Chapter 64: Bitter Champagne

"To a job well done."​

Ray disobeys his command to sit and guard Ofelia to bound over to you from the very moment that you return to the camp. You scold him with a slight smile, and nestle next to the halfling's bed with your journal after a few more moments of giving him some much needed attention.

You keep the Relic beside you as you chronicle a great deal of what has happened. Filling in the information Yech provided you with, you complete your report on the demons you have faced, and leave a footnote to return to Beltoro as soon as you're able.

There's still so much need for rest. There are so many things you wish you could have said and never did. It helps to get your thoughts out, to try and transcribe some of your journey, your pain, and all of your knowledge. It helps to scratch in a few old fishing recipes, to look forward to getting back to the surface, to think of the rivers and maybe even having your Mother's home cooking again. You haven't been back to Pontos in years, but there are so many places you still have to see. There are so many things still left to do.

It helps to look to the future.

It helps to make a heartfelt sketch of Ofelia and Celegwen as you first saw them.

​

You look over your shoulder to the blonde still sleeping soundly behind you.

Even if they leave the moment we reach the surface, I don't want to forget them.

A small prayer is made to Mercy and Agriculture as you gather up some food and water, and set it beside her bed. You promised to look after her.

It's difficult to tell how much time has passed by, but Yech's voice eventually picks up over the shadow and grain. Ray bounds towards the skeleton as he draws closer with a lantern in hand. "Richard! Richard, you asshole, you'd have better gotten some fucking rest! I've got a surprise!"

He has a banner around his chest that says "#1 Dick" on it, in gold script on a black cloth. His arms are full of balls of confetti, bottles of champagne, and a few stacks of playing cards.

He doesn't call out to you again, but rather comes closely enough that he can speak in a low voice and still easily be heard. The banner promptly gets draped around you. "Let's ditch these bitches and go celebrate."

This is a really bad look for me. Not that I don't deserve it, but imagine if Ofelia or Celegwen saw me like this...

The banner is gingerly removed. You place it back around the demon. "Thank you, Yech, but no thank you. Maybe I can take you up on your offer, instead—"

"I'll get you to loosen up again if it kills me, Richard. You're no fucking fun sober. Come on, then!"

You set about commanding Ray to watch over Ofelia, but still hesitate to leave.

"What's the fucking hold up—"

"There's something I still need to do. After we're done, I— I need to see Beltoro."

"Oh." The demon lord hands you a ball of confetti, wraps an arm around your shoulder, and practically forces you to start walking away from Ofelia and Ray. It's hard to not oblige him, as his skeletal limbs grate against your own emaciated frame with an unexpected amount of strength. "Look— try not to worry about it. They'll be alright. Always have been. You gotta look after yourself before you can help anyone else, right?"

"Right."

"You gotta make up something to me, too, right?"

"What are you talking about, Yech—"

Across from the campsite where Ofelia is resting— out of earshot of the halfling and still within sight of your dog— you arrive at a small spread of festivity. There's a small table that's low to the ground. Cards and dice are laid out on it. Adjacent are a number of bottles of champagne, a small black cake with thirty-one candles, and Yech has draped another banner across a few stalks of grain.

"Congratulations!"

The banner puffs into a shower of confetti over you.

The demon lord looks to you with a grin. He drops you both down to the table, sits across you in the soil, and starts pouring a glass of champagne for you both. "Let's have a fucking toast. To you, and to Idonea."

Graciously, you take the half-full champagne glass from the demon lord, and raise it to him. "A toast."

"To a job well done!"

"To everyone who helped me along the way."

"To you, and to Idonea."

"Cheers, Yech."

"Cheers!"

With a snap of his fingers, the demon ensures that when your glasses clink together that all of the confetti around you both bursts into the air.

Music

As the colored paper falls, you only take a sip from the glass in your trembling hand. To your delight, it tastes vaguely of apples. The drink is bright, crisper than anything that you've possibly ever had, and you make a mental note to only nurse whatever the demon lord gives to you tonight.

"This is excellent, Yech. You really could teach Remigius a thing or two—"

"Don't get me fucking started. Actually, get me fucking started! I could use the distraction!"

"I'd rather not, but how about this?" You set your glass aside and pick up one of the decks on the table before you. Flipping through the worn paper, you see that the hand-painted cards depict coats of arms in lieu of swords or cups. It strikes you that the emblems are the same ones you noticed on the door to Yech's domain. They're so worn and flimsy you don't doubt for an instant that they're as old as the demon himself.

Having absolutely no idea what to do with them, you extend the deck back to your friend. "How about a game, instead? I could— I mean, if you would—"

"Spit it out, Richard. For fuck's sake, you are insufferable when you're sober."

"Sorry. I mean, I might stand to learn a little more from you. I— I don't know how to play."

Yech frowns at you, and empties his entire glass of champagne in one motion. Without hesitation, he tosses aside his glass to go for the rest of the bottle. Wielding the alcohol in one hand, he takes the cards from you with the other, and tosses off his gloves to better riffle through them. With extreme satisfaction, he manages to shuffle the deck between the bones of his hands while putting away the entire bottle of champagne.

His skill is remarkable, and you can't help but lean back, enjoying the display of dexterity and talent as he maneuvers the cards. The demon can't resist teasing you as he sets the deck between you both. "Bet your skinny little ass has only ever tried solitaire!"

"Very funny, Yech." You actually do frown, trying to tackle one insult at a time. "You're a skeleton. You can't possibly criticize me for—"

"You're right, I bet you haven't played solitaire either. How about reversis?"

"What now?"

"It's easy. You'll be fine. Normally you'd play it with four people, but seeing as it's just us— I'll make it work, here—"

Your innocent and boyish smile falls faster than it started. You hold a hand up to refuse some of the cake being slid over to you. "I'm fine, Yech. Thank you."

"Suit yourself, asshole." The demon lord frowns back at you, leaving the slice before you (with most of the candles on it), then going back to the cards. He can't seem to resist tossing a remaining icing coated candle at your head, which you easily dodge.

"You picked a great color for the icing. Did you make the candles yourself? Your skill really is remarkable—"

"Fuck off! You'll have to eat again eventually!"

"You're not forcing me to do anything else tonight, Yech. No stakes, alright? We're playing for fun."

"You're going to kill me, Richard. I'll settle for giving you a fucking lesson, but just you wait. Look— see, the object is to avoid taking tricks. Those have these penalty cards..."

It takes Yech a fair amount of time to explain all of the rules, his modifications and to clarify what his cards are equivalent to, but you're a fast learner.

"You're cheating. Richard, you can't be holding your own against me."

"The Gods are Merciful, Yech. You know my luck is phenomenal."

"Shut the fuck up, you haven't even touched the champagne."

Before long you're back to talking about something other than tricks, trumps and parties.

"Listen, Yech—" He's filling your untouched champagne glass, even though it's already almost completely full. With a frown, you sip on it again, placing it immediately back down and turning to the game. "Did you move my counters?"

"I might be a bastard but I'm no fucking cheater, Richard."

"...alright."

You entirely give up on following the extremely complex nature of the game as you try to make conversation. It's still nice to keep your hands busy, and to have something to fidget with other than your holy symbol in front of the demon.

For all of the time I've been in the abyss, I know almost nothing about the demons I've faced. Maybe Yech would appreciate taking his mind off of everything that's happened this week, too.

"I've been wondering— you seem adept at most games, and you're a fantastic host—" It strikes you that you may have never really tried talking to someone else about themselves before. You're being awkward, and really have no idea how to do this.

"Please, Richard, continue! Your brown-nosing is fucking atrocious, but you know I can't fucking resist! Continue! Go on!"

"I'm trying to be kind, Yech—"

"Then keep going. I'm just fucking with you." The demon lord picks up a number of the counters from the table before you, beating you once again. It's obvious that he isn't at his best, but it's reassuring that he isn't taking it easy on you, and is trusting your intelligence more than your luck. "You might have been more fucked than me but you don't have to act like it. Loosen up."

You try to straighten up— before realizing that you're doing the opposite of what Yech has asked. A hand goes your head— trying to hide from your embarrassment— while you nurse the champagne with the other. "I was just wondering— how have you passed your time here in the ruins?"

"Richard, are you actually trying to make some fucking conversation?"

"I'm trying." You pull a little more on the champagne, and force yourself to set down the glass. Your hands are busied with the cards and counters instead.

"It's pretty fucking refreshing, not going to lie. I haven't talked to anyone other than Malimos for, well— how long did you say it's been?"

"Ostedholm's libraries date back an age, Yech. The year is 605, though I am uncertain if our King and country even holds the same meaning any longer—"

"Relax, it wasn't a fucking test. But good. Couldn't fucking stand the place before, anyways. I guess I've been keeping to myself, working on my shit. Magic keeps a guy busy, you know?"

"Have you been doing— have you done nothing else?"

"That forest didn't make itself, Richard. You got a fucking problem with my garden? Besides setting it on fire—"

"I thought we were past that, Yech."

"We are, I just gotta fuck with you. You're too easy." The demon lord is cleaning house, slowly taking every chip before you. "There's been the garden, and my Magic, and I guess I keep in touch. You get sick of playing the same games with yourself after a few hundred years."

It seems as if he's now compulsively filling your glass in between beating you in reversis. The rules are so convoluted that you can't possibly hope to keep up while talking. It's still of little concern, and you remain a good sport about it as he seems to dominate the game.

Yech's voice is a little on edge, but you respectfully stay quiet as he continues. "It's hard to say no to Malimos, anyways. The lunatic really just wants something to poke fun at before he sucks the blood out of it. Rem hasn't been much better, but I haven't heard from her in ages. Same with the rest of 'em." When your reluctance to match Yech's pace comes to a head, he sets a second glass next to you, and continues to fill it. "...it's been better this way. People are a fucking hassle, Richard. You're alright, but the rest of 'em just haven't been worth the fucking trouble. I've got my spells, more liquor than I know what to do with, a nice place of my own. I got something to show for it, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Never really cared much to get out, but— oh, hey. Looks like I win. Lucky me."

The utter lack of enthusiasm in Yech's voice catches you off-guard. You can't help but notice that he still seems upset.

Restraint is a tenet of Mercy.

Yech is a demon of generosity.

I might actually be making him worse by trying to stay my hand.

Music

"Yech..." It's so much easier to look straight at a demon. So much easier to not be judged by a man, an elf, a halfling, an orc. Yech has been better to you than anyone you've ever known— especially yourself.

It occurs to you that the skeleton sitting before you has been more deserving of your compassion than anyone else you've ever met.

"After everything I've been through, I can't be so quick to sin again." You raise your glass to your friend, and actually start to drink it. Though you're uncertain if it's been enchanted or even poisoned, you trust him.

The tension and compulsion in his frame immediately seems to go down.

You set the glass before you and look to him earnestly. "It's a good thing you're still trying to teach me, isn't it?"

Something akin to a sob comes to Yech's throat. It's so ugly that you initially mistake the sound for him being hurt, but the demon lord places his cards down and sits himself adjacent to you.

He hugs you. "Fuck off, Richard! You're— aah, you're too good for this shithole—"

You put an arm on his back, trying to reassure him with a few pats, and take another swig of the champagne. It's bitter, and also tastes like apples. "This is the least I can do, Yech. Really. You know I can show you Mercy without us getting drunk, too, right?"

The incoherent sniffling and blubbering from the demon lord is horrific, but you're more than happy to give him the chance to let it out. "She's gone, isn't she? All we've got is you."

There's something damp seeping onto your shoulder. It looks like wine is flowing freely from the demon's eye sockets in lieu of tears.

He pauses a moment to take your empty glass from you. Collecting the liquid only takes a few seconds, and he is quick to try to drink it. The revulsion on his face— mixed with his extremely off-putting sobs— paints such a dejected picture that you properly hug him.

"I don't know what I expected, but that tasted fucking disgusting—"

"It's alright, Yech. It's okay. I'm here." You pull back just slightly to look down at your friend. You aren't being condescending in any way, your voice resonates with sympathy, and your eyes are brimming with righteousness. He's simply significantly shorter than you. "...what did it taste like?"

"Like if regret had a child with some rotten fucking grapes. Give me that champagne—"

You share the bottle with the demon lord, as he refills both of your glasses again. "Yech, I'm here, but I don't deserve to be held to the same praise— the same mantle as Idonea. I still have so much to learn from. I still need to grow." Your expression softens further, as Yech drops his head again on your shoulder.

I'll deal with the stains later. This is way too important to pull away from.

The reek of wine and grief clings to you almost as hard as Yech clutches onto your robes. Under his fine clothes and regalia, his skeletal frame seems to have absolutely no substance to it beyond the bone and liquor.

Although he must have no physical need to cry or shake, he's still visibly upset. "That's such fucking bullshit, Richard. You're unbelievable. You might be a lunatic, but you're the best kind of one. You don't give a fuck about anything but what needs to be done. You don't waste any fucking seconds, you don't push, you don't beg— you're a man of fucking action. You're a good friend. You'd risk your bullshit for a stranger. You trust people who don't deserve it, and you forgive fucking everyone, for everything—" There's such an ugly sob that punctuates Yech's drunken praises that he has to stop himself for a moment. He conjures a black handkerchief, pretends to blow his nose, and continues. "You've been through the shit, the worst kind of shit anyone can dish out. You don't stop. You don't stop trusting, and trying. You—"

He clutches you so hard it starts to hurt, but you don't complain.

"You're listening. You're learning and growing, and you're already doing us all proud. Don't listen to Rem or any of those cunts you call friends— you're a good man, Richard! You're a fucking hero, trying to save all of us when you can't do jack shit for yourself. You didn't deserve what those cunts back in your—"

"Church."

"Thirty one times, Richard— your bullshit principles should have had you killed by now, but you don't let it stop you. I know you still love—"

"The Gods. Of course I do, Yech."

"I don't get it. I don't fucking get it, but you're a better person for it. Maybe that's the point. I don't fucking know. But I know you deserve the praise. You deserve for someone in your life to show you the fucking respect—!" He can't continue, sobbing too hard to speak.

You pat his back, keep his glass of champagne full, and try to offer him everything else you can, too. "You are more than deserving, Yech. You are the one who ultimately showed me— who keeps showing me— that there is some good in humanity. You may look like a demon, Yech—"

"F-fuck you t-too, Richard—"

"But you never act like one. You're so strong, and— I'm not trying to flatter you, Yech, I'm being honest— I know you have the strength to show everyone else how to grow. How to be better. I know you deserve to lead."

There's another sniff as Yech leans harder against your shoulder. His words are muffled, but he's close enough that you can understand him perfectly. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

You try not to sound clinical. You've spent your entire life studying and tracking demons. Questioning the Catalyst is your life's work— and you're finally getting answers.

This is a friend. Not an enemy. Not a monster.

Your voice softens further, as you implore Yech to answer your questions. "What would this mean— for you? For the ruins?"

"There's more than just Ostedholm, Richard. There's a lot more to the world. We're just one city. I could— I mean, if I did take after Idonea— it wouldn't be a problem. I get enough respect. An archdemon isn't the biggest or toughest guy. They're—"

Yech pulls back from the hug, looking to you, his eyes dry and his skeletal teeth tight.

He's obviously very proud of himself.

"They're the most emotional. The most compassionate. The ones who have been the closest to the Catalyst. We— all of us— we're all trying to figure it out. Why we're still around. What all this fucking craziness means. The ones that are sane enough to, anyways. Idonea spent an age trying to help all of us. If I were to do this, Richard—" His tears are absent. The demon of generosity is rapidly realizing just how much he can give. "If I were to take over, to lead, to get out of the woods and— I mean, fuck—"

Yech takes a new bottle of champagne from the side of the table, uncorking it in a single fluid motion and pouring its contents back while you try to reassure him. "No one is more deserving to than you, Yech."

He slams the bottle back down to the table, looking to you so earnestly that you want to hug him again. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I am pretty fucking great, aren't I? I'm going to— fuck, this is—"

"You really are, Yech."

"I'll do her proud, Richard. No one's gonna fight me for shit. Not that they could. I'd like to see 'em fucking try." Both of his hands are placed on your shoulders. His empty sockets bore into the verdancy of your eyes. The wine is gone. It's replaced with apprehension and so much excitement you hardly know what to say.

Yech doesn't help matters, and asks you such a weighty question you have to take a long moment to even understand its full implications.

"Do you want to help?"