231 Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty-One – Wayfair (1/2)
She had far too much self-control to betray what she was thinking, but I was sure she was weighing a whole lot of things mentally. Three thousand years of living in a place chock full of demons, drow, and fey... those things could not be pleasant. Everything in her experience would be saying that she should take the deal and just run, run back out to reality.
However, she was a prisoner of her own Stat line. She had genius-level intelligence, and had a minimum 22 Wisdom to sustain being a Twelve priestess... but a lilithi's racial bonus to Charisma was +20. If she started with the Elite Array and base 15 to Charisma, add in +2 from Masteries, +6 from taking Sorceress and Bard to Twelve, and +1 at Ten, then right now, without using any magical enhancements, she was sitting on a 42 Charisma.
Charismatic people are not necessarily pragmatic. What they are is stubborn, unyielding, overpoweringly influential, and persuasive. They don't give up and they don't change their minds, they suborn their genius and wisdom to making their resolutions work. It's why they can be such awesome leaders, because they simply don't care if there is a better or easier way to do something.
And right now, what she wanted was revenge. Enough that for the chance at it, instead of simply walking away, she was trying to find a way to get back at the things that had trapped her here for millennia... and talk with someone powerful enough to butcher the lordling she'd been held in bondage to for decades.
”You can read my Aura, but I cannot read yours.” Said with just the slightest hint of petulance.
”You aren't strong enough to read my Aura. However, Sir Errant there is a Heavenbound, in case you don't know what those silver eyes of his mean.” Said person flashed her a meaningful look before turning away.
It was plain she didn't. ”Heavenbound,” she repeated, slanted eyes narrowed and intrigued. ”There are no Heavenbound Warlocks in these lands...”
”I imagine there are very few Warlocks, period, as the Hags wouldn't want outside interference in whatever is going on here. Oh, by the way, anything on the inside that we should be looking for to take away? Keep in mind we are moving quickly.”
”Ah, proper plunder.” Given more time to think, she issued directions concisely and thoroughly, obviously taking great pleasure in bringing down everything about this place and its lord. There was some fighting inside, but Prince Estemar sussed out pretty much all the skulkers at a distance, Briggs at close range, and intermittent bursts of extreme violence later, what magic, materials, and power comps could be retrieved were on the way out.
Lord Guenheff had been bled dry and relieved of his head, as had his Hunt, and were summarily put to the vivic torch. The succubus watched this with completely apathy.
”What use are you making of the blood and heads?” she asked neutrally.
”The blood of powerful Fey is a universal component in illusion and charm-related scroll inks. The heads are bound for Baneskulls, they self-Invest if carved properly. The Lord's should be able to make a Greater Baneskull.”
”Pragmatic.”
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”We need all the advantages we can get,” I replied calmly. ”Surely you don't think it was luck that I could wipe a Fey Lord that powerful?” I followed her gaze to his Sword, sitting on a Disk nearby. ”Was he an exile? His Sword was not as powerful as I was expecting.” I'd been expecting it to be base +VI, Epic, which would have been too, too sweet. A million gold in value was a lot of wealth. Alas, it had only been +V. Although the soul-trapping diamonds were pretty nice, too.
”His power faded after being caught in the area of the Obelisk, and being unable to bring it down. The Fey are powers of Chaos, and being so limited was also demeaning to them. With proof of his impotency before him every day, how could he claim to be so mighty?”
”Especially if subtly mocked for his uselessness.” Only the slightest shadow of a smile at the edge of her exquisite lips. A long-term campaign whittling down his self-confidence, the very essence of a Fey, tropes that they were.
”Five minutes!” I called out, as updates rang through Marktell. Those on guard outside started to form up as portable wealth started to emerge from the manor... while the deeper places were naturally set on fire. ”You need to make your decision soon enough. Which way to the Obelisk?”
She pointed. ”Ten miles in that direction, just out of sight. He wanted it near, but he didn't want to be able to see it and be reminded of his fate.”
”Good enough.” I wasn't worried about her. A Twelve Caster Risen Succubus would have absolutely no problems taking care of herself anywhere. She could charm a fey lord even while despising him. Her Diplomacy modifier had to be in the +60 range, minimum. Amber should take lessons from her, and probably wanted to.
”Do you wish to know what guards it?” she asked.
”Pseudonatural somethings. My guess would be grimm, svartalfar, or spriggans, maybe with treestalkers and quickwoods or shambling mounds.” She looked at me oddly. ”What?”
”Yes, a grimm from lands beyond Dream, and his cohort of spriggans. The fringe is occupied by stalkers and several animate plants.” It was like I had taken away some fun from her.
”I haven't killed a grimm in months. I'm looking forwards to it.” She gave me another look, as if I weren't quite sane, but I ignored it.
”I will think on this, and meet you there.” I waved her off, and she walked off, a lot of eyes really trying not to watch her heading out the gate, and utterly failing. Midnight and silver, and I still hadn't asked her name. I smiled to myself and got back to business.
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...”And were gutted, shattered, jaws split wide,
Fed to the Land, and cast aside.
Every day, a grimm to slay,
Until they dared not come to play.