The cavern pulsed with a soft, ethereal light, courtesy of the colossal crystal suspended high above. It cast long, dancing shadows that intertwined with the warm, golden glow emanating from the tavern deeper within the mountain's embrace. Bathilda, a contented smile gracing her lips, ambled towards Blossom, the lingering warmth of good company and potent dwarven ale still humming pleasantly beneath the surface of her skin. Her ornate necklace, a subtle shimmer against her throat, ensured the revelry remained a pleasant buzz, never tipping into true inebriation.
"Hiro would have loved this," she chuckled softly to herself, the sound echoing gently in the vast space. The thought of her wayward companion, the soul who'd thumbed his nose at Paradise, likely finding his own brand of afternoon amusement brought a fond shake of her head.
The Demon Kings, her adopted charges, were a different breed entirely. Flo, she pictured, would be meticulously tending her garden, her small brow furrowed in concentration over some exotic bloom. Bob… well, "dignified" was a word that rarely, if ever, coincided with the younger king's vocabulary, especially mid-game. Bathilda made a mental note to address his more colorful pronouncements upon her return.
Blossom, perched on a rocky outcrop near Durok's entrance, her usual vibrant energy seeming slightly subdued, turned as Bathilda approached. The air around her crackled with unspoken information, the residue of the council meeting clinging to her like a faint scent. Blossom was clearly eager to share, but Bathilda found herself strangely reluctant to hear it. The echoes of bureaucratic droning still reverberated in her mind. Nevertheless, duty, and a healthy dose of curiosity, prevailed.
"So," Blossom began, her gaze flickering towards Bathilda, "first things first, they weren't exactly ecstatic about Home sending a Vampire as the liaison instead of a human. Apparently, it ruffled some feathers. Not that we had any clue what we'd be facing down here, but I managed to smooth things over pretty quickly." Blossom’s tone was matter-of-fact, but Bathilda caught a hint of underlying tension. Why that particular point was the opener remained a mystery, but Bathilda held her tongue, allowing Blossom to proceed.
Bathilda’s internal monologue was still a litany of creative curses aimed at the very concept of council meetings when Blossom finally drew her report to a close. Hours. It had been hours.
Bathilda knew this because her own sojourn in the tavern, a far more enjoyable affair, had spanned the same length of time. And after all those painstakingly chosen words, the essence of the council's pronouncements boiled down to three simple concepts: trade, travel, and teaching.
Basically.
The practical implications for Bathilda were surprisingly minimal. She would need to establish two new interdimensional gates. One in Durok, providing a direct conduit to Home, and another within the familiar, comforting chaos of Home itself. The latter was a non-negotiable boundary; she had no desire for a constant stream of merchants and explorers traipsing through her personal sanctuary.
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The existing mountain gate would remain as it was – a portal to the wider world outside Durok. The dwarves were welcome to use it, of course, but the journey to Home from that point was deliberately circuitous. Let them enjoy the scenic route, Bathilda mused with a wry smile.
A quiet satisfaction settled within Bathilda. The initial mission, fraught with the unknown, had been a resounding success. The dwarves, despite their initial gruffness, possessed a commendable appreciation for fine spirits. And, most importantly, no additional Demon Kings required adoption. However, Bathilda wouldn't be returning to Home entirely alone. A small, fluffy bear in surprisingly clean white scrubs sat patiently waiting, her button eyes fixed on Bathilda. An illusion, meticulously crafted, concealing a new companion in every sense of the word, save for the purely visual.
No one would object. Well, perhaps Hiro. But Hiro, in Bathilda’s estimation, was rapidly evolving into a professional complainer. His existence had become a predictable cycle of familial interactions and the occasional visit from the ever-diplomatic Jones. He was becoming a King of sorts himself, mirroring the children, but his dominion lay over the vast and echoing realm of NEETdom.
The sudden, sharp realization of diplomacy’s looming presence in her future spurred Bathilda to action. It was a path she hadn't travelled for a long time. With a mental flick, she opened her menu, the familiar interface shimmering into existence before her eyes.
The acquisition of the [Lesser Creation] skill had ushered in an era of such profound change that the intricacies of her own status had faded into the background. She couldn't even recall her current level with any certainty. The blind, terrified bat of her recent past had been replaced by a being of considerable power, and the constant scrutiny of her stats had become a relic of a bygone era. A slightly frustrating oversight in retrospect, as a quick glance revealed several rather significant shifts.
Name: Bathilda
Race: Vampire
Class: Maiden of Death (Holy)
Title: Avid Exterminator
Level: 198
XP needed until next Level: 593,100
HP: 410,550/410,550
MP: 666,719/666,719
"Skill Points Available"
The numbers swam before her eyes, bordering on the absurd. Half a million experience points for a single level? It was ludicrous. Her health and mana reserves were equally staggering, though Bathilda found herself far less inclined to complain about those particular excesses.
Pushing aside the initial shock, she focused on her original intention. With a mental command, she navigated to the relevant section and poured the accumulated skill points into [Parallel Minds]. The cost was exorbitant, and the upgrade yielded a meager two levels, bringing the skill to a grand total of three.
A disappointing return on investment, perhaps, but hopefully sufficient to maintain a comfortable buffer between herself and any future council convocations. The thought of simultaneously engaging in tedious bureaucratic discussions with her other minds whilst she pursued more stimulating endeavors brought a small, vindictive smile to her lips.
"Right," Bathilda said aloud, shaking off the lingering haze of numbers. "Gates. Let's get those sorted." She turned to Blossom, the weariness in her eyes not going unnoticed. "Come on. Let's head back. I have a feeling we both deserve a proper rest." The fluffy Blossom let out a soft, contented sigh, a sound that somehow managed to convey both agreement and an unnatural level of understanding. The journey home, Bathilda knew, would be anything but dull.
