Chapter 242

Drolick tried to keep himself from stomping as he stalked back into Shandr. That monster was off-putting. The way it carried itself, as if a keelish talking was normal as could be, the way it simply made demands… Drolick worked to stop the shiver from running down his back as he remembered the hissing, barely intelligible words from that fanged, huge maw…

With an effort of will, Drolick pulsed additional magic power through the armor, opened the discharge flap, and spit out. The brownweed he was chewing was about gone, and the jittery clarity of mind from it was flagging. It had been a long time since someone told him to stop his chew habit, and he could finally admit it was getting out of control, but it was the only thing that kept him working as hard as he was, so it was a necessary evil.

"Mayor! What was that?"

"Captain! Did you kill whatever it was? Was it someone from the Wilds?"

"Head Warrior! Are we safe? Do we need to retreat to the mines?"

With a deliberate crack of his neck, Drolick settled himself before opening his Mageplate. Inside the breastplate was a dwarf of a man, his chest collapsed and arms skeletal, a white beard stained earthy tones by the dribbles of brownweed colored spit dripping from the corners of his mouth. His legs were functional, but only enough to help him get to his wheelchair. Drolick settled in, fastening his torso into the power reception module and slowly easing his will into the contraption as he decided what to say to the worried men and women manning the walls.

With a grunt, Drolick spoke up, his voice squeaking out, "Long story short, we're fine if we don't do anything stupid. I'll talk with all the division captains and their subs, and that's how you'll get whatever details you do. Now, back to the walls, make sure nothing approaches us."

He nodded dismissively, and while the assorted people and species obviously had pressing questions, they had received direct orders from their bosses' bosses' boss, so they shut up and listened. Drolick grunted, satisfied, to himself and began willing himself forward as his better right hand fingered at the small comms device lodged just next to where the withered hand naturally fell.

With a parallel effort of will, Drolick pushed magic into the small module and, once he felt the sizzling establishment of connection, began to give his brief order: "All caps and subs, meet me in the war room, yesterday. If you're in the mines, report to me once your shift is over, and stay down there." Once the order was given and a chorus of murmurs of affirmation received, Drolick reached to the concealed brownweed compartment in the arm of the chair and raised another pinch to his mouth. He'd need every edge he could get in this next meeting.

…

The city of Shandr was small, at least, it was as far as any surfacefolk knew. That was how Drolick liked it, hard to tell how much they had spread underground and how many of the survivors there were hiding out in the mines. That way, they were seen as generally useless and below anyone's notice. The trip to his office was quick and smooth, only interrupted by brief nods to civilians and citizens who greeted him. He was an obvious enough figure, he supposed, considering nobody else would be so wasteful as to determine the precise engineering necessary to create a magical wheelchair. But, he was the mayor and he figured that his genius and position afforded him at least that much "wastefulness".

As he rolled up the stairs to his office and then into the war room, Drolick realized that Mundir was already here. She was a dear, an ursine beastkin from the Icy Archipelago. She'd been thrown away by her idiot of a mother when she'd finally told her that she couldn't use their traditional magic to morphosize, and, like all surviving outlaws, castaways, and outcasts, she eventually made her way into Shandr. She was a gloriously intelligent magecrafter, was well on her way to creating a complete Mageplate, and had been an indispensable secretary/chief of state since her arrival.

"Welcome, Mayor Drolick."

A scoff. The girl's only issue was that she couldn't get over this damned formality. She was bowed low over the table, her wet snout nearly touching it. "Get up, Mundir."

She stood tall, her broad shoulders square, as she waited for him to assume his position at the head of the table. Her fur was slowly transitioning to a more dirty gray than its initial snowy white, presumably from long hours spent in front of the forge and in the mines. She, like all beastkin, was basically the beast made human: over seven feet tall, paws for feet, thick fur covering the whole body, hands instead of paws on the arms, and a bearlike face. Her eyes glittered with intelligence, and her thick leather armor suited her, showing exactly how dangerously muscled the entirety of her torso was. 

"Good to see you, Mayor. How was the meeting?"

He grunted, again. "I'll talk about it once everyone gets here."

A quiet nod, then she sat and began idly scribbling at her Mageplate blueprints. Stealthily, Drolick scooted his chair over to take a look at the plans. He was only able to see a couple of equations before a furry arm covered his view.

"I respect you greatly as a magecrafter and my teacher, but I want this to be MY Mageplate. No advice."

A wry smile covered Drolick's face. It was an old conversation, mostly born from the fact that Drolick was an incorrigible crafter, and always wanted to add his own flair to anything he saw. 

"Very well. Let me know if you have any questions."

"Yes."

An easy silence settled over the table before the door flew open, and in stalked a human, bulky and sweaty. 

"Hello, Virion. No, we haven't started. Sit down."

The young subcaptain nodded twice, quickly, and settled into a seat next to Mundir. He looked excitedly at her blueprints, gasped in awe at a couple of the equations, and was summarily hushed by his senior. 

Before the door could even settle back on its hinges, it opened languidly to admit Atik. He was a deposed prince of the Misti Hawar, and couldn't bear to let anyone forget it. His people were shorter than the lupine, ursine, and otariid beastkin, and insisted they were not beastkin, but Drolick couldn't see it. Mostly beast, people, had fur and long teeth, whatever. The Misti Hawar were comparatively bulkier than most of their beastkin folk, broad of shoulder and waist, with thicker, darker fur than most other subsets. They disliked using weapons, something about weakening the primal instinct, and instead relied on their impressive natural athleticism and natural weapons: claws and teeth. Most abhorred and avoided the use of armor as well, but since Atik had been deposed due to his inability to use their hereditary magics, he decided to rely on whatever he could.

Atik never removed his armor where anyone could see him: a mahogany colored leather with glittering black runes decorating the entire body. There were scales and additional straps to give boosted protection against piercing weapons, but the primary function of the armor was inspired by his people's Words of Power and worked to keep him hidden in the darkness. It did its job serviceably, and while Drolick had no fondness for the deposed prince, he had to admit the beauty in the craftsmanship of his full body armor. Using the leather to trade greater protection for increased versatility had been a masterclass idea…

Drolick was stirred from his thoughts as he realized that the entirety of who he expected to come to the meeting was present. Ursine and lupine beastkin and humans made up the majority, but there were a couple of Veushten and a single Moonchild. All present looked to him if not with respect, at least with attention.

"I'll cut to the chase. There are not many who know the term 'saharliard', but the one who used it… used it correctly. They asked to–"

"So there are talking keelish here?" Atik interrupted. "And when are we leaving to slaughter them?"

A couple of the older beastkin raised their hackles and the rumbling sound of displeased growls filled the room at the immediate and obvious disrespect. "I was getting to that, princeling." Atik's own hackles rose at the deliberate jab, but Drolick continued. "They said they just want to skirt around the city during the night so as not to panic anyone. Without killing or hurting anyone. I'm inclined to give that to them."

"You are an idiot." Atik's voice again cut through the room. "The gods themselves have decreed that talking pests are to be immediately put down."

Drolick looked over at the hotheaded youth, his sigh audible and disappointed.

"Am I wrong?" Atik asked.

"No, but you're the real idiot." Before the sputtering princeling could gather his thoughts, Drolick continued, "Some of the gods have said that, yes. BUT!" His voice, high-pitched and squeaky as it was, cracked through the room. "You're talking to a room of leaders of a literal gods-forsaken city. You yourself are one of the forgotten by the gods. Why would we care what they think?"

Atik's jaw hung open, his canines sharp and threatening in the light. "But… you know what I am."

"A Misti Hawar princeling, yes."

"An ancient keelish hunter."

"Forgotten by those who made you that, yes. Is there a point to this?"

"I will hunt them. If you know what's good for you, you–"

At Atik's words, a particularly angry human captain, Lindta, next to him grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and bodily hauled him to his feet. "If you know what's good for you, you won't finish that sentence, whelp." The beastkin around the table chuckled, and a chorus of "whelp" and "pup" sounded in the room. Atik obviously wanted to lash out, but Lindta pulled the scruff back and up in a way that exposed Atik's throat before gently loosening his shortsword at his waist. Drolick let the painful silence settle for just a moment before gesturing for Lindta to release the fuming Atik.

"You're free to do what you want, but Shandr will not support you in this if you do. Also, if you're thinking to do something stupid to Lindta because of how your people do things, I invite you to look at the people in this room and reconsider."

The entire ruling class of the city looked threateningly at the enraged young captain. "You're a good leader, and a better fighter. Don't be stupid."

With a huff Atik turned. "You are all fools." He stormed out. Drolick turned to a couple of his more trusted captains and, before he could say a word, they nodded and followed the headstrong Misti Hawar out.

"Any other questions?"