The Grand Catastrophe

Chapter Seven: Runes and Wine

“Hey man, where's the booze?” one of the many rune-smithes that dotted Gondo’s home asked him as he entered.

“Oh, it’s over on one of the many tables. Knock yourself out,” Gondo told him.

The other dwarve tilted his head at him with a confused expression. Why wasn't he himself partaking in the booze? It was one thing to wait until they were all there. It was another, for a dwarve at the very least, to not dive for the wine.

“What’s with that look?” Gondo asked.

“You don’t care about the wine?” he asked, and Gondo shook his head.

“Never liked the taste,” he responded, but before he could respond, Gondo shook him off, “now get to your table, the shows about to start.”

Walking off to some of his acquaintances, Gondo sighs as he thinks about what has become of his people. Sure, booze was decent, but rune-craft was such a better thing to spend your time on. It was after a second or two that he felt it, the wave of power from the undead queen.

“Everyone is here, I take it?” she asked as she came in from behind him.

He looked behind himself, and saw her tall form. She had dressed herself up in some kind of suit. It looked somewhat militaristic, with a lazy air about the whole thing. In all, it was cool looking. He smiled as her hand found itself on his shoulder.

He walked off to the side as both Aura and Shalltear walked up beside her. In her hands, Shalltear held a bottle of purple wine. Aura herself had nothing in her hands. The room that they looked down at was a wide place. The ceiling was low, the tables smaller than one would think. The walls themselves seemed a bit dull in color as well.

At least, that was what Momonga spotted. She looked down at all the dwarves. Many of them stopped what they were doing, and looked up at her. She stayed silent, save for the sound of her arms moving and the pulling of a blade from her inventory.

Shock set in first as they looked upon it. Then, outrage, finally, want as the vast majority of them got up from their seats to look at the thing up close. She was about to tell them to be silent, but Shalltear simply raised the bottle of booze, and their eyes locked onto it.

They all looked at the high level booze in awe, a lesser amount than before though. Momonga coughed into her fist, and presented the blade once again. They looked back.

The blade was black, save for the light purple runes lighting up the sides. There were fourteen of them. They were also purely decorative. They didn’t need to know that though. All that they needed to know was that they could get strong, even if it was a lie.

“Now, everyone,” she started, “what could you all tell me, to get a blade like this made? What techniques do you have to make a blade of this power?” she asked, and no one spoke up.

“I wish to see for myself. I want rune-craft to be of this level once again. I found this blade many years ago. I always wondered who had made it. Now I have an inkling. I’m not letting that get away,” she started her speech, and they hung from every word.

…

It was one thing to have the crafted weapons. It was yet another thing to have the people that crafted them. Momonga smiled as she walked out of the Runesmiths’ building. Behind her, following quickly was Aura and Shalltear. Gondo himself was also following.

Though, in truth he seemed a bit deep in mood. The meeting room behind him had rather happy dwarves, and the last shred of an idea that maybe his people wanted to stay, or some other little idea like it. He was fine with moving his craft, as he had talked about earlier.

It was another thing for it to finally start. He would leave his home. He had never even seen the surface of the world. He had never seen the sun before. It was a such strange thing to think about.

Though, Momonga herself said she had already gotten the paperwork started. She was really just pushing this onto the new logistics department that they had set up. Part of it was a stress test on top of the vassalage thing from the Empire.

Sure, it may have been in a bit of bad taste, but she did need to do it. In any case. She had things to do, such as find a good time to order her work week. She still had a lot of work to do. She just hoped that nothing strange came up.

She smiled to herself. Demiurge had spoken to her about his sheep farm, and a plan revolving around that. Maybe it would be calmer than a the full fledged war that she had nearly started? It was a hope.

…

“There’s nothing like a war in the morning to get the mind flowing,” Demiurge said to himself as he watched the demi-humans pour into the breach in the holy kingdom’s wall.

He hoped this lined up with his Goddess’s plans. After all, he couldn’t use his Yaldabaoth persona. Right now, he was using a new one. He had asked Pandora’s Actress if they had any polymorph rings. They did, and he had been allowed to use one by her.

Right now, he was basically cosplaying a genderbent version of himself. Medium sized, curling horns adorned his face. Short, black hair went to the tops of his shoulders. His, now red, glasses glinted in the sun. His tail was now a deep black instead of a light silver. The body type though was rather androgynous, save for the two mediums sized mounds on his chest, and the round rear end. He was happy with this shape.

He was a demon, to demons, gender mattered little. Angels, from what he knew, were much the same. He looked over the assembled demi-human leader and representatives. Right now, two Zern were approaching him.

They, alongside the others, were by him. Though, they were too slow, so when they got close, he grabbed the lead Zern by the shoulder and ripped the surface layer of her shoulder off. She flopped down on the ground and screamed.

Several of the other demi-humans looked uncomfortable at this. That was good, he was playing an evil demoness. It would go poorly if he was nice.

“Too slow, you were. We carry on with the plan. Go back to your tents and prepare,” he told them, his voice flowing from his throat like a siren.

Not that he was one. He just liked his female voice. That was all that it was. Nothing more, nothing less.

…