Shapeless Hero

33 - Interlude

Far above the colorful roof-tiles and smoking chimneys of Caldanyr, an over-sized osprey has its wings spread. As the messenger bird glides over the roads bustling with countless merchants, workers and adventurers, it gradually descends towards the center-piece of the Imperium: The star-shaped citadel of the capital. It dominates the landscape by far. The highest building in the city doesn't reach even a tenth of the height of the citadel's lowest wall-segment.

A few guards on the multi-layered walls glance at the bird, but resume their patrols, once they recognize the giant osprey as the usual bearer of important news. The messenger passes over the defensive mechanisms and training courts, eventually sailing through an open window of the main complex within the citadel. The bird lands gracefully on a wooden perch with intricate carvings, which lend the messenger an air of unquestionable royalty.

"Sir?", the osprey calls out into the room. Unlike the imposing perch, the rest of the interior's grandeur is over-shadowed by such a mess of paperwork, that one could mistake it for a vandalized postal office.

After a few moments, parchments shift on a nearby desk. From beneath it, the tanned head of a dwarven man emerges. The only part left of his coiffure is his well groomed, yard's length of a white beard and bushy brows. He looks around the room for a few heartbeats, before his grey eyes finally spot the winged visitor. "That color..." His brows rise in surprise. "From Tyllat?!", he shouts in his raspy voice.

"Yes, Sir." The bird responds, a smile slowly appearing in the corners of his beak. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

The dwarf stands up, unaware of the parchments falling off his desk, for he wonders, what kind of news could come from Tyllat of all places. Do they seek help from the Empire? Did new invaders show up at their doorstep? 

Deeming his speculation pointless at this point, the dwarf welcomes the messenger with open arms, as he huddles over from behind the desk. His hands are sullied by black ink, some of the stains dried up long ago. He brushes off the dust on his formal vest, the matching jacket long lost within the piles of scripture around him. He graces the osprey with a bright smile. "I'm glad you're alive and well, old friend! But coming here from so far away, there must be more to your visit, yes?"

"Aye.", the bird confirms, then draws a magic circle in the air with one of his talons. "From one of your commanders."

The dwarf blinks, confusion written all over his face. "A commander... in Tyllat? I don't remember having anyone sent out there."

The osprey grins. "Old man, you still have a couple of centuries ahead of you. Don't turn senile on your subjects yet! You have a nation to run, you hear me?"

"Har dee har." Despite the sarcasm, the dwarf smiles. Not many occasions arise anymore, in which he can speak so casually with somebody. The dwarf traces the magic circle, the osprey created with his own finger. A scroll drops into his open hand, once he finishes the last rune in the arcane constellation. "Alright, let's see..."

As his eyes travel over the words, fear creeps in, but once he finishes reading the letter, it is replaced by confusion again. "...it took the oath? And the oath didn't kill it?" He turns to the messenger bird again. "Be absolutely honest with me: Did she appear in any way drunk to you, when you accepted the letter for the delivery?"

"No, Sir. She looked well-adjusted."

The dwarf lets out an exasperated sigh. He hoped so much, the dark elf was just drunk on Tyllat's brews, thinking it would be funny to write humbug to the Emperor himself in a spur-of-the-moment act. He'd be even willing to pardon her misuse of official services, because the fabrications of a drunkard would have been far more preferable over this.

The dwarf massages his temples. "I promise, you can rest afterwards, but please bring one of our arch-wizards to the audience hall."

"Will do, Sir.", the ospray responds with a salute of a wing.

As the bird takes off, the dwarf makes his way towards the door. If the claims in the letter are true, the Empire gained a new oath-bound subject. The number of subject within the empire wielding an S-rank skill has grown from five to six, which on paper is good, but if other nations find out about the skill in question...

He groans, as he imagines the diplomatic disaster that could entail. Associating with such a harmful species, would rightfully earn him the distrust of other nations, but it's too late, if the creature is truly on the list of oath-takers. He has to find a way to ensure the new subject's loyalty. "...but how do you strike a deal with a shapeshifter?", he mutters to himself. Just using the word 'shapeshifter' out loud feels wrong. It's supposed to be a creature of the myths by now, but here we are.

The afternoon sun illuminates the audience hall through the tall windows. The dwarf makes his way to the throne, passing countless saluting guards and massive, unadorned pillars on the way. From behind the throne, a statue of an overly muscular man looms over the hall in a wide stance, arms-crossed and little clothing. The dwarf finds some amusement in the juxtaposition between the barbarian of a god and himself, the latter allowed to sit on the throne in front of the religious depiction.

Now a few yards away from the throne, the dwarf looks up to the giant statue behind it. "Are the wars we fight not enough? Are you really so bored, that you had to bring that terror of a species back? If you hate me that much, why don't you come down and strike me where I stand, you coward!"

As expected, no response comes, for it is indeed just a statue. The last time, this god spoke to him was during the vision he had, when swearing the Imperial oath all those centuries ago.

The dwarf sighs and slowly sits down on the throne. His head resting in one hand, he awaits the arrival of the arch-mage, their footsteps already audible from behind the doors.