Chapter 58: promise i wont keep it to myself from now on
Middle Fire Month, 18th Day, 600AGG
"Excellent work as always, Jirs," Dhartha watched the claws of the Ocelot Nacatl's gauntlets dance across the skin of the slain Chimera. "Really, you'd think the local clans would be more diligent!"
"This benefits both of us more, no?" Jirs neatly removed the choice cuts of meat and organs. "You get premium items to sell, and I get my money."
"Mm, I suppose I best not complain then," the gnoll inspected the horns of the monster. "Looks a bit underdeveloped… a juvenile. Think we can find more hiding in the bushes?"
"They usually go around in groups of two to three, but if none of its friends came along to help then I doubt we'll run into more," Jirs snapped off the horns, teeth, and claws before pocketing all of it into a Haversack of Holding.
"I should try to tame one," Dhartha whimsically suggested. "Orcs would pay through the nose for Chimera milk. We could capture a female, keep it on a constant cycle of pregnancy, and make a killing."
"… That's messed up."
"Kidding." The gnoll scowled. "Laugh. I was kidding. Sometimes I feel like this job is just an excuse for you to not slum it with your family."
"They're the only reason I'm doing this job."
"If it's this bad here being a Sudapra, why don't you come with me to another country?" Dhartha extended the well-worn offer. "Useful people like you are hard to come by, especially ones who are happy to leech off entrepreneurs like myself."
"Leech—?!"
"Kidding. Again."
"Puhaa… I should stitch that unpleasant mouth of yours shut."
"Oi, is that something you're supposed to say to your employer?!"
"I was joking," Jirs rolled his eyes as he dug out a piece of Nuk jerky from the haversack. "It's not enjoyable when you're on the receiving end, is it?"
"Haha," Dhartha grumbled. "Seriously though, won't you give the idea some thought? What's there for you here that you can't find somewhere else—more easily might I add?"
"Moving… isn't so simple," the nacatl took a bite out of the jerky, causing his face to pucker in disgust. "Ugh."
"What's complicated about it?" he continued to press the bodyguard. "We head back east to grab your siblings, hire a clan to provide additional protection, stock up on provisions, and then skedaddle."
"I don't know," Jirs ran a hand across their head. "The Republic isn't great for people like us, but home's home. They've got food, shelter, friendly neighbors for the most part—"
"You can find all of that in a place where you aren't seen as a walking pile of trash."
"In any case, are we still traveling westwards? The Council's war with the neighboring human kingdom hasn't gone well from what I've heard," Jirs ignored the sting of truth, instead choosing to adjust the strap of their magical haversack. "Dying isn't exactly conducive to either of our goals."
"Ohoho!" Dhartha obnoxiously chuckled. "Now look here. If the invasion was really going that poorly, then we would've heard more than just some rumors. Also, we would be seeing a greater influx of people moving eastwards—which we haven't."
"The humans and their winged allies could just be killing everyone. Prevent information from leaking or whatever," Jirs's mouth thinned in a frown.
"How do you go about life with that kind of attitude?" Dhartha patted his bodyguard's shoulder. "No, no, no. Don't tell me. I'm not interested in listening to you sulk again."
"I wasn't going to answer anyways," the feline demihuman turned his attention to a map instead. "Closest town is Ur'draga. Not sure if the people there can afford your more expensive items, but it isn't exactly a fringe settlement—"
"How about," Dhartha snatched the map away from Jirs's paws. "You leave the merchant business to me and focus on your job?"
"As you command," Jirs rolled his eyes and held up a Vayul's Trymvaka. He waited a few seconds, carefully considering the lights flashing in the three-eyed talisman. "Green, green… red. Huh."
"What's wrong? One out of three's pretty good, ain't it?"
"Yes, but—tsk," the nacatl was strangely bothered by the low threat warning. "It used to be all green."
"I mean, didn't we talk about this? Clans are in a tizzy and can't be assed to properly manage their territories thus allowing more monsters to run wild," Dhartha impatiently tapped his foot. "It's hardly unexpected, Jirs."
"But we just killed the Chimera," Oh. "And agreed that there probably weren't any more around here. The damn thing shouldn't pick up anything less dangerous than a Chimera, unless that fucking wizard cheated us—"
"Any other routes we can take then?" The gnoll put an end to the ocelot demihuman's ranting. "Or do you feel like this calls for a preemptive strike?"
"Preemptive strike—we don't even know where it is… Could keep going further north towards Karnassus, but then we start getting dangerously close to where that Mirewood Dragon Lord holes up."
"Urnsithilix Nezharthon… How about a detour to the south?"
"We could try," Jirs sighed. "The problem is, we'll be taking paths we aren't used to. Besides, it'll be bad news if we have to cross a river: waters are filled with all sorts of nasties this far out from Kruurat, and the Council's in no state to send warriors to clean them."
"It's a shame the waygates and Archive communications are down," the gnoll complained. "Wouldn't be dealing with this otherwise."
"Complain to the humans. What's your decision?"
"Ehhh, shouldn't this be your field of expertise—?"
"All our options are terrible," Jirs abruptly and bluntly cut him off. "Therefore as the leader of our two-man group, you should be the one to determine how much risk is too much."
"Hm… we'll keep on the current path—woah!"
Two purplish spiders about half his size dropped down onto where he had been standing, razor sharp legs stabbing into the dirt. Sixteen pitch-black orbs met his own pair before Jirs tossed him behind a tree. "Swordstalkers this far in?!"
"Shit," he could tell the nacatl was grimacing by their tone. "Only one red, huh?"
The Mac'tal Swordstalkers didn't wait any longer, one lunging forth at his bodyguard while the other skittered towards them at a slower pace.
"Godsdammit, how'd you miss them?!" Dhartha yelled from behind the tree. "Only one red, after all!"
"Fuckers hide better than I can see!" Jirs snarled in anger, their body blurring as they rolled under the Swordstalker and gutted it from underneath—enchanted orichalcum claws proving more than a match for Mac'tal carapace.
'Thank the gods there's no Weblords,' Dhartha thought while tossing a glass vial filled with a noxious yellow fluid at the remaining Swordstalker. The glass shattered against its head, noticeably slowing the spider's approach as the alchemical concoction worked to bring it to a grinding halt. Jirs took advantage of the debuff and promptly ripped the Swordstalker in half. "Hey, we can sell the legs and—"
"No," Jirs picked their haversack off where they'd dropped it during the fight. "We're going to Ur'draga now."
"What happened to me being the leader?" Dhartha tried to lighten the mood, but to no avail. If Mac'tal felt confident enough extending this deep… wait, why didn't they see any earlier while they were further east? "Y-Yeah, y'know what? Nevermind."
"Still a few hours out," the ocelot demihuman gave no indication that they had heard him as they consulted the map again. "I'm guessing this means the town hasn't been directly attacked yet."
'Maybe it's time to pack up and move to Karnassus until this all blows over. Ruk Kingdom or Vilimandrati Commonwealth even.'
"Let's hurry to it then," the gnoll swallowed his nervousness and anxiety. It was just a scouting party. Didn't mean anything and the Republic dealt with those all time, didn't they? "These wares aren't going to sell themselves."
"No one here…" Tsaindorcus wandered the empty streets of Feoh Raidho. Even with his blindsight, he could not detect anything more than batlike creatures and other various scavengers. "Recently too. A few years ago?"
He would have to investigate more in order to formulate a proper answer; however, did knowing when the dwarves abandoned the city really contribute to his goals? 'I suppose I should move on to the next city then.'
Just as the Dragon Lord was about to teleport away, his enhanced senses caught the presence of a large human—no, it had to be demihuman given their shapes—group enter the city through a tunnel in the west. 'Well, it appears I might get my answer after all.'
It wasn't difficult to sneak up on them: a quick application of Wild Magic killed all vibrations and sounds originating from him. Most beings living underground tended to rely on those two sources in order to detect others, so there was no need to extend the spell to obscure the other faculties.
'They remind me of moles,' he recalled seeing demihumans that looked similar to the ones wandering the fallen city. A species native to this region of the Azerlisias? It was rare for the Dragon Lord to wander underground, so he couldn't say for certain. 'Similar to Armats in form, but their fur coloration differs drastically from individual to individual… I'll have to see more of them to be sure.'
"Excuse me," the six demihumans jolted, heads panickedly turning to and fro to find whoever had called out to them. "If it isn't too much trouble, may I ask—"
"Dwarf?!" The one with blue-streaked fur took the opportunity to attack him while his fellows were still reeling in shock. Of course, it went without saying that an attack this weak was utterly incapable of inflicting damage upon him. Had he been using his modified shape-changing spell, it might have, but there was no chance they could harm him while he was using an ordinary『Change Shape』. "How did they—"
'This feels a tad extreme,' Tsaindorcus watched the six collapse onto the ground after a flash of dragonfear, shivering in terror as puddles formed around them. Seeing the abandoned city had affected him more than he thought. 'No excuse for impatience. I need to get a hold of myself and remain calm.'
"I'm sorry for the harsh treatment," he apologized to the trembling molemen. "It was an overreaction from me."
"Y-You're not a dwarf," the blue-fur was the first to regather his composure. "What are you?"
'Minimal clothes, no weapons or armor. Definitely some kind of tribe in the early stages of development,' if that was the case, then they were probably the type to respect strength. Reverting to his true form here would be violating his desire to stay unnoticed, but it was the fastest way to obtain answers—answers he was beginning to believe would be better acquired now rather than later.
Skin and robes shifted to scales that shimmered even in the dim underground, hands to mighty claws that could rend forged adamantium, frail human vessel into the titanic corpus of a primordial Dragon Lord.
"D-Dra-Dragon!" All of the demihumans screamed in terror. Their reaction indicated that they were familiar with his kind despite residing in the depths of the earth. Pink dragons? No, purple was more likely—or even more likely, it was the Frost Dragons the Giants had mentioned. "Please spuh-spare us, Your Excellency!"
"This city," Tsaindorcus shoved aside his discomfort. There was a time and place for those emotions later. "What happened to it, children of the earth?"
"A-A-Abandoned," the blue one courageously spoke up, making a gesture with his hand that was immediately aborted. They must have been trying to tell their comrades to make a run for it before realizing it would've served no point. "The dwarves left this city a few years ago, and h-have not returned."
"I see…" Of course, this statement told him nothing that couldn't be obtained with a cursory glance. "Then why are you and your comrades here?"
"On behalf of Clan Lord Pe Riyuro, we've been sent to scout this city in preparation for attacking it, Your Excellency," 'Blue' attempted to stand straight at mentioning his Clan Lord, but his legs refused to comply.
'Had the Demon Gods set the dwarves back this far? To the point where they can't even fend off tribals?' On the other hand, it was also possible that this Pe Riyuro was some type of exceptional individual. "Have you seen any dwarves at all in the last few years? Ah, and what do you call yourself, Blue One?"
"R-Razua, Your Excellency. And we haven't seen any uh, dwarves in this city."
"Species?"
"Huh?"
"The name of others who share your form," Tsaindorcus patiently elaborated. "And the names of your clans too, if you would."
"We are Quagoas," Razua nervously gulped. "About clans… there's a couple of them like Pu Rimidol, Pu Randel, Zu Aygen, and um, uh…"
'Good enough,' being forced to recall details trivia while a dragon lorded over you sounded like a bad joke. "I presume Pe Riyuro rules over all of these clans then?"
"Yes, Your Excellency!" The Quagoas were beginning to overcome the terror of an imminent death that shrunk with each second. "Several years ago, he unified our people with power from the Land of Derey and granted prosperity to all."
"Could you give an estimate on how many people follow him?"
"Err, sixty thousand? No, no, seventy…?" Razua scratched his head. "Forgive me, Your Excellency. I don't know the exact number…"
"That's fine," Sixty thousand? Assuming that the highest possible number was a hundred thousand—one hundred chiliads united under one leader—then it was no surprise that the dwarves had been pressured out of Feoh Raidho. "I would like to meet with your Clan Lord."
"At once!" The Quagoas scrambled to their feet and disappeared back into the tunnel from which they had appeared. Tsaindorcus wasn't overly worried about losing track of them; now that he knew and was aware of what they were, he could easily track their souls from nearly anywhere in the Azerlisias.
'Something doesn't add up. If the Clan Lord has been in power for several years, and the dwarves abandoned the city years ago, then why haven't the Quagoa taken it over already?' Did the nature of the subterranean life make communication and coordinated action difficult? No, that couldn't be, not when these were clearly beings evolved to thrive in the dark of the earth. 'It must be some third party delaying the takeover of Feoh Raidho.'
If he had to guess, then it was most likely the Frost Dragons. Of course, there was the possibility of some heretofore unknown group contending with the demihumans, but dragons made more sense given what he knew. 'Dragons wouldn't be in a rush to conquer the dwarves; they effectively have an eternity to scheme. An outlier Quagoa who's consolidated their influence shouldn't have trouble dispatching the average monster in these caverns either.'
Tsaindorcus scanned the dreary scenery, draconic senses picking up a wealth of information even in the absence of light. Since it might be a while until the Quagoa reached this Pe Riyuro, he may as well spend the time recovering any lost knowledge gathering dust in the ruins.
He glided over the skyline, or cavernline he supposed, and stopped before a larger building resembling a library. His body shrunk and twisted as it once again took the appearance of a human—allowing him access into the hall of dwarven wisdom.
'Better shape than I expected,' Tsaindorcus strolled down one of the aisles and selected a tome at random.
"Mithril Metallurgy: Properties, and Applications," the Dragon Lord flipped through the book at a blistering pace. "Impressive, taking into consideration how much they lost at the hands of the Demon Gods."
Returning the book to its place on the shelf, he continued to browse through what the towering shelves had to offer.
'More blacksmithing books, magical craftsmanship, architecture—historical and cultural books are in another section,' he closed the manual and carefully placed it in a Bag of Holding. 'I'll transcribe the enchantment technique later and then return it.'
Unfortunately, the Quagoa reappeared from the tunnel after a scant few hours, signaling an end to his time perusing the works of the dwarven archive.
Tsaindorcus exited the dusty library, shifted back into dragon form, and flew to where the group of Quagoas waited. It was easy to tell which one was the lord-type: unique golden pelt color and an impressive stature that stood out even while they were genuflecting. "Well met, Clan Lord Pe Riyuro. I thank you for heeding my request on such short notice."
'He didn't bring a large group… must have realized it wouldn't have mattered against a dragon.'
"No, rather, we ought to thank Your Excellency for his patience," the golden furred Clan Lord raised his head from the ground. "My warriors were unable to tell me what exactly Your Excellency desired, so I'm ashamed to admit that I must trouble you with my ignorance."
"There's no need to be ashamed. I only had a few questions in mind, if that's alright with you."
"Of course!" Pe Riyuro bravely met his teal-green eyes. "This one will answer to the best of his abilities!"
"Are you being ruled by a number of Frost Dragons?"
At the mention of his pale-scaled cousins, the Quagoas instantly bristled with resentfulness, though a brief glare from their Clan Lord calmed them down. "Yes, Your Excellency. Ever since the White Dragon Lord Olasird'arc Haylilyal and his family took up residence in the Dwarven Royal Palace of Feoh Berkana, he has treated this one's people as little more than slaves."
A cautiously optimistic gleam entered the Quagoa Lord's eyes. "Does Your Excellency seek to dispose of him and his kind?"
"That remains to be seen," Tsaindorcus felt mildly nonplussed by the demihuman's audacity. Now aware of their contentious relationship with the stout humanoids, he was almost certain that their newfound stability acquired in under a decade was only thanks to the expertise of dwarves who would've never have worked freely for them—unless they were enslaved. "You're at war with the Dwarf Kingdom, are you not?"
"Your Excellency speaks truthfully," Pe Riyuro nodded. "For the sake of the people I lead, conquering the dwarves is a necessary step to ensure our prosperity."
"Once you enslave their kind and incorporate their skills you'll march upon the Frost Dragons?"
"It is as you say, Your Excellency," the Quagoa's shoulders grew tense with nervousness. "That is of course only if Your Excellency has no complaints."
"No complaints you say…" Making a snap decision now would be easy, but taking the easy way out always, always had undesirable consequences in the long-term. "I'll have to talk with the dwarves first before committing to anything. For the time being, I would appreciate it if you could cease hostilities with the Dwarf Kingdom."
"I will make an announcement to the clans, but in the case of dwarves attacking us—
"You'll have to try harder than that if you want to lie to me."
"F-Forgive me, Your Excellency," the temperature of the already chilly cavern dipped even lower. "This one shall do so at once!"
Tsaindorcus inclined his head, allowing them to leave, and pondered his next destination. Should he pay a visit to the ruling Frost Dragons before the dwarves? But would he be able to construct a suitable compromise without hearing out all parties involved first? Talking to the dragons before the dwarves just might result in a catastrophe.
The simplest path to achieve his goal of safeguarding the Dwarf Kingdom was annihilating both the Quagoa and the Frost Dragons.
He could not do that. As a Dragon Lord of old, one of the World's last few guardians, he did not have the luxury of acting so selfishly.
Both the Quagoas and dragons were simply acting in the way they believed was natural. Who was he to barge into a situation and dictate right from wrong? Did they deserve to be treated harshly because someone immeasurably more powerful than them happened to be friends with their foe?
That was what it meant to be a keeper of the balance: an endless watch demanding countless compromises, a role where ego and conscience had no place.
What he planned to do already felt like a stretch and a dereliction of his responsibilities. Even so… even so…
"Feoh Jera then," he announced to nobody. "The Demon Gods didn't get that far."
'The Frost Dragons might have,' Tsaindorcus grimly thought as he shifted into his human appearance and teleported northeast to where he remembered the surface fortress standing. "Halt! Who goes?!"
"Councillor Tsaindorcus Vaision of the Argland Council States," he greeted the sentries aiming their crossbows at him from the windows of the mountainside fortress. In this setting, he deemed introducing himself in an official capacity worth the risk. "Apologies for the unplanned visit."
The guards frantically mumbled among themselves for a few seconds before returning their attention to him. "To our knowledge, Councillor Vaision is a dragon. No offense buddy, but you look a little too small—holy shit!"
"I would like to talk to your superiors if they aren't indisposed," fuuu… being able to spread his wings under the open sky was a blessing he appreciated more with each venture underground.
"Erm, y-yes. Please wait—ah! I, I mean, please come inside," a neighboring dwarf jabbed the speaker in the ribs. "Unless the Councillor feels more comfortable outside!"
"I'll wait here," he had no desire to prove his identity via shapeshifting for a second time. "It's no trouble."
After a surprisingly short delay, three dwarves ran out the fortress and bowed before him. Two were better dressed than the other, their equipment better kept and of higher quality. "Councillor Vaision, you wished to speak with us?"
"Indeed. I presume you're the Head of Military?"
"The commander-in-chief of the Dwarf Kingdom, Councillor," one of the well-equipped dwarves nodded. "If you're here to speak with the Regency Council, I could have a runner sent immediately."
"That would be wonderful, thank you," the commander-in-chief nudged the more ordinarily armored dwarf to run back into the bowels of the mountain. "Do you get many travelers nowadays?"
"Eh?" The commander appeared surprised at the question. "Uh, occasionally. We used to trade a bunch with the human Empire, but that sort of stopped when the Frost Dragons rolled around."
"I see," he cursed himself for not paying more attention to Baharuth's flow of goods. "This has impacted your economy quite a bit, I imagine."
"Probably. I'm not very knowledgeable on money stuff; you'll have to talk to a merchant, or better yet, the guildmaster."
"Mm. How about your issues with the local demihumans?"
"Not great, I fear," the commander's forehead wrinkled in stress. "We can't commit to a mass offensive, and every day brings us closer to a raid from the damn moles. Hells, I'd be surprised if our army has more than a hundred people in it…"
'About as expected then,' It seemed that there weren't any significant discrepancies between Pe Riyuro's perspective and the dwarves'; although, it appeared the commander wasn't aware of the Quagoa Lord's plans to occupy the abandoned Feoh Raidho. "That's unfortunate."
"Tell me about it…" They scratched their beard. "Has the Council State sent you to—"
"The Regency Council has agreed to meet with you, Councillor Vaision!" The dwarf runner they'd sent earlier had returned, sweaty and red in the face. "At your convenience, of course!"
"I'll meet them in their usual location then," since they agreed to convene with him, then there was no longer a need to remain in his true form. With this in mind, the colossal platinum dragon downsized into a human for the third time in one day. "Lead the way."
Trailing behind the dwarf delegation through the entrance of the fortress, Tsaindorcus contemplated on how he ought to deal with his chromatic cousins. Forcing them out was the most likely outcome, although he doubted it would come to murder—if they were strong enough to warrant a proper fight, this whole region would have been dominated long ago. 'Bribe them? But they'll still need a home to stay in.'
There were suitable locations somewhere along the Greater Dragonspine and Mount Keitenias, so maybe a nice, icy roost in those peaks?
A few dwarven citizens curiously looked at him as he and his guides walked down the streets of the underground city, though none so interested that they stopped the rhythm of their daily lives. 'I haven't arrived too late. That… is heartening.'
"Here's the Council Chamber," they halted in front of a ziggurat-shaped building. "Sorry about the poor welcoming, Councillor Vaision."
"No, it's my fault for being one-sided in my demands," the dwarves gaped in shock as he bowed his head towards them. "The reception I received was more than what I deserved."
"A-Ah, well! Let there be no grudges between, erm, friends!"
'Friend,' his mouth twisted into a self-deprecating grin. 'An undeserved trust.'
"Councillor Vaision," a bespectacled white-haired—and bearded—dwarf met them at the entrance. "Thank you for coming; the Regency Council has convened."
"In we go," the commander mumbled upon crossing the threshold. Down a hall they went, where a number of guards shot a few inquisitive looks at him before the group stopped in front of a door.
The elderly dwarf held the door open. "Please wait here while I inform the Council."
Tsaindorcus and his temporary companions nodded, heading into the cramped yet exquisitely decorated room. Clearly, it hadn't been designed with other races in mind, but comfort wasn't ever really a concern for him.
"It's been a while since someone from Argland visited," the dwarf sitting next to the commander-in-chief, the captain of Feoh Jera's outer garrison tried to make small talk. "A True Dragon Lord too—probably why that bunch of old fogies hurried so quickly."
"It's been a busy time for us all," he diplomatically replied. "By the way, have you received any news about the developments to the southeast?"
"Can't say we have," the commander joined in. "Don't get much news from the outside nowadays. Too many damn demihumans and those fucking Frost Dragons… Err, no offense."
"None taken," Tsaindorcus dismissed the slight to the local dragons. "Where was I? Ah, try to avoid getting too involved with the affairs of the Draconic Kingdom for the time being. It's nothing explicitly negative, but a misstep could cost this nation dearly."
"Draconic Kingdom…" His dwarven acquaintances weren't given a chance to ask more questions as the guide reentered the waiting room. "The Council is ready to see all of you."
A few steps out the antechamber and around a corner saw them at their destination. The white-beared dwarf cleared his throat before thumping his knuckles on the door.
"Announcing the arrival of Councillor Vaision from the Argland Council State!"
"Well met, Councilors of the Dwarf Kingdom," a priest following an earth god, one who stunk of alcohol more than his fellows, another with arms like taut steel cables, yet another dressed in subdued but tasteful clothing he could tell was more than worth its weight in gold. 'Hm, I should have asked the commander-in-chief who the sitting members of the Regency Council were.'
"Likewise, Councillor Vaision," one of the unknown Councilors smiled from under their beard while the commander joined them at the table. "I speak for all of us when I say that I wish we could've met in a less dreary setting."
"I'm afraid you do not speak for me in that case," Tsaindorcus good-naturedly answered. "For I find this welcome plenty warm."
"That, that's good to hear! Anyways, uh, feel free take a seat," the blue-clothed dwarf gestured at one of the open spots around the table. He obliged, and pulled up a chair next to the commander-in-chief.
"With the pleasantries out the way, what would you ask of us, Councillor?" the irritated man who looked like he'd be more at home in a forge grumbled with crossed arms. "If you're trying to buy some of our goods or ask for military aid, then you're going to have to go back home empty-handed."
"Show some respect, Forgemaster," the commander-in-chief shot a dirty glare at the dwarf in question. "Councillor Vaision has been nothing but accommodating."
"Please forgive our peer's frustration," the blue-clothed man rushed to smooth over the situation. "But as he said, the Dwarf Kingdom isn't in a position to distribute aid or even guarantee a safe trade route."
"The Quagoa and Frost Dragons, correct?" Tsaindorcus was met by unanimous nods and curses of agreement. "It's been a while since I've last visited the Azerlisias, so I thought I would check on the kingdom since the Council State hasn't received any communication recently."
"Indeed, all our current woes stem from those two groups," the stern earth-priest gravely said. "For them to occupy Feoh Berkana… the Royal Family must be rolling in their graves."
'An exarch of the elemental traditions. There's no arcane representative though. Does this man speak for both groups within the Dwarf Kingdom?' The Dragon Lord considered the priest who was running a hand through their snow-white beard. "Do you think the Quagoa are attacking on their own terms, or by the command of the Frost Dragons?"
"Hrm, it's hard to say… but if I had to make a guess, I'd suppose their goals currently align, but I doubt the Quagoa are happy under the claws of their master," the dwarf with a mining helmet gave his opinion. "Doesn't really matter to us; they're out to kill and enslave us either way."
'Going by what I've heard thus far: the Quagoa are currently the unwilling servants of the Frost Dragons, and both want to take over the Dwarf Kingdom to increase their respective positions. If the Quagoa had the chance to, they'd rebel against their draconic overseers once they've solidified their strength.'
"I see. Since the circumstances are this dire, I would like to extend an offer to the Regency Council," doing favors for a price ironically tended to garner more trust than offering them for free.
"An offer?" The well-dressed dwarf—probably the Merchant Guildmaster—perked up for a split second before narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Well, they did tell him the kingdom wasn't in a state to offer anything substantial.
"What's the state of runesmithing in this kingdom?" Tsaindorcus lightly urged the Forgemaster. From what he had detected, the city of Feoh Jera relied primarily on tier magic enchantments rather than the prolific runecrafted items of almost two centuries ago. "The little I've heard suggests it's been on a decline ever since the time of the Thirteen Heroes."
"There's not many runesmiths anymore," the Forgemaster gruffly replied. "Enchanting is an easier process, so all the brats are running around becoming spellcasters instead."
"Is that so…" It pained him on a personal level to hear that the legacy of his friend had been dropped for convenience's sake. "I'd like to meet one of them. In exchange, I will relocate the Frost Dragons and guarantee a temporary ceasefire with the Quagoa."
"E-Eh? Are you really satisfied with just that?"
"I owe it to an old friend," Tsaindorcus vaguely responded. "Do we have an accord?"
"Sounds too good to be true—ouch!" The Merchant Guildmaster scowled as the dwarf in mining gear pinched him.
"We gratefully accept your offer on behalf of the Dwarf Kingdom," the miner spoke over the Guildmaster. "It might be a tad difficult finding someone on short notice—"
"Bah," the Forgemaster huffed. "If it's about runecrafting, just send him to that fool of a Firebeard. Blab his damn ears right off…"
Underlying the Forgemaster's harsh words was an undercurrent of pity and solemnity mirrored by most of the other Councilors. An art not willingly abandoned, but rather left behind by the masses who sought convenience at the expense of abandoning their roots.
"Firebeard will do then. Where are they usually at during this time of day?"
"In the mines," the miner—Head of Mining?—held his chin in thought. "Sector… Eighty-eight forty-one today? Oi, could one of you run down to the supervisor and get a 'Firebeard' over here?"
One of the guards in the room nodded and exited the room. "Guess we're going to have to sit tight and wait a bit. You know how it is down in the mines—erm, nevermind."
"I wouldn't be opposed to hearing about it," the Councilors had been growing more relaxed throughout the course of their discussion. Good, his efforts weren't in vain, thankfully. "What measures do you take to ensure the structural stability of your tunnels?"
"Oho, where to begin…"
An enlightening hour or so passed, the group jumping from topic to topic before the guard returned with another brown-haired dwarf in toe. "Gondo Firebeard, Councilors and Councillor."
"That was fast," the Head of Mining's eyebrows shot up. "You on rotation, Firebeard?"
"Five days break, sir," the unassuming dwarf looked around in confusion. "I was told I needed to talk with someone?"
The Cabinet Secretary rushed to Gondo's side and pulled them outside. When they came back in, the runesmith's face was worryingly pale. "I—uh, runesmithing?"
"It might be more comfortable if we go outside," Tsaindorcus rose from his chair and motioned for Gondo to follow him. "Councilors, thank you again. I cannot promise a perfect solution to all of your problems, but as surely as the stars shine, I shall certainly uphold my end of our agreement."
"May the gods watch over you, Councillor Vaision," the commander-in-chief along with everybody else stood up to see him and Gondo off. "Though I doubt you'd need it."
"The sentiment is appreciated nonetheless," the pair exited the room and made their way down the hallway leading outside. "Come, Firebeard. Tell me about the state of runecraft."
"Yes, um, what does your Councillorship want to know specifically?" Their nervousness was on full-display: eyes flitting about, hands clenching and unclenching, sweat rolling down his forehead—the list went on and on.
Tsaindorcus thoughtfully hummed. "The Forgemaster told me you're the most passionate runesmith there is to be found in the Dwarf Kingdom, yet your primary occupation is that of a miner."
"Have to fund my research somehow," frustration leaked into their voice, anxiety gradually dispelled as they began warming up to the topic. "Can't sell my creations for a living, third-rate as they are."
"Knowledge is priceless in and of itself. Profit alone is not the sole mandate of worth. Although I understand how… frustrating it can be when your passion isn't reciprocated."
"Eh, well tell that to everybody else," the dwarf tiredly chuckled. "No new apprentices this year—again, masters don't get much work nowadays, the fact almost all of the greater runes are lost to us…"
"Was your father an accomplished runesmith? I imagine you must have apprenticed with somebody and considering the discipline's decline…"
"One of the best," Gondo's grin became a frown. "His father too—buddies with the Runesmith King if you could believe it—but those were different times."
"I… I suppose they were."
Feoh Jera continued because when had the whole ever stopped for the grief of the few? As always, life went on: even when people were unaware of just how much they'd lost.
"None of it feels like it matters," Gondo's footsteps were heavy upon the stony road. "Been at it for decades and haven't gotten anywhere, you see? Dad and Granddad were some of the best damn runesmiths this side of the world, but me?"
The runesmith bitterly shook his head. "Sorry for the outburst, Councillor Vaision. It's been… tough. Yeah."
'Mother, do you see the outcome of your 'gift?' ' Tsaindorcus pitied the despondent dwarf. 'In return for giving the World unlimited potential for development, you have stolen something irreplaceable from its inhabitants.'
"Don't lower your head so, Firebeard," he gently encouraged Gondo. "Runesmithing is not yet dead thanks to the efforts of you and your colleagues. You yourself may not have the aptitude to be a legendary runesmith, but history will remember you as the one who paved the way for those who follow."
"Pretty words," Gondo barked a laugh. "How can anyone revive the art when it's all 'tier magic this' and 'tier magic that?' I appreciate the sentiment, but maybe everybody's right. Runesmithing doesn't have a future when enchantment takes a fraction of the time and effort."
"Then come with me," Tsaindorcus made up his mind. There was value in preserving a technique predating the corruption Father visited upon the World; one of the few skills untainted by the advent of Players definitely had uses tier magic couldn't replicate, and if he recalled correctly, one that did not require the hefty material costs of tier magic enchantment. "If you cannot see a future for runecrafting here, I can guarantee you a place where your efforts will be respected."
But more importantly, it was because he understood. He understood exactly how Gondo Firebeard felt—the full extent of their anguish and frustration.
"H-Heh, do all dragons blab on like you do?"
"Many of us are talkative, yes," Tsaindorcus admitted. "Anyways, spread the word to your fellow runesmiths. I assume many of them would be eager to work where they'd be appreciated."
"I'll do just that, Councillor Vaision," The grandson of the Dwarf King's right-hand man gruffly replied as he surreptitiously wiped his tears away. "Although I've got to ask: what if they refuse? Some of them can't just up and leave on a promise, if you would excuse my rudeness."
"You have my word that they'll be provided for. Please inform them that I'll also arrange for transportation to be provided."
"Of course," the western garrison of Feoh Jera came into sight, and with it, the encroaching end of their time together. "There's the garrison; on the other side, we've got the Great Rift leading to the Land of Molten Magma, then the Maze of Death. I forgot to tell you earlier, but you probably need to pack—wait, you're going already?!"
"I'm a little familiar with the area," Tsaindorcus smiled. The dwarves did love their elaborate defenses, didn't they? Recollections of the trip to the old dwarven capital floated to the forefront of his mind, the mournful boasts of the king equal parts balm and bane. "Your kingdom would prefer I resolve this sooner rather than later, no?"
"A-As you say, Councillor Vaision."
He and Gondo crossed the last stretch of distance without a spoken word between either of them, each ignoring the muttering of the curious onlookers who were beginning to gather in the streets.
"If your grandfather was still around," the Dragon Lord broke the silence once they reached the gates of Feoh Jera. "Him and his king. What do you think they would say?"
"Hrm…" Gondo furrowed his brows, mulling over the question with all the seriousness he could muster. "If I'm being honest, he'd probably ask what in the hells took you so damn long."
Tsaindorcus burst out in laughter, startling the budding runesmith. The sound was a short-lived, abrupt thing, but when had been the last time he laughed like that?
"He would, wouldn't he?" Tsaindorcus murmured, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, I should get going. They must have cursed me enough for taking my time as is."
"Safe travels, Councillor Vaision," Gondo clumsily bowed. "Are you sure traveling alone is a good idea?"
"Yes."
Tsaindorcus Vaision looked out into the Great Rift and the oh-so treacherous road leading to the Land of Molten Magma: a creation of one of his departed kindred, funnily enough.
"Some burdens need to be borne alone."
The hypocrisy of the statement didn't escape him.
