BECMI Chapter 312 – Workplace Review: Negative!
My stare at this idiot Immortal Gaebrel, once a mortal scientist and engineer, was completely uncompromising on the matter of His stupidity.
“You already had an example of what your device would become. You knew that the gammathauma your no-doubt superior construction would emit would be readily detectable, meaning you had to construct it not only on this plane because of the required laws of reality, but within the emission field of the existing Core so that yours would not be detected. Thus you arranged for your dupes to settle in the active area of the Radiance, with all the horrifying complications of mutation and magical radiation exposure that would result.
“You KNEW THIS.” The wince that came forth indicated the truth of it.
“Immortals do not normally intrude on one another’s temples. Thus, the best place to conceal it would be beneath a temple to yourself, and the size requirements dictated that the temple would need to be unduly large, making it a major temple of the faith, and certain to have a large population around it, which could both breed new priests and serve as defenders of your project against mundane mortal intervention you knew you would not be allowed to suppress.
“Therefore, your terrifyingly explosive magical construct simply HAD to come into being under the major temple to you, because how else could you keep it safe? Likewise, knowing how the Shaden viewed the onus of high technology, the Doom of Darkmoor, and the Crimson Cataclysm, you dared not reveal that you were one of the arbiters and teachers of technological advancement they blamed their fate on, and so you didn’t bother to educate the Shaden on what they were making, knowing that not only would they not work on such a thing, it would likely shatter their faith and belief in you entirely.
“Instead, you distracted them with martial discipline and extra magical power in the form of blessings upon your chosen of both Divine and Radiant magicks, creating an elite class armed with Healing magic and extraordinary combative potential that would both dominate and be the dream of the Shaden, enabling you to more easily control them.
“How am I doing so far, Gabriel Encheliff?!” I spat at Him.
“That, that is very oversimplifying the case…” He began in a wounded tone.
“Your tendency to over-complicate matters to confuse the ethics and morality of your actions so that you could continue whatever you had your mind set on was noted in your personnel file for decades, Encheliff! Your inability to simplify matters in order to convince yourself of the rightness of your position has been a character flaw you haven’t bothered to correct for FOUR THOUSAND YEARS, GABRIEL ENCHELIFF!”
The mighty Empyreal Immortal was wilting under my withering stare. If He had His power, sure, He could just gaff me off as the whining of an inferior mind. He had the power, obviously He was right, right?
It just wasn’t working, now. Fucking isekai loser.
“You were useless in Darkmoor, and you continue to be useless today, Gabriel Encheliff! I do not want anything from useless beings. BE OFF WITH YOU.”
Power swirled in the air, and with a yelp, reality converged down and booted something that was no longer native to this world off from it completely.
Moreoever, He was going to have a pisser of a time materializing here for a year and a day, the way these Banishment things worked.
I had His Truename, and there wasn’t a damn thing He could do about it now.
Not even a day had gone by, and my mother, guarding/caring for the Voyager Tree down in the Sternvult, had already sent on four families to the Sidheduiche, and received expressions of interest from a dozen of her associates.
The Royal Army had also sent some troops down there to ‘tear down this invasive threat to the rule of law’, all of whom had been rendered unconscious, and whose officers had been turned into goblins. Willingness to test an Immortal’s ire had rapidly dried up, and the Shaden had been allowed to approach the tree and its caretaker without interference thereafter.
Soon enough some spies were going to attempt to be included in the immigration, and suffer some nastily appropriate fates… like being Teleported to the heart of the Bleaklands in troll territory and seeing how they fared with their duplicity.
We’d see what the royal family thought of my counter-proposal. No doubt they and their vassals, among the most elite and dangerous members of the Shaden, were desiring some revenge for me exposing their schemes and destroying their dreams and ambitions. The Shaden were already abandoning them, the military forces were ignoring them and working out their own new chain of command, bypassing those who showed favoritism to the king and starting a schism that was only going to be resolved with blood at this point… and the population was not on the side of the king.
Nor were Gaebrel’s priests, even if they were scrambling to cover their own metaphysical asses at this point.
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There was no doubt the wannabe Core was destroyed. A huge hole had been blown in the side of the Grand Temple of Gaebrel, and with Radiant energy, no less. Mother had relayed that numerous elven magi with hard eyes and twitchy Wands had gone in and verified that whatever had been in the process of being built there was now either completely gone or thoroughly obliterated, and nothing there was a danger to the Sternvult.
No, the only danger was the infiltration by the Schatten, which the royal family had also been oblivious to, and inadvertently helped by recruiting one of them as the director of their infiltration attempts of the surface elves!
Ah, the irony, infiltrated by those planning their own infiltration. Was it any wonder the nominal Shaden were turning away from the king, and loyal Shaden soldiers who had served under him for sometimes centuries were finding their loyalties very tested, indeed, as their friends and families looked at them and wondered how they could serve a king who lied to his people so thoroughly and obsessively?
If the Ershultaen wanted to rule, it was not going to be over the Shaden as a people. Given all generations of the family were involved in the massive deception, they had effectively fallen out of favor, and the elders of all families, senior spellcasters, and aye, even the Priests, had basically made the judgment that they were no longer the royal family.
Yeah, they didn’t much like me. The fact I’d given them a way out was probably ignored, and what they wanted was vengeance… something I’d be more than happy to deal back to them, but we’d see what happened.
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March blew in cold and stormy, but for three days the weather was fine, crisp, and cool, because I said it was going to be, and there was cause for celebration.
King Brucall was marrying Dani Saliaveli, a fantastically wealthy and very non-noble woman seemingly hailing from Federyn, employed by Eismoor and placed very high within it. His mother, Empress Cleossa of Delpha, was reputedly not happy with the wedding, and had not even deigned to appear for it.
This was the cause of a great deal of stress relief, as merely the security forces with her would have placed a great deal of pressure on Brucall and the entire city to submit to Delpha, which likely could have led to a great deal of violence. That he was marrying a woman who also had no claim to magic, but who could use a light-throwing sidearm with skill and flair, and was very familiar with the ‘technology’ that was starting to infiltrate everywhere in Eislas, only made her more popular with the natives who weren’t Casters themselves.
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There was a crashing outside the doors of the banquet hall, shouts were raised, and magic crackled on the other side of the doors as the meal was about to come underway.
The doors slamming open under a heavy boot was pretty loud, the faces of the nobles and VIP guests of the king and new queen of Aetla turning as four heavily-armored figures all in black strode into the place, the figures of the Royal Guards on the other side of the door stunned and gasping on the ground.
Brucall rose to his feet immediately, while Dani’s eyes narrowed at the fellow. “What is the meaning of this?” the king demanded sternly, his blue eyes flashing and his hand upon the Blade resting against his chair.
“We are here to honor the wedding of the King of Aetla to a common tramp,” a sneering voice in the trademark guttural accents of Angru echoed from within the helm. “If-”
There was a snap of needle-thin, very bright light wound about with emerald and blue spirals. It slid through the slits in the visor of the knight who was speaking and out of the back of his helm. Whatever words he was going to say were lost in the sudden stiffening of his body, and then his shuddering fall and collapse to the ground in a clatter of steel and worthless meat.
The other three armored men all froze in place, their eyes on the weapon in Queen Dani’s hands, the tip of it glowing green and held out before her, her own green eyes cold and her arm motionless.
“A tramp, is she?” King Brucall answered, his voice dangerously low. “Better, I think, that you should have come here to honor the marriage of the queen to a fickle fool and idiot noble playing at being royalty, I think,” he said, laying a hand upon the shoulder of his queen, who just smiled slightly. “Now, then, you have offered insult to us in our home, assaulted our faithful guards, and you are not our guests.” The term was very deliberate, and utterly cold. “If any of my men are dead, you will all hang very promptly.”
“A Word of Chaos was spoken out there, Your Majesty. Your guards were stunned and blinded, but they are not dead,” I whispered from where I was watching this all befall at my seat near the head of the table, representing new lands that hadn’t even been announced formally yet, but as de facto leader of the elves in the north. “The cleric who was with them has most wisely ridden the wind out of here.”
“Speak, knave. And mind you, keep it civil or more than words will be leaving your head,” Brucall uttered in disdain.
“We will face your champions on the field of honor!” the tallest of the remaining three spoke up courageously, at the least. “Let us see whose words will ring truer with steel!”
“With steel, is it?” King Brucall rebutted, lifting an aloof eyebrow. “Why-ever would I need steel to prove my words?” He glanced to the side. “Commander Briggs, Master Rantha, I trust you don’t need steel, and can resolve this matter here and now instead?”
There was a rustle of two chairs being pushed back. The intruding knights clattered as they retreated a half-step back, eyes going wide as the two people at the table got up, the one rising up, and up, head and shoulders taller than the other.
With absolutely identical motions, their fists slapped together in front of them, and something crunched. Their shoulders flexed, and they stretched their necks with loud pops and crackles that didn’t sound like bones or muscles at all.
“Three fanatic farans of the Teuthonic Order feel compelled to interrupt my meal,” Sama Rantha purred, and there was a SHING as golden claws materialized over her hands like razored gauntlets. “Fuzzy, I get the two on the right.”
Behind her, Briggs popped his knuckles, like firecrackers grinding off, as he shifted his gaze to the last man, whose sword visibly shook in his grip. “Oh, that’s fine, dear. I probably wouldn’t get there in time, anyway.”
The screams that came out of the intruders’ mouths as Sama came for them in a golden blur didn’t sound particularly fanatical or noble, but hey, they interrupted her dinner, and they got what was coming for them.