Zeroth Moment: My Cheat Skill Is Stupid, So I'll Just Ignore It

"The vast majority of people," Kelfir continued, now sitting comfortably atop his Wyrd in the form of a great golden chair, "know nothing of the origins of this world, for understandable reasons. Some mages -- including myself -- have made much work of studying our realm, and progress has been made in several avenues. But the elves have a special advantage which we do not often discuss; we are long-lived. Sufficiently long-lived that some of us who were present in the ancient ages lived much closer to the present time than other races. For humans and dwarves, such periods are impossibly far in the past; to us, they were events our parents and grandparents personally witnessed, and kept excellent records regarding."

Rudo, seated next to Topher on a small rock, nodded in agreement. "It does somewhat change things when you have first-hand knowledge of a historical event, one suspects."

"Yeah, none of the usual game of Telephone when records get re-re-re-translated," Topher agreed. "But I don't understand the part about him creating the Stone Elves. Aren't the elves all one race, or something?"

"We are," acknowledged Kelfir. "But originally, there were only what we now call the Common Elves -- the most basic and undifferentiated form of our people. The Five Fingers of the Hand -- Zytis, Irineth, Tuveinth, Eomul, and Vashyarl -- took an interest in us for reasons they never disclosed, and began experimenting with various individuals of our stock, investing their offspring with powers and traits at their whims. Irineth -- dead nine hundred years, at Vashyarl's hand -- created the Bronze Elves first, and from them Eomul created the Sun Elves. Vashyarl and Zytis collaborated to create the Stone Elves and the Moon Elves, and Tuveinth created the Eladra."

"The what now?" Topher's face twisted in confusion. "I've never heard of those."

"As well should be expected," murmured Kelfir, "for they passed from living memory long before even the slaying of Irineth. There was a war -- with and against whom, history does not record -- and the Eladra perished utterly from the land before their blood had a chance to be returned to the people." He examined his hands contemplatively. "After that, you can no doubt guess the rest -- the altered specimens of the various types interbred in our leisurely way, and our population increased and became heterogenous. Zytis and Tuveinth were eventually bound in slumber, like Vashyarl, while Eomul was destroyed in the earliest battles with the Demon Lord."

"And the other two? Are they dungeon guardians now too?" asked Hana, looking a little apprehensive. Topher could not help but notice that she stood straighter now, and her Flux Blade was still in her hand in the shape of a long, gleaming sword instead of sheathed at her hip as a dagger. "Is that part of how they're sealed?"

"The formation of dungeons," said Kelfir tiredly, "is beyond the scope of this discussion. Suffice it to say that they are not -- they are secreted in locations known to the elves and none other, for reasons of security. In the event that the war against the Demon Lord goes poorly, they may be awakened in a very, very desperate gamble; for all we know, they would be more likely to turn upon us and destroy us than aid us against their old enemy."

"What? Why?" Topher was growing more confused by the sentence. "Wouldn't they want to help you? Since they, y'know, created you?"

"One imagines," murmured Zanasha, "that they would also be wroth with those who bound them."

Topher blinked, and Kelfir nodded grimly. "As the half-orc says. It is all well and good to venerate one's creator, but the process is occasionally complicated by remembering that they also raped one's great-grandmother for the purposes of genetic experimentation."

Hana's hand went to her mouth in shock and horror; Topher winced. "Jesus Christ. Is there any aspect of being an elf that isn't completely fucked up?"

"A few," Kelfir admitted. "Not all of the participants were unwilling. But the Immortal Beasts were capable of assuming other forms; the majority of their efforts to diversify the elves were not clinical in nature." His expression hardened further. "It is one thing to have a creation myth; it is another to possess detailed documentation proving that your ancestry is the result of someone's fetish. I believe you have opined in the past that 'elves are assholes', or sentiments to that effect; I submit that we have our reasons."

Topher grimaced, shaken a little. "I take your point. Jesus, man."

"That said," continued the Archmage, "there are many elves -- especially from the younger generations -- who do venerate the Five Fingers of the Hand as deities, or at least as close to it as possible. In slaying Vashyarl, you will no doubt have made many enemies and thrown much of our civilization into chaos at a time when things were already precarious; I do not personally mourn him, but your timing is most unfortunate."

Zanasha sighed. "Forgive us, Master Archmage, but we had no knowledge of such things." She knelt, bowing before Kelfir; Topher squirmed uncomfortably. "If we survive our present straits, we may make amends at a later time."

"More importantly," interrupted Rudo, "we have a more urgent concern -- how to proceed now that Archmage Leafwind is here. Might he not transport us elsewhere, to avoid more of the opposition we have already faced?"

"No," objected Topher, shaking himself and trying to get his mind back on the problem at hand, "we've made enough trouble for him. I'm surprised he's not hauling us back to stand trial for all this, if what he said is true." He paused, rubbing his beard contemplatively. "Which, now that I think about it, kinda gives me an idea."

He turned to Kelfir. "How hard would it be for you to teleport out of here and make it look like you arrived somewhere else with us in tow?"

"Trivial," the elf sniffed. "Beyond child's play, even for those with the power to see through illusions. A properly-crafted Wyrd is indistinguishable from physical matter; it would be the work of only a few moments to craft suitable simulacra for each of you."

"Good. Then this is what I want you to do." Topher stood up and dusted off his knees; he was still getting used to the fact that none of his joints hurt anymore. "Make the best show you can of teleporting us out of here, then taking us to a very remote, very secure location that absolutely nobody has any reason to visit. Anybody who would even attempt to show up is a spy."

Hana nodded. "And then the Archmage could capture and interrogate them."

"No," Rudo corrected her, "interrogating them would lead to the same outcome Mister Bailey is attempting to avoid. We must avoid our enemies' grasp without revealing that we have done so; and furthermore, we must do so in a fashion which does not change the dynamics of awareness between the other players of the game."

"Would it be possible," said Kelfir with palpable restraint, "to at least inform me who the other players of this game might be?"

Topher sighed. "The Archmages, in particular." He held up a hand to forestall an outburst, as Kelfir's expression transformed into one of abject horror. "I don't think any of the Archmages are traitors -- yet -- and in particular I'm as close to certain as possible that Aumraham is a good guy." Topher chose his next words with care. "He's too wrapped up in his battle against the Demon Lord to get involved in this business anyway. But I don't know anything about the third one -- the Black Tower one you mentioned at Onvale."

"Sahlerra Siukh," Kelfir agreed. His gaze turned contemplative. "If I had to suspect one of our number of being a traitor, it would indeed be she -- but she has had many opportunities to betray us, and has never once seemed tempted to do so. She primarily restricts her efforts to research and peacekeeping... in addition to her, ah, personal pursuits." He looked uncomfortable.

"Look, I don't know what you're referring to, and I don't care," Topher interjected bluntly, "but the next step is finishing what we came here to do." He looked over at Rudo. "You said guardians often have super crazy powerful or unique items; did you find anything on him?"

Rudo shook his head. "Not yet. The dragon's body seems to be undergoing some manner of post-mortem metamorphosis; I expect that when the process is complete, we will find more clues as to where his valuables, if any, are cached. If not..." he shrugged. "There are many potential hiding places to explore here."

"Then," grunted Kelfir, rising to his feet, "I will leave you to it." His golden throne shifted and flowed, surging up and around his boots and over his body until it sank, gleaming, into the spaces between the threads of his robe's fabric; Topher blinked. So that's how I touched his akasha when we first fought. And I was just trying to beat his ass. "If I am to play the role of the fool in this gambit, delay is best avoided; I shall execute your stratagem, then return to Kal'Pandu to resume our efforts against the Demon Lord's armies." He looked over at Topher. "Unless, perchance, you know where the S-Ranked Otherworlders have gone?"

Topher winced, but said nothing. Kelfir sighed. "I am placing all my hopes in your hands, Christopher. For all our sakes, I hope I am not making a truly legendary mistake."

"Wait," said Topher, with a start. "Wait a minute." Digging in his Magic Bag, he gingerly retrieved the oilskin containing Cailu's remains; to his relief, it had remained sealed. He offered it, with as much gravity as he could muster, to Kelfir. "We, uh. We did what we could in Strathmore, before the castle was destroyed. Zanasha was able to recover his... body."

Slowly, Kelfir's eyes rose to meet Topher's; for the first time, Topher realized how much shorter and smaller the elf was. Bereft of the towering presence of his power and knowledge, Topher saw Kelfir Leafwind as he really was for the first time: a very tired, very grief-stricken husband and father struggling beneath a towering burden that no one else could bear. Reluctantly and with great care, he accepted the oilskin from Topher; in his hands, it was nearly half his size. "I... do not have the words," he whispered.

Topher sighed. "You don't need any." Against his better judgment, he lay his hand on the elf's shoulder; Kelfir twitched, but did not resist. "I know this sounds like a snot-nosed kid lecturing his grandpa, but we'll get through this. You'll get through this. And I'll explain everything as soon as I can."

"What do I do?" whispered the Archmage. "You are an Otherworlder; you make all my experience and knowledge seem useless. What do I do?"

"You focus on what's important." Topher took the elf's other shoulder with his other hand, and stared into Kelfir's golden eyes; they were old, impossibly old, and buckling under the weight of responsibility and tragedy. "You're in a better position than you know. Love your wife. Love your damn kid. Forgive 'em, and maybe someday they'll forgive you; if they do, strive to be worthy of it." He closed his eyes. "If there was ever anything that could get your head out of your ass, let it be this: acknowledge that four F-Rankers held their own against somebody your whole fucking race considers a god. And then maybe, just maybe, you'll understand why it's so important that you give Varissian the chance he deserves." He let his hands drop; he felt more than saw Kelfir's defeated nod. There was a flash of light, so bright that he could see it through his eyelids, and then he was gone.

Topher stood there, eyes still closed, for a little while; then he felt a presence at his shoulder. "Friend Topher?" Zanasha's voice, sweet as balm to him in his current condition, floated into his ear; almost involuntarily, he turned and opened his eyes to behold her.

After a few more seconds, he realized he was just standing there like an idiot, and coughed. "Yeah?" he managed, feeling stupid.

"Master Muchenje says that there is something you should see." The half-orc gestured towards Vashyarl's corpse.

Topher nodded, then began to stump his way over to the center of the crater; the shrinking had been accelerating for a little while, he saw, as the scaled corpse, now a wrinkled mass of brown material, swiftly flowed and shivered in on itself in the final phases of the transformation. Moving up to stand between Hana and Rudo, he watched as the metamorphosis completed; none of them spoke for nearly a minute.

Then Topher sighed, took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course. Of fucking course. I don't know why I ever expected anything else."

Zanasha shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I do not understand. What does it mean?"

Hana bent down, her expression sad, and reached out to turn the corpse over with her right hand; her left did the same with the severed head. A mop of sandy blonde hair fell away from a slender, stubbled face; the body, clothed in a tan-colored shirt and scuffed black jeans with matching boots, could never have been older than its late twenties.

Into the silence, Topher's voice creaked with frustration and despair. "He's one of us."

"He's an Otherworlder."