“And that’s all we can recount about the fifth age, the sixth age, also known as Setux, has a more intact history than that of any other age.” The wizened old elf told Hoplite as his helmeted head hung low over the root table.

They had laid out several plates on the table before Hoplite, each stacked tall with different cuts of meat, every berry he could think of, and all kinds of wine… he had never tasted wine before in his life. He knew it was… was it alcoholic? Hoplite had never been allowed to drink any kind of alcoholic beverage, so his knowledge of such things was… limited.

The old elf man seated next to him had to be older than the Harkmother or even Theopalu, for he was well wrinkled and bent at the back, with a long scraggly white beard that practically hung over his knees. The elf was wearing a dusty gray robe as opposed to an Ilum leaf outfit. It matched his professed occupation as ‘lore-keeper’. This old elf, Mangwin was his name, had been insistent on coming to speak of Ahkoolis to the new Outworlder. Mangwin had gone unchallenged by the surrounding elves for hours now, all the way up until the sun had finally set.

Hoplite welcomed the old elf’s attention, after all, when Mangwin had come to speak with Hoplite, the other elves bothering him had all backed off to let them speak. From there Mangwin had led a tired Hoplite to this table, toward the center of the crowd. Hoplite had opted to simply fall to his knees next to one of the chairs, as his great weight would have been far too much for the feeble wood to bear.

Listening to Mangwin speak was interesting, he was a goldmine for intel on Ahkoolis, but oh how heavy Hoplite’s eyes were… and how calming Mangwin’s aged voice was. Fighting to stay awake had proven to be a difficult battle, but the rewards of intel was well worth the effort.

“In the sixth age, Ahkoolis was ruled over by a dwarven civilization known as the Romai.” Mangwin continued “We know that they ruled over the other races with an iron fist, and that their rulers were immortal. These rulers were known as ‘The Ten’ and there is evidence to suggest that these Ten had been afflicted with an advanced form of vampirism, as several preserved Romai corpses have been found to possess sharp fangs; something non-standard for dwarven skeletons from any other age. These Romai tombs seemed to have been reserved for only the highest ranking in Romai society… the more lavish the tomb, the higher chance of a vampiric skeleton.” Mangwin said, stroking his long beard as he leaned a little closer to Hoplite’s helmet “Are you awake?”

Hoplite hesitated before answering “Affirmative.”

Mangwin nodded, knitting his brows together before wetting his lips “That was the last anyone has seen a pure-blooded dwarf, vampiric or not. The modern-day dwarves you see now are the result of their diminished population interbreeding with humans at the beginning of the seventh age, which is why they are both larger and shorter-lived than they used to be.”

Vampire dwarves? That sounded preposterous, absolutely unthinkable, and outright stupid-

“Every bit of intel is potentially important, never write off information that seems superfluous at a glance.” The voice of Commander echoed from the past.

Hoplite cursed himself for having not followed that advice as well as he should have when he had first landed on Ahkoolis.

Vampire dwarves from four ages ago didn’t seem all too important true… but Commander would have kept it in mind just in case. After all, what if something relevant to these alleged vampire dwarves came up in the future? Hoplite should learn all he could about these sixth-age Romai from Mangwin, if not to help engross himself in Ahkoolis’s history, then to keep away the flocks of elves with their annoying questions for longer.

“You said there aren’t any more pure-blooded dwarves left?” Hoplite asked “Was this because their population was targeted specifically by the Pillar-Born who was about to ascend in that age?”

Mangwin smiled at Hoplite, much like a tutor to a favored student before answering “Yes, that’s exactly right.” Mangwin confirmed, wetting his lips again “Oros, the now Pillar-God of Justice, in his madness, committed genocide against the Romai civilization for all the wrongs they had committed against not only him, but the rest of the world.”

Hoplite knitted his brow and shook his head “How is it justice to genocide an entire race? You said Oros ascended to be the God of Justice, but genocide isn’t selective. Oros would have slaughtered non-combatants to decimate a population in such a way.” Hoplite said, the tiredness in his voice barely suppressed.

In his mind, condemning dwarven genocide seemed almost like hypocrisy. After all, Terna had wiped out entire species of aliens for the resources their planets possessed. Hardly justice certainly, but the needs of mankind were ever-growing. Many soldiers seemed to think that Hoplite’s served Terna in this way… Yet that was far from the truth. Hoplites had never been made for such a task. A Hoplite took many roles in the Eighth Arm, true, but they were always used for more important operations than planet clearing.

Genocide was the job of the Third Arm… also known as Darkwatch.

Mangwin knitted his brows as his frown deepened “Indeed… Oros’s sense of justice had been completely twisted by his madness. Throughout his life, the Romai had oppressed not only your kind, the humans, but every other race on Ahkoolis. In his diminished mental state, it is theorized that Oros had believed himself to be doing right by the world. Only by exterminating the Romai could Ahkoolis finally be free of them… which he did to great effect.” Mangwin said, running fingers through his long beard.

Hoplite stared at the long drape of hair hanging off Mangwin’s face for a moment. No other elf he had seen had any kind of facial hair… Could it be possible that Mangwin possessed some dwarven heritage? He was a tad on the shorter end… but wait, why was Hoplite so curious about this? Perhaps it tied into what Mangwin had said earlier about the dwarves intermixing with humans… but there were other races that existed, why not interbreed with elves as well? Were dwarves only capable of reproducing with human beings?

“Do. Not. Ask. About. Sex.” He remembered Lance’s words.

Hoplite would not ask about sex, he would wait until the party was over. For now, he had another question in mind, one about the Pillar-Born.

“What makes Pillar-Born go insane?” Hoplite asked “Physically they seem beyond healthy.”

Mangwin paused a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts before taking a deep breath.

“The power of their divine blood grows as they perform greater and greater feats. This divinity, however, has a drawback. Blood from the mortal and the divine conflict, and while enhances their bodies, it slowly degrades their mental well-being. It always ends the same way, assuming the Pillar-Born survives to reach apotheosis. Once the Godling reaches their apex, the very brink of godhood, they are always taken by what is known as the ‘Madness of Ascension’.” Mangwin explained “The mixed blood of mortal and god is at constant war with one another, but naturally, their divine halves always prevail over their mortality, thus triggering ascension to a Pillar.”

The elves standing around Hoplite and Mangwin seemed to grow somewhat irate as Mangwin wet his lips. They glared at the elder with narrowed eyes, as if to say ‘you’ve had your time with him, let us have a turn!’. Mangwin took notice of this, and rolled his eyes, shaking his head and running a hand through his long beard.

“I fear that they wish me gone, the peace dulls slowly as the night goes on, so their patience is now beginning to show some cracks, do you feel it Hoplite?” Mangwin asked “The dulling of the peace?”

Hoplite simply shook his head. He might have felt just a tad less lazy, but otherwise, his instincts only screamed at him to sleep or eat.

“We may take a break if you wish, you seem tired. I’m sure you could get away with a short snooze.” Mangwin told him, the words sounding like pure honey to his ears.

A nap sounded wonderful, shut off the noise receptors to his suit and just… pass out. But then he’d lose out on potentially crucial intel. Just a couple more questions… then he would take a quick rest.

“Why aren’t there more gods?” He asked, Mangwin giving a pleased smile as Hoplite continued in a drowsy tone “There’ve been nine ages before this one, but you say that there are twelve Pillar-Gods. You said earlier that there are always about two-hundred Pillar-Born at the end of each age, shouldn’t there be more gods than just twelve?”

Of course Hoplite assumed that not every Pillar-Born could survive to ascension, but surely there should have been more than just twelve.

“Only one.” Mangwin said, lifting a finger “There can only be one that can ascend at the end of the age, only when all other contenders are slain can one rise to the Pillars. The contest up until the apotheosis is destructive, yes, a Godling War tears Ahkoolis asunder… but the ascension itself is what brings an end to the age that gave a Pillar-Born life.”

“So why are there twelve, and not nine?” Hoplite asked.

“The first three Pillar-Gods created Ahkoolis, they never participated in the contest to become deities, they simply were.” Mangwin answered “The first age came to an end when the Pillar-Born appeared… and every age has followed suit. When demi-gods are born, it is a sign of the end-times.”

“So Pillar-Born only appear when it's the end of an era.” Hoplite said with a nod, his eyes slowly beginning to shut as he spoke.

Hoplite then stood from his seat, the surrounding elves staring at him hopefully, likely waiting for him to turn around to greet them. Hoplite engaged the maglocks to his armor and went limp, the Phalanx suit not budging an inch from its standing position. To outside observers, Hoplite looked to be standing tall before the table… but in truth, he was getting ready to take a nap. He was too tired to stay awake now… Mangwin’s voice was simply too relaxing to bear, even over the noise of the surrounding party.

Mangwin lifted an eyebrow but continued “...Yes, meaning that this is the end of Decuma.” He said after a short pause “But I have hope now… after all, no mortal, Outworlder or no, has ever slain a Pillar-Born. Perhaps you…” He paused, just as Hoplite’s eyes fully shut “Perhaps you can save us, Hoplite.”

…

…

…

Michael laughed as he chugged back another glass of wine, that happy head feel growing ever heavier as the dizzy water sat warmly in his stomach. Only one of the two elf girls remained from the pair that had essentially kidnapped him earlier. They had been at it for a few hours, following Michael around the party to different tables, with both gradually looking more irritated as they went. Michael knew why they were mad, after all, he still hadn’t confirmed or denied that he was an Outworlder. He breathed in the cool night air, relieved that the elves had seen fit to keep the party lit with floating blue orbs of light.

Those orbs kept the looming darkness of night at bay, well away from Michael. With how at ease he was, that darkness surrounding the root bowl seemed less threatening, like a small spider you’d find outside. No real point in squishin’ a spider if it was outdoors right? No point stressin’ over darkness if it wasn’t bothering him. Michael found a chair before the root table, plopping down in it with a drunken giggle before grabbing a plate and slapping a still-steaming steak atop it.

If only Nasty Nate were here to party with him… Michael again found himself hoping that somehow, Nathan had survived. He knew deep down though that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, it never ended well when he did.

“Michael,” The elf girl asked, leaning atop a nearby root table, right next to a gigantic pile of leaves.

Summer Ilum leaves, relatively small ones that had fallen from the great tree ever-looming overhead. Apparently, they made for great appetizers on their own, but Michael wouldn’t be munching on raw leaves anytime soon. He wasn’t no damn dinosaur. The meat they had laying around on the tables had been just fine, a good steak or five did wonders for an empty gut, why waste time on leaves?

The elf girl cleared her throat loudly, staring with an irritated intensity that made Michael somewhat nervous. She locked eyes with Michael, twirling the wine in her glass before continuing.

“What is your world like? Did you and Hoplite know each other before he arrived on Ahkoolis?” She asked, leaning ever so slightly closer to Michael while maintaining that almost-glare.

Crazy chick didn’t even blink as she mad dogged Michael, and that was when he remembered.

Elves could read your mind or some crap. Wait, not minds, emotions. It required eye contact though from what he could remember, so he not-so-subtly looked to his armored feet.

“Man, I’ll tell ya what, that wine went straight to my head.” Michael told her “Real good stuff, sure Muro would have loved it.”

Michael thought he heard a small irritated huff from her. He had already been well-informed about Muro from the other elf girl that had been with them before she had vanished into the crowd. He had no idea why the second girl had left… Maybe she was going to go look for Lance? Michael wasn’t sure if Lance would spill the beans on him, but if this milling crowd was anything to go by, it would be like finding a needle in a very large shifting haystack.

“He would have.” She said simply “You and Hoplite must have gone through much together ever since you both landed in our forest?”

Michael lifted a brow, looking back up into her eyes to show her the confusion he felt. She seemed taken aback for a moment as she read his eyes. She didn’t know that Michael and Hoplite had crashed separately… Maybe the confusion on display in his eyes could help dissuade the elf from interrogating him any further. Michael stood, and leaned in closer, looming over her with a frown. If the surrounding crowd of elves took offense at their sudden closeness, they did not show it. Indeed they seemed well into the drink at this point, laughing and shoving one another or eating and singing; sometimes all of these things at once.

“Why are you bothering me so much?” Michael asked “You got something to gain?”

“That’s none of your business.” She huffed, turning her head away from him.

Michael grinned “And where I come from is none of yours hun.” He told her in a calm tone.

A sound like that of an almost suppressed growl emanated from her throat, and Michael couldn’t help but snicker at her frustration. The peace he had felt seemed to have faded just a tad as the night had carried on… maybe that was why she was getting irritated. Her patience had to be wearing thin after the runaround Michael had been giving her.

“I…” She began slowly after taking another small sip of wine “I just want to know.”

“Why did you try giving me that crap about the Harkmommy telling you already then? Whaddya got to gain from knowing? You gonna harvest my organs or somethin’?” Michael asked, causing her to gasp in shock, blue eyes going wide “I guess the allure of uh… ‘otherworldly’ guts gotta attract some weirdos, they’d probably pay ya real well. I get it, get me drunk, lead me away from the party with some eye-battin’, harvest my organs. Well, it’s not the first time someone’s tried, but you’re by far the worst at it.”

The wine glass shattered in her hand, wine spilling down her hand and forearm as a vein popped on her forehead “I don’t want to do any such thing!” She spat, drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd “Just forget it.” She finished, casting the wine glass to the dirt and turning from him sharply.

Some of the crimson that dribbled down to the dark soil from her hand wasn’t just wine...

Michael grabbed her hand, eliciting a shocked cry from her before he pulled her back to him, lifting her hand to his face to inspect her palm. She struggled to pull away from Michael but his grip was iron.

“Quit.” Michael told her flatly “You got a shard stuck in your hand, here, sit down.”

She sputtered almost unintelligibly as he leaned over her hand, the surrounding crowd now still around the two of them. Michael heard some confused muttering from the observers, maybe at first they thought he was being aggressive… but seeing him scrutinize her now clearly bleeding hand likely stopped anyone from coming to pull Michael away.

“Alrighty, gotta pull it out right quick.” Michael told her, her face going pale as she located the shard in the center of her palm “Calm down, just a small piece. What's your name?” Michael asked her.

She blinked, looking up from the shard of glass in her hand which was most certainly not a small piece. In truth, that was what Michael had wanted her to do, no point in her starin’ at it after all, and he really didn’t know her name.

“Lena…” She said quietly, keeping her eyes firmly above her hand.

With that, he ripped out the glass shard, tossing it onto the table as Lena gave a small cry of pain. Without a word, Michael grabbed one of the pitchers from the table. After confirming that it was indeed water and not wine, began pouring it onto the wound. She drew breath in sharply through her teeth, the water rinsing off the wound. After that was done, he set the pitcher back on the table and reached into his tac pouch.

After a bit of digging, he pulled out a bandage roll and some cotton. He wasn’t a medic, but he knew that it was alright to pack an open wound as long as it wasn’t on the torso. Michael heard the partygoers go on about their revelry as Michael finished wrapping up the bandage around Lena’s hand, putting what was left of the roll back into his pouch with a smile.

“Good as new, don’t go squishing glass. The hell were ya thinking?” Michael asked “I was just jokin’ bout’ harvesting my organs.”

Lena lightly squeezed her hand, her frown deepening as she refused to meet his gaze “Thank you, I apologize for the inconvenience.” She said after a moment “But you angered me greatly.”

“Look Lena,” Michael said in a slurring voice “Ya gotta quit bein’ shady about getting what you want.”

She frowned, staring deeply into his eyes a moment before looking away “We need an Outworlders blood.” Lena said quietly “Me and my sister study the bodies formed from Zodd’s blood.… we have intrinsic knowledge of most races' biologies, including humans, but no one has ever studied Outworlder biology before. Really, the blood was just the first thing we were going to ask for, we want to do a full physical exam, take some hair, toenails, boogers, whatever.”

Michael frowned, leaning back in his chair as he stared deep into Lena’s eyes. He may not have been able to read emotions, but he could tell that she was dead serious. Did they have some kinda magic microscope or something? What was the purpose of this? Were they gonna make Michael clones? There was only room for one space dumbass on Ahkoolis, Michael didn’t want any more of himself running around.

Unless this was just purely for education… and she did say ‘full examination’. What did that entail exactly? He stroked his beard a moment, biting his cheek as he thought. What would be so wrong with letting some elven cuties play nurse on him? Well… first off, maybe they wanted to harvest his organs after all? Lead him away and cut him up. Again, not the first time someone had tried.

He’d maintain caution for now, till he was sure they weren’t after his giblets.

“Why were you being so shady about it?” Michael asked Lena, lifting a brow.

“Because you don’t open a conversation with ‘hey, can I have some blood?’ that would have sent you running for sure. We wanted to butter you up, lead with some casual conversation about frogs or some such before determining your origin.” Lena told him “We… aren’t exactly good at social functions.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Michael said flatly, refilling his glass with more wine before downing it all in one go “How much blood?” Michael asked in a slow slur, his thoughts becoming muddy in his growing drunkenness.

Wait… had Hoplite ordered him to not get drunk? Michael couldn’t remember… surely the big guy would cut him a little slack… right?

“Just a single drop.” She said urgently, leaning close to him “That’s all we want if you’re unwilling to do the examination. My sister may have gone to ask Hoplite himself if he would be willing to submit himself for examination.”

“He’s gonna say no for sure.” Michael said with a shake of his head “If she goes askin’ him that, thirty-seven will probably think she wants to kill him… we better go find her before she gets the chance to ask.”

…

…

…

Hoplite’s eyes opened slowly, seeing madness surrounding his position on all sides. Elves danced around him in a strange rhythm, like that of a beating heart. The maglocks had done their job to keep him standing… but he was not where he had been before. Now he was much further away from the root tables, closer to the center of the tiny valley. How he had been moved, Hoplite had no idea. He re-enabled the suit's sound receptors, resulting in his ears being immediately assaulted with a cacophony of slurred singing and the beats of drums.

His breathing quickened, his fight response nearly taking over instantly when he realized that an elf woman had begun climbing up his arm. Hoplite blinked again when she straddled his shoulders, spilling wine from a glass she clutched down his helmet as she let out a yell of triumph. The surrounding elves all cheered as Hoplite turned off his maglocks, nearly stumbling as he began standing on his own power once more.

The elf girl squealed as his hands reached up to grab her by the waist, lifting her up into the air before setting her on the ground before him. The elves surrounding them all stopped a moment to stare in awe before shouting for Hoplite to join them in their revelry. The elf girl then turned to face him, her face a tint of drunken red. She slowly stumbled toward him, falling into his armor and bracing her hands against his torso. He frowned as she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her body against his in a most unprofessional manner.

“Hey h-hero!” The woman hiccuped “Howsh about I take ya back to my tree? I’ll give ya a night yoo’d never forjet-”

Hoplite placed his hand against her forehead and gently shoved her away from him. She tilted back with a laugh, falling back into the open arms of an elf man who began singing as he stood her up once more. Hoplite shook his head and yawned, that feeling of peace still present but not nearly as overpowering as it had been before. He should find Michael or Lance… but where would they be in this milling mass of shifting bodies?

Michael would be easy to pick out, his black tungsteel armor would make him stick out like a sore thumb. Lance though? There were a lot of elves with black hair like Lance had… in fact, the more he strained to find her the more he noticed that elves only seemed to have two hair colors. Blonde and black.

With how many black-haired elves there were dancing about… it would be very hard for him to find her. Then again… Lance was very tall for a woman, and these elven girls seemed to be standard human height. That would narrow it down a fair margin, now he just needed to find her. Or perhaps he would find Michael first?

He sighed as he began gently pushing his way through the crowd. He had to fend off several dozen elves from attempting to draw him into a dance, shoving them away as gently as he was able as to not accidentally kill them. Somehow this had ended up turning into a game for the elves, several going out of their way to get in his path or to latch onto him before Hoplite promptly pushed them away.

Normally this would have annoyed him to nearly the point of murder, but the peace, while weaker, still had a hold on him. His stomach grumbled when at one point he passed by a root table, still stacked with plenty of still-steaming meats. After a few dozen passes through the area trying to find either Lance or Michael, Hoplite finally caved to his desire.

He had seen these elves partake in the food several times to no effect, this food wasn’t poisoned in any way. Even if it was, he could not be killed by it… so what was there to worry about? He approached a table, pushing several elves out of the way until he was standing over a massive pile of steaks.

Hoplite could barely restrain himself after he removed his helmet, magnetizing it to his hip before grabbing a cut from the table and taking a bite. The meat practically fell apart in his mouth, the juice aiding the steak's descent down his throat. Then Hoplite ate another, and another… and another.

The plate had been stacked as high as an elf was tall, but by the time Hoplite was done with it… well, it was all gone. With his stomach full, he sighed, grabbing a pitcher of water. He then raised it to his mouth before he began chugging, the surrounding elves cheering Hoplite on as he began downing it.

His golden eyes widened when he realized that the taste on his tongue wasn’t anything like water. It reminded him of an old grape he had as a trainee… this had to be wine. It tasted… it was…

Fantastic.

The sweet bitterness that flowed down his gullet urged him to drink more, the alien taste being unlike anything he’d experienced before. He couldn’t stop himself from finishing the pitcher, slamming it back down to the table with a gasp as a sudden dizziness suddenly overtook him. Wine was alcoholic, wasn’t it? He needed to activate his blood filtration system to get rid of this sudden intoxication. With how quickly a Hoplite could metabolize food and drink, the alcohol had nearly immediately gone to his head…It felt good, he realized. Very good… would it be so bad to keep feeling this way for just a little bit longer?

A small smile crept across his face as he stumbled back from the table with a hiccup, his vision doubling as he began meandering through the crowd. Elves latched onto him again, but this time, Hoplite could hardly bring himself to shove them away, instead allowing them to pile onto him as they saw fit.

Soon, this became a new game to them, and soon Hoplite was dragging ten clingers with him as he continued to search for…

Search for…

What was he doing?

Hoplite then giggled for the first time in centuries, lifting his arms to allow more elves to hang from them as he continued to walk, spinning in circles as he went.

Everything turned into a blur after that.

…

…

…

Lance was very drunk.

She was dimly aware of that fact as she twirled through the crowd madly, following the beat of the drums with each motion. The opening hours of the party had gone as expected, with the sharing of tales for the deceased and the beginnings of drink. Humble beginnings, compared to how the mass of bodies in the root bowl sloshed like a liquid to and fro. One could almost believe that the dozens of elves in the bowl really were a sloshing fluid at a distance, with some ‘drops’ spilling out of and into the container as elves climbed in or out to attend different parties.

The noise was near-deafening around the Ilum tree. There was no doubt about it, this had to be the biggest death-day since the end of the Akan-Dari expansion war. Lance dearly hoped that she wouldn’t black-out during this, she always woke up in the strangest places afterward… Like the pig pen incident twenty years ago.

Thankfully no one had found her before she awoke, Lance would have been made fun of for the rest of her long life for passing out in the mud cuddling with pigs. It wasn’t her fault really, it was the pigs mistake for being so damned adorable, so what if she practically buried herself in them that night?

She shook her head, Lance’s thoughts were hardly staying on track anymore. That was one of the great things about being so drunk, she couldn’t get hung up on past embarrassments… like the pig pen incident-

Wait, now she was thinking in circles.

Or was it a triangle? The pig pen had been a triangle right? No wait, it had been a rectangle-

She bumped into something hard, falling to the dirt with a drunken giggle before looking up to see what she had collided with. Lance’s eyes widened a margin when she saw that it was Hoplite… and he was-

No, he couldn’t be.

Hoplite did not smile. He was physically incapable of it, or at least he was supposed to be. Why were there so many elves holding onto him? Hoplite then finally took notice of her, those golden eyes widening a margin before he shook his head. He then leaned down closer to her, those eyes searching her face for a long moment before he smiled again! He smiled!

“Sorry about that Lance.” Hoplite said in a slightly slurring tone “I… think I was looking for you?”

Hoplite then began peeling off the elves that held onto him, the clingers all groaning in agitation as he displaced them. When he was finally done, he offered a hand to her, and it was then that Lance remembered that she was still sitting in the dirt. She took the proffered hand, his metal gauntlet entombing her hand as he lifted her from the ground.

“I fink uh…” Lance hiccuped “I shink I wash loofing fer ya too… uh, got losht. Had to drink ta keep hyderatered… hydrateded… liquid.” She said smartly.

Hoplite gave a slow nod after a moment “You drank the wine…” He said with slow blinks “I’ve been… commandeering beverages as well…”

“Pfft!” Lance spat “I can shtill unedfersthand ya! Ya ain’t drank!” She continued in what must have seemed to be stunning articulation.

Lance had been told several times that she sounded incredibly intelligent when drunk. Surely Hoplite was impressed by how wise she was. Indeed, he nodded his head, scrunching his brow in apparent confusion as his underdeveloped soberbrain tried to comprehend her words. This would simply not do, he had to be on her level of intoxintellect for them to have a proper dialogue.

Without a word, she tugged on his gauntlet, failing to move him even an inch. Hoplite frowned for a moment before allowing himself to be tugged away toward a root table, where several pitchers of wine sat. They came before the table, Lance sweeping away the crowd of elves with offensive slurs and ineffective shoves to make a small pocket in the mass of bodies. When the area was clear, Lance leaned over the table, smelling the different pitchers until she located the brand she was looking for.

A pungent aroma like sweet boiled honey, with a deep crimson color that was red one second, black the next. This was definitely the one… Dragon’s blood wine. Not actual Dragon blood of course, but well strong enough to ascend any man -no matter how big his liver was- to drunken godhood. She lifted the whole pitcher, proffering it to Hoplite with fire in her green eyes.

He looked down at it, quirking a brow before taking it from her. In his hands, it looked almost like a normal cup, as opposed to an entire pitcher of wine. He would just take a few sips and be done with it, no one, not even someone of Hoplite’s great size should be able to withstand drinking more than a few mouthfuls of Dragon blood. A single cup was enough to get even a dwarf drunk.

Hoplite looked down to the pitcher, then back up to Lance. She offered her best grin as motivation, or maybe reassurance, Lance could not really tell.

Hoplite blinked again, shrugged, and then proceeded to down the whole thing in one go. Lance stared, mystified by what Hoplite was doing. He didn’t even sputter when the wine hit his tongue, the power of the Dragon blood not enough to stop Hoplite from attempting to down the whole pitcher. The surrounding elves all stared, jaws agape as he finished the entire thing, stumbling over to the table and setting the empty jug atop it. A loud belch emanated from Hoplite, and then Lance heard a strange noise from him…

She approached, concerned as that strange low growl slowly grew louder. Was he getting angry? Was he an angry drunk!? That was the worst possible outcome, if he was that way then-

A loud laugh then boomed out from Hoplite, and he promptly fell flat on his back with a loud crash. His cheeks had turned a deep shade of red, and he looked up at Lance with a smile.

“Ish thissh whash um… yah.” Hoplite said wisely.

Lance nodded in satisfaction. Now, Hoplite was well and properly drunk, and could communicate with Lance properly.

“Ya musht shtand up Hoppsh…” Lance told him sagely, placing her hands on her knees as she leaned over him.

Hoplite blinked in confusion a moment before nodding “Afffffermitave…” Hoplite told her in a slurring monotone.

When he finally rose to his feet, he let out a long sigh before asking “Wash ish ot?”

“Pik muh uhh.” Lance said, lifting her arms toward him.

After approximately three seconds, Hoplite complied, lifting Lance from the air like she weighed little more than a doll. For a brief instant, she remembered the rabbit he had brutalized in the forest, her blood freezing as Hoplite had her in his grasp. When he did not eat her, she relaxed in his hands, letting out a sigh of relief. He held her at eye level with him a moment before Lance remembered what it was she wanted him to do.

“Shpin muh.” She ordered in a commanding tone “Shpin muh fasht.”

Another three seconds, then Hoplite nodded. The crowd surrounding them had hardly shifted since this interaction began, the onlookers clearly interested in what was about to transpire. The world was already spinning before Hoplite began swinging her around, slowly at first, before he turned into a practical tornado.

Lance laughed as he spun, maintaining his position before the table without even the slightest deviation. His gauntlets were cold beneath her arms, but the alcohol helped her simply not care. If they were surrounded by mattresses Lance would have asked Hoplite to toss her into one, but maybe she would still die if he did that… wait, there were no mattresses anyway… What was she thinking about?

Oh yeah, she was about to puke.

“Ohkey ya can shtop…” Lance managed to get out before Hoplite could receive a faceful of bile.

He slowed his spinning, blinking before promptly falling back to the dirt once again. He hadn’t let go of Lance first, unfortunately, so she went with him. He managed to slow their mutual fall by catching the ground behind him with one hand, holding Lance aloft for a brief instant with his other hand.

When it was all said and done, Lance found herself practically straddling his chest plate, both laughing like children. As a human, Hoplite really was basically a child to her, a little baby person or… yeah, a baby person.

“Huh old ams ya?” Lance asked, leaning over his face.

Hoplite blew away the strands of her hair from his face as he thought. Lance suspected that he was at least in his thirties… yes, much younger than Lance at two-hundred and thirty-seven.

“Two-hunmfred n’ thirty-eight.” Hoplite told her simply.

Lance stared in shock at Hoplite…

“Waaaahhhhh!” Lance whined as she slapped his chestplate.