Chapter 179 - The Bloodsucker and the Emissary

Timaios Pollux folded his wings as he landed atop his floating fortress. Sticking out his arms, he allowed the servants, who had been silently awaiting his return, to change his clothes to a set more suitable for the upcoming occasion. According to the standard metrics, the marquis was an average, unremarkable aristocrat. His wealth was middling among those that shared his rank. His lands were not particularly fertile, and while his domain was popular among researchers and craftsmen, it was not by any means a true centre of commerce. None of the military academies had their campuses upon his land; it was too deep in the south, too far away from the various dungeons that they required for their exercises. But as detrimental as its location appeared, it was precisely the territory’s geography that distinguished it from its competitors. Surrounded by foreign countries in three of the four cardinal directions, the state of Pollux was known for the mass import and export of goods. And while the marquis certainly did leverage this advantage by buttering up his associates with foreign gifts, it was not for his peculiar souvenirs that his name was known.

Much of his infamy was derived from his willingness to adopt the unknown. His city’s technologies had been replaced almost entirely with shiny new artifacts, and it was in his domain that the once lost craft truly flourished. A third of the country’s artificers were gathered in Tornatus, the capital of his state, and another tenth or so were spread throughout the rest of his lands. The most obvious result of their influence was his floating fortress. Though many of his peers had acquired similar vessels over the years, the marquis’ stood out as both the oldest and the newest. It was an ancient ship, the first to take to the skies, but came outfitted with the latest technologies.

While Tornatus and its skyborn castle were certainly topics that often decorated Cadrian lips, its ruler was best regarded for a completely different set of achievements. As with most other war heroes, he was praised by his colleagues for his service in times of conflict. A true Cadrian elite, the level 700 thunderhoof dreadnaught had spent the better part of 600 years fighting by Duke Augustus’ side, and he was well regarded as one of the first warlords to place his bets in Virillius’ camp.

“Welcome back, Sir. Will you be reviewing the script?”

A young cottontail just barely of age, the carrier-cum-manor’s butler-in-chief, raised the question as he presented a hexagonal stone with a countless number of key documents stored within.

“Thank you Armando, but I’ll be fine without it.”

“Are you sure?” The butler narrowed his eyes into a skeptical gaze and bent his ears at a perfect 90 degree angle. “Duke Augustus is sure to be cross with you if you accidentally steer the conversation off course.”

“That is a needless concern.”

A fresh set of formal clothes equipped, the centaurian warrior straightened his back and adjusted his tie. Some might have labeled his discoloured outfit out of place or perhaps even uncoordinated, but there was little that the man could do; purple and green were the colours that his forefathers had chosen. He would have gladly ignored their wills had they been unremarkable aristocrats, but they were fallen warriors. Their souls, preserved by Vella herself, would weep if they saw their choices disgraced by the descendant that had inherited their blood.

“Might I inquire as to the manner of business you were conducting in the city, Sire?”

The butler’s question was answered with a chuckle and a grin. “The scouts happened to spot one of Virillius’ trainees. I thought it would be worth asking her for an update.”

“I fail to see why you decided against letting our agents make contact.” The cottontail heaved a tired sigh, as one did, when tasked with serving a master such as Timaios.

Seeing his servant’s frustration only drove the old centaur to twist his thin, greying moustache into a particularly playful smile. “Perhaps not, but I was hoping to catch a breath or two of fresh air.”

“With all due respect, Sir Pollux, the barrier has been down throughout the journey. You have been exposed to nothing but fresh air.”

“I suppose, but sitting around and enjoying the wind is not quite the same as stretching my own wings.” Ignoring the venom building in the rabbit’s voice, he directed his thoughts inward and recalled the elf with whom he had just shared a conversation.

Nymphetel Blackroot lacked all the traits that centaurs found traditionally attractive. Though shapely, her ears were tiny, as was implied by her elven heritage, and her chest was non-existent. Her legs were not lengthy enough for the deed to be done in any of the standard positions, and her hair was, of all things, a disgusting honeyed blonde. But, while she certainly was not without her detriments, her face was one of undeniable beauty, sculpted by the gods themselves. Her features were perfectly feminine, and the lines of her body drew the eyes of all but the most extreme ear-fetishists. He knew of a number of unsavoury rumours regarding the state of the elf’s loins, but wanted her as a concubine regardless. The defamation likely stemmed from jealousy, and at the end of the day, the marquis cared not for the details. A hole was a hole, after all.

“Perhaps it is time to invest in becoming a steer.” For the tenth time since his patron’s return, the butler heaved a sigh. “My dear master, need I remind you that the missus is on board?”

“No worries on that front. She understands.” The marquis knew that he had spoken a bold faced lie. If his wife were to discover that he was considering a seventh concubine, she was sure to throw a fit that would end with a knife between his legs. Still, he continued to speak, as if unconcerned for the future state of his genitals. “You know what they say, it’s only natural for strong men to want to spread their seed.”

“I believe that old adage only applies to humans, Sire.”

“Perhaps I might have some human in me somewhere then. You never know, with these things.”

Armando pressed a hand to his brow and rubbed away the impending headache. “That is objectively false. Your family tree states that you are pure blooded, with half your blood from the skyrunner line, three eighths from the darkhorned li—”

To the marquis’s relief, the butler’s extremely factual explanation was cut off by a sudden shake of the castle. The carrier had docked right to Vel’khagan’s centerpiece.

“Unfortunately, dear friend, that appears to be all I have time for. We can pick this up once I’ve sorted my responsibilities.”

Checking over his attire again, the noble quickly made his escape. He trotted over to the landing platform, where he was joined by a retinue of guards. Like his latest concubine candidate, they were fresh trainees with only a year or two of service under each of their belts, but they were by far the elf’s inferior. None of them had qualified to train under the duke or inherit the styles that he taught to his disciples.

That was not to say that they were weak; they were still Cadrian knights capable of felling similarly leveled monsters in single combat, but it could not be denied that their numbers fell on the lower end of the spectrum. They lacked not only the evolved weapon mastery skills that came with the duke’s instruction, but also the ability scores derived from the associated class variants. Even their levels were lower; the average soldier was barely twice ascended and had only a class or two in the three hundreds. Level 700 warrior at the helm or not, they were a mediocre band with few merits to be praised.

Still, to those outside of their homeland, they were an impressive force. Timaios was confident that he could topple the local monarchy with no more than the thousand he had on hand. There were no aspects in Vel’khagan. The highest level fighters were the two dozen triple ascendants that constituted the Vampire Queen’s royal guard, as well as the occasional veteran adventurer that used the capital city as their base. Whatever the case, the marquis was confident that he could single-handedly best them all. It was not arrogance that drove the assessment, but rather his experience. Instinctively, he knew how well he sized up against another fighter with just the briefest of glances, and none of the warriors he had spotted from above had struck him as particularly impressive. But alas, violence and conquest were not on the menu, for such approaches went against the purpose of his mission.

By the eleven-horned king’s decree, he was to serve as a beacon of goodwill, an emissary of peace that would build in Vel’khan many of the socioeconomic structures that had fueled Cadria’s growth. His nation needed partners, and not those with powerful militaries at their behest. What they truly required was to tap into countries with larger populations so that they could peddle their goods abroad and enrapture talented scholars in the study of their mystical technologies.

The marquis himself would have preferred to go to war. He saw no reason not to fight at Virillius’ side again, to reprise his role as his flag bearer and march as one of the many elites that he commanded, but his work abroad had long become his primary duty. Vel’khan was the fourth nation he had visited in the two years that he had been re-elected the minister of foreign affairs, and for once, it was not his impetus that had spurred the visit. The driving force was instead an ask from the maritime nation’s queen—a request for military aid. Three weeks before the war began, she had asked for a force to clear out a dungeon, one that was slowly but surely approaching her capital, with powerful beasts swarming the clouds around it.

Slowly contemplating the circumstances, he stood atop the fortress’ landing platform until it carried him to ground level. The magical elevator was one of the few older parts that had yet to be replaced; it moved at only a fifth the speed of the newest model, but the marquis did not see its lack of velocity as a problem. His entire unit consisted of fliers. It was only during times of ceremony that the outdated artifact saw any use.

Though still inferior to the Cadrian royal estate, the construct before him remained an impressive sight. Half the building rested atop a foundation of sand, while the rest was located beneath the water.

A group of butlers and maids greeted him at the gate, the categorizations of which were distinguishable only because he had studied up on the local races prior to his visit. The consultant he hired was pricey, but well worth the expense. It was only following the old kelpfin’s advice that he abided by the local etiquette and walked with his front legs pulling his weight.

Offering their greetings, the servants parted like the sea to reveal a particularly well-dressed hippocampus wearing a gown made of the finest silk.

“It is an honour to be in the presence of a warrior and brilliant mind as accomplished as yourself, Lord Pollux.” Though his dress appeared to suggest that he was female, the sea horse’s smooth, baritone voice confirmed that he was a man. “I am Tyl’ick, lord of House Ray’esce and its associated county. For the duration of your visit, I shall be serving as your guide and liaison.” The count did not bow or even stand up from his wheelchair, but raised his tail, placed its tip to his chest and closed his eyes instead.

“The honour is mine, Sir Ray’esce. The tales of your battles have reached even my homeland. It is only the greatest of privileges to be greeted by the Ryllian’s most resourceful admiral.” Timaios was incapable of returning the man’s gesture with the lackluster length of his tail, so he pressed a hand to his chest instead.

“Your praise is wasted on me, Sir Pollux. I am no different from any other man of the sea,” said the grand admiral, with an amicable smile. “Apologies, I would love for us to further our discussions, but Her Majesty awaits. She is present within the audience chamber, and it would be a stain upon my bloodline’s record to keep her waiting for any longer.”

“Indeed, Sir Ray’esce. Let us be off.”

Leaving all the servants and guards in the foyer, the hippocampus and the centaur proceed by their lonesome. In a Cadrian setting, it would have fallen to the guide to busy the guest with conversation as they stepped through the wondrous castle, but the Vel’khanese demanded silence during their processions. Left to fulfill the role of the entertainer was the architecture, and fulfill its role it did. For a foreigner especially, the building was a veritable work of art.

He was made to walk the central hall, to pass its contrasting halves in tandem. On his right were courtyards, lavish gardens with pristine flowers that had no right blooming atop the sandy beach, while his left was adorned with a massive aquarium, an underwater reef rife with plant and animal life alike.

At the end of the hall sat a magnificent doorway, a portal to a throne room that took the two contrasting concepts and blended them together. The marquis could see the ocean beneath his feet, a clear blue with even its darkest parts visible to the naked eye. And so too could he see the gardens, masses of land buried in glass cases within the water, some dotting it as islands, and others submerged entirely beneath the waves. Terrariums containing distinct plants and critters from all different parts of the world.

The guide wheeled through the doorway, stopping roughly ten meters in front of an elevated platform.

“I have arrived with Marquis Pollux, Your Majesty.”

“I thank you for bringing him to me, Sir Ray’esce. You are dismissed.” A dignified voice rumbled through the chamber, one with enough weight and majesty to crush the average man underfoot.

“By your will, My Queen.”

Turning his wheelchair around, the Vel’khanese admiral nodded at the Cadrian before seeing himself out the hall.

“Welcome, Marquis Pollux. I have long awaited your arrival with bated breath.”

The sovereign addressed him as the door closed behind her military advisor. Even from beyond the veil that covered her throne, the monarch’s body cast a long, plump shadow, with her head the widest part of her frame. She was the queen of the vampires, the most prevalent bloodsucker among the continent’s royals, and the only thrice ascended of her kind. She was the heir to the Vel’khanese throne, the bloody queen of the Ryllian Sea. But to an unknowing observer, she was just a leech. A leech the size of a man.

“And so too have I waited to cast my eyes upon your beautiful form and find myself in awe. You are truly as they say, Your Majesty, dark and lustrous as the purest of obsidian”

A single glance was enough to shiver the most stalwart of knights, but not Timaios. Even knowing that she saw him as prey, he tapped his chest twice with his dominant hand before bringing it to his shoulder, as would a Vel’khanese soldier.

“Before we discuss the topic for which I have requested your presence, let us address a matter that has caught my curiosity.” It was difficult to tell with the veil between them, but the queen almost appeared to lean forward. “I have heard many tales of Cadrian diplomats such as yourself spreading technologies and other bizarre concepts far and wide.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The centaur kept his face neutral and professional, but on the inside, he was beaming. His judgement had proven correct; there was no need for the script. “I have several artifacts whose use I would like to demonstrate to you personally. I believe there will be many boons for both of our countries should these be adopted. But first, Your Majesty,” Timaios smiled, in a way that only a shrewd businessman could. “Might I interest you in the concept of a corporation?”