Book 6 - Chapter 2 - Idle Immortals (Patreon)

Ranthia sighed wistfully as she luxuriated under her favorite tree. The cherry tree—laden with wonderfully tart fruit—sat atop a hill that was absolutely covered in a variety of local wildflowers, just the same as the general vicinity. There, Ranthia soaked up the sunlight like an alleycat while she enjoyed the fruity and floral scent that was carried upon the light breeze. And for entertainment, there were bees as well as a nearby pond that had an abundance of hungry fish that stalked the insects that dared to linger near their home.

The hill had sun, beautiful colors, tasty snacks available with a modicum of effort, and the serene chaos of life. As far as she was concerned, the parcel of ‘unused’ land was second only to a divine realm. There was no better place on Pallos to pass a little time.

Sadly, there was a slight emphasis on ‘little’ there—none of her eyes were watching the road, but her Bond-enhanced ears were aware of the approaching footsteps long before it was worth trying to offer a greeting. All she could do was savor the precious remaining moments of peace while she waited.

“<Hey Gemheart.>” Ranthia offered the greeting only once her lover was halfway up the hill. There was a time that High Elvish took quite a bit of mental preparation on her part, but she had long since become comfortably fluent in the semi-musical, lilting language.

“<Daz said it was urgent, yet I find you here.>” There was no rebuke in her tone, and the elven woman had a warm smile on her face as she stepped into view. She was wearing a local faun-style dress, a simple rectangle of light green cloth tied into a comfortable garment, secured by a sash. And in the sunlight, her opalescent hair shined like the jewel that inspired it.

She truly was breathtakingly beautiful, in a way that even the splendor of nature struggled to match. But as much as Ranthia wanted to coax her lover in close, grab her by those sexy horns, and kiss her… Well, unfortunately she actually did need Sylphene’s help for an urgent matter.

Quite helpfully, her guest atop the hill had just recently regained consciousness, though he was trying as hard as he could to convince her that he was still unconscious. As if she could have somehow missed the changes in his breathing and his pounding heart.

“<We had a brief issue with bandits of some flavor or another. I need to know if there were more coming and figure out what to do with this idiot, but he doesn’t seem to speak Creation, High Elvish, or Faunill.>” Ranthia paused to raise her hands placatingly. She knew her partner had opinions about the fauns’ language, given its origins as one of the early elven trade languages. “”

“<Flattery? It seems that someone is hoping to secure a discount from my usual rates.>” Sylphene barely even glanced at the orc before she offered a flirty response. Though she frowned before Ranthia could play along. “”

“willingly choose the path.>” That much was true, but bandits were also responsible for the lives of two of her friends coming to a tragic and early end. For the sake of Pyra and Juvenae—and everyone else that died every year to bandits—her mercy had pretty significant limitations. “<Trust me, Gemheart. Soft spot or not, I’ll end him if he makes a single bad choice from here.>”

There were also seventeen goblins locked in Bram’s unnervingly sturdy shed, but Ranthia wasn’t about to mention them. Sylphene hated goblins even more than she did, and she knew her lover could easily convince her to slaughter them like the monsters they were.

“<You are hiding something.>” Of course, her lover was also dangerously observant.

“<…He wasn’t alone, but he was in charge. Thanks to [Latent Reality], I managed to take them all alive. But now their fates depend on him. He’s awake, by the way.>” Ranthia still wasn’t interested in arguing about the goblins, so she just tried to make her lover focus on the most immediate problem.

“<Perhaps you should say a few words of introduction before I begin, my love. Even if he fails to understand the exact meaning, I have found that your tone can be quite persuasive.>” Reasonable advice, but Sylphene was clearly unimpressed with her efforts to keep the details to herself—it was hard to miss the annoyed glare, even if it was brief.

“<Right. Thank you, love.>” Ranthia paused to clear her throat performatively before she slipped the blindfold off of her eyes and leaned over to loom above the orc. “We already know that you’re awake, so cut the act. This lovely woman will be asking you some questions until we find exactly what language you speak. If you pretend not to understand any of them? You die. If you answer anything in a way either of us dislikes? You die. And if you do something stupid? Yup, you guessed it! Dead orc.”

To his credit, the orc only hesitated for a moment before he opened his eyes. His gaze locked with Ranthia’s own eyes with grim acceptance—though a moment later his gaze moved to Sylphene and he actively recoiled, his eyes widening in horror.

A level 1030 elf had that effect on people, Ranthia supposed. Even if she was supposed to be the threatening one.

“C… Creation good.” He finally spoke after a pause to wet his lips with his dark tongue. His accent was strange—far removed from the Reman-styled Creation that Ranthia grew up with, yet closer to it than the more evolved version the elves favored.

“Seriously? I spoke to you before we fought.” It wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but the complaint slipped out before she could stop it.

“Expected to win. Words come after. Didn’t expect this.” The orc shrugged as best he could from his position on his back.

Eh, fair enough. Ranthia moved back to give him space to sit up, half-expecting him to do something suicidal. Instead, he moved slowly into a seated position, bracing the flats of his feet against each other as he settled his hands on his knees.

“When should we expect to face the majority of your organization?” Sylphene cut in, before Ranthia could ask her own question.

“They long dead. This just me and my goblins. And that one killed them.” The orc offered Ranthia a brief frosty look, though there was no threat behind it. Just a declaration of unfairness.

One of her [Divine Eyes] watched Sylphene’s body tense up ever-so-subtly.

“Actually, all seventeen are still alive—for now. Whether or not they’ll stay that way depends on you.” Yeah, Sylphene was going to make her pay for that. Ah well, future-Ranthia could handle it, she had better things to focus on at that moment. “So, why in Xaoc’s name did you attack this town with such a small group?”

“To take over. New stronghold. Reign over it. Forever.” There wasn’t a whit of remorse or shame in his answer, which wasn’t doing him any favors.

“…Even after tangling with me, you still aren’t even level 600. Did you really think one mid-tier mortal [Warrior] and a pack of level 350-ish goblins would let you take over a town of faun?” Seriously, it strained credulity!

“They expect goblins. I fight anyone strong. Was good plan. Didn’t expect elf or this.” It was surprisingly hard to say if he was ill-taught or if his strain of Creation just favored different grammar than what she was used to. Language had a nasty habit of drifting over time without immortals working behind the scenes to keep things in line.

“Even if Ranger hadn’t left us here, your plan wouldn’t have worked. Sure, the highest level anyone else has is only 489, but every faun here has at least one combat class. Didn’t you notice how there’s no wall around the town? That’s because they don’t need to hide from the wilderness. You and your goblins would’ve been cut down by arrows and [Mages] before you made it halfway through the town.” Ranthia shook her head.

Great, he was an idiot. Idiots were almost impossible to work with.

“…Could’ve won.” His protest was feeble and his shoulders were sagging.

“Nope.” Ranthia chose to be merciless. “Seriously, why were you doing this? Why attack at all? Fine, you thought you could take over. As stupid as it was to believe that—fine. But you mentioned that you had been part of a bigger group, so how do you go from that to ‘I think I’m going to attack a nation that has no need for a standing army or guard force’?”

The orc frowned and took a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Bloodblades. We once part of them. Was born into them. Life wasn’t good, but was life. Then one day, we attacked—something called Legions. Carried sticks with big metal discs and red and yellow, lots of soldiers in fancy armor. Centaur [Warriors] broke our defenses. Even Chief was fighting, losing. So, I took my goblins, left. Knew the woodlands, knew paths hard to find. Managed to escape. Not sure if others did; don’t care. We did.

“Moved toward ocean and toward setting sun until felt safe. But need new home. Need food, reliable. Hunt and forage not, not for us. Figured this best way to have future. Seemed clever at time.” Well, he was no [Bard], that was for sure.

But for all the flaws in his ability to weave a tale, Ranthia still found herself speechless. The Legions? But it couldn’t be—they were far removed from Remus’ territory, even if Remus actually managed to take and hold the entirety of the shimagu’s territory. And Khazad was southeast of the empire, which raised significant questions about what a Legion could have been doing so far to the west. And with centaurs among them, post-Coalition?

But she’d never heard of any other force calling itself by that name—as far as she knew, the Legions were unique to the empire she once belonged to.

“If we provide a map, could you point out the location that your former organization was based out of?” Sylphene asked the question that Ranthia probably should have.

“No.” He didn’t hesitate, nor did he offer excuses. Given his tone, it wasn’t even intended as a refusal. He simply lacked the ability to do it.

Gods and goddesses, what was Remus up to? Could it have really spread so far in under a hundred and twenty-eight years? Those were important questions, but with the orc’s information exhausted, at least for the time being, they just weren’t the most pressing issues that she had to deal with. She forced herself to take a deep breath before she refocused on what she needed to do. She had more pertinent questions to ask.

“After the Bloodblades fell, why didn’t you just find a nation to join? Jumping straight to conquest just seems… absurd.” Absurd was a decent word for it, even if it hardly felt worthy of the, well, absurdity of his choice.

“Orc and goblins. No one wants—common knowing. No Skills for farm, bad sew, bad cook. Only good for violence or rule.” His tone was interesting. He certainly wasn’t proud of his claim, nor was there any real acceptance of what he said. If anything, he seemed to be uneasier at that moment than he was when he first woke up.

Which meant that the words were likely those that had been used against him; words that kept him where he used to be. Rationally, the best way to respond to such malicious words was with kindness—reassurances would go a long way toward settling his spirits before she made her offer.

“Oh please.” She could be benevolent, sure, but she had an extremely limited supply of kindness for an orc that chose to spill blood over making a godsdamned effort! “There’s more to living a civilized life than those few tasks. Look, all of this has been leading up to one simple offer: either choose to try as hard as you damn well can to become a productive member of this society, or your life comes to an end. You don’t get to make any other choice here—I’m not about to let you walk away. And yes, your decision applies to your goblins too.”

His eyes widened, but Ranthia kept speaking before he could work up any response.

“If you choose to make a genuine effort, I’ll do what I can to help you acclimate. You’re a strong guy, so there’s plenty that you can do. I used to build fences and repair roofs to earn my stew. And both hunting and gathering are something you can learn, even without wasting a Skill slot. But. You have to be willing to put in the effort. There won’t be any glory. You’ll work and toil day after day to prove that you belong—same as your goblins. And if any of you give in to your frustrations or choose violence even once, I will end you. Even if you flee, I will track you and each and every one of the goblins down. Because you’ve already proven that you’ll cause pointless bloodshed and death if I leave you alone.

“Think carefully before you decide whether or not to take my offer. This won’t be easy. And if you prefer a swift, clean end—fine. I’ll grant you that much.”

Eh, in hindsight, she definitely should have formed a knife to better sell the last bit, but overall, she felt like she’d given the offer the gravitas that it deserved. And she was somewhat gratified to see her captor close his mouth and actually put his oft-neglected mind to work. An immediate acceptance would have suggested little more than self-preservation, but if he was actually considering the full ramifications of her offer, well, that was promising.

“I accept. Let me be one talk to my goblins.” It might have been wishful thinking, but it sure seemed like there was genuine conviction in his tone.

“Sounds good. One last question, then I’ll take you to them. Do you have a name?” Ranthia offered him a smile as she stood.

“Taxx, Tortaxx.” The orc answered.

Wait, how was that—

“May none of us find true cause to regret the decisions we made this day, sir Tortaxx.” Sylphene offered her own, somewhat guarded, smile.

“Come on, Tortaxx. Let’s get you to your goblins before they manage to make too much of a mess in Bram’s shed.” Eh, if it was good enough for her elf, it was good enough for her. With a mental shrug, Ranthia offered the ex-bandit her hand to help him to his feet.

Because every gesture of camaraderie would count as he adapted.

Ranthia sighed as she once again settled against her preferred tree, with the comfortable weight and warmth of Sylphene’s shoulder resting against her own. The day had been demanding, but she had done a bit of good—and every life spared was a little more chaos added to the world.

Quite a bit of chaos, in the case of one orc and seventeen goblins. Ranthia kept a [Divine Eye] on the ongoing debacle that was dinner, while she kept her actual eyes on the splendid sunset that Solaris granted Pallos as another day came to an end.

“” Sylphene spoke up just before a comfortable silence could settle over them.

“<Yeah, I honestly didn’t even think about Lape when I made the offer—that could have gone so much worse than it did. But instead of causing problems, she’s trying to teach a goblin to wipe his face when he gets food on it. I think your support counted for more than you know, and I am grateful for it.>” Ranthia leaned over to briefly nuzzle her lover’s nearest horn.

“<Mm. I do not wish to sully your mood with my true thoughts, so I accept your gratitude.>” Sylphene offered her hand and resumed speaking after Ranthia took it in her own. “<Admittedly, I had somewhat hoped that the urgent situation was the long-awaited return of my wayward mentor.>”

It had been just shy of two years since Ranger disappeared, promising to return in “sixteen or so days.” And a full year had passed since a mortal [Messenger] delivered a hastily scrawled note that said “Okay, maybe thirty-two days. Forty-eight tops.” They had no idea where Ranger was or what had delayed him, which had left them somewhat trapped in the nameless faun town. Even worse, the archer that Ranger had sent them there to meet turned out to have embraced White Dove’s final mercy roughly forty years ago.

They both fully expected the aloof elf to pop up both without warning and without even a hint of remorse, ready and impatient to move on. Which made it somewhat difficult to get too comfortable within the town, no matter how much time passed. It wasn’t like it was the first time that he’d vanished on them for a time, but even in sum, the previous instances hadn’t been nearly so long.

If it turned out that he decided to follow an unusually patterned fish or bird and forgot about them—again—Ranthia was going to stab him. It wouldn’t accomplish much, even if she somehow succeeded, but she wouldn’t be able to deny herself the attempt.

They both had better things to do than sit there beneath the cherry tree and watch the sunset, of course. Ranthia hadn’t gotten around to leading a prayer service for the day, due to the entire thing with Tortaxx and the goblins. And Sylphene still had her training exercises with her bow and her Spatial Skills, even without her mentor’s presence. There had to be a hundred and twenty-eight things demanding their time and attention.

Instead, they chose to enjoy a quiet moment together. Because those were just as important as anything else that they could be doing.

Faun society was a bit different from what Ranthia was used to. The faun were firm believers in the obligation of community. No household—a family unit of two to eight similarly aged adults, along with their children—was expected to be wholly self-sufficient, but they were expected to put their time and effort into something to be shared with the other households in the town. And through the contributions of each household, their civilization found its strength.

Unlike the elves, they had no true charity. Food, housing, and healing weren’t guaranteed. If a household had an unexpectedly ill harvest or poor twist of fate, their neighbors would typically show them mercy, so long as the household had previously been similarly benevolent. But it was in no way obligated and no one would share more than they could safely spare. The faun truly only had patience for those that earned their place in society, which had its own problems.

They were a practical people, but Ranthia expected some measure of societal upheaval in the future. The need for active productivity from every last individual just wasn’t feasible. And nothing proved that quite like the monthly purges.

At the end of each month, every last able-bodied faun, both adolescent and adult, was expected to gear up and delve into the wilderness around the town. The purges were primarily intended to ensure that dangerous predators remained away from the vicinity of the town, but they also pruned excessive prey animals, dealt with environmental hazards such as fire risks, and trained the younger faun’s combat classes. The purges kept the town safe and provided them with fresh meat, but they caused quite a few issues for the town as well—injuries and frustrations were inevitable.

It wasn’t her place to criticize their society. Two years just wasn’t enough time for Ranthia to gain any true sense of how to improve things without just supplanting their culture with elven ideals. But privately, she suspected that frustrations with the purges had a lot to do with why the town decided to embrace Tortaxx and the goblins. Because, for all their struggles when it came to most societal functions, the eighteen of them thrived every time they set out on a purge.

Ranthia kept careful watch over them the first few times, but after that she gave them a bit of space and trust. So long as they didn’t abuse it, she was content to let them earn their place.

There was a time that Ranthia prided herself on her ability to fall asleep at will, regardless of her personal comfort. Unfortunately, it was an ability that had slowly faded over the years. Which was why, three hours after midnight, Ranthia found herself sneaking out of bed, careful not to disturb her lover, and lighting a candle as she once again unrolled the map of Pallos across their rented table.

Like its predecessors, Sylphene had drawn it by hand, relying on her immortal experience to enhance and update the maps she had seen—with a few ‘helpful’ annotations from Ranger about where the best forests and jungles could be found. The Tympestshard Council’s territory was easily the most detailed part of the map, but through their journey and those that Sylphene had previously undertaken as a [Merchant] under her former name, many other nations had been decently fleshed out. The map even had partial details about the northern continent.

But just as she had done every other time that she’d consulted the map since meeting Tortaxx, Ranthia’s attention promptly wandered onto her own contribution to the map.

Remus.

In ink, it seemed so close. It was closer than the Tympestshard Council’s territory, at the very least. But she had made the journey herself, she knew just how much sheer distance there truly was in that brief stretch of relatively unblemished leather. It was hard to imagine that Remus could have marched an entire Legion so far. And to force such a march, just to deal with a group of raiders that hadn’t even existed when Ranthia travelled through the area?

No, it just didn’t make sense. Tortaxx had to have been mistaken about how fast and how far he had travelled, unless Remus had grown—wildly—in a mere century. But that what-if was exactly what bothered Ranthia so much that she repeatedly snuck out of bed to stare at the map, as if it could possibly offer any answers.

Her former people had driven the shimagu to extinction. And if Ranthia was right, they had immediately turned their spears against their own allies—the dwarves. A few mortal [Merchants] that they had met while travelling with Ranger had mentioned that there was a war being fought in the general direction of Khazad, but there was a frustrating lack of detail in idle gossip. The fact that the dwarves had been at war with orcs for Xaoc knew how long only muddied things further.

“<We could always see for ourselves, my love.>” Sylphene’s gentle voice echoed Ranthia’s own thoughts.

“<Shit, did I wake you?>” She hadn’t even heard her lover’s approach!

“” The beautiful woman deflected the question with a shrug. She had the blanket from the bed wrapped around her, though she opened it as she drew near to offer Ranthia a place within the cocoon of warmth.

Ranthia shamelessly took the opportunity to admire the exquisite elven flesh on display as she accepted the invitation. For a moment, she allowed her lover’s embrace and sweet lips to distract her from her self-inflicted woes, though she soon rested her forehead against Sylphene’s and forced herself to consider the offer.

“<We can’t leave. Ranger could return any day, and I need to keep an eye on Tortaxx and the others.>” Not that proper consideration changed her initial reaction.

“<We have been waiting for more than two years now. At this point, I am more than willing to leave messages for him while we set out on our own journey, my love. We never expected to be here for so long. And I am well aware of your own impatience with our idle state. We can leave a message with Ani, in case Ranger seeks out his old friend, and you can also send word of our plans to the tavern owner through your sister, just in case she has a better means of notifying him. Though if I might be honest, I am half-expecting him to show up when we finally lose patience and try to leave.>” Sylphene gave her a playful smile as she snuggled closer.

“<Gods and goddesses, I can just imagine it. Thanks, I hate it.>” Ranthia grumbled.

“<As for Tortaxx, he and the other miscreants are doing quite well. I admit that my own expectations and biases were, for once, wrong. We may linger for a while longer, if you wish, though I am willing to grant them additional leeway due to the quality of their effort.>” Sylphene continued to make entirely too much sense.

“<Ah, so you admit that I was right to spare the goblins?>” Ranthia couldn’t help but indulge in a bit of impishness.

“<Do not make me reconsider this, my love. Otherwise, I might be forced to suggest that I remain here while you seek whatever peace of mind you can find in your homeland.>” Her tone was frosty enough, but Ranthia struggled to take her lover’s threat seriously while her elf squeezed her just a bit tighter at the mere thought of parting ways once again.

“<I’ll think about your advice. But come on, for now let’s get back to bed. Don’t you have a math lesson to teach in the morning?”> Ranthia freed an arm to snuff the candle out.

“” Sylphene tilted her head and offered her lips.

Ranthia’s thoughts could wait for the light of day. Because she wasn’t about to decline that invitation.