One young, white-haired, abyssal black-eyed hunter in proper adventurer garment scurried in a hurry along a snake path amidst the heavy downpour. Dividing shoulder-high, sticky grass to his left and right as he ran about on soggy ground, Linlin kept a vigilant lookout for what may hide or lay in ambush out of sight.

Hidden behind a chilly wall of rain, his surroundings looked less menacing yet also less inviting. Linlin would have given up on his whole stash of cigars if he only could refuge and stay there until the tempest was over. The one remaining, soaked cigar was worth the exchange.

While there was a welcome lack of hail this time that made life easier, our tired hero missed food and drink nonetheless. As time was really tight, Linlin could neither stop for a second to look around nor take in the beautiful scenery hidden behind the veil of rain and fog.

If he so did, his sacrifices would've been for nought. Only when suspicion got the better of him did he slow down long enough to launch a cursory glance at varied sights of interest. Yet a closer inspection only revealed Linlin was on the right track following the signs.

Various, hard to spot marks the young Chieftain had mentioned earlier, suggested the settlement his visit was about to doom drew ever nearer. What the orc had intended as a means to stay clear of the lamias became critical intelligence and an integral part of future planning.

Neither of the two personalities had any qualms about taking advantage of goodwill. The mission was paramount and no means unacceptable to achieve it. Results were all they cared about. In case of collateral damage, well, that was other's bad luck.

Linlin had been speeding on this trail since forever and would continue to do so until he discovered the target location. The bad weather was not his friend, obstructing Linlin's perception at every fleeting step he took.

If not for his extensive knowledge as a pathfinder, he might have even missed the cosy, unassuming village built upon a slightly protruding rock and surrounded by mud and grass.

The former made off-path trekking a hellish nightmare, the latter perfectly camouflaged the assembly of snug hamlets one had trouble to distinguish frm the rest of the vegetation.

The exhausted man exhaled a stale breath of air he didn’t know he was holding, gathered what little strength resided in his screaming muscles and swerved into the high grass, one snake-infested haven for brambles, nettles, hedgerows and many poisonous vermin not-at-all amused by his sudden intrusion.

Right on time. Any later and Linlin had to alter plan E too, if not scrap Pansy's brainchild entirely. Now all Linlin had to do was wait for a little until one of [Gluttony]'s tasks neared completion to proceed with the next step.

In the meantime, he hid the heirloom knives somewhere safe as Pansy got himself occupied with repeated rehearsals. Less than an hour later, Linlin fought off his sleepiness, checked one last time that his appearance was as dirty as he intended and bore no other treacherous traits, crawled back onto the trail and resumed his mad gallop towards the village.

Granted, the man risked getting impaled by alarmed lamias or shot by archers stationed on watchtowers more than once, but his trumpeting Oscar-winning acting literally moved heaven and earth with Pansy's rehearsed nonsense as he contentedly roused, if not irritated, all who had ears.

The hysteria culminated in Linlin throwing his exhausted self into the choking embrace of a random shrieking lamia taken by obvious surprise.

Two and a half days later, in the Ancestral Hall lording over the temple area, an assemblage came together.

Only the most prestigious lamias had been invited–––source of joy and pride during normal times–––yet not so this day. The meeting had officially started already, yet only silence was exercised, the likes of which weighed heavier on the soul with each passing second.

Despite being known as a chatty race, there was no lamia who dared run her mouth for fear of falling prey to the gloomy atmosphere that mirrowed their heavy hearts.

Tense stares were exchanged, concerned grimaces shared as irritated tails lashed out every now and then. After servants were ceased out and doors locked and opened again to check for eventual eavesdroppers–––a petty excuse to fight against taut nerves–––it grew only worse.

Finally, somebody important couldn’t handle the oppressive silence any longer, tapped with her long fingers on the table, cleared her throat and spoke first. “Sisters, let me undo with traditional chatter and get straight to the pressing point.

You hardly missed the commotion sweeping up the whole village, I take. But not many of you know what shan’t be known to the rest for now: The man spoke true words.” Somebody grated her sharp fingernails audibly along the table’s lower side, which was skillfully ignored by the rest.

“Of course, there are some slight problems with his version of the truth,” she continued slowly, her concern obvious, “because it fails to add up perfectly with our own observations.

This is fine too since a perfect match is suspicious and we cannot simply go and ask an orc over there to give testimony to his words’ plausibility. Time is not on our side, sisters, and a decision must be ready by yesterday.”

Her announcement made it abundantly clear that no lamia trusted the newcomer further than they could throw him. Only after extensive observations did they bite the bullet and address the elephant in the room despite him being an untrustworthy, weak human.

Given some discrepancies in their evaluation and review, he'd have been dealt with already. Of course, the subject knew nothing about this. If they did not exercise this little bit of caution, any schemer with half a brain would've long since played the lamias to their death.

The room became noisy for a bit, as many turned to whisper their concerns into their neighbour's ears. What the shamaness confirmed through clenched teeth basically ascertained the upcoming human invasion.

Not even the seductive lamia of delicate stature beside her that was at loggerheads with her since forever was inclined to make light of the situation. Reflecting their emotional state, tails twitched even more uncontrollably, banging and lashing against the fine table in the middle. “Shamaness, is this really... true?”

Amidst the tumult, a promising young warrior could not restrain herself in time and asked innocently, her voice a nervous whisper. “…Fallen, was it?” Out of her element, the youngster had not thought about the political implications of her open questioning. “Dare doubt me?”

The old lamia stared venomously as her authority was at stake. Though more of an act on her side as she had paved the road for the girl, some sort of clash was necessary to pacify the old codgers and convince them of the truth: She'd not yet turned senile!

Regardless of berating a member of her own camp, traditions and the rights of leadership were as inviolable in her eyes as they cemented her status as leader. Not to forget, her eternal adversary wouldn’t let a chance to undermine her authority pass unused.

There was no place for feelings in politics. “N-not at all,” the young lamia cringed, overwhelmed by the equal parts gleeful parts ill-boding gazes sent her way.

“Sigh. After spilling much blood, after surviving disasters and the ancient war, you’d think humans learned their lesson. Yet mere centuries pass, and old wounds are forgotten. It seems our ancestors knew little of intimidation, leaving troublesome matters for us to solve.

Colonna, it is evident that the departed understated human greed and overstated that species’ intelligence–––why won’t you see it clearly?” And as if that wasn’t enough to make matters boil over, said adversary added gleefully, packaged in a plainly worried tone:

“The ancestors are gone, we remain. Yet here you are, obeying tradition and forever refusing to stock up funds for military expenses. I'm no warmonger, as you claim me to be. I care for safety, that's all. Where are your fearless warriors now when we need them most?

All I see are helpless masters of cosmetics! Blind obedience has limits!” As the evolving uproar across the table threatened to get out of hand, some twisted facts were further rubbed in and made Colonna lose big time.

Right or wrong assumptions aside, nobody seemed to care. As if shallow words were absolute truth, her contender’s undermining opinion riled up some neutral lamias.

This, in turn, increased the pairs of distrustful eyes cast the shamaness’ way. Even some lamias of her own faction became uneasy, their eyes flickering and thoughts unknown. “Hellen, I’m well aware you covet my seat.

But don’t forget, I’m forever the wiser and older one. And don’t use times of need to your advantage to poison our sisters’ thoughts.” There was much steel and many suppressed emotions contained in her tone as she tried to reduce the negative impact to the best of her limited capabilities.

“Oh, please. Older? Seven measly years made you suck up all of our generation’s wisdom, huh? Pah, look around. Do it and tell us to what extent your softy approach did us any good. Nobody here really knows what true war is!”

“Enough. We have more pressing problems to discuss than supposedly insufficient wartime or a lack of funds.” Colonna reserved a murderous look for her colleague in seniority, to which she got a belittling half-smile in response, one ever so wavering between contempt and ridicule.

“You have a point, unfortunately.” Yet Hellen's eyes were still filled with scorn, burning bright with the belief of someone who thought herself superior.

The shamaness snorted annoyedly. For the time being, there were really more pressing matters to allocate their attention to than a clash of leadership ideals. “Now then, good sisters.

Pray tell, do we reinforce the orcs? Or bolster up our own defences?” In its essence, it was an important question testing their inclinations on this matter, for lamias and orcs were not too well disposed towards another.

In their long history as neighbours, they had seduced, lured or simply abducted too many a promising orc youngster for mating purposes for there to be any kind of goodwill left between the neighbours.

And this shone light on the implicit problem. Given they had multiple reasons to come to their aid now, what if the orcs ogled their extended hand with suspicion, or worse still, believed it an insult to their self-esteem or an act of invasion?

Furthermore, lamias were no group of bloodthirsty warriors–––far from what, in fact, human folklore made them out to be. They were but maidens working hard on their very individual seduction skills in peace and quiet.

All for their faithful encounter one beautiful day! Therefore, today’s decision determined if the lamias left behind the weak with no proper protection and hurried to the orcs’ rescue, or if they dare turn their very homes into a brutal battlefield once the former failed.

Both choices had distinct up- and downsides, so Colonna regarded them as even. Yet it was not only her call that counted. “In the end, do we have to trust one mere human’s words? About humanity's invasion no less?”

Another influential lamia asked, confusion stemming from a possible twist of fate written on her face. “More or less,” “but… the feeble hunter who collapsed from exhaustion and starvation knows barely enough.”

“Indeed, all he did was repeat over and over how important his news is for our kind–––and while doing so, he unnecessarily riled up each and every tribeswoman.”

The shamaness didn’t know whether to be grateful to the human for the timely warning or upset about his overly clumsy attempts that did more harm than good. “Coincidence, or…?” Their mood turned sombre.

Colonna grimaced and looked straight at the speaker, the only lamia daring enough to show up wearing a thick dark green cape and glancing at her with icy eyes. Needless to mention, she was from the other faction. It was no good.

“That gives him too much credit. Besides, who introduces himself as Bhewtis-Dhghomōn, if not a friend of the orcs? Granted, his pronunciation isn't the best.” That did it. Restrained giggles answered the ridiculous fable, giggles betraying feelings of relief and assurance.

For a breif moment, war seemed far away. It finally took a slight turn for the better and Colonna had all intention riding the little emotional manipulation’s coattails. “Fallen, cease blushing and tell us your discovery.” “Ah… yes!”

The sulking lamia reacted to her words only after a timely nudge of an elbow saved her from further disgrace. “He’s calluses on his fingers too small for a sword, but just right for prolonged praxis with knives. Or an axe.

There’s poison in his body too, but I found no remains of previous detoxification attempts. He has insufficient fat reserves to have survived the Great Downpour on his own, making me wonder where he comes from.

Yes... uhh... less muscle mass than a newborn monkey yet surprisingly tough tendons and visible veins crisscrossing all over his lanky body. The strange thing is, the man’s bones are ridiculously brittle for one supposedly living in the woods and in my opinion his skin is far too fair to belong to a local hunter.

I found it troublesome rubbing off the many layers of dirt stuck to the man, though. He bled often and shuddered even more so. Maybe a good pull could tear him in two, but that's just too mean. Silky... glossy... bulgy...

Never seen one this fair and big–––ah,” the lamia going by the name of Fallen finally noticed she went considerably off-track, but it was already too late. She had to endure her sisters’ weird, knowing glances as she blushed furiously, her face red as a tomato.

“Hoo, you are so devout to this hunter you even know his size. Why don’t you… examine him closer and bring a welcome surprise to this village?” Fallen nervously ran her delicate hands through the brown-grey hair she had previously tied in a knot and pushed it back into place before she believed she had enough of a breather to contradict without sounding too offensive or subservient.

Though Hellen never planned to corner her young equal and only desired to launch another attack on the tradition-bound shamaness, Fallen took it… personal. “No way he’s my type,” her cranky hiss only led to further laughter, uplifting their complicated mood even more.

“Stop this instant.” Colonna smashed the party without hesitation, much to the dismay of her banter-loving audience that had finally found something worth gossiping over. That was also why she did it. Enough was enough…

“An exotic cock reserved for horny youngsters aside... You forget why we're here. We definitely have better things to do today than to gossip.” “Why? Because an old washboard does little with a cock?”

Her old enemy shrewdly exploited the situation by giving Colonna a nasty side blow all the while crossing her arms under her bountiful chest, skillfully underlining her assets’ superiority. How could the shamaness take this laying down?

“Funny thing somebody declared herself only 7 years younger minutes ago. Did the ears fail this old lady?” Her political opponent clicked her tongue in annoyance and hissed menacingly as she ate this small loss before deigning it more prudent to continue with the meeting.

“Salles, your scouts?” The hooded lamia took her hint and replied coolly. “I was told the pigs called back their hunters.” “...they’ll starve quickly.” Another lamia added pensively.

The shamaness soon forgot about the won verbal exchange, furrowing her slanted and thin brows as her mind wandered elsewhere. Just the response Hellen had hoped for.

Although this was no absolute confirmation, logic dictated that it had to be very serious if they recalled all tribesmen, ignoring the results of an unavoidable famine by doing so.

She was just about to continue to the voting when Hellen cut her short. “Anything else, dear?” “...it might not be connected with our problem, but there’s news about the missing Ankleton.” The room was filled with gloom and anxiety once more.

“Smaller groups have been spotted late, all dispersed from the main flock who’s nowhere to be seen. Many are injured and the numbers don’t add up for safeguarding their offspring.

Given that they live on the Fraud Hills and only return at the end of winter to the Northern Plains to deliver…” Salles went silent, yet her meaning couldn’t be clearer.

Somebody had hurt the flock deliberately, somebody with no understanding of nor care for the local ecosystem, somebody that found it convenient to cut down provision expenses for a considerable number of people.

“Short-sighted fools,” Colonna couldn’t help but swear. "Nothing to gain, so no need to look after them, huh? But it's us that need the meat. Without them, there will be only trouble. Typical human."

The Ankleton’s pilgrimage was scheduled timely at the end of winter and definitively before the Great Downpour whose arrival they used to safely deliver in peace.

The flock not showing up in high numbers–––and much too late at that–––meant empty stomachs for many beasts suffering under the rain, thus turning them mad and savage, which in turn made life difficult for all the other residents.

Colonna gazed pondering at her twitching tail. She didn’t like the thought one bit, but if the orcs were to be decimated completely, their village would be next for sure–––for human greed stacked up to doomsday come.

“They come to destroy.” Hellen snickered as she provided another timely push. “Your beloved diplomacy is useless here, it only gifts them prime merchandise.” Accompanying the timing of the shamaness’ ill gaze, the door swung gently open, and two lamias entered with a plate full of steaming tea.

After paying tribute to tradition, greeting the village’s decision-makers and eventually claiming empty cups, they silently left. Enough time passed to be sure they weren’t within range any longer, so Colonna sighed before continuing.

“Voting seems redundant.” That much was fairly obvious, as any glance into the round confirmed. “You’re the warmonger, Hellen. Take your lackeys and do us lamias proud.” More than just angry at her loss today, Colonna sounded beaten... and doubtful.

“Have you finally acknowledged my worth? Hehehe.” Hellen snickered and then continued while facing the others. “Sisters, almost three day’s past, the human came.

From Raden Village, a rested runner needs four days–––three if he is quick.” Even if some divine voice told her, she’d have never believed the weak man to run one and a half days straight without a minute of rest, thus her wrong assumption. “In short, there’s absolutely no time to lose.”

Finally, her time to shine had come. Hellen turned around and headed for the delicate door with Sally hot on her tail. “Wait.” “…yes?” Colonna knocked softly on the table, her expression playful, “let the human go. A good man shan’t suffer from your… fetish.”

“…how cruel a thing to say. What can a frail lamia such as myself do?” Much to her annoyance, the room remained silent as nobody bought into her sham. “Fine, he better go now, before he sniffs around too much.”

“Alife?” Hellen let lose an annoyed grumble, to which Colonna nodded victoriously as if saying as expected. While she’d suffered humiliation in today’s assembly, at least there was payback, if only for a bit. As for the human and his fate, Colonna couldn’t care less.

That one served her agenda more alive than dead, this time. So he had to live by all means. Only then could she be sure to sufficiently annoy Hellen and indulge in her victory.

At the end of the day, both women had some more entries added to their respective tabs, memorials of slights to their haughty egos demanding payback at a later date. If destiny so wills.

End of Part IV