@Zahmed Nicely summed up. Yes, the dwarves definitely do prize reliability and safety, enough to create an entire civilisation around it. The goblins are a bit all over the place. Sure, they could come up with a work of genius, but things do tend to go kaput in dramatic ways before they breach that stage.
I can have goblins and dwarves, but adding Skaven would probably get some big copyright thing thrown at me! But, we all know… they don’t really exist…
SNEAK PEEK
I don’t really do snippets, since I concentrate on getting relatively substantial updates ready for the end of each month. But I did drop a snippet on my Patreon last month, when I was in a billing pause, and some may like a gander. This concerns the next update.
Here, our MC is given a vision just before the final events of the Cold Pact Path, before I start writing the concluding events for Book 1.
Some of you will easily guess whose mind we have been planted in here… But feel free to wonder. On the Grey Torment, in a place of unfeeling undeath, something quite poignant beats behind it all.
With a cold scalpel in your hand, you delve into the guts of a fresh corpse. Around you, other scholars do the same. The room is quiet, only broken by the shuffling steps of old Attendant Filip, waving his stick to correct imprecise incisions.
You glance out of the window set in the wall of the cloister. Outside, the snow is a smattering of white dust, caught in drifts and thickening as the slope of the mountain falls from view. There is someone there, a broad figure in a black fur cloak trudging purposefully. Something tells you not to look away, as if a mere outline snags at a raw secret inside, unknown even to you. When closer, the figure is revealed to be a young man, perhaps only a few years your senior.
Others turn away from their corpses to look. Lilines, the mousey woman next to you, exhales a nervous laugh. She pulls at the sleeve of your robe, though you have, of course, already noticed.
Destiny. Somehow, you just knew…
Suddenly, a cold ray of sun breaches the clouds, casting a spell of glittery gold across the approaching man’s mane. It is in this moment, when your breath quickens and when your heart pauses, that you know you must somehow speak to him. You must do so more than anything. The next feeling is more intriguing, and though your face heats, your blood calms. For the first time, you understand what those much wiser call the hand of destiny.
Destiny. Somehow, you just knew…
Letting in a gust of melting snow dust, the rickety door of petrified wood rattles open. In walks the broad man, so tall, undeniably strong, his sculpted body evident behind his robes. His face is fixed, serious as he scans the room. His sparkling blue eyes analyse and unpick… And he is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen…
“Scholars,” says old Attendant Filip, barely bowing due to his age and crooked spine and not due to disrespect. “Ascendant Petteri Malachar is here for his final preparations before his initiation into the Mortal Sages. Rarely have those so young earned the right to even attempt such a thing. We shall make his stay comfortable and aid his studies in any way he deems necessary.”
“Hail to the Sage Council,” the scholars respond, crossing their arms over their chests and bowing. You do the same, though your eyes do not lower to the floor but stay fixed on the beautiful man.
He says nothing, only sweeps his gaze across the corpses. Until… his eyes find yours. And he doesn’t look away…
In your mind, a voice, deep, firm, but not cold, sounds. Yes, not cold, surprisingly warm. Not warm… It is a voice of fire. “We damn the gods, but now I believe in angels.”
The words are cheap, but they echo with astounding sincerity. This little jest, this discrete mental communion, let it be your first shared secret. Let it be one of many…
Destiny. Somehow, you just knew…
And then you find yourself in another place, at the top of a tower perched on the highest peaks of the mountains. The lone window looks out onto a world of wild, whipping white. Petteri sits on a stool, his back pressed against you as you draw the razor across his scalp, mournfully watching the last of his golden hair fall into a bowl of water.
But you are so proud, so proud it stings. He has defied all their expectations. Your Petteri has become the youngest Mortal Sage. He is brilliant, brimming with ideas, unbowed by the ancient ones whose minds have calcified.
Gently, you place the razor on the table behind you and dry his scalp with a towel. “Petteri, your mane was like the sun, but without it, you more resemble one of the moons.”
He snaps up to his towering height, spinning to wrap his arms around you before planting his lips firmly against yours. Part of you melts and dies inside the warm pool of sensations that can only be your soul, as always happens when your flesh meets his. When he pulls back, his eyes, the colour of the sky, hold you frozen.
“Hmm.” Petteri smiles, though it is a simple smile, contained, calming. His hands drift down your shoulders to rest upon your belly. “Soon, you will show. You know where to go?” You manage a nod, your hands clamping over his and pressing them tighter against where you imagine your child’s heart beats.
“All is taken care of, but none can know, or we three will be damned.” His voice vibrates through your bones. The secrets, they bind you both; they are your chains, chains you willingly wear.
“I will write. Often. And, when the time comes, I will call for you. You will rise with me, a lich and his angel.”
Deep down, you know you’re both fools, but love is a land of fools, and all the better for it. Your heart swells, and your eyes wet with thoughts of his absence. But Petteri’s love is true, and his promises to you are unbreakable.
Surely, a love like this will carry beyond the grave…
Destiny. Somehow, you just knew…
We can find opportunities to increase our ingenuity later on.
