Chapter 6: Chapter 6. Gnomes may rule, but they are still evil little Sh*ts

“You are damned right you did,” said the man, peering into a clear pool of water and enjoying the antics of one of his new favorite movie stars, a small Kobold named Bran. The guy fought in an unorthodox style. He had especially enjoyed watching the abrupt end of a particular Goblin’s diatribe.

He was right, though. Tradition dictated that ‘good guys’ sit around listening to a villain’s monologue until the fight started. Tradition dictated that a stated intention to harm someone was not enough, the heroes had to wait until someone was actually hurt, even if they knew full well it was going to happen.

This was enshrined within codes of Honor and Chivalry, and while those codes were brilliant and beautiful and full of optimistic hopes and the idea of redemption, they often cost heroes by giving the villain a ‘fair chance’ that they hadn’t earned. The concept of fairness was at complete odds with justice, and killing those bulb-headed bastards was utterly just, if not particularly fair.

Was it fair some were born with gifts of brilliance and create magnificent works of science and magic, while others were born stupid, and lazy, and chose to remain ignorant? Absolutely not. Was it fair that some people were hard workers and others weren’t? Or that some were born as prime physical specimens and others were born flawed? Absolutely not.

That’s why those damned Beasts were winning. They floated the promise of ‘fairness and balance’ as if it were the ultimate prize and goal, ignoring the fact that nothing in the universe remotely resembled fair. Chaos was fair, destruction was fair, it affected everyone and everything and destroyed them all, and that was all fairness could do… knock everyone down to the lowest common denominator, and destroy equally. You couldn’t make a moron a genius, but you could destroy everything the genius created until he was no better off than the moron, and then, just to make things truly fair, you destroyed them both.

He sighed. People often confused good with nice, and Just with fair.

Bran was Just. But the little lizard was certainly not going to content himself with being fair. Good. He should fall or rise to his own strength, and help end the stalemate between the Game and Antowyn online, one way or the other. Justice would prevail, the best would rise, and then the worst would fall off and be defeated.

Frederick sighed and swirled his glass of Glenmorangie. Earth had some pretty amazing resources, and while he couldn’t pull stuff for his followers, he could certainly pull it for his personal use. Earth had a lot of bad alcohols, but it also had some of the absolute best, and this Glenmorangie stuff was one of the finest non-magical alcohols he had ever tasted.

They were followers, not worshipers. His people didn’t really worship anyone but themselves, but they respected him. They didn’t join either the game or Antowyn Online, but they didn’t need to… each one of them was already born knowing their own aspects and could grow to their potential on their own… and their basic greed and selfishness insured that their net effect would retard the growth of Chaos, even if their own actions were frequently destructive in human terms.

Frederick had no use for the concept of ‘gods’. Yeah, there were people on Antowyn that fit the bill by mortal standards, but he had seen mortals grow so powerful that they could end this world by snapping their fingers. He’d seen the movies, executing half of the life in the universe by snapping your fingers was easily possible, even for a mortal, but by the time they had that kind of power they had more important things to do than muck about with normal people.

He sighed and took a sip of his whiskey. Delicious. “You know, I traded a crap ton of favors to get you out of that alive. I want to say you owe me, but gratitude is stupid. I did it for my own reasons, my own goals, and expecting you to be grateful for getting turned into a pawn would probably be a bit much.”

“Are you talking to yourself again?” Asked a delicate female voice. Frederick turned and enjoyed the sight of his current lover, Lyric. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen on any world, but that only made sense, since as the Guardian of art, music, and beauty she set the standard for others to aspire to.

“Well, not really. Remember how I had to bend over backward and call in or promise favors for a direct, unasked-for miracle?”

Lyric nodded and came over to sit on the raised ledge by the pool, crossing her delicate fingers over the shimmering, white, and highly inappropriately virginal gown she wore. A lot of people also forgot that she was the guardian spirit of prostitutes, courtesans, and actresses, and that had caused some fights in the past. Frederick preferred the term ‘guardian spirit’ over ‘god’ because, like justice and fairness, little g ‘god’ and big G “God” were not the same thing. He had no opinions on the latter.

“Well, Nektuso hinted to a couple of his boys that there were easy pickings over in the Sindaenaway sewer drain, where the kid was asleep, in a safe zone while he was trying to wrench the Game back into order.”

Lyric suddenly looked nervous, “That’s not my territory. He’s not one of mine. Was he okay?”

Frederick nodded slowly, looking into his glass. “Yeah. You know Nektuso. He’s a bastard, but he respects strength. He was just testing him to see if my gamble would pay off. It was more about testing my judgment than trying to start a feud with the kid. One of his boys started to ramble about surrender and killing him quickly instead of torturing him to death, when the kid went bug nuts and stuck a cooking knife through his head, and then broke the other one into pieces and sent him down the drain. Literally in mid-rant.”

Lyric shook her head, “Isn’t that dishonorable? I mean, we have three other prospects, is he going to be a villain instead of a hero? Both could work if they stop the beasts, but I’d rather not have to try and clean up after another Undead Apocalypse, even if the game wins.”

Frederick shrugged, stroking his goatee with his fingers. “Naww, He’s one of mine. At worst he’d set up a pirate empire and leave someone else to run it. Technically he’s one of those special kids from Earth, but he’s got a logical head on his shoulders. It was honorable enough since they declared their intentions to eat him, but it’s certainly not knight-in-shining-armor stuff.”

Frederick shook his head, “At worst I think he might wind up a loveable rogue type like Radavel or the Bandit King, and at best, well, I could see him as a Copper Lord. He could attract some attention from the other worlds, and adventurers here. Real survivor type. A bit on the creepy side, but really loyal. Do you think you could talk one of your girls into looking after him? He’s got a lot of creativity, but I’d like to make sure it doesn’t get turned malicious. I don’t want to lose him to Asher or Wester. Wester could be alright, but Asher would wreck his potential since he would never be trusted by the Wayfarers and he’d just turn into an old, rootless adventurer.”

“The fates haven’t decided?” The beautiful woman asked.

“The fates have nothing to do with it. That’s why it was so rough to get a miracle and it almost misfired due to the unlucky appearance of a sewer slime. Apparently, on his world, the one god in various aspects rules supreme. Since they have zero essence incoming that’s not really a surprise, and that’s probably why so my of their people are channels. Essence is life, and without them, it would be a dead world.”

“Does he follow the One God?” she asked.

Frederick scratched his head and downed the last of his whiskey. “Sort of? It should be enough to protect him from a lot of Antowyn online’s fake aspects, and if he mentions it, it would explain his lack of a band, but he cannot call down miracles if that’s what you are asking. On his world, a lot of folks pay lip service, even without the aspects to direct it, so it’s a bit hit or miss. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind it a bit if a one-god channel showed up from Earth. I may not agree with his or her policies, but his worshipers fight Chaos like they were made for it.”

“But Bran, well, kobold. He’s one of mine whether he likes it or not, at least until he evolves.”

Lyric nodded, “I will ask. I cannot force any of them to take on a guardian role, though. And you know how mortal they act. If he comes off as creepy, most of them are going to refuse.”

Frederick grinned, “If they could have seen the boy on Earth, you’d have a line. Especially Mnemosyne. You know how she styles herself a queen of Darkness. He was like one of those antisocial beefcakes in the Rom-coms. Hard worker, total catch, sharp as a bag of tacks, but no idea how to talk to women. Plus he’s got channeling and infusion at the same time. He’d pull her in like iron files to a super magnet, and he could really use the help right now.”

“Why is that?” she asked.

He waved at the pool of water. “He’s headed into the dirt dungeon, and you know how I told you he put down two of Nektuso’s goblins? He’s not even an adolescent yet.”

You are reading story The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale. at novel35.com

Her dark eyes widened in shock, “Not even rank 1? no evolutions? And he took out TWO ranked goblins by himself? But he’s like… newbie fodder. A tictac on Halloween.”

Frederick grinned, “I told you he was one of mine. They both had spears and armor, and he was naked with a cooking knife. Let me replay it for you, it’s a fun watch like he’s a naked John Wick and they killed his dog.” Frederick waved his hand, and the scene in the pool of water showed a tiny, juvenile kobold.

He added, “And afterward, I really want to talk to you about Ellie’s soul. She was the one they dropped right after Bran, and I couldn’t save her. The bastards took her and she was only six years old, I think maybe we can get her into a core.”

Lyric darkened, her beautiful face turning wicked, but still darkly lovely, as she started to channel Lore, the goddess of forbidden knowledge and curses. “I will tear their souls apart!”

Frederick nodded, still smiling, “I thought you would say that. You should get a kick out of watching this.”

---

“What do you mean, there’s no more?” Professor Bartholemew Gaslightopper screamed, rage curling off every inch of his squat, two-foot-tall frame and almost turning the ends of his frazzled purple hair and beard pink. His gigantic nose wiggled in aggravation and he almost wrecked his wire-framed spectacles twisting them off.

Pellegrine shrugged and leaned his lanky, elven frame against the doorway to the lab in the Sindaenaway Historical College’s ancient magical research wing. “I mean, I have cruised through as many channels as I can reach, all the way back to the inception in 1908, and there are no more channels I can fetch that are within my restrictions. That little girl? She was the last one. Died in a car accident in a cab with a drunk driver in 2044, both she and the driver were unobserved for eight minutes. I cannot go back before the rift, obviously, and the rest are observed.”

“So go after the observed ones! It’s not like you don’t leave their bodies behind once we have used them. I am almost there. The last one actually started talking in complete sentences in their nonsense language before she failed and we had to dispose of her. We have only a few more tries before we get a fully viable specimen, and I have altered the parameters enough that it might be the very next one!”

“No,” Pellegrine replied.

“What? Screeched the gnome.

“No. I have fetched you what you wanted thirty-one times. Thirty-one times I have risked body and soul for your gold. The one before last? The sailor? Did you know he was a trained rescue swimmer? He was supposed to survive for almost an hour, and his ship swung around four times trying to get to him before he finally drowned. There was an alteration. It only swung around twice and came this close to not even recovering the body. Thank Brac they did, I went through some of the most hellish paradox wracks you can imagine before I dumped his body back into the drink.”

The elf shook his head, long blond hair flying before the leather headband as his unfashionably short ears… the reason he was banished… bounced with the motion. “If I am noticed, I cease to exist. I have cut it as close as I possibly can with the fetching. All the rest either died in a hospital surrounded by sensing gear, died in the bosom of their families, were murdered with a witness standing right there, or after 2045 the surveillance net was so tight there’s no way I could swap them unnoticed. Even the time it takes you to drain them would be enough to kill me until I could send their bodies back, and if I die while I wait for you, Their bodies don’t go back, and Paradox turns my soul into bacon.”

He shrugged. “You can wait. Sooner or later one of the channels in AO will croak in their pod, and I can trim their soul as easily as pie in transit, I have already done it twice. Or you try to experiment with non-channels to get it perfect first, and when you have a successful translation, you use that technique on the next dead channel that pops up. I am willing to work for you for what you pay me, but I won’t die for it.”

The Gnome started to sputter, and whined, “But the quest! Not only will I break a tier, but the reward… Morna and Sebilis’ personal diaries! The most powerful spells ever created, are at our fingertips! The ability to bring down one of the cities with a single cast. I am sure you want your vengeance, right?”

Pellegrine spat to one side. “Yes, I hate them, but vengeance is overrated. They are dicks, not worth my life. And the most powerful spells? Like the one that turned the Haronian Empire into the wastes of Haronis? No thank you. I am not doing this for the power, I am doing it because you are paying me a lot, and the folks that you take are going to die anyway.”

Gaslightopper sighed, defeated. “Fine. I will talk to the admins. The humans over there die like soap bubbles anyway, maybe they can turn the surveillance systems off before big terrorist attacks or natural disasters, or shut down the systems before a big plague sweeps through again or something. Bring me some infusers, if you can. It won’t help the quest much, but I have a side quest for infusers to create control bands, and if my experiment is a success with pure infusers, AO can start making inroads into the pagans as well as have a way to catch a channel when we can get one.”

Pellegrine turned away in disgust. The money was too attractive, and he had debts to pay, but he had zero interest in whatever quests the professor and his cadre were on. Hell, the system had tried to give him a quest for it too, but he had refused it, and taken the penalty… one of the reasons he was so desperate for money now.

The problem was, the people he brought over were very alive. When that so-called ‘ethical’ necromancer transferred them into the body of a non-sentient kobold they were still alive, human souls in a monster’s body, but Kobolds could evolve, and become real people again.

The last one… he actually felt good about taking her from the cab where she was about to die. Like he was a good guy, and he hoped that the experiment was a success. He had to wait until after the wreck when she was twisted and trying to breathe because the crash had shut down the cameras in The cab… and he ported it hidden behind the mangled driver’s corpse. He whispered that he was trying to save her life when she screamed in transit, and she had calmed.

If she could accept the band, she would join the ranks of the people and live a long, happy life as either an adventurer or a noncombatant. Even as a kobold, with her beautiful young voice and obvious intelligence, a safe pass would have been a breeze, and he would have even sponsored her. She was a channel and a sound manipulator, bardic greatness would have come to her, especially if a band accepted her and helped her control her gifts.

But Gaslightopper insisted that she be disposed of when a band wouldn’t accept her. Pellegrine would have been happy to drop her off in a warren someplace, or even find an accepting group of pagans that would have welcomed her despite being in the body of a monster, but no. ‘every failed experiment had to be destroyed’. That little girl with the voice of an angel, now she was just meat someplace, and he was helpless to protest. She was crying and calling for her mommy, in one of Earth’s languages he’d had to have implanted to do his job… Swedish? And was fully aware when Bort had hauled her cage away. She’d even reached towards him….

His original people, the sky elves, were harshly critical of any flaw in their own and would throw anyone off their flying cities that didn’t meet their standards of perfection, regardless of their age. Even newborns fresh out of their mother’s womb would be flung off of the cities to die on the ground far below if they had a birthmark, a speckle, the wrong gifts, or like Pellegrine, if fashion had changed to make shorter ears unattractive.

The ground-bound… Those who survived being exiled, or were rescued before they fell to their deaths, were fiercely protective of children, and his heart bled. Once this job was finished, he was seriously considering finding someone that would pay for a Sindaenaway Master Necromancer’s head. A small one.

He understood why the sky elves were so harshly critical of their own and used any excuse to thin their populations. There were still air-bound alive today who had lived in the old world, before the rift and the war, over two thousand years ago. Elves of all types had incredibly long lives.

But space in the cities was limited, and only four were still aloft. Even with their incredibly low birthrate, the cities would soon be overcrowded if they didn’t dispose of their excess populations, and if they left their cities… well, the ground races had every reason to want to destroy them, and their cities were their symbol of power and their only defense against a second war. They could fly, trade, and seek diplomacy from a position of power, although there were still forces they would have to be wary of.

The Sky elves had only recently agreed to accept the bands, with the understanding that any human player that chose sky elf would be bound only to their quests, would not occupy the cities, and their power would be given to the elves to either rejuvenate and restore old, fallen cities, or create new ones. It was a stipulation Antowyn Online readily agreed to, and the Beta players alone had provided almost enough energy to re-float the city of Kathalon and provide a new base for the excess population. Some day, if enough cities were floated, they hoped to make a bid to recapture a world that used to be their private property and playground.

Sky elves were harsh, predatory, spiteful, and whimsically cruel rulers. Morna and Sebilis had crafted magic that could bring their strongholds crashing to the ground. Pellegrine didn’t want to live in a world controlled by the cities, but giving that kind of power to the Mage’s guild that had recently Annexed Sindaenaway would almost be worse.

Pellegrine didn’t want either outcome, but if not for him, the Mages would find someone else willing to do their dirty work. He’d keep taking the gnome’s coin, delivering the nearly-departed, and hoping that maybe some of the people he rescued would be allowed to live… after all, the quest said flawed channels had to be destroyed, not flawed imbuers. He sighed, heading towards his personal quarters. It would take several hours of meditation before his magic was ready for another trip. After all, he was a chronomancer, not a channel or an imbuer. His band said so.

You can find story with these keywords: The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale., Read The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale., The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale. novel, The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale. book, The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale. story, The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale. full, The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale. Latest Chapter