Valkyrie Profile: Lenneth

by WeirdRaptor

A novelization of the original game. Follow Lenneth Valkyrie on her mission to gather the souls of the heroic slain in preparation for Ragnarök. Secrets, lies, and conspiracies mire her path. Will she succeed, or will all fall to darkness?

19. Chapter 18: Midgardian Interludes IV

Valkyrie Profile:

Lenneth Novelization AU:

Disclaimer: I do not own Valkyrie Profile or any other tri-Ace properties. Please support the official release.

Warning:

This chapter contains stronger-than-usual sexual content. No outright lemon or anything, but close enough to a thoroughly debauched tryst to warrant a warning.

Chapter Eighteen:

Midgardian Interludes IV

"Behold, human, the Forest of Spirits."

Lawfer looked at Lenneth flying ahead of them and then leaned to see past her as they emerged below the clouds.

"Whoa," the knight's breath was taken away as he beheld it.

He had almost expected to not see Midgard's southeasternmost island before they landed with so much cloud cover, but he could. The forest glowed in the dark, like there was an ethereal mist hanging above and through it.

"How are ships unable to find it?" Lawfer found himself wondering.

After they had descended more, Lawfer then noticed something else out in the sea beyond the island further to the south. He thought it a rocky landmass in the distance until he noticed it was so long it stretched out endlessly into the distance in both directions, curving northward in the east, and westward in the south. Lawfer could not comprehend how something could be so unbelievably enormous, and long, putting the mountains to shame. It was perfectly level in height as far as he could see. Lawfer didn't know what to make of it at first, until he noticed "bumps" along its top.

"No, not bumps. Bony plates standing up along its back," he realized. "'Tis Jörmungandr, the world serpent."

He did not have even another minute to take the sight in before it was blotted out by the light of the Forest of Spirits. Lawfer looked around and realized they had just dropped down among the trees and had officially entered the forest. As they passed through the canopy of leaves, Lenneth slowed considerably to safely navigate. This gave Lawfer a chance to look around and see what the source of the light was.

"The mist, itself?" he uttered curiously.

Floating within the canopy of the biggest trees Lawfer had ever seen was a shining fog. Its gleam ranged from white to gray, and some kind of unknown particles twinkled within it. Lawfer could not puzzle it out, but he saw the effect. It was bright enough within the Forest of Spirits to almost be daylight. The knight studied their surroundings until they dipped down again They entered a clearing along some lowlands. It was at the base of a road large enough to march an army through.

Sitting atop a short cliff to their left was the single most enormous tree of the entire forest, but that was not what caught Lawfer's eye. Imbedded into the base of the cliff below it was a square stone slab. Many pillars were set into the ground on either side of it, each engraved with runes. Gathered in front of it was a shallow pool with a greenish-blue gleam of its own.

When they set down, Lawfer noticed the ground was perfectly level, even in front of the slab and pillars. Yet the waters stayed put as though alive. Lenneth approached the pool, and the enchanted water parted for her. Without stopping, she made for the slab, leading the troop through. Arngrim was behind her, followed by Jelanda, then Belenus, and Llewelyn. Lawfer was last, leaning over the surface of the impossible pool as he went, trying to puzzle it out.

"Curious," Lawfer mumbled.

Ahead of him, Lenneth stopped and turned around when she noticed him lingering. The others did the same. Lawfer looked like he wanted to touch the pool out of curiosity.

"I wouldn't do that," Arngrim warned.

"Hmm?" Lawfer looked up with questions in his eyes.

Jelanda looked up at the big warrior ahead of her in line. She started grinning puckishly and held up her fingers to her lips. "You should listen to Arngrim. No one knows better than him not to touch the pool."

"Quiet, pipsqueak," Arngrim grumbled.

"Do heed Arngrim's warning, Sir Knight," Lenneth said from the front of the line. "'Twas no simple task calming the guardian down enough to make it stop throttling him."

Then she looked at Jelanda critically. "And you were of no assistance."

"Ulp!" Jelanda shrunk down.

"'Tis unladylike to hunch!" Lenneth scolded her.

"Oh, yes, you did tell us of this incident from your first night as einherjar," Belenus recalled.

Lawfer looked at her and then stepped so he had a healthy distance between himself and the parted pool on both sides.

"Wise decision," Lenneth faced the stone slab again.

She walked towards as if to willingly collide with it, confusing Lawfer even more. Then, contrary to anything the knight expected, the Valkyrie simply passed through the block's surface, which rippled like water when she did. His amazement did not fade as each of his new comrades passed through similarly, until there was only him. Lawfer paused just outside, looking the stone plate over. It really did look like solid stone. Yet when he reached out and touched it, his hand went through as the others' did.

"Astonishing!" with that Lawfer quickly went through and was left gobsmacked yet again.

He hadn't really known what to expect. A tunnel? A spiral staircase up the inside of the cliff and the massive tree? Nothing could have prepared him for stepping out onto the Bifrost, itself. He turned around and saw the exit of a cave behind him. Yet there was no trace of the portal between realms he had gone through. He even reached out, trying to put his hand through again, but there was nothing now.

He turned his attention then to the bridge, which looked to be constructed of pure crystal, so translucent as to be nearly invisible. Lawfer looked down, and saw the shining light of the astral plane, the space between spaces, below him. Its glow was pure, but was refracted through the Bifrost into all the colors of light glowing, which filled the sky above.

"The wonders never cease," Lawfer began to smile like a child watching a parade.

"Welcome back, Lady Lenneth."

The deep, booming voice brought Lawfer out of his reverie. Lenneth was up ahead, being greeted by Heimdall himself. The others followed her closely. Arngrim glanced back and prompted Lawfer to catch up. As he hustled to oblige, the knight found his eyes drawn to the Bifrost's watchman.

The god of foresight who stood watch on the Rainbow Bridge wore dark clothes and armor, brightened only by gold trim. A dark circlet adorned Heimdall's forehead, which dipped down into a half-circle just above his eyes. He was surprisingly normal in height and build by the young knight's reckoning, who had always imagined the gods like Heimdall or Thor to exceed mortal men in stature. Yet here the watchman of Valhalla was, approaching Lenneth from the other end of the bridge looking almost like someone Lawfer could have met on Midgard. His radiant brown hair was neatly combed back, and his flowing beard and thin mustache were just a pristinely kempt. His downturned eyebrows gave him a fierce look, which juxtaposed the smile he gave the returning Valkyrie.

"Hail, Lord Heimdall," Lenneth curtsied before him.

Heimdall returned the gesture with a slight bow of his own. Then he gave Lenneth a wry half-grin.

"You have taken up a habit of staying out late in your most recent era," his tone carried both jest and chide.

Lenneth crossed her arms, and attempted to look cross with him, but she couldn't maintain it. A smile fought against her resistance.

"I suppose I have been a bit more adventurous as of late," she deadpanned.

Heimdall's grin grew a bit more.

"You have, I assure you. In any event, allow me to give you a bit of a shortcut to Valhalla," the gods' watchman offered.

"It would be appreciated, thank you," Lenneth answered.

Heimdall snapped his fingers and they were suddenly on the doorstep of Valhalla. Lawfer beheld the home of the gods. Large and towering, dwarfing the great works of even the Midgardian ancients, themselves. The castle yard was devoid of life at this late hour, but there were war machines organized into lines and rows. Catapults, siege towers, mechanized battering rams, and some he could not recognize. Lawfer eyed a row of strange metal black tubes set into wheeled wooden frames at an angle so their muzzles were tilted up. Farther off were a row of DeVinci's tanks, metal instead of wooden, and given the power to roll across the ground in any direction by magic.

Lawfer looked the strange metal tube devices over, wanting so much to approach and examine them, but he stayed put with the others. Arngrim glanced at him, and let out a quiet laugh. Was it going to be like this every time they picked up someone new. His chuckle prompted Lenneth to glance over and spot Lawfer looking at the unknown war machines.

"Those ones right there. They are called cannons," she told him. "Humans will not be capable of inventing their own for another hundred years."

Lawfer between her and it quickly. "So, this is not a Divine weapon?"

Deciding it would be harmless to indulge him a little, Lenneth turned to the other einherjar.

"Go on ahead and turn in for the night," she told them.

"Uh, alright," Llewelyn answered softly.

"See you at the barracks," Arngrim called to Lawfer, before turning away.

While the guards let them in through the large double doors, Lenneth led Lawfer around to the muzzle of the cannon. She stopped by it and tapped the rim of the opening with her hand.

"To answer your last question, yes, this is a completely mundane weapon mortals can someday build for themselves," Lenneth explained.

Lawfer nodded and looked down the shaft of the body. "I assume something goes in here, and… comes back out?"

"Correct. An iron ball, in fact," Lenneth answered, and gave a brief explanation of how it worked. "…Which thrusts the iron ball out the muzzle at bone-pulverizing speed."

Lawfer looked mortified. "Bone… pulverizing?"

"Yes, it will tear through several ranks of the enemy, as surely as a knife through butter, except entirely with blunt force, crushing the flesh and bones of many in its unstoppable flight," Lenneth explained.

Lawfer took a fearful step from the device he had been curious about less than a minute ago.

"Actually, Lady Valkyrie, I think I'll not mind being gone from Midgard when this monstrosity is invented," he muttered.

Lenneth felt a pang of remorse at what she had to say next. "Well, you may yet see ours' in action. You will only be with me for a short time while I complete your training. Once your spirit has been strengthened enough to survive the war we Aesir wage against the Alliance, you will join one of the einherjar divisions, led by the god who commands it, into the field of battle."

Lawfer looked back, quizzically. "The Alliance, Milady?"

"Yes, The Three Kingdoms Alliance," Lenneth said. "Our enemies, the Jötunns, the Fire Giants, and the Vanir have all joined forces on common purpose: to destroy the Aesir and seize control of the Nine Realms for themselves."

"They all march on Asgard?" Lawfer paled as he said the words. "That… sounds like Ragnarök."

Lenneth did not answer. The weighty look in her eyes said everything. It was then Lawfer understood the situation they were in.

"Oh," was all he could utter as an unsurmountable feeling of dread set in.

"That is why you are here. To prevent the worst possible outcome of our Twilight hour," Lenneth said.

Lawfer did not look sure of himself at all.

"Our hopes rest of the concerted efforts of the gods, the Light Elves, and the einherjar," Lenneth's earnest words hit him. "They also rest on you and the other four einherjar have gathered thus far."

"Only five so far?" Lawfer said with a gasp. "Milady, why so few when so many die in battle?"

Lenneth shook her head. "'Tis not enough to simply die by the sword. Einherjar are exceptional individuals. Heroic spirits. 'Tis not about the quantity of soldiers that are chosen by Fate that is important."

"Me? Exceptional?" Lawfer shrank. "You perhaps give me too much credit, Milady. You saw how my attempt at heroics failed miserably. Artolia would be under the control of that blackhearted fiend right now if not for you."

Lenneth began to walk past him towards the castle. She stopped ever so briefly as she passed him.

"You sell yourself too short, Sir Knight. You were the only one seeking justice, and had to make due in an impossible situation. Most would have given up after being told 'No,' regardless of how unjust they knew their king's ruling was. Now, come, my einherjar. It is late."

Lawfer was still rooted in place, reeling. "But still, Milady. Only five so far?"

Lenneth stopped and looked up at the stars contemplative before turning to face him again.

"There is a proverb in Yamato which applies well to choosing einherjar," she said. "If a single grain of rice can tip the scale, a single warrior can be the difference between victory and disaster."

Feeling somewhat emboldened by that statement, Lawfer was finally able to move away from the cannon.

"Well," he admitted. "I don't know about being the grain of rice you need, but I will certainly aim not to disappoint."

"Good."

With that, he followed her up the stairs into the golden hall. Valhalla was only sparsely lit by candlelight this late into the evening hours. However, Lawfer could see the ornate red rug which ran through every room and hall, covering the marble tile floor. On either side were intricate interior decorations mostly made of gold or ivory.

"This way, mortal," Lenneth called as she strode through the halls. "The way to the einherjar barracks is fifth right from the front door and is then the last right at the end, in the south wing."

Lawfer nodded and followed her until they reached the fifth set of side passages.

"You will know the einherjar's quarters by the Manns Rune plaque above the entrance," she told him.

Lawfer bowed to her one more time. "Thank you, Lady Valkyrie. I suppose I best get some rest while I can."

"Indeed," Lenneth concurred. "We begin every morning with drills, and then we patrol Midgard for threats and heroic slain."

"Understood, Lady Valkyrie. By your leave," with that, Lawfer left her.

Lenneth paused in the hallway after he left. Watching him leave turned her thoughts back to the battle in Artolia's dungeon.

"Orlok Dracul," she thought. "That defiler was responsible for the deaths of at least fifty men this night. The fact they were criminals does not matter. He used them like they were nothing."

Her fists clenched angrily at her sides.

"Something must be done about this fiend, and soon," Lenneth decided. Her stroked her chin as she considered how to go about that.

"Ah," she mouthed as she remembered something important. "Oh, yes, Lawfer mentioned Orlok was part of the revived Gorhla cult. Hmm."

She glanced upwards, towards the second floor. "I wonder if Loki knows something. Well… it is near midnight, but with the war escalating, perhaps I will catch him working late in his office."

Then, as if to assure herself, she mentally added, "Even if he's gone to bed, I might still find someone working late in the office wing who can tell me something."

As she began walking the hall again, a glummer thought came to her. "Or, considering the hour, I might find him sporting with his wives in there again."

Lenneth suppressed a shiver and the unwanted memory of another time she had returned home late from her duties. A busy Freya shoved paperwork into her arms to deliver to Loki. It had been near midnight then, too, when Lenneth entered his office after forgetting to knock. She found Loki there, alright, as well as Sigyn, Agroboda, and Glod who'd all come to surprise their husband. The four of them were in varying states of undress partaking in carnal pleasures atop his desk. Lenneth hadn't so much properly delivered the paperwork as she did drop it all on the floor while quickly fleeing the scene of debauchery, her face red at a tomato and buried in her hands.

A low droning "Uuugh…" escaped the Valkyrie as she considered the safest means of approaching Loki's office late at night. The corner of her mouth twitched as the vivid imagery wormed its way into her mind.

"I've seen litters of kittens make less body contact than they were," Lenneth thought.

The Valkyrie then clapped her palms against her cheeks, forcing herself back to a centered mindset.

"Well, there's nothing for it. I will… I will simply remember to knock this time," she decided.

A short while later, she exited onto the second floor from a spiral staircase. She was at a corner, with countless doors stretching out ahead and to her left. Each door was labeled by a plaque with the Rune of the god whose office lied within. Lenneth hesitated before pressing on.

"I always feel like a stranger in this wing of the golden hall," she listlessly thought. "Almost an intruder without an office of my own. Not even one shared with Hrist."

She began heading towards Loki's workplace, knowing the way because she reported to Freya in the office wing often. As Lenneth neared a turn to the right which would take her to Loki, she began to hear raised voices. Lenneth stopped before going any further and listened. It sounded like there were at least two angry persons arguing about something up ahead.

"They're too deep to be Sigyn or his other wives. Just who else would be at his office this late?" she wondered.

The Valkyrie rounded the bend and came upon Vidar and Hermod both looming menacingly over a third individual much smaller than themselves. The tall, broad-shouldered Odinsons obscured the target of their ire almost entirely from view. Vidar had grabbed the person by the shirt collar and kept them pressed against the wall. Their victim was still struggling against him to break free and had ahold of Vidar's forearm, trying to remove it from their person.

Lenneth was as much baffled as she was incensed at the sight of two Odinsons acting like common bullies, menacing someone for some unknown infraction.

"Lord Vidar, Lord Hermod! What is the meaning of this?" she loudly demanded.

Vidar and Hermod turned to her, but didn't budge from threatening their target. Hermod crossed his arms and silently stared down his nose at her. Vidar, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes annoyance.

"The meaning of what?" Vidar asked confrontationally.

"Oh, Lenneth!" their victim cried nervously. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Lenneth knew that voice right away.

"Lord Loki?" she was aghast.

She looked at the sons of Odin with a frown.

"Milords, I must insist you unhand Lord Loki this instant. This is most distressing behavior for the Princes of Valhalla," she spoke firmly.

Vidar finally turned to face her, but he did not let go of Loki.

"Just who do you think you are, Lenneth?" he demanded.

Loki gave her an unconvincing handwave to dismiss her. "Things just got a bit heated. That's all. You know how it is. These boys inherited their father's temper, after all."

"Their father who swore a blood oath with you," Lenneth said while looking right at Vidar and Hermod.

The Odinsons understood her message and scoffed.

Lenneth however was not finished pushing the point and continued: "I am sure their father would be very displeased to hear about his sons threatening his war advisor and chief tactician. After all, Lord Loki, you are more than just a servant, you became family to the son of Lord Bor. Lord Odin even designated you to receive custody of his children when they were young if anything befell him and Lady Freya."

Hermod nearly rolled his eyes as he let out a moan. She really wasn't going to let up.

"Fine, then," he dismissively muttered. "Brother, let him go."

Vidar looked back at him, incredulously, but reluctantly released Loki from his grip. Then he began to approach Lenneth with a measured saunter. Loki's eyes widened and he suddenly appeared in front of Vidar, blocking him from coming any closer to Lenneth

"Now, now, let's not let things get out of hand," Loki held up his hands defensively. "'Tis late, and we're all tired and saying things none of us would otherwise allow to pass our lips. How about a spot of tea?"

Vidar did not stop until he stood in Loki's personal space, staring past him at Lenneth. The Valkyrie gave no indication she felt threatened. That was partially because she didn't dare make any sudden movements at this juncture.

"You asked what the meaning of this is, Lenneth?" Vidar's voice was cold and condescending.

He then looked down at Loki, no further than three inches in front of him.

"You spoke about Loki being kin to us," Vidar continued to glare at the Trickster. "Well, you know who else Loki is kin to?"

"Ah," Lenneth realized.

"I am very well aware," she answered him.

"Who?" Vidar prompted sternly.

Lenneth gave him a put upon look, but answered regardless. "Lord Loki is the son of the Jötunn High Queen Laufey, and of Lord Fárbauti, Laufey's husband and most fearsome warrior. Brother of Byleista and Helblindi, and uncle of the Byleistadottirs, Menia and Fenia. Father of Niflheim's Queen Hel, and father of Fenrir, Jörmungandr, Narfi, and Vali. And…"

Lenneth paused, not wanting to list off the final child. "And… mother of Sleipnir."

"Quite a list of Valhalla's enemies to all be connected to one god," Hermod's sharp tone was like a bite. "A wretched beast destined to devour father and a foul snake destined to kill our brother, Thor."

"As well as Narfi and Vali, who has served you and your father as faithfully as I have," Lenneth protested. "Sleipnir, too."

"Well," Vidar half-seriously conceded. "I suppose if a tree bears enough fruit, one or two apples might fall far from it."

"You were the ones who made enemies of my children," Loki suddenly growled. "Fenrir loved you all before you chained him up on that lonely, miserable island you imprisoned him on, and you never gave Hel or Jörmungandr a chance before you cast them out."

"Oh," Vidar snarled through his teeth. "Getting angry on their behalf, are we?"

However, this time there was no timidness from Loki. He stood his ground and glared up at Vidar.

"'Tis been this way for millennia," Loki said. "Through thick and thin, I've served the All-Father against my mother, against my father, brothers, nieces, and my own children. Yet time and again the Odinsons and Dearest Freya question and harass me."

Vidar scoffed and walked around Loki, as though examining him. "With us about to strike a blow against our enemies with the new ongoing operation, I suppose we just do not feel… comfortable knowing you will be helping to manage a mission which will also weaken Jotunheim's position if successful."

Lenneth was suddenly full of questions. "Just what do they speak of?"

"You are referring to Project Körmt?" Loki inquired. It was his turn to scoff. "You act as though I've never participated in a mission which got us victory against Jotunheim or our others enemies before."

"Ay, but this time, we seek to enter their realms and break our enemies once and for all," Hermod asserted.

"That has always been the aim," Loki replied. "Yet only now it is an issue."

"I have heard enough," Lenneth said. "If you think Loki a traitor waiting for the chance to betray us, you should take this to Lord Odin, himself. Otherwise, you have assaulted his sworn Blood Brother with no cause."

Loki chuckled. "They already tried that, and Brother Odin dismissed it this very afternoon."

"Then this is only conjecture and paranoia. Shame upon you both," Lenneth scolded the Odinsons.

By now, Vidar and Hermod looked absolutely furious. They stepped around Loki to approach Lenneth. When Loki again protested, Vidar shoved him away roughly. The Trickster quickly recovered and drew hand behind his back to hide his hand motions while he summoned magic.

Vidar and Hermon closed in, hovering over Lenneth as they had Loki, though neither had made a move to forcefully grab her like they did him. Lenneth swallowed her courage and crossed her arms. She stood as tall as she could before the towering men, putting on a show of not being intimidated. On the inside, her heart was beating so fast, one could almost dance to it. She wasn't a match for just one of the Odinsons mono-e-mono. With two against her, she'd be obliterated if they became violent.

After a long moment of considering his options, Vidar angrily closed his eyes and reined in his anger.

"I'll have to find some subtler way to teach this bumptious woman a lesson," he concluded.

"Watch yourself out there," Vidar walked away after that ominous statement.

"I suppose I should not be surprised by the nerve of a Valkyrie," Hermod commented before he departed as well.

Lenneth glared after Vidar's departing form. "Lord Odin will be hearing of your conduct."

Vidar just scoffed again and gave a dismissive flicking wave as he left.

Loki's body relaxed and he dispelled the magic he was building up.

"Hoo," he loudly released a long breath.

Lenneth's boots clomped against the floor as she approached him.

"Are you well?" she asked.

"Yes, in no small part thanks to you, I'd wager," Loki flashed her a smile.

He reached up tenderly felt around his antlers. "They were quite rough, though. Are my antlers still intact?"

Lenneth hadn't thought about it, but she gave them a look, anyway.

"Yes, they are unbroken," she replied.

"Oh, good. No harm done, then," Loki cheerfully spoke. He then looked at her intently. "Last time, Hermod stuck me to the wall by me antlers and my wives couldn't pull me loose, so the poor servants had to take a saw to my antlers. I ended up having to trim a few branches myself to keep them symmetrical while they grew back in."

Lenneth gaped. "Last time?"

Loki squeezed his eyes shut. "Shouldn't have said that."

"Lord Loki, if you are being mistreated by others within the Pantheon, you should not stay quiet about it," Lenneth's concern was palpable. "As Lord Odin's blood brother, you are due all that goes with such a pact with our king."

Loki smiled bittersweetly and then regarded Lenneth fondly. However, as he spoke, the bitter part shined through, "Well, at least one person other than my wives remembers the bond I'm supposed to share with the All-Father."

Lenneth leaned back, shocked by what she'd just heard. "What do you mean?"

"Think not on it. Having others be suspicious of you comes with being the god of mischief," Loki shrugged. "You play your tricks and become subject to doubt."

"Lord Loki…"

"But enough about me," Loki stopped her. "I gather you have more to report about Midgard's instability. Or questions. Whatever brought you here this night, you still have my thanks."

"Yes, I do have an inquiry to make. It regards one of the Undead. A Vampire Lord named Orlok Dracul," Lenneth answered. "Sound familiar?"

Loki's eyes trailed around the hall as he thought. "Hmm…"

He turned away from Lenneth as he paced away a few steps as he mulled over the name. He turned partially around to look at her.

"The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't recall anything specific," Loki admitted. He motioned to his office. "However, I do have files on every Greater Vampire in my office. Shall we?"

"Only if it is not too much trouble for you at this late hour," Lenneth asked.

"Aw, worry not," Loki shrugged without a care. "You're more than welcome to come in and have a spot of tea and cake while I look through a few files. My treat."

"Cake?" Lenneth did not expect to hear that offered.

"Oh, yes," Loki gleefully smiled. "Freya doesn't even know I raided her private pantry for it."

Lenneth found her stammering after that careless confession of theft.

"You invaded Freya's quarters and stole something?" the goddess blurted out.

Loki shrugged again. "It was a little naïve of you to assume I don't bring some ire down on myself."

She turned away, crossing her arms. "I take it back. You have lost all sympathy."

Loki's respond was laughter.

---

"I feel as though am I committing a cardinal sin by doing this," Lenneth stared down at the slice of cake on a little plate in her lap.

"Heh," Loki responded in amusement. "Come now, what's the point of being a god if you can't be a little naughty sometimes?"

He could feel Lenneth's withering gaze burning holes in the back of his head after saying that. However, he was already bent over leafing through the names of every notable Greater Undead Asgard presently knew about and could not give her the satisfaction of cowing him with a look.

Lenneth sat on the other side of his desk now wearing her formal dress instead of her armor. She reluctantly stabbed the corner of the cake slice with her fork.

"Dracul… Dracul… Ah, Dracul…" Loki pulled out a scroll. "I found your Orlok."

He stood up, holding the scroll above his head. Lenneth looked up as she daintily bit into the tiny portion of the cake she'd cut off.

"'Tis like she thinks she's defiling a sacred artifact," the thought entertained Loki.

He went back to his desk and began skimming through the compiled reports. "Now let me see… Ah, yes, you've run afoul of a real piece of work with this one."

Loki sat down, laying out the scroll. "Interesting. He is a part of the family that revived the Gorhla cult, but not from that generation."

Curious," Lenneth thought.

"When did the cult revive?" the goddess asked. Mentally, she cursed herself for having not asked Belenus that very question.

"Some twenty years ago," Loki scanned the report. "It correlates with some upheaval across the western region of Midgard's main continent. Seems the nation called Artolia was epicenter of it."

"The Princes' Civil War again?" Lenneth mumbled.

"Eh?" Loki looked up.

Somewhat tiredly, the goddess explained: "I know the war you speak of. 'Tis been relevant on at least two occasions in just the two weeks I've been reawakened."

"So, this civil war casts a long shadow on Midgard still?" Loki asked.

"In its western region, yes," Lenneth nodded. "Now, you said Orlok is from a much earlier generation of his family, yes?"

"Indeed. He was actually there when the cult began at a place called the Audoula Temple. It seems the Draculs as a whole did not partake in founding the cult. Seems Orlok fell under the sway of a local lord and mage named Khanan."

"He mentioned that name," Lenneth commented. "He said some nonsense about how we would never understand what his 'great leader' sought to accomplish."

"Pfft! A deluded maniac, then?" Loki smirked.

"Exceptionally deluded," Lenneth flatly answered.

Loki then continued paraphrasing what he read off the report. "The Draculs were Odin-appointed nobility, commanded to be protectors of our temples and our chosen Gothi. Seems the rise of the Gorhla cult coincides with the War of Camille Hill."

Lenneth now had a firm grasp of what happened. "War helped it begin and induced its revival. 'Tis the perfect breeding ground for charlatans to give desperate people empty promises."

One piece of the puzzle was missing for the Valkyrie, though. "Exactly what load of nonsense did they indoctrinate desperate mortals with? Furthermore, what did they seek to gain?"

"Control of the gods," Loki answered pointblank.

Lenneth's brow twisted in unimpressed puzzlement.

"Control… of us?" she repeated.

"Indeed," Loki chuckled. "Though the 'Church' of Gorhla still worshipped us, they indoctrinated their congregation into praying for what their worship leaders told them to first and foremost at set times of the day, every day. 'Twas to get all the worshippers praying for the same thing at once."

Lenneth gave him a blank look in response, uncomprehending of how that was supposed to work.

"It seems these two fellows wanted to try swaying the will of the gods through getting enough worshippers to call on us in unison," Loki explained. "Through this, they sought to uncover why we feel compelled to answer prayers. Via that knowledge, they would learn how to control us."

Loki looked from his reading. He could not help but marvel at the fact Lenneth managed to calmly finish her forkful, swallow it, and dab her lips with a handkerchief before placing it back in her lap before responding. Then she looked him dead in the eyes.

"Where do humans get these inane notions?" she asked.

Loki threw up his hands, having no answer to that one.

"What happened?" Lenneth decided on a question he could answer.

"Brother Odin sent Si…" then Loki caught himself. "Sent your sister to take care of them. She called on the Inquisitors from the Rosetta dynasty and everything. The Rosettan Inquisition lasted a decade rooting out all the Gorhla cult factions, and we thought that was the end of it, but one of its leaders survived by becoming Undead."

"How did Orlok revive it, then?"

"Well, it seems your friend Orlok saw an opportunity brewing in this civil war you spoke of. He returned to the Draculs and influenced the children of the current Count. During her most recent era, Hrist noticed a growing shadow in Villnore. She investigated and found the Gorhla cult thriving again. The Dracul children had taken a shine to Undead life, but played at still being human while actively conducting sermons."

Lenneth felt a pang of pity for the family. "What happened to the current Count Dracul after his children were turned?"

Loki shrugged. "No clue. Freya might know, since she's your Matron. Hrist might have been keeping her informed."

Lenneth made a frustrated noise. "I assume Hrist took care of the other Draculs, then."

"Oh, yes, her purging of the Undead fake Gorhla Gothi was quite thorough," Loki answered. He got up and went over to his mini-bar in the back and began mixing a concoction. "Want any? It'll take the edge off while you're trying to sleep."

"No, thank you," Lenneth answered.

"Very well," Loki turned around, holding a small glass with a liquid that smelled like particularly potent alcohol. "Yes, Hrist wiped out all the Undead Draculs except Orlok, himself, who proved to be as elusive as his master, Brahms."

Lenneth knew what her next question was, "Did she have a lead on him, then?"

Loki stopped sipping. "A few. She did not locate his base of operations before her time ran out and she went back into slumber, but she did narrow it down to eastern Villnore. There are still a few abandoned Gorhla headquarters out there. Rumors of Undead attacks and disappearances pervade out in the Villnore wilderness close to the Artolian mountains. You might even be able to ask your einherjar about all this."

"Thank you. This will be of great help," Lenneth leaned forward into a short bow for him. "I hope I can get at least get a location to investigate soon."

Loki rolled the scroll back up while smiling helplessly at her. "I have told Brother Odin and Freya they should have you Valkyries making notes for each other for when your eras end. I have seen you girls scramble to finish what the previous sister was forced to leave only partially done too many times now."

"To think Hrist's efforts were left incomplete twice," Lenneth mused.

She felt guilty, as though she had been a bad sister.

Then a fire lit in her eyes. "Well, since I am the reigning Valkyrie of this era, I will simply have to finish Hrist's work."

Loki held up an extended finger to slow her. "Ah! There is one more thing you should know. 'Tis about who he is associated with, and I am not referring to Brahms."

Lenneth set the now empty plate down on his desk and leaned in as she listened.

"His direct superior is Lady Beliza," Loki said as he went back to the cabinet to return the scroll. "She is the truly dangerous one. Orlok's methods are atypical of the Undead. He forms a pact with a human, and with the dark blessing born of this pact, converts a target into a hive chief to lead and organize the efforts of Lesser Vampires. But Beliza…"

Loki shut the cabinet before turning back to her. "She is on another level. Capable of thinking outside the box. You won't find her trying to form a new hives just to be thwarted in a repeating cycle once she knows a Valkyrie is on her trail."

"What can I expect from her?" Lenneth asked.

"Something drastic," Loki answered gravely. "To rid herself of Hrist, Beliza once ventured to the Seraphic Gate. She came back with something not of The Nine Realms, a specter made of Dark Matter."

Lenneth's eyes lit up as realization set in. "I know this tale. The thing appeared as living shadow, except in three-dimensions, and corporeal."

The Silver Valkyrie's eye and mouth twitched as she came to the uncomfortable details. "'Twas a rare defeat for my sister. Baldur had to step in, for only he could withstand the forces at work that day. Baldur battled the beast from the deepest pit to the tallest mountain, a clash that even spanned entire Realms. In the meantime, Beliza made good her escape and Hrist was unable to pick the trail back up."

Then Lenneth stopped, as a vague feeling of dread settled in. "Even Mighty Baldur could not defeat The Beast from Outside. All he could do was push it back into the gate once it was worn out enough. Baldur himself also had to brave the wrath of the Seraphic Gate."

"Truly," Loki mumbled almost absently as he stared off at nothing. "Thought we'd lost him that time. Took him seven years to return, too. He still wasn't back when you next awakened. To think other worlds and realities existed out beyond our universe all this time."

Lenneth didn't seem to hear him or even notice him go back to his mini-bar. Her mind was wrapped in the sorrowfully memory of how heartbroken Freya was when the hours since Baldur entered the gate turned into days, then weeks, and beyond.

"So sad," Lenneth wistfully commented.

"What is?" Loki asked whilst poured himself another drink.

"Baldur fought so hard to return to us," the Valkyrie answered.

Loki had his back to her and was downing his second glass while she spoke.

Then Lenneth thought of the second tragic loss of Baldur, and a rare hateful sneer appeared upon her face.

"Damn those brigands, Rufus Half-Elven and the witch Alicia, for taking him from Lord Odin and Freya again," her voice was cold as ice. "Mistletoe arrows. They hadn't even the nerve to at least do it up close."

Lenneth's crossed her arms angrily. "How did lowlifes such as them even learn the secret of Baldur's weakness, anyway? It puzzles me to no end. Only Freya and a few elite among the Aesir knew his weakness before it happened."

Loki turned his head to look at her in the corner of narrowed slits.

"The wicked always find their ways, dearest Lenneth," he said.

"Unfortunately," Lenneth said. Then she stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress. "As much as I hate to leave on such a note, I must be getting to bed. The battle my einherjar and I fought this night took its toll."

"Sleep well, Lady," Loki raised his glass to her in a one-sided toast.

Lenneth gave a light bow and opened the door. Halfway out, she paused and turned back to him.

"There is just one last thing, Lord Loki," she almost hesitantly spoke.

"Oh?" Loki was already pouring a third glass.

"What is Project Körmt? You mentioned it to Lords Vidar and Hermod," she asked curiously.

"Oh, that," Loki smiled at her. "You will be informed in full by Brother Odin and 'Dearest' Freya at a later date. In the meantime, I must order you to forget you ever heard of it."

"My lips are sealed," Lenneth promised. Then she bowed again. "Goodnight, Lord Loki. Give your wives my regards."

Loki gave a perverted smile in reply. "Oh, I intend to give them far more than that."

Lenneth briskly closed the door, leaving a cackling Loki behind.

---

"Don't worry about me. I can mind the fire. I've been working flames several times a day ever since I was a lad. If I can't do any heavy lifting, I can at least do this."

Roland's eyes remained on the burning wood he ran a sturdy stick through, churning and molding the campfire to ideal brightness and warmth. Celia stood behind him, eyes full of worry.

"Be reasonable, Roland," she protested. "Those weeks in that cell's been terrible for your health. One meal isn't going to fix that."

Roland felt a mix of irritation and exhaustion from Celia's fussing.

"You act as though I tried to help Kashell hunt up dinner and carry it back here," he said. "Please, I know I'm weak, and weaker still, but this I can at least do for you. Please let me."

Celia still looked worried, but she backed off.

"Don't coddle the man so, Cel. He's Arngrim's brother, so he's tougher than he looks."

The other occupants of the camp looked towards Kashell, who was over by the horses near the edge of the little gap in the trees they settled down in. He'd laid the saddlebags on the ground and tied them together by their tops with one end of a rope and had looped the other over a high-hanging branch. Kashell grunted as he pulled on the rope, lifting the bags into the air with the makeshift pulley.

"Here, let me help you with that," Celia quickly joined him.

"Alright, on three," Kashell said as she also took hold of the rope.

With the mercenary duo occupied, Roland turned back to the fire and sat quietly, almost robotically prodding at the fire. In an instant, his mind was back home, preparing the fireplace to cook whatever he or Arngrim had brought home to dine on.

"Roland, come on. You shoulda woke me if you were cook this much for us and the client."

"You needed the sleep, brother. You're still not back to top form even after that dead sleep you fell into."

"Feh! What're ya talkin' about! Never felt better-yow! Hey!"

"That's what I thought. If even a poke from me hurt your side that much, you're not back in top form."

"Bah!"

Roland did not know or care if Kashell and Celia had believed him about his encounter with Odin's Valkyrie and his deceased brother. Only that Lawfer's last wish was not wasted. He shook his head, thinking the notion egotistical, considering said final desire was to save Roland, himself.

"People should not be dying on my behalf," he thought bitterly. "And Arngrim should not have been taken before me. This weak body should have given out first, and left brother free to live his life without feeling tied down to anyone."

Roland grabbed one of the logs and added it with some kindling to the fire, building it up on one side where it'd began to die. After doing that, he set the stick he'd been using down and began clapping the ash from his hands. Behind him, Celia and Kashell were tying the rope to the trunk of the tree they'd hung their supplies from. Once that was done, they looked around the boundaries of their camp, noting each and every ward they either hung up and carved into the trees. It didn't look like there were any gaps in their protection for something unnatural to slip through, so that left the woodland threats, like bears, wolves, and even humans. The blankets were laid out and ready to be slept in, and Roland was minding the fire still.

Contented in their work, Kashell and Celia came back to the fire and plopped down on either side of Roland. They exchanged looks containing no happiness, sitting in silence for a while. In truth, they didn't know what to say. Kashell and Celia would unlikely be able to return to Artolia after this. The authorities would be asking questions, and it wouldn't take them long to figure out that Lawfer's friends who'd only just arrived back in the country suddenly fled again on the same night someone laid waste to the castle dungeon.

For each of them, the future held an undeniable uncertainty.

"Our old safehouse in just two day's ride now," Kashell broke the silence.

Roland said nothing, but a movement of his lips and a nod showed he was listening.

"Ah, yes," Kashell turned and began digging through his pockets.

Celia regarded her partner keenly.

"We can't stay there long," she stated. "Captain Lawson's been there, too. We'll have to be in Villnore territory by the time his men get there."

"…Yeah," Kashell muttered absently. "We'll… we'll have to go to the Camille Highlands after passing through Hroethe Walk."

"The back way into Villmore?" Roland asked with a hint of fear. "Brother always said it was treacherous way to travel."

"It's also unwatched," Kashell answered.

He finally found what he was looking for and drew it from a pouch, which was three bouquets of violet Harebells, small bell-shaped flowers which were braided together by their stems.

"Why the Camille Highlands, instead of Camille, itself?" Celia asked. "It's so isolated up there. Camille Hill is so small, I'm hesitant to even call it a village."

"They're isolated and will know nothing about any prices on our heads," Kashell explained.

He then looked down at three tassels of Harebell flowers in his hand. He paused, becoming quite dour as he regarded the flowers.

"Now then…" Slowly, he lifted his head again to face his companions, holding up the flowers. His face twitched to fight off tears and his lips quivered for an instant. He tried to speak, but couldn't get past "Lawfer," before he had to stop. He quickly turned away, wiping his eyes before he turned Celia and Roland again with moist eyes.

"If… If Lawfer's body's already been dusted, then even the Captain won't be able to hold a funeral pyre for him," his voice cracked. "But his family's always grown these flowers around their estate, so I we could make do with this."

He swallowed down his sorrow and handed Roland and Celia each a tassel. The three then clutched the little bouquets in memory of their friend as they stared into the campfire. Kashell began their makeshift ceremony:

"Lo, there do I see my father. Lo, there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers. Lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning. Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them, in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave may live forever."

Kashell stared right at the tassel in his hands. "Lo, do they call to me."

Then he cast the flowers into the fire.

"Lo, do they call to me," Celia repeated. She hesitated to let the Harebells go, feeling as though she were releasing whatever part of Lawfer still remained. She mustered herself, and cast her tassel into the flames as well.

"Lo, do they call me to," Roland finished it off.

He threw his in quickly, knowing he'd not have the strength to let go if he waited. Then, as they watched the flowers burn, they found some small sense of closure from symbolically giving Lawfer his funeral pyre.

---

"Whoa. Is this real?" Lawfer rubbed his eyes and when he looked again, it was still there.

It was the morning, and the einherjar had just entered the great dining hall, a room so massive it was easily the size of Castle Artolia's entire interior in width, length, and height. Neither he nor any of the other einherjar were dressed for battle yet. They all wore matching brown pants and tan button-down shirts supplied to them while their armor and weapons were still in the armory. A few of the female einherjar had simple tan dresses, including Jelanda. Lawfer hadn't quite figured out how his spiritual body came with a perfect copy of the armor he wore in life, or how he could take it off and still have it exist apart from himself to be put away and stored. To be perfectly honest, it was sort of broke his mind when he tried to grasp the concept the night before. Arngrim assured him it'd pass.

That was far away from Lawfer's mind as he took in the Valhalla's dining hall. Unlike the rest of castle, which mainly colored with reds and golds, this place as homey. The floors, walls, and ceiling made up of finished, shining wood which reflected the torch and candlelight, massive wooden pillars carved to resemble Yggdrasil, even having roots at the base and carved canopies of leaves up where they let the ceiling. A hand-carved vine coiled around the 'trunks' from bottom to top.

Another thing Lawfer noticed right away was that the dining hall wasn't so much one single room, but technically two, though no wall divided them. There was the lower area where he and the other einherjar were, which admittedly made up the bulk of the room to accommodate the sheer number of Heroic Spirits gathered.

Then there was a second story room across from where he and the other einherjar entered, and that was where the gods dined. Physically set above the lowly mortals who served them. The deities above could look down on them in the most literal sense anytime they wanted during meals. It was partitioned off from the lowly humans by both its elevation and waist-high rail which run along the side of their half. No staircase led up to the gods' tables and Lawfer could see the Aesirs' side had its own entrances, through which some of them were still filtering. The tablecloths up there were green and seemed to have intricate patterns woven into them, but Lawfer was too far away to be certain. He could, however, tell that each Aesir had their own designated, cushioned chair, with their rune carved on the tall backrests. Aside from the gods, he saw what looked like pink orbs flitting about, somehow carrying platters, plates, and silverware to the tables, and green-haired Light Elves running about, delivering food right to the plates of the Aesir.

In the midst of it all, there was an important-looking male elf, walking about the table with a scroll and pen, alternating between interacting with the Aesir and ordering his fellow elves and the fairies about.

"Ah, the floor manager," Lawfer realized. "Poor man. The gods are being waited on hand and foot. Not a single one of the Aesir is having to get up and get their own food or pass anything along to one of the others."

Something about that didn't seem fair, but Lawfer couldn't make himself be too bothered by it, since these higher entities slaved away keeping the known universe on track.

"Then again, the elves mind Yggdrasil, itself," he thought. "Should they all not be back in Alfheim doing just that?"

The young knight forced himself to tear his gaze away from the gods to look around where the einherjar dined. Their long tables and benches were hardly shabby, but they were plain, as were the white tablecloths. Fairies and elves hustled about down there as well, but they only set the food down on the tables. The einherjar actively had to either get up and go around the tables like it was a buffet to get what they wanted. He also saw the passing of salt and other spices happening without assistance from the fairies or elves.

The long tables were quickly beginning to fill up.

"Lady Lenneth, pardon us, but I think Tuor gave us the wrong table numbers. Do you happen to know where we take the suckling pigs?"

Lawfer glanced over at the source of the voice and saw their Valkyrie standing at one end of a long table with her back to it, addressing a pair of elves, each holding a covered platter. Lenneth was clothed in her usual white gown and long dark blue dress vest. She held a scroll and pen just like the important-looking elf above.

"Oh, certainly," she answered the elven waiters. "The suckling pigs go to Table 3 and Table 22."

"Thank you, Lady Lenneth," the waiters both bowed and departed in haste.

Then Lenneth turned back to the einherjar at the table, holding her pen ready to write. "Forgive the interruption. Where were we? Oh, yes, you told me you would like the roast chicken and some winced pies. Can we get you anything else? Yes, of course. More mead for Table 6."

Lawfer was beside himself. He knew the Valkyrie oversaw the einherjar, but to this extent?

"Yeah, they make her do that, too," he heard Arngrim's unmistakable growl of a voice next to him.

Lawfer looked towards him and smiled. "Good morning."

Arngrim made a noise with his throat in response. He then cast an unfriendly eye on the Aesir in their separate section of the room.

"Not unlike being back of Midgard, huh?" he asked Lawfer. "Even up here, the goods put themselves far above us, just to show us who's boss."

Then Arngrim gave Lawfer a playful shove, causing the man to stumble forward.

"Come on, will ya?" Arngrim grinned. "The benches are fillin' up fast. If ya wanna eat with the rest of the team, we'd better get our asses over there."

"C-certainly," Lawfer rubbed his shoulder where the large man had smacked him.

He followed Arngrim over to where Jelanda, Llewelyn, and Belenus were already seated. There weren't any spaces beside them, but there was spot on the other side of the table which was almost across from them. The two Heavy Warriors sat down among their fellow einherjar.

"Good morning," Belenus rose from his chair to politely greet them.

Jelanda did the same beside him, followed by Llewelyn quickly jumping up to mimic the nobles.

"Mornin," Arngrim deadpanned as he parked himself on the bench.

"Hail. Goodness, that looks real good," Lawfer marveled at the food on their plates as he also sat down.

Jelanda had slices of red meat, mashed potatoes, and eggs on her plate. A much smaller portion than he ever saw her eat in life. She was busy cutting the meat into little squares at the moment.

"It is delicious," Jelanda chirped. "'Tis from the thigh of Sæhrímnir, Lady Valkyrie told me."

"Interesting. It looks not unlike salted pork, Your Highness," Lawfer commented.

Jelanda cringed, slowing in her task of the cutting the meat. Being referred to by her title made her picture Roland in the cell the night before and think of her father's true nature.

"'Tis just Jelanda now," the former princess soberly corrected the knight. "A dead girl can't very well inherent a kingdom. You serve Lady Valkyrie, same as me."

Jelanda then put on her best smile to try livening the mood. "We're colleagues now."

"Colleagues? Like there's anything professional about this lot," Arngrim smirked.

"Hey…" Llewelyn voiced his offense, however light it was.

Belenus simply continued eating, with only a slight raising of the brows betraying any emotion on his part.

Jelanda puffed out her cheeks as she pouted at the scarred warrior. "Why, you…"

Then it vanished and she smiled brightly at Lawfer again.

"Well, at least we can count on you, right, Lawfer?"

Lawfer tried to smile back, however awkwardly.

"Oh, dear, what have I gotten myself into?" he wondered.

"Ah, hail, Cheripha, Lockswell. You two just get back from the front lines?"

"Ay," the voice of a young woman replied. "Woof. Father and I were actually missing in action over in Vanaheim for a spell, but we managed to regroup with the 5th Battalion last night."

"You needn't tell them that part, young one," the deep, smooth voice of an older man piped in.

Belenus's head shot up. "Wait, Cheripha? Lockswell?"

"Hmm?" Arngrim grunted.

The Lassen nobleman looked towards the end of their table and spotted a fair-skinned, hay-haired young woman with blue eyes next to a stern-looking older man possessing the same coloring and thin nose as her.

"It could be them," Belenus thought.

"Why the interest in those two?" Llewelyn was leaning back to look around Belenus.

"Cheripha and Lockswell were partnered operatives, as well as daughter and father, serving in Artolia during the Princes' Civil War. They both disappeared without a trace," Belenus answered. He chuckled with a rueful air. "I suppose the mystery surrounding them has been solved."

Lawfer also glanced at the pair. They matched the rough description he'd heard once.

"I see the Silver Valkyrie is back," the one named Cheripha pointed her fork in Lenneth's direction. "I was hoping she would be by the time we got back. I can't stand that other one. She's…"

"Also a Valkyrie, and a lady in Odin's court," her father scolded. "Don't be rude."

Now that got Lawfer's interest. "There's another Valkyrie?"

A good number of the other einherjar turned and looked at him in bemusement, the daughter-father duo included. Jelanda coughed uncomfortably.

"Lady Valkyrie just picked this one up last night," she explained. "He's not had the time to learn anything yet."

"Ah," Cheripha smiled at him. "Well, welcome to Valhalla, the great big madhouse in the sky."

"Cheripha…" Lockswell reprimanded her again.

"Well met," Lawfer bowed his head in greeting. "I am Lawfer, son of… Lawson."

That got Lockswell to look right at Lawfer, squinting. After a moment, a smile crept over his face, and he let out a silent "Ah."

"Lawson?" Lockswell asked. "As in Lawson, son of Sir Lawrence, of the House of Edgetho?"

"Yes. You knew my father?" Lawfer was near speechless.

"Not exactly, but I worked with your grandfather to repel that upstart, Villnore," Lockswell explained.

That unearthed a memory from deep in Lawfer's subconscious. "That's right. You warded them off by pouring whole barrels of oil over the field they had pass through the night before they arrived. Then you ambushed them with flaming arrows."

"Followed by a whole volley of poisoned arrows once the flames had done all they were going to," Lockswell added with a hint of pride in his voice. "We ended that battle before it had a chance to begin and sent those Viller dogs running back with scorched tails between their legs."

"That must have smelled awful," Jelanda shivered.

"Like roasted pig, actually," Lockswell corrected. "Certainly made me hungry."

Cheripha groaned as her father chuckled at his own off-color joke. Several others also laughed, including Arngrim. Cheripha leaned back, peering around her father at Jelanda with an apologetic look. The former princess just shrugged, and gestured at Arngrim, mouthing "He's no worse than him," back at her.

"But back to what you said about another Valkyrie. This is the first I've ever heard of there being more," Lawfer said.

---

Loki looked down at Lenneth from his spot at Odin's table. He recalled the conversation between her and Odin he'd overheard earlier that very morning.

"Lord Odin, if I may have a minute of your time, I bear some unpleasant tidings."

"Certainly, Lenneth. Things are not going well on Midgard?"

"Oh, no, 'tis nothing so grim, but it does concern Lord Loki and Lords Vidar and Hermod. I came upon your sons menacing Lord Loki last night over the issue of his various blood relatives being aligned against us. According to them all, you have expressly told them to drop the matter, but Lord Vidar and Lord Hermod were still ready to tear him to pieces when I arrived on the scene."

"Oh, is that all? Worry not, they would never seriously harm him."

"Wh… Lord Odin, is Loki not…"

"That will be all, Lenneth."

"…Yes, Milord."

Loki picked up his wine goblet and swashed it about for a bit.

"Wish I knew why she was expecting anything else," he thought bitterly.

"Beloved, do not wave your glass around so," Sigyn scolded him.

---

"So, you're sure he ate the soup?" Claire asked.

She adjusted her outfit one more time. Noting that she'd received no answer, she looked at Rusty, who stood next to her in the hallway with his eyes averted, as did Maximillian and Barren. She rolled her eyes in annoyance at the mens' apparent prudishness at her revealing attire. Claire shifted around in her short, red, strapless dress, ending at mid-thigh length. It was cut in a low-cut 'v' which left a liberal amount of cleavage revealed. Paired with it were red heels and fishnet stockings. A small tan purse hung from its strap, looped over one of her shoulders.

Claire would have laughed at the mens' averted had they the luxury of time.

"Oh, please, you've all seen me in worse than this," she said.

"Yeah, but yer Lucien's girl," Barren's eyes remained focused on a support beam.

"My daughter's your age," Maximillian quietly protested.

He reached up and pulled on some of his graying dark hair, punctuating the age gap between himself and the girl of 20. Claire could have pointed out that hadn't stopped some slimeballs Maximillian's age from hitting on Betty, but they didn't have time to debate it. Besides, she already knew what really detoured men with less than good intentions for Betty. Maximillian's lean yet well-muscled and tall frame had a certain persuasiveness to it.

Rusty glanced down at Claire quickly before looking at the ceiling.

"Anyway, what'd you ask?" he asked.

"Did. He. Eat. The. Soup?" Claire repeated one word at a time for emphasis.

"Oh, yeah, he wolfed that right down," Rusty spoke awkwardly. "If ol' Eitri was tellin' Lucien the truth about that alchemic brew he gave us, Sir Reginald's lips should be loose for hours, but I wouldn't waste any time trying to get him to talk."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Claire dragged.

Rusty laughed and looked at her, keeping his eyes on her face.

"Well…" he started to answer, but he was cut off when Claire playfully leaned forward, giving him an especially good look down the front of her dress.

The stocky young man turned beet red and about-faced. He left with great haste muttering something about "needing to check on the kids". Claire covered her mouth, suppressing whoops of laughter. Maximillian and Barren joined in.

With Rusty having rushed off, Clair unshouldered her purse to check its contents.

"Alright, no need to be mean," Maximillian reprimanded.

The redheaded woman let out a pretend hurt "Aw," as she unbuckled the flap of her purse and opened it to check one more time to ensure she had what she needed. She reached into a hidden compartment along the side of the interior and produced an iron syringe full of orange liquid. The needle was still capped for safety. Satisfied, she hid it back within its compartment and reclosed the flap but intentionally left it unbuckled.

She glanced toward the locked iron door at the end of hallway they stood in, which contained their prisoner, Sir Reginald. She looked back at her male companions.

"Alright," Maximillian nodded. "Be careful with that, or it'll be you we're telling your whole life story to. Just get in there and get this over with. You remember what you're asking him?"

"Of course, I do," Claire sounded annoyed again. "Give me the keys already."

Barren hesitated, feeling an attack of the conscious.

"What?" Clair asked.

"Hey, you don't need to be the one who does this," Barren spoke tenderly. "We can get Thalia to handle this. She's got no personal history with guy. She…"

"Give me the damn keys," Clair held out her hand insistently.

Barren anxiously took out a keyring, which she accepted. "You be careful in there. As soon as you got the intel, Obliviate him."

"Don't worry about me," Claire accepted the keys and approached the door.

As she walked away, both men shook their heads.

"I hate when she says that," Maximillian whispered at the younger fellow.

Barren stifled a near humorless chuckle as they both prayed for her success.

---

Within his cell under Dolce's orphanage, Sir Reginald had been hearing people muttering out in the hall for a while now but couldn't make out any words. For some reason, ever since that last meal, he'd found it difficult to concentrate. With his mind in its foggy state, he didn't realize he'd been drugged. He sat to back end of the cell on the bed with his mind in a haze. In his state, it was easy to let his mind wonder and get lost in Lalaland and for the first time in weeks, he didn't have the fortitude to make himself angry at being The Silver Saviors' captive.

Click.

Reginald looked toward the familiar sound of the door unlocking. It swung open with an intentionally slowness as though to keep him waiting in cautious anticipation to find out what his captors wanted with him now. What he saw standing in the doorway was the last thing he expected: a redheaded young woman, and a pretty one at that. She leaned her back flat against the doorframe with arms hugging the frame behind her, giving him a good look of her. She raised one leg, showing off her thigh and calves, and pressed her foot against the other frame. Claire smiled as Reginald stared at her nicely toned leg.

Indeed, Reginald couldn't help but stare. His eyes trailed up her body, outlined in the tight, revealing clothing, ending at meeting her gaze as she smiled provocatively at him. Reginald was still as stone.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I'm your Eclair," she purred at him. "And you look like you could use some fresh air. Perhaps you'd like to get out and smell the roses? Or at least…"

She lowered her foot from the doorpost and closed the door behind her. Then she walked, hips swaying towards the half-fuddled noble.

Clair coyly grabbed the edges of her dress along the sides and lifted them slightly as she approached him. When she reached the dinner table in the middle of the room, she crawled onto it on all fours giving Reginald the ideal look at the low cut bosom window in her dress.

"Or at least a smell of this rose?" Claire's sultry voice hummed in his ears.

"I, uh…" Reginald found himself tongue tied.

Claire sat in almost catlike fashion, beckoning him over with a finger. Reginald found it even more difficult to think straight now. He felt a smile creep up, and he was unable to fight his amorous thoughts in his state.

"You are… certainly upfront," Reginald uttered.

He stood and approached her, where Claire still sat up on her knees, leaning far enough still.

"What are you waiting for?" she reached out and scratched him under the chin as though he were a puppy.

"I'm your Éclair, and your ticket out of this terrible place," she cooed.

Even in his muddled state, Reginald found it in himself to be skeptical. He stopped his advance, but Clair shifted to sit down on the edge of the table, sliding her legs out from under her. She wrapped them around his waist, drawing him in. Then she grabbed him by the shoulders, sliding them down to rub his upper arms.

"What's wrong, Gentle Lord?" she softly asked. "You think this damsel cannot rescue her king?"

"I don't know if I can trust you," Reginald was blunt.

Clair's mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. "You wound me, Dear Lord."

"Not like your people wounded me," Reginald argued.

He lightly held his left side, which still had bandages beneath his gray shirt, holding his broken ribs in place. He looked at her challengingly.

"Give me one reason to trust you."

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer with a suddenness that caught him off guard. She looked him dead on, dropping the act.

"Because I'm tired of living in the gutter," she frankly answered. "Do you have any idea what it's like to live every day barely scraping by for food, and not always being able to eat or take baths?"

No, Reginald did not, not even in his current situation, since the Silver Saviors were doing their best to make his wounds heal quickly and to stave off infection from setting in, which meant frequently changing his bandages, allowing him to wash off daily, and keeping his cell decently clean. Plus, three square meals to keep him strong.

"And I'm tired of looking over my shoulder," Clair continued.

Then she lowered her arms from about his neck, sliding her hands down his flabby chest with a sensual slowness.

"I'd like to be pampered and taken care of for once," she whispered in his ear. "If I help you escape this nasty place, I'll be your good little doggie that does whatever you ask of her. I'll dress up and look pretty any way you want me to at parties and balls, or just for you. I'll even perform more… personal services, hand feed you, anything you want. All I ask is warm meals and a comfy bed."

"Well now," Reginald grinned lecherously. "Those are some terms I can get behind."

He ran his hands up along her sides, stopped them beside her breasts. He didn't notice her tense up with revulsion, as Clair's expression didn't change at all. She hugged him close and whispered:

"I can get you out into the city, but the Silver Saviors have eyes and ears everywhere. We'll need somewhere to hide."

"Can we not just go straight to the sheriff? Agatha Ivardottir would be able to protect us," Reginald said.

"We must reach The Iron Lady before she can protect us," Clair reminded him. "When we leave this room, I must know exactly where we're going. With silver necklaces watching every street and you injured, we must get you somewhere you can get protection immediately. Any ideas, Gentle Lord?"

Clair grabbed him by both cheeks and drew him into a kiss, which he reciprocated. She shivered from repulsion as he began to run his hands over her body, but she didn't stop him. Instead, she dropped one hand while he was distracted and reached for her pulse. Her fingers snaked their way under the flap and into the hidden side pocket where the Obliviate potion in the syringe was located. She carefully lifted it out from the side compartment but left it in the purse for the moment.

When their lips broke contact, Clair tried to speak, but now Reginald was excited and tried to bury his face in her bosoms. Claire quickly grabbed both sides of his face again, stopping him. With the two of them staring into each other's eyes, she pulled him quickly into another kiss to justify it. When she drew back again, she pressed her forehead to his.

"Now, about a good hideaway," she said firmly.

Reginald whined, looking back down her body. "Must we keep talking? We were about to get to the good part."

"Yes," Clair said firmly.

"Well…" Reginald didn't want to divulge too much.

"I doubt I have much choice," he thought.

With a sigh, Reginald began, "Well, there is my private warehouse on Second Long Street. The building number's 3953. It sits empty as of late due to… timely interference of your 'friends'."

Clair turned her face slightly away from him in confusion. Unseen by the distracted lord, she'd already reached into her purse again.

"Second Long Street is only for general wares," Clair pointed out. "City ordinance states you can't even store livestock there, much less bondservants. Are you certain you want to go there? When the sheriff's office comes by, they may ask you… difficult questions."

Reginald smirked. "Oh, don't you worry about that. Mayor Boyd is an 'old associate' of mine. He is very well associated with the depths of my wallet. He'll vouch and keep The Iron Lady out of our business. Just like Mayor Loren in Lassen lets me own more warehouses than I'm technically allowed, though strictly off the records on Kingsgate Avenue over there. Indeed, young lady…"

He leaned in, cupping her breasts in his hands as he began nipping at her neck.

"You've just fallen in with a well-connected man of enterpr…"

Reginald froze as he felt a sharp, burning prick in the side of his neck. He pulled back from her, almost immediately spotting the empty syringe in her hand, which she held up victoriously with a self-satisfied grin. The fat noble grabbed his neck where it still stung as he slowly backed away from her in mortified fear.

"What did you do to me, witch?" tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

"Second Long Street, building number 3953, and off-the-record warehouses on Kingsgate Avenue in Lassen," Clair repeated smugly. "Thanks, I'll remember that, because you certainly won't anymore."

"You…" Reginald snarled and tried to charge her.

One of Clair's legs kicked out and she caught him in his broken ribs with her shoe's heel. Reginald doubled over, collapsing onto his knees in the middle of the floor, letting out wheezing howls of agony. Clair didn't wait around to gloat. She fell backwards on the table, throwing her legs up and performing a flip to jump off. She landed standing close to the cell door. She backed up towards it, grabbing the handle. Before she opened it and left, she turned and looked at him with the highest degree of hate a person was capable of.

"You greedy, slimy old lech!" she cursed him. "I hope they put you to work in your own salt mines 'til death after this! Sound familiar? That's what you did to my father when you took our shop! You also won't be touching me or any other girl ever again!"

Clair threw open the door, ran out, and slammed it behind her so hard, Reginald's ears rang.

Now alone, Reginald had collapsed facedown on the floor, his mind swirling in a thicker and thicker faze.

"I'm Sir Reginald Lundberg… I, I'm of a long line of enterprising… enterprising… I'm Reginald Lundberg… I'm… I'm… I am Reginald… I…"

Then he passed out and was lost to the world.

---

Outside the cell, Clair stood out in the hall, breathing quickly and deeply while trying to get herself back under control.

"I won't cry, I won't cry," she told herself.

She could still feel his unwelcome hands running over her body, to places she hadn't given express permission to be touched. She shuddered deeply and hugged herself.

"You had better appreciate this, Lucien," she thought.

At the other end of the hall, Maximillian and Barren appeared from around the corners. They'd heard the commotion, and now saw Clair quivering in rage as they approached.

"By the gods. Claire," Maximillian empathetically muttered.

He came just shy of giving her the kind of comforting hug he'd have given Betty in this situation, but reined his fatherly instincts in. She stood a few inches in front of him, unwilling to meet their gazes. Maximillian backed off, but kept a concerned eye on her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded wordlessly, still barely containing tears and sobs.

"You didn't kill him, do ya?" Barren asked.

"No," Clair sharply answered.

She regarded the two men huddled in close, disliking how vulnerable she was. She had thought herself ready to seduce and punish a man she'd hated for years, but being touched by the cause of her father's enslavement and eventual demise via mining accident had evoked something downright primeval from the depths of her soul.

She feigned a smile as she elaborated: "No, when Reginald rouses again, he'll know as much about himself as ol' Eitri does about personal hygiene."

Barren laughed, but Maximillian wasn't convinced. Barren reached into the back pocket of his pants, producing a raggedy piece of parchment and a stick with one end thoroughly burnt.

"Alright, then. You got the intel?" Barren asked.

Maximillian gave him a hard look for not giving Clair just a moment longer to center herself.

Clair nodded. "Second Long Street, building number 3953, and an unknown number of off-the-record warehouses on Kingsgate Avenue in Lassen. No building numbers for those, but I doubt it'll be hard to narrow down."

Barren quickly jotted that all down, using the burnt stick as a makeshift pen. The ash rubbed off, forming words on the parchment.

"Alright. I'll take this to Robert and see about getting ahold of Lucien," he announced.

As Barren left, Maximillian glanced toward the relocked cell door.

Clair knew what he had to be thinking. "I'm sorry, Maxi. I wasn't able to ask him if he knew what market your wife was sent off to."

Maximillian lowered his gaze.

"No trouble, Clair," he tried to play it off, but grief strained his voice. "He wouldn't've remembered Marie, anyway."

"Still…" Clair mumbled.

Maximillian shook his head.

"Forget it," he insisted. As he spoke, there was a heavy bitterness. "When that uptown pig took my farm, he didn't even bother learning our names before he threw me in one cage, and Marie and our Betty in another."

He turned to the exit.

"Enough of that," he tore himself away. "Come on, tomato top. They'll all be waiting. Lucien and the others might even have come back from lining the pockets of the common man. We left your usual clothes in the storeroom by the stairs."

He and Clair strode from the cell in silence.

---

"There they go! That man and his… beast! Are fleeing through the Mandragora fields south of the spider den! Head them off!"

The other scouts in the treetops followed where their leader pointed, and spied the man with his large green ogre bearing stolen spoils along the edge of relatively open forest. One elf took the horn from her belt and blew into it, producing a sound which was heard all throughout The Forest of Spirit while the others hopped nimbly from branch to branch with such lightness and pois it defied the mortal laws of physics.

After sounding the alarm, the hornblower aimed her fingers upwards and cast a rainbow which arched directly over the fleeing intruders. In an instant, every elf in the lush woodlands was in hot pursuit of the mortal man and his pet monster that'd dared to encroach on their sanctuary.

"Oh blast it, they've already found us again!" Lezard cursed as he watched the multicolored flare fly directly overhead.

He and his homunculus, Belion, were tearing through the foliage at top speed. The mage couldn't hear anything coming up behind them yet, but he felt them. So many powerful presences chasing them with everything they had to stop him from stealing one of their own away.

Belion kept in pace with Lezard easily despite being burdened with the elven woman who he carried over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Her long forest green hair hung down, covering her face, but her pointed ears were still visible. She was garbed in a long plain dress, colored dull green. Her hands and feet were bound, but that did not stop her from struggling against her bonds to break free.

It was then Lezard heard the first pair of feet drop onto the ground behind them. He dared a quick glance over his shoulder and beheld a elves raining from the branches onto the grass and running after them in hot pursuit, swords and other weapons drawn raised. He knew they only refrained from opening fire with their bows because of the precious cargo Belion carried. Belion also took notice of their pursuers stretching into the distance on both sides behind them, and that they were starting to gain.

"Master Lezard," Belion's low, oafish voice held fear. "There are too many after us."

"Don't panic, Belion," Lezard called back.

Then as he kept running, Lezard began to focus, drawing in the bountiful natural magics from all around them in the mystical forest. Behind them, the elves felt the energies divert from their natural course.

"Captain! That man means to cast!" one of her subordinates shouted.

"Oh, no, you don't!" the captain growled and ran faster still. "You will die when you stop to cast your meager spell, human."

As soon as Lezard had enough magical energies gathered to him, he called over his shoulder to Belion again:

"When I stop, you keep running until you reach our rendezvous point! Do not let them retrieve the woman!"

Belion uttered an inaudible response, but Lezard understood him well enough. The mage then began to murmur a spell with his hands positioned as if holding an orb.

"I am he who hath entrusted his soul to the eternal vortex of time. Ye know me! And if ye do not, ye shall be made to know me. It shall be engraved on thy very soul: Lezard Valeth! If ye shall accept the brand of Hel upon thee, thy sanctions shall in turn will be lowered. I shall grant thee the deliverance of thy soul, and ye shall come now before me!"

As soon as the ball of black energy formed in his hand, Lezard dug his heels up, sliding to a stop while Belion barreled past him, vanishing into the bushes beyond. The mage faced the oncoming army of elves, who were already reaching for their quivers since the hostage was no longer a factor. Lezard did not give them a chance to open fire of them.

"Come forth… DRAGON-TOOTH WARRIOR!" he called and cast his spell.

A pool of black spread across the ground, from which leapt at least a dozen 10-foot bipedal skeletal abominations. They had Komodo dragon-like skulls full of sharp teeth and goat-like horns which curled back over manes of purple flame. They stood on three-toed feet attached to triple-jointed legs and their long arms hung almost to the ground. They each dual-wielded jagged crescent swords.

The elves skidded to a halt out of shock and fear. They even began to back away as their demonic foes growled or outright roared at them, inching forward on clawed feet. From behind the Dragon-Tooth Warriors, Lezard smiled with psychotic delight and triumph at his enemies.

"What right have you puppets to attack a human to begin with?" he taunted.

Then with a snap of his fingers, a harpy descended from the skies and landed next to him. Lezard climbed on and with one final, smug grin, said, "This mad little interlude is over."

"Halt!" the elf captain shouted at him.

But Lezard ignored her, ordering his harpy to the skies.

"Attack!" she shouted.

Lezard still ignored her, leaving behind the sounds of the ensuing struggle as his steed bore him safely across the skies.

"Now if that big oaf lost her…" Lezard growled under his breath.

---

"Er! Uh! Ugh! Come on! Confound these chains. The ropes were bad enough."

The elf woman lied on her side on the cold stone floor, propping her body up with her elbow. The big lummox that served the heretical human who'd ambushed her by the river had brought her down to the dungeon. Manacles hung from the walls by chains or were set directly into the brickwork. There was an iron maiden not far to her right, a raging firepit in the middle of the room with a tall, narrow cage shaped to make its occupant stand upright and perfectly still while inside it hanging over the flames. Along the wall to her right was a stone stairwell leading up to the exit, which was guarded by the great green menace, himself. The creature's dull eyes stared at her, only ceasing to blink.

"What?" the elf demanded brusquely.

"Master Lezard told me to keep an eye on you," Belion answered.

He continued to stand there without moving.

"More like a golem than a homunculus," the elf thought.

Then an idea came to her. "His mind must be weak. 'Tis worth a try."

Her body shimmered with power as her reached out with her will, psychically, and entered Belion's mind.

"Come here," she mentally ordered him.

"Huh?" Belion's hazy expression only changed slightly show to his confusion.

However, his body obeyed and he stomped down the steps, approaching her.

The elf woman smiled in relief and victory.

"Its working!" she internally cheered.

Then she redoubled her efforts, sending psychic pulses into Belion's mind.

"Remove my chains," her voice commanded inside his head.

He'd just reached the bottom of the steps and stopped in front of her.

"Yes, just like that," Belion heard her in his head again.

Then his head snapped sharply to the left and startled the elf, making her fall back on her side. When Belion's head rested there at an unnatural angle for a moment, she half-wondered if he'd broken it, but he began spasming and rolling his head in every direction while his body twitched.

"Odin's Eye!" the elf began scooping away until she'd backed herself against the wall. "What is…"

Then Belion clutched the sides of his head tightly and threw it back in a deafening, agonized scream that lasted several seconds. His fingers grabbed the sides of his face tighter and tighter, until the nails drew blood. Then he looked at her with accusing rage. He reached down and grabbed her by the throat, effortlessly hoisting her into the air.

"Ugh…" she gagged as his fingers tightened around her throat, threatening to crush it. "Th… this wasn't supposed to…"

"Exire Belion!"

Then all at once, the homunculus froze, and his fingers loosened. His expression turned blank again as he slowly lowered her back to the ground, and then dropped her.

"Oof!" the elf maiden grunted as she landed hard on the stone floor.

"Ooh! That looked like it hurt!" a familiar and unwelcome voice said

The elf sneered and rose back up, looking to the top of the stairs, where the bespectacled man stood. He grinned at her, completely ignoring his seven-foot green ogre as it turned and climbed the steps towards him without another word.

"Glad to see I made it," Lezard grinned.

He gave Belion a look as he passed him to leave the room.

"I think he still needs some fine tuning," Lezard was clearly displeased, but then shook it off.

His empty smile returned as he strode down towards the elf maiden.

"That was careless of you," he mockingly chastised her, waggling a finger as he did. "I thought you would have realized Belion is a man-made construct, a homunculus."

"Of course, I knew," she shot back without a hint of accent.

Lezard seemed surprised to hear his own language on her tongue, but the slight widening of the eyes passed quickly. When he reached the floor, he knelt before her and took a moment to look her over in a remedial examination to ensure she hadn't been harmed.

"You are a naughty little puppet. That was some sort of bewitchment charm, yes?" followed by a "Tsk, tsk."

"The fabric of your creature's mind must be different from a human's," the elf maiden snapped. "It figures you would create something that so quickly turns to violence."

Lezard chuckled.

"I must apologize for Belion," he said. "I kept the big oaf basic so he won't get any nonsensical ideas about free-will. I tailor made his brain to only listen to my commands. No wonder he went mad under your mental assault. I may have to scrap him entirely if he's not right after this."

The elf maiden gasped. Despite her feelings of disgust for Belion, the thought that his own master would discard him so easily was unfathomable and filled her with loathing.

"DO NOT TOY WITH LIFE, HUMAN!" she shouted at him. "HAVE YOU NO SHAME OR SENSE OF SACREDNESS? I should-MM!"

In an instant, his gloved hand was wrapped around her mouth and squeezing tightly. His glare bore straight into the core of her being.

"What noise you make…" Lezard all but growled at her. Then a crooked smile appeared. "Or, perhaps, you feel sorry for him, because you're naughtier than you seem."

"Mm?" was her muffled protest behind his palm.

Lezard leaned in with a suggestive grin. "Perhaps you were going to have a bit of fun?"

That incensed the elf maiden to pull back from him with all her might, yanking herself free of his hand, much to his surprise.

She glared at him with bared, clenched teeth. "How… How dare you!"

"You two puppets would be perfect for each other," Lezard jeered. "However, a coupling between a human and an elf would be little different from a liaison with a doll."

Then after a pause, he added: "Although the offspring could become quite inconvenient to Odin if given the chance."

By now, the elf woman was seething. Instead of capitalizing on her rage more, Lezard began analyzing her again.

"I am curious as to why and how you know the human tongue so well, given the utter isolation of the Forest of Spirits from mortal civilization."

"You're smart. You figure it out," the elf defiantly shot back.

"I just did," Lezard answered.

He reached up and tapped the side of his head. "It's all up here. Just as you reached into Belion's mind to command him, you've tunneled through the depths of human minds in the past. Some poor sailor who washed up on your shores, or a poacher looking for rare game no doubt. But…"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind that, puppet."

She bristled at being that again. Lezard found her pouty look pleasing, if anything.

"Do you take offense at being called a 'puppet'?" he coyly asked. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to call you… Vessel of the gods."

Then all traces of offense and indignation were lost to shock.

"Surprised, I see," Lezard said. "Then listen well, I found Ymir's Codex. Even you must know what that is."

The elf maiden retreated from him then. At first, she simply took him for some common deviant, but the knowledge he displayed made him truly dangerous. She was in peril, very mortal peril, she now realized.

"The Philosopher's Stone? You have it? No, 'twas sealed away long ago!" disbelief registered in her face and voice. "Impossible! How did a Devil like you get it?"

"'Impossible'? Come now, puppet," Lezard condescendingly chided. "Unlikely, improbable even, but impossible?"

She turned away, shaking now. She gulped.

"'Tis just as well you go quiet, puppet," Lezard stood up. "You assume much speaking to me so freely."

A fiendish thought then occurred to him, and he decided to poke his victim a little more.

"Perhaps the Stone was being irreverent in its own way, but…" Lezard paused for effect. "The very first piece of knowledge it ever yielded to me was this: "Anything which claims to be "All-Anything" is nothing more than a deception," it said."

He cut loose with a quick laugh.

"I hadn't thought about it before, but Odin's coveted title as the All-Father is just a big lie, isn't it?" Lezard commented. "Mimir is none other than Odin's uncle. A previous generation of god who predates the alleged All-Father by a great many centuries. Then there's Odin's own father, Bor. The god who loved a human woman."

The elf woman gasped. Lezard smiled back, mouthing, "Oh, yes," answering that he's learned that, too.

Lezard threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug as he laughed. "Come to think of it, Odin didn't even create eight of the Nine Realms. Ymir did. He's just taken credit for the primordial giant's work after killing him and fashioning Midgard out of him."

"What do you even want?" the question just burst from the elf maiden.

Lezard hummed. "Seeking out the Stone has turned out be worth my while. Without it, I would have never uncovered the secrets of achieving my greatest and deepest desires!"

He finally looked at her again, eyes full of madness and purpose. "You are to be a sacrifice; the first of many to come in the days ahead. If I use an elf as a catalyst, I will be able to create the ultimate Vessel."

The elf woman became paler by several shades and began frantically shaking her head.

"No! No! Please! I beg you! Please spare me! I'll tell whatever you wan…!"

Lezard angrily grabbed her by the throat, choking the words. "Stop assuming the human tongue, puppet!"

She whimpered and wheezed, all the while still shaking her head.

"No! No, please!" her voice filled Lezard's head. "You don't know what you're doing mortal! You don't…!"

Energy shot from Lezard's hands and shocked her into unconsciousness. The elf woman fell limp against him. Lezard hoisted her over his shoulder, grunting from effort.

"No, none of that, puppet," he pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. "Now we have a lot of work to do."

---

"That'll be 3,000 mon, Lady Nanami," the vender said.

"Oh, my," the young shrine maiden in front of him exclaimed. "When did fabrics become expensive."

The elderly businessman took a puff of his long pipe, blowing out smoke rings while regarding his customer as they both sat on their knees on the straw matt which made up his 'shop'.

"Ever since the merfolk be stirrin' trouble out at sea again," he answered. "And even the monsters here in Yamato be getting' meaner 'n' ornerier. Prices gonna be up everywhere 'til it's sorted."

"Oh, I see…" Nanami murmured with a sad, concerned tone.

She glanced around the rest of the little rural market but didn't see any other venders selling the kind and quantity of fabrics she needed at the moment. The matt they sat on was rolled out alongside the dirt road. The man's wares were mostly fabrics made of woven bast fibers, sitting in rolls beside him. On either side were other vendors also on straw matts. The vendor hated having to sell to a shrine maiden at such a high price, especially a pretty young one like Nanami, but he had to earn a living in hard times.

She was nearly 20, although she looked much younger, since her round, youthful face gave off the impression of a girl in the middle of puberty. Nanami also stood at about five feet in height, making her shorter than most adult women. She had dark eyes, clear tan skin, and black hair she wore long, reaching halfway down her shoulder blades. In front, her bangs were trimmed perfectly level just above her eyelids, and her sidelocks were cut at shoulder length, their ends resting on her collbar bones. She was dressed as one expected a shrine maiden to be, in a white robe worn on her upper body with long, loose sleeves which hung loose from her arms, and a red hakama, like a billowing skirt which covered her legs and almost covered her feet.

The seller puffed out his last ring, and told her, "You won't get 'em any cheaper nowhere else, neither. Take it or leave it, I can't haggle the price right now, Miss."

"I understand, sir. Very well, 3,000 mon it is."

Nanami untied the top of her bag and pulled out a bundle of coins. These weren't the traditional oth from the mainland. They were mon coins, each possessing the three triangled emblem of the Imperial Hojo clan who reigned over the Southern regions of the island and controlled most of the trade with mainland Nordrick to their Northeast. Each coin had a cavity in the center through which a string had been threaded and then tied at both ends, keeping them together in a bundle. The young woman untied one end of the thread, counted out thirty coins before handing them to the vendor.

"Thank you for your business, Lady Priestess," he accepted the money with a gapped smile.

"Thank you kindly, kind sir," she gave him a friendly smile which almost melted his heart enough to lower the price on the spot. Almost.

Nanami gathered up the three rolls of fabrics she'd purchased and hefted them over her shoulder. She picked up a bamboo basket where she kept her bag and some groceries she'd purchased and hooked it on her forearm. Before she left, she bowed respectfully to the vendor and began the walk back home. The girl trekked beside the road as carts passed by bearing various goods.

She began humming an upbeat tune, enjoying the spring weather in Yamato.

"Mother and I will have these fabrics turned into new sets of ceremonial robes by tomorrow's end. Just in time to begin preparations," Nanami thought.

Remembering what the vendor had said told put a slight damper on her good mood.

"…the merfolk be stirrin' trouble out at sea again … And even the monsters here in Yamato be getting' meaner 'n' ornerier…"

"I know these things all too well," she thought.

Even earlier that day before she set out, Nanami had to prepare a fresh set of wards and sutras for travelers who needed to cross through Yamato's wilderness to the other cities and townships. Every traveler had to begin taking wards and began arming themselves when they ventured outside of town. The Undead, demons, and various monsters native to Yamato had began attacking travelers more frequently and had even been at the boundaries of the human territory trying to break through the sacred barrier on numerous occasions. They had managed to find a weak point a few weeks back and broke through. It had been to the credit of the monks, priests, and shrine maidens they had not been able to do any permanent damage to the barrier. The lives their momentary victory claimed was another matter.

"Did you hear about poor Kou and his wife?"

"I did, and it's a real shame. They shouldn't have built their farm so close to the barrier's edge with the demons running wild right now. At least Suwas repaired the barrier before anyone else was lost."

"But its gonna keep happening until the barrier either gives out entirely, or that girl from the shrine claims the sword."

"Think she can really do it? The Suwas' real daughter died two years ago of smallpox. Now they have only that stand-in."

Nanami hadn't meant to overhear the men talking, but their hushed, fearful tones had gotten her attention. She pretended not to hear as she walked past them, and also played at not seeing the look they gave her. As soon as she was past, Nanami's head hung as doubt began to slip in.

"In three days, I will venture down into the Dragoncastle Caverns to claim the sword, so that we may renew the holy barrier which protests the human settlements," Nanami told herself. "Everyone's counting on me. If I fail, that's it for life on Yamato."

"There she goes, the adoptive daughter of the Suwa clan. Nanami, was it?"

"Don't point so, darling, it's rude. But yes, that's her."

"She looks like a real miko of the clan. You wouldn't even know she's not their real daughter."

"Love, stop it. She might hear you."

Nanami did hear them as well, but again gave no indication. She just kept walking, trying to ignore them.

"Do you really think she can do it? You know how important that sword is to renewing the holy barrier around Hai Lan. If that girl can't claim the Dragon Bane Sword, the beasts outside will be able to come in and devour us all."

"Shh! She goes down in three days. Lady Nanami's feeling the pressure enough as it is. Just let her be."

Indeed, she was. Nanami quickened pace until she reached the edge of town, where the Shinto shrine was located. She paused for breath, after having pushed herself to go much faster than she intended with all the extra weight she was carrying. She was just outside the Torii on the stone path leading to the shrine's front entrance.

The words of the concerned locals swirled in her mind, weighing her down as much as the rolls of cloth on her shoulder. She violently shook her head, casting the doubtful thoughts to the wind.

"No, enough!" she mentally shouted at herself. "Even if I am not related to mother and father by blood, I am still their daughter in spirit. I can do this."

She clenched a fist in determination. "I will brave the Dragoncastle Caverns, and I will retrieve the Dragonbane Sword. I won't let the people of this nation down."

Even as she tried to stand defiantly against all doubt, anxiety troubled her heart. She looked out towards the sound of the ocean in the distance, solemnly.

"Oh, Minayo, you were taken from us too soon," she whispered to the winds. "I miss you, dearest sister. The right to brave the Dragoncastle Caverns and claim the power of the sword belongs to you, even now. Worry not, beloved Minayo. I will prove myself worthy of the sword for everyone's sake."

She tried to mentally bury her worries.

"…I can do this," she repeated. "I have to."