Tiny Dungeon

POV Krat’Imos

The High Spirit of Craftsmanship hid himself as he had only done a couple of times in his time as a god. As he stepped into The Other he made sure to cover his tracks. His workshop was closed so the others would believe him to be inside hiding what he was doing to surprise them with the System Update. Despite the secrecy, Krat’Imos felt a smile split his lips at the thought of who he was meeting.

It didn’t take him long to find the place where he normally left his offerings only this time he didn’t leave after activating the beacon. Seeing her form enter the clearing nearly took his breath away. It was so different from seeing her from afar or from when the councils met. Ish’Matar, The Fae Lady of Atrophy and Death, looked as shocked as a doe in front of a hunter.

Krat’Imos couldn’t help it. He let out a quiet chuckle and Ish’Matar flushed, her features twisting in mortification. “What are you doing here?” She hissed quietly, looking this way and that as if the clearing wasn’t warded for scrying. Krat’Imos was almost offended, he had crafted those runes himself after all, but he restrained himself while acknowledging that her concerns were justified. If any of their compatriots found them there would be consequences.

Krat’Imos just found that he didn’t really care anymore. There was conflict coming, great conflict, and he didn’t wish to spend the remaining time of peace worrying about past arguments. Besides it was much too late for the councils to find another High Spirit of Craftmanship in time. They needed him now more than ever. Still, he gestured around them at the many wards in place and smiled gently.

“We are covered, Ish’Ma.” She hesitated briefly before the tension flooded out of her and she quickly moved over to him. She looked up at him and his Divine Spark flared at her closeness, the pieces of himself that he had given her over the centuries reacting to her proximity. It seemed the same had happened to her as her face flushed again for a very different reason.

“So,” she whispered unnecessarily. “What have you brought me this time?” He smiled and stepped aside revealing his gift. Her shocked face graced his eyes for another time as she gaped at the Seed of Potential in front of her.

Before she could speak he did. “I want to do a Working with you.” He watched her eyes flash to his and he made sure his gaze reflected what was in his Spark. He watched her mouth try to form words and teased her a little. “The great Lady of Death is speechless. You had so much to say during the last council meeting.” His smile slipped a little when her gaze grew a touch colder for a moment before it seemed his teasing became apparent.

He held back a sigh of relief as she returned her gaze to the Seed. “Why me Kratty? Our peoples are barely holding the Peace Accords and there are plenty of Low Spirits for you to choose from. Why did you choose to court me?” Taking a leap of faith, smirking at the irony, he gently enclosed her in his arms from behind, moving slowly so as to not startle her. Their beings sparked where they touched, sending arcs of divinity flashing outward.

Krat’Imos ignored the light show and focused on the woman in his arms. “I chose you because of who you are and because of how you see me.” He felt her body tense and he continued slowly. “That first time the Councils came together and you sneered at my System I must admit I was angered. But then you pointed out its flaws. Nobody else did. Tal’Irieth was pleased with how it helped corral the mortals, Trik’Weri wouldn’t have said anything anyway, and Maph’Ira simply adored it as some new-fangled thing.”

“Qual’Dorn appreciated the Order of it and Ata’Laya loved the chaos that the mortals could unleash, while your people didn’t care either way. You did, even if it was only to tell me how idiotic parts of it were.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Ish’Matar protested from her place in his arms.

“Oh,” he mused, turning her gently to face him. “So those letters of yours you left after I presented my first gifts to you weren’t the truth? They really helped me hone my craft I’ll have you know.”

She spluttered before hitting him gently with a fist. He grinned down at her and her own glare slowly transformed into a miffed smile. “A Working,” she whispered. “I know I said yes a long time ago but are you sure you want to make things public like that? And what would we do?”

So he told her and she stilled in his arms. He made sure he let his intentions shine through his Spark, though this close to her she would be able to read it like an open book anyway. She processed for some time before she spoke again. “You would do that much for this Dungeon?” She had felt his churning emotions then. He had expected she might.

He let some of his anger and frustration come through as he responded. “I know why we did what we did but that doesn’t mean I will use my grandson as a scapegoat.” She knew his anger wasn’t directed at her but even still some of her power rose to combat his, easily pushing aside his ire. He subsided after a moment and continued. “The others see him as something new and exciting. A project that succeeded and will help us achieve victory. A weapon to be deployed and utilized.”

“My Dungeons were never that to me,” he whispered. “Neither were my Architects. Calamvor was the greatest among them and I can’t even honor him.” His pain was embraced softly by Ish’Matar and he felt it atrophy, literally eaten away by her Domain. It was replaced by peace, a peace that only comes from the grave and what comes after.

She caught his gaze with her own and held it before nodding. “I will do what I can then.” Her gaze softened as she continued to gaze at him but then something new entered it. Something a little hungry and possessive. “I look forward to finally being able to call you husband in truth.” Krat’Imos’s Spark flashed in response and she laughed quietly. “Let’s get started then before you are missed. I hope you save a Remembering of your fellow god’s faces when the Update is released.” He promised her and they got to work.

POV The Low Court

The Low Council met in silence, cowled figures against a verdant backdrop. Their thrones were made out of ivy-grown stone but none of them were sitting. Instead, they watched through a scrying spell as Trik’Weri met with The Mother Tree, as Alu’Mira liked to be called among her children. None of the figures spoke, intent as they were in following the conversation until the scrying shattered into motes of iridescent Aether.

“He must have noticed then.” A male voice spoke from among the gathered. “I knew we wouldn’t get much but still.” He tsked in annoyance before shrugging covered shoulders. “That one has always been quick to hide from prying eyes.”

“Especially where we are involved. It is ironic of him to claim a subject from our sister after he himself has left the fold.” A female voice from another figure stated coldly.

“Indeed. Do you think there is a way to use this against the Betrayer do you think?” Another younger male voice asked, though his question was greeted by shocked silence.

“Have a care brother,” a more matronly female voice spoke from where a figure had taken a seat upon one of the thrones. “Left us behind he has but Trik’Weri would have just cause against you should he hear of your words.”

“And who will tell him?” The younger voice proclaimed arrogantly. “Will you all give me up to his judgment? You say he just left us behind but I know the truth. He abandoned us to become something else entirely and betrayed everything we stand for in the process. Even now those beings look down on us despite needing our help only a century or so back. Why do we insist on staying in the shadows?”

The matronly voice had steel in it when she replied. “Because the shadows are all our people have left. You might be too young to understand but I remember. I remember the old days before the High Council gained prominence when the land was ruled by the Fae Lords and Ladies of the old Court from out of the Other. When the Mortals were hunted for sport and we toyed with the Maker’s laws and danced upon the knife’s edge of breaking them. I remember the bloodshed and the sanctions that followed His light.”

The younger figure was still deeply cowled and hidden by shadow but even still the sneer came through loud and clear in his voice. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me. Perhaps you might not survive granny but at least in such a world I wouldn’t be held back from my destiny.”

This time it was the other male voice that broke in, chuckling darkly and gruffly. “Bold words from someone who lacks enough Authority to claim a Domain. Even the High Council’s pet project has been able to claim a Concept. And what destiny is this you speak of? You are destined to be nothing but a footnote in history if your past record is anything to go by.” The figure speaking stepped up to the other, who was quivering with suppressed fury. “Any Authority you have is a gift from your father, a better Fae in every aspect.”

The younger figure spoke then, in a voice that shook with young rage that burned hot. “You will all see eventually. I’ll make my mark upon this world and you will rue the day you made a mockery of my destiny Mar’Dorue.” With that, he was gone in a flash of twisting shadow and thorny vines.

“Pretentious little bogglegrin.” Mar’Dorue, Fae Lord of Hunger, scoffed. “All bark and no bite. Eh, Dia?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Dia’Nar, Fae Lady of Fear, stated calmly from where she sat. “A starving animal will find a meal somewhere even if it must cannibalize itself. You know this better than most Mar’Dorue.” From the set of the man’s shoulders, the point had been well received.

“What should we do then, Mother Dia?” The other female voice asked softly and Dia turned her shadowed face to face the one speaking.

“We need to be careful with young Far’Leign. I would like you to watch him from time to time Ura’Lani and let us know what you find.”

Ura’Lani, Fae Lady of The Hunt, nodded in acknowledgment. Dia’Nar stood slowly and spoke again. “We all have Domains to get back to and we will learn nothing more about Trik’Weri’s aims now that he is aware of us. I propose an early end to this meeting of the Council.” An aye from each of the others ended the matter and they each portaled away in their own various ways. They each missed the solitary black rose that lay hidden in the dark listening, its owner already making plans.