Xion CH22

While it wasn't early in the morning, it wasn't late in the day either. Elves were either bringing in food collected from the wilds or game hunting. How none of them thought of farming by now was beyond me? It could be the stereotype or a flaw in the elven mentality. Elorael's people would rather sacrifice their people than farm, or their island might not have been suitable for farming. Numerous factors could have affected her situation.

My farming plan was on the back burner for now while I looked for any legitimate reason not to farm. It could have something to do with the seemingly sapient forest god. If that were the case, then perhaps it needed to die. As a human from a modern world, the thought of killing a giant animal didn't seem impossible to me. Despite its giant size, abilities, and intelligence, I didn't think it was impossible to beat.

Even if I had to get eaten again to beat it, I'm sure there was a way.

…

As I approached the minister of supply's tent, I wondered if I could trade a sexual favor for this. My only saving grace was that they looked female. They weren't male or female, but they looked female, and my translation used female pronouns, which was good enough for me. I probably didn't want to know what they really called me when I heard he.

Since it wasn't the early morning or midday, the supply tent wasn't busy. Instead, a single important-looking elf busied herself with counting stacks of hide. Keeping up with supplies without a writing system must have been difficult. I couldn't imagine having to do something like that.

The supply minister had white almost milk or polished white marble paleness about her from long hours spent inside the supply house. Young elves worked moving in lines reporting to the minister like a long line of ants coordinated to the point of redundancy. They moved with an almost uncanny synchronicity timing, even their breathes. I couldn't observe her work long before she looked up from her work at me.

"What are you doing here?" The minister said.

"I've come to inform you that supplying Zosimael is no longer necessary. I will take responsibility for feeding her from now on." I said.

"An interesting method to kill her off and take her home. You must be close to becoming a warrior of our tribe. What does she think of your plans?"

I blinked at the repose. In three sentences, she accused me of theft, attempted murder, and questioned my legitimacy, all the while establishing a motive. Now, if only she used her paranoia to look for the poisoner who gave Zosimael dementia in the first place. But then again, it was likely the minister was the one behind it in the first place.

My options were defense or offense, and I disliked taking the back foot. She was disorganized, and I imagine if the stacks of hides were replaced with dyed wood chips or something equally easy to keep up with, the room would seem less cluttered. Really why couldn't the elves just develop a writing system? It would make all of this easier. The elves clearly weren't stupid, but who would think of writing before writing?

I felt leery of establishing it myself. Benefiting a society that knocked my teeth in didn't seem very advantageous on my part. The forest tribe would have to do a lot better than it had been to earn that from me. Something so revolutionary wasn't in the cards now. There was too much on my plate now.

At the end of the day, I was already going to fight Samael, but at the same time, I didn't want to make waves beforehand. Rock the boat too much, and it will capsize. That's how I felt about this situation.

"Alright, then we'll just toss out the food you give us while she recovers from the poison you've been feeding her. I'm sure once the chief finds out your home will be vacant enough, and maybe Glorael will give it to me. She seems rather attached to Zosimael." I said.

"You don't have any connections to our tribe. The chief will hear your words as the mad ranting of an outsider. Zosimael is sick because she's lived for too long, not poison. I assure you she has good and bad days, but that is no reason to suspect poison." The minister said.

"Then we'll have an experiment. How long will she remain herself without eating any food you supply?" I said.

"Don't be a fool; she's sick; a relapse will happen eventually; it always does." The minister said.

"Would a blowjob convince you?" I asked.

"I'm not a child who can be tempted with cheap flesh. You'll have to do better than that. Didn't you bring back a moose recently?" I nodded. "That is impressive; you haven't been a part of the tribe long, and already you're bringing in quality meat. You could go far with the right sponsor. Zosimael is a troublesome old shrew; she hasn't had much sway in the past two hundred summers. I heard you had some trouble with a girl that came with you. Elorael is a dark-skinned elf with such a fine cock and finer pussy. But Glorael wasn't keen on mixing her blood with a foreigner. That's made Samael even more determined to make that islander elf her mate. You'll need someone more powerful than Zosimael to deal with that girl." The minister said.

I toyed with the idea of unleashing an island obliterating fist on the spot. She obviously knew about the poison and didn't want her cured. More than likely, Zosimael's poisoning allowed her to gain power when a hole opened from Zosimael's dementia. That or this bitch believed it was really dementia and wanted to help me. There was the option she wanted to use me to open a hole to make Elorael available. For all I knew, she wanted me to make a mess of things so she could force me into trading my ass for help. All of those thoughts flowed through my mind, not so much in words but as a feeling.

It hit me then why there wasn't a chance in hell I would get any real help and why she wanted to poison Zosimael. The reason why Glorael let this happen and why no one lifted a finger to stop it. I looked up at the mighty tree the whole tribe lived in and knew there weren't any shoots poking out around it from memory.

"It sounds like Zosimael would crush all of you if she regained her senses." All the minister gave me was a flicker as she looked away.

"I'm not scared of that old bitch. Who would be scared of someone who doesn't even know where they are half the time?"

"What about a powerful, experienced, and ruthless warrior that finds out she's been poisoned for ages by her own tribe."

"You don't know anything. There is a reason elves don't live more than a thousand years. We get lost in our memories and become a burden on the tribe. It's all we can do to take care of an old warrior whose best days are behind her. Its holy law decreed by the avatars of the forest god."

Now, this was getting juicy. I didn't think she was referring to a type of elf either. Could the forest kaiju use its young to communicate with sapient species? Is that where all the edicts are coming from? I decided to put that thought to the side and focus on what was at hand.