This day started as many others did for Fezzik; waking up. He reflexively flinched away from the sun creeping through the window, but then stopped in surprise. Fezzik had gotten himself involved in a rather uproarious drinking competition the night prior. Drank entirely too much, really.
But where was the headache? He cautiously opened his eyes again, looking out the window. No pain. He ran his tongue over his teeth. No mouth fuzziness. Benefits of being a Hand?
He could get used to this.
The rest of his morning routine continued relatively uninterrupted, at least until Fezzik saw himself in a mirror. He grabbed a lock of hair, rubbing a couple strands between two fingers experimentally. It was… shinier?
The tiny scar on his forehead was gone, too. Fezzik noticed his teeth seemed straighter, and whiter. More changes due to being a Hand? He supposed the gods didn’t permit their servants looking anything less than godly.
He paused, hands gripping the counter so hard that they went pale. Deep breaths; in, out, in, out. Fezzik pushed the welling anger back down, brought to the fore by yet another reminder that his body was no longer his own.
He was distracted from this by a sudden cracking sound. The marble slab that the sink was enshrined in had split from the force of his grip.
“That’s new.” The words were mumbled in a kind of disbelief. Fezzik pulled his hands back, brushing off stone dust.
He quickly finished his morning ablutions, heading down to the main common room in a daze. Soon enough he ended up seated at a corner table, one of this house’s specialty breakfasts before him. Beans with herbs and spices in a bowl, and a pair of thin pieces of bread on the side.
An experimental bite had his eyes lighting up in delight. It was delicious! Fezzik ate quickly, mind distracted at least temporarily from all of his worldly concerns. No one bothered him as he ate, though a few passersby eyed his now oddly luminous hair with curiosity.
As he ate, the Hand idly eyed his fingers and thought back on the event in the bathroom. “Hmm.”
There was a spoon lying before him, ever so tempting. After finishing his meal, Fezzik wiped the spoon off, and, cautiously, began to bend it flat with his fingers.
It began to move, stretch, and flatten. He worked at it for a good half a minute, flattening out the bumps and ending up with a reasonably flat miniature spatula. Fezzik’s eyes jumped between both the spoontula and his fingers, gazing at both with an equal share of disbelief.
He’d certainly not been this strong before, and his fingers were hardly strained by bending metal into shape. The skin had barely even deformed in that way it typically does when pressing hard on something.
This level of strength… didn’t make sense. Did it? He eyed his arm, flexing experimentally. It looked much the same as before he was chosen as a Hand, though shinier.
He’d heard rumors of certain magical creatures with strength that didn’t fit their form. It wasn’t a trait that sentient magic had replicated yet; if dragons knew the secret, they certainly weren’t sharing.
The arcane can hasten one’s movements, but it was usually a fragile strength without extensive supporting spells. Fae and witching magics can be used to pull more than one’s peak to the fore, but the backlash after said energy faded would leave the user incapacitated for weeks. Infernal… maybe? Fezzik didn’t know enough to be sure.
But he did know that the divine couldn’t grant extra strength, save with particular blessings from clerics of certain gods.
Was that what this was, just scaled up? He wasn’t sure; Vexell wasn’t usually associated with strength, but perhaps this was just a thing that all Hands got.
Fezzik was distracted from his musings when he grew aware of a prickling feeling on the nape of his neck. Looking up, he made momentary eye contact with a red haired man, before the mysterious individual looked away.
He muttered under his breath, “Ok, that settles it.” Fezzik was sure, absolutely sure that he’d been seeing this particular man ever since first stepping foot on Joseph’s Haven. What was his deal? Presumably not dangerous, or Nine would have removed him weeks ago.
Though maybe that was a risky assumption to make, considering the apparent caliber of people trying to use him.
Brushing some crumbs off his hands, Fezzik stood and approached the red haired man’s table. The aethermancer, having initially looked away after eye contact, turned back at the sudden motion.
Fezzik saw him immediately stiffen, frantically waving at Fezzik to back off.
“No, don’t, please! I never meant you any h-”
Sound shut off. Fezzik felt the world darken, the air grow thicker as Nine grew aware of something hiding from his gaze.
The man’s plea was cut off as Nine’s power spread out to suffuse the room, questing tendrils driving past a defensive aura that was invisible to Fezzik’s senses. Through the tendrils he could see, Fezzik watched a number of emotions pulse from Nine. Confusion, puzzlement, then anger and consternation as the tendrils of energy returned some piece of info from inside the aethermancer’s mind.
The frozen world sharpened, Nine’s attention turning to hostility, a world of knives all pointing at the red haired man. A seam in reality tore open behind the man, a hole leading to the same place Nine skipped along the edges of for travel.
In a single heartbeat the man was dragged inside, leaving only a letter on the table behind as Nine’s maw snapped shut around the unfortunate soul.
Fezzik’s new patron let out a disgruntled ‘hmph!’ in the crevasses of his mind. The usurper is entirely too judicious with powers he hardly understands.
The world relaxed, and Fezzik took a deep breath. The whole scene had been over in an instant, but he still felt like he’d been frozen in time for an age. The people in the room resumed talking, laughing and drinking and going about their day as if nothing had happened, as if the red haired man had never been there at all.
After all, maybe he hadn’t been. Certainly, Fezzik knew that if he asked around, none of them would remember such a man. Nine’s memory manipulation was quick, and quite thorough. Who was to say the man hadn’t been a figment of his fracturing psyche?
Only one thing. The letter remained. Still sealed, unopened and unread. Naturally when Fezzik approached, he saw that it was addressed to him. He glanced at the corner, seeing Nine’s ever watchful gaze.
It seemed his warden had no interest in the letter; or perhaps it was hidden from direct attention in the same way its possessor had been?
For an all knowing guardian, there was a surprising number of apparent workarounds to hiding from his gaze. Though, Fezzik supposed, it was somewhat necessary to have countermeasures, lest the nobles find themselves utterly outmaneuvered by the emperor and his Hands.
Continuing to ignore Vexell- the god wouldn’t give him a straight answer if he asked for clarification anyways, so there really was no point- Fezzik decided he might as well at least read the letter that a man had given his life to deliver.
He quickly pocketed it, trying not to feel too surreptitious as he headed back to his bedroom; trying to convince oneself that the whole room isn’t secretly watching you is significantly harder when you have active proof that there are, in fact, people secretly watching you.
Regardless he was soon nestled back in his snug little den, as thoroughly warded against intrusion as Nine could create without needing to make physical alterations to the room. He settled in the room’s sole armchair and moved to open the letter, before hesitating.
Normally Nine would alert him if something like this was trapped, but of course, Nine had yet to notice the letter. Bringing it to his attention was a terrible idea. Fezzik had no idea how close he was to being identified as a threat to the throne and summarily eliminated; certainly, reading a letter from insurgents wasn’t exactly the most innocent thing he could be spending time on, in Nine’s eye.
The man, the monster, was unstable, on a hair trigger, difficult to negotiate with or even talk to. Fezzik thought back to just a few days ago, where he’d been mere moments away from being dissected.
He shuddered.
So Nine wasn’t an option. Hmm. He could just trust to his general durability after being chosen as Vexell’s Hand, but that seemed a fool’s decision. Rely on a tool too much and it will break when you most need it. All it would take is one overconfident encounter with something like dragonfire and he’d find his journey cut short for sure.
Self identify? Fezzik could hardly sense most other magic. He’d noticed it growing easier since becoming a Hand, though the only non-divine energy he could identify or track with any measure of certainty was that of the fae. The novice spellbreaker sensed none on the letter, which still left numerous other magics with which it could be cursed or trapped.
Hire a professional? That might draw Nine’s attention, and the aforementioned consequences of which he wanted to avoid.
Ask Vexell? Fezzik dismissed the idea with a snort, but kept coming back to it as he turned the issue over more in his mind. There really were no other options here.
And then there was the man’s reaction when Fezzik had stepped toward him. He certainly seemed to believe that what had been carried was not harmful, though it could of course have been a lie, or him being misinformed.
A second opinion, however unreliable, sounded useful. So he thought outwards, and Vexell answered.
Yes?
Oh come now. Surely you already know what I intend to ask?
A pause.
Oh, of course I do. All us Gods are omniscient and know absolutely everything everywhere all the time, definitely. But maybe I just want to hear it from your mouth.
A giggle made its way across the divine link. Or brain, as it were.
Fezzik paused. Was Vexell implying that the gods weren’t omniscient?
No, no, of course not. What gave you that idea? That would be heresy!
His mind ground to a halt. If it was a lie, it was the most terrible lie he’d ever heard. But how could a god be bad at lying? And wouldn’t a clever god pretend to give a terrible lie in order to make people second guess the truth? But why would he lie like this in the first place?
And then Fezzik realized that the entire point was probably just to discombobulate him, further confirmed by another giggle across the mental link.
Right. Anyways. So this letter I’ve got in front of me. It won’t ahh, kill me or anything if I open it, right?
Fezzik got a distinct sensation of Vexell waving his hand dismissively.
Oh, no, of course not! I’m sure it’s perfectly safe to open. Nothing bad will happen to you or anyone you love, I’m sure.
The god’s grin as he said this was, of course, massive, and his eyes attentive with expectation.
…right. I’m just gonna, uhh, open this now.
Yeah, yeah, you do that! That’s a great idea!
Well if nothing else, Fezzik was fairly sure that the letter wouldn’t immediately kill him. Based on Vexell’s past actions, it seemed he didn’t want Fezzik to die just yet.
Or maybe dying to a letter after surviving everything else would just be cosmically funny to the god.
Yeah yeah it would be, wouldn’t it!
The palpable sense of anxious expectation coming across the link was terribly concerning, but Fezzik pressed on. He grabbed a letter opener from the drawer, and pulled the letter out, bracing for anything to happen as he unfolded it.
“...huh.”
Nothing. Just a normal letter, written in a flowing script that shimmered in the light. When a couple more seconds passed, and nothing seemed to happen, Fezzik slowly began to relax as he read. Disconcertingly, the palpable sense of anticipation wafting off of Vexell never went away throughout the process.
The letter was short. Fairly informal, really, nothing like what he’d expected. It read like so:
Dearest Fezzik,
His eyes immediately widened. The handwriting was familiar. He kept reading.
Your father has abandoned us.
I love you, my son. Come home.
The son’s hands shook as he put the letter down, eyes suddenly welling with tears such that he could no longer read the flowing script. Giggles not his own filled the lost boy’s mind as he sat in an unfamiliar room, far from any friends, and cried.
-----
It was almost an hour before Fezzik regained his composure. There was little else of interest when he read through the rest of the letter. It was written by a different hand, claiming that his mother was safe under their protection, part of a group calling themselves the Order of the Crown's Restraint- a pretentious name if he’d ever heard one- who supposedly wanted only to weaken the Crown’s authority without deposing the Menstappens outright.
That the Menstappen line was uniquely weak right now and any significant blow may lead to killing it off entirely in the future had nothing to do with their thought process, Fezzik was sure.
Oh, of course not. Every Vale citizen knows how trustworthy their betters are!
There was a bitter irony hearing such sentiment from Vexell. If his giggles were any indication, Vexell hadn’t missed Fezzik’s emotions spike in resentment either.
But to the task at hand. Was his mother safe? They claimed as such, of course, but there was no real way to tell. Fezzik knew a Hand had been assigned to her to prevent her from spreading rumors of her son’s existence. How’d the Crown’s Restraint manage to squirrel her away, if indeed they had at all?
It was an interesting enough letter that it all but mandated him returning to the capital. It’s not like he could send anyone in his stead to investigate. No allies, no friends, not nearly enough training, and an overzealous warden in the form of Nine.
So whether the letter was genuine or not, really, he could do nothing right now. Just hope that his mother, Leyra, was still safe.
He spent some more time to think and calm himself, but ready or not noon was approaching, and so was his second scheduled meeting with Claus.
-----
Fezzik found the correct address much faster, this time around. There were fewer people out on the street, though not enough of a difference to be significant or concerning to his untrained eye. He entered the pottery shop with no small amount of hesitation; Claus was still a significant enigma, after all.
He couldn’t help but let out a faint snort. What would foot traffic indicate, anyway? Claus was near certainly canny enough to abduct Fezzik in a back room, somewhere out of the way and quiet.
Agh, to have been given two more years of education in intrigue!
He shook the thoughts away as he stepped inside; worst case, most anything Claus could throw at him would be something Nine could handle. The only risk was if such an event led to Nine deciding his ward’s liability outweighed the benefits of letting him live.
With some trepidation, Fezzik picked up the tiny hammer and rang the bell three times as before. As with before, the false wall smoothly slid open. He was watching closely this time but even so, there was no sign externally that the wall, with its painting and wallpaper, was anything other than just a normal wall. No seam, and the only sign that something might be amiss was that particular wall being lighter on the shelves and other decorations.
Still stalling; the door hung open, and so with a deep and somewhat reassuring breath, Fezzik proceeded inwards.
It was just a few steps again to the parlor, and the first thing he noticed was that almost all of the furnishings were different. Different upholstery, different artwork. Fascinating. What could that possibly imply?
Claus sat there waiting as before, with the mysterious butler who was hopefully not a Steward standing impassively in a corner. Tea and biscuits awaited his attention in the well furnished parlor, though this time with a spread of cheeses and meats as well.
A crystal hand waved graciously at him as the bastard son stepped into the room. “Welcome, my good man. Please, please, have a seat! There’s a lot to discuss.”
The suave, confident, cool and collected persona that Claus exhibited in this room was so different to his gruff mentor personality, or the face he put on at the themed bar. Which one was real? Were any of them? Pripta would teach that any mask was just as valid as another, though Fezzik wasn’t too familiar with the sides of the debate.
He sat with a nod towards Claus, noting that a cup of tea was already prepared. The Hand took a cautious sip.
Perfect. The temperature was just right, and the flavors the same as before. Fezzik eyed the assistant dubiously. Was that man really not a Steward? The only way he could check would be to ask Nine, a most dangerous game. Stewards almost always had tight connections to noble houses; if he was, Nine’s reaction would be unpredictable.
It was the same problem with trying to confirm parts of Claus’ story. Fezzik didn’t know the first thing about corporate espionage, and enlisting anyone’s help wasn’t really possible when they all reported directly back to Nine.
Suggesting Nine take over the island’s underground was really biting Fezzik in the rear, now.
Claus eyed him knowingly. “You look like a young man with a lot on his mind.”
The Hand started. “Hmm? Sorry, didn’t sleep well last night.”
Not, strictly speaking, a lie. Willing misdirection, sure; Fezzik’s sleep had indeed been restless, though not for the reasons Claus might have assumed. Seeing a man dragged into the same space that Nine drew his shadow abilities from was significantly more distressing than concerns over deals made with a liar. The letter supposedly from his mother. The grasping nobles, closing in on him.
All those, and even the nature of his own existence. Was Fezzik the same person as he had been before Vexell chose His Hand?
The young man had tried to find any research on the matter at the library yesterday, and though what he’d found was vanishingly scarce on real info, the few results he had managed to find hadn’t been encouraging. Most philosophers agreed that someone was who they were regardless of their body’s state, as long as their soul remained unaltered.
Meanwhile, one of the few publicly known details regarding becoming a god’s Hand was that one’s soul was altered fairly heavily as part of the process.
He mechanically sipped again at the tea, trying to ignore the quiet chuckling in the recesses of his mind.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Claus nodded sagely. “I understand my good man, I do. Try some nimbus tea before bed, it works wonders.”
The businessman straightened in his chair, clapping his hands softly. “Now, to the meat of the matter. Alfonse.”
The aide stepped forward, handing a small stack of papers to Claus. “Thank you.”
He turned to Fezzik, placing the stack down before him. “I have here a full contract regarding the matters discussed yesterday. Enchanting funds, generous pay, tutoring, it’s all here.”
“Uh-huh.” Fezzik eyed the contract with no small amount of trepidation. While there weren’t many pages, the writing was small. He picked a page up and started reading, probably the only real skill he’d learned well in his childhood.
Contractor, contractee, obligations, benefits, consequences of signing, consequences of failing to meet terms. Much of it was just legalese outlining the affected parties- he noted with some amusement that the list of guarantors for Claus was short, and the list for himself nonexistent.
“How uhh. How legally binding is this, actually, when neither of us formally exist in the roles we’ll be signing as?”
Claus waved a hand. “I wouldn’t worry too much, this is largely a subtle formality to keep the company bankers who manage such things happy.”
It was surprisingly detailed in some ways, and very vague in others. The contract was quite explicit on how payment would be making its way into his account, and very clear on what was and wasn’t within the bounds of casting guidance. On the flip side: what exactly the tests on his person would entail was essentially a blank entry. It was clear though, heavily stressed that he would come to no harm in any sense of the word.
He sensed no magic on the page. No fae geas, no infernal contracting, no divine oath. Fezzik looked up, aware that he’d zoned out for several minutes. Claus hadn’t changed in the intervening time, though his teacup was nearly empty.
Claus noticed him looking. “Well?”
“It all looks in order.” Fezzik let out a nervous breath. Was he jumping in bed with a devil? “Do you have something to sign?”
The supposed businessman reached towards a pocket, before pausing as Alfonse handed him a quill from behind. “Ah yes I suppose with your particular disposition, a pen’s magic wouldn’t function properly at all. This will have to do.”
The contract was before him, a quill in his hand, an inkwell at the ready. All Fezzik had to do was sign. He took another deep breath, putting the quill to page. A line, then a curve, and so on. The new… employee? Subject of study? set the quill down, turning towards Claus and met by a massive grin.
“Magnificent, my dear fellow. We start tomorrow, yes?”
“Same time as before for training? My schedule is, ah, relatively free right now.”
“Rest assured Ferra, you are now the owner of a significant amount of my attention. Between noon and dinner every day, methinks? I’ll have a tutor and enchanting materials ready for you inside of the week as well.”
Fezzik blinked in surprise. Previously their training had been only for an hour or two maybe thrice a week. “Four hours of training and two of study, then?”
“Indeed. Though if you find yourself growing tired, we can skip the training.”
The young scion snorted. “I’m not just giving myself away for free, you know.”
“True enough, true enough.” Claus drained the rest of his tea. “We’ll be meeting outside the city for more involved training, tomorrow.”
As he spoke, Alfonse smoothly slipped a small card with an address and some instructions into Fezzik’s hand.
“Ah, very good. What kind of training, if I may ask?”
Claus winked. “You’ll see, it’s a surprise. But I hear you like dueling?”
“It could be said of me, yes.” Fezzik tried to avoid musings on how dueling was essentially his only real hobby or personality trait, without much success. Life as a relatively destitute orphan didn’t leave space for a pursuit of the arts, and of course his magic had always been something to hide and disdain.
He shook the thoughts away. “Will I need to bring anything?”
His employer gave a broad smile. “Only your two hands and a can-do attitude. We’ll be moving more towards application of theory rather than just practice of the concepts.”
Claus clapped his hands together. “Right, I believe that’s everything? I have business to attend to, Alfonse will see you out.”
Fezzik hardly had time to bid farewell before he found himself ushered out of the building and back onto the street. For a butler who avoided physical contact, Alfonse was awfully pushy.
He sighed. At least the meeting was over. Another encounter with individuals of dubious means, another success with no corpses involved. But now what to do with the rest of his day?
It was still hardly past noon, and he was getting quite sick of moping inside. After a bowl of some noodle dish from a street vendor, the vagrant decided to wander the parts of the island that he and Mel hadn’t gotten to- had it really only been two weeks ago?
The world really did make some glorious, mysterious things. On the far side of the island, separated from town by a good three hour walk, Fezzik stumbled onto a forest burning down. A bubble of smoky air separated it from the rest of the island, the whole thing contained within a distorted bubble of time. A small facility nestled up against the bubble, made of lustrous white marble and shimmering with arcane energy to his eyes. A research station?
As Fezzik watched, the entire scene before him flickered as if reset, returning to a less burned state.
He mused over the bubble of trapped space as he thought of the letter that had so perilously made its way into his hands this morning.
How could he possibly travel, both to confirm or disprove the claims, and to see his mother again?
The list was short, if no less impossible for its brevity; Nullify Nine. Build political support such that he could stand on his own in Vale’s Pillar, the court of nobles that guided the nation a step below Grier.
Easy stuff.
He supposed one option was to lean on his status as a Hand, try to strongarm the Church into supporting him- Vexell’s giggle at that thought was less than reassuring- but the idea of leaning on something that was forced upon him made Fezzik less than happy.
And of course, there’s always the risk the Church decides to use you!
He sighed. Not helping.
Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to wallow in your own narrative ignorance.
Fezzik refused to rise to the bait.
I can read your thoughts, you know.
“Pink dragon, red dragon, green dragon, blue dragon.” He studiously ignored the god, focusing instead on the flickering flames before him. The pattern flickered again. Hmm. Was it resetting, stuck in some time loop?
Eventually he moved on. If there were secrets to uncover here, a dedicated group of scholars would likely do far better than one street rat.
He wandered for quite some time. Occasionally the trail would fade to almost nothing, Fezzik reduced to delicately picking a path through thick forest or down a craggy rock face. Sometimes it’d blossom out into a full road, pointing back unerringly to the town that made the island relevant to society. It was an odd cross of untamed nature and civilization, the island adapting to a sudden influx of new people and industry in a haphazard and unplanned way.
He’d been walking for quite some time now, stopping occasionally to drink from a stream or rest in the sun, thinking all the way. As a result, the next oddity that Fezzik encountered coincided with the sun beginning to dip down below the edge of the island.
A sight that always made him dizzy, when watching from the edge; man wasn’t meant to watch the sun highlight the edge of infinity, sinking down behind the endless mist at the place where forever and now meet.
As it was, standing on the interior of an island simply gave the setting sun a gorgeous frame, oranges, reds and purples streaking across a layered and cloud studded sky. The colors matched nicely with the grove of house sized fungi before him, nestled up against the foothills of the Haven’s central mountain and surrounded on all sides by a valley of pines.
Curious, he watched for a time from his vantage point at the edge of the valley. The house comparison was not made by accident; there were windows in the fungi, and bridges between stalks. A few people were visible on small balconies hung from mushroom heads, watching the sunset with drinks before them. Music could be heard, gently floating to his ear on a soft breeze.
While the mushroom grove itself was cast into shadow and hidden from the sun by the surrounding trees, soft yellow light abounded. Small pixies, dancing from person to person and gathering in open spaces. Small lanterns hung from mushroom caps, from pines; arcane or not, Fezzik couldn’t tell.
There was a clear delineation between pine and mushroom, a fairly large and decorated clearing with benches, a large firepit, and some form of game that Fezzik didn’t recognize stuffed over in a corner. The transition to mushroom was fast. While the largest mushrooms had stems easily wider than a house and spaced fairly far apart, all the between spaces within the copse were taken up by countless smaller mushrooms of sizes varying from a hand to an orc.
It was quite the idyllic image of a comfortable, semi secretive locale. Fezzik was immediately suspicious of how perfectly the mushroom grove matched his mental expectation of a quirky, quiet, off-the-beaten-path adventurer’s tavern.
From the outside, at least. For all he knew, it was just some elven commune or something equally discreet. Admittedly the lack of warning signs and the complete lack of elves on any of the balconies made that distinctly unlikely but still, it was possible.
He was halfway down the hill when it happened. Fezzik’s ears popped and his senses dulled for a moment, momentum carrying his body through some vaguely felt membrane. It was a sense so faint that he doubted it was real, though the question was put to rest when his thoughts were interested by a sudden-
*POP*
“Hi there! Welcome to my domain!”
The emperor’s son turned, startled. It- or she, rather- was a dryad. Fezzik had never seen one in person before, but the green pigmentation, barklike skin, sheen of fae energy and the… one might say larger than life assets, were a dead giveaway. “Uh, hi. Who are-”
“My name’s Tulip! What’s yours? Your soul looks so beautiful, by the way. Can I touch it? Are you a-” she paused to gasp, her look of cheer expanding into a massive, full face smile. “You are! Welcome! It’s been so long since I’ve hosted one of the God’s-”
Thinking quickly, he shushed her with a finger to her lips. Tulip mutely complied, her eyes widening in surprise. “Quiet about that, if you will. I’d like to keep that under wraps please.”
She clapped her hands together, eyes twinkling with childish joy. “Oooh, a secret identity? You’ll fit right in! It’s safe with me, cross my heart and hope to die!” She mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.
Fezzik paused in concern. The complete lack of quiet giggling or commentary from his unwanted soul parasite was almost more disconcerting than if there'd been a muted sense of anticipation or glee. The dryad seemed genuine, at least, but as a fae spirit who didn’t fully understand the concept of a lie the way living species do, her seeming lack of shiftiness meant less than nothing.
It could also be a completely irrelevant question, if she truly possessed the childish impulsivity that dryads were often known for in the stories. Regardless of proclivity towards lying or not, a promise to keep a secret was worth less than dust if the person in question blurted out the first thing on their mind to anyone listening.
Regardless, he soldiered on. If nothing else Fezzik was intensely curious about the nature of this place, and the apparent proprietor had already bid him welcome.
“So what is this place, exactly?”
“Oh, it’s a gathering place for the less fortunate!” She chirped, a beaming smile returning to her face. “I figured I have all these powers, I should do something nice with them! Come in, come in. I know you’re hungry!”
He tensed inadvertently at the casual implication of power. Of the strongest non-mortal races, dryads were typically ranked slightly behind dragons, matched only by the strongest mortal casters and those touched by gods.
Ostensibly if she did grow violent, as a Hand Fezzik had the upper hand due to the fae’s inherent weakness to divine. In reality? The experience gap was likely closer to a sheer cliff face, despite Tulip’s seemingly childish mentality.
Let alone how Hymma would react to one of her precious dryads getting hurt. Past instances were well documented, and her tantrums always put Naphele, goddess of storms, to absolute shame. Vexell would have to peel him off the floor with a spatula, if the island even stayed intact.
He reminded himself that constant paranoia wasn’t healthy for the mind, though arguably he already failed a hypothetical mental wellness check on account of the quiet giggling that frequented the back of his mind.
Fezzik steeled himself to follow; after all, if she was dangerous, surely there wouldn’t be all these people out, talking quietly, and laughing? He was already in her domain anyways, it was too late to be worrying about a maleficent host.
She noted his hesitation, frowning slightly. “Don’t be nervous, there’s so many cool people to meet!” Tulip sproinked- he wasn’t sure if that was actually a word, but flouncing or bouncing didn’t do the way she moved justice- back towards him, grabbing one of his hands and tugging gently yet insistently.
This did not, of course, calm him down any. All she had to do was accidentally squeeze, and his hand would be pulp. Her excitement paid no heed to his internal panic, however, and Fezzik found himself led forwards at a fairly quick walking pace. She didn’t even seem to be struggling; despite being shorter than him, Fezzik got the impression that if he dug in his heels, it was his shoulder that would be dislocated, rather than her tumbling over at the resistance.
In moments they were before the main entrance, a particularly large mushroom at the front of the grove. The steps leading up into the stem were seemingly grown entirely out of the fungus, no markings of axes or tools upon them.
The light cast by the pixies was warm and inviting, a soft relaxing glow that melded with the textured mushroom walls. The internal space was surprisingly open, a flameless central hearth dominated the room, and half of the rounded external wall was occupied by a single continuous bar.
The room was occupied just past the boundary of what Fezzik would consider too full. A couple countertop seats were open, but scarcely any of the seating around the central hearth or any of the other plush couches and chairs in the room were open. It wasn’t stuffy, thankfully, due to a large number of windows, the double wide open doorway, and a soft, omnipresent breeze.
Despite the surrounding conversations, it was actually pleasantly quiet. Instead of a thunder of overlapping chatter the air was instead filled with jumbled voices at a reasonable speaking volume. Fezzik tilted his head, listening, and was intrigued to find that no matter how he tried, no full sentences were discernible, just individual words devoid of meaning.
People of all shapes and sizes filled the room. A single gemma hovered near the hearth, countless facets glinting. A small cadre of gnimmel, their armor hidden out of sight, bickering with a pair of goblins and a singular gnome at one of the side tables. A… was that a half giant? Stretching his magical senses, Fezzik detected swirls of star and arcane around the man, spatial magic shrinking his form but not hiding the sense of solidity and density he radiated just by existing.
A floating bubble of water on the far side of the room, what seemed to be a naiad and nymph coexisting without immediately resorting to murder. Despite the distance, it was a bit disorienting to see someone engage in a conversation at a thirty degree angle to the ground and their conversation partner, head poking out of a watery orb.
But the thing that startled him the most. A godling, here! The title was a moniker, a mildly heretical one at that. The species had no name they gave to outsiders. Exactly what portion of their nature led to such a nickname was unknown, though rumors abounded of shared divinity and similar mistwicked theories. He’d only ever seen two from afar, even in the capital. Unlike those two, this godling’s skin positively shone. Just how old were they?
Fezzik was shaken out of his scholarly curiosity by a voice in his ear and a quiet chuckle in his head. “Well?” Tulip asked, hands on her hips. “Whaddya think!”
“Uhh. Why mushrooms?”
She pouted. “Why not? They’re easy to work with, and it looks cool! C’mon, admit it!” This last part was accompanied by a friendly slug of the shoulder that nearly toppled Fezzik.
“Yeah, it is pretty cool.” He rubbed at his shoulder, holding back a wince. “I love the way the lighting plays off the walls.”
Tulip beamed. “I always try my hardest to make it inviting! Less fortunate people from all over the region come here to get back on their feet and find opportunity! It’s always cheap, since my magic provides for so much of everything. The hot spring in the middle of the grove has healing properties, you know. C’mon, I’ll show you!”
So saying, she reached again towards his hand.
Memories of horror stories regarding dryads and intimate partners flashed immediately to mind as he reflexively drew back his arm. Fezzik coughed to clear his throat, proceeding delicately and holding back a new wave of panic. “Sorry but I, uhh, don’t exactly want to be… nibbled on.”
Tulip froze. Confusion flashed over her face, then understanding, disgust, and apology. “What? Oh! No no no, I grew out of that centuries ago! Besides I wouldn’t do that to a H-” she paused- “handsome guy like you.”
Fezzik later would swear up and down that she muttered something about being curious regarding the flavor of a Hand, though the topic was dropped.
She coughed awkwardly, before changing the subject with all the grace of a wingless dragon crash landing. “Anyways, what brought you to my domain?”
Fezzik shrugged. “Oh, I dunno. Just wandering the island, seeing the sights I guess.”
Tulip gave him a knowing nod, eyes filled with sympathy. “You’ve done a lot of wandering in your life, haven’t you.”
He stiffened, barely resisting the urge to scan for potential nearby eavesdroppers. She noticed the motion, whacking him lightly on the arm- he feared a bruise, before remembering the discoveries of his morning regarding his newfound durability. The reminder served only to sour his mood further, something Tulip clearly picked up on. Stupid fae empathy sense. “Come on, relax! Lots of people here are like that. It’s not exactly a-”
The dryad was cut off by the sound of glass shattering and a chorus of cheers. She winced. “Hey, I’ve got to go thump the skulls of whoever just broke my antique Gemmacrafted glassware. Try meeting some people, yeah?”
Before he could respond, she’d darted off through the crowd, surrounded by a small bubble of space that people unconsciously made for her.
Left alone and adrift in an unknown place, Fezzik simply let the energy of the crowd wash over him from a spot along the nearest wall for a time. People glanced his way occasionally, but no one seemed to find him especially remarkable; certainly, when compared against beings of crystal or individuals that glow, or people with vines growing out of their body, his very much human physique was nothing to write home about.
Eventually he approached the wall to wall bar. Fezzik’s face soured somewhat at the sight of an emperors’ tongue- a wine cocktail mixed with some mild bewitched dust that made the drinker more verbally charismatic for a time- in front of the patron to his left.
The bartender was a tall, broad chested, dark skinned human with a vibrantly silver shock of hair. His chest was bare, and reminiscent of a slab of granite. Red and green vines, like tattoos or burn scars, wove their way down his neck and out to the tips of his fingers.
“What’ll ya have.” The voice was deep and smooth, molten chocolate to the ear.
“The bartender’s special?” Fezzik wasn’t terribly sure what he was in the mood for, and servers at obviously magical places such as these often had a number of tricks for answering that question.
The man grunted in response. A moment later Fezzik’s eyebrows shot up; first off his forehead, and then through the ceiling as his inherent divine magic sparked off against previously unseen traces of infernal energy.
Knives prickled along Fezzik’s back as the world slowed down, as it had this morning. A warlock was something Nine would not tolerate. The man’s will sharpened and focused on the source of power- the bartender- but before Nine’s freeform cast could run to completion, other tendrils of fae energy wormed their way into his working and disrupted it gently, pushing his domain away from the barman.
“None of that, now!”
In the muted half space that many of Nine’s powers worked through, Fezzik witnessed Tulip manifest suddenly before them, hands on hips. “This one’s mine. He’s registered with your beloved emperor. Why are one of you here, anyway? I didn’t invite you!”
Her eyes flicked down to Fezzik for a moment, eyes widening slightly in surprise as she saw he too was a part of this muted world. When there was no immediate response from Nine, she spoke to the young godtouched. “I assume you’re aware of the Hound following you around?”
He only nodded dumbly in response.
“Well… tell him to fuck off, yeah? Everyone here is under my protection, you included. His presence is not needed or wanted, and Mennik’s spell was harmless. He uses infernal casting as a channel for my fae energy for mental spells related to bartending. The leakage is minimal, and soothed by my domain.”
Her face suddenly widened in panic. “Please please please don’t think I’m poisoning people or something!”
“I- uh- I don’t, I guess?”
Tulip’s expression switched quickly to relief. “Great, great! So yeah. Tell your Hound to fuck off, and we’re all good then! Sorry for not warning you about Mennik, I didn’t notice the Hound at first.”
So saying she vanished, and the world quickly returned to its unmuted state. Several people in the room twitched an ear or narrowed eyes, noticing that something had happened. Mennik stumbled slightly, before eyeing Fezzik with no small amount of trepidation.
He muttered under his breath, “You heard her, screw off.”
There was a short pause, before the sense of prickling on Fezzik’s neck faded slightly.
He soon got his drink, Mennik significantly more wary of him than prior. This particular drink was spelled to enhance emotions and help the imbiber work through them. While somewhat insulting to be paired with a drink often given to stereotypical sobbing drunks, when Fezzik applied a critical eye to himself he had to admit it was a fair choice.
After a few minutes and a couple sips, Fezzik thought back to what he’d just witnessed. Another individual that could stand up to Nine, for one; really, they were popping up like ants from the woodworks. Secondly, an interesting piece of fae trivia. Was Tulip Mennik’s familiar? Or perhaps more interestingly, was it the other way around? He was wrestling with this particular question, and the implications, when the previously empty seat to his left suddenly filled with someone who promptly elbowed him gently in the side.
“Hey.”
He turned to eye the individual in question. It was a shorter gal, long pinkish red descending down her back in rolling waves. Her face was round, her grey eyes twinkling with expectant curiosity.
“Hey?”
She gasped in delight, clapping her hands. “I was right, it is you! Ferra the hero!”
The woman’s- girl’s? demeanor reminded him so much of Mel that it hurt. Idly wondering how she was doing, and what the Horns were up to, Fezzik only hardly heard what she’d said.
He blinked. What?
“Excuse me, could you repeat that?”
She clapped him on the shoulder, face a mixture somewhere between giddiness and awe. “I called you a hero! It’s only right after that island you and the Horns saved.”
Despite himself and aided by the alcohol, a smile tugged at the edge of his face. “I guess news travels fast. Heroes, huh? What’d we do to deserve that title?”
“Well, you’re one of the strongest teams in the area! You saved all those miners, and that island. Maybe more, if the sentient infernals had broken out!”
She continued on, framing a number of Fezzik’s contracts in what he would internally admit to be very favorable lighting, even while under the influence. Her name was Lydia, and she seemed genuinely delighted to meet him, Fezzik’s own less than impressive self image.
They got deeper into their cups as the night went on, Fezzik struggling to stay in his seat even as he imbibed a ludicrous volume of alcohol, far more than he ever had before Vexell touched him.
Lydia matched him almost cup for cup, her enthusiasm slurring into gibberish as the night proceeded. Eventually, his memory and perception grew blurred. Somehow, Fezzik made it into a bed, mumbling thanks for whoever helped him get there. A door closed, and Fezzik finally slipped into turgid unconsciousness.
Lydia sighed as the door closed on the man’s room. She headed downstairs; away from that terrifying dryad’s domain and into the depths of the woods, such as they were on this island.
Her mind strained under the weight of the working that held back her drunkenness, filled to bursting competing with a man who somehow drank what seemed like his entire body weight in hard liquor.
Weaving her mind and her hands, Lydia pulled a thread from the working. It trembled but held, thankfully. Seven smooth pebbles, so black they seemed as part of the night sky, were removed from a pocket and placed equidistant around the clearing. The thread of magic was woven into them, Lydia chanting softly under her breath as she worked.
A snap of her fingers had the small lantern in her hand bursting to flame, which she placed in the center of the stones. A small bowl of water served as the well for the drunkenness, her shoulders sagging as the tension was lifted off them.
The pebbles began to glow softly to her magical sight, the flame flickering slightly as its energy was used to channel the drunkenness into a perception ward protecting the clearing from discovery while she slept.
A small model tent was removed from another fold of her robes, and with the tap of a gnarled liferoot wand, it sprang to full size. Lydia crawled inside quickly, grateful to finally rest. She’d need every wink of sleep she could get; there was much more to do in the future.