Chapter 32: Ch.28: Faustian Bargains Part II

All creatures are either beasts, avians or fish but not all avians, fish and beasts are monsters. Of course, we shouldn’t forget that insects also fit somewhere in that statement. Instead of asking what manner of creature makes a monster, we should be asking when is a beast not a monster? A beast has instincts, natural instincts. It knows its habitat, it knows its predator, it knows its prey. Most beasts will leave people alone and most beasts are not wasteful, they take only what they can eat. Transcription from When is a beast not a monster? By Philiarz Oonswarner.

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Arthur did not know much about Dhampir physiology. Was their metabolism slow? Because, if they were immune to most poisons, why did Vyssini wine feel like catnip to Nora? Her pupils were literally dilated and glowing. Was it its similarity with blood, or was it something they put in the water? They did use water during the fermentation of wine, right? Arthur felt guilty about inebriating his host and boy did she talk.

Nora talked about how her clan made her livelihood. Common knowledge; so Arthur didn’t have to feel like a douche for charming her with wine. In three quarts he’d learnt what the harpoons were for when there was no fish in the desert, or in his cutlets for that matter.

The Djy’veli fished for sand wurms, the whales of the dunes. The how of it was like walking on a razor wire. They had to scout, bait, and fish the damn things from the sand, and then kill them.

The risk was great when you went poking at something the size of a hump beast with a circular maw of teeth it might as well have been a lamprey . However, the rewards were big. Almost everything from the sand wurm could be used.

The food that could be kept for days despite the heat if properly marinated was one. Then came wurm leather which was one of the toughest things in the desert; they made their desert armour and yurts from it; a yurt of wurm hide lasted decades .

The wurm’s blood vessels were the hoses they used for water, dung? It was like smokeless coal to them, if you ever found a burrow cave of the stuff, you struck gold since firewood and trees were in short supply. Wurm bones were either weapons or building materials.

There was also oil to use for their braziers and lights. Teeth could be made into harpoon heads because they could punch through rock and just about anything or make spears. Then there was the motherlode, the core of the wurm, a crystallisation of its magic.

The wurm’s core was a crystallisation of Ter. It ranged from a basketball,to the size of a wrecking ball if one could catch an elder wurm. An adult was already pushing 21 metra, which took more than 5 hunting parties to bring down, so they brought juveniles most of the time.

Juveniles were an easier game starting at 12 metra. You were even luckier if you found relics, gems, or crystals inside the wurm’s large gizzard. The rewards were big.

“ All that wealth and you still wander around in the Dust,” Arthur thought. “ Why? Because you barter off your relics, crystals and wurm parts to the dwarves instead of getting your coin’s worth?”

“ Hmm…” Nora nodded forlornly, staring at an empty glass. Halfway through the bottle, Arthur decided she’d had enough. “ One day we shall have our own city out here,” Nora whispered. Arthur almost missed that.

Ultimately, everything made sense. The clans didn’t have much use for money out in the desert except for the small stuff, and when they did get a lot of it, they offloaded it through the dwarves .

That also went for the rare alchemical ingredients in the desert, like the moonleaf and the Xazhu beans. But the latter was bartered with the Ossyrian Emirs down south, near the sea. A long journey for the Djy'veli.

Having a lot of gold in the desert was just asking to be a target for the bands of sand raiders out in the Dust. Some of them were a match for small Clans like Nightcrawler.

Obviously, they were getting a raw deal by having the dwarves as their sole market. The dwarves were not the only ones with the means to haul several tel of monster from the Dust but the journey was a risk. The dwarves could afford to outfit several aersloop escorts for their ships, and also, they had cannons, alchemical, magical, and steam. Clan Nightcrawler had several small steam cannons they used to launch harpoons for their sandfishing, Arthur just hadn’t seen them

“ Why don’t you buy ships?” Arthur put across.

“ Hmm?” Nora quirked a brow. “ I wonder, that is something only the Clanhead, head healer and head of the hunt, would know,”

“ Head of the hunt?” Arthur asked. “ Who might that be?”

“ I suppose you can think of them as the captain of the hunting parties. He’s not been around for a while―wurm hunting sometimes takes nundines,” she frowned as she looked at the sun. “ Sometimes they also delve into the less riskier ruins and dungeons to hunt for relics we can keep.”

Nora got up and started gathering the used dishes. She was still a little pink around her cheeks but still light on her feet.

“ Thank you for the meal,” Arthur said, helping her gather the rest of them.

“ It’s nothing,” Nora smiled abashedly. “ I should be thanking you for the wine. I don’t get to drink much. Ale and liquor do not agree with my palette,” she murmured.

“ Do you... do you ever think about leaving the Dust?”

“ Hmm?” Nora paused. They were staring across the table, her crimson with his blue. It might have been the boldness that came from having a good drink, or maybe it was Arthur’s sentimentality at meeting someone even remotely human.

So what if she had canines that just about turned into fangs, crimson eyes , fair skin, and near-elfin ears? Or that she had superhuman strength contained in that petite, almost delicate stature. Half-human or not, it didn’t matter. Even Arthur was a fifth of something at that point.

“ I have lived half of my life in the Dust. As much of it as I can remember, anyway.” Nora said, trailing off as she turned her head to the side. The spell broke as the dishes were quickly cleared up.

“ Oh, of course,” Arthur said, giving her a wry smile. “ I just thought it was worth a try, eh?”

“ Most humans would look unkindly at me because of what I am, Master Arthur,” she said. “ Thank you for the wine,” she said, turning to go.

‘Damn…that’s one lonely gal if I ever saw one,’ Arthur thought, scratching at the back of his neck. ‘ Oh joy! Here comes the grinch,’ Arthur scowled as the lumbering Djy’veli made his appearance. His guard was morose. That was more expression than the last time he’d seen his stony face.

“ Hail ‘o, Master Arthur! ” Livierre called out as she emerged from the roof’s stairwell. She was carrying a mageslate , some bric and brac, a rune scriber and something else in a little wooden box.

“ Hail to you too,” Arthur responded, keeping his voice flat.

“ What happened to you huh?” she giggled. “ Did someone turn you down after a drink?”

Arthur snorted, “ There was no such thing,”

“ Awh, come now Master Arthur… too soon to give up I say, too soon,” Livierre guffawed. “ Young Angustifolia is not just any desert flower you can pluck up.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “ Give the slate here. The sooner I get started with this the better―did you bring the shard?”

“ Of course,” Livierre said, spilling paraphernalia all over the table. “ I managed to translate some things…took a bit of doing. Some meaning gets lost in translation―I didn’t learn dwarven 'cept fer trade pidgin yer see,”

“ You sound like a [Pirate],” Arthur snorted as he opened the little box.

“ Everything is right there,” Livierre said. “ Someone’ll come up to take your measurements for the wurm hide gear tomorrow. Better not get feisty,” Livierre teased. She pivoted and sashayed away. Arthur did not look at her behind. He wouldn’t even if he could. And that had nothing to do with the black obsidian shard of a dungeon.

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The primary material was all pillowtalk that looked as though it had been scrawled with lipstick or eyebrow filler. It was probably something a dwarf somewhere would have told a [Courtesan] only to regret after a moment of clarity. That is, if their short term memories were coherent.

Nonetheless, the rest of the material was carefully curated, written and translated into Common, unless of course there was no dwarven equivalent of a word. A high level [Scribe] had done that in less than two quarts. Now that he saw it, Continental Common might as well have been trading pidgin from the mashup of so many languages, just like English back home.

Djy'veli women were well known for that profession and were master charmers in and out of the bed. Just because the rest of the races didn't like the Djy'veli didn't mean their women couldn't make a living in towns and cities. Among the Djy'veli, amorous relationships were just seen as a normal facet of life with boundaries and rules just like anything else.

More to the heart of the matter, the information on dwarven sygnumeric magitech was nothing but a web of conjectures. Arthur had to give the women their flowers for doing such a painstakingly good job of information gathering, but he did not need much to come to a conclusion. Sygnumeric artifices were arguably the dwarf’s competitive advantage, and Arthur was about to get his fingers on some of that metaphorical pie.

Following the notes, he did as Livierre had directed. First he had to set up the attuning array that would connect the mageslate to the shard. Like a computer, a sygnum was made up of several elements to enable interaction between wetware and whatever equivalent stood for the rest of the system.

‘Runeware,’ Arthur sighed as he put the attuning array together. The attuning array was a slab of grey magestone. Etched onto its surface were conduits of silver, making circles, diamonds, and other elements of runecraft that made things tick.

Alternatively, Livierre could have used magillium, or argerum, but arcane metals were in short supply, or so she said. In the middle of the slate was a prong setting of five tines made to hold the shard in place for activation. At the bottom right corner was a recess that slotted in an attunement gem like a wireless port.

With that done, all he had to do was infuse the mageslate with some of his mana and get working. Arthur infused his mana and the mageslate lit up. Runes flew across the surface of the slate like strings of binary numbers on a console. Arthur could hardly contain his glee. But for his warden outside the tent, he would have cackled with madness.

When the runes finally settled, Arthur finally got to work. He did not go to sleep until sometime past the Erythean midnight.

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In the quartz before dawn broke in the Dust, two Djy’veli arrived in the outer camp on the wing of a storm wyvern. Even with riding skills, the journey had been hard on the beast, more so with two people riding double. Despite this fact, the wyvern rider managed to bring the beast to the ground with nothing but a deft hand at the reins and years of practice.

Alongside the red Djy’veli hulks, Arkilius with the side shaved head and Valthor with the braided knot, Livierre met the two riders disembarking from the creature.

“ Kervir,” Livierre called out to the taller of the two.

“ Hail ‘o, Livierre,” Kervir chuckled as he detached the harness buckling him to the wyvern’s saddle. The other rider did the same and jumped down. They were shorter, female and wore a wurmhide from neck to toe. However, they did not have any sch’magh.

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‘Unclanned,’ Livierre observed.

The woman went as far as to cover up their head, with flaps for the ears and holes for their horns. They also had on, dwarven goggles like the human’s; though theirs were newer by comparison.

“ Dekara, froze my jewels off riding through the night,” Kervir said as he hefted a large pack on his shoulder. “ This is Xarrakir the Courier,”

The woman doffed her head covering, shoving it into a satchel on her corset belt. She was a purple Djy’veli with silver eyes like Livierre.

“Morn greetings Livierre of Nightcrawler,” she smiled toothily. She was chipper despite several quartz of hard flying through the night.

“ Do you need something for your wyvern?” Livierre said, rubbernecking the beast, trilling and nuzzling their rider’s open palm. The head was almost the size of her torso.

“ Nah,” she sighed, soothing the tired wyvern. The operculi where the wyvern’s long neck met the trunk of the body, were opening and closing as they took in air. It misted, warm against the cold morning’s nip. In a Djy’veli that would be the area between the clavicle and the first ribs from the top.

“ She’ll be okay, she’s a tough girl. Just some water and she’ll be fine—ah, there you are. Gratitude,” She added. One of the red Djy’veli lugged a large trough of water while another carried a trough of wurm meat chopped up into fist-sized pieces.

“ Now I don’t know about you, but I would give anything for a drink,” Xarrakir said.

“ You won’t tie down your wyvern?”Livierre asked, befuddled. They didn’t have a wyvern pen, and a stone's throw away was an agitated flock of terror fowl watching a fellow predator warily.

“ No need,” Xarrakir said cooing as she watched the wyvern gorge themselves. “ Thyella is a trained wyvern—she’ll just go to sleep after this much. Won’t you Thyella?”

The wyvern let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a huff.

“Valthor will watch her—Arkilius, get the courier to the inner camp,” Kervir said, nodding to the red Djy’veli .“ Let’s get moving—I have a missive from Venera,”

With that taken care of, Kervir and Livierre broke away for Artificer’s wagon. They took the old path with grass growing between the cobbles. There was dew on the shrubs and the trees, the oasis’ auric shielding was still stable.

Ahead loomed the silhouette of the old fortress keep in the dark before daybreak. Braziers burnt low, a few of the Djy’veli were already awake and going about their business—they called out in greeting to the duo.

“ How was the Gathering?” Livierre asked. She tightened her cloak and rubbed her hands.

“ Same as usual, the accords for claims to oases are still the same. News of the war down south between the emirs has started trickling in. Before long, we might be neck deep in bandits,” Kervir chuckled.

“ I doubt the southerners know how harsh the Dust is. This is not like the Ossyrian Sands where all they need to worry about are stray skarglith,” Livierre sniffed. “ Before long, most will be weeded out,”

“ Hmm,” Kervir nodded in agreement. They came around the back of the wagon. A couple of humpbeast were slumbering near the moat, chewing even in their sleep. Livierre pulled down the ladder stairs and the two ducked inside to the dim lighting of the chromastone lamps.

“ So, what was this missive?” the woman asked, plopping herself on a nearby stool. Her eyes were on the bulging backpack that Kervir had set, almost tenderly on the table.

“ Can you get the wardstones?” Kervir suggested.

“ That serious huh?” Livierre grunted. She hastily got around to putting up the ward to obfuscate anyone who might be eavesdropping. Most likely no one, but you could never be too careful.

“ The human can never be allowed to leave…or live,” Kervir said.

“ Dekara, you don’t even let me down slowly do you?” Livierre groaned.

“ Venera’s words not mine,” Kervir shrugged.

“ How do you intend to do that?” Livierre said. “Surely there is some other way of dealing with this?”

“ No,” Kervir refuted. “ He is a risk to the Clan—do you want the dwarves to come poking around with their cannons? They will comb the dunes themselves if they have to.”

“ I don’t think Nora will stand for it,” Livierre pointed out.

“ Nora is naive—I am sure she’ll understand,” Kervir said.

“ You do not understand you dungheap,” Livierre groaned, rubbing her brow. “ Despite being one of the most powerful individuals after the [Chief], she has a soft heart. I think our Nora is torn about our outsider.”

“ Please,”Kervir sniffed contemptuously. “It’s hardly been five days.”

“ Does Nora call you a friend?” Livierre said deadpan.

“ I don’t know,” Kervir hummed. He retrieved a quiver of quirrel bolts from his pack and spread the leather between them. Three black barbed bolts stared back.

“Xhezw!? Those must have cost a fortune,” Livierre hissed, looking at the spines of a sand urchin. They’d been fashioned into lethal quarrels and contained venom inside of them. Realisation had already dawned on her as she flinched away―they were the most painful way to go.

“ Do we really need this for that?”

“ I am afraid so. You weren’t there when the human healed from two poisons that would have brought someone low.” Kervir said. “ Loathe as I am to admit it, this tastes like Orn’ghoc’s dung on my tongue. But it must be done,”

“ Then you do it,” Livierre said, crossing her arms in indignation. “ She’ll hate you for the rest of her life you know—”

“ In time perhaps, she’ll learn to forgive me—” Kervir chuckled ruefully. “ she’s practically immortal you know,”

“ Then she’ll hate you to your fifth generation if your spawn survives that long,” Livierre said, slumping atop the table. “ Show me the Aqertherite crystal—I hope that human is the one we need. Because if he does this…we shall no longer lose artificers. With his sacrifice, it’s one step forward for us.”

“ At least he won’t die for nothing,” Kervir said morosely. He opened the knapsack and unfurled the cloth enchanted with runes of obfuscation and nullifying. An aquamarine glow suffused the room.

“ We’re better off hoping his trapped artefacts won’t blow in our faces,” Livierre grimaced.

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Nora was kind of nervous and listless. She paced her yurt, staring at her clothing and then at the yurt flap to the outside. The sun was rising, sounds of morning were already in the air. She did not know what to do or whom to tell. The dhampir calmed down and let her legs go out from under her―

The day before had started innocently enough. Now? It seemed like things were moving too fast for her to grasp. Feelings thought forgotten, not for the human, but for what he represented―a dream outside the Dust.

The dhampir was not a prisoner, but the man set her heart aflutter in ways she could not fathom. Rubbing the inside of her palm she thought about his words. She’d even talked to Livierre about it, and the Djy’veli thought it was okay.

Clanspeople who went out always came back every now and then. Nora had no filial ties with anyone in the camp, no relationships either. The Djy’veli men kept a respectful distance. She was always their healer, patching them up after a hunt in the desert, tending to their illnesses, curing poisons. Most of them didn’t see her as anyone apart from the clan healer.

But what about little Nyke? She was worried about little Nyke. She’d always treated her like a daughter, especially after her mother died at childbirth. Her father must have been a human from the south. It was not unheard of for Djy’veli women to sire with other races. Nyke’s mother had been the only one she’d failed to save, in the last 5 years.

‘What am I thinking?’ Nora sighed. ‘ Just because he offered wine does not mean he’s―’ Nora cut off the thought before it could take root.

‘Hmngh,’ Nora grumbled. ‘ Maybe I am just scared of what he’ll say if I ask to go along. Would he see me differently if he knew about my past? That before I healed, I used to kill?’

Nora thought about the memories she’d had Venera lock away in her own mind. Two decades of her memory were fog, lingering at the edges of her consciousness. Occasionally they would bleed out into her dreams…nightmares that haunted her. But they were just that―dreams. But dreams nonetheless, of someplace she’d forgotten. A place beyond the sea, perhaps, some of her kind slinked between the shadows.

Alkerd was different. Passive aggression was something she could deal with. She might even pass off as a sylvani if she put on a bit of makeup. Her platinum blonde hair could be dyed any colour she wanted. As for her teeth. She put her thumb against her teeth. They were not like a beastkin’s but more like one of those Naga down south. But her lack of scales and tail... she slumped. It was hopeless unless―

‘Dekara! Of course!’ she facepalmed, and scrambled to get dressed. The dhampir had an artefact to consult about.

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