Not Alone, Chapter 7

Preface: Greetings, all! This is the seventh chapter of the tale that began with “Not Alone – Chapter 1,” comes immediately after “Not Alone – Chapter 6,” and is the second story in a series that began with “What You Don’t Know,” also located on this site, although it features a mostly-different cast of characters.

As always, my standard disclaimer: The monster girls featured in this tale, and many elements of the setting, are based off of the works of Kenkou Cross, and as such this work is intended to be a tribute to his creativity. The characters, however, are my own. Pray neither sue nor steal; I have very little to take, but I love that which is mine.

Not Alone 

Chapter 7 – A New Day

     As the sun rose into the heavens over Goslar, the city was already stirring.  Already, the forges belched out their black smoke, and carts ambled to and from the mountains.  The townsfolk left their homes and headed for their jobs, or came home to slumber through the heat of the day.  Business continued as usual, save for one shop, whose doors stayed locked for far longer than normal, the sign flipped to ‘Closed’ for this day as well as the previous.  This caused no small amount of consternation among the store’s usual customers. “What could be keeping him?” demanded an irate harpy to a patiently-listening acquaintance. “Do you think that orc kidnapped him and stole him off to the mountains?”

    “I don’t think so,” whispered one gossiping werecat with a mouse-eating grin. “Some of their neighbors heard noises all… night… long.”

     The harpy huffed, ruffling her feathers indignantly. “Lucky orc,” she murmured bitterly. “But I still need my order of feather mite powder, whatever their love life might be like.”  She glowered jealously in the direction of the chemist’s shop, ignoring the way her friends shied away from her.

     Not far away, in the town square, booths and stores were opening for the day’s business, while a small group of people wandered through the town, taking note of potholes and crumbling walls.  They were a few of the town’s aldermen, a group of men and monsters led by the mayor’s husband, a boulder of a man with a coal-black beard.  As intimidating a picture as he cut, his image was modified somewhat by the young girl he led about by the hand, a young minotaur girl that skipped happily at her father’s side while her mother prepared for that evening’s meeting of the town council.

     Old Stu Stonecleft, as he had come to be known by all save his wife (the sole living person with the right to call him Stewart), pointed out a few more rough places in the town’s streets to those following, one of whom was taking notes on a slate. “If we don’t get that one filled with stone, it’ll wash out bad enough at the next rain to shatter a cart wheel.  That’s going to need to be a major priority,” he rumbled, pointing to a specific gash in the road.  As he stopped to talk to the others, his daughter looked up at him, and, desiring attention, began to step back and butt her head against his pillar-like leg, rubbing her nubbed horns on it.  Still speaking to the councilmembers, her father reached down to muss her hair, and she giggled and hugged his leg, drawing his warm smile down to her.

     Something else drew his attention away: the sound of hoofbeats at a gallop.  He glanced up to see one of the town’s guard sprinting towards him, motioning down the road.  Following the guard’s pointing finger, he saw a trio of mounted soldiers in ornate armor riding into the square, banners waving at the backs of the flanking pair.  As they drew close enough that Stu could see the armor they wore, he reached down to push his daughter behind him, and the monster beside him stepped closer, hiding the child from sight, though she still peeked at what was happening from between her father’s legs.

     The riders rode in a tight circle, drawing all eyes to them.  Many of the male viewers scowled openly at the sigil on the banners they bore: a spear atop the flame of the Church of the Holy Martyr.  What the Sword Aflame was to the monsters of the mixed town, the Spear of Conquest was to the men, many of whom were the children or grandchildren of expatriates from nations that had been conquered during the War of the Barriers, when the Church’s army had brought many other nations under its banner.  It had been the Holy Order of the Crusaders that had led that invasion, and the sight of their mark flying in Goslar was sickening to those who had fled here to escape that flag.

    “Attention, citizens of Goslar!” cried the man at the fore of the trio.  He, like the others, was armored by a bronze cuirass, enameled in gold and molded with more sharply-defined muscles than the mid-aged man likely had.  His companions wore helms with high crests of stiffened horse hair, dyed in yellow and white, and carried cavalry spears and shields emblazoned with the mark of their order, while the center man wore no helmet and carried only a scroll that he unfurled to read to those around. “I come bringing glad tidings from the Hellenistic Empire!”

     At the edges of the square, Old Stu nodded to his closest friend, motioning to his daughter. “Get her to her ma.  This could be trouble.” Nodding, the man scooped up the young minotaur, who whined and reached for her dad as she was carried off.

     “A holy site has been discovered near here, and must be ready for the faithful who would seek it for pilgrimages.  To that end, the Church of the Holy Martyr has chosen to take up stewardship of this region, and has deployed a force of guardians to that end!” the herald declared to the swelling crowd, oblivious to the distrust on their faces.

    “Since when are iron mines ‘holy sites?’” groused one alderman. “No offense,” he amended to the offended dwarven miner at his side, who nodded, mollified.

    “Our force will arrive in ten days!  Make ready to receive and feed three hundred men, and prepare to house our leaders, who will serve as advisors to the elders of this hamlet, according to our Law, for the duration of our time we choose to remain.”

     The town elders exchanged glances, but one of them stepped from the group, striding towards the trio of riders.  Stu walked directly towards the messenger, his brow furrowed and his stare unflinching.  He didn’t speak until he was only a short distance from the man’s horse, though his gravelly voice reached the ears of every person watching. “Your ‘Law?’  Is that the Law that forbids man and monster to marry?  The Law that forbids monsters to live on ground you call sacred, which seems to be every bit of land in your sight?” Stu shook his head, his eyes hard. “You and your Law aren’t welcome here.”

     The herald didn’t bother to hide his sneer as his horse pawed at the earth, nostrils flaring. “Do you speak for these people?  Do you defy the Law of the Hellenistic Empire?”  When Stu didn’t reply, merely crossing his arms across his chest and glowering at the arrogant knight, the herald laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Then perhaps we need to convey a different sort of message.” Glancing to his sides, the speaker nodded to his accompanying guards, who urged on their horses, their heaven-pointing spears beginning to lower, falling to be directed towards Stu.  Still the man did not move, rooted in the earth like the rock he resembled, though his throat worked, hidden under the dense foliage of his beard.

     As the knights closed in on Stu, the townspeople watched in terror, ringing the town square, their hearts trembling in their chests, yet only one moved to stand beside the man as the knights closed in.  She was a lizardman, covered in leather armor and wearing twinned swords belted to her sides.  Lacerta Steelscale emerged from the throng and took a place beside Stu, her slitted eyes defiant as she watched the knights come closer, now one spear aimed at her breast while the other remained directed at Stu’s.  She only moved subtly, nodding her chin slightly as they came almost within striking distance.

     “Halt!” called the herald, a bead of sweat tumbling down his brow.  His war-trained ears had picked up the familiar sound of a faint creak, and he had glanced to his side to see the lizardman mercenary standing there, a bow drawn and the arrow aimed unwaveringly at his temple.  His eyes darted around the square, finding other bowmen interspersed throughout the crowd, who stepped aside to give the mercenaries a clearer shot.  Even atop the nearby buildings, lizardmen perched, their bows trained at the hearts of the three knights with fatal precision.  Still, the herald forced a grin onto his lips. “Come, now.  Such flagrant threats have no fangs when we know you will not strike to kill.” This admission brought an angered rumble from the crowd, unused to hearing that naked truth from those of the Orders.

     “Oh, you are right,” Lacerta acknowledged. “We don’t kill men.  However, we take no issue in putting down rapid dogs like you.” Her fanged smile dared him to challenge her bluff.

     “Go,” Stu commanded. “Take a message back to your leaders.  Tell them that they will find no welcome in Goslar.” His stare was as sharp as the arrows aimed at the knights, and just as much a threat.

     The Crusader’s cheeks reddened in blotches, but he could find no way to salvage his pride and preserve his life at the same time, so he chose the one more important to him. “Come,” he snarled to his fellows. “Leave these savages and their sluts to think about how proud they will be when our forces arrive.  They will learn obedience soon enough.” He sawed at his reins, and his subordinates snapped their spears skyward once more, following in his tracks to gallop clear of the square, clear of the town, spitting curses at passerby as they flew.

     Only when they were gone did the town square erupt into speech, some cheering Stu for his bravery in the face of likely demise, others horrified at the implications of the knight’s message.  Some went racing to inform their neighbors, spreading the tale of the morning’s events like embers in the wind that would ignite the flames of furious conversation across the town.  Everyone would have their own thoughts and theories, and already that evening’s town hall meeting was destined to be a raucous one.

     A hand clapped onto Stu’s shoulder, squeezing the unyielding mass with friendly compassion. He glanced to his side, nodding his gratitude to the lizardwoman beside him. “Thanks for the support,” he offered genuinely, and she smiled in response.

     “That was really brave of you, Stu,” she opined, as her soldiers left their places in the crowd, headed back for their encampment, where soon enough they would have an emergency meeting of their own. “You risked your life in front of the whole town,” she pointed out, faint wickedness in her smile, “but just think what Tara is going to say about it.”

     Only then did fear find its place on the face of Stu Stonecleft.            

 

******

 

     “What are we going to do?”

     “Is there anyone we can call on for help?

     “We have to stand and fight for our homes!”

     Already the town hall was in an uproar when Roger and Priscilla slid into the overcrowded room.  Normally these meetings were simple affairs, the town elders dealing with the matters brought before them with efficiency and minimal bureaucracy, but few aside from the aggrieved themselves cared enough to attend.  The positions on the council were elected, but those selected tended to be the patient and the humble rather than the ambitious, simply because in Goslar that leadership tended to be seen more as responsibility than opportunity for power.  Tara Rockhorn had been chosen all but unopposed in the past two elections, and she had accepted the nomination with her own belligerent stubbornness, preferring to spend her evenings at home with her family, but unwilling to turn down the challenge, even if it meant yawning through monthly meetings that ran late into the evening.

     Today was a very different affair, as word had spread like wildfire of the day’s warning from the Holy Orders, and concern was universal.  The crowd was fairly representative of the town’s population, mostly but not overwhelmingly made of monsters and featuring business owners mixed in with miners and blacksmiths.  Each, however, was adding their voices to the chaos, shouting suggestions or concerns or frustrations, a simmering stewpot ready to boil over at any moment.

     Only when Tara took her place at the podium at the fore of the room did the crowd fall into a tentative hush, waiting to see what wisdom the town’s mayor may have to share.  Those who knew her best could see the apprehension written on her furrowed forehead, but to the others she was her usual portrait of bullish obstinacy. “Alright, everyone,” she bellowed, gripping the podium before her. “I know you all have heard of what happened today, and everyone has their own questions.  Before we begin a discussion of what we know and our response, I want everyone to know that we will consider every option on the table.  We will send messengers to other towns and gauge their responses.  We will look into available mercenary groups in the area that could aid us.  We will consider negotiations with the Orders-” This was a step too far, as men and monsters erupted into shouting.  Tara glanced to her bailiff, a hobgoblin girl equipped with an oversized mallet, but she was dozily staring off into space.  Sighing, the minotaur was forced to reach out and shake her shoulder before the hobgoblin came to her senses and slammed the gavel against the table before her, the thunderous collision silencing everyone with a jolt.

     Taking a deep breath as she calmed herself and waited for her ears to stop ringing, Tara looked over the faces in the crowd. “I know,” she said bluntly. “The Orders have no love for monsters, and we have no reason to trust them.  What I am looking for is an alternative-”

     “I have one.”

     The townspeople paused as the unfamiliar voice interrupted the mayor, turning in ones and twos to look at the entrance to the town hall.  The woman standing alone at the door stood apart from the townsfolk, instantly secluded by the armor she wore among miners and merchants, as well as the cloak that billowed behind her as she strode towards the podium, pale blue flames licking at the ragged cloth at its base yet producing no smoke.  She wore a sword at her waist, but her hands were spread wide open in a sign of peaceful approach, and beneath her long teal hair her crimson eyes were focused intently upon Tara.  The insignia upon her breast in particular drew many gazes: it was a sword and blue rose crossed over a stylized heart, and it glowed as if lit by the same flame that danced on her cloak.

     The reaction to that symbol was especially dramatic.  While the men of the village, along with most of the younger monsters, stared in confusion at their peers, many of the older monsters pressed their fists over their hearts and lowered their heads at that insignia.  Roger jolted as he noticed Priscilla was doing the same, her eyes hidden beneath her bangs. “What are you doing?  Who is she?” he asked, watching as the armored woman made her way closer to the podium, Tara Rockhorn watching her come with a mixture of respect and caution.

     “I don’t know who she is,” Priscilla explained, “but this salute is a respect given to high-ranking servants of the Demon Queen.  Even in my tribe, growing up, we were taught to treat her agents respectfully.  Whoever she is, she’s a big deal.”

     Roger nodded, a deep dread trickling into his gut.  First the Orders, and now the Demon Queen?  He had not been prepared for this when he had woken up that morning- or, rather, afternoon.  He saw a similar trepidation on other familiar faces as they realized how much trouble they were in the middle of.

     The woman marched up to Tara, but stopped at the podium, turning to face her audience. “My name is Ceann Alpestria, and my partner and I have been working against the Orders’ recent expansions.  We feared that they may come for this area, and today those fears were proven to be justified.  With that in mind, we have called on our resources to offer those of you here, and your families and loved ones, an option.”

     She paused, taking a deep breath, as if preparing for the inevitable reaction. “The Orders have sent an army here that you will not be able to resist.  Even if you did, they would send another.  And then another.  They will not stop, until they hold what they want.” Roger found himself nodding along with her words, his face clouded with resentment. “Even with the aid of mercenaries, like the Company of the Forked Blade I had hired to protect this village, you will not be able to withstand their forces.” At this, Roger’s eyes sought out Lacerta, and he found her leaning against one of the walls, looking his way.  She gave him a slight nod, confirming the armored woman’s claim, before glancing to the mayor and giving her the same confirmation.

     “You cannot stay.  You have to abandon Goslar.”

     These words triggered a riotous explosion.  Everyone shouted at once, but a few voices cut through the din. “Where are we supposed to go?” demanded one man bitterly, and many others asked the same incredulous question.

     “My partner has seen to that.  As the, well, de facto owner of a place large enough to resettle you all, as well as the people of the neighboring villages, he is willing to house you until you can return to this town, once the Orders have moved on.” Her throat worked, choking back the words ‘if they move on.’

     “And where is this place?” cried one apprehensive miner, a kakuen with her arm slung around her boyfriend.

     “Far to the east, but on this side of the Great Veil. It’s a former human town that we can rebuild-”

     “Yeah, right!” bellowed one man cynically. “You serve the Demon Queen!  You are just luring us closer to her domain so she can feast on our souls, or whatever she does to men!”

     That triggered more than a few rolled eyes from the monstrous listeners, but the woman at the fore shook her head gently. “No, this is for your benefit.  We just want to save you from-”  

     “Why should we trust anything you say?”

     The woman with the teal hair paused at this, her emotions flitting across her face in an instant: doubt, desperation, determination. Finally, she nodded, more to herself than anyone else.  “Because my partner is-”

     “That’s enough, Ceann,” interrupted Tara, giving the woman before her a cautious glance.  Roger frowned at the exchange, but most of those listening were too busy shouting to catch what Ceann had started to say.  His curiosity would have to wait, however, as the mayor pressed on. “Even if we wanted to leave, how could we?  Are we to leave our homes and livelihoods behind?  If this place is as far as you say, how could we make ready to go in so little time?” The mayor’s rumbling voice carried deep enough into the crowd to earn a relative quiet, as the crowd waited to see how the monstrous knight would respond to those questions.

     Ceann nodded gravely. “I understand the sacrifices that would have to be made.  We cannot take everything; we simply do not have the resources or time.  However, my Mistress has sent us some things to help: carts, and supplies for the journey.”

     “And why would she do that?” called a now-familiar sharp voice from the crowd, the same that had offered several other biting comments.  Roger followed it to see it came from a man with a dark scowl, a livid scar over his eye.  He sat with two other men, as far apart from any of the monsters as they could manage.

     Ceann glanced at him, but then ran her eyes over the crowd, meeting every gaze she could manage. “Because, deep down, this town has something that she believes in: a community where men and monsters can live, love, and work together.  My partner and I want nothing more, and we will help you build a new place like Goslar, with our own hands.”  The crowd was mostly silent after that, with a few scoffing grumbles mixed in with quiet fearful whispers.

     “I know I have given you much to consider,” Ceann admitted. “I will return tomorrow morning with the first of the carts, carrying supplies to build more.  If there are any experienced coopers, cartwrights, or carpenters here, I would appreciate whatever aid you can lend us.  Those who can make ready soon with little to carry, we will send you on; others, we will arrange caravan trains protected by the Forked Blade to take you east.  If you are willing to come, make haste, because they will be here sooner than you think.” She nodded to the townspeople, her face naked of guile to hide her regret, before marching towards the exit just as she had entered.  She had scarcely departed when the shouting began once more.

     Some among the crowd left soon after her, taking with them rumors of what had occurred, and what might yet happen.  Others turned to neighbors and engaged in furious conversation, ignorant of the commotion they were contributing to.  Some howled for the attention of the mayor, who struggled in vain to calm the tempest raging in the room.  Still others turned their minds inward, lost in their own considerations.  Roger was counted among these; he was internally bombarded with myriad concerns and questions.  He had been warned this might happen, and he had ignored Lacerta.  But what was to come of his shop, the business he had worked so hard to establish here in Goslar?  What would happen to his friends, and their own places here: Mithal and his dream restaurant, the goblin sisters, Rosa in her grove?  Who would stay here, and who would go with this strange woman to the east?

     His expression revealed his inner turmoil, and the woman next to him read him easily.  He snapped back to the present as a hand took his own, squeezing compassionately.  The relief it gave him was doubled by the certainty he found in Priscilla’s eyes, and he smiled his gratitude to her, thanking her for saving him from his own fears.  Whatever came from this, now they had each other, and that was worth more than anything else he had in the store he called home.

     He felt a presence at his other side, and he glanced in that direction to find another woman looking at him with an unreadable expression.  Lacerta sat down beside him, having crossed the room in the chaos, but before she spoke Roger noticed her eyes were oriented between him and Priscilla, at their clasped hands. “It seems congratulations are in order,” she said simply, a mocking lilt to her words that was almost, though not quite, matched by her eyes.

    The two new lovers blushed at that, not certain how to respond.  Priscilla was the first to respond, meeting the lizardwoman’s eyes directly. “Every tribe has to start somewhere,” she said, shrugging her shoulders with a smile.  Roger glanced to her, not quite understanding what she meant, but Lacerta changed the subject, coughing.

     “Well, I know I owe you both an apology.  Lady Alpestria asked that I not reveal the nature of my employer until it was absolutely necessary, even to those I rely on most.  She was afraid people wouldn’t trust someone working for the Demon Queen’s coin.” Lacerta shrugged indifferently, but her eyes were evaluative, as if searching her friends’ faces for any signs of that distrust.

     She didn’t find it. “Lacy, it never concerned me who you were working for; I just knew you were protecting us.” Roger tilted his head to the side, confused. “But who is that lady, and can we trust her?  How long have you known this was going to happen?”

     “We’ve known for months that the Orders would be coming; there is something here they want very badly, much more than just iron and silver.  But we couldn’t do anything about it until they moved first, because no one would have believed us, otherwise.” Lacerta’s tone revealed her frustrations at that. “Even if they had, then we don’t know how people would have reacted.  I was afraid this would turn out to be outright war.  This forced exodus is terrible, but it’s preferable to what would happen if people tried to stay and fight.” Sighing, the lizardwoman shook her head for a moment. “As for Lady Alpestria, she’s young, but she’ll be a great leader someday.  She’s the daughter of the chief of the Demon Queen’s personal guard.”

     Priscilla whistled low under her breath. “Wouldn’t that make her the granddaughter of Beira the Ebon Knight, the Demon King’s champion?  I heard stories about her as a little girl.  They said she stood up to the Heroes in single combat!”

     Lacerta nodded, a similar respect in her eyes that was completely lost on Roger. “Lady Alpestria was the one to hire us, and she ordered us to protect the town until things could be made ready.  I don’t know entirely what she has planned, but she has asked that we help protect the caravans going to the new settlement.” She paused, hesitant to make her next request. “Priscilla, we need all the help we can get, and you’re already better than many of the girls serving in the company.  Would you be willing to sign on with us to protect the people leaving Goslar?  At the least, until they are clear of the mountain passes?”

     Priscilla glanced to Roger, who nodded to her. “I’ll be able to handle packing things at the store myself.  They’ll need your help more than I will; just be safe.”

     “We’re going, then?” she asked, cautiously. 

    Roger grimaced, his fists tightening. “I don’t have to be convinced about what the Orders are capable of.  I don’t want any of us to be in their hands, especially you two.” He glanced between them, and they both gave him matching grateful smiles.

     “Well, in that case, Priscilla, I will see you in the morning for your assignment.  Be sure to get plenty of rest.” Lacerta’s eyebrow raised sharply, and Priscilla blushed, looking away. “Roger, I’ll see about getting a cart prepared for you when you need it.”

     “Don’t worry about me; there are a lot of people who need it more,” he replied. “It will take me a while to box up my supplies and equipment, anyways.”

     Lacerta nodded to him, and then was gone.  Roger watched as she approached the mayor, who had broken away from leading the meeting to converse with a group of the aldermen while the hobgoblin bailiff took the crowd’s questions with a blank, accepting stare and frequent nods.  As he watched, Tara’s husband approached the minotaur mayor, a fragile smile on his face.  She greeted him with a broad grin, but there was something in her eyes that made Roger flinch.  From where he sat, he couldn’t see what she did precisely, but from the way Old Stu hunched over, agony painted on his face, after her hand descended below his belt and looked to grab something with stone-crushing strength, Roger could well imagine what had occurred.  Roger had heard what had occurred that morning in the town square, and it seemed Tara had been told as well, he surmised with a sympathetic wince.

     Roger and Priscilla stayed for only a while longer, realizing that their presence would add nothing to the tumult, especially since Roger had already made his mind up as to his own course.  Others seemed more hesitant to leave, though he could hardly blame them, especially those who had been born in Goslar.  Still, leaving was better than also being buried in Goslar in an early grave.  He had left his whole world behind once before, the same as Priscilla, but now when they had to do so again, they had a chance to take something important with them, and that is how he knew they would be alright wherever they ended up.

     The town’s rumor mill was running in an overheated frenzy, which is why no one noticed him walking hand-in-hand with Priscilla back to his home.  Just a day previous, that sight would have sent the town wags scurrying with light in their eyes, but now it was hardly worthy of a side glance.  That gave Roger and Priscilla a chance to enjoy that shared support without harassment, which they both greatly appreciated.  With that peace, they didn’t hurry back, strolling through the streets without any of the haste they knew they would have over the next few days. 

     The sun was setting on Goslar as they returned to his shop.  The streets were full of monsters and men meandering amongst themselves, conversations and concerns choking the usual stream of commerce to a halt, but one man in particular stood out to the lovers: a looming figure that leaned against the wall of his store, half-shaded by the angle of the falling sun, dressed in full plate armor that coated him head to toe.  Even the crowds that milled about the streets gave this stranger a wide berth, perhaps tying him to the day’s earlier events despite the obvious differences between this man and the Orders’ soldiers.  Even from a distance, Roger could tell this person had nothing to do with the Church, even when the shadows nearly hid the carvings of cavorting beasts upon his breastplate.                                   

       As they drew closer, Roger took a protective step in front of Priscilla, instinctively guarding her as they neared the stranger.  She smiled at him from behind, fully aware of how counterproductive that action was, but appreciative of it all the same.  The stranger did not seem to take notice of Roger’s defensive stance, nodding genially to the couple as they approached him. “You would be the chemist, then?”

     “That’s right,” Roger admitted. “Do you need something?” He glanced warily to the sword at the man’s waist.

    “Yes, and you’re just the man to help me with it.” The knight’s tone was polite, but held sharp laughter within it. “I have a proposition: how would you feel about a chance to help out the people of this town, and get a little vengeance on the Orders at the same time?”

     Roger glanced to Priscilla, gauging her reaction, before nodding to the other man. “That sounds good to me.  What do you have in mind?”

     “Let’s step inside, and I will tell you everything.” The knight stepped back, allowing Roger to unlock his store.  Together, the three of them entered, and closed the door on the town outside as the people of Goslar began to break down and pack up their lives under the dying sun.

Continued in “Not Alone, Chapter 8“

Author’s Note: Good evening, all, and thanks for returning to read more of my madness.  As of this chapter, we are entering what I considered to be the third arc of this story, after the three-chapter introduction and the three-chapter romantic build-up.  Now for the conflict.  My motto (alongside “Call Me Commodore” for my polyamorous tendencies with ‘shipping) is “Resolution Requires Conflict,” and so that is where we shall journey next… the next few chapters get a little darker, but remember: just like the father of the MGE, I am a fan of happy endings.

     Speaking of endings, I have actually finished writing the finale of this work as of last night.  I will continue posting at my previous pace of a chapter every other day, though that does mean I will post the last chapter… Thursday, I believe.  I am sure some of the other authors will be happy to see me stop spamming new chapters so frequently, ah heh… my apologies for that.

     Now, on to the next story.  I am immersed in my research for that purpose, greatly aided by a member of the Discord, Alpha 2 Charlie, who has provided me with a wealth of links to translations that I am currently combing through and taking notes.  I will speak more of that tale later, of course, but know it is the immediate successor to this one.

     For now, I must research.  And then, since I stayed up writing so often recently, sleep…

~Wynn Pendragon

30174 Views