Chapter 78: Chapter 75 – The Cursed Effigy VII

Chapter 75 - The Cursed Effigy VII

The group continued down the street, walking right past the abbey that Claire had set her eyes on. Behind it were a series of smaller buildings reminiscent of those in a small village, homes built in a completely different architectural style. Chimneys aside, they were mostly made of wood, with bits of metal used as hinges and nails.

Though of an identical make, the individual houses differed drastically in size and shape. Some of the buildings contained as many as three stories, with each about a meter and a half tall, whereas others had only a single floor with a door that spanned a full seven. It was a strange combination, as dwarves and giants were not typically known to live in such close quarters, but the cat carried on as if it was nothing of note.

“So how do you know my dad, anyway?” asked Sylvia.

She was flopped atop Claire’s head, her front paws dangling in the lyrkress’ face and her hind legs seated on her shoulders. Claire didn’t quite understand how the pose was supposed to be anything but uncomfortable for either party, but apparently the fox considered it one of her favourite spots, so she let her be without voicing any complaints.

“I know everyone that lives in the citadel,” said Beckard. “This… settlement doesn’t really have much in terms of rigid structure, but I’m the closest thing there is to its mayor.”

“Wow, you’re a mayor? So is this really a city? How many people live here anyway?”

“A few hundred,” said the cat, as he groomed his ears. “But if you ignore all the lazy cowards that do nothing but drink themselves to death, then maybe three or four dozen at most.”

“Wait, people in real towns don’t drink all the time? Dad told me it was normal.”

“It is,” said Claire. “Sometimes.”

“Alcoholism is common, yes, but it’s rarely ever as chronic as it is here,” said the cat, as he stopped in front of a medium-sized house.

“Oh… so dad really does have a problem. I knew it!”

Beckard fiddled with one of the feathers stuck in his hat. “The people who live here happen to have… an infinite supply, so it comes a lot cheaper than it would outside of Llystletein.”

I don’t think I’ve ever tried any of the authority skill’s drinks.

“I’ve heard about that! Dad told me that you have to use money and stuff, and it’s really complicated because the nobles are assholes and tax you.”

“I like taxes,” said Claire.

Beckard fiddled with his hat. “We tried to put together a sort of monetary system, but it didn’t work. Bartering is better, with the population being what it is.”

The door opened as the cat stepped onto the porch; he didn’t even have to knock. Behind the entrance stood a tiny elven man with a frame thin enough to border on the verge of unhealthy. He was so short that Claire nearly mistook him for a ten year old child, his racially characteristic baby face not helping in the slightest. Like every other pureblooded elf, Zelos possessed a grand total of zero rugged features. Beards and body hair, features that other races commonly shared, were far beyond the scope of his growth; not even curses or spells were capable of providing elves with anything but the hair on their heads.

“Sylvie? What are you doing here?” The elf’s finger-length knife-shaped ears twitched as he looked past the hairless cat.

“Hi dad!” She jumped off Claire’s head, got up on her hind legs and started wagging her tail. “I happened to be around because of some proctory things I had to do, and stopping by seemed like a good idea anyway, since you haven’t visited in a while. Mom’s starting to get a little crazy.”

“Right. I’ll head over tomorrow,” said the elf. “I’m just about to finish working on my latest theory.”

“This seems like private business, and I’d hate to intrude, so I’ll be taking my leave,” said Beckard.

“Thanks Beck. I’d appreciate it if you could keep this whole ordeal under wraps,” said Zelos. “As I’m sure you know, most people don’t.”

“There’s no need to worry, friend. I won’t say a word to anyone,” said the cat. The look on his face likely would have been a handsome smile, if he still had fur. Instead, it came off as menacing, disturbing even. “Though, I do believe everyone is already aware that you happen to be in a bit of a… bizarre relationship.”

“Right. Thanks to Fred.”

“That, and it’s been a few decades now. You’ve brought it up a few times, so I think most folks would have learned about it one way or another, even without Frederick’s loud mouth.”

The elf sighed.

Beckard smiled as he turned around and stepped off the elf’s front deck. “Either way, I wouldn’t worry about it. If you need me, I’ll be in my office. And that goes for the ladies as well.”

With a cordial bow, the feline left the way he came, his rubbery shoes not making so much as a squeak. Watching him go left Claire feeling conflicted. On one hand, he bothered her; his appearance was alarmingly grotesque, his aura was bizarre, and the complete lack of sound that accompanied his person left her feeling somewhat creeped out. But on the other, he seemed like a true man of the cloth.

“Sorry, Sylvie, what were you saying?”

“Ummm… I don’t remember anymore.”

“Me either.”

The father-daughter pair looked at each other; neither seemed capable of putting together a coherent picture of the past few minutes.

“You were talking about your mother,” said Claire.

“Right! Dad, you really need to visit! Mom’s already starting to chew on chairs again!” said the vixen. “Oh, and this is a new friend I made, her name’s Claire. She’s been doing torch things and has to kill some lords and stuff, so I thought it’d be a good idea if I brought her here so you could give her some advice.”

Pulling back her hood, the lyrkress put on her best blush as she brought her hands together and twiddled her thumbs.

“H-hi… I’m um…” Her thighs fidgeted as her eyes flickered between the man and the ground, her ears fluttering violently throughout. “I’m Claire, frostblight lyrkress. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

Her lips slowly curved up as she looked him in the eyes for exactly two seconds before quickly turning away. The most innocent smile money could buy.

“I-I’m Zelos, h-high wood elf.”

The man froze up and started stuttering like a mouse before a snake. Despite having a daughter, his reaction remained almost as childlike as his appearance, his blush so intense that it reached all the way to his ears.

High elf? He has three ascensions?

Sylvia also froze upon seeing the display, albeit for a completely different reason. Unlike her father, she was fully aware of what the half-centaur was doing.

“I can see why your wife thinks you’d cheat on her.” Seeing that he was about to be warned either way, Claire dropped all pretence of innocence, stuck out her tongue, and flashed an impish smirk.

Zelos’ eyes opened wide as his face went as white as a sheet. “Grant put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“I owed him a favour,” said Claire.

“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap! Mom’s gonna freak out and throw a huge fit!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” said the elf, with a tired sigh. “You would think that Dixie would be more understanding, knowing that it was a prank, but she’s never exactly been very reasonable. I wish she would walk a mile in my shoes, sometimes.”

Sylvia stamped her front paws against the wood. “Oh, shut up Dad! This is all your fault in the first place! Mom wouldn’t have to freak out as much if you weren’t so nervous around girls!”

“I really wish I wasn’t,” said the high elf, as he pinched one of his ears, “but I also wish she’d be more understanding. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, and I might have to cancel my plans and stay away from Darkwood Hollow until she forgets.”

Claire was tempted to insert herself into the conversation and criticise the man for not owning up to his mistakes, but quickly decided against it. The father-daughter pair had already completely forgotten her and moved onto blaming everything else, and she saw no reason to reintroduce herself into the conflict.

“Wait… is that why you don’t come home sometimes? Even when you’re done working and stuff?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

“Now that I think about it… mom has a really short fuse, but she also has a pretty bad memory, huh?” Finally calmer, Sylvia plopped down on all fours. “She always forgets things if no one reminds her.”

I think that goes for more than just her.

“Well, she is a fox,” said Zelos.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean!? I’m a fox too!”

“Yes, but you’re also half wood elf.”

“Oh, right. I forget about that sometimes,” said Sylvia.

“I know.” The elf chuckled as he stepped into his house. "Now, why don’t you come in?”

His home was surprisingly cozy for something built in the middle of a ruined fortress. The walls were adorned with all manner of plants, but unlike the ones that plagued the rest of the ancient castle, there was both rhyme and reason to their arrangement; the vines grew in the spaces between the wooden boards that made up the walls and served as natural insulators. One particularly prominent tendril even moved to close the door and fill in any remaining gaps. Its behaviour almost made it seem like some sort of servant, but she knew better than to assume sentience on the part of a random plant. Not with a wood elf around, at least.

Though the home was large enough to sport a number of reasonably sized rooms, there were only two. One was a small isolated space off in one of the corners, likely a restroom, and the other was a hodgepodge of everything else. There was a bed next to a fireplace, which in turn was placed right beside a desk with thousands of pages strewn over and around it. Bookshelves of all different shapes and sizes were arranged to form what almost looked to be a maze in the middle of the house, with a dining table on one end and a couch on the other.

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“Excuse the mess, I’ve been busy lately.” Guiding his guests to a small round table near the doorway, Zelos pulled two chairs and a pillow out from underneath a mountain of scribbled pages and sat on top of the shorter wooden implement. “Would either of you like anything? Maybe a drink or a snack?”

He was surprisingly courteous for someone so messy, speaking only after both his guests had settled down. Sylvia had naturally gotten on the high chair, as it was the only way she could have reached the table without positioning herself on top of it, whereas Claire was left with the pillow. She didn’t mind, of course. It seemed to be the most suitable option, given that her height far exceeded that of the furniture’s.

“Do you have any of those super tasty dried fish you always make? I haven’t had any of that in ages!” said Sylvia. “Oh and I’d like some tea too please!”

Claire blinked at the fox. “Didn’t you just eat?”

“Yeah, but dad’s dried fish is super tasty so I always have room for more!”

The elf smiled and began scratching the back of the fox’s ears. “For you, Sylvie, always.” One of the vines reached across the room, grabbed a small bag from beside the cauldron, and dropped it off on the table, alongside three cups of hot water drawn from the bubbling pot. In what seemed to be an act of self-mutilation, the plant tore off a few of its own leaves and stirred them in to make a sort of dark green brew.

Sylvia grabbed a large salted fillet from the bag and immediately started chewing on it. “Thanks dad, I love you!”

Zelos gave the fox another pat on the head. To the father-daughter pair, it looked like a natural act, but Claire thought it rather strange. She couldn’t tell if he was treating her like a pet, or if that was simply how a loving father was meant to treat his children in private.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” asked the elf, as he took a sip from his cup. His eyes were no longer on the fox, turned instead in Claire’s direction.

“I want to know about a few lords.” The lyrkress flicked her forked tongue before lifting the cup to her lips. “This is good tea.”

“It’s a secret recipe, taught only to high elves,” he said, with a toothy, boyish grin. “Which lords?”

After taking a moment to assess the man, who had suddenly shifted to a more professional demeanour, Claire decided to deal with him as she would a diplomat. She smiled amicably, extended an arm, and spoke in a tone warm enough to make her foxy companion do a double take. “Sylvia told me that you could tell me about the lord of the chasm. I’d also like information on the holt and slough, if you have it.”

“Chasm, slough, and holt?” After shaking her hand, he paused for a moment to observe her, his deep amber eyes turning a shade of green. “Level 53 rogue-fighter hybrid, level 42 mage… And a level 50 racial class? Congratulations, that must have been recent.” The elf smiled awkwardly as he took a sip from his cup. “Normally, I would say that a combat-focused racial class is more of a burden than it is a blessing, but in these circumstances, it’s more likely to be the other way around.”

“That’s not eye of perception, is it?” asked Claire. The judge skill could only reveal surface level details and she didn’t see any other way for him to have acquired the information.

“No, not exactly. It’s a racial skill, similar, but more potent.” He shrugged, casually, as if he hadn’t just violated her privacy—not that it mattered. A high elf in a wooded land was capable of vaporising her in an instant whether he was aware of her stats or not.

“As for Sylvia…” He did the same trick, looking instead at the fox. “Wow, level one t—” He was cut off by a tail suddenly sealing his mouth.

“Shhhh! Dad! You’re not supposed to tell her!”

He smiled sheepishly as he picked her off the table and plopped her back in her seat. “Right. I nearly forgot.”

…It runs in the family.

“I think you should start with the lord of the slough,” he said, turning back to the half-lamia. “The chasm is somewhere around level 150, but the slough is only sitting at about 100. They’re a lot stronger than other similarly levelled monsters. It may be wise to gain a few levels and find some companions before you tackle any lords.”

Sylvia’s ears drooped. “Awwww… can’t the chasm come first?”

The elf smiled and handed her another piece of dried fish, remedying her mood in a heartbeat. “I know you want to try eating it, but it’ll have to wait.”

“I want to evolve my secondary class before I challenge any of them.” The empty cup she set on the table was retrieved, refilled, and returned by a plant as she spoke. “But I haven’t been growing as quickly since I ascended.”

The elf nodded as he grabbed a piece of fish for himself. “As is the standard. You’ll want to fight monsters that are at least once ascended if you want anything but a pittance. There are a good number of them on this floor, and you’ll likely find even more if you head to Crabby Crags.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s an instanced area, like Borrok Peak and the Green Belt, if you’ve ever been to either of those.”

Claire nodded.

“Great. Sylvie should be able to take you there, whenever you’re ready. Once you stop gaining as much experience there, you’ll likely have to move onto the mirewulves.”

“How tough are they?”

The elf brought a hand to his chin. “They can be anywhere from trivial to almost unbeatable. It’s a matter of compatibility.”

“Ok.” Claire made a mental note as she thanked the elf for his advice. “What’s after that?”

He frowned and clasped his hands together as he brought them to his chin. “I don’t think I should tell you right away. You seem like the type to get ahead of yourself, and I’d rather not get one of my daughter’s friends killed.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” said Sylvia, who had finally finished slowly chewing on her fish. “Remember all that stuff you said about what you did in Borrok Peak?”

Claire averted her eyes. “Okay, maybe a little. How did you know?”

The elf smiled. “Most of the people living in the citadel have already retired from all the fighting, but you might be able to find some decent companions if you ask around. I wouldn’t try to tackle the lords on your own.”

He dodged the question.

“I’d rather go alone.”

“Huh? Wait, Claire? Are you sure? Half the reason I brought you here is because I thought you might wanna find some people to fight with, ‘cause otherwise it’s gonna be super risky!” said Sylvia, nearly dropping her cup.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Well… if you say so...”

“If you ever change your mind, there’s a really interesting fellow that arrived just the other day,” said Zelos, bringing a hand to his chin. “He’s a few levels short of where you’re at, but he’s got some rather absurd classes, and he’s been looking to do some hunting. Let Beck or I know. We can put you in contact with him.”

“Really? That sounds exciting. What kind of classes?” asked Sylvia.

“Well for o—actually, I think it would be more interesting if he was to tell you them himself, assuming Claire decides to team up with him.”

“I won’t,” said Claire.

Zelos laughed. “I’m sure the kid would be devastated to hear that. He’s been quite adamant about finding a group of strictly female companions.”

“That’s disgusting,” said Claire, with a visible scowl.

“He’s young. You can’t blame a man for having dreams.” The elf continued to chuckle as he drained the rest of his cup. “Do you have anywhere to spend the night? You’re welcome to stay with me, if you don’t mind the mess. I’m sure I can make an extra bed or two.”

“It’s okay! I already made this really nice tent thing on the beach,” said Sylvia, before standing up on her hind legs and crossing her front paws across her throat. “And mom would kill you if you let Claire stay overnight.”

Grimacing, Zelos put a hand against one of his brows. “Good point. I would have to vanish for another season if that were to happen.”

“If you ever stay away for that long again, I’ll start reminding her of all the times she thinks you cheated!” said Sylvia.

“Sylvie… please don’t blackmail your father like that. At least not in front of a guest,” pleaded the elf.

“Too bad!”

With a playful giggle, Sylvia leapt off her chair and made for the exit.

“Come on, Claire! Let’s go.”

The lyrkress nodded at the elf, set down her cup, and followed her furry companion out the front door. “Thank you, Zelos.”

“Yeah, thanks Dad! See ya!”

“You’re very welcome.”

His lips curved up, the elf watched the pair walk down the street before moving back to his desk and returning to his research. He had a thesis to complete, and no time to dawdle. Not unless he was willing to disappoint a certain dog-faced scholar.

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