Survivors from Pelican Fall

The atmosphere was tense. Chairman Rodrigo Romulus, took the world. He was worried about the increasing influence of security personal, allied to the military branches. Politics was never his cup of tea, but he was aware of the need to dress his concerns in modest robes.

_We should not need an ugly lot of soldiers for perimeter defence! We certainly don’t want to exaggerate our investment of resources in that one area, when there is so much demanding attention. We still don’t know whether or not there are survivors still isolated in areas of the ship.

_Oh, we have a lot of ugly soldiers, professor. You need not worry about. Some pretty soldiers ladies too, myself included. Aesthetics aside, we cannot afford to be overoptimistic under present circumstances.

_We made the first contact with a intelligent specie not created by humanity. The first actual aliens! That by itself is amazing, I do not think we can overestimate the importance of that. However, every evidence shows the native are in a pre-industrial society. Closer to Bronze Age than to our Medieval Periods in Europe and Asia. We have little reason to fear the native’s hostility. Our focus should be diplomacy and take care of our own problems.

_You must realize that may not be as simple as you are describing. We lost people already, in those confrontations. And we found signs of, something. In places where fights seem to have happened previously to our arrival. There are explosions, consistent to the destructive power of a missiles, anti-tank mines, but without the traces of chemical elements that we would expect if weapons like ours had been used. We cannot understand how that was done, what technology was involved, but the natives have some weapons that are not consistent to our superficial impressions. There is something here, we are missing something, something we cannot afford to ignore.

No one in the room interrupted the Tennent Commander Lucienne, she had presented evidences for all her claims before. And she was supported by the medical sector. What had survived of it, anyway. Above all, military or civilian, those people were scientists. They would not question data without evidence, for the sake of feelings. Or, at least, they would not let anyone catch them doing such thing.

Professor Romulus was the most ancient in the room, albeit genetical medicine had made it impossible to tell by looking. He was also among the three most important authorities in existence, in the field of Trans-Dimensional Engineering, in their Universe of origin, another of those 3 had died in the fall. They had recovered the body one week before. He knew all that any person can know about Mathematics, but not much about explosives.

_Three months have passed since our fall in this Continent._ pointed Professor Angela Alvarez, their leading botanist._ So far, we have allocated most our resources in search the ship for survivors. I would not abandon that, but, realistically, anyone who was too injured to reach a point of communication is likely no longer alive. We may need to invest more attention in stablish communication with Lunar Post.

_I have been working in that, exclusively, so far. I am sorry to share the bad news, but the answer is beyond reasonable doubt. We have slide through the band of unconnected harmonics. The next window of opportunity to contact our home Universe, optimistically, will be 6 million years in the future. Since biological immortality was achieved less than 2 thousand years ago, I cannot be sure any of us will be here to make that call. In any case, we must survive by ourselves in the nearest future._ pointed Professor Rodrigo Romulos_ One more reason to not start a war against the natives, in my opinion.

_But, are we isolated, really? Can we not contact other Universes? Maybe one of the probes sent by our people will catch our signal and redirect…

_The chances of something like that happening are, not enough. The glass on this table is more likely to pass through it by accident, really. The number of parallel dimensions in our original harmonic, in any harmonic, makes the world “astronomic” play the role of euphemism. All our probes are up there, in our original harmonic, we are not. And our communication has no chance to reach anything beyond the nearest Universes. We could still contact someone, or something, but the convenience of doing this is, debatable. With the natives we at least have technological superiority.

_So, what should be our priority? You suggest diplomacy. How we would advance that, what a realistic goal looks like in that department…? _asked the botanist.

North to that room. In a high valley between peaks of Mushroom Mountains, on the south **** of this large formation, an Iron Elf was holding his anger.

Kishnia-Qon was first among the master arcanists under the Shadow of Cinnabar Castle, in combat skills and brute destructive power. Normally, this should be enough to earn him high status and a position of respect among the elves, here or anywhere. However, his people had declared war against the Cinnabar Throne only 98 years before.

Until them, they ruled themselves, in a small but ancient and proud realm. The upala king in his Cinnabar Throne had influence, but no authority in their domains. Then, moved by promises of support from the other 2 upala thrones in the continent, they assassinated the Cinnabar King. And moved their forces to take down the upalas of Mushroom Mountains. Largest nation in the North West of their continent.

Promises of support didn’t materialized in the scale that had been promised. Their people fought bravely, but in the end the iron-elves of the north lost everything. Most of those who survived the war ended slaved, a small number was granted indult. The bravest and most skilled soldiers, who had earned reputation in the war. A few others, as well. Who had special utility for the upala as vassals, and would be less valuable as slaves.

Master Qon had killed many upalas during the war, including some Princes, famous for their mastery of arcane combat. Reduce him to slavery would diminish the warriors he faced in the battle field, and destroyed. Let him live, and swear loyalty to the Cinnabar Throne, was a demonstration of power and superiority. Also, wisdom.

His fate was humiliation, and obedience, not ****.

He should have learned it by now. Still, the Moon Elves managed to pass his calculated indifference with their mockery and false praises. Like no open insult would be able to.

Creative humiliation, small but insistent, was an art among elves, and no Branch of the Tree can compete with the Moon Elves in that art.

Sooner or latter the master arcanist will fall in the trap. Cave to pressure. Kill a bunch of those pretence adept-warrior arcanists. Then he will be in the hands of the Moon Elf Lord in the region. And his head will divorce from his torso.

Ellawin, the prettiest and most talented daughter of Zurulsh, the local Elf Lord, was insinuating her passion for him. Again. Teasing him, saying she would favour him as her husband, by gesture and implications, without ever say the world. Daring him to propose, so his proposal could be ridiculed and dismissed by her brother. Not to show interest, would mean insult to her noble house. Ingratitude. Arrogance from his part. Proving once more the inferior nature and etiquette of Iron-Elves.

The Pleasure House was familiar to that script. Those same characters had performed it here before, every other night, when the Iron-Elf and the other men where not down, beyond the swamps, collecting information about the star-demons, and capturing some for interrogation.

No one expected this would be the night when master Qon would broke. Albeit, those who had prudence tempered by more winters than most, knew it had to happen. And would happen without warning.

There was no chance of anyone in that large room anticipate the interruption of the script by a figure in green hood.

_I think you have tested the patience of this fine young Moon-Bitch enough for one night, arcanist! She is clearly in heat, and not wife material, but still, a fine she-warog. Make a bed-warmer of her, as she is asking for! I am curious to see what babies will came from this white cunt.

The insult provoked an immediate reaction from all Moon Elves in the room. Swords unshielded, eyes glowing with arcane spirit.

All died, in glacial silence, when the face of this strange woman was revealed.

Upala.

Those who knew that face, knew how unlikely would be for any other upala to dare steal her identity. Even for one night. Even for a meaningless joke. Because, that was Niarra Rish Zaebar. Elder sister of King Lauberg Roebar. A upala princess in those lands. Pretend to be her would mean ****, and not any light flavour of it.

_Princess! I, am, …you, honour…. My father, has fought…

_I will, certainly, if pleases your highness. I ask, for Lady Astra’s hand…

_NO! Nope, nah. Arcane exercises are good for elf skin but terrible for your hearing capacity, adept. I am sorry, you did not heard me! Either that, or you were not paying attention, what would hurt my feminine pride, young men! You will not “ask” her lord father anything. She is your breeding cunt, from this moment and for the rest of her days. Galdera, dear, bring me a ****-collar and leash this lovely she-elf. And you, lady Ellawin, take those clothes! You are no lady anymore. I want you naked, right now.

It was done.

_Now let’s move this conversation to a room, the three of us. I will celebrate this union of yours. You must promise me that you will let me name all the puppies she gives you, warrior! Specially the bitches.

For the casual observer those actions could be dismissed as a whim. In reality Princess Niarra was improvising, taking advantage of a situation that she didn’t knew she would find.

However, there was nothing whimsical about her actions. It was an inspired move, calculated in the blink of an eye, but well measured despite that. The entire politic in the south of the realm was changing. Had already changed. Given the arrival of that population of demons almost on their south border, the strategic importance of that region had been multiplied a thousand times.

Her brother, the King, needed competent vassals he could trust in this region. This was no longer a dead end where tradition and stagnation could be allowed to linger.

Roebar would have done this differently, no doubt. More ritualistically, and diplomatically. Possibly sentencing a few of lordlings to **** for violate some forgotten law. She, however, is not him. Whether he approves her methods or not, he knows she is loyal. And no one in the continent would put in question her efficiency, in the long run.