Chương 107: Chapter 104: Close to Inventing Something

The funny thing about alcohol was that, no matter how high a person's stats, no matter what "magical remedies" they might concoct (literally or figuratively), it always got a person drunk. It was as if the gods designed the substance entirely separately from any other poison, potion, or alchemical concoction, and specifically made it so none of those things could counter it. The only things that had a marginal say in how alcohol affected a person were age, size, and body weight.

Not even race had much to do with it, as dwarves could get just as drunk as anybody. In fact, they were famous for it. The point was, booze made people drunk, whether they be hobos, halflings, or… headmasters. And Izrizar was certainly well on his way past tipsy. Of course, he was a man of his word, so he made good on his bargain with the freshly minted [Arcanist]. He took her straight to the abbey, made a few deals with the Matron, and secured himself a small cask of 50-year-old Malbek.

It wasn't on par with Ode du Heroes, a right proper Cabernet laid down in the Age of Upheaval, despite not originating in the Eleneaor region of the Everbloom, but it was a respectable vintage. The girl was sharp; Izrizar gave her that. She knew her limits and stuck to them. After a glass, with a few leftover snacks from the weeklong celebration that was going on, she went to bed. That meant Izrizar needed to find another drinking buddy, and as it so happened, he was actually looking forward to this.

"You look like you've had a few already," Francis said, taking a seat across from him. Izrizar motioned to the cask and an extra goblet, and the Bishop helped himself.

"I spoke with the Matron," Izrizar said.

"We've been studying those [Planters], and we're starting to crack the code. We can't reproduce the plots themselves, but we've figured out how to produce high-profile [Fertilizer]. I traded 5 acres worth and promised to look into the [Greenhouse] irrigation system in exchange for this."

"Selling our own secrets back to us," Francis chuckled.

"You're a shrewd man, Headmaster." Veloran scoffed, glanced at the goblet in his hands, and took a sip.

"Is that a title I can really claim?" He mused.

"Or, more importantly, are they really your secrets? Or mine? They belong to neither of us, old friend." Francis raised an eyebrow but said nothing. His old sparring partner in all things verbal or academic would continue when he was good and ready. But strangely, Izrizar didn't go in the direction Francis expected. The headmaster took another sip of wine and shuddered, glaring at the goblet as if it had spoiled his drink. Francis took a drink…it went down quite well. This was good.

"... How did the abbey manage to secure this specific type of grape, anyway? The elves hardly let anything leave the Everbloom, let alone the ingredient for one of their most famous wines."

"I've heard it started with Sister Miley," Francis said, giving Izrizar a peculiar look.

"She had a certain way with adventurers. Perhaps she traded for them? But really…did you call me all this way to talk about grapes?"

"Yes," Izrizar said seriously, suddenly looking very sober. He glanced at the goblet and…pushed it away.

"Grapes. And avocados. And a [Greenhouse], two [Moai], and a [Moonwell]. Ha!" He gave a sharp laugh.

"I suppose that's two things the elves will hate you for!"

"Not that I'm not interested," Francis said, "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Do you know another thing the elves don't like?" Izrizar continued, ignoring the man. Francis shrugged.

"I think you'd have an easier time making a list of things the elves don't hate. For all that dwarves are known for grudges, elves hold them just as long, if not longer."

"Exactly," Izrizar said.

"As is the case with gnomes."

"Hm, but I think, in this instance, their hate is warranted," Francis chuckled.

"Perhaps," Izrizar agreed.

"But you asked for the connection. And, as it just so happens, we both know a gnome, don't we? A gnome…and a dragon."

"Ah," Francis said, slowly setting his goblet down.

"You are aware that she built a city today, yes?" Izrizar asked conversationally. As if cities were simply built in a day.

"I…was not," Francis gulped. He knew not to underestimate the dragon, and he heard she wanted to help out the halfling pilgrims, but that was the extent of what he'd heard.

"You can go visit it later," Izrizar mused.

"See if you fit inside their holes. Who knows? Maybe they'll need a dedicated parish of their own."

"You know as well as I that halflings, these halflings in particular, worship Moore. I could assist if they should ask, but it's not my calling. Veloran…tell me what's really bothering you." Izrizar picked his goblet back up and drained it in one go. He slammed it on the table and stared hard at the man across from him.

"I watched my understanding of the world crumble today, Francis. I looked upon the being some say will be responsible for ending the world and watched children climb up its back. Use its wings as a slide! I watched it use those same magical reserves, supposedly powerful enough to eradicate all life and wipe the world clean…to make bubbles. Bubbles! For children to float in! Or old men! Age matters not to the weapon of the gods!" Francis slowly lowered his goblet and stared at the man across from him.

"The dragon, yes?" He asked.

"You're talking about Meliastraza?"

"Yes," Izrizar shook his head.

"That's the name she's taken, isn't it? Though in the stories, it never took a name."

"Enough riddles, old friend."

"I speak of The Destroyer, Francis. The [Destroyer of Worlds]." Francis' eyes widened…but that was it. Perhaps it didn't sink in. Perhaps it couldn't sink in. He hadn't seen the monster, lying in her lair without a care in the world…and why would she have any? Could anything actually hurt her?

"That…does explain some things," he said, taking a drink.

"Actually," he added with a laugh, "It makes a lot of sense, if you think about it! Why didn't we think of this ourselves?"

"Because it makes no sense and you know it," Izrizar grumped.

"Who wakes up in the morning and looks outside their window expecting to see Death on four legs frolicking with children?"

"Hmm," Francis frowned." Not Death. Death has as many names as there are races of people. Karkuul, Gartine, Ramma Ha…to name a few. But Death is not the Destroyer. This is known."

"Does it make a difference to you or me?" Izrizar asked, sounding flat and defeated.

"I think…it does," Francis said.

"I confess, I've never given the Destroyer any serious thought. Perhaps, if you'd made this discovery months ago and shared it with me, I'd have a very different outlook. But…I can't picture it, Francis. I imagine the dragon, which I have seen flying around, and all I see is the gnome. The same one that made our celebrations possible. That made it feasible for [Celestara's Tree] to grow. That provides so much hope."

"And you're okay with that?" Izrizar asked.

"You're okay with waking up every day, knowing a world-ending dragon is living in your backyard? That it delights in playing with children? Who, by the way, seem to have no fear?"

"It's better than the alternative," Francis said grimly.

"Though perhaps I'll have the children explain these…bubbles to me."

"Good luck with that," Izrizar laughed, pouring himself some more wine. The two fell into comfortable silence for several moments before Veloran spoke up again.

"The times are changing, Francis," he mused.

"It's clearer now than it's ever been. The evidence is right before us…sleeping in your field. The Destroyer is very real, and she is active in our lives. What do you suppose is coming?"

"The gods would not have called her if it wasn't something worthy," Francis agreed.

"I hear rumblings of trouble in the south. The demon lands are full of unrest. I've also heard that [Frost Giants] are plaguing the dwarves."

"Hmm. I've heard the [Giants] were pacified," Izrizar shook his head.

"I'd like to meet the party that did it. I heard they quelled the wrath of a [World Boss]."

"Is that so? You've heard more than me, then. I suppose we'll have to wait and see," Francis chuckled. A few moments passed and the Bishop shook his head.

"Did the children really climb up the back of the dragon?"

"You should have seen it," Izrizar laughed.

"Like tiny goats on an obsidian mountain. They'd scrabble all the way up her back, only to squeal in laughter as they slid back down. And the strange part was, not only did the dragon allow it, she encouraged it. She smiled that terrifying smile of hers, full of gigantic fangs and fire-breath, and watched them with intense scrutiny every inch of the way. I sincerely doubt they could get hurt under her watch."

"Well, that's good then!" Francis smiled.

"Good that our children are safe."

"Yes, but it's giving your adults heart attacks," Izrizar said wryly.

"And, mark my words, it's only a matter of time before somebody stumbles across her and does something truly foolish."

"Only an idiot would attack a dragon lying out in the open," Francis scoffed.

"Idiots surround us, remember?" Izrizar countered.

"All those adventurers from the guild are parked right outside of your town."

"How could I forget? But I don't think they'd be stupid enough to attack a sleeping dragon."

"Never underestimate stupidity," Izrizar warned.

"It's the one thing all of Humanity shares in common."

"I suppose you're right. And there are enough of them to form a real [Raid]...."

"Forget all that," Izrizar waved his hand.

"I'm worried what will happen once she leaves again."

"What do you mean?"

"You've seen her den!" Izrizar proclaimed.

"Not just seen her sleeping from afar! You've picked up all those coins and jewels!"

"Ah," Francis groaned.

"I've been meaning to have a chat with the Guildmaster about that…but there always seems to be something new cropping up every day to distract me…." Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Better you than me," Izrizar smirked.

"Don't think I'll let you off the hook," Francis waggled a finger.

"Don't forget whose stuff you and your students are studying."

"Yes, the dragon's."

"Ah, but whose land is that on?"

"Again, I'd say the dragon's." Francis opened his mouth…and slowly closed it.

"You know what? Can't really argue with that." Izrizar gloated in triumph as he refilled his goblet. Francis considered his own cup and passed it over.

"It seems the world is moving into a new age," Izrizar said, handing Francis the cup and raising his own.

"I wonder what it will be called?" Francis mused, clinking their goblets together.

"It's not like either of us will be the ones to name it," Izrizar chuckled.

"True," Francis conceded.

"An age of uncertainty, more like."

Queen Moeldywn sat behind a desk. It wasn't her usual desk, though now that she thought about it, she had many desks. Her most used desk of late was the royal desk, out of necessity and not by choice, and she held no great love for it. It was rich, sturdy wood, yes; but it came with so many unwanted attachments. These days, it felt like she did nothing but sit through meetings, but she couldn't say that they were pointless.

Work was getting done, which was about the only thing keeping her sane from 9 in the morning to 3 o'clock on the dot. If she let her kingdom's ministers dictate her schedule, she'd be overrun, and Horizon would be right back where they started with Philip in control. But even when she left the office next to the throne room, her work didn't stop for the day. She still had her responsibilities as Spymaster. Just because she took up a new role didn't mean everything else was suddenly on pause.

Somebody had to go through all the reports her people diligently collected. And, on occasion, they'd bring her something truly interesting. Such as how a new settlement of halflings had cropped up on Abbyton. The paperwork was sitting on her desk to add it to the maps… Abbyshire, they were calling it. Never change, halflings. And, while the sudden pilgrimage to the abbey was incredibly suspicious and Moeldywn had a strong hunch a certain dragon was involved, that was not the desk she was sitting behind either.

No, tonight was set aside for a rare moment of frivolity. One of Moeldywn's favorite pastimes was [Tinkering]. She wouldn't call herself an [Engineer] by any means (nor would she probably spread it around in the first place), but inventing new things was surprisingly exciting. Not that all of her inventions were original ideas; most of the time, she took a premise from somebody with more brains than skill and she brute-forced them to work.

Especially when it came to peculiar [Enchantments] or overloading something with mana. She could do that all day. … that damn gnome was rubbing off on her in more ways than one, wasn't she? Case in point: Moeldywn recalled a conversation she once had long ago (with Meliastraza, no less), where inadvertently, the gnome had called something a "permanent marker." How absurd. Ink was permanent. If she spilled some on her dress, she might as well throw it out.

Not even her best [Maids]'s [Laundry] skills could get rid of pitch-black ink. And yet… instead of being a good little princess, ignoring the whimsy of a devious gnome, sitting back and letting the palace servants pamper her, what did she do? Put on heavy leathers (so she wouldn't spill ink on her nice dress), squirreled herself away in her workshop, and began [Tinkering]. Now this was a desk! Made of hearty [Ironwood], it was more durable than most metals.

It had also stood up to several minor explosions over its long and storied life, though some of the corners were a little chipped or dinged. Even so, she didn't want to stain it in her pursuit to create a so-called "permanent" marker. And, to be fair, she'd already shifted away from creating the original writing device and pivoted into something different. Really, she thought she was onto something here. While it resembled a pen in the sense that it wasn't a quill, this…

as of yet to be named "marker" felt like a massively fat pencil. If the idea was to contain all the ink of an inkwell, it needed a large reservoir. Even with Moeldywn's skill, compressing so much liquid into a tiny space was difficult. And then there was the fact that it didn't have a nib, and instead had a tip like a calligraphy brush. And, since there were multiple types of brushes for different styles and strokes, she went ahead and made the tip interchangeable.

Currently, the prototype had a large chisel-wedge, and when the ink passed through the magical reservoir, the consistency changed. While she wouldn't condone its usage on a piece of parchment, she found a stunning secondary effect. After accidentally dropping it on a leftover plate of cheese, she found it was quite easy to wipe off of ceramic. And, as it turned out, glass.

Moeldywn had a large pane of glass fitted to her desk with a calendar underneath for quick viewing, and she realized, with this marker, she could mark the glass to create notes and wipe it away when she was done. Yes… this "not-so-permanent marker" had potential. Now she just needed a better name.

"My lady?" A knock on the door accompanied by a maid's voice let Moeldyn know playtime was over.

"Enter," she called. Looking at the clock, it was just after 5 pm. Not quite supper time, so Moeldywn wondered what it could be.

"News from the demon lands?" she asked without any preamble. Perhaps if this were one of Philip's maids, she wouldn't have said anything, but her [Maids] all served in multiple capacities.

"No, my lady," the woman said, bowing deeply.

"I regret to report that there's been no news from the ambassador, either."

"Hmm," Moeldywn frowned. One of her top priorities was extracting the long-time servant of the kingdom before she closed the pass. For good or ill, there was only one direct route by land linking their two countries, and as the gods would have it, the road drove through a mountain pass. She couldn't keep the demons out forever if they decided to invade, but she could certainly slow them down.

"So what is it this time?" Moeldywn asked with an amused sigh.

"It better not be another demand for an emergency hearing in the House of Nobles." Truthfully, if a noble family did demand to call a meeting, under the right circumstances Moeldywn would have no choice but to go. She'd even be glad to. But if this was another attempt to regain power after she stripped it away… well, there was more than one family with a second son who wasn't previously set to inherit who could be trained correctly. Or perhaps it was time to shake up the old dynasties entirely? No, not yet.

They'd done much to earn their positions in the past, and such history should not be forgotten so easily.

"No, my lady," the woman repeated with a grin. Moeldywn's staff was well used to listening to her mutter grievances in her private quarters, so they understood her frustrations, to some degree.

"Well, I'm out of guesses," Moeldywn sighed, leaning back. The maid placed a scroll on her desk and stood up straight. Since the woman didn't immediately launch into a report as Moeldywn reached for the parchment, she had a hunch there was something that needed her attention that wasn't written down.

"You may speak," Moeldywn said as she broke the seal.

"Yes, my lady. Another giant bear was found in the drawing room this morning. It matches the craftsmanship of all the other [Meli Bears] and even contains the maker's mark. We assume it's an original…but we can't figure out how it got there. Do we need to increase security?"

"No," Moeldywn chuckled.

"I know who's doing it. None of us could stop her even if we wanted to…I'm just glad she didn't drop it on me in the middle of a meeting this time. Had a hell of a time explaining that to the Chancellor."

"Very good," the maid said.

"Shall we put it in the collection? Perhaps it's time to shuffle the rotation?"

"Mmm, not yet," Moeldywn said. She paused before looking up.

"Do you have it with you?" In place of a verbal answer, the maid stepped back. She pulled out a giant bear from her inventory, becoming hidden as she set it down in front of her. Moeldywn whistled and stood up, her report entirely forgotten.

"This one seems to be a witch, my lady," the maid supplied, perhaps a bit redundantly. But Moeldywn didn't mind the idle conversation.

"Indeed, it even has a jaunty little hat." She walked up to the bear and admitted it; as always, she was impressed first and foremost by its size. [Meli Bears] were, as a rule, 6 feet tall from the butt to the top of the head, which meant they were quite sizable when sitting next to her… let alone their maker. What that silly gnome was thinking, Moeldywn would never know. She reached out and ran her fingers through the velvety fur. This one wasn't stitched from cloth, but actual animal hair. Alpaca, perhaps?

It didn't feel like goat. Regardless, it was irresistibly soft and quite pleasant to the touch. It was also a deep, midnight blue. The eyes were made of real amber, and it featured a pattern of simple, white, 5-point stars of various sizes randomly scattered around it. On top of its head, a "small" hat sat tilted at an angle, covering its left ear. Obviously, if Moeldywn were to try to wear that hat, it might swallow her whole, but stitched as it was on top of the massive bear's head, it almost looked like a toy.

"The stars glow in the dark, my lady," the maid supplied eagerly, and Moeldywn had to try not to laugh. Her staff enjoyed the bears as much as she did.

"Is that so?" Moeldywn pondered.

"That might be difficult to replicate. We'll have to talk with the distributors. Make a note of it for the next time the representative makes an appointment."

"They'll be excited," the maid grinned.

"That's 4 brand new bears!"

"And maybe more," Moeldywn sighed, sitting back down. It all depended on how many Meliastraza wanted to dump on her. There were worse ways to go than being crushed under a mountain of soft, collectible bears.

"But we're getting off track. If it's not the demons we live with or the ones barking at our doors, what are we looking at?"

"It's Abbyton again," the maid shook her head. As of late, a significant portion of Moeldywn's network seemed to be centralized around the small settlement. It should have been insignificant, and yet…Meliastraza complicated things.

"What is it this time?" Moeldywn muttered. She began scanning the parchment and immediately felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. There was a religious ceremony… conducted by Bishop Larkin himself? While not the absolute head of the Church, he was one of the 13 [Cardinals] who resided in the Bastion of Light. That he'd felt the need to oversee a ceremony was… disquieting.

Surely it should have been the best news Moeldywn had received all year; having verifiable proof that the goddess had not forsaken Humanity was a relief 100 years in the making. But the further Moeldywn read, the more confused she got. Especially when the report kept referencing avocados. There was a widespread blessing… this was both welcome and relieving. It seemed that everyone in the vicinity, up to and including the town of Abbyton proper, had been blessed. So that only left one question.

"Why is there a recipe for some sort of…avocado dip?" Moeldywn held up an attached scrap of paper, as if her spy who'd written on it had done so in great haste under utter secrecy. They normally only did that when they were observing dangerous, hostile encounters…. Two questions. How was Meliastraza involved in this?

"It would seem it's something called [Holy Guacamole], my lady. We've secured a copy and have had the chefs trying to replicate it…to minimal success. It seems they aren't skilled enough to produce the genuine thing. Perhaps it's a difference in ingredients? This calls for an avocado from [Celestara's Avocado Tree]." Moeldywn crinkled her eyes and slowly looked up at the maid.

"... is Celestara known for an avocado tree?"

"If she wasn't before, she will be now. I questioned the agent myself, and the avocados appear to be made of solid gold." Moeldywn felt the headache coming on. Meliastraza was definitely at the bottom of this. She gently placed a hand on her stomach and wondered if she should preemptively see the doctor about some medicine. Eventually she decided against it, and instead pushed the parchment away.

"Well, I suppose if the Bishop oversaw the event, it couldn't have gone too horribly," she sighed.

"Make an appointment for me to visit the church. I want to speak with him personally." Moeldywn leaned back, stretched her arms, and stared at the ceiling. All things considered, things could be much worse.

"There's only one last thing," the maid began. Moeldywn closed her eyes and cursed silently.

"Yes?" She asked tiredly.

"It's about the community of halflings that moved to Abbyton."

"Ah," Moeldywn smiled fondly. She appreciated halflings. They knew the value of living a good, slow life.

"I do believe I've heard this one," she said.

"Looking to start up a settlement? They're looking to call it Abbyshire. Make a reminder. We'll need to send for the Royal [Cartographer] after all this trouble with the demons dies down."

"But…my lady…," the maid said hesitantly.

"Hmm?" Moeldywn replied absently.

"That could take…years, my lady."

"Indeed," Moeldywn sighed.

"I expect, if a new Demon King does rise, we'll be launched headfirst into war. It'll be costly and I hope things don't come to fighting…but I'm a realist. The halflings can wait; we have plenty of time."

"About that…." Moeldywn's eyes wrenched open. She slowly brought her head down and stared at the maid piercingly.

"What do you mean, about that?" She almost growled. She quickly snatched up the parchment on her desk and scanned it quickly.

"Has something happened to the halflings? There's nothing about them in the report!"

"It's just… it can't have been written in the report, because this news is barely several hours old. It seems that, somehow, the entire settlement has already been built. Complete with roads, burrows, halls, and a decorative pond. Some of the locals were questioned, and, ah, it seems that… a dragon did it." Before she could stop herself, Moeldywn's hands both raised into the air. They curled into partial fists and she shook them at the [Meli Bear].

She quickly mastered herself, took two deep calming breaths, and she let out a hot puff of air, even as she smiled at the bear fondly.

"I see," she said in a reasonable, calm voice.

"Clear my schedule. It looks like I need to take a trip to Abbyton."