. Foremost among them being Scorned Magic, a Feat which is nominally granted you by the gemstones set in the bone.

“They will make you hugely resistant to any influence of the Warped.”

He exhaled sharply through his sharp nose. It was an incredibly powerful, precisely directed gift. Also totally useless save against the Warped, against whom it would make him a terrible foe.

And he would repay their disdain and arrogance tenfold...

“And this?” he asked, touching the Torc, feeling the power.

“You are already protected from the powers of Law and Evil.” He gazed at it uncertainly. “The Warp is of Chaos... but it is also of deep, deep Evil; demonic, abyssal, primal. Your natural protection is not at a level that can defy pure Divine power. The Torc simply reinforces your natural protection. In magical terms, it raises its Valence from I to V.” I tapped my finger twice for emphasis, shaking the Disk. “That means that the gods of the Warp cannot simply reach out and seize your mind and soul, and twist you into something of their own.

“I know you don’t like to touch metal, but the fact is, this is the thing that is going to save you, more than anything else. I made it out of adamant and telstang, treated it to be immune to rust and corrosion, and it was even Hardened on top of that. It has to Not Break. If it goes down, and you’re on that battlefield, you’re done, and I’ll have to come kill you.”

His talons clicked lightly on the Torc, considering.

“The first time that thing lights up, and you feel their power wash past you instead of into you, I can guarantee that you’re not going to mind wearing it. Furthermore, if they use any form of magic on you that has a transformative, mutative, or corruptive aspect to it, the telstang will stop it instantly.”

He took another long, deep breath, almost a caw. “And it has no effect against those that are not wedded to Evil,” he mused, almost amused. The profound Alignments were things Fey thought themselves above... right up until the Alignments kicked them in the teeth.

“Correct.”

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“And this Skull?” he inquired, picking it up.

“A Baneskull against the Warped, currently at Lesser Status. It will grow stronger as you slaughter them. Put it on the pommel of your Sword, or mount it on your Bow.”

He unslung his scabbarded wooden blade, and inserted the pommel nut into the spinal opening of the Skull. The thing shrank down instantly, sealing itself with a pop around the pommel.

He drew the blade out slowly, watching the Banefire running along the edge of the wood. It was of multiple hues all at once... bloody red, pink and yellow, orange and white, dirty green and brown, all stemming from a thin, sharp line of utter black at the edge of the wooden blade.

Tremble drifted out from behind me, and there was a flicker as golden soulfire was overlaid with the exact same assortment of colors. He noted the similarity instantly, and nodded slowly.

“Powerful gifts, but only against the foe before us,” he judged calmly, eyeing me shrewdly. “You want me to fight them...”

“And?” I asked calmly.

He considered me for a long moment. “You don’t want me slaughtering other humans coming to fight them?” he finally concluded in a low voice.

“And maybe even being able to work with them against a greater threat... but that’s just wishful thinking on my part. After all, coordinating with others against a mutual foe, using teamwork to overcome superior numbers, is so gauche among the Fey.”

His expression turned a little peculiar, a mixture of appreciation for common sense and amazement that I could even propose such a thing to him. “This has something to do with the Marks you are spreading among the mortal races?”

I was so not surprised by the fact he knew of them. “Unlimited telepathic communication, equivalent to a Blessing from a succubus. Mild enhancement to one of your Stats, like, a forty percent increase in Strength or so. Allows coordination within or across an entire battlefield.”

He regarded me sharply. “I have watched several of the battles taking place across the forest, and my people have told me of the movements of scouts, their ability to pick out the terrain and lay ambushes. This is all a result of you?” he asked, unable to keep a strange note out of his voice.

As a Warlord himself, he could appreciate the incredible level of troop coordination required across a battlefield, and read the sudden elevation in combat ability for what it was.

“Unlike succubi, I’m actually trustworthy,” I grinned at him shamelessly. “The Warp Gods get to control all their minions, we should definitely get some of the same benefits.” I kept his eyes fixed. “I’ve got five Void Brothers Marked, and more on the way.” The Ancient and the Axe, a very, very scarred Urukhar, had arrived earlier today, carrying a Glaive that weighed more than I did. Briggs and I would be working on a new one for him tonight.

Noir Rabe’s eyes really narrowed. He knew enough to tread cautiously around Void Brothers. The Wind and the Arrow would be the ones who had the most to do with the Fey, and that fellow wasn’t at all averse to popping off any of the Fey who were getting too big for their britches.

“Also, there’s an option you probably wouldn’t consider under normal circumstances, but your pride might lead you to doing.”

Of course, I’d already walked all over his pride, which was why he wasn’t going crazy accepting gifts from a Hagchild who was blatantly manipulating his desire to do battle against an invader, and playing on his fears. “My pride?” he murmured, arching an eyebrow.

“If you go out on that battlefield, you are basically going to be carrying your troops. They’re going to suck.” He bridled as I went on. “Not because they aren’t skilled. I’m sure you brought along some of the best of your people, considering what you are going to be facing. I’m talking in terms of recovery.

“The Fey aren’t known for their recuperative ability, unless they are the lucky ones like you who can heal their own flesh. Also, you don’t have Priests, and the number of Bards and Druids you have isn’t sufficient to carry your forces. You’re going to get in one fight, and then have to wait days for everyone to heal up before you can get into another fight.

“You might have noticed that’s not as much a problem with the mortal forces.”

Now I had his interest. “You have access to Healing magic?” He definitely didn’t believe it.

I made another disparaging noise. “You do remember I’m a Null, right?” He grunted once. “Likewise, I don’t believe you want to be begging other forces for Healing magic.” His face twisted sharply. It wasn’t an issue for him. Give him five minutes, and he’d go from almost dead to fine and dandy, fast enough to give Marvel Comics’ Wolverine conniptions.

But his troops had no such magical gifts, and the number of Casters he had with such magic would be extremely limited. There were only so many Nymphs around with their Druid Levels, after all.

“But... your Queen and her Nymphs or Druids potentially have an opportunity here. If they’ve provided Healing for others altruistically in the past, they may qualify for Healing Reserve. Flora gets along with most Nymphs and Hamadryads, and can intercede with Amana if such a gift is intended to be used to defy the gods of the Warp.

“The vast majority of your troops have high Health, and Healing Reserve can take care of all of it. A handful of Nymphs, along with your Queen, could likely have your entire force back to full strength within hours using Healing Reserve.” I paused significantly. “Or, you can be the least competent force on the battlefield.”

The nostrils in his long nose flared again. There was no way he’d bow his head to a deity to pray, even for such a marvelously useful thing. On the other hand, having a poor showing was going to weigh down on him equally hard.

This wasn’t a shock attack, where the superior Health of elite troops would carry them through a fight, and then they would run away to fight another day. No, this was going to be a grind, fighting battle after battle, day after day... and his troops simply didn’t have the staying power. And while he was powerful... was he powerful enough to take on a whole warband by himself, and hope they couldn’t lock him down and kill him?

He had already had a pint-size bitch crush him effortlessly with a Sword. It had stung his pride, but he hadn’t been able to do ANYTHING to me. He wasn’t in my league... and now, he could tell, I was even more dangerous than I was back then. He wanted to challenge me, to prove himself the stronger... and he knew I was waiting for him to do just that, and I would crush him again.

This time with mortal witnesses. The blow to his pride would be unimaginable.

But being seen as ineffectual, a minor player... that was a blow to his status, to his race, his nation, and his Queen. Stomaching that...

And then there was the fact that the bloodthirstiest of the Fey were wholeheartedly responding to the call of the Warp... traitors taking service under gods!

What then, a mere mentioning of a conversational piece, not to be taken seriously... except by the women, who might not care for his pride or honor, and go out to ask a favor of one of the Divine? A favor that would benefit his own forces, with his hands completely clean, the decision not his to make?

These Warp Gods needed to learn their place. And if he borrowed the power of gods to fight gods, that was only proper, was it not, their ilk battling against their own kind?

And it would save the lives of his people...

He didn’t verbalize it, of course, but I watched his body language and his eyes as the thoughts ran through his head, and knew I’d made my point.

“I have no trust of humans, to wear such a Mark,” he sniffed finally, changing the subject.

“The trust I have of Fey is to be untrustworthy. You give word-lawyering a bad name, after all,” I agreed sagely. He took no umbrage at the back-handed compliment, of course. Fey prided themselves on saying one thing and meaning another. It was a part of their language, after all, and if you couldn’t follow the sub-contexts, you were in for a really bad time.

“You cannot use magic to assault the will, or subvert the thoughts of those who have them... because you cannot wield magic.” Tiktiktiktik, tiktiktiktik, his talons drummed. “How easy is it to be rid of the Marks? Succubus Blessings are... annoying.”

I just lifted an eyebrow at that admission, unsurprised. “It’s a physical Tattoo. They can be suppressed by Casting a Dispel on them, and getting rid of them is basically Erasing a Tat or just carving it off and healing the wound, if you want to be quick about it. Or, you can just ask me to desynch it from the Master Mark, and you end up with some inert ink.”

“Mmmm.” I knew he’d have to think about it. I doubted he would take one personally, but he might send in some troops. “Ah, also, I have news for you.” His golden hawk’s eyes glittered. “I know where your mother is.”