Michael Hesse panted as he ran through an alien forest. Tree-like fungi stretched far into the...
Ascension: But I don't WANT to be an executioner!
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Prologue: In which a desperate warlock discovers a handful of truths.
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
Cross posting this from SB. Seven more chapters incoming immediately.
Any advice/criticism is welcome.
Any advice/criticism is welcome.
Michael Hesse panted as he ran through an alien forest. Tree-like fungi stretched far into the sky, scraping the ceiling of the elvish warrens. He had lost them a few turns back, but he wasn't going to rest just yet. If the elves caught up with him again, they would kill him - he was probably closer to the abyss than any human had been in decades, and the elves wouldn't take that lying down.
This had been a terrible idea. He knew that going into the venture - but he wasn't afraid. It wasn't that he was a particularly brave person, mind you - he simply wasn't capable of being afraid anymore. He had lost his fear around a year ago, as payment for his third wish. Now, three wishes later, Michael had chosen this path, not out of desperation, but out of curiosity.
Curiosity was, after all, one of the only emotions he could still feel in the tiny seventh of his soul that his contracted demon had not yet claimed. And so, Michael had set out, to find out the truth about the abyss – why the elves were guarding it so jealously, and what laid at the bottom. And maybe a little bit to spite the elves, too. He could still feel spite.
Part of him wanted to stop, wait for the elves to catch up, and ask what exactly the deal was with these mushrooms. Their roots were giving off a faint glow that lit the cavern, and he had no idea what corpses they could be feeding on this far underground. But, luckily, even without fear, Michael still held a sense of logic. He knew that the elves wouldn't answer him; they'd just kill him, and he'd die still wondering. No, far better to at least see the bottom of the abyss. Even if there was no answer, he'd at least get to see what it looked like down there.
Michael tripped, scrambling across moist roots, a clattering, crunching noise resounding through the caverns. He hummed inquisitively, picking up the object he had tripped on.
"Bones, huh? They're elvish, too. No marrow." Michael muttered, snapping the bone in half to inspect its structure. He gave a tentative lick to the brownish fluid seeping from the center. The bitter taste of strong alcohol scorched his throat and sinuses. Michael grinned with satisfaction. These were a highblood's bones. The fluid in lowblood's bones had a more sugary taste.
He then noted something unusual – as the juices dripped to the ground, the faint light in the roots went dark, wherever the fluid landed. He bent down to examine it more closely-
And was interrupted as an arrow flew over his head.
Whoops.
Looks like they had caught up.
He probably shouldn't have spent valuable time on this stuff.
Still, his investigation had provided him with an out. He dodged the second arrow, and pulled a dwarvish fire striker from an easily accessible pouch on his bag. A second later, the bone in his hand had become a small torch.
The elves stopped. Michael smirked. He couldn't see their faces behind the featureless masks they wore, but he imagined they were sweating a bit.
"These roots… they'll explode if I drop this, right? That's what I thought." He said with a grin. "Never thought my whole dissection phase a month back would help me out like this. Jeez, it would have been embarrassing if I didn't know highblood bones were flammable and got killed with a solution right there."
"…What do you want, warlock? Why did you come here?" One of the elves asked. The leader, from the triangle emblazoned on his mask.
"Well," Michael said, smiling, "I want to know. I want to know everything. There's so much to learn, in this world. Did you guys know that Dwarvish flesh is actually translucent, beneath their outer skin? Tastes like crap, too. Ooh, and fun fact, there's a piece of the ogre brain that doesn't do anything! If you cut it out, it has absolutely no effect!"
The elf interjected, before he could start talking about the interesting effects of removing a dog's pancreas.
"So what? You want to know about the ancestral grove, and then you'll just leave?"
"Hm? No, that's not what I want. Sounds cool, but we both know I only have until this torch stops burning. No, I want to see the fallen god. That thing in the bottom of the Abyss, that gave birth to the demons. I want to look at it."
There was silence for a moment.
"…Very well," the elvish commander said, eventually. "I will lead you there."
"Commander!" one of the three other elves shouted, taking an angry step towards his leader. "You can't be serious! If a human goes down there-!"
The commander held up a hand to halt him. "I know. But the ancestral grove cannot be sacrificed. We will simply have to deal with that problem after this one."
Michael smiled savagely, and followed the elvish commander.
***
It was a bit of a shock when the massive cavern suddenly ended. In one spot there was ground, and not two feet from it, the sheer walls and empty blackness of the Abyss. Michael could see sunlight too, filtering in from above. The seemingly bottomless pit ran all the way from the surface down to who knows where. In the distance, across the great pit, he could make out more giant mushrooms; the fallen god having cleaved a hole straight through whatever these elvish caverns were as he plunged into the depths of the earth.
Now, the question was how to get down there. Or it would have been, had he not been immediately attacked as he approached the edge.
The elvish saber cut cleanly through his wrist first, his torch tumbling into the depths, hand still gripping it. Michael felt searing pain as he did his best hedgehog impression, around a dozen feathered spines sprouting from his back as the elves fired on him.
He toppled, forwards, into the abyss.
It couldn't be helped, then.
"Avnas, heal me when I hit the ground." He muttered, before darkness claimed him.
***
Michael awoke, and felt nothing. That was to be expected; he had used his last wish, after all. He had nothing left of his soul, and even his empty shell would crumble soon. But, at least, he would be able to see the fallen god now.
…That didn't excite him. He had paid his curiosity, along with all his remaining emotions, to grant his final wish. Still, if nothing else, he needed to at least make sure it wasn't all in vain. Michael stood up, and staggered forward through the darkness of the abyss. So far down, there was no way to see anything, despite the pinprick of light so far above him.
Still, the ground sloped downwards, in a somewhat rounded shape, toward a single center point. Once, long ago, Michael had seen the crater left when a fallen star impacted the ground. This was like that, but on an entirely different scale. He supposed that made sense - a god sized crater, formed as a result of a fallen god. That was the true nature of the abyss. And, at its center-
He could see it, now. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but… it certainly wasn't this. It was big - very big. And also very, very dead. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say it was never alive to begin with. A massive, empty husk, crafted of steel and the same glossy chitin that his demon's core was protected by. But, this was certainly no demon - there, in its side, hanging open, about six feet up, was a steel door.
Michael managed to clamber up shredded holes in the steel and chitin, and into the door. Numbly, he made his way through the empty hallways of the alien structure. He brushed his hand against the smooth white walls, and found them to be the same chitinous material, though there were some areas where the stuff was blackened and warped.
"What… is this?" he muttered.
{███████ ███████████: ███arting understanding}
Pain.
A splitting headache, like a stake being hammered into his skull.
And then
Through all the pain
Understanding
For a second, he saw the truth of everything.
Demons…
Fallen gods…
What a joke.
An enormous, cosmic prank.
Michael Hesse gave a single dry chuckle.
And then, his body crumbled to dust and he knew no more.
Rest in kill Michael, you crazy serial killer. We hardly knew ye.
But yeah, in this one: A bit of stuff about how the demons work, and some slight infodumping on the nature of the non-humans in this world.
Second draft this might just get cut for something a bit less over the top - maybe just a different character making their first contract or something.
But yeah, in this one: A bit of stuff about how the demons work, and some slight infodumping on the nature of the non-humans in this world.
Second draft this might just get cut for something a bit less over the top - maybe just a different character making their first contract or something.
Chapter 1: In which we meet our unlikely hero.
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
I was seven years old when I first killed another living being. It wasn't a person or anything, mind you; just a rat that my father had caught. It was a plump thing, but with scars that made it clear that it had survived much. From first sight, I knew that the creature before me was a hero, one that had overcome all manner of strife in its admittedly short life. And as I gazed into its panicked eyes where father had strapped it down, I found myself shaking in terror. I didn't want to. This creature's only crime had been its survival, and the fact that humanity found him loathsome. But…
"Make the cut, Sigvald. End it in one blow, without hesitation. The verdict has already been rendered; you are simply here to prevent any further pain," my Father told me.
Indeed, that was simply how it was. I had no choice. I was simply the tool of his destruction, not the hand wielding it.
I was not a killer.
I was not a killer.
I was not a killer.
With those thoughts, I closed my eyes and raised the blade.
"Stop," commanded Father. "Open your eyes, Sigvald. You must not look away. No matter what, you must give him at least that dignity."
I opened my eyes, and brought the blade down.
***
From that point on, father continued to force me to kill. When I was ten, I ended the life of a fox. When I was thirteen, I began joining my father in his hunts of wild dogs and pigs infesting the town. When I was fourteen, one of the ogres owned by one of the nobles broke his bindings and rampaged through the town, before eventually being apprehended. Father had me kill that one as well.
It was hard. That was the day I first donned the uniform of an executioner, and first held the headsman's axe in my hands. And as I stepped forward to perform the deed, I think I left something behind. The beast seemed human in all ways that mattered. If not for his horns, sharp teeth, and blue skin he would have looked exactly like one. As I locked eyes with him and brought the blade down, the crowd cheered. It was unsurprising. The ogre had injured many people, and damaged quite a few houses.
I spent the next fifteen minutes vomiting and dry heaving.
Still, life went on, and a year later I executed my first person. He was a murderer, I think. Or maybe a rapist. I don't honestly remember. After a while, the corpses began blurring together.
Regardless, it was when I was seventeen that I finally noticed. I had forgotten the face of the first man I killed, and had stopped getting sick at all after the executions. I was ready to inherit my father's duty as headsman.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
***
The day that sets the events leading to me running away from home in motion begins like any other. I climb out of bed and dress myself - a dark overcoat, thrown over a more normal tunic. White gloves, thrown over my hands, their purpose twofold - to keep me warm in the winter air, and to protect the innocent masses from making contact with my "unclean" hands.
Father has already left to fetch food from the market, so I busy myself with repairs - patching the holes in the roof from the previous night's storm. It's as I'm setting up the ladder to reach the roof that I see someone approaching our home.
People don't just visit an executioner's home. Why on earth would they? They say our line itself is cursed - the descendants of a Demon Lord, branded by our gray hair and red eyes. I don't put much stock in that, mind you - Demons aren't exactly known for having human descendants. Still, the stigma is there, and all of the executioner families of Germania have the same defining features. Thus, when people visited our family it was because they needed something - usually medical advice.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like I resent them for it. While I like to think of myself as a good person… I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be involved with this family of killers had I not been born into it. It might be needlessly judgemental, for them to treat me as though I'm infected - but it makes sense, and in their position, I would likely do the same.
Still, despite the people of the land looking down on us, there was no one in the small town of Beverende with more expertise in the human body than the family who regularly took people apart. After all, a big part of being an executioner is learning how not to kill people. Sure, my knowledge was exceeded by the doctors and surgeons of big cities, who were in turn inferior to the timeless wisdom held by the oldest of the elves, and the bizarre esoteric knowledge and machines I'd heard the dwarves held.
But none of those people - aside from the Elvish governor - lived in a moderately sized town like Beverende, so the burden of medical procedure fell to my father, and by extension myself. Medical advice is likely the reason for my early morning visitor on this day as well. Well, less medical advice and more emergency medical treatment. Even from far off, I can tell she's seen better days.
My visitor is a young woman, about my own age - wearing a frilly dress, one you'd only see on a noblewoman. That being said, the dress has clearly seen better days; it's stained with mud and blood, torn and ragged. Its wearer seems to have not fared much better. Bruises, cuts, and caked on dirt cover her face and hands. Her bright red hair is dirty, clumped together, and cut unevenly. In short, she's a mess.
I meet her halfway down the path. She locks eyes with me, panting heavily, clearly straining under the weight of the bizarre bundle of cloth she's carrying on her back. No, now that I'm this close, I can see that it's no mere bundle of cloth - her burden has a human shape, although two horns extending from its forehead make it clear that this isn't the case.
An Ogre. Any doubt as to her standing flees my mind; only wealthy nobles can afford the cost of an Ogre servant. This, of course, also offers some explanation to the origin of my visitor. Human nobility has been mostly phased out in Germania. Our proximity to the Abyss has led to much stricter Elvish governance than in other nations. The less freedom our people have near the Abyss, the more easily the Elves can keep the demons they loath so much contained, and keep their de facto rule of humanity in place.
No, a human noble would have to come from one of the nearby nations - Likely Üngaria, it's the closest. And, considering the news coming out of that mess of a country, her current state makes sense. She was a refugee, and had somehow managed to make it here through the great swamp the Elves had created between our nations.
After a brief moment of eye contact, she speaks.
"I was told that the town doctor lived here. If you are his apprentice, I would have you help me carry my servant to the place where she can be treated."
I bite back a sigh. Even in such a state, a noble will be a noble, huh?
"...as you wish." I give the standard reply of those living under said nobles, and move to take her burden from her.
"What are you doing, apprentice? I said to help me carry her, not to carry her yourself! My Eva is not some sack of flour, to be carried haphazardly by some scholar's apprentice! She is fragile, especially in her current state! You are merely to help with some of the weight, not risk dropping her by carrying her yourself!" the girl shouts at me.
Scholar's apprentice? Has she never been out of the big city? Not every town can afford people who exist solely to practice medicine, you know! Still, I apologize, and simply move to support her own efforts to carry the small Ogre on her back. Better to avoid arguing with a noblewoman. We place her ogre on the gurney in the medicine room of my home. She looks to be in even worse shape than her master. Her skin, which should be a bluish shade, is instead a very pale grey, and she's sweating profusely. The creature is sick. Extremely sick. Even worse, a tear in her clothing shows a rag roughly wrapped around her body, stained with blood. Probably an improvised bandage.
I immediately set to work boiling water, and toss a rag in said water. As that happens, I address my patient's master.
"Unless you have objections, I'll be treating the ogre first. She's in a rough state, and the more we delay treatment, the less likely it is she'll pull through. Still, I understand if you want to clean yourself up. We have a tub for bathwater over there, and I'm fairly sure we still have some of mother's old clothes somewhere around here."
The noblewoman shakes her head in response. "I cannot simply abandon my Eva to the hands of some amateur. No, I will remain by her side until the danger has passed." She sits down in a chair next to the gurney, totally tuning me out as she clasps the Ogre's hand with her own. I very carefully avoid making any comments about how she just covered that perfectly innocent chair with mud and dirt.
Ignoring the minor scratches for now, I pull her shirt up, revealing the poorly done bandage on her abdomen, which I begin unwinding. I'm greeted by an ugly looking wound. It's at least managed to clot without issue, but the ugly swelling around it makes the infection clear. That's really not good - Ogres tend to heal quickly, but if their wounds end up infected, the dwarvish medicines that humans use are no good for them.
"Do you know how long ago her wound clotted? How much blood did she lose? I'm going to have to excise the entire infection here, it's necrotized," I tell the noble - who still has yet to give me her name.
"Absolutely not! What kind of farcical doctor are you, to cut your patient open to heal them? Do you not have medicine to treat infection?" She replies, angrily.
I sigh as I unpack my scalpel.
"I'm sorry, my lady, but a small town like this has only a handful of Ogres. The only medicine we have is for human consumption. It's not safe for their kind. A caravan of tomb raiders came into town a few days ago, you can check with them, but otherwise the nearest Dwarvish settlement we could get the needed medicine from is three weeks away; and at this rate it will be a miracle if she lasts three days." I look her in the eye. "I'm only suggesting this option because this is literally the only chance she has."
The noblewoman grits her teeth and clenches her fists.
"Do it."
I nod, and make the cut.
***
A human would not have survived. The necrosis was far too deep, and too much flesh was lost. Luckily, my patient was not human. As far as I can tell, she'll make a full recovery - though it will certainly take some time before she'll be able to show the strength of her race.
Still, with the surgery done, it's a simple matter of treating the fever. Without her servant in danger, the noblewoman finally decided to go clean herself up. She still didn't give me her name. At this point I'm going to start calling her Lady Red if she doesn't tell me soon.
As I turn around to fetch a new rag for her forhead, I hear a gasp from behind me. There's a clattering as I turn around, and I see the Ogre huddling in the corner of the room, covering herself.
...Well, I did remove most of her clothing in order to treat her wounds. I suppose I'd react in much the same way if I woke up in an unfamiliar place while mostly naked. Still, though…
"Don't move around so quickly. I had to operate, and if you aren't careful you'll open your stomach wound again."
A look of comprehension dawns on her face, and she calms down a little.
"Yeah, I'm a doctor. Well, kind of. Mostly. Not really, but I'm what you get in a tiny place like this," I say, shrugging. "That master of yours is off cleaning herself up. I can fetch you some clothing if that would make you more comfortable. Your old stuff is ruined, though."
After a moment's hesitation, "Eva" nods, and I go grab some of my old clothes for her. My old clothes, because she quite simply does not have the bosom required to wear any of Mother's clothing. It's to be expected - Ogre bodies don't develop along the same lines as humans. They barely store fat of any kind; aside from their horns, which the dwarves claim are used to store energy for winter, their bodies are almost pure muscle. It's what gives them their uncanny strength - even a five foot tall Ogre like Eva could probably lift hundreds of pounds with ease.
"Come to think of it," I muse as I re-enter the medical room, "how in the abyss did a noblewoman like her carry an ogre all that way? What kind of monster is she?"
I don't expect any kind of answer. Ogres can't speak, after all. It's why the Elves call them degenerates - their primitive kin who long ago regressed into mere beasts, eating the flesh of their enemies. Indeed, Ogres are a fallen race who cast aside their souls and became as beasts in the field, mere animals, despite their human-like appearance.
Or at least, that's how it should be.
"No!" shouts Eva, indignant at my insult of her master.
Her voice is surprisingly pleasant to the ears. Like an elf's voice, melodic and sweet.
Her voice, which definitely should not be capable of human speech.
"No! Anna isn't… Anna isn't a monster!" She continues.
"...Understood." I reply, handing her the clothes. "Incidentally, can you tell me what I should call her? She didn't give me her name."
...Maybe I was just hearing things. That would make sense, right? Right?
"Oh! Anna's so silly!~ She always forgets the important stuff! Her name is Annalise Von Bruheur. But she told me I can just call her Anna, so I do!~" The ogre cheerfully replies.
...Ah. Good to know. Really, I'm glad you have such a personal relationship with her, miss Eva.
...But, you know, this is really bad. Ogres aren't supposed to talk, and noblewomen aren't supposed to be able to carry them through miles of swamp.
But, you see, both things are fully possible. Just ask Sammael, the talking dog from fairy tales. Any creature can be granted speech, and any human can gain absurd strength. It just requires a contract with a demon.
In other words, witchcraft.
I have a witch in my house.
This is not good.
This is actually the opposite of good.
One might even say… bad.
"Make the cut, Sigvald. End it in one blow, without hesitation. The verdict has already been rendered; you are simply here to prevent any further pain," my Father told me.
Indeed, that was simply how it was. I had no choice. I was simply the tool of his destruction, not the hand wielding it.
I was not a killer.
I was not a killer.
I was not a killer.
With those thoughts, I closed my eyes and raised the blade.
"Stop," commanded Father. "Open your eyes, Sigvald. You must not look away. No matter what, you must give him at least that dignity."
I opened my eyes, and brought the blade down.
***
From that point on, father continued to force me to kill. When I was ten, I ended the life of a fox. When I was thirteen, I began joining my father in his hunts of wild dogs and pigs infesting the town. When I was fourteen, one of the ogres owned by one of the nobles broke his bindings and rampaged through the town, before eventually being apprehended. Father had me kill that one as well.
It was hard. That was the day I first donned the uniform of an executioner, and first held the headsman's axe in my hands. And as I stepped forward to perform the deed, I think I left something behind. The beast seemed human in all ways that mattered. If not for his horns, sharp teeth, and blue skin he would have looked exactly like one. As I locked eyes with him and brought the blade down, the crowd cheered. It was unsurprising. The ogre had injured many people, and damaged quite a few houses.
I spent the next fifteen minutes vomiting and dry heaving.
Still, life went on, and a year later I executed my first person. He was a murderer, I think. Or maybe a rapist. I don't honestly remember. After a while, the corpses began blurring together.
Regardless, it was when I was seventeen that I finally noticed. I had forgotten the face of the first man I killed, and had stopped getting sick at all after the executions. I was ready to inherit my father's duty as headsman.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
***
The day that sets the events leading to me running away from home in motion begins like any other. I climb out of bed and dress myself - a dark overcoat, thrown over a more normal tunic. White gloves, thrown over my hands, their purpose twofold - to keep me warm in the winter air, and to protect the innocent masses from making contact with my "unclean" hands.
Father has already left to fetch food from the market, so I busy myself with repairs - patching the holes in the roof from the previous night's storm. It's as I'm setting up the ladder to reach the roof that I see someone approaching our home.
People don't just visit an executioner's home. Why on earth would they? They say our line itself is cursed - the descendants of a Demon Lord, branded by our gray hair and red eyes. I don't put much stock in that, mind you - Demons aren't exactly known for having human descendants. Still, the stigma is there, and all of the executioner families of Germania have the same defining features. Thus, when people visited our family it was because they needed something - usually medical advice.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like I resent them for it. While I like to think of myself as a good person… I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be involved with this family of killers had I not been born into it. It might be needlessly judgemental, for them to treat me as though I'm infected - but it makes sense, and in their position, I would likely do the same.
Still, despite the people of the land looking down on us, there was no one in the small town of Beverende with more expertise in the human body than the family who regularly took people apart. After all, a big part of being an executioner is learning how not to kill people. Sure, my knowledge was exceeded by the doctors and surgeons of big cities, who were in turn inferior to the timeless wisdom held by the oldest of the elves, and the bizarre esoteric knowledge and machines I'd heard the dwarves held.
But none of those people - aside from the Elvish governor - lived in a moderately sized town like Beverende, so the burden of medical procedure fell to my father, and by extension myself. Medical advice is likely the reason for my early morning visitor on this day as well. Well, less medical advice and more emergency medical treatment. Even from far off, I can tell she's seen better days.
My visitor is a young woman, about my own age - wearing a frilly dress, one you'd only see on a noblewoman. That being said, the dress has clearly seen better days; it's stained with mud and blood, torn and ragged. Its wearer seems to have not fared much better. Bruises, cuts, and caked on dirt cover her face and hands. Her bright red hair is dirty, clumped together, and cut unevenly. In short, she's a mess.
I meet her halfway down the path. She locks eyes with me, panting heavily, clearly straining under the weight of the bizarre bundle of cloth she's carrying on her back. No, now that I'm this close, I can see that it's no mere bundle of cloth - her burden has a human shape, although two horns extending from its forehead make it clear that this isn't the case.
An Ogre. Any doubt as to her standing flees my mind; only wealthy nobles can afford the cost of an Ogre servant. This, of course, also offers some explanation to the origin of my visitor. Human nobility has been mostly phased out in Germania. Our proximity to the Abyss has led to much stricter Elvish governance than in other nations. The less freedom our people have near the Abyss, the more easily the Elves can keep the demons they loath so much contained, and keep their de facto rule of humanity in place.
No, a human noble would have to come from one of the nearby nations - Likely Üngaria, it's the closest. And, considering the news coming out of that mess of a country, her current state makes sense. She was a refugee, and had somehow managed to make it here through the great swamp the Elves had created between our nations.
After a brief moment of eye contact, she speaks.
"I was told that the town doctor lived here. If you are his apprentice, I would have you help me carry my servant to the place where she can be treated."
I bite back a sigh. Even in such a state, a noble will be a noble, huh?
"...as you wish." I give the standard reply of those living under said nobles, and move to take her burden from her.
"What are you doing, apprentice? I said to help me carry her, not to carry her yourself! My Eva is not some sack of flour, to be carried haphazardly by some scholar's apprentice! She is fragile, especially in her current state! You are merely to help with some of the weight, not risk dropping her by carrying her yourself!" the girl shouts at me.
Scholar's apprentice? Has she never been out of the big city? Not every town can afford people who exist solely to practice medicine, you know! Still, I apologize, and simply move to support her own efforts to carry the small Ogre on her back. Better to avoid arguing with a noblewoman. We place her ogre on the gurney in the medicine room of my home. She looks to be in even worse shape than her master. Her skin, which should be a bluish shade, is instead a very pale grey, and she's sweating profusely. The creature is sick. Extremely sick. Even worse, a tear in her clothing shows a rag roughly wrapped around her body, stained with blood. Probably an improvised bandage.
I immediately set to work boiling water, and toss a rag in said water. As that happens, I address my patient's master.
"Unless you have objections, I'll be treating the ogre first. She's in a rough state, and the more we delay treatment, the less likely it is she'll pull through. Still, I understand if you want to clean yourself up. We have a tub for bathwater over there, and I'm fairly sure we still have some of mother's old clothes somewhere around here."
The noblewoman shakes her head in response. "I cannot simply abandon my Eva to the hands of some amateur. No, I will remain by her side until the danger has passed." She sits down in a chair next to the gurney, totally tuning me out as she clasps the Ogre's hand with her own. I very carefully avoid making any comments about how she just covered that perfectly innocent chair with mud and dirt.
Ignoring the minor scratches for now, I pull her shirt up, revealing the poorly done bandage on her abdomen, which I begin unwinding. I'm greeted by an ugly looking wound. It's at least managed to clot without issue, but the ugly swelling around it makes the infection clear. That's really not good - Ogres tend to heal quickly, but if their wounds end up infected, the dwarvish medicines that humans use are no good for them.
"Do you know how long ago her wound clotted? How much blood did she lose? I'm going to have to excise the entire infection here, it's necrotized," I tell the noble - who still has yet to give me her name.
"Absolutely not! What kind of farcical doctor are you, to cut your patient open to heal them? Do you not have medicine to treat infection?" She replies, angrily.
I sigh as I unpack my scalpel.
"I'm sorry, my lady, but a small town like this has only a handful of Ogres. The only medicine we have is for human consumption. It's not safe for their kind. A caravan of tomb raiders came into town a few days ago, you can check with them, but otherwise the nearest Dwarvish settlement we could get the needed medicine from is three weeks away; and at this rate it will be a miracle if she lasts three days." I look her in the eye. "I'm only suggesting this option because this is literally the only chance she has."
The noblewoman grits her teeth and clenches her fists.
"Do it."
I nod, and make the cut.
***
A human would not have survived. The necrosis was far too deep, and too much flesh was lost. Luckily, my patient was not human. As far as I can tell, she'll make a full recovery - though it will certainly take some time before she'll be able to show the strength of her race.
Still, with the surgery done, it's a simple matter of treating the fever. Without her servant in danger, the noblewoman finally decided to go clean herself up. She still didn't give me her name. At this point I'm going to start calling her Lady Red if she doesn't tell me soon.
As I turn around to fetch a new rag for her forhead, I hear a gasp from behind me. There's a clattering as I turn around, and I see the Ogre huddling in the corner of the room, covering herself.
...Well, I did remove most of her clothing in order to treat her wounds. I suppose I'd react in much the same way if I woke up in an unfamiliar place while mostly naked. Still, though…
"Don't move around so quickly. I had to operate, and if you aren't careful you'll open your stomach wound again."
A look of comprehension dawns on her face, and she calms down a little.
"Yeah, I'm a doctor. Well, kind of. Mostly. Not really, but I'm what you get in a tiny place like this," I say, shrugging. "That master of yours is off cleaning herself up. I can fetch you some clothing if that would make you more comfortable. Your old stuff is ruined, though."
After a moment's hesitation, "Eva" nods, and I go grab some of my old clothes for her. My old clothes, because she quite simply does not have the bosom required to wear any of Mother's clothing. It's to be expected - Ogre bodies don't develop along the same lines as humans. They barely store fat of any kind; aside from their horns, which the dwarves claim are used to store energy for winter, their bodies are almost pure muscle. It's what gives them their uncanny strength - even a five foot tall Ogre like Eva could probably lift hundreds of pounds with ease.
"Come to think of it," I muse as I re-enter the medical room, "how in the abyss did a noblewoman like her carry an ogre all that way? What kind of monster is she?"
I don't expect any kind of answer. Ogres can't speak, after all. It's why the Elves call them degenerates - their primitive kin who long ago regressed into mere beasts, eating the flesh of their enemies. Indeed, Ogres are a fallen race who cast aside their souls and became as beasts in the field, mere animals, despite their human-like appearance.
Or at least, that's how it should be.
"No!" shouts Eva, indignant at my insult of her master.
Her voice is surprisingly pleasant to the ears. Like an elf's voice, melodic and sweet.
Her voice, which definitely should not be capable of human speech.
"No! Anna isn't… Anna isn't a monster!" She continues.
"...Understood." I reply, handing her the clothes. "Incidentally, can you tell me what I should call her? She didn't give me her name."
...Maybe I was just hearing things. That would make sense, right? Right?
"Oh! Anna's so silly!~ She always forgets the important stuff! Her name is Annalise Von Bruheur. But she told me I can just call her Anna, so I do!~" The ogre cheerfully replies.
...Ah. Good to know. Really, I'm glad you have such a personal relationship with her, miss Eva.
...But, you know, this is really bad. Ogres aren't supposed to talk, and noblewomen aren't supposed to be able to carry them through miles of swamp.
But, you see, both things are fully possible. Just ask Sammael, the talking dog from fairy tales. Any creature can be granted speech, and any human can gain absurd strength. It just requires a contract with a demon.
In other words, witchcraft.
I have a witch in my house.
This is not good.
This is actually the opposite of good.
One might even say… bad.
So yeah, here's the first draft of the first chapter of who knows how many.
Please please please give me any sort of advice you have for how to make this better. Do I need to give more info on things? Less info? scrap everything and start over? Are the characters entertaining so far, or too bland?
Please please please give me any sort of advice you have for how to make this better. Do I need to give more info on things? Less info? scrap everything and start over? Are the characters entertaining so far, or too bland?
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Chapter 2: In which Sigvald has a bad time
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
I turn my back to Eva, to give her some privacy to put on the clothes I got for her. This also gives me chance to contemplate my own situation. Along with, of course, what exactly I'm going to do about the probable witch in my house.
The knowledge that I am probably going to die doesn't really bother me. To begin with, a life like mine never really had much value. My hands have cut plenty of lives short, so it's not like I really have room to complain. Father will be sad, but he'll move on. He handled Mother's death far better than I, after all. Marianne will probably be fine. Marriage arrangements between executioner families are complex, but it's not like our betrothal was at a stage where it meant anything - we've never even met in person.
And so, as I reflect on the knowledge that a witch is in my house, I don't curse my fate, or desperately look for a chance to flee. Getting screwed over like this is just another part of life, after all. It's not the place of one like me to question God's plan.
Right. Yup. I'm not upset at all. These things just happen, sometimes. Nothing really to worry about. Just keep calm, and maybe things will turn out okay.
"Um… you can turn around now…" Eva says.
I do so, and immediately have to suppress a snort. I suppose it would make sense, that my clothes wouldn't fit this girl any better than mother's clothes. The actual torso area is fine; our body structure is, all told, pretty similar, and the extra space she requires in the chest area compared to me is taken care of due to her more narrow shoulders.
No, the problem is in the length of her limbs. Her horns make her taller than me, but without them the girl is a good four inches shorter than me. The legs of the pants she's wearing are bagged up around her ankles, and the cuffs of her shirt are up to her fingertips. All in all, it's a pretty amusing image. Still…
"Ah… I can… fix the length of those if you want," I say, scratching the back of my head a bit.
"…Yes, please," She replies, fiddling with her left arm cuff.
***
Most families don't have a spare room. Why build more rooms than you need, after all? And so, a spare room must be a room that once had purpose. In the case of our spare room, it had belonged to Emilie, my older sister. But she moved to Ludenford when she married her husband, so now the room was used to store all of the stuff father and I didn't need on a regular basis, but also didn't want to throw away. In this case, what I need is mother's sewing materials.
Father keeps close track of our medical supplies, and he's already going to be plenty miffed with me for treating a patient without receiving payment up front. As a result, I need to use a needle and thread he doesn't keep track of, unless I want a tanned hide.
"So, Miss Eva," I say as I hem her left leg, "I find myself wondering - how did you come to be capable of speech? I was under the impression that your kind was made up of dumb beasts, after all."
The ogre panics, eyes flicking around the room.
"Um… that's… uh… Changeling! Right, yes, I'm actually a changeling! Don't tell anyone!" She cries in desperation.
...Are you serious? Is her cover story really something that ridiculous?
"Ah, I see!" I reply, putting on a fake smile. "I never thought I'd meet a changeling, I thought they were just a myth. Is it true that you have silver blood?"
Eva smiles, clearly proud of her lie apparently fooling me. "No! Actually, our blood is made of liquid gold! That's why we got hunted so much, and had to go into hiding!"
I glance at my sleeves, where the blood from the surgery recently finished drying to a dull reddish brown. This girl… is not exactly proving me wrong about her kind being dumb, nevermind her ability to speak.
"...Indeed. How did you end up meeting lady Annalise? You both seem pretty close, after all," I say, fighting the urge to laugh. I finish adjusting the left leg, and step away from her to grab the thread for her sleeves.
"Um… Anna… uh… Right! My family, we disguised ourselves as Ogres long ago, so I was raised as Anna's personal servant! But, um… She told me to keep me talki- er... being a changeling a secret, so… pleasedon'ttellherIwastalkingtoyou!"
...Wait, if she wants to keep it secret, then...
Hah! Take that, certain death! Sigvald lives another day! I've got far too many criminals to execute to die just yet!
...That's really morbid, actually. Ah, why couldn't I have been born a farmhand? Actually, why can't people just stop committing crimes? Then I could just be a full time doctor and hunter of wild dogs and boars. That wouldn't be so bad.
...Why is Eva so close to my face? Does she want something?
Oh, right.
"Alright, I promise not to tell her anything," I say with a small chuckle.
"Tell who what?" asks Lady Annalise as she enters the room. She looks gorgeous, even in commoner clothes, but I really don't feel like admiring her beauty right now.
Crap, crap, crap…!
"NOTHING! D-d-don't worry about it!" Eva says , attempting to cover up things.
I sigh. "Well, it's too late now, Miss Eva. You just totally ruined any attempt to keep you telling me about the changeling thing a secret."
Come on, come on, believe the lie, believe the lie….!
"Right!" Eva says excitedly, "I accidentally responded to him because he called you a monster but it's ok because I told him I was a changeling and he believed me!"
Her voice falls to what she probably thinks is a whisper, but I can still hear incredibly clearly.
"I didn't tell him about the demon thing at all, don't worry. He doesn't suspect a thing."
...Rest in peace Sigvald. Taken before his time, because of a loud Ogre girl who can't keep a secret to save her life. Or, in this case, his life.
Lady Annalise looks at me. I look back with a strained smile. I see her crouch down a bit, as if preparing to jump, and I dodge to the side as the witch moves, launching forward with superhuman speed. Splinters of wood pepper my left side as her fist shatters the wall behind me. I leap for the door, scrambling a bit as I sprint into the hallway.
I can't outrun her. She's got some form of superhuman strength; not a guarantee with witches, but certainly common. What's more, I have no idea how much magic she has left. Witches are limited in how many wishes their demonic partners will give them, but I don't have any clue how close she is to running out.
Can I hide and wait for her to give up? No, a wish would blow that. My only chance is to take her down before she kills me.
Like hunting boars, I guess. Only with no prep time, and the boar is as smart as a human, and has an indeterminate number of wishes that can be granted if I press her too hard. I'll have to end it quickly. One or two blows, at most.
Left breast pocket, small cloth pouch. In a second I have it emptied on the floor. About a hundred ball bearings scatter on the floor - they're invaluable if something goes wrong with boars in the city. After a few seconds thought, I scatter the caltrops in my right pocket as well. They're no good against boars, but they help deal with the packs of wild dogs that show up sometimes. Annalise shouldn't have hooves, so they'll be of some use. Probably.
Right turn, storage shed. Need a weapon. Spear will have to do. The footsteps behind me stop for a second and I glance over my shoulder - just in time to see the witch land feet first on the wall behind me, and shoot towards me.
Son of a-!
She smashes into me. Her haymaker misses my face, but I feel my collarbone get powdered by her blow, and a second later I'm flying through the air. I bounce, once, twice, kicking up clods of dirt and grass as I do so.
I impact the storage shed, blowing a door off its hinges.
I'm going to have to repair that. And the wall from earlier. And pick up hundreds of ball bearings that didn't do me much good. The caltrops too. Plus I never finished with the roof.
Ah, why can't my life be easier…?
I see a smear-like shape approaching me, wading through black spots in my vision to stand in front of me. It reaches out, and touches one of the spears on the wall.
"So… ing ...or," she says. A woman's voice. Mother? No, mother's dead. But it's wearing Mother's dress…
Oh right, Lady Annalise. The Üngarian refugee. The witch. I can barely see her face - there's water in my eyes or something. I try to wipe it away with my right hand, but it doesn't work, so I use my left instead.
Ow. There are splinters in my face now. How did those get there? Ah well, I can see now. Her face is still pretty beautiful. That's good I guess.
I blink, and see a blue smear running from the house. It starts discussing something with the girl smear in front of me.
Wait, why is everything blurry again? I wipe my eyes again. Where's this water coming from?
It's Eva, I can see that now. She's all scratched and scuffed up again, and her feet are bleeding. Oi, didn't I just fix you? Take better care of yourself at least.
They're arguing about something, but I can't hear it despite how close they are. Absently I try to clean my left ear, and my hand comes away wet, warm, and sticky. Blood, I guess?
I blink, and Eva is gone. Annalise is holding the spear, as if testing its weight. At least I think it's her. I can't see because of this damn water!
I wipe my eyes again. Ow. Right, there's still blood on my hand.
She glances at me, and her lips move. I still don't hear anything.
My eyes feel dry, in spite of the water still manifesting in them.
I blink again, and everything goes black.
The knowledge that I am probably going to die doesn't really bother me. To begin with, a life like mine never really had much value. My hands have cut plenty of lives short, so it's not like I really have room to complain. Father will be sad, but he'll move on. He handled Mother's death far better than I, after all. Marianne will probably be fine. Marriage arrangements between executioner families are complex, but it's not like our betrothal was at a stage where it meant anything - we've never even met in person.
And so, as I reflect on the knowledge that a witch is in my house, I don't curse my fate, or desperately look for a chance to flee. Getting screwed over like this is just another part of life, after all. It's not the place of one like me to question God's plan.
Right. Yup. I'm not upset at all. These things just happen, sometimes. Nothing really to worry about. Just keep calm, and maybe things will turn out okay.
"Um… you can turn around now…" Eva says.
I do so, and immediately have to suppress a snort. I suppose it would make sense, that my clothes wouldn't fit this girl any better than mother's clothes. The actual torso area is fine; our body structure is, all told, pretty similar, and the extra space she requires in the chest area compared to me is taken care of due to her more narrow shoulders.
No, the problem is in the length of her limbs. Her horns make her taller than me, but without them the girl is a good four inches shorter than me. The legs of the pants she's wearing are bagged up around her ankles, and the cuffs of her shirt are up to her fingertips. All in all, it's a pretty amusing image. Still…
"Ah… I can… fix the length of those if you want," I say, scratching the back of my head a bit.
"…Yes, please," She replies, fiddling with her left arm cuff.
***
Most families don't have a spare room. Why build more rooms than you need, after all? And so, a spare room must be a room that once had purpose. In the case of our spare room, it had belonged to Emilie, my older sister. But she moved to Ludenford when she married her husband, so now the room was used to store all of the stuff father and I didn't need on a regular basis, but also didn't want to throw away. In this case, what I need is mother's sewing materials.
Father keeps close track of our medical supplies, and he's already going to be plenty miffed with me for treating a patient without receiving payment up front. As a result, I need to use a needle and thread he doesn't keep track of, unless I want a tanned hide.
"So, Miss Eva," I say as I hem her left leg, "I find myself wondering - how did you come to be capable of speech? I was under the impression that your kind was made up of dumb beasts, after all."
The ogre panics, eyes flicking around the room.
"Um… that's… uh… Changeling! Right, yes, I'm actually a changeling! Don't tell anyone!" She cries in desperation.
...Are you serious? Is her cover story really something that ridiculous?
"Ah, I see!" I reply, putting on a fake smile. "I never thought I'd meet a changeling, I thought they were just a myth. Is it true that you have silver blood?"
Eva smiles, clearly proud of her lie apparently fooling me. "No! Actually, our blood is made of liquid gold! That's why we got hunted so much, and had to go into hiding!"
I glance at my sleeves, where the blood from the surgery recently finished drying to a dull reddish brown. This girl… is not exactly proving me wrong about her kind being dumb, nevermind her ability to speak.
"...Indeed. How did you end up meeting lady Annalise? You both seem pretty close, after all," I say, fighting the urge to laugh. I finish adjusting the left leg, and step away from her to grab the thread for her sleeves.
"Um… Anna… uh… Right! My family, we disguised ourselves as Ogres long ago, so I was raised as Anna's personal servant! But, um… She told me to keep me talki- er... being a changeling a secret, so… pleasedon'ttellherIwastalkingtoyou!"
...Wait, if she wants to keep it secret, then...
Hah! Take that, certain death! Sigvald lives another day! I've got far too many criminals to execute to die just yet!
...That's really morbid, actually. Ah, why couldn't I have been born a farmhand? Actually, why can't people just stop committing crimes? Then I could just be a full time doctor and hunter of wild dogs and boars. That wouldn't be so bad.
...Why is Eva so close to my face? Does she want something?
Oh, right.
"Alright, I promise not to tell her anything," I say with a small chuckle.
"Tell who what?" asks Lady Annalise as she enters the room. She looks gorgeous, even in commoner clothes, but I really don't feel like admiring her beauty right now.
Crap, crap, crap…!
"NOTHING! D-d-don't worry about it!" Eva says , attempting to cover up things.
I sigh. "Well, it's too late now, Miss Eva. You just totally ruined any attempt to keep you telling me about the changeling thing a secret."
Come on, come on, believe the lie, believe the lie….!
"Right!" Eva says excitedly, "I accidentally responded to him because he called you a monster but it's ok because I told him I was a changeling and he believed me!"
Her voice falls to what she probably thinks is a whisper, but I can still hear incredibly clearly.
"I didn't tell him about the demon thing at all, don't worry. He doesn't suspect a thing."
...Rest in peace Sigvald. Taken before his time, because of a loud Ogre girl who can't keep a secret to save her life. Or, in this case, his life.
Lady Annalise looks at me. I look back with a strained smile. I see her crouch down a bit, as if preparing to jump, and I dodge to the side as the witch moves, launching forward with superhuman speed. Splinters of wood pepper my left side as her fist shatters the wall behind me. I leap for the door, scrambling a bit as I sprint into the hallway.
I can't outrun her. She's got some form of superhuman strength; not a guarantee with witches, but certainly common. What's more, I have no idea how much magic she has left. Witches are limited in how many wishes their demonic partners will give them, but I don't have any clue how close she is to running out.
Can I hide and wait for her to give up? No, a wish would blow that. My only chance is to take her down before she kills me.
Like hunting boars, I guess. Only with no prep time, and the boar is as smart as a human, and has an indeterminate number of wishes that can be granted if I press her too hard. I'll have to end it quickly. One or two blows, at most.
Left breast pocket, small cloth pouch. In a second I have it emptied on the floor. About a hundred ball bearings scatter on the floor - they're invaluable if something goes wrong with boars in the city. After a few seconds thought, I scatter the caltrops in my right pocket as well. They're no good against boars, but they help deal with the packs of wild dogs that show up sometimes. Annalise shouldn't have hooves, so they'll be of some use. Probably.
Right turn, storage shed. Need a weapon. Spear will have to do. The footsteps behind me stop for a second and I glance over my shoulder - just in time to see the witch land feet first on the wall behind me, and shoot towards me.
Son of a-!
She smashes into me. Her haymaker misses my face, but I feel my collarbone get powdered by her blow, and a second later I'm flying through the air. I bounce, once, twice, kicking up clods of dirt and grass as I do so.
I impact the storage shed, blowing a door off its hinges.
I'm going to have to repair that. And the wall from earlier. And pick up hundreds of ball bearings that didn't do me much good. The caltrops too. Plus I never finished with the roof.
Ah, why can't my life be easier…?
I see a smear-like shape approaching me, wading through black spots in my vision to stand in front of me. It reaches out, and touches one of the spears on the wall.
"So… ing ...or," she says. A woman's voice. Mother? No, mother's dead. But it's wearing Mother's dress…
Oh right, Lady Annalise. The Üngarian refugee. The witch. I can barely see her face - there's water in my eyes or something. I try to wipe it away with my right hand, but it doesn't work, so I use my left instead.
Ow. There are splinters in my face now. How did those get there? Ah well, I can see now. Her face is still pretty beautiful. That's good I guess.
I blink, and see a blue smear running from the house. It starts discussing something with the girl smear in front of me.
Wait, why is everything blurry again? I wipe my eyes again. Where's this water coming from?
It's Eva, I can see that now. She's all scratched and scuffed up again, and her feet are bleeding. Oi, didn't I just fix you? Take better care of yourself at least.
They're arguing about something, but I can't hear it despite how close they are. Absently I try to clean my left ear, and my hand comes away wet, warm, and sticky. Blood, I guess?
I blink, and Eva is gone. Annalise is holding the spear, as if testing its weight. At least I think it's her. I can't see because of this damn water!
I wipe my eyes again. Ow. Right, there's still blood on my hand.
She glances at me, and her lips move. I still don't hear anything.
My eyes feel dry, in spite of the water still manifesting in them.
I blink again, and everything goes black.
Annalise has absolutely Zero chill.
Don't worry about Sigvald. He'll be fine.
Maybe. Probably.
Don't worry about Sigvald. He'll be fine.
Maybe. Probably.
Chapter 3: In which Sigvald's living situation goes from bad to worse.
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
I wake up feeling like someone drove a fistful of nails into my temples. It's so bad that, rather than open my eyes, I squeeze them tightly, gritting my teeth. Speaking of teeth, I appear to have lost one of my upper right molars. Fun.
My left arm is in a sling, for all the good it will do. I felt the hit, and there were definitely multiple fractures; it wouldn't surprise me if my entire shoulder was turned into a messy pulp. Unless we shell out the cash to pay for a proper surgery, with all the fancy Dwarvish tools, my left arm will probably be useless for the rest of my life.
I attempt to sit up, and immediately regret that decision. The blackness that had been hovering at the edges of my vision envelops the rest of my sight, and the room swims like I'm viewing it through a kaleidoscope. Bile rises up in my throat, and spills onto the gurney I'm laying on.
I spend the next few minutes swallowing, trying to clear the bitter, burning flavor from the back of my throat. I try to assess my current state. I can still move my feet, so I seem to have miraculously avoided serious spinal injury. However, I can feel pain as I breathe that suggests broken ribs, and the amount of dizziness I'm feeling suggests a concussion or worse. The less said about my left arm, the better.
Closing my eyes, I sit patiently for some unknown amount of time before Father enters the room. It's not like I can do much else. I open my eyes as he enters.
"..water…" I croak.
He nods silently, and a few minutes later I'm greedily chugging down water, cleansing the foul aftertaste from my mouth.
"How do you feel?" He says. There's no worry in his voice, or on his face. I wasn't expecting any - Father has always been distant at best. Some days I wonder if he sold most of his soul off at some point. I've never really seen him express emotion.
"Less dead than I thought I'd be. In pain though. Headache. Vomited a bit earlier. Nausea. Probable concussion," I reply. My sentences are broken, but speaking proper elvish is for people without a traumatic brain injury.
"That's unfortunate. The faster you can get back to work, the better. High Inquisitor Alingor got the story out of the witch after she was caught. Even if it was without knowledge, aiding a witch is a sin. Your indulgence has increased."
Father drops sudden changes upon me one after the other. A High Inquisitor is here!? Von Breuher was captured? And even more importantly…!
"How much?" I ask, already dreading the answer.
"Twelve tin pieces," Father replies, composure breaking to let a slight cringe through.
I choke a bit. Twelve tin pieces! I've never even held a single tin piece. Hope you like Purgatory, Sigvald, because that's where you're going to be for essentially your entire afterlife! What's more, I'm going to have to pay for surgery on this arm of mine if I ever want to recover fully! I let out a small, slightly hysterical laugh.
Ah, why couldn't I have been born a farmer?
***
I gaze through the bars of the jail cell at what remains of the girl who has more or less single handedly ruined my life. I'm not really sure why I came here. The burning is scheduled for a two days from now, so it's not like I'll have to wait long to avenge my poor abused arm. Still, I came here for some reason, right?
And yet, looking at this burnt wreck of a human being, I can't really feel anything but pity. Gauze is wrapped around her entire face, even the eyes, and it's stained with blood.
The Inquisitor didn't mess around. The Demon's corpse on main street is just an unrecognizable hunk of metal now - for crying out loud, the cobblestones around it were outright melted. I wasn't even aware stone could melt, but hey, apparently it can! Pyromancy is scary… I guess that's why the Highbloods are in charge, huh?
I spend a good few minutes trying to think of something to say. I'm tempted to just say"I hope you're happy", but to be honest, that seems too cruel. It's not like I know her circumstances. Desperation can push people to do despicable things - that's what most of the bandits I've killed said, anyway. "My wife." "My child." "My husband." "My sibling." It was almost never for themselves.
And so, I stand there, silently, until-
"...Doctor guy? Why are you here?" Miss Eva asks me.
Right, she's here too. In the cell, caring for the wounds of her master. To be honest, it's a bit unexpected. Usually an Ogre would be sold off if their owner was arrested and had no next of kin. But maybe, in a situation like this, she's considered an accessory to witchcraft?
I give a weak smile, resting my hand on the back of my neck as I glance away.
"Well, I suppose I need to correct a faulty assumption of yours. I'm, well, not exactly a doctor. A small town like this; the town doctor will be just one job of a person doing a bunch of odd jobs - cleaning up pests on the streets, and, well, executing criminals. I'm no doctor. Just a guy who happens to know more about human bodies than most everyone else in town. A common killer."
Miss Eva gives me a look like a kicked puppy. "...oh. I was hoping this was the part where you came to break us out of prison, and we went on heroic adventures together."
"...what kind of character do you think I am?"
She tilts her head, hand on her chin in a thinking pose.
"Straight man, I guess?"
I almost shout that she wasn't supposed to answer seriously, but I stop myself before I confirm her theory.
"...still, to answer your question… I'm not really sure why I came to begin with. Maybe to insult Von Breuher for how badly she messed my body up. But… well, I'd feel bad complaining about a ruined arm to someone that injured."
She looks sadly at her companion. The witch hasn't responded to my presence… ah, looking closer, her ears have been burned off. That would do it. I close my eyes for a few seconds, sighing.
"If it makes you feel better… neither of you will be burned alive," I say. She whips her head towards me, shock and relief appearing on her face. I raise my hand, trying to stop her from getting her hopes up. "I'm not saying you won't be executed. Just not burned alive. Father told me a while back - witches are garroted in secret before the burning. It's more humane, and less dangerous. The spectacle remains, but it won't be nearly as painful."
Her face falls, but she does keep a sad smile. "It doesn't help that much, but… thanks for making it a bit less scary, doctor guy."
I sigh. "I told you, I'm no doctor-"
"Then tell me your name. I can call you by that instead."
"...Sigvald. Sigvald von Hohenheim."
She smiles at me. "Thank you, Doctor Hohenheim," she says.
"Didn't I tell you I'm no doctor?" I mutter, scowling. "I'm just an executioner. I end lives, that's all."
"You said you do other jobs too, right? So why is executioner the title you chose, from all of those jobs? Isn't that boxing yourself in a bit too much?" She asks, and my throat goes dry.
...how in the Abyss am I supposed to answer a question like that?
My left arm is in a sling, for all the good it will do. I felt the hit, and there were definitely multiple fractures; it wouldn't surprise me if my entire shoulder was turned into a messy pulp. Unless we shell out the cash to pay for a proper surgery, with all the fancy Dwarvish tools, my left arm will probably be useless for the rest of my life.
I attempt to sit up, and immediately regret that decision. The blackness that had been hovering at the edges of my vision envelops the rest of my sight, and the room swims like I'm viewing it through a kaleidoscope. Bile rises up in my throat, and spills onto the gurney I'm laying on.
I spend the next few minutes swallowing, trying to clear the bitter, burning flavor from the back of my throat. I try to assess my current state. I can still move my feet, so I seem to have miraculously avoided serious spinal injury. However, I can feel pain as I breathe that suggests broken ribs, and the amount of dizziness I'm feeling suggests a concussion or worse. The less said about my left arm, the better.
Closing my eyes, I sit patiently for some unknown amount of time before Father enters the room. It's not like I can do much else. I open my eyes as he enters.
"..water…" I croak.
He nods silently, and a few minutes later I'm greedily chugging down water, cleansing the foul aftertaste from my mouth.
"How do you feel?" He says. There's no worry in his voice, or on his face. I wasn't expecting any - Father has always been distant at best. Some days I wonder if he sold most of his soul off at some point. I've never really seen him express emotion.
"Less dead than I thought I'd be. In pain though. Headache. Vomited a bit earlier. Nausea. Probable concussion," I reply. My sentences are broken, but speaking proper elvish is for people without a traumatic brain injury.
"That's unfortunate. The faster you can get back to work, the better. High Inquisitor Alingor got the story out of the witch after she was caught. Even if it was without knowledge, aiding a witch is a sin. Your indulgence has increased."
Father drops sudden changes upon me one after the other. A High Inquisitor is here!? Von Breuher was captured? And even more importantly…!
"How much?" I ask, already dreading the answer.
"Twelve tin pieces," Father replies, composure breaking to let a slight cringe through.
I choke a bit. Twelve tin pieces! I've never even held a single tin piece. Hope you like Purgatory, Sigvald, because that's where you're going to be for essentially your entire afterlife! What's more, I'm going to have to pay for surgery on this arm of mine if I ever want to recover fully! I let out a small, slightly hysterical laugh.
Ah, why couldn't I have been born a farmer?
***
I gaze through the bars of the jail cell at what remains of the girl who has more or less single handedly ruined my life. I'm not really sure why I came here. The burning is scheduled for a two days from now, so it's not like I'll have to wait long to avenge my poor abused arm. Still, I came here for some reason, right?
And yet, looking at this burnt wreck of a human being, I can't really feel anything but pity. Gauze is wrapped around her entire face, even the eyes, and it's stained with blood.
The Inquisitor didn't mess around. The Demon's corpse on main street is just an unrecognizable hunk of metal now - for crying out loud, the cobblestones around it were outright melted. I wasn't even aware stone could melt, but hey, apparently it can! Pyromancy is scary… I guess that's why the Highbloods are in charge, huh?
I spend a good few minutes trying to think of something to say. I'm tempted to just say"I hope you're happy", but to be honest, that seems too cruel. It's not like I know her circumstances. Desperation can push people to do despicable things - that's what most of the bandits I've killed said, anyway. "My wife." "My child." "My husband." "My sibling." It was almost never for themselves.
And so, I stand there, silently, until-
"...Doctor guy? Why are you here?" Miss Eva asks me.
Right, she's here too. In the cell, caring for the wounds of her master. To be honest, it's a bit unexpected. Usually an Ogre would be sold off if their owner was arrested and had no next of kin. But maybe, in a situation like this, she's considered an accessory to witchcraft?
I give a weak smile, resting my hand on the back of my neck as I glance away.
"Well, I suppose I need to correct a faulty assumption of yours. I'm, well, not exactly a doctor. A small town like this; the town doctor will be just one job of a person doing a bunch of odd jobs - cleaning up pests on the streets, and, well, executing criminals. I'm no doctor. Just a guy who happens to know more about human bodies than most everyone else in town. A common killer."
Miss Eva gives me a look like a kicked puppy. "...oh. I was hoping this was the part where you came to break us out of prison, and we went on heroic adventures together."
"...what kind of character do you think I am?"
She tilts her head, hand on her chin in a thinking pose.
"Straight man, I guess?"
I almost shout that she wasn't supposed to answer seriously, but I stop myself before I confirm her theory.
"...still, to answer your question… I'm not really sure why I came to begin with. Maybe to insult Von Breuher for how badly she messed my body up. But… well, I'd feel bad complaining about a ruined arm to someone that injured."
She looks sadly at her companion. The witch hasn't responded to my presence… ah, looking closer, her ears have been burned off. That would do it. I close my eyes for a few seconds, sighing.
"If it makes you feel better… neither of you will be burned alive," I say. She whips her head towards me, shock and relief appearing on her face. I raise my hand, trying to stop her from getting her hopes up. "I'm not saying you won't be executed. Just not burned alive. Father told me a while back - witches are garroted in secret before the burning. It's more humane, and less dangerous. The spectacle remains, but it won't be nearly as painful."
Her face falls, but she does keep a sad smile. "It doesn't help that much, but… thanks for making it a bit less scary, doctor guy."
I sigh. "I told you, I'm no doctor-"
"Then tell me your name. I can call you by that instead."
"...Sigvald. Sigvald von Hohenheim."
She smiles at me. "Thank you, Doctor Hohenheim," she says.
"Didn't I tell you I'm no doctor?" I mutter, scowling. "I'm just an executioner. I end lives, that's all."
"You said you do other jobs too, right? So why is executioner the title you chose, from all of those jobs? Isn't that boxing yourself in a bit too much?" She asks, and my throat goes dry.
...how in the Abyss am I supposed to answer a question like that?
Man I can't believe Annalise is fucking dead
Probably gonna have to shove in an interlude from her perspective where she gets rekt or something so it's less sudden.
Probably gonna have to shove in an interlude from her perspective where she gets rekt or something so it's less sudden.
Chapter 4: In which Sigvald argues with his boss
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
In the end, I don't answer the question. I give a bit of first aid to Annalise - can't have her dying before the day of the execution, and it takes a bit of weight off my shoulders to know that she won't be in pain. After that, with the Ogre's question still burning in my mind, I step onto the streets of Beverende.
Like I said before, Beverende is a relatively small town. Looking at it from a distance, it looks like a city, but most of the houses are just abandoned ruins, leftovers from a time when the town was a trade hub with Üngaria, back before the Grand Empire was toppled. The fact that these buildings remain nearly five hundred years after the Demon Lord's defeat is a serious testament to just how much humanity lost when the Alchemists were wiped out. Buildings like these can't really be made anymore.
All told, Beverende proper is pretty much only the eastern quarter of the ancient city. The rest of the city is overgrown ruins, never entered save for the occasional tomb raider who thinks that they haven't already been picked clean. The exception to this abandonment is the town square, and the government buildings present there.
Thus, as I exit the prison and make my way to the Governor's office across the street, I have to weave my way through the marketplace, filled with throngs of people looking over the artifacts brought in by the most recent band of tomb raiders. I understand the fascination, but it's not like they'll be able to afford anything but the most useless baubles. Better to wait for the Dwarves to buy it and reverse engineer it; we might actually see it for an affordable price that way.
Still, my eyes are drawn to the crowd as I walk past. It's just how people are, they tend to watch large, noisy commotions. And it's because I happen to be paying attention that I see it happen. One of the children in the crowd, a boy of maybe ten years, falls over. Within seconds, the first foot lands on the kid. For a second, I don't do anything.
I'm just a killer, after all. Nothing more. And that aside, what am I supposed to do, injured as I am?
But-
"You said you do other jobs too, right? So why is executioner the title you chose, from all of those jobs? Isn't that boxing yourself in a bit too much?"
I'm not sure what I can call myself, other than an executioner. It's not like I'm a licensed doctor, after all. Just a guy with some surgical knowledge. And the other jobs I do are just basic animal control. To call myself something like a hunter would be an insult to the actual hunters in town. Right, so there's nothing else I can call myself. Just an executioner, that's me. I don't have any obligation to help.
But, with the ogre's words stubbornly clinging to my thoughts… even though I have absolutely no obligation to help, even though I have every right to just walk past… For some reason, before I even realize it, I'm in the middle of the crowd, shouldering my way through.
"Move! Someone's getting trampled, so move, dammit!" I shout, shoving people out of the way as I make my way to the poor kid. Somehow, I manage to clear enough space to haul the boy to his feet.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
…
Ah, he ran away. Well, it's not like I didn't expect a response like that. It's not like I needed his thanks or anything. It would have just taken up my time; I've got somewhere to be. I walk into the entry hall of the Governor's office, ignoring a sudden grating pain in my chest. That mess outside must have knocked one of my broken ribs out of position from where father had set it. What a nuisance; I don't have time for this!
***
The Governor's office is in a very open room, an enormous full wall window allowing sunlight to stream in from behind him. Sildred isn't so bad, as far as elves go. He's a fairly understanding sort - which makes the condition the witch was left in… troubling to say the least.
My eyes slide to the other occupant of the room - the highblood inquisitor, Alingor. I've never seen a highblood before, but I've heard they were different from the normal elves - now I know what people meant when they said that. The highblood is wearing a white mask that covers his face, like the one Sildred is wearing. However, Alingor's mask appears to have been stretched over his whole head, with no holes for eyes present.
His mask is dotted with strange purple spots, and merges seamlessly with the strange gnarled twists of vines and fungi he is wearing as clothing. Even as I look, I can't make heads or tails of the outfit - how does he even take it off?
"Sigvald," the Governor says, drawing my attention away from his visitor. "What brings you here? You should be in bed, resting."
"Don't worry about it. I'm not pushing myself too hard or anything," I lie. "Besides, I just wanted to check exactly what kind of condition that Witch had been left in."
I raise my limp left arm as far as it will go.
"Call it a vested interest if you want."
...Neither elf gives so much as a chuckle. Tough crowd, huh? With a shrug, I continue my explanation.
"In any case, I'm glad I did. With the condition she was left in she probably would have died before the execution. And, that aside, what's the deal with that ogre? Shouldn't she have been sold off by this point?"
Alingor says something in the musical whistles and clicks of High Elvish that I don't understand, and Sildred nods in apparent understanding. He clasps his hands in front of himself and speaks.
"Brother Alingor apologizes for any trouble his… enthusiasm... in interrogation may have caused you. He was frustrated, and acted in poor judgement. As for the Degenerate, it is to be disposed of alongside its master."
A chill runs down my spine. "You can't be serious," I mutter, and then, louder, I say, "A Witch is one thing, but her Ogre has committed no crime. There's no reason to execute her as well. What's more, she's capable of speech. This isn't some mindless beast you're asking to be put down; that girl is an actual, thinking, person. You can't just-!"
My argument is interrupted as the inquisitor stands up, steps forward, and delivers a stinging backhand to my face. I lose balance, and my left arm is useless for stopping my fall. There's a searing pain in several parts of my chest as I hit the ground, and I find myself coughing up blood.
"Not pushing yourself too hard, eh, Sigvald?" Sildred says, in a tone of voice that I can only imagine is accompanied by a scowl. The governor crosses his arms. "Go home, human. Your presence is not needed here."
Grimacing, I stand up and make my way to the exit.
Like I said before, Beverende is a relatively small town. Looking at it from a distance, it looks like a city, but most of the houses are just abandoned ruins, leftovers from a time when the town was a trade hub with Üngaria, back before the Grand Empire was toppled. The fact that these buildings remain nearly five hundred years after the Demon Lord's defeat is a serious testament to just how much humanity lost when the Alchemists were wiped out. Buildings like these can't really be made anymore.
All told, Beverende proper is pretty much only the eastern quarter of the ancient city. The rest of the city is overgrown ruins, never entered save for the occasional tomb raider who thinks that they haven't already been picked clean. The exception to this abandonment is the town square, and the government buildings present there.
Thus, as I exit the prison and make my way to the Governor's office across the street, I have to weave my way through the marketplace, filled with throngs of people looking over the artifacts brought in by the most recent band of tomb raiders. I understand the fascination, but it's not like they'll be able to afford anything but the most useless baubles. Better to wait for the Dwarves to buy it and reverse engineer it; we might actually see it for an affordable price that way.
Still, my eyes are drawn to the crowd as I walk past. It's just how people are, they tend to watch large, noisy commotions. And it's because I happen to be paying attention that I see it happen. One of the children in the crowd, a boy of maybe ten years, falls over. Within seconds, the first foot lands on the kid. For a second, I don't do anything.
I'm just a killer, after all. Nothing more. And that aside, what am I supposed to do, injured as I am?
But-
"You said you do other jobs too, right? So why is executioner the title you chose, from all of those jobs? Isn't that boxing yourself in a bit too much?"
I'm not sure what I can call myself, other than an executioner. It's not like I'm a licensed doctor, after all. Just a guy with some surgical knowledge. And the other jobs I do are just basic animal control. To call myself something like a hunter would be an insult to the actual hunters in town. Right, so there's nothing else I can call myself. Just an executioner, that's me. I don't have any obligation to help.
But, with the ogre's words stubbornly clinging to my thoughts… even though I have absolutely no obligation to help, even though I have every right to just walk past… For some reason, before I even realize it, I'm in the middle of the crowd, shouldering my way through.
"Move! Someone's getting trampled, so move, dammit!" I shout, shoving people out of the way as I make my way to the poor kid. Somehow, I manage to clear enough space to haul the boy to his feet.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
…
Ah, he ran away. Well, it's not like I didn't expect a response like that. It's not like I needed his thanks or anything. It would have just taken up my time; I've got somewhere to be. I walk into the entry hall of the Governor's office, ignoring a sudden grating pain in my chest. That mess outside must have knocked one of my broken ribs out of position from where father had set it. What a nuisance; I don't have time for this!
***
The Governor's office is in a very open room, an enormous full wall window allowing sunlight to stream in from behind him. Sildred isn't so bad, as far as elves go. He's a fairly understanding sort - which makes the condition the witch was left in… troubling to say the least.
My eyes slide to the other occupant of the room - the highblood inquisitor, Alingor. I've never seen a highblood before, but I've heard they were different from the normal elves - now I know what people meant when they said that. The highblood is wearing a white mask that covers his face, like the one Sildred is wearing. However, Alingor's mask appears to have been stretched over his whole head, with no holes for eyes present.
His mask is dotted with strange purple spots, and merges seamlessly with the strange gnarled twists of vines and fungi he is wearing as clothing. Even as I look, I can't make heads or tails of the outfit - how does he even take it off?
"Sigvald," the Governor says, drawing my attention away from his visitor. "What brings you here? You should be in bed, resting."
"Don't worry about it. I'm not pushing myself too hard or anything," I lie. "Besides, I just wanted to check exactly what kind of condition that Witch had been left in."
I raise my limp left arm as far as it will go.
"Call it a vested interest if you want."
...Neither elf gives so much as a chuckle. Tough crowd, huh? With a shrug, I continue my explanation.
"In any case, I'm glad I did. With the condition she was left in she probably would have died before the execution. And, that aside, what's the deal with that ogre? Shouldn't she have been sold off by this point?"
Alingor says something in the musical whistles and clicks of High Elvish that I don't understand, and Sildred nods in apparent understanding. He clasps his hands in front of himself and speaks.
"Brother Alingor apologizes for any trouble his… enthusiasm... in interrogation may have caused you. He was frustrated, and acted in poor judgement. As for the Degenerate, it is to be disposed of alongside its master."
A chill runs down my spine. "You can't be serious," I mutter, and then, louder, I say, "A Witch is one thing, but her Ogre has committed no crime. There's no reason to execute her as well. What's more, she's capable of speech. This isn't some mindless beast you're asking to be put down; that girl is an actual, thinking, person. You can't just-!"
My argument is interrupted as the inquisitor stands up, steps forward, and delivers a stinging backhand to my face. I lose balance, and my left arm is useless for stopping my fall. There's a searing pain in several parts of my chest as I hit the ground, and I find myself coughing up blood.
"Not pushing yourself too hard, eh, Sigvald?" Sildred says, in a tone of voice that I can only imagine is accompanied by a scowl. The governor crosses his arms. "Go home, human. Your presence is not needed here."
Grimacing, I stand up and make my way to the exit.
Elves are pretentious dickbags? What a unique and surprising concept!
Masks are new though, I guess.
Masks are new though, I guess.
Chapter 5: In which Sigvald makes a questionable life decision
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
Obviously, I don't make it home. That would be too easy. Instead, I collapse not five feet from the door to the governor's office, agony wracking my frame. Another shuddering cough shakes my body as blood spews from my mouth. This is bad. This is really, really bad. I'm pretty sure one of my lungs has been punctured by my ribs. Warm droplets roll down my cheeks as tears smear my vision.
This hurts. I know it's pretty self-evident, but this hurts a lot. I watch as people pass me by, giving me a cursory glance before looking away. No one pauses to help me. Why would they? You wouldn't help a vulture with a broken wing, right?
...If I don't stand up and make it home, there's a chance I'll just suffocate on my own blood here in the street. Even now, I'm pretty sure my lungs have been damaged by my ribs. Seriously, if I don't move, I'm going to die.
But would that really be so bad? I've lost use of my arm, and I'm pretty sure the damage to my lungs is irreparable. Is life really worth all of this? What am I even living for? Considering my profession, it would be a miracle if my life turned out to be a net positive. But hey, I tried my best, right? Isn't that enough?
"Hey, come on, don't die just yet! Come on, hang in there!"
I feel arms beneath me, and someone lifts me into a princess carry. I open my eyes and see another pair looking back at mine.
...Red eyes?
"Oh good, you're still alive. Hey, keep your eyes open! I've decided to help you, so don't die!" he says, grinning.
I try to keep my eyes open. Really, I do try. But darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision despite my best intentions and swallows me up.
***
I wake up naked, submerged in warm, bright blue goo.
What.
No, seriously, what's going on? I inhale the viscous blue fluid, but I'm not suffocating or anything. It tastes foul; like the coppery flavor of blood, tinged with another taste I've never really encountered before. My headache is gone, but there's an unpleasant numbness in my entire body below my neck. A red cloud floats into my vision, and I glance downwards. My chest has been opened up, the muscles, skin, and bones peeled back like the layers of an onion.
I watch as my lungs slowly float out of my body, and the holes torn in them are knitted together. After the holes are gone, the organs are gently settled back into my chest cavity. I feel nothing as my ribs slowly curl around them, and the muscle and skin is replaced.
Feeling slowly returns to my body. The pain from my injuries is completely gone, save for a strange tingling sensation in my left arm. Hm. Looking at said arm, the tingling is probably the feeling of my muscles restringing themselves over my newly repaired bones. I watch as the skin of my arm, scrunched back like a rolled up sleeve, is stretched across the muscle, and fuses together seamlessly.
And then, suddenly, I can move again. The sides of this bizarre cocoon unfurl like the petals of some alien flower, and the blue ichor spills out, crashing to the ground around the table I seem to have been laid on. I cough and sputter as sludge spews out of my mouth.
I glance around, trying to get my bearings. Canvas walls to my left and right; small shafts of light stabbing forth from the flaps in the front and back walls and intersecting on the floor. Yup, I'm in a tent, alright. I can hear loud chatter filtering through the walls, though I can't really make out the conversation. Still, the voices are familiar, and I can match them to the voices of the tomb raiders I saw hawking their findings in the market earlier today.
"Ah, good. Looks like that thing did its job," someone says, entering the tent. It's the same voice that I had heard before I passed out earlier. I turn to look at him, and lock eyes with the prettiest man I have ever seen. His ruby red eyes contrast surprisingly well with his dark hair, currently tied in a ponytail. He's shorter than me - maybe five feet tall at the most. To be honest, if it weren't for his voice and clothing, I might have mistaken him for a woman.
Even knowing his gender… I can't help but stare at how his trunk hose accentuate his thighs. Seriously, if you're that feminine looking, wear something more manly! Put on a codpiece or something so no one gets confused!
...Actually, no, you shouldn't wear a codpiece. No one should wear a codpiece.
Both of us are quiet for a little bit. The silence drags on for just long enough for it to become awkward. I wilfully move my eyes back to his face, and open my mouth at the exact same time as him.
"...So!" I say.
"...Anyways!" He says.
We pause for a second.
"...Y-you can go first," he says, blushing a bit.
I cough. "The, uh, goo cocoon thing I woke up in" I say, gesturing around me. "What exactly was that?"
He scratches the back of his neck.
"It's, um, an alchemical gizmo we found in some hospital ruins," he explains, "It basically just repairs any living thing you stick in it, so I used it to help you out."
I see. That's a pretty useful trick, especially in such a dangerous line of work. That being said… I do have another question.
"Anyways!" he practically shouts, interrupting my thoughts, "I, um, totally forgot that that thing just kind of… eats any clothes that get put in it. So… I'm, uh, gonna go find you some clothes."
...And that's my other question answered. I watch as he leaves the tent, only realizing after he exits that there is a clothesline running through the tent. With clothes on it. I probably should have noticed that earlier. I poke my head out of the tent and call out.
"Hey, wait!"
Unfortunately, he is already nowhere to be seen. There is, however, someone else outside the tent. He's much more like what one would think a tomb raider would look like - gruff, unshaven, with dull grey eyes and posture that would give a nobleman nightmares. He glances me over once, and then speaks.
"...Healing pod melt your clothes?" he asks.
"...So I've been told." I reply. "That kind of girly looking guy ran off to get me clothes, but he didn't notice there were already clothes in the tent."
He gives a heaving sigh, slouching even further than before.
"Yeah, that's Octavian for you. You can just wear the stuff in the tent if it fits you. Don't go running off, though. Octavian was cackling for pretty much the entire time you were out about how much you owe him."
"...Got it," I reply, retreating back into the tent.
I want to hit something. This mess just doesn't stop piling up. The increase to my indulgence was bad enough; now I'm indebted to this Octavian guy? Don't get me wrong - the sudden healing of my injuries is certainly welcome. However, an instant treatment like that… that's priceless. Octavian could name whatever price he wants for this, and I won't really be able to argue it.
God, I wish that witch had never come here. If she hadn't, my life would still be under my control. Well, not really. I would still be doomed to be an executioner, still be subject to the whims of our elvish overlords. But, if Annalise hadn't come, then my comfortable lie of control would still be in place.
...Come to think of it, with my left arm working again, I'll probably be the one managing her execution, instead of Father. Ugh. I really don't want to… what the hell is even the point? Alingor already set her on fire! I don't want to have to do it a second time! Isn't it a bit redundant at this point?
And then there's the Ogre, Eva. Her only crime was being born as a witch's servant - she's had about as much control over this mess as I've had. The elves will probably want her burned, too. She won't scream or anything, but… I don't want to garrotte someone as innocent as her. It's far too personal. Why can't we just have some machine to do the work? The dwarves could surely build one!
I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be an executioner. I don't want to be chest deep in debt. This miserable existence of mine… I don't want it anymore! Please… I just need something else! Some scrap of agency! To be able to do something… anything that could actually make me happy!
Earlier today, in the marketplace, there was that kid, who I saved from being trampled. That felt good. Even if he ran away from me… even if it worsened my injuries… that was satisfying. In just that moment… for an instant, I think I was happy. Maybe it was the illusion of control. Maybe it was just helping someone else. Maybe I was just delirious. Whatever it was, I wouldn't mind feeling it again.
...That healing device… it's curled up into a roll now. Small enough to hold in one hand. Light enough, too. It's only got a single button, I think I could figure out it's workings. There are clothes in the tent, too.
That's right, everything I need… it's all right here. I can do something. I don't have to continue down the road I'm on. There's another possibility, there for the taking. So, in that case…
Even if it dooms me to a fate far worse. Even if there's no way it ends well for me. Even if it kills me. At least I'll be able to say that it was my choice, my path. A fate I choose of my own free will.
Alright then. Let's do it. I feel a foreign sensation on my face as I pick up the alchemical artifact on the table. Touching my face, it takes a bit to figure it out.
...Had I really forgotten what a real smile feels like? That's just sad.
This hurts. I know it's pretty self-evident, but this hurts a lot. I watch as people pass me by, giving me a cursory glance before looking away. No one pauses to help me. Why would they? You wouldn't help a vulture with a broken wing, right?
...If I don't stand up and make it home, there's a chance I'll just suffocate on my own blood here in the street. Even now, I'm pretty sure my lungs have been damaged by my ribs. Seriously, if I don't move, I'm going to die.
But would that really be so bad? I've lost use of my arm, and I'm pretty sure the damage to my lungs is irreparable. Is life really worth all of this? What am I even living for? Considering my profession, it would be a miracle if my life turned out to be a net positive. But hey, I tried my best, right? Isn't that enough?
"Hey, come on, don't die just yet! Come on, hang in there!"
I feel arms beneath me, and someone lifts me into a princess carry. I open my eyes and see another pair looking back at mine.
...Red eyes?
"Oh good, you're still alive. Hey, keep your eyes open! I've decided to help you, so don't die!" he says, grinning.
I try to keep my eyes open. Really, I do try. But darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision despite my best intentions and swallows me up.
***
I wake up naked, submerged in warm, bright blue goo.
What.
No, seriously, what's going on? I inhale the viscous blue fluid, but I'm not suffocating or anything. It tastes foul; like the coppery flavor of blood, tinged with another taste I've never really encountered before. My headache is gone, but there's an unpleasant numbness in my entire body below my neck. A red cloud floats into my vision, and I glance downwards. My chest has been opened up, the muscles, skin, and bones peeled back like the layers of an onion.
I watch as my lungs slowly float out of my body, and the holes torn in them are knitted together. After the holes are gone, the organs are gently settled back into my chest cavity. I feel nothing as my ribs slowly curl around them, and the muscle and skin is replaced.
Feeling slowly returns to my body. The pain from my injuries is completely gone, save for a strange tingling sensation in my left arm. Hm. Looking at said arm, the tingling is probably the feeling of my muscles restringing themselves over my newly repaired bones. I watch as the skin of my arm, scrunched back like a rolled up sleeve, is stretched across the muscle, and fuses together seamlessly.
And then, suddenly, I can move again. The sides of this bizarre cocoon unfurl like the petals of some alien flower, and the blue ichor spills out, crashing to the ground around the table I seem to have been laid on. I cough and sputter as sludge spews out of my mouth.
I glance around, trying to get my bearings. Canvas walls to my left and right; small shafts of light stabbing forth from the flaps in the front and back walls and intersecting on the floor. Yup, I'm in a tent, alright. I can hear loud chatter filtering through the walls, though I can't really make out the conversation. Still, the voices are familiar, and I can match them to the voices of the tomb raiders I saw hawking their findings in the market earlier today.
"Ah, good. Looks like that thing did its job," someone says, entering the tent. It's the same voice that I had heard before I passed out earlier. I turn to look at him, and lock eyes with the prettiest man I have ever seen. His ruby red eyes contrast surprisingly well with his dark hair, currently tied in a ponytail. He's shorter than me - maybe five feet tall at the most. To be honest, if it weren't for his voice and clothing, I might have mistaken him for a woman.
Even knowing his gender… I can't help but stare at how his trunk hose accentuate his thighs. Seriously, if you're that feminine looking, wear something more manly! Put on a codpiece or something so no one gets confused!
...Actually, no, you shouldn't wear a codpiece. No one should wear a codpiece.
Both of us are quiet for a little bit. The silence drags on for just long enough for it to become awkward. I wilfully move my eyes back to his face, and open my mouth at the exact same time as him.
"...So!" I say.
"...Anyways!" He says.
We pause for a second.
"...Y-you can go first," he says, blushing a bit.
I cough. "The, uh, goo cocoon thing I woke up in" I say, gesturing around me. "What exactly was that?"
He scratches the back of his neck.
"It's, um, an alchemical gizmo we found in some hospital ruins," he explains, "It basically just repairs any living thing you stick in it, so I used it to help you out."
I see. That's a pretty useful trick, especially in such a dangerous line of work. That being said… I do have another question.
"Anyways!" he practically shouts, interrupting my thoughts, "I, um, totally forgot that that thing just kind of… eats any clothes that get put in it. So… I'm, uh, gonna go find you some clothes."
...And that's my other question answered. I watch as he leaves the tent, only realizing after he exits that there is a clothesline running through the tent. With clothes on it. I probably should have noticed that earlier. I poke my head out of the tent and call out.
"Hey, wait!"
Unfortunately, he is already nowhere to be seen. There is, however, someone else outside the tent. He's much more like what one would think a tomb raider would look like - gruff, unshaven, with dull grey eyes and posture that would give a nobleman nightmares. He glances me over once, and then speaks.
"...Healing pod melt your clothes?" he asks.
"...So I've been told." I reply. "That kind of girly looking guy ran off to get me clothes, but he didn't notice there were already clothes in the tent."
He gives a heaving sigh, slouching even further than before.
"Yeah, that's Octavian for you. You can just wear the stuff in the tent if it fits you. Don't go running off, though. Octavian was cackling for pretty much the entire time you were out about how much you owe him."
"...Got it," I reply, retreating back into the tent.
I want to hit something. This mess just doesn't stop piling up. The increase to my indulgence was bad enough; now I'm indebted to this Octavian guy? Don't get me wrong - the sudden healing of my injuries is certainly welcome. However, an instant treatment like that… that's priceless. Octavian could name whatever price he wants for this, and I won't really be able to argue it.
God, I wish that witch had never come here. If she hadn't, my life would still be under my control. Well, not really. I would still be doomed to be an executioner, still be subject to the whims of our elvish overlords. But, if Annalise hadn't come, then my comfortable lie of control would still be in place.
...Come to think of it, with my left arm working again, I'll probably be the one managing her execution, instead of Father. Ugh. I really don't want to… what the hell is even the point? Alingor already set her on fire! I don't want to have to do it a second time! Isn't it a bit redundant at this point?
And then there's the Ogre, Eva. Her only crime was being born as a witch's servant - she's had about as much control over this mess as I've had. The elves will probably want her burned, too. She won't scream or anything, but… I don't want to garrotte someone as innocent as her. It's far too personal. Why can't we just have some machine to do the work? The dwarves could surely build one!
I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be an executioner. I don't want to be chest deep in debt. This miserable existence of mine… I don't want it anymore! Please… I just need something else! Some scrap of agency! To be able to do something… anything that could actually make me happy!
Earlier today, in the marketplace, there was that kid, who I saved from being trampled. That felt good. Even if he ran away from me… even if it worsened my injuries… that was satisfying. In just that moment… for an instant, I think I was happy. Maybe it was the illusion of control. Maybe it was just helping someone else. Maybe I was just delirious. Whatever it was, I wouldn't mind feeling it again.
...That healing device… it's curled up into a roll now. Small enough to hold in one hand. Light enough, too. It's only got a single button, I think I could figure out it's workings. There are clothes in the tent, too.
That's right, everything I need… it's all right here. I can do something. I don't have to continue down the road I'm on. There's another possibility, there for the taking. So, in that case…
Even if it dooms me to a fate far worse. Even if there's no way it ends well for me. Even if it kills me. At least I'll be able to say that it was my choice, my path. A fate I choose of my own free will.
Alright then. Let's do it. I feel a foreign sensation on my face as I pick up the alchemical artifact on the table. Touching my face, it takes a bit to figure it out.
...Had I really forgotten what a real smile feels like? That's just sad.
Oh hey look at that Sigvald is taking some agency for himself. This will definitely end well.
Chapter 6: In which Sigvald breaks the law
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
Three chapters ago:
Miss Eva gives me a look like a kicked puppy. "...oh. I was hoping this was the part where you came to break us out of prison, and we went on heroic adventures together."
"...what kind of character do you think I am?"
Now: http://bit.ly/2BFdH1N
Miss Eva gives me a look like a kicked puppy. "...oh. I was hoping this was the part where you came to break us out of prison, and we went on heroic adventures together."
"...what kind of character do you think I am?"
Now: http://bit.ly/2BFdH1N
The sun is going down as I enter the prison. I don't exactly have enough time to grab anything from home, so I've made a beeline here. It's a bit of a pain; the clothes I took from the tent don't fit extremely well. The doublet is too small and I've had to leave it unlaced, and the trunk hose are uncomfortably high on my legs. More importantly, I wasn't able to fetch my spear. I'll probably have to make do with the headsman's blade, which, while a functional sword, is not particularly well made. Still, it's better than venturing out unarmed. The "royalists" have been spotted nearby, after all.
There's no guards stationed in the prison; Beverende doesn't have the funds needed to have a standing militia. I'm easily able to retrieve the sword I've used many times before and the ring of keys to the cells.
Annalise is still unconscious when I arrive at her cell, and Eva is sleeping by her side. I unlock the cell and throw open the door, startling both of them awake.
"Rise and shine, it's time to get going!" I say, smiling.
Annalise groans, and Eva gives me a confused look.
"Um… Doctor Hohenheim… Why are you wearing poofy shorts?" the ogre asks.
I deflate immediately. Seriously? That's what you comment on!? I cough, once.
"It's, um, a long story."
I press the single button on the rolled up healing gizmo, and it unfurls into a pulsing translucent sac. Looking up, I grin. "Alright then. Eva, put the witch in the bag, and let's get going. This is the part where I break you out of prison and we go on heroic adventures together!"
Eva gives me a shocked look. "Huh? I thought you said you weren't going to do that! In fact, aren't those my exact words from earlier that you said were totally out of character for you? W-what's with this sudden reversal of position!?"
I rub the back of my neck nervously. "Uh- no, see, that's the joke. Because I said I wouldn't help you but I changed my mind, so I, um, used your exact words for comedic effect. It's ironic, so that makes it funny..."
"...oh." She says, eventually. There's about thirty seconds of awkward silence before I give a small cough and start speaking again.
"A-anyway! I brought this weird alchemical healing gizmo, so just stick Annalise in it and we can leave!" I say, pressing the single button on the rolled up bag, causing it to unfurl.
"Oh! So that's why you don't look like you're dying anymore! You used a magic healing thing! But, um, why didn't you use that earlier, when I was hurt?" Eva replies.
"Not important! Put her in the bag, and let's go!" I say impatiently. Seriously, we've only got so long before that Octavian guy realizes I robbed him. I really don't have time to discuss my own conflicted feelings about it. Eva finally gives a single hesitant nod and helps Annalise into the pod.
After the crispy witch is inside the device, it seals up and stiffens as it fills with blue ooze.
"Ah! Doctor Hohenheim, it's filling with slime! Anna's going to drown! Wh-what is this! Did you lie to me!?" The ogre cries in distress.
"No," I reply evenly, "It's supposed to do that. I think."
Eva points at me in an accusatory fashion. "Ah! You just said 'I think' there! That's worrying! That's seriously worrying!"
Raising both hands in a calming gesture, I reply, "Seriously, it's fine. That's exactly what it did for me. The goo is breathable for some reason, so don't freak out."
...She still looks unconvinced, biting her lower lip nervously as she gazes at the alchemical device. Somehow, despite her needle sharp teeth, it's still sort of cute. Or maybe it's because of her fangs? In any case, we really need to be going.
"Alright, use that fabled strength of yours and pick her up; she'll have to heal as we go. We need to get moving before the guy I stole that from comes after me," I say, turning and preparing to leave.
"H-huh!? Stolen!? Y-you stole this thing!?" She cries, apparently horrified at my immorality.
I wave dismissively, having already prepared my moral justification beforehand. "He was going to use healing me as a pretense to extort a bunch of money from me anyway. Turnabout is fair play and all that."
"E-even still. You should always repay your debts. When someone helps you… paying them back evil in return...that's wrong." She mutters, fists clenched.
I poke a small bandage on her cheek, which I put there a few days ago.
"I don't want to hear that from you, miss "I didn't tell him about the witchcraft at all Anna!" How about taking your own advice, huh?"
Tears well in her eyes as she looks down. "I-I'm sorry. This… it's all my fault, isn't it."
Ah, damn, I didn't mean to go that far.
"Oi. I'm just doing what I want, so don't go blaming yourself. I'm actually pretty happy right now, y'know? I think… I've been wanting to do something like this for a while. I was just teasing you, so don't sweat it," I say with a reassuring smile.
Eva smiles back nervously.
"O-ok then. I guess… we should leave, huh, Doctor Hohenheim?"
"...Seriously, I'm not a doctor. Just call me Sigvald, okay?"
She nods, smiling. "Mhm! Let's go then, Sigvald!"
***
I've got a bad feeling as we make our way through the stone halls of the prison. This place is way too big - there's only ever ten or so people in here at the most, so the hundreds of cells in the building are pure overkill. Just another side effect of using the ancient ruins as a base for the city. In any case, I'm practically expecting someone to arrive in time to stop us. I'm sweating nervously already.
Wait.
The sweat that's collecting on my body… isn't sweat. It's some other liquid, one I've never smelled before. It reeks, though. Now that I'm thinking about it, the air is considerably more humid at the moment than I would expect for the wintertime. Is this liquid… in the air?
We round a corner, and my eyes widen at the sight of a familiar figure. Alingor. The highblood inquisitor - why is he here? Did he see me entering the prison? He's already seen Eva behind me, for sure. He has his right hand raised, the fingers spread wide. There's a strange distortion in the air above his fingers, and in that instant, realization dawns.
I tackle Eva to the ground as fire shoots through the corridor. The bagged witch falls to the floor beside us, flame surging through the air above. The back of my shirt catches fire, but I quickly roll over and extinguish it. Pyromancy. The unique weapon of the highblooded elves. It's really unfair - just to match the natural magic of the elves a human would have to sell his or her soul to a demon.
I slowly rise to my feet. The air is dry now, the humidity having been burned away by his flame. Alingor is still standing there, the air around him rippling like a warm summer's day, flames hovering in the air about a foot away from his body. Slowly, he advances, walking at a leisurely pace. Why? Why not rush me while I'm down? Even more, why not just keep up that flare from earlier.
...he has limits, I realize, relaxing a bit. The fire… it's moving slightly after he does. If he moves too quickly, he'll catch himself on fire. Suddenly, he moves. He whips his hand towards me, and for a second I can see a path of distorted air shooting forth from his hand, moving like an invisible stone hurled from his hand.
I'm not entirely sure what that distortion is, but I should probably avoid it. I manage to dodge most of the rapidly moving gas, but some of it brushes against my arm. Damp fluid clings to the hairs on my arm. An instant later, a surge of fire follows the trail of distorted air, flying in a ball of flames along the same path. I try to move my arm out of the path, but as I do so, the liquid clinging to me evaporates, leaving a trail of shimmering air behind my arm.
I drop to the ground as flame impacts may arm, smothering it against the cobbled stone floor. My arm is still burnt a bit, but the flame couldn't spread. More importantly, I've already figured out his trick.
It's not magic. Total control of fire - that's not actually what's going on here. The strange humidity I was suddenly feeling… the trails of distorted air… the fact that his fire burned away the humidity… I think I get it now. His body is somehow releasing a flammable gas into the air around him. At the start, he had flooded the prison with that gas, and that's why he was able to shoot such a massive attack at me.
Still, I'm the one on a clock here. Even if he has limited fuel… the prison has way too poor ventilation. I can already feel my breathing getting heavier, and...he's fine. Even though the fire around him should be eating up the good air before it gets to his body. I guess… highbloods don't need to breathe?
In that case, I need to somehow incapacitate him before his flames consume all the good air.
I draw the sword from its place by my side, gripping it tightly. Seriously, what I would give for a spear, or even a bow, right now. If I'm going to use this sword, I'm going to have to close into close range against an enemy that is literally surrounded by fire. I become very aware of the dampness coating my body. Dampness that could be mostly sweat, but could also very well be the gas settling on me.
Yeah, closing into melee range would be a Bad Idea.
I need a ranged attack. I suppose I could unscrew my pommel and throw it at him…
Just kidding. That would be stupid.
Guess I'll just charge him, then.
I rush forward, holding my blade in my right hand, preparing to thrust it for maximum reach. As I charge, I can see the amount of gas around him increase substantially. Moments later, flame envelops the entire corridor in front of me.
Perfect.
With his view obscured by flame, and him not expecting it in the least, I suddenly stop my movement, and throw my sword.
Now, it needs to be said: throwing your sword is a very stupid idea. Swords are not over-sized knives, and you can't throw them like one. For starters, throwing knives aren't like normal knives. They are made to pierce, not cut. Cutting only works if the edge of a blade is properly aligned with the target, and then drawn across it. Cutting from a long distance just doesn't work.
Hatchets can be thrown of course, and they chop through their target just fine. But a sword isn't built to chop, it's built to cut, and it doesn't have the weighted edge of an axe. Indeed, to throw the sword like a hatchet, intending to chop the target, is idiotic.
Which is why I throw the sword like a spear, intending to pierce.
Like I said before, a sword only cuts well if properly aligned with the target and drawn across it. Motion is needed for the blade to cut. Thus, when I grip the blade tightly in my right hand, at the center of its mass, it doesn't cut me at all.
I hurl the blade with all my might, like I'm throwing a spear. It flies slowly through the air, at a speed that would likely be easily avoided by anyone whose view wasn't currently obscured by flames. However, Alingor doesn't see it coming at all, and a second later, the wall of flames dies down, the elf clutching a small wound in his side.
My attack didn't kill him. There's no way an idiotic ploy like that would actually kill someone. However, with just a single wound… his ability to control the rate at which his body secretes the gas has been thrown off.
His pyromancy is crippled, and I take full advantage of it. My fist collides with his gut not a second after his fire is gone.
He doesn't move at all. My fist hurts - I feel like I just punched solid wood. Alingor promptly backhands me, and I go flying backwards. Right. Ogres and elves are kin, after all. Everything true about the Ogres' strength… is just as true of the elves.
He advances, and judging by the angry hisses and clicks he is making, he is not happy with me.
Luckily, I'm not alone. Eva, who up until this point appears to have been shielding Annalise from the flames, shoots forward, pouncing on the elf. There's a spray of green blood as her sharp teeth tear the elf's throat out with ease. Alingor twitches a bit, his body giving off the flammable gas, and for a second I think he's about to explode. Eva responds quickly and brutally. She grabs his shoulders with one hand, and his head with another, and messily tears one from the other.
Okay then. That deals with that, I guess.
Sword throwing:
Also, Eva is surprisingly metal.
Also, Eva is surprisingly metal.
Chapter 7: In which Octavian tastes betrayal
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
It's about midday when I see someone collapse on the front steps of the governor's office, blood spewing from his mouth. That's pretty rough, but normally not something I'd get involved with. Better to leave it to locals to take care of their own. I've got plenty of reasons not to draw too much attention to myself, and we're set to leave soon anyways.
However… this guy has white hair and red eyes. He's a descendant of the Demon Lord, and that's bad news for him. I've only got the red eyes myself, and plenty of people avoid me, thinking I'm some bastard of the executioner families. Someone like him, who's practically advertising his status as a social pariah… no one is going to save him. He'll bleed out like an animal, in the street, people
In that case, it can't be helped. I'll just have to save him myself. It's my responsibility to help my own, after all. And he is one of mine. Even now, far from that past of mine… I feel a connection to the powerless. They are my people, my family. And if I don't help them, help all those who are still trapped in powerlessness… then I may as well give my sight back to that demon.
"Hey, come on, don't die just yet! Come on, hang in there!" I shout, picking him up in a princess carry. He's about my own age, I can see now. A year younger at most. Not that bad looking either. I mean, sure, he looks pretty banged up, but that can be fixed! As long as he doesn't die! The healing pod may be a powerful tool, but not even it can raise the dead!
...Probably. Come to think of it, I haven't tested what it does to the dead yet, have I? I should… probably do that.
He opens his eyes, red eyes locking with my own.
"Oh good, you're still alive. Hey, keep your eyes open! I've decided to help you, so don't die!" I say, smiling in relief.
Not good, his eyes just closed again! No, don't die! I already told you not to, so listen to my orders, damn it!
***
I somehow manage to make it back to the camp and get him into the healing pod before he expires. Seriously, that thing is so useful! How come other witches and warlocks don't use their wishes to create stuff like that? Seriously, Demons won't grant the same wish twice, so use your wish on something that can be used multiple times already! Seriously, are people just stupid, or what?
...well, my wish for sight was a one time thing, so it's not like I have the right to criticize. B-but still, at least I had the presence of mind to wish for eyes that would never fail!
That stuff aside, I have to figure out a way to stay the extra couple hours for this thing to work now. Alexander is going to be seriously upset! How am I supposed to explain this to him?
"Octavian, your tent is still up. Hurry up and pack; we need to be ready to move out tonight. I want to be able to make it to Horin's crest before daybreak," a monotone voice says from behind me. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, huh? I turn around, and find myself face to face with Alexander Ingram.
"Jeez, Alex, you look even more dead - eyed than normal. You sure you don't want to get some blood before we leave?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
"I'm not a vampire, Octavian. Drinking blood won't help with this perfectly natural result of working with you for more than a year. And don't think I didn't see you dodging giving a response to my request.
"W-well, you see-" I start.
"Octavian, I swear on the gospel, if you're delaying so that healing pod of yours can repair some poor injured animal again, I will cook and eat that poor critter," he says, body quivering with barely restrained anger.
OH CRAP BLUFF BLUFF BLUFF!
"No, of course not! I… have simply found a major opportunity! Yes, I saved the life of another person, and now I can basically demand whatever I want of them! Such healing treatment is certainly priceless, so no matter what I demand, I'll be in the legal right! Fuahahaha!" I shout, lying like my life depends on it. (It does.)
Alex gives me a look. Uh, maybe I went a little too far? After a few moments of silence, he lets out a sigh.
"Fine then. I'll let the other crews know we're being delayed by your little extortion racket here. You just focus on whatever the hell is so important about this person."
With that, he storms off, head hunched down and hands in pockets. Did he figure out I was lying? Well, whatever, I'll deal with that later. For now… I've got to think of something I can demand that won't turn the poor guy I saved into a beggar.
***
"Ah, good. Looks like that thing did its job," I say, entering my tent. The executioner turns to look at me and ok he is naked.
...He's not ugly, either. Broad shoulders and a muscular build, but not overly so. There's barely a scrap of fat on him, but he's not malnourished either. All in all, I'd say he's just a little better looking than average.
Also, he's naked, which, y'know, is kind of sexy.
"...Anyways!" I practically shout, blood rushing to my face.
"...So!" he says.
We pause for a second.
"...Y-you can go first," I say, fidgeting in place and glancing away.
He coughs. "The, uh, goo cocoon thing I woke up in," he says, making some gesture that I can't see because I am very carefully not looking at him "What exactly was that?"
I scratch the back of my neck, preparing an adequate lie. It's not like I can tell him I wished for it using my contracted demon, right?
"It's, um, an alchemical gizmo we found in some hospital ruins," I say, "It basically just repairs any living thing you stick in it, so I used it to help you out."
"Anyways!" I say, turning around, "I, um, totally forgot that that thing just kind of… eats any clothes that get put in it. So… I'm, uh, gonna go find you some clothes."
I dash out of the tent, trying not to die of embarrassment. My poor virgin eyes, sullied for marriage! Is this how Alex felt when I used the thing for the first time? Ahhhhh!!!! I run my fingers through my hair, messing it up a bit.
B-but this is fine. I just need to find some clothes, and then I'll never have to see him again. Right, it's not like anything else could happen.
I root through Alex's luggage, looking for something that will fit the guy. My clothes are too small for him, but because of his… situation... Alex has clothing of a number of different sizes, so-
I hear someone approach from behind me, and then hear Alex's voice. "Y'know, when you said you could demand "anything" from the guy, I didn't think you'd go that far. I mean, I know he's fairly attractive by human standards, but to demand-"
My mind realizes where he's going and I whip my face towards him. "You're wrong!" I shriek, then realize I let my voice slip a bit. Dropping back into my "male" voice, I continue. "I-it's not like that at all!"
He just smirks in response.
Jerk.
***
"He's gone," I mutter in disbelief. D-did he run away naked?
"Of course he's gone," Alexander says from behind me. "I told him you were planning on extorting him and you left some clothes in here."
I whirl around in disbelief. "Wh-what?"
"Extorting people is wrong, Octavian," he replies, flicking my forehead.
"That was a lie! I was just trying to keep you from getting mad at me for delaying us!" I cry out, exasperated.
"...Oh," he replies, sighing. "Yeah, I guess that's more in character for you. Sorry for doubting you. Seriously though, just tell the truth next time. I won't get mad if it's to help an actual person. That kindness of yours… is part of the reason we're partners." He says, giving me a rare honest smile.
"Alexander…" I say, tears welling up.
He smiles, and stretches his arms out for a hug.
"Ah no, that's not it. I'm upset, not happy. He stole the healing pod," I say, cutting off the emotional moment.
He turns around. "Ah. That he did."
However… this guy has white hair and red eyes. He's a descendant of the Demon Lord, and that's bad news for him. I've only got the red eyes myself, and plenty of people avoid me, thinking I'm some bastard of the executioner families. Someone like him, who's practically advertising his status as a social pariah… no one is going to save him. He'll bleed out like an animal, in the street, people
In that case, it can't be helped. I'll just have to save him myself. It's my responsibility to help my own, after all. And he is one of mine. Even now, far from that past of mine… I feel a connection to the powerless. They are my people, my family. And if I don't help them, help all those who are still trapped in powerlessness… then I may as well give my sight back to that demon.
"Hey, come on, don't die just yet! Come on, hang in there!" I shout, picking him up in a princess carry. He's about my own age, I can see now. A year younger at most. Not that bad looking either. I mean, sure, he looks pretty banged up, but that can be fixed! As long as he doesn't die! The healing pod may be a powerful tool, but not even it can raise the dead!
...Probably. Come to think of it, I haven't tested what it does to the dead yet, have I? I should… probably do that.
He opens his eyes, red eyes locking with my own.
"Oh good, you're still alive. Hey, keep your eyes open! I've decided to help you, so don't die!" I say, smiling in relief.
Not good, his eyes just closed again! No, don't die! I already told you not to, so listen to my orders, damn it!
***
I somehow manage to make it back to the camp and get him into the healing pod before he expires. Seriously, that thing is so useful! How come other witches and warlocks don't use their wishes to create stuff like that? Seriously, Demons won't grant the same wish twice, so use your wish on something that can be used multiple times already! Seriously, are people just stupid, or what?
...well, my wish for sight was a one time thing, so it's not like I have the right to criticize. B-but still, at least I had the presence of mind to wish for eyes that would never fail!
That stuff aside, I have to figure out a way to stay the extra couple hours for this thing to work now. Alexander is going to be seriously upset! How am I supposed to explain this to him?
"Octavian, your tent is still up. Hurry up and pack; we need to be ready to move out tonight. I want to be able to make it to Horin's crest before daybreak," a monotone voice says from behind me. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, huh? I turn around, and find myself face to face with Alexander Ingram.
"Jeez, Alex, you look even more dead - eyed than normal. You sure you don't want to get some blood before we leave?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
"I'm not a vampire, Octavian. Drinking blood won't help with this perfectly natural result of working with you for more than a year. And don't think I didn't see you dodging giving a response to my request.
"W-well, you see-" I start.
"Octavian, I swear on the gospel, if you're delaying so that healing pod of yours can repair some poor injured animal again, I will cook and eat that poor critter," he says, body quivering with barely restrained anger.
OH CRAP BLUFF BLUFF BLUFF!
"No, of course not! I… have simply found a major opportunity! Yes, I saved the life of another person, and now I can basically demand whatever I want of them! Such healing treatment is certainly priceless, so no matter what I demand, I'll be in the legal right! Fuahahaha!" I shout, lying like my life depends on it. (It does.)
Alex gives me a look. Uh, maybe I went a little too far? After a few moments of silence, he lets out a sigh.
"Fine then. I'll let the other crews know we're being delayed by your little extortion racket here. You just focus on whatever the hell is so important about this person."
With that, he storms off, head hunched down and hands in pockets. Did he figure out I was lying? Well, whatever, I'll deal with that later. For now… I've got to think of something I can demand that won't turn the poor guy I saved into a beggar.
***
"Ah, good. Looks like that thing did its job," I say, entering my tent. The executioner turns to look at me and ok he is naked.
...He's not ugly, either. Broad shoulders and a muscular build, but not overly so. There's barely a scrap of fat on him, but he's not malnourished either. All in all, I'd say he's just a little better looking than average.
Also, he's naked, which, y'know, is kind of sexy.
"...Anyways!" I practically shout, blood rushing to my face.
"...So!" he says.
We pause for a second.
"...Y-you can go first," I say, fidgeting in place and glancing away.
He coughs. "The, uh, goo cocoon thing I woke up in," he says, making some gesture that I can't see because I am very carefully not looking at him "What exactly was that?"
I scratch the back of my neck, preparing an adequate lie. It's not like I can tell him I wished for it using my contracted demon, right?
"It's, um, an alchemical gizmo we found in some hospital ruins," I say, "It basically just repairs any living thing you stick in it, so I used it to help you out."
"Anyways!" I say, turning around, "I, um, totally forgot that that thing just kind of… eats any clothes that get put in it. So… I'm, uh, gonna go find you some clothes."
I dash out of the tent, trying not to die of embarrassment. My poor virgin eyes, sullied for marriage! Is this how Alex felt when I used the thing for the first time? Ahhhhh!!!! I run my fingers through my hair, messing it up a bit.
B-but this is fine. I just need to find some clothes, and then I'll never have to see him again. Right, it's not like anything else could happen.
I root through Alex's luggage, looking for something that will fit the guy. My clothes are too small for him, but because of his… situation... Alex has clothing of a number of different sizes, so-
I hear someone approach from behind me, and then hear Alex's voice. "Y'know, when you said you could demand "anything" from the guy, I didn't think you'd go that far. I mean, I know he's fairly attractive by human standards, but to demand-"
My mind realizes where he's going and I whip my face towards him. "You're wrong!" I shriek, then realize I let my voice slip a bit. Dropping back into my "male" voice, I continue. "I-it's not like that at all!"
He just smirks in response.
Jerk.
***
"He's gone," I mutter in disbelief. D-did he run away naked?
"Of course he's gone," Alexander says from behind me. "I told him you were planning on extorting him and you left some clothes in here."
I whirl around in disbelief. "Wh-what?"
"Extorting people is wrong, Octavian," he replies, flicking my forehead.
"That was a lie! I was just trying to keep you from getting mad at me for delaying us!" I cry out, exasperated.
"...Oh," he replies, sighing. "Yeah, I guess that's more in character for you. Sorry for doubting you. Seriously though, just tell the truth next time. I won't get mad if it's to help an actual person. That kindness of yours… is part of the reason we're partners." He says, giving me a rare honest smile.
"Alexander…" I say, tears welling up.
He smiles, and stretches his arms out for a hug.
"Ah no, that's not it. I'm upset, not happy. He stole the healing pod," I say, cutting off the emotional moment.
He turns around. "Ah. That he did."
Poor Communication gets your stuff stolen, folks.
Also, Octavian is 100% a boy, and not a girl. No crossdressing here, folks, move along.
Also, Octavian is 100% a boy, and not a girl. No crossdressing here, folks, move along.
Chapter 8: In which Eva argues with old people
Xorn
Master Procrastinator
- Location
- Somewhere I won't be able to rest in peace
There's a spray of blood as my teeth sink into the Elf's throat. With a single twist of my head, I tear the chunk of meat free, and swallow instinctively.
It tastes delicious.
His body starts hissing. Preparing to self-destruct, one of my ancestors supplies. What? An image of the elf's body detonating violently flashes through my mind. Well, we can't have that, can we? I tear his head off before he gets the chance. Now, what next?
Devour him. Eat him. Make his strength our own.
Geez, you guys are no help! Eating raw meat is uncivilized, Anna said so!
That worthless human? A child of the dust has no knowledge of-
I give a small huff, and disconnect from the ancestors. Bunch of old fogeys, what do they know anyways? That's the problem with inheriting the souls of a bunch of old dead people. It's not like they became any wiser through being dead, and they're way out of touch with the modern world besides. Maybe I should eat the elf, if only to add a more modern voice to the chorus of old farts.
But no, that would make Anna upset, and probably gross Sigvald out, too. I can't ruin things with my new friend that fast!
Ah! Come to think of it, I've doubled my friend count now! Ehehehe~! Soon enough I'll have my very own pack!
I stand up and grin at Sigvald, who flinches a bit. Oh no, do I…? I do! I have elf bits stuck in my teeth! Ugh, this is so embarrassing. Little fibers are stuck in several of my teeth. It's like that time with the celery, but worse! Ancestors, help me! I don't want elf in my teeth for days!
Elf skin is fibrous, like a plant. You have to skin them before eating.
Good to know, but that's not what I asked! What a bunch of senile idiots!
It's way too tough to get that stuff out. Just wait for a new set of teeth to grow in.
No way! It'll be at least another month before that happens! Anna's going to be so upset…
The child of dust matters not-
Shut up, shut up, shut up! Anna matters a whole bunch! More than a bunch of crusty old dead people!
"Eva, are you… okay? I think I've seen you go through six different emotions there," Sigvald says.
I open my mouth to tell him, then blush and look away from him.
"I've...um… got some… elf bits stuck in my teeth," I mutter. "The last time something like this this happened… I had celery stuck in my teeth for days…"
Sigvald is silent for almost five seconds.
"Have you tried… using a toothpick?" He finally asks.
"No way, no way, no way! I'm not doing that ever again! I still have scars on my hands from accidentally biting myself!" I shout, as the traumatic flashback starts. Blood everywhere…
"...I guess Ogres have it rough, too…" Sigvald mutters.
He then kneels next to the Elf's body and starts to remove the unisex robe he was wearing.
"Um, Sigvald? What are you doing?" I ask.
"These clothes don't fit, so I'm taking Alingor's. He won't be needing them anymore," He explains, then stops partway through his task. "...What the hell?"
I agree with his question. I had always wondered why the elves hid their genders under those robes and masks; now I know. The elf's body is just… smooth. No genitals or anything. Like one of Anna's dolls when we were growing up. Now that I look at it… he wasn't wearing a mask to begin with. He simply has no face. Ancestors, what exactly are the highbloods, anyway?
Images flash through my mind. A snake, lips stretched into a person-like smile. A glowing mushroom. A cure for death. A man, neither Ogre nor Elf, but somewhere in between, watches as a forest of fungi devours his village. And from the roots, the first highbloods claw their way free. Featureless and flawless, born anew.
Evil mushroom men? Seriously? I've been thinking this for a while, but how many of you guys are senile?
Have some respect for your elders child! They have more wisdom than you. Honestly, I was never like this. Why, back in my day-
I promptly tune the ancestors out again.
***
We make it about an hour into the forest north of town, just heading down a hill, before the pod with Anna in it starts jiggling vigorously. I put it down. It's about time! The thing may have been soft, but it was about three times Anna's weight with all that goo inside.
"Hey, Sigvald, I think it's done!" I call ahead of me. He's wearing the elvish robe now, the silly poofy shorts from earlier stowed away in a pocket, within the robe's many folds.
"Ah, that's good to-" he starts, and then pauses, turning pale. "Crap, I forgot."
"Sigvald?" I ask, noting how he has turned to look in the opposite direction of the thing. What exactly is he- Oh! It's opening!
Anna emerges from the healing pod as it uncurls from around her, in a manner similar to a flower's petals unfurling. She stands up, the blue liquid glittering in the newly risen moon's light as it cascades down her flawless body.
When we were thirteen, Anna stopped bathing with me and started to insist on changing by herself. It's been years since I've seen her undressed, and she has apparently only become more beautiful in that time.
Now, when she stands up, a toss of her hair catching the glittering moonlight, it's like watching some ethereal fairy queen emerging from a flower in bloom.
A very, very, naked Fairy Queen.
I let out an "Eep!" as I turn around. It's too late, of course, the image is seared into my eyeballs.
"Sigvald!" I shout, "W-w-w-why is she naked!? She had clothes on when we put her in there!"
"Sorry, it somehow slipped my mind with all the things going on. That thing apparently melts clothes. Best guess is that it's to keep anything from getting in the way. Wouldn't want the thing growing new skin over her bandages or something," he replies.
Anna speaks up. "Not that I mind having my skin back, but I would certainly not be averse to having something to wear."
Sigvald shrugs, still looking away.
"All I've got is what I was wearing earlier. It was uncomfortably small on me, but the fit should be fine for you."
"As if. I saw what you were wearing before! Give me the robe," Anna demands
"Like hell. If you want a comfortable, soft, silky robe, kill an elf and take it from him. I'm never parting with this thing," Sigvald replies smugly. Eh? Is the robe that nice?
"But… wasn't I the one who killed him?" I interject.
"Perfect!" Anna says. "Then Eva can have the robe, which she'll give to me, you can have Eva's clothes, which she got from you anyway, and Eva can wear the poofy shorts!"
"B-but I don't want to wear the poofy shorts!" I shout. How could Anna betray me like this!
"But I hemmed those clothes for Eva," Sigvald replies, "they won't fit me anymore."
R-right! There's no need for my clothes to be on the bargaining table.
"Just rip the stitches out," Anna says.
"Hm. I guess that would work," Sigvald mutters.
"No, Sigvald! I like these clothes! They fit really nice and I appreciate the work that went into hemming them and most importantly they aren't poofy shorts!" I say, tears starting to fill my eyes.
"Shh, Eva, don't cry! You'll look really really cute in the poofy shorts," Anna says, hugging me and patting my head. H-hey, don't do that when you're not dressed! I'll overheat at this rate, seriously!
Suddenly, something comes sailing towards us, from over the hill behind us. I don't see it in time, so it impacts Anna and I, flopping over us. This is… a cloak?
"Put that on before you catch a cold," says a girly looking red-eyed boy standing atop the hill. He's wearing the stupid poofy shorts. Huh, it actually does look cute on a girl. Or at least, a someone who looks like a girl.
"Demonblood," He says, glaring at Sigvald.
Wait, the voice is deeper, but with that appearance and those eyes… Princess Octavia!? She's here!? Why!?
"Octavian, was it?" Sigvald replies, a strained smile on his face.
Octavian!? What's with that paper thin disguise!? All she did is add an 'n' to the end of her name!
"It's not her," Anna whispers in my ear. "That monster was way too clever to use such a stupid alias. I don't know what their relationship is, but there's no way they're the same person."
"Octavian" speaks up again.
"To take advantage of me helping you, and steal one of my most valuable possessions… what to you have to say for yourself, descendant of the Demon Lord? Is this simply your nature, to repay kindness with evil?"
Sigvald is silent, staring back at the maybe-a-boy-but-probably-a-girl.
"Well? Do you have any excuses?" Octavian asks.
Sigvald gulps, but then a grin slowly spreads across his face.
"No excuses," he replies, "But I do have a deal for you, Octavian. You can still profit off of this."
Octavian's eyes narrow.
"Alright," he says hesitantly, "I'm listening."
It tastes delicious.
His body starts hissing. Preparing to self-destruct, one of my ancestors supplies. What? An image of the elf's body detonating violently flashes through my mind. Well, we can't have that, can we? I tear his head off before he gets the chance. Now, what next?
Devour him. Eat him. Make his strength our own.
Geez, you guys are no help! Eating raw meat is uncivilized, Anna said so!
That worthless human? A child of the dust has no knowledge of-
I give a small huff, and disconnect from the ancestors. Bunch of old fogeys, what do they know anyways? That's the problem with inheriting the souls of a bunch of old dead people. It's not like they became any wiser through being dead, and they're way out of touch with the modern world besides. Maybe I should eat the elf, if only to add a more modern voice to the chorus of old farts.
But no, that would make Anna upset, and probably gross Sigvald out, too. I can't ruin things with my new friend that fast!
Ah! Come to think of it, I've doubled my friend count now! Ehehehe~! Soon enough I'll have my very own pack!
I stand up and grin at Sigvald, who flinches a bit. Oh no, do I…? I do! I have elf bits stuck in my teeth! Ugh, this is so embarrassing. Little fibers are stuck in several of my teeth. It's like that time with the celery, but worse! Ancestors, help me! I don't want elf in my teeth for days!
Elf skin is fibrous, like a plant. You have to skin them before eating.
Good to know, but that's not what I asked! What a bunch of senile idiots!
It's way too tough to get that stuff out. Just wait for a new set of teeth to grow in.
No way! It'll be at least another month before that happens! Anna's going to be so upset…
The child of dust matters not-
Shut up, shut up, shut up! Anna matters a whole bunch! More than a bunch of crusty old dead people!
"Eva, are you… okay? I think I've seen you go through six different emotions there," Sigvald says.
I open my mouth to tell him, then blush and look away from him.
"I've...um… got some… elf bits stuck in my teeth," I mutter. "The last time something like this this happened… I had celery stuck in my teeth for days…"
Sigvald is silent for almost five seconds.
"Have you tried… using a toothpick?" He finally asks.
"No way, no way, no way! I'm not doing that ever again! I still have scars on my hands from accidentally biting myself!" I shout, as the traumatic flashback starts. Blood everywhere…
"...I guess Ogres have it rough, too…" Sigvald mutters.
He then kneels next to the Elf's body and starts to remove the unisex robe he was wearing.
"Um, Sigvald? What are you doing?" I ask.
"These clothes don't fit, so I'm taking Alingor's. He won't be needing them anymore," He explains, then stops partway through his task. "...What the hell?"
I agree with his question. I had always wondered why the elves hid their genders under those robes and masks; now I know. The elf's body is just… smooth. No genitals or anything. Like one of Anna's dolls when we were growing up. Now that I look at it… he wasn't wearing a mask to begin with. He simply has no face. Ancestors, what exactly are the highbloods, anyway?
Images flash through my mind. A snake, lips stretched into a person-like smile. A glowing mushroom. A cure for death. A man, neither Ogre nor Elf, but somewhere in between, watches as a forest of fungi devours his village. And from the roots, the first highbloods claw their way free. Featureless and flawless, born anew.
Evil mushroom men? Seriously? I've been thinking this for a while, but how many of you guys are senile?
Have some respect for your elders child! They have more wisdom than you. Honestly, I was never like this. Why, back in my day-
I promptly tune the ancestors out again.
***
We make it about an hour into the forest north of town, just heading down a hill, before the pod with Anna in it starts jiggling vigorously. I put it down. It's about time! The thing may have been soft, but it was about three times Anna's weight with all that goo inside.
"Hey, Sigvald, I think it's done!" I call ahead of me. He's wearing the elvish robe now, the silly poofy shorts from earlier stowed away in a pocket, within the robe's many folds.
"Ah, that's good to-" he starts, and then pauses, turning pale. "Crap, I forgot."
"Sigvald?" I ask, noting how he has turned to look in the opposite direction of the thing. What exactly is he- Oh! It's opening!
Anna emerges from the healing pod as it uncurls from around her, in a manner similar to a flower's petals unfurling. She stands up, the blue liquid glittering in the newly risen moon's light as it cascades down her flawless body.
When we were thirteen, Anna stopped bathing with me and started to insist on changing by herself. It's been years since I've seen her undressed, and she has apparently only become more beautiful in that time.
Now, when she stands up, a toss of her hair catching the glittering moonlight, it's like watching some ethereal fairy queen emerging from a flower in bloom.
A very, very, naked Fairy Queen.
I let out an "Eep!" as I turn around. It's too late, of course, the image is seared into my eyeballs.
"Sigvald!" I shout, "W-w-w-why is she naked!? She had clothes on when we put her in there!"
"Sorry, it somehow slipped my mind with all the things going on. That thing apparently melts clothes. Best guess is that it's to keep anything from getting in the way. Wouldn't want the thing growing new skin over her bandages or something," he replies.
Anna speaks up. "Not that I mind having my skin back, but I would certainly not be averse to having something to wear."
Sigvald shrugs, still looking away.
"All I've got is what I was wearing earlier. It was uncomfortably small on me, but the fit should be fine for you."
"As if. I saw what you were wearing before! Give me the robe," Anna demands
"Like hell. If you want a comfortable, soft, silky robe, kill an elf and take it from him. I'm never parting with this thing," Sigvald replies smugly. Eh? Is the robe that nice?
"But… wasn't I the one who killed him?" I interject.
"Perfect!" Anna says. "Then Eva can have the robe, which she'll give to me, you can have Eva's clothes, which she got from you anyway, and Eva can wear the poofy shorts!"
"B-but I don't want to wear the poofy shorts!" I shout. How could Anna betray me like this!
"But I hemmed those clothes for Eva," Sigvald replies, "they won't fit me anymore."
R-right! There's no need for my clothes to be on the bargaining table.
"Just rip the stitches out," Anna says.
"Hm. I guess that would work," Sigvald mutters.
"No, Sigvald! I like these clothes! They fit really nice and I appreciate the work that went into hemming them and most importantly they aren't poofy shorts!" I say, tears starting to fill my eyes.
"Shh, Eva, don't cry! You'll look really really cute in the poofy shorts," Anna says, hugging me and patting my head. H-hey, don't do that when you're not dressed! I'll overheat at this rate, seriously!
Suddenly, something comes sailing towards us, from over the hill behind us. I don't see it in time, so it impacts Anna and I, flopping over us. This is… a cloak?
"Put that on before you catch a cold," says a girly looking red-eyed boy standing atop the hill. He's wearing the stupid poofy shorts. Huh, it actually does look cute on a girl. Or at least, a someone who looks like a girl.
"Demonblood," He says, glaring at Sigvald.
Wait, the voice is deeper, but with that appearance and those eyes… Princess Octavia!? She's here!? Why!?
"Octavian, was it?" Sigvald replies, a strained smile on his face.
Octavian!? What's with that paper thin disguise!? All she did is add an 'n' to the end of her name!
"It's not her," Anna whispers in my ear. "That monster was way too clever to use such a stupid alias. I don't know what their relationship is, but there's no way they're the same person."
"Octavian" speaks up again.
"To take advantage of me helping you, and steal one of my most valuable possessions… what to you have to say for yourself, descendant of the Demon Lord? Is this simply your nature, to repay kindness with evil?"
Sigvald is silent, staring back at the maybe-a-boy-but-probably-a-girl.
"Well? Do you have any excuses?" Octavian asks.
Sigvald gulps, but then a grin slowly spreads across his face.
"No excuses," he replies, "But I do have a deal for you, Octavian. You can still profit off of this."
Octavian's eyes narrow.
"Alright," he says hesitantly, "I'm listening."
Hearing voices isn't healthy, Eva.
Just kidding that's normal for Ogres.
Also wow Octavian found them super easy I wonder how he did that hmmmmm.
*cough* ademondidit *cough*
Just kidding that's normal for Ogres.
Also wow Octavian found them super easy I wonder how he did that hmmmmm.
*cough* ademondidit *cough*