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"You did what you had to," Majesty repeated.
"Damn straight," Lia replied, her eyes clear and resolute.
This was a problem.
Majesty took another swig from the flask, and remembered how Nazaari had briefed him.
We weren't there when the staff activated last time, but the survivors who were with the wielder report that she was showing signs of bitterness and regret. I hypothesize that the staff feeds off of those emotions, which in turn facilitates the growth of the tree.
If you can address the source of that regret and resolve it, we may be able to finish this before it even starts.
Some theory that was. When he'd found her, fighting in the middle of the woods, she'd been in the middle of a full-fledged breakdown. Enough anger and regret coming off of her to sense from a mile away.
But now, retelling her past, which by all accounts seemed like a painful one, she seemed to be relaxed, enjoying it, even. The woman was a tapestry of scars, and yet each of them seemed to be a happy memory. And yet, the tree continued to grow, gaining a foot or two by the minute. How far below them was the ground? Sixty? Eighty?
It was getting hard to keep track with the thorn that was slowly digging into the small of his back. It had splintered when the tree had suddenly sprouted and lodged into his flesh. He hadn't noticed until it was too late to pull it out. Majesty shifted, and winced as the little spike scraped against what felt like bone.
Pain. Focus on it. The only points of pain had been the memory of the mother, and the unfortunate marriage, with the mother's hinting at something deeper. Keep digging.
Majesty took another sip.
Any updates? He thought.
We've got the brother. On the way. Hang on.
Hanging.
He lowered the flask, and passed it to Lia. Initially, he'd been worried about letting her touch the magical item, but now it was clear she had no aptitude for the art. Nothing more than a brawler, this one.
And yet, the barb dug deeper.
He opened his mind, and let her emotions flow through him.
"Awful nice it must be, to not be weighed down," he said. "To pick up and leave so easily. Towns like these, not many even try."
Lia shrugged. "There wasn't much to leave," she said lightly, but a twinge of pain shot through her, clear as one in his back.
"Your ma think that way too?" he asked.
Her eyes went flat, focusing on a point in the distance. Classic deflection. A warning sign. But as quickly as it came, it went, replaced by easy friendliness again.
"She was fine," she said, shrugging. "After all, she still had--"
Lia stopped herself, her face twisting as if she'd bit into something sour. Finally. A reference to the brother? Favoritism, rivalry, jealousy? Majesty had heard from the party. Plausible.
"Had her hands full with work," she finished a moment too late. "She was the town healer."
Hardly a hectic field in such a peaceful town. Best not press it, however. This wasn't quite the breaking point. If he pushed too hard, she'd close up, and that would be that. Not to mention what that might do to the blasted tree's growth.
"So it is," he said. "What did you do with your newfound freedom, I wonder?"
Lia smiled wistfully. "Walk, mostly. The closest town was fifty miles away, and any carriage from here would probably have recognized me. The plan was to stop there for a while, and then make my way to a coastal town, get work as a sailor, and then..." she shrugged. "A life on the seas until something interesting came up, I expect."
Majesty carefully eyed her, without focusing on one point in particular. "I don't smell the salt on you, madam."
"I never got to see the ocean," she replied. "Half a day in, I ran into this elf. White hair, belt full of potions. Eyes like a cat's. Sound like anyone you know?"
"I think I'd remember someone as twatty as that," Majesty said, grinning.
Lia snorted. "You're one to talk. You look like an overgrown lizard."
He frowned. "A pint ago, I might have held that as grounds for a fight," he said. Her casual tone was beginning to disturb him. Could she really not feel the stump of her arm, how thorny tendrils from the branch had creeped around it, piercing the flesh and looping around her shoulder and neck?
They'd started their work half an hour ago, and now they were growing outwards from the stump, into a vestigial limb of sort. Was it consuming her? Transforming?
No use thinking on it. Best to bide his time. Listen.
When she saw the strange man he'd been behind her, hopping backwards along the trail towards her. Curious, she'd stopped to watch, only to have him crash into her at full speed. He landed upside, his legs framing his head as he peered up at her, confused.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said bluntly.
"I'm sorry?" Lia growled, gathering her things where they'd scattered across the ground--bits of soldier's armor and rations, quickly gathered into a bag before the accuser could see.
"Your kind doesn't walk on this side of the road, or walk at all, unless they're in pairs, or running from the law. But it's the wrong season."
Lia didn't know how to respond.
"My kind?" she demanded, relieved that he hadn't noticed the gear. "Bloody elves."
The strange elf blinked, his eyes a strange shade of yellow with slitted pupils. "I meant no categorization of race. I find the distinction meaningless for my purposes. I only mean to distinguish between my existence and yours, as you are..."
And then he'd said a word. It sounded a bit like "endpiecey", except Lia didn't have a clue what that meant. Probably elvish, then.
"Could you translate?" she asked.
He frowned. "Members of a societal majority mainly unconcerned with the mechanics or limitations of their own existence and agency?"
"In less words, maybe?" she said, rubbing her forehead.
The elf smiled wanly. The expression looked strange upside down, with too many teeth, and not enough lip.
"Normies?" he suggested.
Lia suddenly felt certain she was being insulted. Her hands curled into fists.
"I mean no offense either!" the elf said hurriedly, "As it was, I seem to be incorrect. Barring piecey intervention, Endpieceys do not break from their routes, and yet you are here. Therefore, you must be of the other."
"And which other would that be?" Lia asked, feeling like the conversation was beginning to get away from her.
The elf flipped to a standing position, the various bottles tied around his waist clinking together as he did. "My kind!" he said cheerily. "But indeed, it is strange to find one of our ranks so unaware of their place in the world. Your existence fascinates me. Shall I accompany you?"
And so he had. At first, Lia had refused, writing the elf off as a cultist looking for someone to convert, but when he'd produced a bag filled with enough gold for a year's wages, she suddenly felt a lot more convertible.
His name was Gertal. She'd later learn that he was a researcher of some sort, going from place to place to study the world, in accordance to his own valued attribute. Others from his clan studied wealth, or power, but for him, it was speed. He'd learned some time ago that hopping backwards was faster and more efficient than running forwards, which seemed strange to Lia, but somehow it worked for him.
The approach, he explained, required a decent knowledge of the surrounding area, and his was picture perfect.
Most elves had lived for centuries, during which he'd learned the land, and picked up more than a few strange habits on the way. Every few decades, he had to readjust his knowledge, accounting for moving villages or massive amounts of destruction, but otherwise, it worked out.
Strange to say the least, and often inappropriate, but to a degree that Lia was sure he wouldn't make a move on her, or even know how to.
And so, she found a travelling partner.
While they were journeying together, she picked up a few tips and tricks from him. Things like how to start a fire quickly, or what best position to sleep in for optimal deployment, among other things. However, he wasn't much for talking. While he was fascinated when she talked, it was less about the contents of her conversation, and more of her ability to converse at all.
"You'll have to forgive me," he said once. "A few hundred years strips one of the ability to distinguish stories from each other. After a while, you start to see their parts, and they eventually become...interchangeable. As are all of us, of course."
She'd stopped talking about herself after that.
With his teaching, the miles passed as a faster pace than they'd expected, and within a day and a half, they'd made it to Wolfacre.
To celebrate, they'd gone to a bar. While drinking, Gertal had made some remark, and the man sitting next to them had taken offense. Lia had been ready to fight, but Gertal dispatched of the man, using a series of moves that seemed like they had no business going together, but worked instantly.
Amazed, she'd asked him to teach him, and he'd attempted, only to have her fail immediately. After two attempts, he shook his head.
"I wasn't quite sure how to bring this up before," he said, a strange frown creeping across his face. "But perhaps I was initially correct in my evaluation of you. You appear to be...a deviation in the endpiecey configuration, and yet..I must confess. I see no numbers above you."
Majesty blinked. The answer had been in front of him all along. No wonder he couldn't gauge her response. This woman was absolutely...
Lia grinned madly. "Crazy, I know. But you asked. See, I bet you your average quiet, brooding type is only that way because they're secretly...huuuuuge weirdos." She was beginning to slur her words.
Majesty peeked into the flask. It seemed like whiskey, of the usual endless sort Gavin had enchanted the flask into producing. Best to check up on it, though. The gnome had once had a short, if charmed smuggling career. Sometimes...substances crept into the food. But if it meant she could talk more freely, so be it.
Speaking of checking.
How's it going over there? He asked.
Gavin looked at the scene that was unfolding in front of him, up from where he'd fashioned a hammock out of a spare carpet, and sighed.
"You are not examining my body," Lang said hotly, crossing his arms across his chest.
"It's nothing invasive, honestly!" Nazaari insisted, waving a black leather bag, out of which poked a few sharp looking instruments.
We're running into some...delays. But we'll be there soon.
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