DCC: Night Elves

Hey, Tourmaline? 

Tourmaline Jones switched her attention from the menu in front of her, to the message from Damian Petr, who was maybe her boyfriend now. She wasn't entirely sure, and she didn't think he was, either. The Dungeon hadn't left them a lot of time to talk about it. But as they were drifting off to sleep the previous night, she'd asked him to let her know what he was choosing for a race, if he could. Hey, Damian. How's it coming?

I think I'm going to go with Night Elf for my race. Good stats, works well with what I'm doing, and looks pretty cool. You have that one available?

Tourmaline found it in her Top Three Recommended Races. Yes. One of my top three, according to the Dungeon. 

Mine, too. He hesitated, then sent, You know if you take it, we'll still be at risk of... 

I know. We'll just have use protection if we ever get that far. It's a good thing you keep getting those Perv boxes. She knew, all right. Omar the Djinn had told them: Crawler races couldn't crossbreed under normal circumstances. But if both of them became Night Elves, it should keep the possibility open. 

Not that she had any intention of having a baby. She wasn't even sure about having sex, honestly, even with Damian. Part of what had drawn her to him was that he was bold, direct, and outspoken where she was nervous, cautious, and quiet. On top of that, she was fifteen, and trapped with a bunch of her schoolmates in a dungeon that was trying very hard to kill them. But if they somehow survived all this and managed to reach adulthood, she thought Damian was the one she was most likely to want to have children with. They balanced each other out.

Night Elf, she decided, and made the selection. She just caught of glimpse of Damian confirming Night Elf before the world faded out around her.

Behind again...

This past weekend was a lot. Fun, enjoyable, but just a bunch of things going on. Which means, among other things, that it basically burned through the time I'd normally use to write stuff for the Blog o' Doom here and schedule it to go up. And, like, I knew this event was coming, I just hadn't realized it was coming Now until it landed on us. We also did our early voting -- which Firstborn drove back to town for and Secondborn kept insisting that she should vote in, even though she's still a minor. (I explained to her that no, we didn't do things like that; you only do voting fraud if you're a Republican.) Crotchstomper was so happy to see Firstborn that he nearly jumped up in front of me and lived up to his name. 

So. 

Yesterday wound up being a sick day, which then turned into a dealing-with-automobiles-that-don't-want-to-cooperate day, which then turned into an okay-I-got-that-much-done-go-home-eat-and-collapse day. Meanwhile I've been stuffy as hell, to the point where I'm wondering if I picked up a cold or something worse. (I am up to date on my shots, at least.) Today is my usual Work From Home day, but I've warned people that I'm taking it easy and may be a little slow to respond. 

We've passed the one-year anniversary of my Dad's death -- a while back, actually -- which was, y'know, fun. (NARRATOR VOICE: It was not fun.) Not sure how I feel about this. Dad's wife... my Stepmother, I guess? ...is still pretty raw about it, but no surprise there. (I went over on Friday and helped her set up a new work computer; the screen on the old one is in the process of dying and basically isn't showing the left half anymore.) 

All in all, there've been some frustrations, some definite rewards, and a certain amount of work that I hope will ease back off soon. Keep the faith, friends: it never rains but that it pours, but the storm does pass on eventually.

RoH: Aftermath of a Duel

Remant cleaned his blade on Sir Dominic's cloak, then sheathed it and came back over to his Steward. For a moment, he just stopped to study Talaric Reville; then he nodded. "Talaric Reville?"

 The undead former Viscount Durzen nodded. "Firstborn of his father, and now grown into an honorable man." He sounded proud. 

Remant sighed. "I wish this could have been otherwise," he told the young man -- who was younger than him, despite how much they looked the same age. 

Talaric swallowed. "I wish my father had dealt with you honorably," he said, "or merely conceded his ambitions."

Remant nodded. "You are your father's heir, now. Are you prepared for that?"

"Of course not," said Talaric. "First of all, it's at the King's discretion. Second, while you've slain most of his... loyalty-before-honor soldiers, I'll still have to sort out the rest. Third, somewhere in there I'll have to negotiate an advantageous marriage, and I have no idea how to even begin with that."

Remant laughed. "I'll recommend you to the king," he said, and watched as the younger man's eyes widened. "If you need help with some of the... troops... talk to Dirimant, here. He has experience that I simply don't, and seems inclined to help you."

The dead man nodded. "Indeed I am. If you had been born ten years earlier, I would have pressed for a match with my daughter, and much of this might have been avoided. As it stands, despite your father's... mistakes... I am still prepared to consider you a family friend. You would be welcome at the manor, and I can help you with the more troublesome remnants of your father's legacy."

Talaric swallowed. "Thank you, Sir. I am..." He looked at Remant. "You're certain you can have the king pass the knighthood on to me?" He shook his head. "I'm not even sure I want it."

Remant chuckled. "That's a very good place to approach it from." 

RoH: The Duel

Sir Dominic Reville rode into the dueling ground just as the sun was brightening the far horizon, and swung down off his horse with an easy movement. He'd brought only a single retainer, a younger man who might have been his son. 

"Hmph," he said, and Remant decided that was his moment to step out of the trees. 

"Ah," he said. "Sir Knight."

"You did show up," Reville growled, as his companion dismounted as well. "Will your Second discuss terms with my Second?" 

Remant had spent nearly an hour discussing that the previous evening; what with one thing and another, he was very glad that he could get by on half as much sleep as most Vanil did. "Certainly," he called back, and smiled as Dirimant Acklin stepped out behind him. 

"I'm very disappointed in you, old friend," the former Viscount said. "Treachery? Theft? Hardly worthy of a man of your renown."

The knight actually hesitated, and his companion -- son? -- flinched. Then Reville said, "You think any noble deserves their position? No. We get it because we are strong enough to take it."

"We accept that authority as a trust," said Dirimant, "and we try to do our best by the people we rule, because their prosperity is our prosperity, and ours is theirs."

"Enough," said Reville. "I will not be lectured by a dead man. Set the terms, and let us have this done."

The younger man came forward, and Dirimant Acklin stepped forward to meet him. "Talaric Reville," he said by way of greeting. "It's been a few years. I'm glad to see you again, though the circumstances could be better."

"They could be much better," Talaric said. "You should flee."

Sir Dominic locked eyes with Remant. "I can't believe even you would be so foolish as to bring him here with you." Then he shouted, "Take them!" and drew his sword. 

Remant sighed and came forward, stopped beside the former Viscount Durzen. "Betrayal," he said, "negates the formalities. Still, for the record, I will accept only one set of conditions: to the death, no quarter asked and none given."

Talaric Reville nodded. "Accepted," he said, and stepped aside.

"What?" howled Sir Dominic. 

Remant drew his blade and started forward. "Come, now. This is either a duel, in which case I shall limit myself to weapons, or else you forfeit your honor and flee, and I hunt you down like the dog you are."

It seemed Sir Dominic wasn't entirely a coward; he came forward, putting his shield in front of him and sword above his shoulder. Remant recognized the technique; it was a solid, cautious approach, especially against an unarmored opponent such as Remant appeared to be. Despite the shield, Sir Dominic had disdained armor, though he'd clearly been expecting his troops to step in and resolve the matter.  

The man was an experienced fighter. It took two passes for Remant to nick his sword-arm, another to open a wound on the side of his calf as Remant passed by. 

"Stop toying with me," growled the knight. 

"I'm not," Remant told him. "You're skilled, and the enchantments on that sword and shield are impressive." He took a step back. "But no, you aren't worth toying with."

He came in precisely, slapping a thrust from the sword aside and tearing it from the knight's grip, then twisted in past the shield and sank the tip of his own blade into Sir Dominic Reville's heart. The man regarded him with a faint look of surprise. 

Remant raised a foot and kicked him off the tip of his blade. Sir Dominic hit the ground on his back, sword skidding away, the life gone out of him. 

"Honorless," Remant pronounced quietly. 

Valthor: Elvish Warship For The Taking

If there was one thing Valthor enjoyed about sailing with pirates, it was their flexibility. Naval ships and merchantmen had very strict rules, procedures, and loyalties. Pirates, on the other hand, would cheerfully flee an engagement if it seemed to be going badly. Alternatively, if they were overmatched and knew it in advance, they felt free to set up ambushes, deploy dirty tricks, or wait for reinforcements rather than risking their ships. It was a perspective that he legitimately understood.

Which was, in a way, how he found himself fighting his way up through the decks of a Seravandrian sloop, the same one that had tried to hunt them down a few weeks earlier. It wasn't just that the Captain wanted to warn the wood elves away from the ring of islands and the lands beyond them; he wanted to take the ship for the pirates, and Valthor was entirely in favor of that as well. On top of that, his lover Kiela was part of the group that would be clearing the top decks and possibly fighting their way down, and if it got past them the warship was likely to take its frustrations out on Sneaksail Bay. Valthor needed both of them intact. 

 Sure, there was fire and chaos and a certain danger of gunpowder kegs spontaneously exploding, but that was what kept the job interesting. The cannoneers were easy prey, but the guards on the upper decks were more formidable. And the challenge was to take the ship while still keeping it intact, which was considerably harder than just sinking it. 

If they succeeded, there would be a new warship available to the pirates -- along with the cannons, powder, and shot. There would be Elvish officers that they could ransom. And Sneaksail Bay would hopefully be grateful enough to help them get to their next goal: mermaids tears.  

Remant: Pre-Dawn Preparations

It was still dark, but things were stirring on the western edge of the city walls. This area was mostly thornwoods, which was why it still remained wild aside from the dueling grounds. Thornwood trees were covered in inches-long spikes, nearly too tough to saw, and too knotted to be any use for woodworking. A light mist hovered just above the ground, and Remant's eyes picked out figures waiting near the trees: one, two, three, four, five, six. 

Sir Reville falls back on his favored tactics. He wondered just how much of the man's fame and fortune had been built on such methods. The knight himself wasn't here yet; he would need to make an entrance closer to dawn, so as not to arouse suspicion. 

Remant sighed, and slipped between the trees. There were times when he wished... but no, that would have been too much, even for him. He was swift and silent enough to do this as he'd been taught, direct and personal and with as much honor as his would-be ambushers would offer him. 

The first man died silently, and Remant eased the body down so that it lay in the leaves, behind the nearest of the thornwoods. 

The second man died with an arrow through the throat, and Remant brought himself forward in time to catch him and make sure he hit the ground gently as well. 

The third man was looking everywhere around him, and Remant would have thought that he'd heard something except that he hadn't called out a warning. After a long moment of observation, Remant concluded that the man was simply scared. He certainly was when Remant pushed the point of his dagger against the small of the man's back. "Say anything and you're dead. Make a noise and you're dead. You have one chance to slip away and go home, and this is it. Nod if you want to live." 

There was a brief pause, and then the man nodded. 

Remant tugged him gently around until they were facing each other, then nodded back towards the city. "Go silent. Go slow. And thank your gods for this blessing."

The man nodded, swallowed, then unbuckled his sword-belt and handed it to Remant. When he started away through the woods, well... it wasn't silent, but he chose his steps with care and it wasn't loud, either. Good enough.  

The remaining three were waiting silently, and died equally silently. Remant looked around but didn't see a sign of any more. He circled back around to the far side of the field, opposite the narrow cart-track that led from the city to the dueling grounds -- duels were still legal here, it seemed, and sometimes they had an audience -- to wait. 

RoH: Mansions and Masters

There were servants waiting when the carriage pulled up, and the nearest stepped up to hand Lariza Sundarin down from the carriage. 

"Thank you, Guillame," she said as she stepped onto the cobbled drive.  

"Will you be requiring your luggage, m'lady?" asked another servant. 

"Not this time, Auren." She smiled, and he flushed and ducked his head. The servants were, Remant observed, as pleased and familiar with her as they were with the former Viscount... who had appeared at the door, beside his butler. "I'm here to talk to my father, and say goodbye to you and the rest of the servants. I won't be staying overnight."

Remant didn't know any of the servants' names, but it was obvious he'd have to learn them. That would take time that -- thanks to his deal with king -- he wouldn't have for a while, but fortunately he'd have the former Viscount to keep things in order while he was gone.  

She turned towards the main door and approached, then rushed up and hugged her father.

"My daughter," Dirimant Acklin said. 

"I'm so sorry for letting Valeria throw killers at you. My husband and I need to leave town, and I didn't know what else to do." 

He pulled her close. "The young man has reminded me that I should not have put you in that position. I do apologize."

Remant turned away as she burst into tears. He wasn't, and couldn't be, a part of this. The... footman? ...strolled over to him stopped a few respectful feet and asked, "Will you permit me to speak above my station? I'm sure there will be an announcement, but we're all desperate to hear how it went."

"I'm sure," Remant chuckled. "It's only your livelihoods, after all. So yes, there will be an announcement, but in the meantime you may reassure the entire staff that your jobs are secure. I am now the Viscount Durzen, and I am immediately appointing your former lord as my Steward. Nobody needs depart unless they wish it, and if they do then I will see them off with a letter of recommendation and a gratuity for their work." He hesitated, then added. "I have a rendezvous with Sir Reville scheduled for dawn tomorrow, and then I'll need to make sure everything is arranged fairly quickly -- I have business out of town that may keep me away for several months."

"I see, m'lord," Guillame said smoothly. "That is... most fortunate."