Homemaking

”Duuk the Ardent and his seven associates, all family, are hereby declared guilty of the crimes of credit forgery, conspiracy to **** a Lawman Sentinel, and attempted bribery of no less than five Judges. Each shall descend to the Plate as the price of their crimes. Further, Nokis the Flatulent, possessed of four marks of ascension, shall take the place of the deceased Tol the Virtuous above. The Second requires nine souls to take their places: the Peak has declared that five ascendants from the Third, long overdue, shall take their place and claim all property forfeited by Duuk and his ilk; the remaining four shall be the children of the Second. May Bianca the Fruitful bless you with fertility come the 3rd Day of Generous Bounty, the scheduled descent day for all eight offenders and the day of ascension for Nokis the Flatulent. Take heed of this generosity, and praise be to the Peak.”
– runic message scrawled on public forums throughout the Second Disk

A full quarter of the massive hideout had become the territory of the humans, though the Bitter Nines were too few in number—or perhaps too dumbstruck—to mind.

Cidi spied upon them from her bedroom in the wall; Hurk, too gregarious to be shy once the “divine Humans” showed their need, was quick to aid them in moving furniture and giant pitchers about. On the odd occasion where he couldn’t understand the motions or wants of the humans—because it remained that the Vantage tongue was nothing like English—Tara or Rosa were there to translate; as Juniluny’s comments had hinted, John’s language settings affected his summons. The rest of the Bitter Nines calmly watched and waited… though one remained keen on a particular subject.

Deanna, who had complained of being thirstier and dryer than anyone else had, now happily purred as she sat in a one-person tub of water John had crafted for her. She occasionally rose to rub the water into her skin in the open air, as was her want… and, in one instance, caught Miles eyeing her hungrily. Blushing, Deanna resigned herself to soak up to her eyes and gently blow bubbles as she exhaled.

The Gamer popped back into reality and quickly off-loaded the large jugs he had taken into the Temple, now returned filled with clean water from his pools. Each jar, carved from this universal “bok” material, was crafted by John using the raw blocks of the stuff that he had mistaken earlier for a brick wall within the hideout. Each jar was quickly set upon by the Order troops who were engaged in rationing out the liquid. Food remained an issue: the garden in the Temple was plucked clean, but John found two strange alternatives.

Woofroot uses Vine Nova, but he didn’t hit any targets!

Woofroot, with his new form and powers, happily blasted another wave of vines in the lonely corner of the hideout, covering the walls and floor there in thick, thorny vines until a bush of new leaves and vines engulfed him. Leaving the green shell behind like a faux Woofroot, he leapt from the growth’s center to happily arf at the Order soldiers. The soldiers nodded and laughed; Woofroot brought morale up with his odd warmth, but the oddly nutritious vines were the real treat for the humans hesitant to try Vantage food. For those with less picky appetites…

“M-Master,” Tita moaned as her breasts surged with milk. The idea of becoming a dairy cow for some host of humans was a humiliation Tita wasn’t happy to bear, but her Master ordered it, wanted it, and was pleased by her cooperation. That was enough, even for her. Her breasts swelled up now that her Master’s lactation aura had returned in full ****; her nipples had to be pointed down into the basin that quickly filled and was replaced as the Hospitalers thanked her. Elf milk, John had been assured, was even more nutritious than that of a human; combined with the greens from Woofroot and the water from the Temple, John guessed this would have to do to sustain his makeshift tribe.

Woofroot happily bounded from his latest crop to jump up and slam into John’s chest. He held up and hugged the leafy beast, half-heartedly complaining while laughing through the plant-dog’s licks on his face. “Ha-ha- down, Woofroot, down!” Woofroot complied with a happy bark. “Alright… Jasmine, how are we doing?”

The lone female Knight turned and only stopped her report on the rations because a pink-and-white blur shot just past her. “Master!” Lily cried, her arms spread out as she leapt upon and hugged one of the taller jars. Her squinting eyes turned sad as she immediately realized she missed. John cleared his throat, and she immediately redirected. “Master!”

John let the succubus hug him… it was her sixth try today, after all, and it demanded some pity. “Lily, I hope you’re not getting in the way, near-blind as you are…”

Her cheeks puffed as she pouted. “I can see just fine, Master, even if I could see even better with glasses...”

Not sure she’ll manage a prescription here…

Jasmine cleared her throat, catching John’s attention anew. She was half-Indian and in her late 20’s, though neither was evident in her pale, youthful appearance. Certainly, her knighthood was not signaled by how shapely she proved underneath the almost threadbare linens they were all dressed in. “Assuming water works here as it does on Earth, and if we can keep our…. food supplies… going, we can sustain ourselves for about a week with these last shipments.”

It’s been about half an hour of prep for them, so that’s not bad… presuming magical vines and elf milk can sustain a human body… “Tricia?”

The blonde rose up from where she had been sitting in the far corner with an unraveled suit of Lawman armor. Without technology, Eyes, or much experience dealing in rations or survival, she had expressed her frustration at not being useful beyond extremely basic magical effects; now with some time and raw materials, she was taking on the task of building her tools from scratch. As far as John could tell, the chunks of bok and broken armor didn’t seem like much progress, but he trusted she’d figure it out. “On my way,” she called as she crossed the threshold.

Both ignored the succubus who struggled blindly to find some opening in John’s freshly repaired armor. She eagerly sought his cock; unfortunately, she suspected it to be in one of his hip pockets.

“What’s the progress on that armor?”

“Virtually none: it’s an intriguing composite of magical circuitry emulating an actual computer interface, complete with what I suspect to be a HUD display translated into the visor, but the actual mechanics of it are purely foreign magic, probably made right here in-”

“They’re Frankish runes.” Both turned to Rosa who was busy taking a sip from a cup of elven milk. She eyed them cockily as she took a long, slow sip.

“Frankish…? The…” Tricia looked back at her work with wide eyes. “The simbulu franca?! But here? Why here?”

“What’s the symbol-lu frank-a?”

“The simbulu franca,” Rosa tersely corrected, “is a dead magic… well, unless you’re bored enough to try and wake it back up.”

“I’ve never studied it except as a curiosity of history—it was quickly overwritten, as the Crusades saw a need to evolve and adapt magic to better counteract the more expedient delivery of the disciplines being developed by the Muslims who conquered Jerusalem, which in turn led to the Heresy of Silver Jerusalem when the Silver King channeled demon-based energies via…” Tricia slowed her narrative as she remembered her audience. “Well, regardless, I hadn’t considered the possibility… but yes, some of the runes inside the armor do look familiar.”

“Well, I used to use it when I had nothing else,” Rosa continued, “but what I dug up on those runes still didn’t have some of these new ones… like the ones on the goblin’s bracelet.” The Spanish mage pointed to Golgon whose eyes lit up once he realized they were talking about him.

“Go-bo-lin? What is that?” Golgon chuckled as he walked over.

“If these humans who allegedly visited this place had done so from somewhere in or just after the Middle Ages, it’s quite possible they imported their runes…”

John sought an answer from Golgon until he remembered he could only follow Rosa or John. “Golgon, didn’t you say the Humans taught you the runes?”

“That’s what the Dorani claim,” Golgon scoffed, “but yet the runes were here before the Humans… but were then improved, given wider application, and if we disprove this idea that the Dorani’s ancestors were humans, well… it sounds like our runes are a mix of yours and those of the Dorani.”

John nodded. “That’s my guess, too, but I don’t know anything about these runes.”

Rosa kneeled close to Golgon and held out her hand, startling the old man. “Let me see your bracelet?” Golgon complied and flashed the artifact. “Here… see this?” She pointed to a scribble of curved lines that John couldn’t have known to be any different from the rest. “This is the Rune of Fire.”

Golgon chuckled darkly. “It certainly is, child.”

“But I don’t know what this is,” she added, pointing to another rune, this one with stricter lines and geometries.

“The Rune of Healing Touch,” Golgon explained, “which John the Newman has already seen used.”

Rosa shook her head. “Frankish runes are garbage for healing—trust me—so if this is even remotely effective, then that points to this being ‘Dorani’ instead of Frankish. It also explains the difference in typography-”

“So… the Humans that came to Vantage… were French?”

Tricia burst into a laugh that was quickly smothered into a fake coughing fit. “My dear, when we return to Earth… you’re going to absorb all the history books.”

“I-I mean, I’ve never really pushed the book absorbing, so maybe there’s a limit-”

“I would also like to discuss this elf who claims you impregnated her with thousands of children, who also claims to have been married to you.”