B4 – Chapter 17: House of essence-weavers

Tristan stood up, sheathed his sword, and extended a hand to help the Demon up. She gripped it and stood up with his assistance – towering a good three feet above his height, with a broader build that matched her frame. “Thanks for helping with the chains,” Tristan said.

The Demon eyed him warily, “You are in the same armor as the Demonkin…but you are not.”

Tristan reached a hand up and scratched the back of his head, “Yeah. Sorry about the deception. I’m in the Demon Realm in disguise. Enemies – I’m sure you understand.”

She nodded curtly and took on a regal demeanor as she squared her shoulders and looked down at him, slightly angling her head down to meet his gaze. “You did help in a time of need…even if, I believe you said, you broke in to release a captured Demonkin.” She dipped her head to her chin in a slight nod. “I am Lord Parslile, Demon Lord of House Parslile.”

Tristan smiled ruefully, no point in hiding it, he thought. She already sees the real me. And I don’t think I can have Felicity pull the stunt to veil who I am this time. Plus, this Demon Lord owes me. He cleared his throat, “Tristan Winterbloom, lord of the Fey Realm. I seek the downfall of Duberceix, and his assassin organization known as the Venomous Rose.”

Lord Parslile’s eyebrows shot up at that, “You…you are one of the bloodlines hunted by Duberceix?”

“Yes,” Tristan replied, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I am the last Winterbloom Elf. The favor I would ask is that you agree to help me topple the Demon King.”

The woman’s mouth spread into a wide smile. “That…is quite the proposition. Tell you what, allow me to ensure my House is in order.” She glanced down, then looked at Tristan with a suggestive look, who intentionally looked off to the left slightly. “And you have some manners. Let me get dressed. Please, accompany me upstairs.” She turned and headed to the staircase, seemingly ignoring the piles of corpses around them.

Tristan followed and kept his eyes firmly on the top of her back and shoulders, watching for any movement that could denote a hostile action. While they ascended, they spoke. “What happened down there?” Tristan asked.

“The Parslile family specializes in essence-weaving. We are unique among the Demon Houses due to that,” she said haughtily. “One of the oldest Houses. In the Realm.” She glanced back at him with a seductive smile, “You speak excellent Demon’s Tongue for an Elf.”

Tristan chuckled, “If only you knew my past, you’d know why.” He intentionally wanted to be a bit vague. Keep her guessing, he thought, and keep the upper hand because of it.

She nodded and turned back to the front, “Well, I was attempting a new type of summoning spell. You are an essence-weaver, are you familiar with the process of creating a new spell?”

“I am,” Tristan replied.

“Summoning as a spell type can be dangerous. Ideally, a summoning spell draws on the idea, the concept of an entity. But, when developing a new spell, sometimes it can pull on the actual creature we are trying to create a manifestation of. That is what happened.” She sighed, and he could hear some slight sorrow or even regret enter her voice. “I…was not adequately prepared for what happened when the spell misfired. I effectively invited that thing, and it appeared. I was able to defend and protect myself, and thanks to years of spells laced upon my body, I survived…” she trailed off.

Tristan spoke softly, “But those who responded to your cries for help-”

“Slaughtered,” She replied quickly, tersely. “We do not speak of the dead in my House. They are corpses and nothing more.” There was a hidden sorrow there, but she kept it well concealed.

“What about my ally? The Demonkin who was captured?”

The Demon Lord let out a slight, barking laugh. “I had no clue we had captured a Demonkin. That would be a question for my head gua-” she cut herself off and took in a deep breath before calmly replying, “I will not be able to unveil the reason for your ally being captured.”

Tristan understood immediately that one of the bodies down below was that of the person responsible for the House’s safety. He wanted to say he was sorry for her loss, but respected her traditions, and instead checked the ground on the next landing, finding the X carved into the floor. “I need to stop here,” he stated.

She glanced back at him, revealing her torso that he quickly averted his gaze from, looking to his left. “Why?” she asked.

“A companion of mine,” Tristan replied. He spun his crucible, feeling his quarter-full essence, and activated his Spoken Message: Half-Realm ear cuff. Despite being made of silver, it was on his skin while he had been venting essence during the fight with the Starsworn, and so it remained functional and unmarred. Swapping to the Standard Tongue, he spoke. “Felicity? I dealt with the hot thing. You can meet back up with me on the stairs.” He swapped to Demon’s Tongue and looked at Lord Parslile, “We are going up?”

She nodded, “Yes. Speaking to an ally?”

Tristan nodded and swapped back to Standard Tongue, “Up the stairs from where we had agreed to meet.”

Felicity’s voice echoed in his ear, “Okay! Good job not dying!”

“I just got stabbed once,” Tristan replied.

She snickered, “You got pricked?” Then, her voice became serious. “Sorry. Are you well?”

“I survived and am healed,” Tristan replied. “See you soon.” He let the spell fade and swapped back to Demon’s Tongue, “Okay. Up we go.”

Felicity joined him a few moments later, landing on his head and making paw-claw biscuits. “I got a lot of fancy, expensive looking stuff.” She looked the Demon she had flown over, “She’s kind of pretty.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Tristan replied in Standard Tongue. “I haven’t been looking at anywhere except her face.”

She patted his cheek with a paw-claw, “Good! Only eyes for me.”

Lord Parslile glanced back at Tristan, “You are speaking to someone again?”

Tristan nodded and swapped to Demon’s Tongue, “Yes. My companion. Over my artificed item.” A small lie, he knew, but there was no need to reveal the hidden Felicity.

She nodded, “Well, they are welcome to join us.”

The staircase had become less plain and unadorned the higher they ascended, until they had gone up easily three-hundred feet. There, the archways for each landing led to a sturdy, wooden door with brass hinges, and carpets tethered to the floors using brass rods lined the steps. Grooves and alcoves had been carved into the stone blocks as they ascended, and trinkets were placed here and there – primarily ornaments, also made of brass. Simple, tasteful artwork that was not expensive all things considered. Which, given the size of the huge fortress, made perfect sense to Tristan. Why would you put all of the fancy items for display in a random stairwell? You keep the most valuable pieces where those raised to appreciate it reside. The rest is just ornamentation; like a veneer of polish that shows wealth, but only to the untrained.

Lord Parslile clicked her tongue, glancing at some of the empty cubby holes on the walls. “Looks like someone with sticky fingers helped themselves. Your ally who was captured, perhaps?” she asked.

Tristan knew it was Felicity, and her little paw-claw biscuits on his head confirmed that rapidly. “No. My ally was here to offer a partnership to take down Duberceix.”

“Ah.”

They arrived on a landing where a small, green-skinned Imp stood. It quickly came to attention as the Demon Lord got up the final step, muttering, “These stairs…why did I have the summoning chamber so far down?”

The Imp barked back, “Good evening, ma’am! What can I do for you, ma’am!”

The Demon Lord glanced back at Tristan, “I have a guest with me. See them to the parlor. I will join you shortly. Prepare beverages.”

The Imp bowed and opened the door, revealing the most splendid and gorgeously decorated building Tristan had ever seen before. Gold sculptures covered shelves along the walls. Silver-inlay reliefs of artwork were etched into and painstakingly poured into the walls, depicting fabulous scenes of plains and oceans. The ground was covered in a long, deep, purple rug that seemed endless as it stretched down the hallway and then turned with the bend in the hall.

Felicity whistled, “Wow…I didn’t get this high. I just got a bunch of the stuff in the alcoves on the way up!”

Lord Parslile turned to face Tristan, “I will see you in the parlor shortly…thank you for providing me with elixirs that very well may have saved my life. I will hear out your proposal shortly…just know that my House’s power is diminished due to this recent incident.” She turned and walked down the hall before Tristan could get another word in edgewise.

The Imp cleared its throat, and spoke in a slightly high-pitched, scratchy voice. “Please follow me to the parlor!” It turned and scurried down the hallway, taking a sharp left down one of the passages.