Chapter 38: Explicit Festivity

"It's for you."​

Both women let out a shout as you all tumble into a nearby bush. Ray dives right after you all without hesitation. Wide-eyed and panicked, you clutch onto your holy symbol, and put yourself in front of everyone.

A loud thunk announces something striking one of the trees.

The rustling stops completely.

"Father, you could have told us to simply get down."

"What gives?"

Disheveled brown hair peeks out from the underbrush as you dare to glance out at whatever threatened you all. You don't pay any mind to Ofelia's and Celegwen's complaints as your eye catches on something pierced into a tree where you were just standing.

"The Gods are Merciful."

You bow your head for a moment, thanking your Goddess for Her protection. There is an arrow stuck so deeply into the wood, you couldn't imagine pulling it loose. A letter is tied onto it with an ancient black ribbon.

A simple look to Ofelia is all it takes for her to understand the situation. She makes a point of shoving Celegwen down properly into the underbrush as she rises. The elf barely protests, and the smaller woman speaks over her regardless. "I'm goin', I'm goin'. You all sit tight. 'Specially you, knife ears."

You can't help but notice how endearing all of the leaves caught in her hair looks as she cautiously sneaks through the underbrush.

She must have caught you watching her as she glances back to you all, though she doesn't acknowledge it. "Seriously, stay back."

Crouching in front of Ray and Celegwen, it's impossible to not peek out from behind the bushes and trees to keep an eye on your friend. Though she approaches the arrow with extreme caution— and you don't doubt her skill for a moment— it's hard to not worry for her safety.

To your relief, she doesn't immediately touch the item. Ofelia darts behind a few nearby trees, checks the surrounding area and removes several strands of wire from across the branches. It's difficult to see the angle she comes up behind the arrow from, as only a branch and a strand of the thread is visible from her carefully extended hands.

She seems completely covered as she hooks around the item, but something explodes forth from the tree and arrow within it. Your heart nearly stops.

"Ofelia!"

Ray makes a sound for the first time in hours, barking at the sudden popping noise. You hold him down, looking around for the halfling as a faint afterimage of light, paint and something colorful hangs in the air. The little strips of paper dance for a moment, painting an explicit message that is not nearly as festive as its presentation.

FUCK OFF​

Ofelia comes out from hiding, looking extremely irritated. The arrow is completely gone. A wall of paint and color is smeared along the tree where she was a few seconds ago. She pulls on her gloves, picking the letter carefully off the floor. Confusion is written all over her face as she looks to it— followed swiftly by intense anger.

Abject hatred is all through her voice as she calls out to you. "It's safe. Er, much as it can be. You're not gonna' like this, Richard, but you'd better come take a look. It's for you."

With building dread, you pick yourself up, and call Ray to your side. Celegwen blissfully comes after you, admiring the fallen slips of colorful paper. They rested on the forest floor in the exact same pattern as they exploded into the air in.

You kick your foot across the message, frowning as you make the letters unintelligible.

F​

K UC O​ F​ F ​

Ofelia holds the letter firmly out to you, looking like she scarcely wants to touch it.

When you pick up the paper, you immediately understand her revulsion. It's the rudest thing you've read in your entire life.

"I would rather not read it aloud," you murmur, looking over the parchment. You feel more than a little sick, and it's not just from the liquor hanging in the air.

To the shameless peasants and perverted arsonist who dares to enter my domain,

Unsolicited, unannounced, and entirely unwelcome,

To the forsaken bastard who decided to turn his nose up at my generosity, snubbing my enchantments and thinking himself better than I,

To the bitches who presume to upset my gardening and desecrate the canopy of my woods,

To "Father" Anscham (though I highly doubt you deserve the fucking title),

You can't help but frown at the expletives being underlined multiple times, the i's dotted with hearts, and your name literally spit on. The letter is held at further length.

You're not welcome here. Idonea can mind her own fucking business. She asked me to be courteous— here's your fucking courtesy. Get out. I don't want any help a bunch of degenerates like you could give. I'm not being a hypocrite. You're that abhorrent.

—Lord Yech, the Disgusted.

P.S. Really don't appreciate what you did in front of Freya and the rest of the girls. Try that shit here and I'll drape your intestines over every square mile of this place. See your whore try and "bless" that.

Shame and fury sticks to you hot and fast. You tear up the parchment, and crumple the remnants of the letter in your hands. A glance is made to Ofelia, wondering just how much she read.

She doesn't look crestfallen. She also looks pissed. The rogue's eyes glint with something extremely sinister as she looks to the cave beyond. "No one— and I mean no one speaks to you that way. We oughta' show this asshole what for."

You grimace, clenching the letter even more tightly. Celegwen, despite her inebriation, seems to pick up instantly on what's transpired. She tightens her grip on her staff— looking fairly irate as well— but she shows far more restraint. She doesn't say anything, and just looks to you expectantly.

Yech's behavior has you reminded more of a misbehaved teenager than a Lord. You know you don't need to justify yourself to anyone. Not only have you been traveling for hours without rest in the lair of a demon, but you've merely been trying to protect yourself and your friends. Although you're not surprised that the children of the archdemon are offended by your behavior, you feel like you're far from overstepping your boundaries.

There's no shame in invoking the Gods.

Still, you pull off your backpack and start fishing around for some parchment. Everything is bent and beaten, but fortunately your journal, paper and ink seem to have survived the fall. Your friends look to you with curiosity as you rapidly fill a pen and scratch out a response. Your handwriting wavers slightly thanks to how heavy your limbs feel. The sting in your eyes from the constant haze of liquor doesn't help, either. Nevertheless, your neat script manages to fill the page in a matter of minutes.

Lord Yech,

I apologize for our intrusion into your territory. Let it be known that your sentiments towards Idonea are reciprocated in full. I speak not only on my own behalf, but for Ofelia Banks and Celegwen as well. Your business is your own.

I must stress that we never intended to disturb or harm your domain. The trek here has worn on my manners, and I must profess to being overtly sensitive to the gifts you have offered. Ofelia has a far greater tolerance for spirits, and possesses a wealth of knowledge regarding them. I hope you two could discuss them with more vigor. Likewise, I hope you could draw inspiration from Celegwen. Her home land is one of impressive verdancy. She shares a love of all things green. Perhaps her memories could offer some respite from the damage we have caused.

I do not expect you to forgive us so quickly for these transgressions, but if you cannot find it in you to understand, please: at least permit us an audience.

—Father Richard Anscham

While the ink dries, you try to grab Ofelia's attention. "Ofelia, if it isn't too much to ask—"

Her blue eyes snap up to you. They're lanced with red. Fury weaves between the haze that you know must be on all of you by now, while she attempts to soften her stare. "Can I read that?"

You nod, offering the letter forward. "The demon called himself a Lord. He may have been one in life, or he may regard his position in the hierarchy with more weight than most. Either— either way, I'd rather extend some courtesy." Your voice drops to a murmur as you say mostly to yourself, "I would rather be a better person."

The halfling's face falls as she rolls up the letter, looking to you with no small amount of distaste. "Don't say I never did nothin' for ya', Richard. Suppose you want me to go introduce us?"

Looking to Celegwen— who is entirely preoccupied with admiring a nearby outcropping of foliage— you can't help but sigh. "If you could. Please— please be careful. I saw you disarm a few trip wires already. This demon obviously did not want to be disturbed. If there is any trouble, call for me."

With a firm motion, Ofelia stashes the letter and swipes her cloak back off of Celegwen. "Sorry Gwen, gonna need this. Sit tight. I'll try to not take too long."

You're left with Ray and Celegwen in a matter of moments. The halfling's footsteps are nearly impossible to hear as she slinks off towards the stone up ahead.

The elf is even more quiet than usual— offering not much more than a smile and a wave long after Ofelia has vanished. You can't help but notice how red the tips of her ears and whites of her eyes have become. It was much more difficult to discern while she was leading you all, but a sick feeling seizes you.

A very large part of you wants to offer a cloak or something else to help her cover up, but all you have is the handkerchief Ofelia gave you earlier, and your robes. Celegwen blinks obliviously as you hold out the small slip of fabric towards her.

To your extreme dismay, a familiar spasm seizes your arm as you hold it out. It's not from exhaustion.

The liquor is getting to me.

"Here," you murmur, holding your arm steady with one hand, and offering the cloth out again with the other. "Try to cover your face, at least."

She looks to you with a huge smile, taking the fabric and holding it over her nose and mouth. The woods are unbearably silent, save for Ray's panting beside you. Though her voice is muffled, you can make out what she's saying without effort. "Your eyes are so red, Father, I can barely see the sage."

You can't help but dart your burning eyes away. It's so dark on the outskirts of the woods that you can't fathom seeing anything inside the cave further beyond the way.

Kneeling down to try and look after Ray instead, it seems that he's completely fine. Exhausted— and probably hungry— but the haze seems to be having no effect on him. You balk for a moment, trying to make sense of it.

"Is something wrong, Father...?" Celegwen's voice drifts away from you as she speaks.

"No, it's nothing."

The Gods reserve their blessings for humanity. Does this demon not care for animals, either?

"Good boy, Ray."

Ofelia seems to be taking an exceptional amount of time getting back to you all. You don't question her ability, but your lowered inhibitions has your neuroticism peaking. It's hard to not wonder if she's gotten lost, or hurt, or if she even wants to come back.

Unable to stand still, you pace, permit Ray to tail behind you, and mull over whether or not you should have all stuck together. The spasms in your neglected and waifish body rise with the motion, but you can't bear to sit idly by.

Just when the wait feels like it's become unbearable, Ofelia reappears. Silent as always, she seemingly materializes out of the darkness next to you. You practically jump out of your skin, taking a step back with a hand over your heart and holy symbol.

"Sorry, Richard." She lets out a slight laugh. "Didn't mean to scare ya'. Wasn't sure if there was gonna be anythin' else out here. This guy is one paranoid customer! Couldn't even count how many traps he'd left."

"Are you— are you alright?" Your heart rate decreases only slightly. More slips of colorful paper are stuck to the halfling's clothes and hair.

She gives you a frown. "I'm fine. This demon is a real fuckin' character. Had me yell yer damn note to him. Said he didn't want to look at me, but he wants to see you. You just say the word, Richard, I'll—"

The gesture the rogue makes almost elicits a laugh from you. It's so violent that you can't help but pull at the collar of your robes, looking down to her with appreciation. "Thank you, Ofelia. Hopefully that won't be necessary."

With an entirely clumsy gesture, the halfling sweeps off her cloak and loosely fastens it back around Celegwen— who seems to be bordering on a trance. Despite their size difference, Ofelia still gets next to her friend and manages to help shoulder her. It's comical, but you don't dare make fun of the attempt to help. "We'd better get goin'. Gwen's a tough cookie, but she's not gonna be of much use at this rate."

"You said that he didn't want to see you...?"

"Yeah, I don't give a shit. We're stickin' together— and at this point I'm wonderin' if this asshole even has any other drinks. Come on."

It's difficult, but you step in front of Ofelia. "No."

"No?" She looks up to you in annoyance.

"Stay here, and keep an eye on Celegwen. This demon is obviously temperamental. I can't risk you both getting hurt, or jeopardizing the mission. He explicitly said— he explicitly said he didn't wish to see you, did he not?"

The sorceress looks to you with a gloss over her eyes, raw as they are. She's completely out of it.

Ofelia glances up to her, shaking her head. It's immediately evident that she realizes how right you are, and eases her friend back onto the forest floor. There's a heavy sigh and a heave of her small shoulders. "I hate to say it, but yer probably right. I can barely keep goin' as it is... and she's not gonna be much help." She settles down next to Celegwen, looking up to you with worry. "Don't you dare get hurt. And hurry back, okay? I cleared a straight path through the traps. You'll see 'em from a mile away. Even Ray should be alright if you keep him near ya'."

"I won't leave you for long. Get some rest, and— and please stay safe. Find me if anything happens." You clench your hands over your holy symbol, looking down for a moment. "May the Gods watch over you both."

A glance behind to the silhouette of Ofelia and Celegwen waiting for you is soul-crushing in its brevity. "Here, Ray. Stay close, boy."

The forest is dark and clouded. Their forms fade from sight all too quickly. You set out, carefully stepping through the dense wood and underbrush. Ray stays right at your heels, panting hard from the exertion of the day. Your breath matches his, heavy from the oppressive mist and cloying alcohol. Though your vision swims, you can clearly see a pattern on the forest floor.

Ofelia seems to have disarmed a colossal amount of traps. Confetti and wire is haphazardly strung about the floor in a parody of a bridge leading up to the cavern's entrance. You keep to the cleared route, and strongly suspect the soldiers you'd seen previously met their fate from something similar.

It's a wonder how tedious it must have been to have set off or disarmed hundreds of feet of paint and explosives. Strewn javelins, spears, arrows and spiked wood protrude on the outskirts of your vision while you walk.

"Stay close, boy. Come on."