Hoplite struggled with himself, his near-constant sense of caution and suspicion having completely faded away to be replaced with an overwhelming sense of pure ease. His shoulders were slackened, at least they felt slack to him. To any onlookers, Hoplite's stance likely didn’t appear all too different from how he normally held himself. Yet even if he had looked unprofessional… Hoplite found that he could hardly bring himself to care, it wasn’t really a big deal, right?

He shook his head, visibly he realized as Lance looked up at him with a furrowed brow, wiping more dirt out of her hair.

“See what I mean? Not pollen or anything, but I heard it wasn’t magical. The Harkhall doesn’t discuss why it happens but a lot of people think that the Hall might not really know either.” She said with a smile, stepping out from behind Hoplite to approach the crowd of elves.

Hoplite would need to force himself to act as he usually did, or else he was at risk of looking like a fool. Even that thought could barely stir the flame of discipline from the dim ember it currently was. It took a little too much effort to raise his shoulders up higher, but he maintained the posture as he let out an all too audible sigh. He’d need to make himself keep the helmet on as well… who knew when another elf assassin would want to try and get a shot off on him while he was exposed?

Again, he found that possibility to be a non-issue. Hoplite was hungry, and his adium-coated bones would ensure that any primitive crossbow bolt couldn’t penetrate deeper than his skin. Even if they were poisoned, he’d just need to activate his blood filters like last time. It would be more optimal for him to simply eat and drink here, as opposed to later… right? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed a good idea. Again, it was the effect of the strange magical narcotic putting him at ease, tainting his thoughts to make him vulnerable. What if an assassin was aiming for his jugular, rather than his skull? The attack may not kill Hoplite, but he would be at risk of going Wendigo in the crowd.

Hoplite, through sheer will, kept his helmet on and his back straight, but it took far too much effort than what should have been required for such a minute task. Lance may claim that this effect might not be magic, but again, the fact that his suit's filters could not stop it meant the contrary. There was no toxin in his universe that could possibly breach his filters or immune system. This strange effect on people’s minds had to be of supernatural origin, and hearing that even the Harkhall might not know why this happened only reinforced the idea.

“Oh Lancela! Hey!” An elf man shouted from the crowd “Come, I’m sure Lolena will build the House of Fikchon to clean that up for you.” He continued, stepping out of the crowd to approach her.

He was a tall wiry elf adorned in garb made of the same material as Lance’s dress, leafy greens and oranges that clung to his frame as loosely as he held his long dark hair. His cheeks were sunken and his pitch-black eyes hung heavy, framed by dark bags that spoke of several sleepless nights. Knowing that elves needed only two hours of sleep a week to function properly, this elf must have not slept for months to develop such heavy eyelids.

“Thank you Leone, is she closeby?” Lance asked, looping her arm through Leone's as they met in the space between Hoplite and the crowd.

"Yes, she's toward the other end of the bowl, shall we go?" Leone asked as they both turned away from Hoplite, arm in arm.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Lance said with a smile “I’d rather not be covered from head to toe in filth.”

“Ah yes,” Leone said, turning his head to look directly at Hoplite “I will want to speak with you later friend, if we can find one another after the drinking begins.” He finished with a grin, turning his head back to the unorganized mass of partiers.

Hoplite could hardly bring himself to do anything as he watched Lance be absorbed into the chittering mass of elves, excitedly speaking with Leone as the two of them melded with the ever-shifting crowd. That was unfortunate… Now he had to go and look for her. The thought elicited a yawn from Hoplite, he felt too tired to go after Lance right now. Maybe he could do it later? Yes, later would do, for now, he should hold this position until he was ready to begin the mission. Hoplite considered turning on the mag locks for his armor to just take a nap. If the locks were enabled the suit would remain standing, even with Hoplite still inside it. It would also ensure that no part of the armor could be removed… It certainly sounded appealing-

He took a deep breath to help collect himself right as Michael strode up behind him, a wide smile beneath his beard.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Michael said, stopping next to Hoplite to point at the crowd “Sir, that is what a party should look like, motion, noise, all the good stuff. You wanna go get something to eat?”

“I…” Hoplite began “Private, you don’t have your mask on.” Hoplite attempted to snap, his tone sounding more akin to an annoyed groan “I gave you an order.” He finished, trailing off with a yawn.

“Sorry sir, I dropped it on the way down. Was gonna put it on when I reached the ground but then I heard that voice in my head n’ forgot.” Michael said, scratching his chin but not looking as if he had been properly reprimanded “I’ll go find it, but can I take it off to eat?”

Hoplite blinked and nodded “Yeah, sure.” Hoplite said.

‘Yeah, sure’? That wasn’t the kind of way a Hoplite should speak to a soldier under his command, it was unprofessional. Yet again Hoplite found that it was no big deal to simply let that one slip go. No one was going to care that he said a couple of unprofessional words to a subordinate, right?

“We should go and find Lance, she’s somewhere in the crowd.” Hoplite said with a lazy yet still somehow stiff gesture towards the milling mass of elves “Either now or later.”

Hey, wasn’t the crowd a bit bigger than it had been before? It certainly seemed that way, but it wasn’t, not really. It was just that the crowd was now stretching out towards Hoplite. The massive wave of bodies seemed to be coming to interact with him, based on the curious twinkle they all had in their eyes. They flooded out toward Hoplite, like a sharp-eared tsunami looming to engulf all in its path.

Normally, the mass of people coming to speak with him would have been a social nightmare that Hoplite would do anything to escape from, but under this magical-narcotic, Hoplite found himself completely at ease seeing those fascinated eyes approaching him. Michael blinked in apparent surprise as he was taken by each arm and guided into the milling crowd away from Hoplite.

Michael attempted to resist for only a brief second before the marine noticed who his kidnappers were. Two elf women, each a head shorter than the marine and both wearing skirts somehow shorter than Lance’s. The smile that split Michael’s face the instant before he too merged with the crowd indicated that the marine would not fight against those who now held him captive. So much for Michael’s ‘advisory role’. Hoplite would have to go and save Michael from whatever devious plans those girls had for him.

Hoplite almost mustered up the effort to follow but… well, Michael was a marine. He could handle himself in a situation like this and Hoplite didn’t feel like shoving his way past the horde of elves that now surrounded him. They’d get out of the way eventually, why go through the effort of knocking them around? Hoplite struggled to feel any desire to pursue Michael through the crowd, merely standing still and giving a small shrug of his shoulders when he found that he couldn’t summon up the will.

This would be incredibly frustrating had he been in control of his faculties, but all he felt now was the ease in his slackening shoulders. He hung his head back as the elves began to introduce themselves one by one, ushering him towards one of the tables with chattering glee.

…

…

…

Michael wasn’t sure if Hoplite was gonna come chasin’ after him or not, but frankly he didn’t think this situation was all that particularly dangerous. Thirty-seven could sometimes feel like an overprotective parent, rather than his superior officer. Maybe this weirdo magic-elf crap could make Hoplite loosen up a bit? Michael blinked in surprise at his sudden acceptance of this ‘magic’ stuff.

In truth, he’d just been struggling to come to terms with the fact that magic on this planet really was real. That Tuji fella just re-grew all the giblets Hoplite had blasted off with the friggin’ Magnus. What was that besides magic? That high and mighty pompous twink had been capable of magic stuff too. What had his name been? Merlin, Gerlin, Terlin.

Yeah, Terlin.

Terlin had incinerated Tuji’s body with just a look… What could Michael honestly attribute to that besides magic?

Growing up, Michael had always been taught that only Lord Jyn was capable of bending reality to his will, that no one else could. Yet here on this planet, Michael could see that was plainly not true. The wall of denial that had been built up around his heart broke beneath the waves of peace assaulting it, allowing taboo thoughts to run wild through his mind.

Michael sighed as he was led to sit in a well-crafted wooden chair; imported most likely, for it wasn’t melded with the weird root-table before him. The crowd had thankfully pulled away from the tables to allow other guests to sit down without having a rear end in their face. Already a good portion of the horde of well-dressed folks had sat down with plates stacked tall with food. They all began speaking to one another about how great night captain Muro had been, Michael catching snippets here and there about things the late watcher had accomplished.

He blinked in surprise when he heard something about three dwarf girls but Michael couldn’t hear the rest of the inappropriate tale before his attention was pulled elsewhere. Elsewhere being the two elven ladies that had seized Michael to bring him here. They both plopped down in the chairs next to him, both placing their chins in on the palms of both hands and leaning towards him with their eyes fixated purely on him. Michael did his best to keep both in sight, it was hard to not admire them both at once.

If only Nasty Nate were here to share the attention, that bastard better be alive somewhere… He turned to the one on his left first, a pretty blonde with eyes full of intent. Bright purple eyes, Michael realized. That might have unsettled him due to how inhuman, how unnatural purple was as an eye color, but the peace he felt now made him not particularly care for the cosmetics…

Or maybe they weren’t cosmetics, if what Hoplite said was true… maybe elves could just have purple eyes? If that was the case… then these elves weren’t just a strain of mutated humanity…

They were aliens.

That alone wasn’t actually a problem for Michael as a Ternan. As long as they weren’t Final Kind, they were alright with him. Plus they looked human enough… and they were cute as hell to boot, what wasn’t to like? Michael would just have to make sure the higher-ups didn’t hear about him… ‘having relations’ with the native alien population. The brass wouldn’t like that kind of thing, no matter how human they might appear.

Not that there was a ‘brass’ anymore…

The despair that might have crept in normally at that realization was absent, Michael noticed. Must have been the magical air drug floating around here. Well, since he wasn’t going to get sad about not having an empire to serve, might as well celebrate retirement by getting trashed with these elf girls. Who knew? Maybe they liked human guys, maybe elves as a whole were all cool with humanity on this world. They might even like Ternan humans… That was unless command decided that Ahkoolis was prime for drilling. If that were the case, forceful relocation or in extremes, destruction of the native alien population would be needed.

Michael winced at the macabre thought. He certainly wouldn’t be partaking in any such thing, that was for those creepy Darkwatch dudes to deal with. This was a pointless train of thought, this planet wasn’t going to get drilled, who’d give the order? Who’d bring the drills? Terna was gone. The empire Michael served was a corpse without its leader, so why should he be concerned about Terna wanting to harvest Ahkoolis for resources?

Maybe it was because Lord Jyn had never been confirmed to be deceased… The Lord of Humanity could very well still be alive, and should he ever return to take the reins, The Final Kind could be pushed back. If that were to happen and Lord Jyn decided that humanity's needs were greater than that of preserving Ahkoolis… well…

Then it was Lord Jyn’s will.

Michael almost winced at how… wrong it felt to think that here. A sudden wave of nausea came over him and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Are you alright?” The elf woman seated to his left asked “Would you like some water? We can make you an infused tea to make your guts steady.”

Michael smiled and turned his head to look at her, putting his pearly white charmers on display for her to see.

“Naw, thank you for the thought.” He said “I’m feelin’ better since I saw you.” He finished with a wink.

The elf girl gave him a sly smile, and leaned in close enough for Michael to smell her perfume. It was a flowery scent with just a hint of pine. Kinda reminded Michael of his home planet, Cera.

"Muro was a great man, you know?” She told him softly “He was the one who ended the Akan-Dari Expansion War three-hundred years ago now.”

Michael blinked in confusion. That had not been what he had expected her to say. ‘Your eyes are pretty’ or ‘I like your beard’ but definitely not praise for the deceased Muro. He supposed that he really should have been expecting that. From what Lance had said, this party was about celebrating the life Muro had led. A part of the celebration was supposed to be telling tales and sharing inside jokes about the night-captain of the watch, both with those who knew him and those who did not.

These elf girls didn’t want to flirt with him, Michael realized. They wanted to give him the scoop on Muro. As if on cue, a gentle hand reached out from behind him, gripping his beard gently and tugging on it until he was facing the completely opposite direction, toward the second elf girl. She was just as pretty and smelled just as good as her friend. She tugged his beard, bringing his face forward until they were basically nose to nose. Wasn’t the first time Michael let a girl tug him around by the beard, and he seriously doubted that it would be the last.

“You are an Outworlder, yes?” She asked him, looking deeply into his eyes.

Those purple orbs of hers matched the other girl’s… maybe they were sisters? Blonde-haired and purple-eyed with similar-looking (and outright gorgeous) faces? Yeah, they had to be siblings. Why was she asking about him being an Outworlder? Michael had thought she’d spout more stuff about Muro… and why was it that she knew, or at least suspected, that he was an Outworlder? There was some kinda angle here, but Michael couldn’t figure out what it might be.

Hoplite had told him a while ago that their nature as Outworlders was still classified to the elves, save for the Harkmother and her Hall. Including that fop Terlin fire-bitch or whatever the hell he was called. So why was this girl asking him this? Maybe someone spilled or-

“Oh I already know you are,” She said with a sly smile “The Harkmother and her hall confirmed it to everyone already. You and this… Hoplite are both Outworlders.” She continued, finally releasing his beard and leaning her elbow onto the table “Well, they confirmed that Hoplite is an Outworlder at least, they didn’t make any mention of you.”

Michael narrowed his eyes “Why’d they spill the beans on Hoplite?”

She wanted him to say for sure that he was an Outworlder, that much was clear. The question was, why? Was she just curious or was there some kinda weird elf politics at play? Best play it safe and avoid answering, who knew what would happen if he just told her outright? The peace he felt made him not really worry about the consequences of such an action, but at the same time, it let him think completely calmly and rationally.

The rational thing to do was not to answer, at least for now.

“So are purple eyes normal for elves, or is it just you two?” Michael asked, leaning away from her and turning his attention to one of the plates at the center of the table.

He grabbed it with a small smile, turning to spare a glance for the elf girl who had tugged his beard. Her lips were drawn to a fine line for a brief instant before she answered.

“Purple is a rare color for our species, but it is particular to Faewood elves only.” She told him quickly “Now, about your otherworldly nature-”

Michael stood up from his chair slowly, taking the plate and giving the elf a wink “I’m gonna go get this stacked up. I’m a hungry fella, you ladies wanna come join me?” He asked with another wink.

The two elf girls stared at one another for a long moment before they both nodded in unison.

…

…

…

Lance gave a sigh of relief as the muck from Hoplite’s fall was swept away beneath the power of Lolena’s magic. The house of Fikchon was particularly effective at helping others, just as the Pillar-God Fikchon had intended. Unlike the other two Houses of Magic, Fikchon could not be visibly seen when it was beingcast. Sure, there were spells in the houses of both Dandenleona and Kyria that simply could not be perceived, but all Fikchon spells were invisible to the naked eye.

To an outside observer, the petite black-haired elf woman next to her was just waving her hands like some kind of Akan-Dari mime. Those who were ignorant of how Fikchon worked would likely think that the Lolena, the woman waving her hands, was mad, or at least very animated while speaking. The waving of Lolena’s hands almost seemed to slide along slick surfaces in the air, with each stroke removing another chunk of dirt from Lance’s dress as if Lolena were physically wiping the muck off herself.

Lolena’s green eyes tightened a moment, looking Lance up and down with several tsk’s before she was finally well and done. By the Pillars… Lolena’s black hair had grown to reach the backs of her knees! If Lance’s cousin grew it any longer than that, Lolena may have be able to simply use her own hair as a dress, rather than the long gown of Ilum leaf she wore now. It was a gorgeous dress of purples and greens, appropriately covering her legs down to the ankles.

How Lance wished for a longer skirt like that… she just had to put off getting a new Ilum dress, one that could have been tailored to fit her much more properly than this dusty old thing. It was far too late to weep over her skirt now, Lance supposed. Really, it wasn’t all that short, especially in comparison to some of the other women Lance had seen strutting about. Buncha shameless hundred-year-old hussies, they ought to go and join the Watch, maybe then they could cover up at least a little bit of that skin.

The thought lacked any real heat, of course, the peace made sure of that.

“There you go Lancela.” Lolena said with a small grin “Just like when we were in our fifties, don’t you think?”

Lance nodded and smiled back “Oh yes, remember that one time we smashed a mud pie in Leone’s face?” Lance laughed.

She had never seen Leone turn such a violent shade of red before that day, and hadn’t since.

Lolena laughed along with Lance while Leone merely shook his head, drawing his lips to a line before saying “Got back at you both, remember that?”

Lance and Lolena both then fell silent, both pairs of green eyes staring into one another. Lance read the slightest bit of embarrassment in her cousin's eyes for only a moment before it vanished, instantly being replaced with ease.

“Buckets of cow manure do wonders for the skin, as I’m sure you both know.” Leone said with a casual shrug “Best to remember that I can always provide some more.”

Lolena gasped and stared faux horror at her brother “You are and have always been a miscreant Leone.”

“And I can turn the peaks red because of it.” Leone replied, his eyes wandering over to a pair of sharp ears on a passing elf woman.

One of the hussies in short skirts of course. Leone and Michael would likely be good friends if they ever bumped into one another tonight. A horrible thought. Two lechers on a drunken bender surrounded by all too many skirts to chase. Speaking of horrible thoughts… best get this question out of the way now.

“Is uh, Terlin here? Or any of the other members of the Harkhall?” Lance asked.

She knew that the Harkmother would likely be here somewhere at the least. Her and Muro went far back. Terlin though? If he was invited, then it would be expected for him to come, but Muro and Terlin had borderline hated one another for centuries. Terlin was also liable to simply decline any invitation, despite how taboo such a thing would be… Not that Lance expected him to have been invited by anyone. There was the possibility that he had been invited to another death-day, but who would ever want someone like Terlin there?

“Oh,” Lolena said, turning her sharp gaze from her brother to Lance “You haven’t heard?”

Lance frowned and shook her head “No? What’s happened?”

“Terlin didn’t appear at the meeting of the Hall today.” Lolena told her in a serious tone “And he didn’t send word that he would be absent beforehand.”

Lance audibly gasped, surprise was not something that could be suppressed instantly by the peace, and this was certainly surprising. Not only did Terlin never miss a Hall meeting in his thousand years of being a member, but the thought that he didn’t even send word of absence was absurd.

There was a very real chance that Terlin could be booted out of the Hall, or at least suspended for fifty years. The Harkmother simply didn’t tolerate no-shows without prior warning. Lance could hardly bring herself to disagree with such severity, after all, every Hall meeting was treated with the utmost importance. Each meeting centered around how to deal with threats to the Faewood, running the Bastion, or diverting the Akan-Dari from attempting another Expansion War.

“I hope he gets booted.” Leone said with a smirk “You know he’s had it out for our clan for centuries. Good to see him finally make a mistake.”

Lolena nodded her head with a short laugh “He’s always had it out for us Trinkits.”

Lance nodded with a long sigh “I had to see him all the time. He might not like Trinkits, but he especially hates me since I have to report to the Hall all the time. Muro always said that I was one of the best, and I consistently made top ten for the night-watchers every single year, but Terlin insists that I’m stupid and incompetent. I despise him.” Lance told them honestly, the ease she felt drawing out the truth of how she felt.

Leone nodded “You know I work as a Tree-Hunter, I only see him maybe once every twenty years, twice tops.” Leone explained, lifting a finger to the Ilum tree “Whenever I catch a rogue triffid I have to go speak with the Hall about it, and he never stops glaring at me. I’d show him what for, if I thought I could get away with it anyway.”

Lolena huffed through her nose, her brows knitting together as she spoke right after Leone “I’m one of the best Tree-Bringer’s in the Bastion, but all that oaf can do is look down at me with that thin nose of his. As if he could build the house of Fikchon anywhere near as well as I could!” She finished with a mighty harumph.

Lance nodded emphatically “You want to know something funny?” She asked her cousins, the two Trinkits leaning in close to better hear Lance’s words.

“He’s terrified of Hoplite.” She giggled “I’ve seen Terlin jump like a rabbit at the mere sight of him, but even better, I’ve seen Hoplite talk down to Terlin and get away with it!” She burst out laughing “Those stupid red eyes of his went so wide I thought they’d fall right out of his head!”

Lance’s cousins both burst out laughing, shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Hopps might be an Outworlder, but you’d think with all that pride of his that Terlin would still try to look down- sorry, look up his nose at Hoplite.” Lance continued with a grin, tilting her head back for emphasis.

For a brief moment Lance felt panic for speaking of Hoplite’s true nature, but that was washed away by both the peace, and the fact that she had been released from her oath by the Harkmother. Every elf in the Bastion knew that Hoplite was an Outworlder now, there was no need to try and keep it silent any longer. Lance still hadn’t told anyone about Michael though, save for the Harkhall.

It would be best to perhaps keep that a secret if possible, but it wasn’t like he’d be in any danger if it got out. Outworlders were the opposite of Pillar-Born in every single way, they brought with them new knowledge, tools, and great wisdom; whereas Pillar-Born were destroyers, demi-gods cursed to go mad and bring an end to the age that gave them birth.

The fact that Outworlders and Pillar-Born had appeared at the same time was strange, it had never happened before, not across all recorded history… what little history of those bygone eras remained anyhow. The only time that could have possibly occurred before now is either lost to history, or it had taken place during the age of the First Dragon…When the veil between Ahkoolis and the Outworld were horribly frayed, before the mesh had completely sealed after the Moment of Creation.

It would have had to be before the First Age, before the Pillars had been erected to keep Ahkoolis stable. However, all that remained of that Pre-Pillar age was a tale told to the world by the Pillar-God of Knowledge, Saihara, during the First Age. Thankfully it had survived the passage of time, but it was unknown if it had been changed throughout the eras. Lance would need to read up on it again, to see if there had perhaps been any hint of Outworlders and Pillar-Born present in the tale.

Was it called the Banished Tale? The Tale of the Begone Dragon?

No, she remembered it now.

The tale of the Banished Child.

Lance felt a sudden wave of nausea come over her at thinking of that old story… though she knew not why. It must have been because her stomach was still empty, that would have to be rectified post-haste.