Chapter 46: Generosity

"Don't thank me."​

By your best estimates, it's another hour or two at least before Yech and Ofelia run up to you. They're both drunk. The halfling is wearing a new, utterly ridiculous hat. It's in a deep blue, matches her cloak nicely, is topped with an abundance of feathers, and is lanced with a pin in the shape of a dagger. It looks spectacular on her— complimenting her blonde curls nicely— but you're in too foul of a mood to comment on it.

"Richard! Yer not gonna' believe this— did you know that Eric here knows how to juggle knives?!"

"The dumb bitch—" ("Asshole!") "—she wouldn't believe me until I showed her! Hey— why the long face? Loosen up! Did the flowers not fucking help—"

The look you give to Yech immediately silences his teasing. He strides ahead of Ofelia, wraps an arm around your shoulder, and shoves a glass of beer into your hands. You try not to drop it. "Hey. Don't beat yourself up! I know you're fucking great at it, but, really— fucking seriously, Richard, don't just look at it—"

At this rate, I'll need to ask Agriculture and Flesh for Their forgiveness, too.

You take a few sips of the beer. The roasted malt, cream and foam is beyond welcome.

Ofelia has to run to catch up to you both, but she manages to meet your strides. She's clearly so inebriated that you can't expect her to restrain herself. Her freckles are almost entirely obscured with a flush. Her eyes are absolutely devouring you.

Suddenly, the forest canopy is a far more interesting view. The sun is shining. The trees are in bloom. You're flanked with allies, and can't help but feel a bit better already as you continue to sip at the mug that's been thrust at you. It's the same brew as the one you had earlier in the day, and you aren't about to decline welcome support from your friends. Especially not when you know you need it.

"Heey, Richard." She's practically leering at you.

Your voice cracks slightly as you hazard a look down. "Hello, Ofelia. Is that a new hat? It looks lovely."

"Thaaanks. Yer not half bad yerself— hey. What's wrong now— oh, no. You didn't—"

You nod, looking ahead towards Celegwen, and take a proper drink from the mug. It's infinitely more palatable than everything you said to her. "The flowers helped, Yech. Thank you. I can't, though— it's— this is all— it's unbecoming of me. Of my station. I— I don't know what I'm doing. This is terrible. She probably—"

"No, don't you fucking dare! No whore's going to rain on this fucking parade. You want me to drop a tree on her sorry ass? I'll kill her, Richard, you just say the word—"

"That's not funny, Yech. Thank you for the beer, by the way. She— I— I just— Mercy is it warm—?"

Ofelia punches your side, not caring to hold herself back. "Lighten up, Richard. She'll be fiiine. You think schhe'd get to be her age without a little heartbreak? You've got bigger shit to worry about! Plus, the old bitch can probably wait—"

Yech groans. "This is disgusting. You're both disgusting."

Your frown feels like its going to never leave. You don't want to look up. The dirt is much more befitting of your mood. It also doesn't hurt to keep your eyes on your feet to ensure that you don't stumble.

It was considerate of Yech to make the walk out of his domain as smooth as he has.

"You both— you both don't understand. My vows—"

"Shove it up your ass, Richard. I am sick of your fucking fixation. You need another hobby, or ten. We're talking about something else."

"He's got a point, Richard. Yer dwellin' on somethin' you can't really help, right?"

"Right. But, really— if she— if we—"

Yech pulls back from your shoulder. He seems acutely aware of how dangerous it is to knock you off balance right now, shoves you slightly, and rights you immediately. "Shut the fuck up. You're fine." His grimace is severe as he cautions, "don't make me try to say it."

"You know I wouldn't, Yech, but—"

Ofelia's blue eyes look up to you in a haze. "But nothin'. You got a job to do, right?"

"Right."

"And yer gonna do it! We got yer back, Richard. You don't gotta worry 'bout nothin'. Gwen'll be fine. It's okay if you aren't, I mean— I know you got a lot goin' on. But we're here."

Your frown abates, if only a little bit. Yech is refilling your mug with a pitcher.

How is he walking with an entire pitcher of beer?

Why am I even questioning him, at this point?

It's nice.

My friends are here. They really do care about me.

I don't care.

Yech's somehow managing to keep your mug filled, and hand on your shoulder, all the while harassing Ofelia.

He's very talented.

The beer is excellent.

It's enough to warrant not protesting as your friends encourage you to loosen up, to not worry, to focus on the present, and to give yourself some credit.

This is fine.

"No, you'rre right. Thish is fiine."

How long have we been walking for? Is that a break in the treeline? Celegwen has gotten so far ahead of us, I can scarcely see the dip in her back, or her hips—

"That's the spirit. Come on, Richard, it'sss okay. Yer a fighter!"

"No bitch is worth that much angst! Listen, let me tell you— if I had a copper for every whore that tried ruining me..."

Yech's and Ofelia's reassurance fades into a haze of warmth and comfort as you all make it out of the forest. Ahead is the incline leading out of Yech's domain. The rain is entirely absent, the stone is dry, and you all make it to the exit in record time.

Celegwen is waiting by the door with her hand over the etching she had made days prior. It's faint, but she looks satisfied. There's no trace of that pained smile as she looks to you all— seemingly relieved for you all to have caught up— until she recognizes how drunk you all are.

Ofelia hiccups, leaning against you (Ray has been dutifully helping), tipping her hat to the elf with all the grace she can muster. It isn't much. "M'lady. Forgive our *hic* delAY! We've been enjoyin' Richard's stellar companyyy."

The sorceress frowns for only a moment longer. "If I am not mistaken, three and a half days remain to complete your task, Father." Her eyes catch on you, and she smiles— albeit delicately. "We should not linger."

None of you make any indication of moving, beyond your slight swaying.

"...is everyone ready, then?"

Yech pushes past her without any apology, shoving his luggage and keg through the door. "Thought you'd never fucking ask. Come along, bitches! And Richard, you watch your step, alright? This shit is a little weird."

Right. I have somewhere to be.

You step through the door together.

The smell of grain wafts over you. A red moon leers overhead, waxing slightly from when you last looked upon the abyss. Its red glow hardly touches you all as you exit Yech's domain. A golden light seems to rise from the soil. More radiance emits from the field, and from the five small figures running straight towards Yech.

"Uncle Yech!" "Where have you been?" "You brought me flowers?"

The demon lord is almost tackled over by the minor demons. They're acting exactly like human children, and he picks one up (was that Freya?) to put her on his shoulder. His poofy sleeves are immediately crushed, but he doesn't seem to mind at all as he hands out the golden petals he picked earlier to the demons before him. "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it. Go tell Idonea I'll be sticking around for awhile, okay? I've got some business to take care of with our guest."

With a huff, he sets down the golden demon from his shoulders. The girls obediently take off into the field beyond, talking among themselves with delight.

Ofelia and Celegwen are staring. They both look to you for an explanation.

You're staring, too. Your jaw is hanging open. You absolutely don't have any precedence for this.

Yech looks back to all of you and hisses, "shut the fuck up. Don't you fucking get the wrong idea. I'll kill all of you. Fucking skin you alive if you think I'm not just out here to stretch my fucking legs. Shut up, Ofelia. Shut the fuck up."

You almost want to collapse on the soil. Your limbs feel heavy. Your head is swimming. The warm air is wonderful.

This is too much.

You've drank too much again— and though you badly want to pray, to work, to keep moving— everything is too surreal. Too calm. Too contrary to everything you thought you knew about demons, and Gods, and what your tolerance for alcohol probably should be.

There's a creak from one of the doors out in the field. Ray immediately begins growling.

"...eashy, boy."

Celegwen is the only other one sober enough to respond with any sort of urgency, and moves forward in front of you all with her staff in hand. You bristle— taking hold of your holy symbol— but your vision is hazy, and you can't quite make out the small form moving through the grain towards you all.

The elf rapidly moves ahead, rushing to meet the creature. Yech is making no indication of this being an issue or a threat, and leisurely sets up what looks to be an entire bar from his supplies. You pay him no mind, and move forward to try and discern what the danger is. Ray and Ofelia come up alongside you.

It's an impossibly small imp, no more than two feet from the tips of its horns to the bottoms of its hooves. It's carrying a package that's altogether too large for its body.

Yech calls out to you, "don't shoot the fucking messenger!"

Celegwen is tense. Ofelia somehow seems even more so, as she shoots a look up to you and drawls, "it looks like it's fer you, Richard."

The small demon hisses intently at Celegwen as she glares at the creature. It doesn't look like it's attacking, but the item it holds is blood-red, and wrapped with a pink bow. There's a golden tag on it. It almost reminds you of a present.

Your grimace at the imp is intense. You don't trust this creature as far as you can throw it.

"Itssh still a demon."

The daggers you're shooting at the creature tells it everything it needs to know. The imp sets the package down on the ground, hisses at you, turns, and runs back the way it came all before you or Ofelia can properly respond.

Yech gave me that entire pitcher of beer, didn't he?

I probably needed it.

This is fine.

Celegwen goes to give chase— but you call out to her, vaguely waving your free hand. The one that isn't holding firmly onto your holy symbol. The one with the lovely gold ring that drives a knife through your heart every time you look at it.

"Shelegwen, wait. Pleashe. Th-the item—" The spasm in your back is a little too irritating to articulate anything further, as you make your way over to where the imp was standing. It's long gone, having skittered off back towards one of the doors with extreme urgency.

I was supposed to be in a rush, wasn't I?

Ofelia— leaning hard against you— gestures as well towards the item. "Suppose you don't trust this shit neither?"

"No," you leer. Your vision sways as you try to make out the label.

The halfling plucks a long grain of wheat and promptly begins poking the package with it. "They'd have to be pretty crrrazyyy to rig *hic* somethin' here. Right?"

Celegwen sighs, doubling back after giving chase to the imp. She gently nudges you both out of the way with her staff, then gestures widely. "Please, stay back. Both of you. Sit down, before you hurt yourselves."

Ofelia pulls gently on your belt. You both practically fall to the soil.

It feels so much better to sit down. We didn't stop even once to rest, did we? I wonder if they're both as tired as I am. Celegwen certainly looks like it.

The elf dissipates something into the air before saying anything further. "Father. There was an enchantment on these items. It was not very potent, and it's safe to examine them now, but—" You lean forward as she gently sets the bundle next to you. It's still unopened. "—please, be careful."

"I think it's safe, Richard, but..."Ofelia prods the item with the handle of a dagger, before taking it from your hands. Removing a few tools from her bag, she starts working over the item without removing the wrapping.

Squinting, you manage to discern the writing on the golden label.

Music

To Father Richard Anscham

With love, Remigius​

Your eyes narrow further. There's a heart over the 'i' in the demon's name, and a golden kiss smeared along the tag. It looks like the imp smudged the paint.

Yech is whistling off to the side. He seems entirely unconcerned. Ray's growling stopped almost as soon as the imp left. Ofelia gently hands the package back to you, putting away her things. "I couldn't find shit. I think yer okay."

Your hands are shaking badly, and your palm is sore from holding onto your holy symbol for hours, but you take back the item. With no small measure of hesitation, you peel off the paper. It seems quite ordinary.

Within is a pile of extremely fine clothing. It's all exactly to your taste. Silky fabric, something that you think you've heard of from the coast is resting on top (pearls?), and it's all in black— save for a glimpse of gold buttons and some other jewelry. There's also two slips of paper nestled on top of the folded finery.

You pick up the smaller paper first, barely registering that Celegwen is doing something with her staff around your bag. As you look to the rectangular, firm note— and its red and glaring ink— your growing confusion escalates.

You are cordially invited

By REMIGIUS and COMPANY

In celebration of Idonea's courtesy and our extended hospitality

This evening as our HONORED GUEST.

This ticket will be required upon entry. Dress code will be strictly enforced.

Up to two guests may accompany you, if you so wish.

Please arrive prior to sunset.​

There's no sun down here.

You look to the other paper, and your frown intensifies. The script on the hand-written, slender slip of paper is just as bloody and intense, but the words upon it are more courteous than anything you've heard from another demon.

Father Anscham,

Enclosed are a few items for you and your friends. I am aware that you have been traveling for some time. Please accept this as a token of my hospitality.

I would hate to see you at anything other than your best.

Yours,

Remigius​

The heart over the 'i' and the myriad kisses all over the letter are revolting enough for you to immediately set down the piece of paper.

Ofelia is reading over your arm. You're so warm— and she's so light— you hadn't even noticed her. She's practically hanging off of you. You scoot aside nervously, and bump into Celegwen. She's looking down at you with a huge frown. You've never seen the elf look so revolted. "Father. A moment, please."

She's not quite looking to you, you realize. She's looking at your bag, to Yech, and to the pile of clothing in the red wrapping on your lap. You set it aside, pulling a bit further away from Ofelia. The blonde looks blissfully unaware to you both as you get up.

The abyss seems to turn sideways once again. You stagger, and barely manage to right yourself.

Celegwen mercifully steps back, avoiding you grasping at her for something to hold on to. Her voice is a whisper. "Father. Are you alright?"

"I'm not entirely shure." Straightening upright, smoothing out your hair, and adjusting your shirt as it rides up is almost more than you can manage.

"This demon— this 'Remigius'— their lair has a sun. We are pressed for time, Father, and—" She's looking to Yech again.

Her breath is warm, and soft, and right against your ear as she leans in, and continues to whisper. The flush in your face somehow deepens even further.

Why does she sound so upset?

"—I understand that you do not wish for me to question your decisions. I do not mean any disrespect. This demon, though—"

Her voice is scarcely audible. It's furious.

What is she so afraid of?

"His sorcery is incredibly potent. I could not dissipate the enchantment on your supplies. I am unfamiliar with the mechanism, but it is a form of conjuration. I do not believe it is permanent, but the duration of its effects seem to be quite long. I—"

You can't listen to any more of this, remove your bag, and set it to the (soft, tilting, altogether distant) floor. You can't stand any dishonesty. Not from yourself, and not from your friends.

Just as you're about to ask Celegwen to speak up, Yech peeks his ridiculously adorned head up from the bar. It's a proper bar— somehow erected in the middle of the field— and is complete with the keg and an assortment of very fine glasses.

His nasally voice interjects Celegwen's whispering with a yell. "Hey. Bitch! Why don't you keep your snooty little nose to yourself?! You got a problem, you say it to my fucking face, alright!"

The sorceress does something you previously thought impossible.

She loses her temper.

The elf sweeps up your bag from the floor with one hand, and points her staff with the other straight at the demon as she walks briskly across the field. "You will not touch him again."

"I'd like to see you try and fucking stop me!"

Mercy, no. Not now. I'm not equipped for this.

There's a vague pain behind your eyes. It's very hard to tell through the liquor, but a budding headache is likely there.

"Explain yourself!"

"Make me, slut! See if I fucking care."

Ofelia seems to have fallen asleep against the soil. Ray looks up to you— oblivious to the situation— but intensely aware of your immediate distress. The minor demons are nowhere in sight.

You're young, possibly more than a little naive, and horrifically drunk— but you're far from stupid. It's one thing for your friends to banter with each other, but Celegwen looks as if she actually intends to harm Yech. You rush forward. "C-calm down! Both of you!"

A pair of narrowed eye sockets and a set of silver eyes both snap to you as you stumble between the two of them. The counter of the bar is as fine a place as any to lean against. It's a natural barrier between the two figures, who both sound as if they were about to cast something at one another. You try to keep the room from spinning— holding onto the hardwood before you— and close your eyes for only a moment.

When you open them again, Yech has cut his incantation short first. He's glaring at the elf once again. "Say one more fucking word and I'll lift your skin off your pretty little skull."

Celegwen is not stopping. You hate that it's necessary, but you reach out and put a hand to her shoulder, and another on her staff. She immediately stops the stream of words and starlight, glaring at you intensely for only a second before realizing that you're directly in the line of fire. With horror written all over her face, she pulls back so hard that you lose your balance again.

A skeletal hand grabs the back of your shirt, propping you upright. The demon lord makes an exaggerated groan, and (effortlessly) rights you back on your feet. "Easy! For fuck's sake, you cunt, you're going to get us all killed at this rate—"

"Not another word, demon. I will not tolerate your continued abuse. If you refuse to explain yourself—"

"Look—" Already exasperated, you clutch your holy symbol to your chest, and your other hand to the counter. "—we know. Yech ish reaaally sshtrong. I don't sshee what the problem ish here, If he isn't interfering with anything w-we're going into."

Yech pats you on your shoulder. "Appreciate it, bud."

"You are drunk, Father. You are drunk, Ofelia is unconscious, and you clearly do not recognize the danger you are in." Her gaze snaps to Yech, as he somehow manages to sneer.

"Shove it up your ass! I'm trying to give you sorry sacks of shit a hand, and this is the fucking thanks I get?!"

"Your help—" Celegwen is poking your side again. You want to bat her hand away, and snap at her to not touch you, but it's bringing your attention to something. "—is not wanted here."

Your stomach hasn't gone done since yesterday. It's obviously not just bloat from the vast quantity of food, and wine, and beer, and everything else you've taken in. It's protruding in a way that is altogether not indicative of only two days of binging.

"This bitch is suffocating, Richard, you don't need to tolerate—"

"He is not tolerating anything. I appear to be the only person capable of genuinely helping him—"

Something very ugly in the demon lord snaps.

"My fucking CATALYST was my mother fucking GENEROSITY you stupid WHORE. He would have fucking DIED if I hadn't stepped in! Did you not fucking see him?!"

He said repeatedly that you didn't look that bad when you met him, but you're far from surprised. You'd prefer to actually discuss this, write a few things down, reflect awhile, vomit, and maybe have a seat for several hours— but the world is tilting, and your headache is rapidly escalating. You raise a hand up, trying to quiet them both down. "Please, jussst... both of you, c-calm down." The pain behind your temples is growing by the second. "I do NOT need thish right now." Though even the faint golden light of the field before you is beginning to sear, you look up to Celegwen. Your discomfort must be obvious, as her expression immediately turns from fury to genuine concern. "We need to focussh, and start going to th-this Remigiussh right away. Before it'sh too late."

"Are you not concerned, at all, then—"

"We don't have time for thish." You don't even dignify the laugh that comes from Yech as you cut her off. You'd rather stress to her that you still have something of a head on your shoulders. "Agriculshure has been wearing on m-me for yearsh, Shelegwen. I will be f-fine."

She gives you a look full of doubt. You can't stand it, and glance back to the skeleton lord instead. "Thish is temporary, right Yech?"

"For fuck's sake, yes! I tried to tell you, I needed to give Rem a hand! And you need to fucking loosen up, both of you— unbelievable— the upright whore can easily fucking see that I'm not cursing you—"

"Why is thish for Rem?"

"You're all too fucking uptight, Richard. You'd kill the slut on sight if I didn't take a few precautions, okay?"

He's shielding another demon from me?

The hurt in your voice is impossible to conceal. "I thought you trussted me, Yech."

"I do, you don't need to get all fucking worked up. I gotta do something for myself too, though. I'm still a fucking demon, Richard. I gotta give a little. You know I can't fucking talk about it. Leave me the fuck alone, go to your damn party. I'll be here."

Celegwen shoves your bag back at you. Concern and fury on her face is still evident as she storms off towards Ofelia. With a swift motion, she picks up the sleeping halfling and props her up on her back.

Yech hollers after her, as she sets off towards what you can only assume to be Remigius' door. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out! Fucking cunt."

The ticket, pile of clothing, and jewelry is still lying in the field. The sudden motion of glancing between the gifts and Yech is enough to send your head reeling again.

When did Ray get over here...?

Your dog is looking up to you, whining, and leans against you for support. You give him a slight pat on his side, and put your other hand to your temples. Mounting pain blurs your vision for a moment.

Yech slides something across his makeshift bar to you. Apology is written all over his face. "Look— I— I'm terrible with women. Most people, actually— but that's besides the fucking point. You're going to be late. I might have fucked up. I really don't know how to restrain myself, Richard."

There's a very clear drink glaring at you. It's bubbling so much that the fizz is dancing over the top of the glass. A little black parasol and a piece of some citrus might have been placed on the rim to make it more appealing. It smells strongly of something medicinal. You're experienced enough with herbal remedies to recognize it from a distance.

The trouble is, you're so full that you can't imagine drinking anything else.

Yech looks to you earnestly. "It'll help. Rem will literally kill me if I keep you from seeing him. Just take the damn thing for the road if you have to, okay? The bitch will get over herself. You should probably get going."

This isn't anything I didn't already know. Yech's been trying to help me from the first opportunity he could take.

With a grimace, you sweep off the glass before you from the table, and knock it back. The herbs and salts are an old remedy (usually) used for acute pain. The warm citrus does compliment the herbs, you recognize it all immediately, and want to enjoy it— but your gut is stretched far past a comfortable limit. You lean over the bar, trying to keep everything down.

A fair bit of the haze seems to clear. The pain in your temples recedes, and you almost sound like yourself again. Either the drink was so bitter that it sobered you up, or he laced it with something else as well. "Mercy. W-we'll talk about this later, Yech."

He pats you on the shoulder again. "Yeah. Don't take any shit from Rem, alright? I know you're Idonea's bitch right now, but you really need to assert yourself. That slut will walk all over you. Don't stop at saying 'no,' and I fucking mean it. Not that I want you to go messing things up— ah, fuck it! You'll be fine. Forget I said anything. Get out of here."

You can't help but get a sinking feeling that this is all a terrible idea.

Ray whines, looking up to you with more distress than usual. His fur is a little mangy. The scars on his face and side are evident even with a quick glance. His loyalty has been unwavering, but recurring guilt from bringing him into the ruins cuts you deeply.

Am I seriously dragging him into another demon's lair when he's entirely safe here?

I would have died ten times over were it not for his companionship.

He doesn't know what's happening, or how much danger I could be going into.

I doubt I could protect him right now, if it came down to it.

"Yech— will you look after Ray for me?"

The mastiff peeks his ears up at his name, nuzzling the side of your leg as you kneel down.

Yech's ridiculous hat peeks out over the edge of the bar as he leans over, drawling at you. "What's the matter, Richard? You realizing you got some other fucking friends? Feeling a little shitty for dragging a mutt with you to—"

"Good boy, Ray. Ray, you know Yech. He's been helping us, right?" You put a hand gently under his chin, gesturing firmly to the demon lord. "He's safe, Ray. Safe. Listen, Ray. Stay, boy. I'll be back. I'll be back, okay?"

Though he's obediently staying put, your boy is obviously worried sick. He's already whining and giving you puppy dog eyes. Celegwen seems to be long gone. Ofelia's stupid hat is bobbing over the top of the grain as the women obviously wait near Remigius' door.

I really don't have time for this.

You look to Yech— unintentionally giving him the same puppy dog eyes that Ray is directing at you.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me— FINE— fine, Richard, fine, go have some fucking fun, I'll look after him. Just go. Just fucking go."

The demon lord's curses and murmurings seem to die down as you turn to leave. You quickly grab the clothing, jewelry and papers lying on the floor. You aren't quite sure what to do with it all, and settle on placing the items gently in your bag. A glance is made over shoulder to call back to Yech and Ray. "I'll see you soon!"

Yech seems to be conjuring something akin to an actual steak for your dog. You almost want to smile seeing them together, and you move as quickly as you're able to catch up to your other friends.

Celegwen looks exhausted, but she waited for you. Ofelia is still unconscious, snores lightly, and murmurs something about men and juggling knives. Beside her is a painted, wooden, and blood-red door. There's expletives carved into it, along with extremely crude depictions of sex and violence. It immediately elicits a "Mercy," and a quick gesture to the Goddess.

The elf seems mildly bothered by your gesture. "Are you sure you're alright, Father? Where's Ray?"

"I'm far better than before." You're still a lot more sluggish than you'd prefer, but it's a marked improvement from barely being able to stand. "Ray's staying behind. He deserves the rest. I wish you would give Yech some credit— but we can talk while we walk. I— I didn't mean to waste so much time."

It seems that the urgency of your invitation has either silenced Celegwen's complaints, or she's merely too angry from her argument to properly respond. With a nod, the sorceress readjusts Ofelia on her shoulders, and opens the bloodied wood before you.

You step through the door together.