The Archbishop of Bolsur, Jaque de Marques, gazed at the hand mirror he kept within the folds of his long flowing robes. He touched his receding hairline. From an outside observer’s point of view, the supposed balding was not too bad. The front portion of his head was indeed rather like an island, though his reddish-brown locks were still as bountiful and overflowing as the seas. Yet the Archbishop can’t help but curl his thin finger around his front locks. He felt it in his soul that his great stretch of copper earth would soon become flooded and drowned in the erosion of age.

As he pulled his finger away from his locks, so too did several strands unlatch from his scalp and cling annoyingly to his finger. He cracked his knuckles and threw the mirror across his office chamber. The mirror slammed against the brick wall but did not shatter. As if possessing ire and mocking, the mirror landed in such a way that the Archbishop was able to fully make out the small patch of skin amongst his sea of hair.

He wrenched his hand away from his scalp. He instead concentrated his anger and frustration in furiously massaging his sullen cheeks.

“Ten long years. I’ve been stuck in this destitute slum for ten long years,” he moaned to himself. “Had I known that I would be sent to the badlands, I would have just taken her by force.”

He closed his eyes in remembrance of that fateful night. His hands squeezed in painful excitement. “Oh, so what if she was the daughter of the Grand Treasurer! Her firm petite butt was simply too delicious of a feast-I barely even cupped a feel! And I am an Archbishop of the Church of Aalok. I am a man of the great god, and they send me away like some common scum.”

He slammed his fist against his thigh. “Ten long years; a goddamn decade.” The Archbishop laughed bitterly. “No good women. No good booze. And not a single cent to be had. Well, soon that will all be swiftly done with. I can see the Great Capital now. The elegant shops, the shining lights and festive bells, and the women! By Aalok, the women of the Pink Peach! Such a tantalizing bunch, each without flaw, and blessed with the roundest of bottoms. Damn, I hate this province! All the women here are sticks and without any meat or curves. No matter, no matter. Soon, I will return.”

He pulled a letter from the sleeves of his robe. The letter foretold of the return of the prodigal son. It had been delivered to him a few weeks ago. Since then, he has been in a constant meandering between joyful hysteria and anxious loathing. He tossed the letter back in the recesses of his sleeves. He smiled bitterly.

“Lola, go and pick up my mirror for me,” he said, waving his hand toward the other side of the room lazily.

At first it appeared as though he had gone addled in the brain for there was no one else in his chambers. It certainly seemed that he had gone mad. He rapped his knuckles on his desk in annoyance.

“Lola,” he growled.

At his voice, a tiny light seeped into existence from the mirror like gentle smoke. From the tiny flicker of brilliance came a little yawn. It was soft but full of resilience and energy, a type of brightness and clarity which swept away all impurity and sadness like the winds of autumn.

“Is it already morning, Master,” asked the naive and soft voice. The light floated up a bit unsteadily. With a tired moan, the light blinded the world before scattering into petals of radiance. It was a fairy. Underneath the shroud of light was a winged-spirit. Perfect. Innocent. And beautiful.

The fairy’s skin was as white as birch trees. Her golden locks reached her toes like a shower of gold. And her eyes were so clear and bright, full of light and fireworks — a mischievous and jubilant light.

“It is already past noon, you damn slob.”

“Slob?” The fairy asked, flying close to the man’s eyes. She made a face full of confusion. She scowled. It was a scowl which only enhanced her puerile cuteness. “Ugh, Master. I told you not to use hard words.”

The Archbishop used one finger to flick the fairy away. “One. That was not even a difficult word. Two. Pick up my mirror and bring it to me. Three. Stop being such a damn slob.”

The fairy was close to tears. “I don’t even know what a slob is. Why is Master so mean?”

Regardless, the young fairy hovered to the mirror and brought it over with a smile.

“You dumb ditz,” he remarked as his eyes twitched seeing her smile. It wasn’t even a lopsided or mocking smile; there’s honestly no word to describe it. Her smile was like a dwindling stream floating merrily along despite its ever more destitute and desperate circumstances.

Lola tilted her head again. Her lips jutted out slightly. “I don’t know what a ditz is, but it certainly doesn’t sound nice.”

“You damn goldfish,” he muttered as he placed his mitre back onto his head. He looked into the mirror and adjusted it.

“Master, I knew you liked me deep down,” the fairy giggled. “I’m a goldfish. Goldfish. Goldfish. Hehe.”

The Archbishop scrunched up his face. Before he could utter another insult, someone knocked on his door.

He glanced at Lola. She was completely oblivious. A ditz till the end of times. With a grunt, the Archbishop shoved the mirror into the confines of his sleeves. Immediately, the fairy’s face was struck with agony as her body writhed about before disappearing into the Archbishop’s sleeves as well.

“Come in,” the Archbishop spoke. He tried to sound as imposing as he could, yet while also retaining a tone of grace and compassion. It was uncertain if he succeeded.

The door opened and an Acolyte of Dawn hurried in. She was a thin, sprightly girl. Completely unappetizing to the Archbishop despite her above average face.

“Archbishop, Archbishop,” she cried, “the young lady of the House of Tan’ae has suffered an injury.”

Jaque’s eyebrow lifted. “The House of Tan’ae, you say?”

The girl nodded quickly and nervously. “Yes, yes. The House of Tan’ae.”

“Then what is the issue?” Jaque asked.

The girl looked down for a split second before responding. “Well, Archbishop, uh, well, you sent most of the Blessed Healers to the Great Capital.”

“Ah, yes. To take their promotion examinations. Of course, of course. How could I have forgotten.”

The girl nodded a bit more. “And the others are out performing examinations on the elderly and ill.”

“I still don’t see the problem here.” The Archbishop asked with a smile.

The girl widened her eyes. “Eh!”

The Archbishop frowned, though amusement danced in his eyes.

The girl quickly looked down at her feet. “Archbishop, it’s just that, well, uh, your-” The girl fished for a word that would not offend the Archbishop. She pushed back down her own soul down her throat. She was unable to think of anything. Her mind had completely and utterly became manure. She glanced back up at the Archbishop and squeaked.

“My friendship,” Jaque suggested with a chuckle.

“Yes! Uh, your ‘friendship’ with the Antistita, well it’s simply well-known throughout the province.”

“My, how famous.”

“Yes, yes, very famous. It’s simply just that if you went, the clergy is afraid you may overstay your welcome there and neglect your other duties.”

“Even so, I do not see the issue. The House of Tan’ae wants a healer. I am a healer. Remember, as the servants of Aalok, we must extend compassion foremost; my other duties can wait.” The Archbishop responded as his smile grew ever more like the waning moon.

The man got up and grabbed his khakkhara. He swung the staff. The twelve rings adorning the staff clanged against each other, yet a clear and peaceful melody resounded. It was an unnerving melody. Perhaps because of its intense clarity and pureness, normal people were unable to withstand it.

Without another word, The Archbishop of Bulsur left. On his face was the smile of a child. A problem child, mischievous and mad.

After the door closed of its own accord, the young Acolyte collapsed onto her knees. She had soiled herself.

“I’m never going to play Poverty ever again,” the young girl cried to herself. She cursed her inability to win card games. Most vibrantly, she cursed her senior sisters who thought up this punishment.

As Jaque sauntered through the city, all the people felt a compulsion to stop all that they did and cover their heads. Under the grace of the light, the Archbishop was like the shimmer of a lake. The people felt unworthy to even glimpse at the Archbishop who rarely ventured from his parish. All knew his destination could only be the Tan’ae household.

He rarely left his chambers otherwise.

The Archbishop arrived promptly at the Tan’ae residence. He was ushered in quickly by the servants and lead to the dining hall.

“As vulgar as ever,” he remarked upon entering.

“How dare you insult the future baroness,” Aunt Elspeth said with a mouthful of food. “Off with his head I say.”

“I’m talking about you, Cow-tits. Still the only feminine thing about you, I see.”

She stopped eating. “Oi, baldy, just go fix up my young lady and scram.”

“Baldy?” He asked, as he slammed his khakkhara down. A piercing ring resounded as a storm gathered around him.

“Yeah, you deaf also?” Aunt Elspeth said as she flicked her wrists and summoned her twin serpents.

“If you two fight, I will have both of you beheaded when I become the baron’s wife.” Anise said coldly as she grabbed the bread basket from the center of the long dining table.

“Tch. Quite a brat you are,” Aunt Elspeth said as the serpents dissipated into smoke. She resumed eating.

“My, my, even after being a lady for quite some time, you are still quite the troubled child aren’t you,” Jaque remarked, swinging his staff. “Such venomous words for a child. Perhaps, I should punish you in the stead of your guardians.”

“Oi, bitch, you really want to go at it?” Aunt Elspeth cracked her knuckles.

“I am fully prepared — though, I am not quite certain you are with your milk jugs swinging about.”

“Archbishop, you came here to heal me. So heal me,” Anise commanded. “Antistita stand down.”

“Brat, you do not own me, and I do not serve you,” the priestess responded with furrowed brows. Still, Aunt Elspeth took her seat and resumed her gluttonous gorging of bread and fruit.

The Archbishop also put down his staff. And immediately a blob of ink struck his cheek. He was knocked off his feet and spun a full revolution. As soon as he landed, he kicked his staff toward the priestess. The smoke around her condensed into serpents once more and sank their fangs into the staff.

As soon as the serpents touched the khakkhara, the rings clanged together and emitted its familiar pure timbre. The vibrations rippled through the ink constructs and the serpents collapsed into mere ink once more after the sound ended.

Yet, before the ink could gather into a puddle, the Antistita had already flicked her wrist, and the ink shot forward like arrows. Jaque’s eyes flew wide open and he quickly threw forth his mirror from his robes. The mirror levitated a good distance in front of the Archbishop and formed a protective barrier of light. The arrows struck the barrier and evaporated like rain striking burnt earth.

“Are you trying to kill me,” Jaque barked.

“Yeah, yeah, are you trying to kill Master,” Lola barked as well.

Jaque pulled back the mirror with one sweep of his hand. Lola had no choice but to be flung across the room back toward the Archbishop. The spirit grasped her head as she stumbled in the air.

“Who told you that you could come out?” Jaque asked as he pinched the spirit’s wings.

“Can you just stop your circus act and heal my arm?” Anise asked as she puffed her cheeks out.

“I liked you better when you ran around crazily pulling the local gigolo’s pants down,” the Archbishop sighed.

“Yeah, that was funny,” Lola giggled.

“Well, at least that is something we can all agree on,” Aunt Elspeth nodded her head in agreement as she tore into another piece of bread.

“How did this suddenly become a recollection of my childhood?” Anise shouted as she blushed heavily.

“Your pain gives me pleasure,” the Archbishop said gleefully.

“Yeah, whatever baldy said,” Aunt Elspeth mumbled sluggishly.

The Archbishop’s eyelids twitched. “Anyhow, let me see your arm.”

Anise complied. The Archbishop signaled for Lola to begin the healing process. Jaque himself had no healing ability; only females blessed by Denana possessed that particular gift. Lola glowed brightly and a cool wind gathered around her. The sensation graced Anise’s arm and very quickly the wounds closed up without leaving any marks.

The girl gave her thanks. The Archbishop nodded and blessed her in the name of Aalok. With the official business done and over with, Jaque placed the mirror back into his sleeves. Lola gave a quick kiss on Anise’s eyebrow before disappearing. The man picked up his khakkhara.

“As much as I would love to spend more time here.”

“Please don’t.” The young lady immediately replied.

The Archbishop looked at her. He continued, “As much as I would love to squander my time here in this complacent atmosphere, I must resume my greater duties as a servant of Aalok. Now, which one of you shall see me out? Certainly not the young lady of the house. That only leaves Antistita Industria. It would only be fitting and most gracious if you were to see me off.”

The priestess stopped eating and raised her eyebrow. Without another word, she lead the Archbishop to the door.

“Something serious has happened, hasn’t it.” She asked. “Did the Great Capital send word?”

“Something like that.” He smiled. “Simply put, one may not wish to linger in this province come the near future.”

The priestess’s eyes narrowed. “What specifically?”

“My, my. How fierce,” the Archbishop exclaimed and ran his tongue over his lips.

“Don’t play with me, Jaque. What specifically?”

“To even call me Jaque, it almost makes me want to tell you. However, even if it is you Elsie, I cannot tell. Simply a conflict of interest.”

“Don’t call me Elsie, you baldy.” Aunt Elspeth muttered and opened the door.

The Archbishop bowed slightly and left.

Lola’s voice sounded in Jaque’s mind. She asked, “Why did you tell Sissie Elsie about the invasion?”

“Oh, sometimes you can be smart. Well, I can’t just let my childhood toy die. I haven't found anything more fun than teasing her yet.”

Aunt Elspeth went back to the dining hall. She sat. Her face was the prime of contemplation. She resumed chewing on her bread and fruit. Anise studied Aunt Elspeth’s face. It was not often she was in such a mood. Oftentimes, Aunt Elspeth was either drunk or hungover.

“Brat, change into your adventuring clothes. Yes, I know you’ve got adventuring clothes. Just change into them,” Aunt Elspeth spoke at last. “You’ll help me lay runes all over the city as punishment. Not today though. I need to scout the best places. You, you just need to go get your clothes.”

Without another word, the priestess left the dining halls.

Author's Note: Well, Act I is coming to a close. I honestly could have started this story a bunch chapters later than I did, but I wanted to establish the setting and characters too much. Beginner's sins, you know. Anyways, soon, things will be kicked up to 11 and Anise will begin to suffer all the typical matters that usually comes with dying and having her home occupied by murderous elves.

As the chapter title, or the lack of it, suggests, I need a name. Any suggestion is welcomed. What did you think of Jaque and Lola? I try to make every character different.

Thanks for reading