Ch.41

The chair and table were seemingly made out of wood, but they didn't feel as wood felt. Their origins were not of Innah'vadah, which led Erik to believe the robed elf in front of him brought them himself.

Erik rested his knuckle on the table and lightly pressed down. This table was not made of wood. It was too perfect, unnatural.

"You are the king?" The elf spoke, setting down his cup of tea on the table with a muffled clink sound ringing out.

The air was still, the only distant sound being the faint creaking of the massive ships on the water, and the waves washing ashore.

The elf before him wore a white robe, had a long white beard, and seemed young and old at the same time. His wrinkles were faint, but his hair was as white as snow, something on the elderly would possess. Erik could only guess to his true age which had been extended unnaturally.

("You are a mage.") Erik spoke in turn.

The robed elf laughed amusingly. ("So they were telling the truth! A man who speaks Highelvish is king to a bunch of mud eaters! How fascinating. Who taught you Highelvish little one?)

("Such arrogance coming from a trespasser.")

("Trespasser?") The elf laughed again. "You know such a fancy word as well! Let us speak your tongue that is why I was sent here out of all of my peers, after all. Now, I had been led to believe this was a backwater mudland, and yet the clothing you wear is truly fine, befitting something only the wealthy would wear. How did you obtain such clothing?"

Erik stared hard at the mocking elf, a cold stare and stale expression. His eyes darted to the sea where the ships were located. They were transportation vessels, and not ships of war as there were no cannons lining their sides.

He glanced back to the robed elf. "What is the reason you are here for?"

"Ahh... Yes." The robed elf's demeanor changed as he stood up from his seat. He cleared his throat. "Foolish king of the mud eaters. Since you have decided to take in the disgusting Drow, and establish an independent colony here, then by order of his majesty, the emperor, you are hereby granted freedom. Along with your freedom, will you take on the burden of the entirety of their kind, that is the mud-eating Drow, through marriage. Forty thousand and all. His majesty, the emperor, purely by the kindness of his heart, instead of dirtying his legacy by ordering the slaughter of the entire population of Drow that dirtied our lands; he deemed it fitting to have them all exiled here." He raised up his arm, pointing off to the sea. "Upon those ships are every one of their kind, bastard halfbreeds and all, who survived the journey, that is. They are yours now. Never to step foot on imperial land again." He lowered his arm, taking out a scroll from his sleeve, and tossing it into the air. The scroll unraveled itself and found its place, flat on the table in front of Erik. "This is a treaty. You will sign in blood, and upon doing so, you will be crowned King to the Drow and wedded to their filthy Queen. Your status will then be solidified, your people will be allowed to claim this land as your own."

"I wonder what it is that I could do in turn."

"Simple!!" He yelped. "Your prior atrocity has not been forgotten, but his majesty is very forgiving- a finger. Either you cut it off yourself, or I may assist you."

"A finger?"

"Yes! How forgiving his majesty is. You executed a handful of our soldiers and took hostages for information. Not to forget, the rebellion that handed you your position. Those crimes would deem your life forfeit, but if you offer a finger, to be delivered in a box to his majesty personally, then all will be forgiven."

Faced with this tidal wave that was an enemy, Erik shut his eyes to focus on his thoughts. His breath stunted as he contemplated his course of action, weighing the pros and cons of every decision. Finally, he exhaled softly as he opened his eyes.

"Your choice? Man." The robed elf pestered.

Erik moistened his parched lips, the weight of his words hanging in the air like an impending storm. "I recall a sense of familiarity..." Erik's eyes avoided the elf's even as he continued to speak. "It would be a fool's mistake for a small kingdom to stand up to an empire as great as yours..."

"Indeed."

"...But..."

"But?"

"...It would be just as foolish for a mortal to stand before a god."

A charged silence enveloped them as the elf struggled to process the audacity of the statement. "Yes, that it would be." A forced chuckle escaped his lips as if trying to dismiss the gravity of Erik's words.

Erik's eyes then directed themselves to the elf. "So why are you not kneeling?"

The elf's laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by a somber stillness. That cold gaze, those still, clear blue eyes, eyes that seemed as if they were looking at a corpse. The elf had never felt such fear before. It was enough to make his face go pale in frown. "Come again?"

His chair crumbled beneath him, shattering into faded light like glass as it disappeared into nothingness, and in its place, there to quickly replace his seat, the shfi'nyl rose up beneath him. It formed a throne that raised him into the air, as he rested his elbow on its arm, and his cheek against his fist. That domineering look in his eye as he looked down to the elf was the true look of a king to a peasant, a god to a mortal.

He was now elevated above the elf, looking down at him with that cold, uncaring gaze; as if looking down at a peasant. The elf recognized that stare of his and felt the humiliation of his position, but he was not soon to stick around.

He made his getaway to the sea, skipping across the air in flight, but the shfi'nyl chased after him. It blanketed the water as it crossed over and reached up for the elf above. It grabbed hold of his legs, coating them and stopping him in mid-air. The elf was quick to cast a spell, conjuring a bolt of energy that did nothing to damage the shfi'nyl.

"Aphros!" He would shout as he was being pulled back to Erik. "You would rely on black magic!!"

"Black magic? No. This is divine magic." He spoke, just as the elf was brought before him, robbed of all freedom of movement. "I never introduced myself. I, am King Erik Alexander Chamber of Innah'vadah, but I am also known as Lord Fall, of the Fallenic Temple, god to my people." The elf would try to speak, try to cry out like a captured animal, but he would quickly find he'd been robbed of his voice. "Do not fret. I will not kill you. You, will serve as a messenger. My kingdom is not weak. I, am not weak. Send your ships, your soldiers, your mages, druids, dragons. Send them all and more. Just know, the moment they part for the sea and sail out of view, that will be the last time they are ever seen. I will accept your gift, but I will exchange your threats with my own. Trade will be met with trade. War will be met with loss. A hand, will find its loss of a finger." With a crushing and suffocating collapse, the shfi'nyl would close in on the robed elf's right finger, the flesh and bone being split from the knuckle, only to fall into Erik's palm.

Erik stared the elf in the eyes. His cold, intolerable gaze, like cold iron against warm, bare skin. He caughterized the elf's bleeding stub with azure flames with his own finger, then wrapping the severed elf's finger in a handkerchief, to be returned to its prior owner.

The elf, fearful before the god that stood before him, was released, only to collapse to the ground, afraid to move. He was left, his severed finger left in his clutches, the blood seeping through the handkerchief.

Soon enough, the entire population of Drow, exiled from their land, would be granted permission to step food onto Innah'vadah's land. The elven mage, along with the ships, would return across the sea with a sour attitude and a grudge.

As Erik looked over the poor Drowvish immigrants, he took note of their malnourished forms and cracked lips. The children were no exception. They were a pitiful people who looked on to him as just another slave master.

He would order his men for the time being, while he figured out a course of action to settle the Drow in. "Give them food, water, and blankets. Tell the townsfolk to stay clear of them. Empty out any homes to the west and allow the women and children to occupy them. The men will camp out for the night by fires."

"Yes, my lord!"