Chapter 2: Chapter 1, part 2

I nearly wrote that off because of how stupid it sounded, and how sarcastic his tone had been, but I clocked the way one of the elves was suddenly looking at him. It was this look of incredulous rage, the kind of face that screams “how on earth can anyone even begin to approach this level of mind-numbing stupidity and still apparently have the mental capability to breathe”. Frankly, it was hilarious, and it would have been even funnier if it didn’t leave me apparently standing in front of a group of assassins.

I suddenly felt like my initial approach had been a bit standoffish, and that I needed to reconsider. Taking a combative stance as an emotional force-multiplier had been fine against another group of people I thought were like me, but against trained killers? I kept the illusion up for now and desperately hoped that I looked like someone not worth attacking whilst I waited for a bit more information. They were surprisingly casual, which spoke either of slight idiocy or easy confidence.

“I must have misheard you” I offered, suspecting I hadn’t but hoping it was possible.

“I’m sure you did” came the quick reply from one of the elves, who was dressed in stately, expensive-looking white and grey robes, trimmed with gold, and clutching a long staff that seemed far too well-made to be a walking stick. “My name is Eoin,” he continued, speaking quickly as if to prevent the others from getting a word in “and I am here as a representative of Elvenden and King Aiden, on a diplomatic expedition. These… fine people” he gestured at the others “are my bodyguards as I traverse this land; and something of a team of jokers.” His voice was aiming for somewhere between stately and jovial, but his body language was tense. His piece apparently said, he glared daggers at the others, particularly the dwarf who had just opened his mouth, as if daring them to contradict him. There was an undeniable tension between all of them and it felt, even to me, that Eoin was the odd man out somehow.

Still, it was hardly any of my concern, and whether they were here to kill someone or not, it didn’t appear to be me, which was all I cared about. “If that’s all then, I suppose I’ll leave you to it,” I said, hoping they’d take the hint and piss off. For a second I dared to dream, but Eoin clearly felt we weren’t done here. “Good sir,” he began, causing me to wince internally “you have not introduced yourself. Surely it is only polite in circumstances such as these?” I floundered, not having created a fake name and not being about to give my real name either. “I wasn’t intending to,” I replied, “we each have our own things to be getting on with, so I hardly think we’ll be seeing each other again.” I was really hoping that would be the case.

“But sir,” he went on, “I shall be obliged to report on this encounter when I return to his majesty, and surely you wouldn’t want me to simply call you ‘a dwarf’?” Again I could tell he was trying to sound polite, but the insistence was grating. “I couldn’t care less what you refer to me as,” I said, but I saw him twitch as if he was about to ask again, and so I reluctantly continued, “but if it makes you feel better, my name is Bert. Bert Stoneshield.” I pulled the name from thin air, hoping it would satisfy him and they would finally leave me alone. Sadly, we all know that isn’t what happened next.

“Well Bert, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Eoin said “and I hope you don’t mind, but since the sun appears to be setting, I would be honoured if you would permit us to camp with you this evening before we set off again on the morrow.” Again my guard was instantly up. If I had hackles, they’d have risen. The shield of illusion over my face luckily prevented me from betraying too many of my true emotions, but I was worried. I absolutely didn’t want them staying here with me, but I couldn’t really do much about it if they chose to push the issue. I shrugged as casually as I could, before gesturing to the surrounding area. “Not like I can stop you. Go for it.”

“Much obliged, good sir,” he turned to the others, “now then everyone, let’s get set up. Quickly now.” The others grudgingly moved to obey, letting me notice that he wasn’t carrying anything other than his own essentials, apparently having offloaded pack-carrying duty onto one of his unfortunate ‘bodyguards’.

Although, it looked like his bodyguards had also offloaded pack-carrying duty, as one of the dwarves called out something behind him, and the pack animal came trotting up, bags, tents, and itself jangling. It was that last one that clued me in, on account of the fact that animals don’t really jangle, and I stopped dead in my tracks as I was about to head back to my tent. There isn’t really another way to describe this, so I shan’t bother: it was a metal reindeer.

I admit I had initially written it off, and there was a bit of a moment where my brain had to reboot and then spark back into life, during which I just gaped like a dead fish. I smoothed out my expression but remained absolutely fixated on it. There certainly used to be things like this, but any such Gnomish stuff was long-destroyed or was presumably hidden in Bothar, the isolationist capital of the Gnomes. For there to be a construct like this in front of me, stood bold as brass, figuratively and literally, given that it was made from the stuff… I couldn’t exactly say it was impossible, since it was, in fact, right there, but it was really challenging my definition of the word. I’d found decayed fragments of similar technology in the past, but nothing like this.

I belatedly realised that this thing was clearly attached to one of the people here, and looking up I could see one of the Dwarves looking pretty smug at my reaction. “What do you think of her?” he asked. Somewhat disturbing choice of pronoun aside, I tried to downplay my response, largely since I had told them I was an archaeologist, but I didn’t want to get tricked into exposing my research. They couldn’t see my reconstructed hand yet, and I didn’t need any of them having more reason to take an interest in me.

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“It’s… very interesting” I hedged, getting a dismissive laugh in return.

“Éirny’s more than just interesting”, he chuckled. “She’s nothing short of a marvel”. Again I cringed somewhat at the familiarity he was showing with it, particularly when he took the opportunity to hug its flank. “You’ve named it then?” I asked.

“Well for one thing, she’s a she, not an it, and for another thing, doesn’t everyone have a name?”. He sounded a bit offended that I’d made that mistake, but it did raise a good point. “I don’t think I got any of your names, did I?” I half-shouted. Most of them were setting up tents and the like, and turned to stare at me. “I didn’t think you cared”, the female dwarf replied.

“Well I didn’t, but since I’m stuck with you for tonight I might as well ask”.

“Fair”, she shrugged “my name is Tove”. Amazing. Name acquired.

“Alf” came the voice of the older dwarf in a somewhat wheezing tone.

“Teclis”, said one of the elf-looking people. Comparing him to Eoin, it was clear that there were enough distinctions in terms of features that I could fairly confidently pin him as being half-elf, although his skin tone suggested that the elf side was probably High Elf.

“Nalfis” was the reply of the other elf-like person, in a sing-song, airy tone. I studied him somewhat, trying to be subtle, but it was hard to tell exactly what kind of elf he was. His features were somehow even sharper than Eoin’s, but his movements were the opposite, sinuous and flowing. His skin almost seemed to glow, a shade like the wood of a stripped branch. I was feeling nosy though, so I spoke up. “Are you two related?” I asked, gesturing at Nalfis and Teclis.

“Do we look related?” Teclis returned.

“Well… yes, at least a bit”, I interrupted Teclis before he could reply again “I’m not suggesting you’re brothers, but you’re both at least a bit elf and you have similar names so…” I trailed off.

“I concede the naming pattern is a little strange” Nalfis explained “but I can assure you that it, and our joint… ‘elfyness’” he smiled “are purely coincidental.” I just shrugged, willing to accept that explanation.

The final member spoke up. “Gialli Gætir,” he said “and this is Éirny, as you know.” I gave a tight-lipped smile. He was very earnest, but I was still deeply on edge about this whole thing, so I wasn’t planning to engage that much. “Bert… Stoneshield, wasn’t it?” he asked, to which I nodded. “I haven’t heard of that family before (‘and there’s a reason for that’ I thought). From whereabouts do you hail, Bert?”

“Does it matter?” I snapped. I was trying to be as confrontational as possible, but they just weren’t getting it (or he wasn’t at any rate). “Well I was just curious” he blithely went on “since I’m a bit of an amateur academic, and my wife is a very professional one, especially in the area of history. I was hoping perhaps the two of you might know one another?” I was mentally screaming by this point.

“That’s very unlikely” I hedged “I’m pretty much a nomad, wouldn’t really call myself ‘from’ anywhere.”

“But surely you must have been born somewhere?” he asked. My brain was just looping at this point. “Shut up shut up shut up shut up” it screamed. I was inclined to agree. “Look,” I started “you seem… nice enough, and I’m trying to be polite about this, but I came here for a bit of solitude and I’m not in the mood to be interrogated about my whole life, ok?” He turned away at that, muttering somewhat sulkily under his breath that he was only making conversation. Mission finally accomplished though.

“Right then,” I declared, “this has been a pleasure, but I’m going to turn in now.” The less time I had to spend in their presence the better, because the higher the chance became that someone would see through the illusion around me. This sort of magic really wasn’t my forte, and keeping up a fake voice was also a pain. “Don’t you want to keep a watch?” one of them asked. I cudgelled my brains for the names, which had frankly gone in one ear and out the other, and finally landed on Tove. “Why should I?” I asked.

“Well, in case there are things out here?”

“Aren’t you guys going to be keeping watch for that?”

“Yes, but don’t you want to help?”

“No.” It was a simple answer. “I’d rather be asleep. Besides,” I plowed on before she could object “I’ve been alone out here for a while and I’m not dead yet.”

Another of the dwarves, Alf, chimed in there. “And what’s to stop us from, say, killing you whilst you sleep and taking everything you own?” Everyone stared at him for that, myself included, but it’s not like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Helpfully and annoyingly, it had another simple answer. “Well, nothing,” I shrugged. “But I can’t fight you all while I’m awake anyway, so going out in my sleep is probably nicer. Now I’ve got a lumpy bedroll with my name on it, so I’m going to go and lie on that, unless there are objections?”

They all shared glances, but noticeably there seemed to be a bit of a focus on Eoin, waiting for his opinion on the subject. “I have no problem sir,” he simpered “do sleep well”. Note to any readers, ending any sentence on that phrase immediately has the recipient suspecting they’re not going to wake up, but I’d already resigned myself to that fate. I turned away though, heading for the underground section of my excavation with a parting line. “If I’m still asleep when you’re heading off, just leave me to it. It’s been a pleasure”. And with that, I went below, and quickly ducked into my tent.

Even without the fact that this was an unwelcome intrusion at best, getting myself out of their line of sight was a priority, and I could finally let the magic subside. My backwards right hand and slim, human, and female features returned, and I felt like I could breathe properly again instead of the tenterhooks I’d been on every second I was out there. My options were, sadly, almost non-existent. I could try to stay up all night, paranoidly refreshing the magic, but I would run out before dawn, and then be stuck inside my tent for certain. If I fell asleep, I was obviously at risk of literally everything, starting with being revealed as having faked my identity, and ending with murder and dismemberment. If I woke up before them, I could put the spell back up for as long as it took them to leave, but I didn’t fancy trying my luck in bright daylight, and I was afraid that the next time I cast the spell, I’d make some stupid change like a different eye colour that would get me noticed.

"Shit," I thought. It about summed up my situation, but there really wasn’t anything else for it, and so I tucked myself under my blanket, found the comfiest lump on my bedroll, and fell into a very stressful sleep.