The Ogre Strength Fairy and the Eldest 'Son'-Chapter 485 - Detours Are Sometimes Good Destinations, pt1

The letter on the Dame Goltbred’s desk had been folded once and sealed with simple wax that held no family crest. She’d read it twice already this morning, working through its non-specific meanings easily enough. But she was here after dinner again, feeling just a bit lonely with her husband gone away to the Exclave... so her fingers traced the edge of the paper with some melancholy before picking it up one more time as if something was missed between the lines.

/ Yatrel,

We hope this letter finds you well. Been collaborating on a treatment method that shows promise for the lingering problems. Have ran one successful experiment with intentional... corruption, on a cultivator. My husband is a saint.

However, we need a willing mortal patient for a proper trial. Someone who understands the experimental nature and accepts the risks. We’d require privacy and discretion, as failure would reflect poorly on future efforts that might otherwise help many.

Your daughter said you could be counted on if our side ran into any issues. If you could somehow arrange an opportunity for us, we would be grateful.

With respect,

Z & N /

Mint eyes closed as she sat the letter down. While running her hands through both sides of her hair, pulling it back behind her, the ruling lady of the estate looked toward the stack of correspondence from the Earthen Fellowship. Requests for consultation on work for some new construction in three different cities. Project proposals she’d been handling on the side, when first back home from campaign and after getting back with her eye, that were awaiting her expertise. And also a tersely worded inquiry about why she hadn’t responded to their last meeting summons.

She knew she should be getting back to work. The Fellowship had been ’patient’ with her extended absences - first the Saltfire hunt, injury leave, then the expedition to locations unknown... that strange dimensional pocket her daughter inhabited that could not exactly be listed as an official reason. They’d made it clear in that inquiry that her continued membership and duties depended on a renewed commitment to their fold.

"Loyalty has limits. They should not have messed with my family. They can sweat a little longer."

Against that career threat, her fingers started threading her reddish-blonde hair into a youthful braid. She changed clothes, informed the staff, and reached for traveling supplies. Kissing Onya’s forehead with a pack on her shoulder that held her gauntlets, she entrusted her daughter to her people and left. Feeling a bit like her old self, before she met her husband and had her children.

Wildness tamed by affluence and social necessities, but only on the surface. Though that Guild seemed like the nice way to settle down at the time, Yatrel wasn’t sure that it fit in with what was on the horizon. However, she also wasn’t sure what to do next in life to occupy herself. Certainly, while she loved her youngest... it was not to stay home with that little raccoon *all* hours of the day.

’Doing a favor for two different generations of family friends might clear my head.’

⟠ ⟠ ⟠

The particular holding of their territory she sought was a village that lay a days’ journey away from the estate, accessible by a combination of train headed west and hired cart headed north. For mortal travelers, at least. Outside of the city, she saw no need to pretend with the usual daintiness of socialites and sit calmly in a wobbly and rickety vehicle on a trail that could barely be called a road.

Her legs were perfectly capable of running the last distance, so she did. This village was one of their very ’independent’ ones - and that made them reject most non-mandatory improvements. It was prohibitively expensive to lay roads to settlements that were producing so little revenue, so most families did not push back on the stubborn ones. In fact, it was more common to spend a lot of time refusing persistent requests for unnecessary improvements by headmans than to be concerned about anything lacking at more quiet places.

When she arrived, the main hall and surrounding work structures still showed signs of the hasty repairs from the invasion... and from the most recent incident. New timber was used to replace sections that had been scored the worst, but rending scratches could be seen on the older stone. And of course, patches in the fields that grew differently than their surroundings. Places where miasma-corrupted Earth had been removed and replaced.

Yatrel had reviewed the holding records the afternoon before leaving. The attack had come two months after the Descent’s official end... when most forces had withdrawn from the forts and people attempted to return to normal life. A pair of Lesser Voidlings, long separated from any leadership and weakened from the time they’d been in the material plane, had wandered into the area of the village at dusk. The local militia of farmers and other skilled workers had responded quickly enough to prevent a full massacre.

But not quickly enough to prevent all casualties. Three died during the initial incident itself, two from ambush and one during the containment. Seven of the mortal fighters were injured badly enough to require extended healing periods, one of them succumbing to the internal Void corruption. And finally, one man she was there to see that ’luckily’ survived the initial ambush but had continued deteriorating. His story had been explained personally by Ondua, who had traveled out that way while she was on the Saltfire raids.

"Dame Goltbred. We’re honored, but I admit... surprised. The reports I last sent were routine... weren’t they?"

"I’m not here for inspection. I need to speak with Hevri."

The older headman had met with her anxiously, verbally whipping his wife, older daughter, and three sons into shape in the minute after letting her inside the hall. But he could only blink at her request.

"Our woodworker? He’s... he’s in no condition to discuss estate business. The healer your husband sent has done what they can, but he grows weaker every week. We’ve been preparing his son for the possibility that..."

"I’m aware of his condition. That’s why I’m here. I could find him on my own, I’m being polite."

"O-of course you are! I meant no offence or to imply that you are not aware of anything."

"Be calm. I did not come to make anyone uncomfortable or to impose. You do not have to be so wary."

"...If I may ask, then why are you wearing those?"

Mint eyes looked down where he pointed, knowing what she’d see. Her Earthen gauntlets were annoying to run with in the bag over her shoulder, so it was more of a matter of practicality to simply wear them. However, it was good to keep some people on their toes, so she smiled and narrowed her eyes.

"To keep *me* calm. Lead the way."

The workshop with attached residence they went to stood separated from the village center. Far enough that any sawdust or wood shavings wouldn’t be a fire hazard for the whole village. It was clear on approach that the roof had been patched where something had torn through it. Two vantablack somethings, that killed a mother and injured a father.

She told the headman to wait outside and entered alone, not needing him to be a part of what she came for. It was to be mostly secret, after all. She was curious how well he would keep his nose and ears out of everything. Especially if she would be coming back again with others whose identities were more important to keep secret.

Hevri now sat in a chair by the window most times of day, a blanket across his lap despite the mild weather. He’d been a large man once, who seemed built more for *acquiring* the lumber than working finely with it. Yatrel could tell that he had lost weight - and muscle in particular - just from the way his tailored clothes hung loose. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen the wasting away of mortals after a Descent, but it was always hard to see hands trembling at rest and the gauntness of a still young face.

Especially when there were those who would be left behind. A red-haired boy of perhaps seven years sat on the floor, carefully carving something from a piece of scrap wood. The knife was too large for his small hands, clearly belonging to his father. She waited until the child took a break and sat it down before knocking on the doorframe. With wide eyes, he looked up at the intruder only to smile at recognition.

"Papa, it’s a Goltbred! Look, look!"

The woodworker attempted to stand, managing only to straighten slightly in his chair before a cold stone glove pressed down gently on his atrophied shoulder. She understood the impulse of pride and social obligations, but did not come to use up his remaining energy on things like that. She pulled a stool over and sat, putting herself at eye level rather than looming over him while removing what were clearly weapons.

"Forgive me, I did not come for the sort of formality that requires you to bow, nod, or praise... however, I do want to propose something. And I want you to listen very carefully."

Hurrying around the other side, the boy watched over his seated father’s shoulder with intense curiosity - who could ever guess why someone important, let alone a cultivator in charge of their land, would ever suddenly show up?

’If it were my daughter, she would not sugar coat it. Even with a child present.’’

"There are two cultivator healers who want to experiment on someone in your condition. The method is not proven to work on mortals... and worse than not working, it could easily make things fatally worse."

The woodworker laughed, though it came out as more of a wheeze.

"Worse than this? It’s eating at my body from the inside, and all they can offer is to keep me comfortable. I can barely stand or even hold anything with weight. My son can only ask me questions when I feel like talking. He doesn’t even know how to hold a chisel properly."

He glanced at his son, who frowned as if ashamed he couldn’t learn quicker and do everything already. But it was the father truly shamed, a man who would not live to teach his craft as properly as he could have. Yatrel had seen lots of orphans over her years, since she made the choice to devote time and resources into helping the people affected by the societal malady as she had been.

"If I don’t try, I’m dying anyway. He shouldn’t have to lose both of us."

Becoming a wife, and then a mother, made her realize the depth of fear in the idea of leaving others behind in your death. The injury to her eye and how upset it made Elua had swung her back towards feeling more strongly for the survivors. But seeing this simple woodworker in such a state, the haunting in his eyes, it made that pendulum of compassion fly back in the other direction.