Arc 8-12
We didn’t make it to dinner.
Predictably, Kierra ended the ga. Not that anyone blad her. It’s fairly obvious to anyone that sees her in that setting that the poor elf has no control over herself when it cos to these things. It was a testant of her love that she could pretend to be ek for even a mont. And there certainly were no complaints. A lot less giggling but no complaints.
After my lovely elf wrung dry, I threw Talia and Alana at her as distractions and escaped the bedroom. Why? To tackle the assignnt from Morgene. I don’t relish the idea of wracking my brain over cuddling with my lovers but not doing the assignnt is going to cause nothing but trouble. I also choose to believe that, for all her many questionable character traits and suspect motivations, Morgene genuinely wants to help . I know she wants to help Kierra. Simply disregarding those good intentions feels wrong. And if I’m going to do it, it’s best to tackle it while I’m feeling good and happy.
That’s how I co to be seated behind the desk of the study in the middle of the night, a “film” allowing to see without the use of a candle as I stare down at a piece of paper. The first part of the assignnt, listing the problems plaguing the city, was easy. There are only two, with every other inconvenience, big or small, connected to them in so way.
The first problem, the refugees.
The second, the lingering hunters.
Saints, I suppose I could combine them both into one problem, the people of Quest.
The ruined buildings, the lack of trade, the city’s vulnerability to monsters, all of that can be fixed. Rather, they’re bound to be fixed eventually and there’s no rush to do so. They don’t require intervention. The people are the only imdiate problem and the only one without a clear-cut solution. There’s a hole in the walls? Patch it up. House got destroyed? Build another one.
But what can anyone do about a lost loved one? About the hatred that losing those closest to them generates? This isn’t a problem that can be solved by throwing coins and resources at it. You can’t smash a grudge.
I should know. The Tos were persecuted for generations. Fear and pain made us compliant, but it did nothing to erase our resentnt. I suppose that I could bring law and order to Quest if I reigned over it as an undisputed tyrant but that is more of a punishnt than a solution. Unrealistic as well, as I have no intention of being tied to this city for the rest of my life.
It doesn’t matter how many resources are poured into the city, if the people are not cald, their grudge will destroy anything anyone manages to build. Or at the very least, they will twist it. Saints forbid the city becos another cesspit like Graywatch, synonymous with cri and ill intentions.
But what am I supposed to do? If there’s a solution, it won’t co from . I could hand these people a piece of Paradise and I’d be lucky if they didn’t throw it back in my face. Writing sothing down feels like I’m deluding myself.
So, I glare at the paper, willing myself to ignore my chaotic thoughts and risk Morgene’s displeasure by putting anything down.
That’s how Nomad finds . I glance up as he knocks on the door, not waiting for an answer before opening it and pushing a cart before him. As usual, anyone that sees him will think that I’m a monster to my servants. The dark bags under his eyes are especially prominent against his sickly pale skin, giving the impression that he hasn’t slept for days. His short hair is ssy and not in an artistic way. There is also a slow deliberateness to his every action, as if he’s contemplating each step and gesture or is in incredible pain. It makes for a strange and worriso deanor.
Despite that, he’s competent and considerate. He also takes pride in his position, his uniform impeccable despite the rest of him being in disarray.
“Thanks,” I tell him as he sets a steaming cup in front of . “You know, you don’t always have to prowl around at night.” Traditionally, one servant remains awake during the night to keep watch over the house, protecting it from thieves and would be assassins. They’re also ant to welco unexpected guests. There’s no need to worry about either of those things; no one’s going to threaten all the monsters sharing this house and no one would risk offending us by showing up unannounced. I can’t imagine the rumors that are circling about our clan. Even the Guuiness, who I thought would only leave be in death, haven’t contacted since the battle.
“I belong to the darkness, between the truth and what can be observed.”
Ah, I’ve missed his cryptic way of speaking. I’m guessing he’s saying he isn’t comfortable being seen or sothing along those lines. Is he not good with people? Wouldn’t surprise .
“You are troubled,” he states as I sip the tea, sohow pleasant despite its bitterness, the sharp taste perking up. It’s not a demand but an invitation to share my concerns, which is incredibly rare. Nomad is more than happy to drift through life in silence, quietly seeing to his duties with great competence and little passion. I find myself wanting to respond to his concern and tell him about the assignnt.
“So you see, there is no answer. Except, Morgene assures there is, which ans she’s expecting sothing and I have no idea what that is.”
We lapse into silence, Nomad looming over his cart, head turned to stare at absolutely nothing for several long minutes. I'm almost convinced that the conversation is finished when he finally responds without looking at . “We are the skin we choose to wear.”
“…I’m gonna need you to explain that one.”
He lets out a great big sigh, as if I’m asking him to hoist the world onto his shoulders. “The skin defines the creature. A beast is a thing of fur and teeth and claws. If you put on a coat of fur, tear into flesh with fangs, and cut down enemies with claws, you are a beast.”
“Um, sure.” I guess that makes sense?
“You do not wear the skin of a lion to swim the river. Don the scales and fins of the fish.” He turns to , dark eyes willing to understand.
And by the grace of the saints, I think I do. “The skin…you’re talking about identity, right? My identity isn’t compatible with saving anybody. I’m never going to think of a solution for myself…so I need to think of how soone else could fix the problems of the city. Then…assu their identity? Work through them? Like a proxy.”
He hums, I think in acknowledgnt but doesn’t comnt. That’s fine. I know what I have to do. Bell tried to give a clue earlier. Because of my body and my magical talent, I assu the solution always has to co from , but that isn’t the case, is it? That’s not how the powerful work. I’m sure Geneva, saints all the succubi, could enforce their will through pure might, crushing any opposition with extre prejudice. Yet, for all her might, she prefers to work through interdiaries, pushing things along from the shadows.
Yes, this can work. If my na isn’t attached to it, there’s a whole lot I can do to ease the tensions surrounding this city. I don’t need to save everyone. I just want the peace to last a little longer so we can make a clean escape.
“Thanks, that was actually helpful.”
If he’s offended by my surprise, I can’t tell, his only response being to refill the tea.
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