My companions, children, and important heavy-hitters sit in a semi-circle of chairs, couches, and other such comfortable furniture as we lick our wounds and recount the adventures of the past two days. We had been running around trying to put out fires both literal and figurative as we found ourselves introduced to the proclivities of the fae. Most of us were already experiencing healing saturation, and so what wounds we had would need to remain until such time that magical healing could do its work once more.
“Read another one,” Alterez petitioned, the somehow unscathed goblin showcasing an appreciation for the avalanche of reports that had come across my desk. “And skip the fluff at the top and bottom. I don’t think anyone cares much about who sent it.”
Iresdora sat in my lap with her back straight and her expression content as one of my arms wrapped around her lower back to support her. She used some simple magic to levitate another report over to me, presumably in such a manner that she was screening them for something interesting.
“First Countess of Wealecher, Everdine Wavecrester, Fifth Seat of the Court of Endless Tides, with a host of approximately 500 fae, assaulted the village of Long March. Casualties are low, but everyone’s shoelaces have been stolen, and every bed and fireplace has been filled with sand. The fae retreated after stealing the weathervane from town hall.”
Gambino and Bambina nodded knowingly, as if all this made perfect sense. The rest of us were becoming increasingly intimate with the nature of fae raids and what idiosyncrasies accompany their objectives. Alterez laughed without shame or decorum. It-Has-Pockets continued to dance for us, her Skills having granted her the Ability to quicken the rate that healing saturation decreases. Iresdora levitated another report over to me so that I may read that one too.
“Supreme High Exquecher of Gnashing Rocks, Sir Roderic Monterac, Second Seat of the Court of Castaway Keepsakes, accompanied by a host of 30 knights and 100 footmen, invaded City 8 (official name pending). They made demands for children' s teeth in exchange for copper coins, at a 1:1 ratio. They abducted 15 presumed virgins under the age of 25. They departed after killing 58 good fighting men and women of the militia and 18 Adventurers who resisted them. They also stole all the paper in town and the official seals of the city.”
Considering this report had been engraved into a plank of wood, I can believe that all the paper had been taken from the city. Considering how a small but rather conspicuous number of reports were delivered on unusual materials, it does seem to be a trend of the fae to steal oddly specific things.
Another report ended up in my hands. Torborg drank heavily from a stein of some particularly strong liquor. Serarnin, the composite of Serideth, Relarina, Blythnin, flickered between who was fronting in a show of frustration, at least from what I had observed. Chooka gave Skull a shoulder massage, as the trickle of healing it provided kept pace with the reduction of healing saturation from It-Has-Pocket’s dance.
“Night Lord of the Darkest Day, Exalted Champion of the Eternal City of Razors, Slayer of the Joggywim (we have no idea what that is), Patriarch of the Court of Long Shadows, entered the village of Shady Elms without escort. Though our militia tried to fend him off, he took no aggressive actions against them or anyone else as their attacks failed to injure or deter him. He proceeded to switch everyone’s tools, utensils, furniture, unworn clothing, livestock, and so forth between all dwellings seemingly at random (although some speculate that there are themes along the lines of colors or design patterns). No one was harmed, but attempts to sort out who owns what somehow results in objects mysteriously returning to where he had issued them. He departed without further incident.”
I sighed as I placed that report on a stack of those I had read off. I used my other minds and a handful of whelps to parse through the mountain on the coffee table in front of me. Somehow, these reports were among the tamer and ordinary of the lot.
“To be clear,” I announced to the group as background banter silenced at the hint of the irritation in my voice, “some places have had abductions, sometimes even of entire towns. Some towns have the entire populace stuck dancing for the past two days. Some parents swear that their children have been replaced with fae imposters. There has been a massive amount of theft and damage to infrastructure. An estimated two percent of the population has been murdered, not just in my own cities, but also as suggested by reports from other lands. Trade is completely disrupted, and some people are now starving as a result. We have no way of predicting when and where the fae will attack, at least not on the scale that poor Nabonidus can detect in a sustainable way.” I spare a glance at my poor ogre friend who is laid out on a couch and nursing a killer headache as he munches down on an assortment of delicacies. “And what do we have to show for it?”
Silence greeted me as most people averted their eyes from my gaze or simply shrugged. While we had killed some of the fae, they took their dead with them when they departed, so we have no bodies to examine or confirmation that they will stay dead for long.
“Boss,” Gambino chimed in as no one else dared to debate small victories with me. “These are fae we are dealing with, not people.” All eyes were upon the leader of my kobolds, for many here had not been lectured on the nature of fae. “They are, at most, living stories, destined to follow their own narratives and motives. Reasoning with them is a foolish venture. The only way to kill them for good is to finish or invalidate their stories. They are rambunctious now, but in a few decades, they will just become background nuisances,” he finished as he shrugged.
“More to the point,” Bambina continued as she climbed up onto Gambino’s shoulders so that all could see her. “You have to upstage and outclass them. Pre-fight banter is paramount. Disgracing them is as potent as physical wounds, if not more so. If you could play for us the memory packet you no doubt have of Iresdora’s fight, I think you will see what I mean.”
More eyes looked towards Iresdora than usual, for her beauty naturally attracted admirers. However, her current health, while stable, certainly remained a cause of concern for most, not that she in any way admitted the inconvenience of her situation.
“Papa, would you feed me by hand while doing so?” she asked as she nuzzled into me. “If my own fight is going to be critiqued, I should at least get something out of it.”
While I wordlessly called over the whelp that I had assigned to Iresdora to keep tabs on her, I configured the S.M.A.R.T. crystal of the memory projector to relay what memories the whelp had. Technically, I had those same memories, as anything a whelp observed with any of its senses was relayed to me, but it was a far faster process to pinpoint its own memories rather than to parse through the hundreds of my own memory streams.
Before us, from the point of view of the whelp, we saw the scene of Iresdora standing on the rooftop of one of many buildings within one of my cities. In this particular city, the rooftops of all buildings are flat and rise to the same elevation, such that they almost create a flat platform if one overlooks the gaps in the grid where a long drop leads to the streets below. She is dressed in her typical outfit of mostly black with some white, along with countless pouches, belts, straps, and accessories that seemingly have her prepared for any purpose.
In her hand she wielded her ōdachi, Toothpickle, and that curved, single-edged sword is about as long as she is tall, which is substantial considering that she is taller than most men. She has her arm slightly raised at her side so that the full length of the blade can be showcased to her opponent. While her expression is dignified and polite, few here miss the proverbial fire burning in her eyes at the prospect of fighting a worthy adversary.
Her foe is a fae, a vaguely humanoid adversary. This one does have wings reminiscent of a dragonfly, but its entire body and clothing appears to be made of colored glass, like one may see in a stained glass window.
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“Behold, lowborn mortal! You stand in the presence of Duke Glintsheen of Gleamstone, Ever-Splendid and Radiant Son of the Favored Firstborn, Highborn of the True Sanctum, and Second Seat of the Court of Countless Shards. Rejoice in the knowledge that your greatest achievement in life is to fall to my blade.”
Glintsheen manifests a sword of glass that seemingly grows out of his hand and then points it straight at Iresdora in a stance that is completely prepared for combat.
“I see, I see,” replied Iresdroa dismissively, “I think I saw a turtle with a shell as colorful as you are. I don’t know if it had a name or titles, but maybe you two could hang out and compare your colors or something.”
Glintsheen’s expression soured at Iresdora’s remarks, and if one looked closely, miniscule cracks appeared in the glass of his body before they mended themselves.
“Where are my manners,” Iresdora continued. “I am Princess Iresdora of The Crossroad Wayfinders and High Inquisitor of the Imperial Audit. You will find me to be no mere mortal, but a True Dragon. I am more than enough to best the Duke of Shinyrock, or whatever hovel it is you crawled out of.”
More cracks appeared on Glintsheen’s body as his sour visage contorted into rage. No more words were exchanged in greeting, and violence ensued.
It started out well enough. Nanu had done much to train Iresdora in what time was available for her, but Iresdora doesn’t have the luxury of decades of experience under her belt. Additionally, Iresdora was never made to be a master of combat, and most of her martial focus had been placed on enduring and stalling until help arrived. Unfortunately, we were spread thin such that no help would be coming.
Probing attacks gave way to committed blows, and the swinging of swords became mixed with an exchange of spells and other magical Abilities. It would be charitable to say that Iresdora gave as good as she got, but by the time she lost her first arm, she had only managed to clip one of Glintsheen’s wings in the same exchange.
“Ah, a keepsake for my [Hoard],” she declared to Glintsheen as she tucked the severed bit of his wing into her pocket dimension. “Perhaps I can use it as a paperweight or melt it down to make an ashtray or something.”
The whole while, she remained upbeat and completely unconcerned with the fact that she was missing an arm and that it was regenerating far more slowly than it should be. Glintsheen remained furious and deeply offended by her taking a trophy from him, and before he could take her severed arm in turn, Iresdora had already pulled it back to her and tucked it away into her pocket dimension.
The fight continued for some time before she lost her second arm, this time in exchange for her taking his left pinky and the very signet ring upon it. She promptly tucked all severed artifacts away into her pocket dimension before he could do much of anything about it.
“While I would not mind continuing playing with you,” Iresdora taunted despite her disadvantageous position, “I do have other affairs that I need to attend to. Duty calls, and all that, as I am sure you can relate to when you mediate disputes between the inbred knuckledraggers you reign over, or whatever you call your citizenship. Besides, would you really attack an unarmed woman like a savage brute?” she asked with a pouty expression on her face.
Iresdora continued to strictly evade as Glintsheen obsessed over capturing her, his efforts careful to not kill her lest her death deny him access to her pocket dimension. I accelerated the memory package to a faster pace, and after another hour or so of a game of cat and mouse, Glintsheen and his forces retreated through the (we can call it “eye-shaped” to be polite) portal in the sky. His forces followed suit in short order. The memory packet then ended.
“Let’s break this down,” Bambina stated for the room as she took control of the display and reverted the memory packet back to the beginning. Bambina was dressed smartly in a pencil skirt and modest blouse, all strict and professional in a manner consistent with the apparel of a boring school teacher.
“First off, excellent job on belittling him and his titles. That dealt some real damage to him. Furthermore, your dismissive attitude of him helped a lot to drive it home. However,” she emphasised as she skipped to the fight. “The thrashing you took after talking trash undermined its weight and your authority. You said, and I quote, ‘I am more than enough to best the Duke of Shinyrock’. Great job slipping in the wrong name for his lands, but you were not, in fact, more than enough to best him.”
Iresdora preened on my lap as I continued to feed snacks to her, the criticism of her failure wicking off of her as she seemingly only absorbed the praise directed at her.
“In light of that, you did steal some of his body, and, most importantly, his signet ring. With that, you could impersonate him in a written contract.”
Iresodora’s eyes went wide as she bounced up straight in my lap. Her little nubs where her arms should be scrambled for something before she remembered her situation. Frantically, she levitated paper and pen over to herself and quickly and impeccably wrote up a contract. After an application of sealing wax and the stamping of her own seal and the signet ring that formally belonged to Duke Glintsheen of Gleamstone, she “handed” it to me for review and my signature as a witness. I quickly read it as I smiled to myself.
“In essence,” I announced for the room as most people patiently waited for the results. “Iresdora has made a contract signing over all land, possessions, estates, titles, and so forth of Duke Glintsheen of Gleamstone to Iresdora of The Crossroad Wayfinders, excluding all debt or outstanding obligations of the duke. I find everything to be in order, and so I will sign it right now.”
I did just that, and then I waited for a few seconds, but nothing seemed to happen.
“Nothing happened,” I stated with an air of disappointment in my voice.
“Nothing happened yet,” Bonpricha corrected. “The fae have been sealed away for a long time, and my flight has only encountered them through indirect means across the planes. However, I do have knowledge about them. In short, you have a valid claim to the duke’s holdings, but you need it to be declared in a prominent way. Iresdora, or her champion, could fight the duke in a trial by combat, and her victory would make her claim entirely valid, credible, and official. The duke will be no simple foe to best with everything he has and is on the line.
“The good news,” she continued as she moved from her seat over towards mine to gently stroke the side of Iresdora’s face, “is that the duke cannot make any new edicts or contracts while we have his signet ring. The longer this goes on, the more disgrace he will face in his court. I think we need simply wait for him to come and challenge Iresdora to have it back, for he stands to lose everything if he waits too long. Either we run out the clock or accept his challenge, the latter of which will grant Iresdora more prestige in their eyes.”
“So essentially, we just keep stealing things from these fae fucks until they stop attacking us,” Jericho commented.
While it was not the most dignified way of combating the fae, hitting them in the purse strings and bringing disgrace upon them would make them think twice about raiding us. It was certainly food for thought.
“What are the ramifications of this strategy?” I asked my kobold experts on fae.
“Nothing bad,” Gambino answered hesitantly. “At least, nothing worse than what we have seen. They have retreated for now to feast and boast of their exploits, but they will return in a few days. Their deeds are meaningless to them without reveling in their glory. They are not very flexible in how they operate, for they are slaves to their own stories. If we can force the narrative in the direction we want, we can push them back.”
“But not win?” asked Bellwright.
“No,” Gambino answered as he shook his head. “As far as I know, the lands of the fae are infinite. As you destroy some, new ones rise to replace them. They are stories without end, but they are just slop churned out without much creativity or imagination as they follow some formulas. It is far more realistic that we mire them in politics, legal cases, and infighting. Or perhaps, we make their story go in a direction that leaves them perpetually weak but not destroyed so that they still take up space.”
Gambino’s words filled us with hope in these trying times. I don’t know how the other continents on the planet fared, but ours was on the ass end of an ass kicking. These fae were not as direct as The Devourers, for their objectives and methods were seemingly as unknowable as they were whimsical.
I was not alone in turning my gaze towards It-Has-Pockets. She continued to dance for us, and in doing so, she was used to people staring at her. However, for those of us in the know, we looked at her for a different reason, one to which she slowly caught on to as her dancing slowed.
“We just need a way to control the narrative of their stories,” I mused as I stroked my chin. “I think I know just the person for the job.”
