Chapter 4: The Silver Heroes
Fadila carried her and Sitri's plates back to the waitress, who had trouble conveying to the gobliness that her gesture wasn't necessary. When the gobliness made her way back to the table, she found her companion barely able to hide his fangs. She wanted to at least thank him for the meal and a chance to taste that delicious fish-sauce, but the mutt had other things in mind. Nodding excitedly at Fadila, he urged her to pull it out again.
"It's so close… So close I can taste it! Come on, Fadila! Let's see it again!"
Sigh. She had no way of refusing him. Fadila stood on her side of the bench and pulled out the Compass of Adventure. Its needle moved. At first to the west, then north-west and gradually inching towards the north. Directly behind Sitri. Its radiant glow pulsed brighter.
The door to the inn slowly opened; the compass flashed a bright golden color.
Sitri turned, his gauntlet tight enough to crush atoms of dust into oblivion. From the doorframe, a silver luster drew-in the tavern's homely glow. It wasn't just the weapon at her hip. Dusky silver armor adorned the body of a silver-haired woman. Locks of her silken purity cascaded unto the middle of her back. Her eyes were a vivid and clear blue, carrying the focus of a seasoned fighter.
"Yes!" Sitri exclaimed much too loudly to be anywhere near subtle. Luckily, it wasn't his first outburst of the night and many, if not all the guards, had already heard of his previous antics.
Fadila sighed even louder. Her bat-ears twitched in disdain. She stared a little longer at the compass until it confirmed its mark. Then, Fadila pressed the bright-gold compass against Sitri's hip – instantly snuffing the life from its needle – and snuck it back in her shaman garb.
A crowd gathered near the inn's entrance. The silver-haired beauty aside, a well-endowed priestess stood right behind her. Her mane hung all the way to the base of her spine, it stood out as a uniquely colorful cherry-pink, which highly contrasted the nunly habit she wore. It parted ways at her hips, flaunting a salacious pattern of fishnets crisscrossing atop bare flesh. The two beauties garnered immediate attention. They were accompanied by a cautious thief and a stern-looking magic caster. The commotion was only exacerbated when the Count himself joined their midst.
"As most of you already know, our kingdom is at war. A few hours ago, the enemy was spotted advancing towards our city. To all you who've bravely gathered to assist us, rest assured. Hope is not yet lost. Four Armaments – a Mithril-ranked adventurer team – has lent us their strength. Before we discuss the specifics in the morrow, please rest and enjoy yourselves. I know the journey has been long for many of you."
"That old man… gotta give it to him. He plays the role amazingly well." Sitri held his chin between his thumb and pointer.
"Sitri… Lost father?" Fadila asked.
Before the warrior was allowed to answer, him and the old fisherman locked eyes.
Count Naüa glanced over at the two women.
Which one?
Much as the lustful beast was tempted to run wild – and Fadila was anticipating it – she ended up quite surprised as he motioned towards the silver-haired woman.
The fisherman's lips twisted in a sort of pitying expression.
Good luck.
"Uh… One more thing." The Count tried to force a smile. "There's another… adventurer here who'll frontline for us."
It felt so off. Nothing about the conversation was natural anymore and the Count's incessant eyebrow-twitching as he waved Sitri forward only made matters worse. Yet, not a shred of concern was on Sitri's face. He plopped his hands on top of the men's shoulders and domes, pushing them aside as he crossed the sea of spellcasters and guards. Fadila trailed close behind, holding onto the back of Sitri's pants.
"This is S—"
"The Silver Heroes!" Sitri boomed over the Count's introduction.
Everyone was left perplexed. Four Armaments all stared at each other.
Clink. Sitri tapped the Count's medallion, the priestess' staff, the cautious armored woman's pauldron – and finally his gauntlet. Clink. Clink. Clink.
"Awesome, right? Silver! Silver! Silver! Silver! And your hair matches too! This has to be destiny drawing us together!"
No one seemed amused. The priestess especially looked like she was about to retch.
"Name's Sitri. Pleasure to meet you." He offered the silver woman his steeled hand and despite her pink-haired companion violently shaking her head no, she returned the gesture – as briefly as she could.
"Scama Elbero." Unfazed.
Meanwhile the priestess forced herself forward. "And my name is Lilynette. Sitri, was it? You know, I recognize the look on your face all too well. Sorry, but we don't need any help. Please feel free to curl up in a corner and forget what you're trying to pull here." She beamed with her brightest smile.
"Gahahaha! Lilynette! Adorable!" Bellowing with laughter, Sitri turned towards the men of the group who seemingly wanted nothing to do with him. They remained silent as he asked for their names.
"Sitri. Were you at the battle of Katze plains?" Scama bluntly redirected the discussion.
"The what now?"
"What I'm asking is… do you have any experience fighting the Sorcerer Kingdom?"
"Huh? Is that who we're up against?"
Lilynette erupted with laughter of her own, snatching the opportunity to mock Sitri as openly as she could, "Pfhahahaha! What are you, an idiot?"
"H-He's kidding!" Count Naüa attempted to rectify the misfire, but it was already too late. The damage had been done. Now, every single person in that inn wondered why exactly that man was standing here.
"If you'll excuse me. There's a lot of work for us to do. Count, would you allow us to store our equipment and survey your defenses?"
"O-Of course… I… Uh…" Desperate, Count Naüa was more distraught here than preparing for the siege. He couldn't insist any further. With the disastrous first impression that clueless lug had made, if he pushed the matter even an inchmore he risked sparking an uprising.
Sorry, Sitri. I did all I could.
"Go right ahead. As for everyone else, please enjoy yourselves! Tomorrow, we reconvene at dawn."
Scama briskly led the way, with Lilynette's lovely traits twisted into an impish snicker while she followed behind. Both the thief and mage caster walked by Sitri without so much as a glance.
When the Mithril team left for the upper floor, what fascination the men held for the beautiful silver and pink pair had been cruelly whisked away. In its stead were vicious glares at the fool who had attempted to woo one of them.
And said fool, acting none the wiser, strolled to the front of the venue. Neither Count Naüa's sunken and exhausted expression nor the dozens of vengeful scowls were enough to shake him. Instead, he took center stage and thrust his arm right down the middle of the tavern, splitting the crowd in half.
"Lilynette fans on the left! Scama fans on the right!"
Silence.
Sitri crossed the invisible middle line, situating himself on the right side. He stood behind a table where several mages had yet to finish their meals. With a double-palmed smack, he struck that same, defenseless table. A cup of ale fell to the floor.
"Her full armor. Her beautiful blue eyes! That strong and unflinching personality that barely paid me any mind! Scama is clearly the superior woman! Her silver hair is so gorgeous, there's no contest!"
"Nonsense!" One of the guards stood up on the opposite side of the tavern. "Lilynette's breasts alone are enough to put that statement to shame! Dressed like a woman of the cloth and yet those fishnets! I can't be the only one!"
Several more men would vociferate their own opinions.
One leak, then two, then four—
—the whole tavern exploded into argument.
"Khh… Why…?" Sitri clutched the sides of his head in dismay. "Why are the Scama enjoyers all mages?" He'd set off a bomb in the middle of the tavern. Now, the ripples of its detonation had far exceeded him. Twenty-two mages and three guards stood on the right half.
As for the Lilynette enthusiasts – nineteen mages and eighteen guards. Six men had chosen to protest the divide and retreat into the far center of the inn. They listened to the discourse with crossed arms, occasionally nodding their heads at both camps. A clear winner had been chosen by the masses, but for every argument they raised, the leader of the Scama defenders would flawlessly counter.
"There's no appeal to a stoic woman! For a man's efforts to go unrewarded after a long day of work? Met with a cold gaze – little more?"
"And an empty plate on the dinner table!"
Two Lilynette defenders spoke out, but their comment was swiftly met with reprimand.
Sitri shot back, "Again, we said that conjecture wasn't allowed! Stoic: we've all agreed upon that much."
The men at the Scama table nodded.
"But an empty dinner plate? Says who? I ask that Lilynette defenders not project their own homely frustrations upon our silver heroine! May that last point be stricken from the record!"
There was no record, but the men at the central table voiced their agreement – a small victory for the Scama enjoyers. Sitri jumped on the opportunity to counter, "For all we know, our silver lady is a wonderful cook. And even if she weren't! I would like to raise the issue of this word that has been so carelessly tossed around. Stoic. But with whom?"
The question raised interest. The following claims were decisive. "Men. Our tender halves are not devoid of emotion. Some hide behind gentle smiles, while others protect themselves with thorny shells. However! What lies within is earnest! Vulnerability! Fears! Inexperience!" There was the clink of steel. Sitri's fist grew tight.
"A trained fighter's clumsy attempts at affection. Her first homemade meal – a disaster which you comfort with a kiss. A palm roughened by the handle of a weapon meeting yours for a flash of warmth before retreating." Sitri had them hooked, and now he slowly reeled them in.
His voice softened, once again hushing the crowd, "I'm sorry, darling. My hand is so rough and unpleasant. I shouldn't have reached out for your touch."
The mages behind him wiped tears from the corners of their eyes. Probably.
"No!" Sitri presented his clenched fist to the crowd. "There is no gentler woman – no kinder soul than you, lady Scama."
Arms crossed, he concluded the scene with a confident show of his fangs. "And then the two of you hug and kiss while she blushes."
"Whoooooooa! Sitri! That's our hero!"
"That's exactly what I had in mind! He's right! Lady Scama is worth the effort!"
Cheers and applause thundered behind the paragon of seduction. Two guards from the Lilynette table stood up from their seats and joined the opposite camp – which only served to further ignite the elation. The victory was short-lived however, as remarks on Lilynette's cup size never failed to turn the tides.
Fadila could not even begin to comprehend what had transpired in the hearts of these men in less than half an hour's time. She joined up at Sitri's side and tugged on his shirt.
"Why Sitri pick armor woman?"
"Huh? Euh… Because she's ridiculously attractive. Also, the compass, obviously."
"But–"
Silver claws gently rubbed the top of her dome. The warrior's digits snaked across Fadila's streak of pimento-red hair. It was long enough to reach her shoulders now.
"Stick with the mages, and don't go looking for reasons to put yourself at risk."
"Sitri… Sorcerer Kingdom. It is the black–"
But her ally had sealed her words with a finger. Its chill froze her lips shut.
"Don't ever bring that up." Soon after, two doting pats on Fadila's olive cheek melted whatever unease pinched at her mouth.
"I'm off, Fadila! Wish me luck! Not that I ever need it! Gahahaha!"
The gobliness saw Sitri leave the table, chasing after a woman in full plate armor. Left to her own thoughts, she strayed from the crowded floor and headed up to her room. Fadila always struggled with how high humans built the steps of their staircases. Her sizable thighs meant she needed to hold onto the railing. After a few wobbly steps, Fadila jumped as she nearly bumped into the pink-haired priestess from earlier.
"Oh, look at that! If it isn't the little demi-human. How are you doing tonight, miss goblin?"
Fadila tried to conceal herself behind her staff – a futile endeavor.
"I… am good."
Her efforts to climb the staircase and slip past the priestess were fruitless.
"Heeeeh? You can talk too. Say, little goblin, your friend – is he mentally all there?"
With no intent of making conversation, Fadila squirmed in place, looking for a way out. "That not…"
"Cause I can tell, y'know? He's trying to get into Scama's pants."
"Can magic woman move…"
"I mean, is he stupid? Clearly he is, but does he seriously expect it to work? He HAS to be putting on an act. No one could possibly be so clueless! That Count was onto something, maybe this is all just one big joke to him. Heh." Lilynette intentionally made herself an obstacle. She wouldn't let the gobliness pass without an earful. Seeing that man do as he please without any kind of self-awareness had the pinkette steaming.
She mumbled to herself, "Who does he think he is? Even my earth-viewing wasn't able to tell me anything… Miss Goblin, why don't we take a moment to talk about that bone-headed friend of yours? I'm sure you have soooo many stories to tell. It'll only be a little chat. Whadda'ya say?"
Goblinspeak had hundreds of different ways to convey discontent and dissatisfaction. Had she wanted to tell Lilynette off, Fadila could've snarled her way through every insult imaginable.
"Words… Human tongue… Not good to me…"
[Charm Person.]
A rose-tinted blanket wrapped around the gobliness. Its warmth soothed her nerves, releasing the tension across her body. Her mind basked in the embrace of a loving hug. The affection was too good to be true – and so Fadila attempted to resist it. Though her natural resistances as a goblin couldn't be considered low, she stood no chance against the experience priestess. A pinkish delight turned Fadila's cheeks flush. Lilynette set a soft hand on her head.
"That's right. Good goblins should be kind to humans."
[Comprehend Languages.]
With her second incantation granting her the ability to understand the gobliness, Lilynette leaned forward – her heavy bust dragging the silky fabric of her habit along with it.
A kind stroke of the chin and a gentle pull of the hand later – Lilynette brought Fadila back to her room.