The Countess’ Truth, Hidden in Shadows

Each step that Krvavy takes is more difficult than the last. Tension builds in her body, like a spring being pressed flat. Every faint sound and slight movement plucks at her nerves. Her mind races, dragging up the many anxious thoughts and worries that she couldn’t help but imagine over the past few days.

And the presence of her precious puppy isn’t exactly helping, being both a reassurance and yet another reason for concern.

Khalia will stand by her side, comforting and protecting her regardless of what may happen here tonight. But if there is a fight... The foe that they may face would certainly be their most dangerous one yet. One that they... haven’t exactly prepared for, as stupid as that now seems...

A doorway looms up ahead, ‘blocked’ only by a heavy white curtain. The dutiful servant steps forwards and holds it open for the two guests, who pass through it without hesitation but with plenty of trepidation.

The vast room beyond is... the same as when Krvavy first saw it, and yet so different. There are no guests milling around conversing and sampling the missing snacks. The stages in each corner are barren and abandoned, the musicians sorely missed as an oppressive silence hang in the air. Curtains are drawn over the large windows, cutting off the view of the gardens outside. Even the opulent crystal chandelier seems dimmer, shining softly and more like the moons than the sun...

Only a single table remains, and on it lay the barbarian’s belongings. The armour she was given both as a gift and as her uniform. Folded outfits that she never got to wear. Two magical rings. A pelt loincloth and top not unlike what she has on right now. Golden coins, stacked and counted, resting beside a coin purse that almost seems inadequate. A backpack, empty and ready for everything to be packed inside of it... A bundle of envelops bound together with twine...? And...

“Krvavy, I... am sorry. I am sorry for deceiving you.” The Countess’ delicate voice fills the barren hall. “I wanted to tell you the truth... I... even intended to do so when we returned from Vratsa.” She speaks slowly, deliberate yet still hesitant. “I... will not begrudge you for simply collecting what you are owed and leaving, if that is what you wish...”

Those remorseful and apologetic words fall on deaf ears as the barbarian stares almost blankly at the final object resting atop that table.

It is an urn. One the light grey colour of steel. Mostly plain, but not without some decoration: a singular band of a vaguely floral pattern is engraved around its widest point. Sturdy. Durable. More unassuming than eye-catching.

Her heart grows cold and distant as she sees that... that far too familiar metal jar. So, so similar to one that contained only broken dreams and unforgotten sorrows... A memory brought back to haunt her...

The sound of Vera’s shoes clicking across the polished floor echoes throughout this expansive hall. Silence reigns once more as she takes her place by the Countess’ side.

“The letters are for your Halfling. I apologize for not mentioning them when last we spoke... I did not want to guilt you into coming before you were read–”

A flash of light abruptly extends from the Drakling’s hand, taking the form of her Soulbound weapon as it manifests into reality. The synthetic Heartstone at its tip glows a deep, bloody colour as she thrusts it towards the final figure in the room, one standing more than an arms reach away from the Countess whose voice has suddenly fallen silent.

20.34 Damage dealt to [Shadow]

The hooded figure doesn’t react in the slightest as the tip of that sharp and pointed prism sinks into their chest.

“What are you doing here?” Frozen rage and icy hate underline those words.

“Breathe.” A hand hidden beneath a leather glove grabs onto the haft of that axe, holding on but making no move to pull it free. “I mean you no harm. Listen to wh–”

14.62 Damage dealt to [Shadow]

“Shut! Up!” The Drakling twists her Soulbound weapon, widening the wound it has made. But still that draws no reaction from the hooded figure. Not a gasp or a flinch. Nothing but a frustrating silence. Does she need to use more ****? Enough to... kill?

The Countess softly sighs. “Krvavy.” She gently speaks the barbarian’s name, stepping forward much to her maid’s dismay. She would surely have laid her delicate hands onto Krvavy’s arm had the protective albino not grabbed and pulled her back. “I am truly sorry.” Genuine remorse fills her voice, tears welling up in her amethyst eyes. “I do not expect you to simply forgive me, but... please, let me explain myself. Let me explain everything...”

Krvavy glares into the darkness beneath Shadow’s hood with unending malice. “What do you have over her?”

Again, the Countess sighs. Defeat and hopelessness fill that soft sound. She hangs her head in shame and sorrow. “Nothing, Krvavy.” That she seems so **** doesn’t inspire confidence. Are these even her words? “I am not being blackmailed or ****. Because I...”

Both of Shadow’s hands raise up, moving hesitantly and almost unwillingly. Gloved fingers grab at their hood and pull it down in one swift motion, revealing... a figure of pure darkness. A shadowy silhouette given form. The dark and murky features of its face are... delicate and elegant. A pair of pointed Elf-like ears reach out from the sides of its head.

““I... am Shadow.”” The same regretful voice is spoken from two near-identical mouths moving in perfect unison.

Clang!

A thin stiletto with the wooden handle of a featherduster stops the Drakling’s Soulbound weapon from pointing towards the Countess, aided by the strong paw-like hands grasping onto Krvavy’s right arm.

“Mate...!” Khalia growls out in warning, her clawed fingers digging into black scales. That she of all people is acting as the voice of reason...

The stern gleam in Vera’s pale pink eyes mirror that simple sentiment, just with a more violent and threatening intent.

The Countess of Raseyne takes a long, deep breath. “Krvavy, Champion of Vel’ka Dravost, let us begin anew... I am Alexandrina, Champion of the Mother of Midnight, the Matron of the Moons, Seeker of Secrets, Keeper of Knowledge, Yoru Kurai... Patron Goddess of the Moon Elves and of myself.”

Krvavy struggles to tear her gaze away from the living shadow that she wants to hate... she struggles to turn towards the deceitful woman that she doesn’t want to believe... She struggles to ignore the small metal jar looming beside her. “Wh...at kind of sick joke is... is this...?” Her voice is weaker than she expected, her vision blurring until she blinks.

“If only it were a joke and not the truth...” The Countess slowly pulls a handkerchief from her dress, gently pressing it to each of her eyes to keep her makeup from running. In that same motion, her other hand comes to rest on her maid’s shoulder.

Vera doesn’t move. Her needle-like dagger remains in the way of Krvavy’s axe. More symbolic than an actual obstacle.

“What about... the urn?” The barbarian heartbeat almost drowns out her thoughts. Her hands tremble as the failing fires of her rage desperately search for kindling to burn.

A look of confusion enters the otherwise sorrowful face of the half Moon Elf woman before her. “What of it?”

“It... looks like one that I used to own.” Standing closer now, Krvavy can see that it isn’t an exact copy of that dreadful metal jar like she had first thought. This urn is bigger. Its base is slightly wider, its midsection more curved. The lid is thicker and secured differently. The patterns are not the same. It is similar, nothing more...

The Countess closes her eyes and appears to grimace. “I... am sorry for that. It was not intentional. I can have it repla–”

“No.” The Drakling firmly states, regaining her resolve. She turns away from that ordinary urn, meeting Shadow’s empty and unblinking gaze. The dark figure is completely unmoving, yet still watching. “You wanted to explain yourself. So get to it.” She coldly states in a tone so close to sounding hollow, scowling as Shadow nods.

“Know that very little of what I ever said to you was an outright lie.” The Countess is the one to speak, not her Shadow. “More often were they half truths. But now... now I shall do that no more. I promise that the time for deception is... past us. I will be nothing but honest to you from here on out.”

How can Krvavy trust those words? How can Krvavy trust that they aren’t just more lies?

The pink-skinned half-Elf clearly sees that doubt. She takes a deep breath and... “I, Alexandrina Yuliya Marzannavich, swear upon my Patron, Yoru Kurai, to never deceive you with ill intent, to never knowingly work against you, and to never maliciously harm you or yours, least not without first explicitly stating that I will do any such negative action, ensuring that you are aware of my intent and have sufficient time to react to that warning.”

More words spoken by a dishonest and decei–

A fellow Champion has made an Oath to you. Accepting it will hold them to their word, bringing down dire and grim consequences if it is ever broken and not forgiven. Do you accept this Oath?
[Y]/[N]

The Drakling freezes as that notification fills up her perception. Her mind races as she tries to remember each and every single thing that the Countess had just said. That oath isn’t ironclad. The wording is suspect. There is an out. There are loopholes. It doesn’t completely sooth her worries. But... With just a moment of hesitation, Krvavy accepts it.

A simple click of a nonexistent button is not enough to reassure the barbarian. Doubtful thoughts still remain, lingering and undermining that whole spectacle. If the Countess could hide Krvavy’s **** from her killer, preventing notifications from appearing and experience from being gained, then a single popup containing only text should be easy to fake... So very easy...

Krvavy’s jaw clenches. The weapon in her hands, trusty and more reassuring than any word, feels heavy. Yet still she holds it. Yet still the gem at its tip glows an eerie blood-red, pulsing with the beat of her heart. As if it were an extension of herself.

“If it would make you feel better, you may ‘kill’ my Shadow.”

The barbarian’s brow furrows as she considers that offer. After just a seconds thought, she jerks her Soulbound weapon away from the maid, slamming its hammerhead into that dark copy’s midsection with the **** of an earthquake.

3,268.18 Damage dealt to [Shadow]

A puff of black smoke scatters out from that impact like dust from a collapsing building. This damned figure’s umbral form is rent asunder, disintegrating into nothingness as the various articles of clothing that it had been wrapped up in all go flying from that strike.

[Shadow] has been slain!

Despite the brief moment of cathartic ****, there is no real satisfaction to be had from it. This ‘kill’ was... underwhelming. Disappointing. Too easy. There was no reward, no experience gained. A brief flash of pain crosses the Countess’ face, as if she had just suffered a sudden headache, but nothing more.

Clunk.

The base of Krvavy’s Soulbound weapon thumps into the nicely polished floor. She glares down at the Countess. “You wanted to explain. So get talking.” Her snarled intimidation is undermined a little by the **** movement of her tail, which loosely coils around her precious puppy’s waist seeking comfort and affection.

The Champion of the Mother of Midnight nods, gently clasping her hands together and resting them against the fabric of her dress. “A lifetime ago, I was but an ordinary Human by the name of Alex. There was nothing special about who I was, least not in a good way: I had next to no self esteem, truly crippling social anxiety, a weak voice with a stutter, I was not in the best shape, and... there were many more minor issues that I had.”

Vera slowly slips her stiletto blade back into its sheath, putting the two pieces of her featherduster back together and securing it with a twist.

“Quite frankly,” the Countess calmly continues, “I was pathetic. I had wanted to better myself, but... the few attempts I made felt as if they only led to failure and embarrassment. My comfort zone grew smaller and more restrictive as each subsequent attempt became more inconsequential than the last. I gave up speaking in person to all but my parents. I attended the local Uni through online courses only. But being in front of a camera was still difficult, as any mistake I made could be rewound and watched again. Even speaking through audio alone was too nerve wracking. And text? Permanent records bound to my name. I resorted to leaving completely anonymous comments online, but that simultaneously felt like too much and too little. So when I stumbled upon a single-player VR game that advertised itself as a truly immersive experience... I dove into it, as if it were my last lifeline.”

Krvavy’s lips twitch downwards as she patiently listens on. Her own reasons for ‘playing’ this ‘game’ were different, but... escapism is still escapism.

“I created a character who would excel in social situations. One who had every reason to be confident, due to both her raw stats and her overall appearance. The result was... so vastly different from who I was.” The pink-skinned half-Elf pointedly looks down at herself and sighs. “Which was a mistake. ‘Alex’ did not grow any more confident despite the months spent playing this ‘game’. It was too dissociative. ‘Alex’ became more of a recluse, living only to spend time as ‘Alexandrina’. Often had I wished to live this life instead of the one I was born into. And one day, that wish was granted.”

The albino maid subtly steps closer to her Lady, almost certainly wanting to bring some comfort to the Countess.

Krvavy repeatedly taps a finger against the haft of her axe, feeling increasingly impatient. She isn’t in the mood to just silently stand around and do nothing but listen. “The story about faking your **** was a lie.” She states, wanting to sound accusatory but struggling to keep even the slightest bit of emotion in her voice. Why is it so hard for her to feel the familiar heat of hatred...?

Alexandrina hesitantly nods. “As I said before, most of what I told you was the truth. Of that ‘story’, only two parts were not: my **** an–”

The Countess cuts herself off with a sigh as Krvavy so very rudely uses Inspect on her. That mental prodding does nothing more than poke uselessly at a barrier far stronger than anything the barbarian could hope to bypass. But rather than let that skill fail, bringing a deserved flash of discomfort to the Drakling, she lets it through.

Krvavy’s gaze rakes across that stat sheet, absorbing as much information as possible. The Countess is a higher level than she is, but is quite a bit frailer than expected. Though that shouldn’t really be a surprise, considering the more magic and social focused build...

But wait. Something is off... Certain traits are missing...

“Have patience, Krvavy.” The faintest tinge of disappointment underlines those words. Delicate hands unclasp and move behind her back, changing her pose to one that looks decidedly more stern. The wet sheen of her eyes dissipates, yet the regret remains. “None of what you see there is the whole truth.”

“Your oath was a lie then?” Krvavy bitterly spits out, emerald eyes narrowed into distrustful slits.

“No.” The deceitful Champion’s voice is quite firm as she gives her answer. “This deception was not done with ill intent. Or any intent, for that matter. It is beyond my ability to control, and is tied to the lie I was about to reveal before your interruption. See, I –”

“Why are you undressing?” Krvavy can’t help but cut the Countess off again, growing increasingly suspicious – nervous, even – as the beautiful half-Elf’s dress is loosened enough to slip down and bare those large pink breasts. Breasts that are not contained by a bra and are instead completely and utterly exposed. “To distract me?”

With a bit of help from her blushing maid, Alexandrina steps out of her dress, leaving her in an outfit not unlike what she wore the first night she and Krvavy spent together. A tight black corset with a purple sheen clings to her narrow waist, and from that hangs two garter straps attached to two stockings, both of which subtly dig into her squishy thighs. Matching lace sleeves hug her arms, stretching from just past her wrist to just below her shoulders.

Authors Note: Here is what Rina looks like, just as a reminder.

“I am baring myself before you not as a distraction,” the alluring noblewoman finally responds, “but so that you may better see the truth. The two lies told in the ‘story’ of my **** are intertwined. In reality I did die, but those who killed me did not summon a demon to take on my guise. For I...” she closes her eyes and softly breathes out, “am not solely a Moon Elf.”

For the briefest moment, the air around Alexandrina ripples like a mirage.

Her unpainted nails turn a dark purple, and from there her skin begins to darken. An inky black hue, almost a shade of purple itself, spreads across her fingers and hands, disappearing beneath her lace sleeves. It is difficult to say, but it appears to completely fade away somewhere around her elbows. A similar change in colour also seems to be occurring beneath her stockings, spreading from her feet to just below her knees, where it too shifts back into the vibrant pink of her skin in a rather gentle gradient.

Krvavy’s attention is drawn upwards, towards the Countess’ elegant and remorseful face. Two bumps appear on this pink-skinned woman’s forehead, pressing out and ‘splitting’ the strings of onyx beads that hold her up ever-present gem as they grow into... a pair of small horns. Ones not made of bone, like those of the Drakling, but which are covered in flesh and skin. Pink at their base, and the same inky purple-black as her limbs at the tips.

The Countess’ eyes open. Her amethyst iris’ almost glow amongst the sea of pure darkness that her formerly white sclera have become. The black of her eyes blends in with her thick, smoky eyelashes, making it difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.

A rosy pink tail flicks out from behind her. Thin and more than long enough to rest on the floor if it wasn’t twisting and writhing around in a refreshingly honest display of nervous anxiety. Its darkened tip spreads out flat and comparatively wide as her near instantaneous transformation comes to an end, taking the shape of a... stylized heart.

Authors Note: Here is what Rina truly looks like.

“I am Hells-Touched.” The Countess softly explains, looking and sounding rather self-conscious of the incredibly minor change that her body just went through. “A decision I made during the character creation process, one which was the result of what could be considered... min-maxing...” She almost seems embarrassed to admit that. “Two fewer attribute points to allocate per level in exchange for a guaranteed one to Insight, Charisma, and Guile... Useful stats for a character focused on social interactions... The other consequences of this heritage did not seem significant when this was all just a game...”

Krvavy lightly gnaws on the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to shoot off another Inspect. She will do that again, of course, but her curiosity demands some answers before she can indulge and let herself be distracted. “What kind of consequences?”

“Beyond what this appearance alone puts me at risk of – discrimination and the worryingly high likelihood of being mistaken as a demon and thus lynched – all Hells-Touched are afflicted with a compulsion. One of a more... chaotic lean. Nymphomania, kleptomania, pathological lying, a volatile temper, a complete lack of empathy, an irresistible desire to inflict pain on others, just to name a few. These obsessions typically rear their head around puberty, sometimes sooner and sometimes later. But all Hells-Touched suffer what they have been assigned.”

The Drakling narrows her eyes. “And just which one do you have?” Her voice is cold, her mind focusing on two specific words that this deceitful woman had said.

Vera’s gloved fingers tighten around the handle of her featherduster, around the blade hidden within it... The barbarian’s aggressive and accusatory tone rankles the maid.

“My compulsion is that of a gossipmonger. A choice I made in hope of it aiding my once poor social skills. In those early days, it was perhaps a necessity. Something which drove me to speak more with others. To gossip with them.” A distasteful frown plays at this pink-skinned woman’s painted lips. “I am no longer bound by that compulsion, having long since gained enough Willpower and Composure to resist the urges it forces upon me.”

Krvavy shifts her Soulbound weapon from her right hand to her left. Not strictly speaking the best idea if this does end up turning hostile, but...

Her now freed hand grabs onto her precious puppy, pulling the armoured Orc close to her side. That slightly cuddling half-hug is necessary to distract Krvavy from the... incredibly alluring sight in front of her.

Beautiful... Gorgeous... Stunning... Words simply cannot describe how physically attractive the Countess is to Krvavy. This woman was hot enough when she was just a half-Elf, but now... The few demonic features gracing her form simply elevate her beauty to a ridiculous degree. The horns poking out of her forehead are cute. The bright, piercing purple of her eyes surrounded by pitch black sclera makes her gaze far more intense and seductive. The twisting heart-tipped tail wiggling behind her is surprisingly sexy. Even the dark inky stains on her arms and legs look good on her, though they are difficult to see through her lingerie. She was exotic before, and even more so now...

Which is not something the Drakling is particularly happy about. Krvavy is still on edge. She still feels hurt and betrayed. The hate she directed towards Shadow wants to cling onto the Countess instead. But those negative feelings are... struggling to survive. She is even having trouble feeling upset about that...

Yes, the Countess lied to her. But... Krvavy can’t really blame Rina for doing so. Not without being a complete and utter hypocrite. Not only had Krvavy kept the same truth from Rina, but she lied to her own girls in much the same way. She hid that she was the Champion of a God until after she had died, until after she had to face the possibility that this was more than just a game. And she still hasn’t told them all that much of the woman she used to be...

As for Shadow... The hate that the barbarian felt towards that sketchy hooded figure was... perhaps a bit unreasonable from the very start... Beyond sending a child to pickpocket her and using magically summoned blades as a mere deterrence, they never really did anything that could really be considered bad... Not to Krvavy, at least. More... the opposite, really. It was only because of Shadow that Krvavy even had the opportunity to take **** on the Patriarch... And without that grenade... she wouldn’t have been able to kill that damned lightning wizard...

Shadow... The Countess... Rina...

“Nngh...” The barbarian grimaces. Is the sight of this immensely beautiful – and functionally naked – woman really all that it takes to make Krvavy want to forgive her...? Would she be so conflicted if the noble before her was a Count rather than a Countess...? “So you’re... half demon then?” The question is awkward and clumsy, but as long as it moves the conversation along... As long as it gives her mind something to focus on... A distraction from her swirling, chaotic and uncertain, emotions...

Alexandrina raises an ink-stained hand up, wobbling it in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “To be Hells or Heavens-Touched is... quite a complicated matter. According to my background, my Father was purely Human while my Mother was a Hells-Touched Moon Elf: she was wholly an Elf, albeit one with the essence of the Hells suffusing her. As a result of that union, I am half Human and half Elf, yet also what may be considered half ‘demon’ as well. It is a matter of the physical and the spiritual. A contradiction: three equal halves adding up to a single whole.”

Krvavy’s brow furrows. “I didn’t get those options when I went through the character creator... Not the ‘hell’ or the ‘heaven’ bit.” Is she trying to find some reason to doubt the Countess’ words...? She honestly doesn’t know.

A single delicate eyebrow is slowly lifted up. An action that shouldn’t be so attractive... or arousing... “Perhaps your Patron is against such... mixed heritages? At least when it comes to their Champion? Or perhaps it is simply a question of likelihood? It is rare already to find the ‘Touched’ amongst Humans or Elves, and almost entirely unheard of in any race beyond them. Or it may even have been an attempt at balancing what initially had the guise of a game?” The Countess softly shakes her head.

Many more questions linger in Krvavy’s mind, but none seem important enough to ask now. Nor does she get the chance to ask them if she had even wanted to.

“Regardless,” the Countess slowly sighs out, “I believe that it would be best for you were to use Inspect on me now. The information it shall provide will be the truth this time. Of that, I promise.”