Teatime

Ophelia followed Ozzie and Lady Farryn Elnore into a study of some kind, chairs arranged around a low table already set for a three-person teatime. Desks and bookshelves lined the walls, covered in impossibly arcane texts and tools. Ozzie and her mother were sitting down, so Ophelia set the parcel on her back - Ozzie’s armor, wrapped in the gambeson - down by the door, then took a seat of her own.

Already, Farryn was holding a vial and bandages. “Would you like me to tend to your hand, Ophelia?”

The demon shrank back a bit, embarrassed. Normally, she dealt with her wounds on her own. “Uh, sure, if you don’t mind.”

Farryn nodded, smiled warmly and pulled the stopper from the vial. She took Ophelia’s wounded hand, poured a thin stream of the vial’s deep red contents into the wound, and wrapped it tight with bandages. Once she was done, she sat back and banished the roll of bandages and vial with a flash of magic. “There, you should be alright now.”

Ophelia flexed her hand. The gouges in her hand still hurt, tingling with the holy burn, but the touch of magic and the bandages made it bearable, at least. “Yeah. Thanks, miss Elnore. I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem at all, Ophelia. I know what a holy wound can do to a demon if left untreated.” Farryn lifted her teacup and took a sip. She was a very composed woman, with a hint of a wry smile at all times. She did everything with practiced poise, though at times contrasted it. She picked up a cookie, took a too-big bite, and spoke around the food in her mouth. “So, what brings you two to Lynndal?”

Ozzie, having shed Ophelia’s jacket, sat in an overly plush armchair, looking down into the cup of tea she held in both hands. “We were in the new world…”

Farryn sat up slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Oh?”

“Yes. Declan and I. To make a long story short, his attempt at a technologically powered portal… detonated. Ophelia and some of her friends were in the blast. It sent the two of us to the nearby forest, and… the only place I knew to come was here.” Ozzie slowly sipped her tea. She looked at once relaxed and tense, her shoulders loose but her posture closed off. She hadn’t been tended to yet - maybe her wounds weren’t as bad as they seemed? But that didn’t make sense… “I needed a safe place to regroup… and I was hoping you could help us hunt down Declan.”

Farryn laughed, covering her mouth. “Oh, dearest, I am far ahead of you.” She quickly finished her cookie and stood, venturing to the cluttered desk of miscellaneous artifacts. The older elf dusted her hands off and reached across the desk to pick up a small hand mirror. “According to my scrying mirror, Declan settled in back with dear old dad a few days ago.”

“Fuck! Really?” Ozzie said, turning sharply. She winced and shrank back, one of her hands going to her side. Farryn didn’t seem to notice.

“Indeed. I can easily arrange transportation for you to get to Dawnhold, if you wish, but you might want to rest and recover from your… trip, first.” Farryn tapped the mirror twice, then tucked it away in the folds of her dress. “There are guest rooms here in the tower for you, if you wish? Safer than risking the Golden Curtain or the Flickering Lamp - especially now that those four boys will be running around, telling everyone that will listen what happened.”

“That sounds good. Thank you, mother,” Ozzie said with a grateful nod.

“Hey, real quick,” Ophelia said, holding up a hand. “How did you know who I am?”

Farryn laughed. “In certain circles, you are well known. You and your friends, the Unchained. Ophelia Brimcaste, Torik, Rakta, Sulvach… the rest of their names escape me, at the moment.” She lifted a tome from a nearby bookshelf. “There are spells to learn these things, but my diabolist associates have spoken of your group.”

That was… uncomfortable. “I’m… famous.”

“In a sense, yes.” Farryn flipped through the book. “This spellbook is capable of summoning demons, taking you to the hells, finding demons in this plane… very useful things at my disposal.”

“Would Declan has access to something like that?” Ophelia asked. The thought of something that powerful being in his hands was scary - he’d hunted her and her family between worlds. With that, he could just call his prey to him.

“He likely doesn’t,” Farryn said as she put the book back. “But his father might. Alain Grimm. He’s the lord of Dawnhold.”

“And a massive prick,” Ozzie grumbled. “Even if he wasn’t a shit father, he’s a shit person. We should be wary of him utilizing anything and everything if he decides to help Declan with his insane vengeance quest.”

Farryn narrowed her eyes, thinking, and began to pace. “You know, I’ve got a few old friends in town. They could probably help you out.”

Ophelia raised a brow. “Go on.”

“An ancient, royal ghost and a fey lord, in fact,” Farryn said with a growing smile. “I’d bet I could get them here by-”

There was a sound like a thunderclap, almost deafening in the isolated room, and an armoire against the wall flew open. A figure stumbled out, tangled in their own black cloak, backlit by a swirling blue-green light - not unlike the portal Ophelia had taken to enter the new world. They flailed their arms and a strange shape - must’ve been wings - moved wildly under the cloak. Eventually, they stumbled to a stop, bracing on one of the chairs in the room.

“Ah,” Farryn said, grinning and clearly trying not to laugh. “You’re back early.”

“It’s- it was- okay, it was fine, I got want you wanted, miss Elnore- oooh, shit.” The figure didn’t lift their head much, the oversized hood keeping their face mostly concealed, but they clearly spotted Ophelia and Ozzie. “Uh. Hi.”

Farryn shook her head, now truly laughing. “Ophelia, Ozzie, let me introduce you to my part-time assistant, Rhyn Tempest.”