Accounting

Manuela Alvarenga Matsuri, Finances Minister of Pelican City, felt pain in her arms, and coldness in both sides of her head. As if someone was squeezing her head with a giant nutcracker made of ice. The pressure passed, replaced by a sensation of fire against flesh, that was far worse. She didn’t knew if her arms, the pain, was a memory or a present sensation. That pain, that could not be really her flesh burning and melting, because if was, she would have died long ago. She didn’t. The pain just continued, and continued becoming worse, and worse.

And then she was not sure anymore. If it was a present sensation of a memory. Literal burning pain of a metaphor for all past, present, and future regrets in her existence. If she had existed ever as a person, or was nothing more than a fictional character, playing the role of figurant in some fever dream.

Parts of herself mixed, memories and feelings that could not belong to the same person, believes and hates that didn’t make sense in the same mixture. A bow of undefined horror, lustful aversion, hungry contradiction. There was ever anything else, or that was always what have been?

Up, down, in and out. She still could not remember how to place those things in one same equation, or relate them with any point of reference. But an indefinable quality attached itself gradually to a few images, setting the apart from the rest. Without intentionality the attention tapered into one image, trapped. It was blinking.

She was blinking.

Manuela was in her knees, on a cold floor. Her eyes where open, and the light was coming from one oil lamp behind and above the man sitting in front of her, some four meters from her.

She was naked. Her wrists were hurt, as if they had been hanging, raised above her head shackles, for a long time. There were no shackles now she could see. She didn’t remembered them. Didn’t remembered anything. Did she?

Little brother! She was going to see her little brother, he was not so little anymore, she was coming back from the field. A deposit, field, farm. Inventory. She was going back, he was, somewhere inside, with, wait. Ing. Wait-ing for, reinforcements? Her return? Something. Confuse. She remembered him. Something behind her, confusion. Orcs?

Enemies, whatever they were.

She must have escaped, since she is still alive.

He is looking at her. Sitting there, in his bamboo armchair. He is really, truly, something! This guy. Isn’t he?

Only way to describe him, would be “elf”. This is some exaggerated, farfetched, fantasy elf. Drow, to be precise. A drow, with red, rusty, deep red, hair. Long, falling from the top of his head. Shaved in both sides, his head. Tacky! Still, erotic, gorgeous to the point of indecency.

He has one hand on his chin. That goat beard, longer than her brother’s.

Manuela never though elves could grow beards. If they existed. In real life.

Her face is not burned, just a little bruised. Sorry to the touch of her fingers.

He can only be described as a Drow, male Drow, and she is repeating herself, isn’t she. “Isn’t, …I…? I? I, is n’t, that’s not right. Am I? ”

No, he is a Drow. Orcs exist, they look so much like orcs, why not dark elves?

Albeit, this is not a Drow illustration! Scene.

Drows are matriarchal. Males in their fictional society are all small and weak. Feminine almost, in their seductive and treacherous elegance. Nothing weak about this guy.

Weakness is kneeling at his feet. She is an elf too.

Light grey skin, painfully white hair all over her figure. Naked, like Manuela was. Face down, in submission, waiting. This is not a Drow, them. Still, light complexions, impossibly long pointy years, those straight eyebrows, escaping the frame of their faces. Those are elves, alright!

Some cosmetic surgeon worked above and beyond duty to reshape some professional ballet dancers into those things. If they where not genuine native aliens.

_You are my prisoner, Finances Minister. I have extracted the information I wanted from you, for the moment. Your fate is our of your hands, and for the moment there is nothing else to do with you. You will not escape, hurt yourself or attack anyone. For the moment, I see no reason to keep you in a cage.

English! Odd accent, but still, clearly. Point for the “cosmetic surgeon” theory. Who is doing that!? Why anyone would?

_Did you attended Cambridge, Sire? Sydney University, perhaps?

_Hum?

_My language. Where did you learn it, boy?

He smiled, amused. At least had the grace to not pretend to be offended by her accusations. Obviously, that could not be genuine.

_Inside your mind, Manuela. For the recent six to eight hours. Also, in the minds of a few others, taken from your “Pelican” city. Makes the information I have been extracting considerably more useful than it would be if I could not understand it pass emotions and sensorial data. Corse, my domain over your idiom remains rudimentary, and is mostly undigested, still.

_Ha! So. How convenient, to you.

_Yes, I like to think so.

_Are you going to give me clothes?

_No.

_Well, that’s…

_The parts of my house where I allow you to go are warm enough for your body to tolerate being naked. And clothes here are a privilege that display social status, when they are not necessity. Your status is of house-animal. Bellow the dignity of a bedwarmer. The most appropriate professional uniform for you, at the present, is nothing.

_How far you intend to take that farce? Do you think you can accomplish anything by keeping me here?

_I will not compromise your experience with spoilers. You will find the answers to both questions by yourself, Minister.

_Are you leaving me like that? I am free to walk around as I please?

_Don’t worry. You will not go anywhere you are not supposed to go, or do anywhere you are explicitly forbidden to do.

_Are you sure? I am a prisoner, you took me against my will. Of course, I can look for a way to escape.

_You will. I am sure of that..

The Drow raised with fluid movements, and left the room, followed by the elf woman.

The door behind him was left open.

For half a million years the Red Sorceress reserved a tiny fraction of her powerful mind to keep vigilance over the islands east to her domains. Close to the coastline of Cinnabar Realm.

She as waiting for her opportunity to take vengeance.

The kraken are among the few races on Planet Kallos that match the upala in longevity, intelligence, and vanity. Normally the two species do not cross paths.

Male kraken are about five times larger than the maximum size a pure blooded upala of any sex is able to reach in their shapeshifting. Female kraken are 20 times larger than their males.

Beings from the dark abysses bellow oceans, krakens consume large marine beasts and also feed upon the energy that bleeds from Kallos itself. As heat, radiation and spirit. Highly intelligent, they subdue tribes of merfolk and other species that leave in their reach or cross their domains. Sometimes controlling cost cities and islands. Is common to find them taking tribute from merchant-houses and fishermen villages.

The Red Sorceress is among the most powerful arcanists on Kallos. Using her filtering spells she mind-controlled land dwellers far beyond what the limits of her racial telepathy would have allowed. Using magical constructs as weapon, and mind-controlled agents as farming tools, she ruled over those islands. And large portions of the continent. Much of what is now under the shadow of Cinnabar Throne.

Krakens abhor sex.

The time for breeding steals their sanity and their control over their own actions. This is a specie atavistically obsessed with control. Is worse for the males, who end up devoured in the frenzy of orgy, very often. Killed by other males in the dispute for mating, or by the females after it. However, the females don’t like it either, and they are far from safe since females kill each other in their madness as often as males. And arcanist get no advantage from their magic, in this state of primal lust. All magic forgotten and cancelled in the furious orgy.

The specie has no love for their young, who count in the millions each time a female gives birth. However, they do recognize family ties once the children grow large enough to feel the matting call, and survive their first experience.

Some other species may not recognize it as affect. See it as an inclination for calculative alliance, more than as a matter of love. Nevertheless, it is the less brutal relation present in kraken’s existence. To subvert it in their perspective is the deepest violation.

The upala know as “the Ancient” for his exceptional longevity, was a shapeshifter master with no equal among his race. Supposedly because he was the favourite of an incarnated deity.

So great his power was, that he manages to turn himself into a kraken. Large enough to take part in the matting orgy. Strong enough to impregnate the Red Sorceress herself. Vigorous enough to survive the experience and escape back to his throne on top of a mountain.

Without realize it, she gave birth to krakens who were half-upala. From those, three hundred survived childhood. Also, from that union 27 upala bastards came into existence.

The blood of their fatter called all those aberrations, the kraken and the upalas. Using her children as weapon against her, the Ancient Upala conquered all the continent surrounded by the Mushroom Mountains. Also, the islands, and the sea inside the geologic formation that completes the circle formed by the mountains. The Cinnabar King destroyed her influence in this area. Cutting her access to the north and central regions of the continent by doing that.

This war was over 500.000 years ago. She kept vigilance, ever since.

When the Ancient was killed by iron-elf assassins, that made the Red Sorceress happy. Not yet satisfied, however.

That was 98 years ago.

She speeded up her preparations, made the necessary investments, moved her agents closer.

The new Cinnabar King ascended to the throne by killing all his brothers, like is the way of his people. That always cost the upala much of their strength, weakening the realm temporarily. The chaos breeds opportunity, for those who know how to ponder the risks.

This new Cinnabar King secured victory over his father’s assassins. He could have stopped there, reached the impasse with the elven realm, a negotiated victory was in his grasp. That option would have preserved the strength of his own realm. Instead, after 7 years of war to repel and Iron-Elf invasion, supported by shady powers and opportunistic rivals. This King Lauberg Roebar continued for another 13 years. To conquer completely the Iron-Elves domains and take the Dark Throne in Shadow-Maze, ending the royal line, and replacing it by a governor appointed by himself.

Many upala, nobles and bastards, died during those 13 years. Many elves too, and vassals of Cinnabar from other inferior races that take considerable time to replace. Considered in its totality, the war against the Iron-Elves came at significant cost. And reduce their land to submission is a task that has only begun. It keeps the Cinnabar Throne under constant stress, and demands careful vigilance.

Still, despite all that, the Red Sorceress did not moved her forces openly against the Cinnabar Throne.

Another 78 years would pass.

Now the Cinnabar King is compromising the strength of his defences. By moving a disproportional contingent of his best troops from the central area and other parts of his country, to the far south.

What this Lauberg Roebar intends to achieve whit that display of **** is not clear to the kraken arcanist, yet.

The nations in the South and Central areas of this continent will answer to that implicit threat, most certainly. Move their own troops, mobilize larger contingents. Secure mercenaries by contract. Other upala kings have already send spies to the region. Different sorts of power will send agents to seek information, by any means. About what is happening in the south border of Cinnabar Nation.

As for the Red Sorceress, her time has come.

She know exactly where are her abominable aberrant children, and the children of those children. She will start by dismembering all of them, painfully destroy one by one. Eliminating the contamination of her lineage by upala smirch.

While devouring as many of them as possible, herself, she will be taking the territory she used to rule in the continent.

This will not be the end.

The Cinnabar Throne shall leave existence. All the children left by her enemy will find their end, if she can kill them all. If not, at very least the survivors will find themselves **** to flee and hide. Never step the North-East of their continent again. They will never look at the sea again, anywhere, without being assaulted by intolerable panic.

This will be the end! That, shall be her vengeance. Nothing less.