Siege State

Interlude Four: Battleground

Oliver landed his giant eagle mount at one of the designated platforms in Brittlebark. He gave Tymestl, his familiar, a couple of good scratches on his head, delaying, before subsuming him into the graceful tattoo on his hand.

He walked through the tree platforms, and approached the right door, taking a big breath and letting it out again, long and even. Steeling himself for the battle to come.

The door was quaint, as far as doors went in Silveroak, heart of the White Forest. That meant it was intricately detailed, scrawled all over with elven motifs, shaped with love and care by their woodworkers.

This suburb of Silveroak, Brittlebark, was quiet, or quieter, as these things went. Oliver lived down the way a little, several trees over, in a newer suburb, Gainsleaf, that mainly housed younger professionals. It cost him a decent clip in rent to the Lord of that tree, but it was worth every penny in his mind. He could afford it now, anyway.

The platform outside the door was empty today. The gentle summer air tickled his long hair, teasing it over his pointed ears. Birds chirped merrily, dancing through the air all around. Two nice chairs sat by the door, with a clay pot in between for ash, and therein lay the source of his woes.

He had been ambushed! Taken completely unawares. And now, he needed to pay tribute.

He had been walking home from work, near a fortnight ago, when he had strolled past this exact spot. The walkways of Silveroak curled around the great trees they made their homes in. Delicate waybridges spanned the gap between massive branches and trunks.Oversized leaves and myriad giant flowers obscured everything in between.

All made with never a thought given to practicality. No, that would be silly. No, elven sensibilities required aesthetics.

And so it was that Oliver rounded a walkway, and who should he stumble across? No one but his aunt and uncle, newly moved here from Birchpearl at the border of the forest to retire. And they insisted that he stop by for tea.

Why couldn’t my parents have warned me? Oliver thought grumpily, but he hadn’t seen them much, as of late, due to his new job.

He sighed, knowing that he was better to get this started quickly. The quicker the battle was joined…

He knocked on the door, three light, polite taps.

He heard a bustling about inside, and a second later, his aunt’s shrill voice.

“Who’s that?” she queried someone.

“I don’t know, dear.” his uncle’s baritone. “Is it the glassworker?”

“I thought he was coming on Firstday! Oh dear, I’ll need to-”

The door opened, and Oliver was greeted by his aunt’s surprised face. He began to speak, but she immediately cut him off, yelling over her shoulder.

“Honey! It’s Oliver! Little Oliver’s here!”

“Oliver!? We thought you were the glassmaker! Hello, Olly, how are you? Come in, come in,” his uncle said, joining his aunt at the door.

“I hope those glassmakers aren’t late, I don’t know how much longer I can put up with the draft!” He wandered off inside, not waiting for Oliver’s reply.

His aunt bustled away too, before turning back to him. “Don’t stand out there in the cold, you’ll catch your death! Look at you, all skin and bones! Come in!”

Oliver gritted his teeth and felt one of his skills activate. A passive skill, but one that had an active component. Handy at times, and exceedingly frustrating at others. Words sprung to his lips, unbidden.

Skill activated: Swimming in Deep Waters.

Navigate social currents more easily. Automatically negate any unintentional rudeness.

“Sure, sure! Great to see you auntie! And you, uncle! How have you been?”

And he crossed the threshold, and into their lair.

~~~~~

Oliver sat perched on a plush sofa, with his aunt and uncle facing him across the sitting room in matching armchairs. Absolutely overstuffed with horsehawk down, his uncle looked as if he was the chair’s familiar and it was trying to subsume him. His uncle was a portly man, balding in his advancing age, with spectacles perched precariously low in front of a jolly face. The man held the Ideal of Gregariousness, and had made of it a weapon.

His aunt, on the other hand, was perched so close to the edge of her seat she looked like she would topple off at any moment. Every time Oliver said something she did a little hop, coming ever closer to falling off. The woman was still slight, slender even in her old age. She held the Ideal of Hospitality, and you could never leave a visit with her lighter than you came.

Oliver was already fit to bursting from several hours of pastries and biscuits, and had already fended off several sneak attacks aimed at feeding him more. He himself held the Ideal of Politeness, and in these situations it was a double-edged sword. Half the time, the damn thing literally did not let him say no when his aunt plied him with treats.

He was currently having every single detail of his new job pulled out of him, one excruciating morsel of information at a time.

“I always said you were good with numbers! I said so, didn’t I, dear?” his uncle rumble-shouted at him.

“Yes, honey, I think you did.”

“It was always clear! Even when you were just a young sprout! I said to her, I says, ‘he’ll grow up to work with numbers’, didn’t I say?”

“You did, hon!” his aunt piped. “And keeping the books at Lord Silveroak’s own woodworking shop! Janine will turn purple with envy when I tell her!”

His uncle let out an enormous bass chuckle.

“You wind that woman up something wicked, dear! Let her be! I hear her daughter’s got a job with Lord Mistmeadow, anyways.”

“Oh, you didn’t tell me that! I would’ve embarrassed myself!” she scolded her husband.

Her predatory eyes swivelled back to Oliver. “Tell me, Olly, are there any nice girls at the shop?”

“Aunty, no!” he said, then his skill activated again. “I mean, I’m far too busy with the books to have time for any of that.”

She sniffed at him. “You’re not getting any younger you know. You don’t want to end up all alone like your cousin Marc!”

Oliver’s skill automatically suppressed a sigh. His uncle let out another great roar of a laugh, obviously having no inclination to rescue him from the topic.

“Perhaps I’ll ask Janice if Silvie’s single. She’s absolutely gorgeous - you should see her!”

Oliver opened his mouth to forestall her, and his skill activated again. He gritted his teeth, preparing for the blow.

“You’d like her, I think! She’s a real sweetheart. Such a fine young woman. You just leave it with me, Olly,” she said with a conspiratorial wink.

The absolute last thing he wanted was his aunt getting involved in his love life. Dread filled his stomach, and he knew he had to try and swing the battle back in his favour.

He activated another skill, hoping his gambit would work.

“How are you finding Silveroak?” he asked, manoeuvring them onto more favourable ground. Mana rushed out of him with the words.

“Fine, fine! Except for this damned glassmaker! Three times already he’s supposed to have come. The last time he was commissioned by Coldcloud, had to put aaall his work on hold for a month for the job! Can you believe it!?”

Oliver nodded his commiseration. It was then that his aunt tried to flank him.

“Care for another pastry?” she said. Oliver felt the slight flare of mana from a skill of hers. Nimbly, he activated one of his in riposte.

“No, no, I couldn’t. I’m so full!” Even as he said it he felt her slip around his guard. Her mana surged again.

“You must! Look at you! Skinny as a rake these days!”

Again, he dodged, just in time, as his skill came off cooldown. “I really couldn’t, auntie! It’s almost time for dinner.”

Even as he said the words he wished he could take them back. He had grievously overextended himself, and now he was exposed. He began willing his cooldown to come faster, expecting the inevitable attack.

“Oh, stay for dinner!” she said, and his heart sunk behind his smiling visage. “We’re having rabbit rolls! You love rabbit rolls!”

“You’ve always loved rabbit rolls! I said that to Marie, when we saw her, didn’t I dear? I said to her, I says, ‘I hope that son of yours hasn’t got you making rabbit rolls every night still’, didn’t I, dear?”

“You did say that, honey,” she said, but her attention never left Oliver. She went in for the kill. “You simply must stay for dinner!”

Oliver breathed an internal sigh of relief as his skill cycled, and came off cooldown. He was starting to run low on mana. Luckily he still had a few cards up his sleeve.

“I’m sorry, auntie, another time, maybe?” he said, activating his skill. Not quite a perfect victory, but he would take it.

His aunt’s eyes flared in triumph, and his heart dropped. Somewhere along the line he had miscalculated. He felt a big surge of mana flare into a skill.

“No, that’s quite alright! You’re a busy young man these days!” she said. “When are you next free then? I’ll pop around to Janice’s and invite her and Fergus. They could even bring Silvie too…”

He hadn’t the mana left to free himself from the perfectly executed manoeuvre, not if he still wanted to retreat. He made his decision.

“Sounds good to me! You just let me know when and where, and I’ll be there with bells on!”

“Ha!” his uncle roared. “If you’re lucky, she’ll make rabbit rolls again!”

Oliver groaned internally at the thought. He would have to try and uplift some skills before then. He’d need to manifest a brand new Ideal to make it through the ordeal unscathed, but an uplift would help, at least. Now, to enact an ignominious retreat. He activated his skill again.

“I should really be going,” Oliver told them, mana leaving him as he conspicuously looked out the window, hoping to remind them of the setting sun.

“Yes, yes, of course, dear! We wouldn’t keep you! Are you sure you wouldn’t like another cup of tea, though?”

“Yes, I’m sure auntie. It was lovely, though.”

“Oh, it’s from a little shop down in Petalbridge! Lovely tea there, I tell you. The owner’s from Birchpearl, would you believe it?” said his aunt.

“That’s crazy,” Oliver replied.

“We’d been in there not two minutes when I caught a whiff of sour jasmine! I said to him, didn’t I, I says, ‘That’s not sour jasmine, is it?’ and he says to me, he says, ‘Well, indeed it is! You two wouldn’t happen to be from Birchpearl, would you?’ and I said to him, didn’t I, dear, I said to him, I says, ‘Just last week, as it happens’, and-”

“Honey, I think he gets the message,” she said, with a commiserating glance at Oliver. His uncle broke off into good natured chuckling.

‘Now, let’s set a date for dinner. Say, Thirday, two weeks from now? How does that suit?”

“That’s just fine and dandy! I’ll see you then! But I really should be going…”

“Oh yes, yes, of course dear. Of course,” she said, but she made no move to stand. His uncle just sat there, nearly enveloped in his chair, smiling happily and nodding slightly.

Oliver braced himself. His passive skill tickled at the back of his mind. This was the moment. He could feel it in the air. He readied himself for one of his most powerful skills.

The three of them lapsed into a few seconds of blessed silence, and just as Oliver’s aunt went to open her mouth, he struck out with his ace.

“Welp,” he said, and slapped his thighs for good measure.

It was timed perfectly. Mana rushed from him in a victorious wave. He could see his aunt cycling Hospitality, his uncle searching Gregariousness for some answer, and they found nothing. Politeness had showed him the precarious path, now all he had to do was walk it.

“It’s getting late,” he followed up, standing, with another small use of mana.

“Yes, of course!” his aunt said. But then she rallied. “Do come any time! Come on, honey, let’s show Oliver to the door!”

It was clear she meant to harry him in his retreat, but he had expected it. The initial inertia of his aunt and uncle’s dual Ideals was the most difficult to overcome. Now it was time for the running battle.

Oliver moved to the door, preceded by his bustling aunt and followed by his pottering uncle. She opened the door a crack, tsking at the glass set in a small, semi-frosted window in the door.

“Far too clear! Look at it Olly! You can see right through, clear as day. And the gaps! That glassmaker, I swear!”

He saw his opportunity, and took it, activating another of his skills, Polite Concern. He gently took the door, and made to view the window from the outside, forcing her to open it more than the crack she had made initially. She admitted him past.

“Why, that’s no good at all!” he said in commiseration, pretending interest in the tiny window.

“Firstday, they’re coming! Or that's what he said, anyway,” his uncle regaled for the umpteenth time.

Oliver stepped further onto the porch-balcony. He needed to be exceedingly cautious here, or all his good work could come unravelled. He readied his mana, preparing Polite Concern again.

Just as he expected, his aunt and uncle followed him out onto the porch. And just as he suspected, his uncle began unpacking a pipe from his breast pocket, fumbling with a packet of leaf as he pulled out a second pipe.

“Perfect evening for it, isn’t it?” he said. “I always say, ‘There’s no better time for a smoke than sunset.’ I always say, don’t I?”

“You do,” both he and his aunt replied.

“Would you like a pipe, Olly? You’re all grown up now, after all!” his uncle offered him his spare.

Oliver readied to unleash his Polite Concern again, but he found a surprisingly ally in his aunt.

“Don’t offer him that stuff!” she scolded him. “Bad enough that you need to smoke that leaf. Makes the whole house stink! You know I don’t like it!”

Sometimes the enemy of your enemy was your friend. Oliver kept Polite Concern ready, even so. His uncle looked not the least bit put out at the scolding, and kept packing his pipe.

“Well, it’s been good to see you both,” Oliver said. “I can’t wait for dinner!”

“Good to see you too, lad! Have to get you back around once the glass is done. Should be all done by dinner in a fortnight! Next Firstday, he said.”

Oliver nodded sagely.

“Yes, yes, of course! It was so lovely to have you. You know, I think I will make rabbit rolls. Oh, but that reminds me! Did you like wild garlic, or moon parsley?”

Oliver opened his mouth, but she immediately pressed her advantage.

“Both! I won’t be silly, I’ll just make both!”

“She’ll make both, she says! You heard her; she said she’ll make both!” his uncle chuckled, lighting his pipe.

“That sounds lovely,” he said. “I really should be heading off now, though.” He gestured at the setting sun, visible as it cast peach tones through the interlocking branches of the city.

He slowly began to walk to the landing platform. His aunt and uncle followed, intent on the rout. Oliver made it to the platform in ten minutes of slow walking and fast talking, twice as long as it had taken him when he arrived.

He summoned his great eagle mount, and that caused another round of consternation.

“You never told us you manifested a ritual! How exciting! What do you call it?” his uncle inquired.

“His name’s Tymestl,” Oliver replied. “I only manifested the skill a few weeks ago.”

“It’s a bit racy. Why couldn’t you have manifested something safer?” his aunt lectured.

Then she changed tack. “I hope you didn’t spend all your money on the essences.You should have told me. Why, I have a friend down in Petalbridge that sells them! I could’ve gotten you a discount.”

“They weren’t too bad,” Oliver said, slowly climbing onto Tymestl’s back. “We get a discount from work, you see.”

“Leave the lad alone, dear,” his uncle chided. “He’s a man now. He can spend his money on fun things if he likes.”

“A discount, you say?” said his aunt, ignoring her husband’s comment. “How much is that? I’ve a friend that’s just manifested a ritual. A pegasus, she thinks! Or it has the requirements common for horses, and birds, too, or so she says.”

“A pegasus?” Oliver said, slowly walking Tymestl down the platform towards it edge. “Fancy that.”

“She said that, did she? She said she’s manifested a pegasus? Well I’ll be damned!” his uncle let out another hearty roar. Several small birds roosting on a nearby branch took off in fright.

Oliver glanced down at Tymestl, who was giving him a flat, reproachful look with one of his big green eyes.

Some battles had to be fought, but you could never come out unscathed. At least he’d only taken a few serious wounds, this time.

He sat, listening to his family chatter away. Tymestl shuffled impatiently underneath him. He hoped he had recovered by the dinner in a fortnight.

He would be lucky to escape that in one piece.