Humans were astounding creatures.
Astore had always known it. It was a fact commonly known, and he’d heard the stories, but it was a very different thing witnessing it first hand.
Back home, he had never interacted with the humans. The ones allowed in the Noble Quarter had been servants and go-fers, not heavy labourers, and had been perfectly normal and passed unnoticed most of the time. But he had known of the stories from the quarries, mines and loggers’ camps where the majority of the heavy labour of the enslaved workforce had been placed.
He had been watching the children play for hours, now. At first, it had merely been something to focus on beyond the negotiating and haggling done by Giosué with the human leader of the rebels. But now it had turned into something of a fascination.
The human children never seemed to grow tired.
They ran, screamed, threw some kind of ball around, ran more and kept screaming. Their elven peers had to pause every now and then to recover, but the humans simply didn’t.
The elven children would be excused, go sit on a nearby slope, then rejoin the games some time later. Those that seemed to be part-orc kept up better, but weren’t performing to their peers’ level. They were big and burly, and had seemingly at some point in the past been delegated to the goalposts as wardens, where continuous hyperactivity wasn’t expected.
And it wasn’t just the children.
Where he’d expect the artisans of the city to take regular breaks, like one would see among the elves of his home, that was not the case. The adult humans worked with a sort of grim determination.
It was somewhat frightening to watch. If it weren’t for the fact that his people outnumbered theirs by far within the empire, the sheer untiring determination of the humans would have probably triggered the rebellion long ago. He could see that now. What kind of force could have had the idea that they’d be able to keep the Humans down forever?
He supposed it had been by the grace of the gods that the humans were such a short lived species.
Or was it?
The idea that some were born to rule, and others to serve had been long ingrained in the teachings of the empire. The idea that a collapse in hierarchy would doom them all.
And when he was home, this was true.
The death of the Emperor, and his heir, had set about a war that was tearing the empire apart. And now they were here in the heart of the rebellion to ask for help. And they found a prospering, unified people? While they, the ones born to rule, were tearing themselves apart?
It made one wonder. Was anyone truly born to rule?
“You look troubled.” Massima had approached soundlessly. Astore turned around and looked at her. She was a slim, short woman. She’s young, he knows that much. But she looked even younger than she is.
“This city, it doesn’t make sense to me.” He admitted. “No nobles. No aristocrats. No divine mandate. No grand priesthood. Barely any law enforcement. By all accounts, it should be an anarchy. There should be violence on the streets, desperate struggle for power, yet… Children, playing on the streets. People working hard, contributing to a society with a leader chosen by the commoners.”
“People, hm? Not just rebels and humans, then?” Her tone was teasing, yet carried a slight edge.
“It’s hard to think of them as animals when they act more civilized than we do.” It was a submission, of a kind. He’d not expected this coming here, and he had been vocal in his protests to the plan. He had expected they’d be torn apart on sight, imprisoned and shown around the ruins of ancient majesty like trophies.
A Magister, a Templar and… a Spy.
“And your mission?” he turns fully towards Massima.
She shook her head. “It’s not easy to gather intelligence. I’ve not managed to shake my tail all day. I’ve only been able to inspect the city on a surface level. I can’t do anything to endanger the Emissary.”
He nodded. “And your impression?”
She walked up to the balcony railing beside him, and lean down on the smooth brass. “It’s as you say. It’s a city of the unexpected. Despite it being besieged as late as last year, it is well off. They recover in a way we can’t fully comprehend. I’ve learned that just three months ago, much of the city was burned down by a dragon, just as the rumors said.”
“How many dead?” Astore asked. He hadn’t gotten a good grasp of the population of the city from what little they had seen, but it seemed… significant.
“A surprisingly small amount, sir. A few hundred or so. It seems that the people were able to swiftly find shelter when the attack started, and it didn’t last long. Most of the damage was in structures. That seems to be mostly attributed to a ‘Uther’. It seems the champion of the humans has become a even greater character of mythology here than even among us.”
“What do they say about his… abilities?” Astore was listening attentively now. The unkillable human had become a nearly legendary figure by now. Several of the elven cities nearby were offering staggering amounts of gold in exchange for his head.
“They say he’s blessed by Leto. And that he can restore all but the dead themselves to health and vitality with a touch.” Massima says, with reverence in her voice.
“And what is the… credibility of these claims?” Astore asked.
“Undeniable, I believe. The amount of eye witnesses is… beyond belief. There are cults dedicated to Leto cropping up everywhere the rebellion touches. I don’t think there’s a way to doubt that this human has acquired great healing magic, somehow. Though if the source is truly divine, I don’t know.”
“And they share this knowledge willingly?” Astore wasn’t sure what to make of it. It seemed strange that the rebels would tell a foreign envoy everything about their mightiest weapon like this.
“More than willingly. With a little prodding, it’s difficult to make some of them change topic. There’s another thing, though.”
“The necromancers?” Astore added.
“Indeed. It seems the survivors of the northern legion spoke the truth. There’s a necromancer here.”
“A necromancer?”
“Yes, one. Apparently he’s named Anders. The… crypts we saw? Apparently they’re used to store the bodies the necromancer uses.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, sir. All of them.”
“You’re telling me that a single necromancer is capable of raising hundreds of undead, and that the people here are so used to him that they build crypts for him to ply his dark trade? What does he even do with all those undead?”
“Apparently, he does dangerous manual labour.”
Ghergon was not having a good day. First of all, he’d been woken up well before noon, but he’d also not been handed a beer first thing. Instead, some stupid human had the gall to pour a bucket of water over him, insisting he wash up.
The only reason he hadn’t punched them straight in the nose is because the person in question was a reasonably attractive woman.
Well, she was still too skinny to be his type, but the fact that she hadn’t outright refused to help him certainly had helped his mood.
Still, it’s not how a dwarf is supposed to wake up. Well, not a true dwarf anyway. It might go for some of those fancy-pants boot-licking lowlanders, but not him.
He felt the dryness of his mouth, and all he had been offered was water. What did he look like? A donkey?
Now he was ushered in to the sodding palace of the Toffs. Well. The Toff, he corrected himself. There was only the regent that was too fancy for his britches. The rest of the people in the bloody stump were right lads, even if they were a bit on the odd side.
“So, what’s ‘e want me for, anyway, another fething lizard show up?” His voice sounded hoarse. He really needed to get a bloody drink.
“Well, he asked for your help with the elven emissaries. Apparently, he’s going to ask you to join them, representing Ashenvale.”
“Oh, sod off.” Gherg snorted. “Me? A diplomat? ‘E lost ‘is bloody mind?”
“No, no. You’re going with a few others. Apparently, with both Uther, Freidrich and Anders gone, Johann considers you the most competent fighter we have.”
“Aye, damn right.” Gherg said, a little bit self-satisfaction did feel warranted. “Wait, ‘e think I’m worse than those lads?”
“I don’t think he meant it like that. I just believe he’d rather send Freidrich.”
“…because ‘e’s expendable.” Ghergon said, his voice going somber.
“What? No! No one’s expendable.”
“Aye, ye say tha’, lass. But it ain’t so. Uther ain’t expendable. If ‘e was to die, ye would get yer knickers in a bind. Freidrich? If ‘e dies, ye will want vengeance, but ye won’t break.”
“You really think that way?”
“Aye. It’s the simple truth, lass. Now, who do Ah need to kill fer a beer?”
Johann put down his signature on the bottom of the document and handed it over to the Elf.
He had double and triple checked it for any possible mistakes, wiggle room or potential misinterpretation, but it was a simple enough thing. He’d even had one of his less literate guards give it a once-over just to verify that even someone with not perfect literacy wouldn’t misinterpret it.
He slid the document over to the envoy.
“Well then, it’s done.” The elf smiled. He hadn’t stopped smiling since negotiations began in earnest. It had been a practiced smile. Not wide enough to look weird or mocking, not light enough to look deceitful. Just enough to look honest.
Johann hadn’t been fooled, though. It was easy enough to see that the elf was wearing a mask.
He was under a great deal of stress to finalize this deal. Now, all that was left was…
The doors to the chamber opens, and he can see a very grouchy-looking dwarf enter.
“Ah, perfect timing, Ghergon. We were just finishing up here.”
“Aye, ye was? The dwarf strides in, and for a moment the Elf almost drops his mask.
It was easy to see why. Gherg was hardly a seemly person at the best of times. It seemed Ygrin’s effort to clean him up had helped with the smell, though.
“Ah, Ghergon. It’s a pleasure, as always.” Joteim inserted.
“Aye, me sweet pale arse, if it ain’t the king a’ the mud pile!”
Johann wasn’t fully aware of the relationship between the Guild Overseer and the Dragonslayer, but the way the greeted each other seemed their opinion of each other was at least positive.
The two dwarves embraced each other like cousins meeting after a long time parted.
“Well, I see the two of you are friends.” he commented. “I’ve asked Joteim here to act as a impartial witness to this signing, and to act as an observer as it is ratified by Lady Venere.”
“Aye, and I ‘eard ye wanted me ta be the bodyguard, eh?”
Johann nods. “Indeed. I’d like to ask you to accompany my envoys to the elves as their guardian. It’d be a favour to me personally, and I’d owe you one.”
“Aye, ye don’t say? Well. Ah’ve wanted me some elven wine fer a while now. Ye pay fer me drinks as I go, I’ll do it.”
“Excellent. Allow me to introduce you to your charges.”