Chapter 7: The First Non-Collinear

"Come in!" Said a man's voice from within an office. Willem proceeded to open the door and walked in. He took his mask off as he got closer to the desk before him.

The office itself was a fascinating blend of Victorian aesthetics and political authority. The ceiling was high with exposed iron beams, large windows with stained glass and walls lined with rich, dark wood paneling. The floor was made of polished brass with intricate inlays. A carpet laid on top, cushioning each step of whoever stepped foot inside. His desk was massive piece of furniture, made of oak with brass fittings.

"Have a seat, Chief Surgeon," said the man signalling Willem to do so on one of the seats before him. His hair, a blend of grey and black with a few wrinkles on his face screaming forty-seven.

"Dr Willem's fine Mr President, you really don't have to," said Willem politely. A smile on his face as he descended down to sit by the presidents right.

"Modest as always, so, how's the school holding up?" Asked the president as he ran his hand through the lengths of his arm rest.

"For the most part it seems fine, a branch was attacked in the north but, they handled it best they could. Minimal casualties," answered Willem. He was always well informed of his work place, did his best to know as much as he could of what happened within the school despite being cooped in his office most of his days.

"Good, we're looking at quite a number of specialists this year. A lot of researchers are working towards prodiving you plague doctors with the best material for your work. Our industries as devoted as they can be. As gratitude and a plea that you may continue fighting for the people," said the president adjusting his too tight collar, leaning back in his comfortable chair. His words carried the weary weight of someone who had already been through two meetings prior to that one on that specific day.

"Thank you, Mr President," said Willem as his eyes caught a glint from the artificial lights above.

"While we're at that, I wanted to both thank you and applaud you for, recently when we had a drider attack in Olstrum, I was impressed. Not by the attack of course but rather, your plague doctors. They were residents from what I've been told and yet they made swift work of the giant spider and it's minions. There were some deaths, few. You're doing great things in that school, of course not downplaying your predecessors but I believe in your leadership to push us forward into a newer age of safety and prosperity. Keep doing what you're doing," he said to him.

At that point, Willem was slightly deep in thought, "Residents? Fought a drider?His gaze drifted past the president's shoulder, settling somewhere on the wall without really seeing it. His eyes took on that particular quality of someone suddenly transported elsewhere, a minor twitch by his eye lids, a small unconscious movement.

It was a strange occurrence, at least by his understanding. Driders were not your average foe and he would never send mere residents to fight those creatures, meaning he was not informed of any of that. Then again, so many activities, were considered peripheral and unimportant, it was not every mission he was informed of at least not always. He was Chief Surgeon, he handled so much more than most would in terms of work and foreseeing so many other activities within the school while also fighting in the front lines.

Realising the president was done talking he came to and began to speak, "Right, of course Mr President, it is our sworn duty to guard and protect all human life within our boarders. No need to thank us, at least not more than you already do."

"Alright. Before I forget, the Army General, Regan, would like to have a word with you before the ball. I'll join you all a moment later," said the president as he went on to write something on some sheet of paper on his desk, his attention snatched from Willem.

"Right away sir," said Willem as he left the room.

Meanwhile, through the frost gilded streets of Olstrum, Ayaan clutched her blouse a bit as steam clouds billowed from the brass ventilation towers overhead. She held a letter, addressed in careful ink, pressed against her chest from an inner pocket. Her boots clicked against the cobblestones, each step releasing small puffs of frozen breath into the wanning afternoon light.

The mechanical lamp lighters were already at work, their telescopic arms reaching upward with clockwork precision to ignite the gas flames. Their gears whirred softly in the winter stillness, a sound that gave her a bit of comfort.

She slowed her pace as she approached the spot, the recent crime scene where she was forced to remember who she was, a plague doctor. There were chains about two feet from the hole made by the monster to prevent civilians from approaching further. Metal shards still poking out of bricks and the ground. The creature remains and the victims bodies were long gone, most definitely confiscated by the authorities for further investigation and autopsy reports.

A passing automaton passed cart rattled through a puddle, splashing her boots and breaking the spell. Ayaan realized she had stopped walking entirely.

She took a deep breath and forced herself foward. The post office was only two blocks ahead, copper dome rose above the surrounding buildings like a sentinel. She was delivering her appeal letter, an appeal to the Chief Surgeon to revoke her discontinuation, that she may continue to practice as a plague doctor at P.M.S.T.C(Plague Medical School and Training Centre).

The afternoon afternoon light was fading fast, filtering through the ever present industrial haze shafts of amber and grey. She quickened her step, the rhythmic sound of her boots on stone drowning out most of her peripheral thoughts.

The mechanical clock tower struck one, it's deep resonance vibrating through the steam filled air. She still had time, she strode fast to the post office, the letter still pressed hard on her chest. A quick work around and she was done, walked out headed for the bakery, her sister obviously waiting and wondering where she had gone to

Outside of civilization but well within Elkhum borders, Eli and his group were slowly traversing through the snowy lands. The Orc limping as the kids besides her helped her move. Micah would occasionally glance at her and would look away upon her noticing.

"What is it boy?" She asked, aggressively but not too loud, at least not loud enough to grasp everyone's attention, just Micah's and the two young ones by her.

Micah paused for a moment as if lost in thought, his head bowed ever so slightly. He then took a deep breath evident by his already broad chest broadening even further. The young resident turned to the brutish orc and said it, "You're so pretty."

Stunned was the orc, completely dazed as she stared at the Micah. Her shoulders suddenly became rigid. Her hands awkwardly hang over the shoulders of her helpers as her brain struggled to process the words that had just been spoken to her. The usually stern set of her squared jaw softened, parting slightly in surprise.

A deep crimson crept up her thick neck, spreading across her scarred cheeks like a sunrise. Her eyes typically sharp and alert watching the plague doctors around her took on a distant quality, as if she had been struck with a spell of confusion. A strand of her coarse hair fell across her face, and for once she did not immediately brush it away, with her usual reflexive gesture. Instead the blush deepened to her ears.

"Mmh..." She grunted as she snapped out of it and proceeded to say to him, "I'm not pretty, BOY. I am an orc!" Her words quietly rumbled from her chest like distant thunder, her eyes narrowed dangerously, at that point, more warrior than woman.

"That literally changes nothing," said Micah seeming some what confident at that point. She could not see his face and that was an immense relief, for a moment he was almost regretting his words. The distance between them and the rest was wide enough for them to speak without them actualling knowing what went on however they could tell the two were speaking.

"Wrong! That changes everything! I'm an animal, we all are to you high held HUMANS. All we orcs do is feed, fight and mate! We're all just mindless beasts," she growled. Her words curved with particular venom. The unsteady crunch of her feet against the snow, almost as loud as voice.

"I never said that," said Micah a bit laid back. It had all gone to shit. There was a bit of confusion in his voice, not defensiveness, as he struggled to meet her gaze.

"How righteous of you BOY. I know your kind, conniving, this ploy you're pulling won't work on me. Now leave us alone!" She demanded. Her jaws tight with carefully controlled anger. All that blush faded, she had completely turned, demeanor of a raging beast held behind a cell.

Micah spirit was dimmed down, it was a genuine compliment. He didn't think it would result in such a catastrophic outcome, but maybe she was right, he's a plague doctor. It was no date, his job there was to get them home in one piece and that was exactly what he was going to do, just maybe not all.

Behind them, and trailing was Aleck and Hano. The two each focusing their field of view to the specific individuals by their side, Aleck focusing on Micah and the orcs while Hano stared down on Neil and the elves. Their scopes overlapped allowing them to spot Kira and Eli upfront.

As they walked together, Aleck prayed, his measured footsteps matching his prayers, each bead clicking softly as his fingers moved down the rosary in his right hand. "Hail Mary, full of grace..." his steady yet hoarse voice carried clearly in the breeze, neither rushed nor deliberately slow - just persistent. This coupled with the mechanical hum of his heart, resonating like musically inclined equipment.

Hano by his right, rolled his eyes for what seemed like the a hundredth time. His features contorted under his mask in a series of increasingly agitated expressions. "...blessed art thou among women..." continued the gentle drone, Hano's jaw clenched.

"...pray for us sinners..." a particularly loud bead was met with a barely audible, "for heavens sake" from Hano who pushed back his mask as if it was falling off. Aleck developed a subtle smile imperceptible due to his mask, yet his voice maintained its peaceful cadence despite the growing storm of frustration beside him.

Aleck avoided but wish he could use his left hand for this sacred activity. However, by his own beliefs and morals, he could not. He believed that the mechanical nature of his left arm meant that that fraction of him had no soul, using it to pray would be like an inanimate object saying a prayer to God. It would have however, been hilarious to see what Hano would result to upon him clicking on the beads with the metallic fingers.

At that point, Hano wished something, anything, a monster even, would attack them and just end the experience. Even if it meant putting him out of his subjectively, self imposed misery. He even tried aggressively yet subtly stomping on the snow to overlap Aleck's voice and the beads clicking.

The gentle clicking of beads continued, a steady counter point to Hano's increasingly dramatic sighs and muttered complaints. Aleck's eyes remained foward, his demeanor peaceful, though there was just the slight hint of mischief, in the way he slightly raised his voice for the next "Glory be," timing it perfectly with Hano's attempt to check his pocket watch, for the third time in as many minutes.