Chapter 126, 1/2

Chapter 126, 1/2

Dinner turned to drinking, which immediately became stories of the past, and of what had happened between then and now. Erick knew that everyone here who was not Teressa and Arathani were quickly headed into ‘third wheel’ territory. But, to Teressa and her auntie’s credit, they did not make him, or Poi, or Kiri, or Jane, feel unwelcome.

As the sky outside turned to night, Erick stepped up from the table during a lull between stories, and said, “Arathani, Yogdrick. Thank you for the wonderful—”

“You can’t go yet!” Arathani leapt up from her seat, saying, “I have cookies in the back! Dessert!”

Arathani did not wait for an answer, or recognition, as she tore off into the back room. She did that a lot. She had a nice, tough attitude, and Erick liked that about her. He smiled as Arathani came back with a giant basket filled with enough cookies to choke a small dragon, or at least several orcols. She set the basket on a separate dining room table, saying, “Berry and oat! I made a batch for the school for tomorrow, but you can take some. Take a dozen! I’ll get you a to-go plate.”

As others moved to get going, Teressa rose from her seat, too—

Erick said, “You can stay, Teressa. Spend the night if you wish?”

“Yes!” Arathani put a hand on Teressa’s shoulder, firmly planting the younger woman back onto her seat, saying, “We’ll have her back to you tomorrow safe as antirhine!”

“Auntie.” Teressa began protesting, “Sir. I do not have to stay—”

“You can, though.” Erick put on a false bossy facade, saying, “But I’ll expect you back tomorrow morning, soon as you’re able.”

“Please?” Arathani asked Teressa. “We got a nice room right upstairs for guests, and we’ve got a lot to talk about.” She teared up, saying, “You’ve been gone for so long and we had that awful fight—” She shook her head. “Please stay, Teressa.”

Teressa said, “Sure. Of course I’ll stay. Thanks for having me, Auntie.”

Erick said a few more goodbyes, then left, trailing three of his four people and carrying a plate of cookies.

Teressa and her Auntie would end up talking long into the night.

- - - -

Teressa walked in as Erick set out breakfast.

“Hey there!” Erick said, “Welcome back!”

Teressa smiled softly, and said, “Good to be back. She’s invited us all to dinner again. This time she promises it will be something special... And I promised her that I would tell you that, but we don’t have to go.”

Jane said, “I liked her food.”

“I liked it too, and we got time for this sort of thing. I haven’t heard back from O’kabil or that Chieftain about anything.” Erick said, “So we’ll go back to Arathani’s, unless you would rather go yourself, without us. That is perfectly fine, too. Family is important, after all.”

Teressa said, “Then let’s go back there for dinner.”

Erick nodded, saying, “Then we will! But other than that, you all do whatever you want to do. I’m going to actually, truly try to stay in today. Get some work done.” He added, “Record players won’t make themselves, after all!”

- - - -

Two hours later, Erick sat before Chieftain Wyrmrest and the man in charge of the Special Forces of Treehome. While the first was an orcol man of poise and strength, the second was an orcol man of blood-red plate armor and a no-nonsense face with quite a few scars. More scars than Erick had ever seen on an orcol, too. Of course, ‘more than he had ever seen’ also meant ‘one or two’, in the case of orcols, but this dude was scarred up like any human or incani Juggernaut you’d find in Spur’s Adventuring District at any time of the day.

Hollowsaur didn’t count for Erick’s idea of ‘orcols with scars’.

Peron introduced the scarred man, saying, “Archmage Erick Flatt, I would like you to meet Warchief Koropo Ikabobbi, leader of the Special Forces of Treehome, and the man who has been fighting the cultist menace for years.”

Erick said, “Nice to meet you, Koropo. Please call me Erick.”

Koropo paused in surprise, much like how a rock could be surprised, then spoke in a particularly deep voice, saying, “Informal, then. Erick. I heard you had some conditions for your support. What are they?”

“I won’t track down simple cultists. I will track down murderers, Hunters, and terrorists. Anyone who has taken a life in service to Melemizargo qualifies to be hunted, but I’d like you to be sparing with your targets, if you can.” Erick thought for a second, then, deciding that his words had been good enough, said, “That’s about it.” He gestured to Poi, standing behind him, adding, “And my guard and friend, Poi Fulisade, will be verifying the truth of your words, and any questions I have regarding any of the paperwork. Broadly speaking, I have no reason not to trust your word that the people you seek are dangerous killers, so please don’t give me a reason to not trust you.”

Peron said nothing and gave none of his emotions or biases away as he watched the conversation between Erick and Koropo.

Koropo said, “If I catch cultists in my net they will be tried and found guilty of consorting with The Enemy. The usual punishment for that is execution. If you want to take them off of my hands, then I’ll give them to you, but I will not go easy on the enablers of the Hunters, murderers, and terrorists.”

Erick blanked for a minute, then said, “No. I want you to let them be. Just don’t prosecute them.” He added, “This should not be a hard thing to compromise on.”

“If you don’t want them, then why should I have to deal with them? Don’t you have a city full of cultists?” Koropo said, “If they’re too dangerous for you, then we should just kill them and be done with it, and when we do catch them and we do kill them, I won’t have you gainsaying me in my decisions about my city.”

“Ah. So you don’t want my help at all.” Erick stood up, getting ready to leave, saying, “Sorry we couldn’t come to an arrangement.”

“I apologize for my dutiful Special Forces.” Peron stood, saying, “Please sit back down, Erick, and let us continue these discussions.”

Erick turned to Poi. “Is he actually apologizing, or is he playing ‘good cop bad cop’ with Koropo, just to see how far they can push me?” He turned back to the orcols, saying, “Because at the first sign that my wishes aren’t being upheld, then I am gone, and I will not be persuaded by Peron trying to placate me when you, Koropo, go ‘off all on your own’ and kill some stupid, idiot cultists who don’t know any better. If that is indeed what you’re both planning on doing.”

While Peron’s face remained the same mask as ever, Koropo’s scarred visage gained a hard-edged smile. Poi did not need to answer; Erick gained everything he needed to know right then. Peron was the actual bad cop, here, while Koropo was only pretending to be the bad cop at Peron’s behest, because, at the end of the day, Peron was the boss and Koropo was the underling.

Poi remained silent.

Koropo stood, and continued to play his part, saying, “I can respect you for murdering the Shades and turning the survivors into soul-slaved helpers, but this is how they get you, Erick. You’re doing what every single cult leader has ever done, just on a much larger scale.

“The leaders start the initiates off small, having them give gifts in the shadows to the Darkness. Then it’s compassion. Then comes a feeling of belonging. Then comes the request that the initiate prove their worth to the cult, and I’m not just speaking of Melemizargo’s Cult. This is how they all work. The people on top draw the people on the bottom into their webs of lies and comfort, and the people in bottom thus draw even more people in, and the cycle continues.

“All of the people in these cults are all part of the problem. Even if we cut the heads off of the wyrm, they always grow back, because that’s what tumors do when you only cut out the parts that are causing direct harm. For that’s what the Cult of Melemizargo does. It stays dormant for years. And then all of a sudden, there’s a crisis manufactured by the people in charge, usually when they find an initiate willing to kill to solve their problems. One problematic person becomes two, becomes five, and then you’ve got a string of murders on your hands, and too many murderers covering for each other.

“So your insistence that we ‘leave the simple Cultists alone’ is asking for us to leave the wyrm alone while it regrows its teeth.” Koropo said, “I will not do this, and if you won’t help clear out the entire cult, then I don’t need your shitty help, because as soon as we move on them with your kind of power, they’ll activate every single dormant member, instructing them all to kill as much as they can, to take out as many leaders and key people as they can before we can pin them to the wall.” Koropo said, “It’s happened before, and it will happen again.”

Silence descended upon the room.

No one spoke.

Erick glanced to Poi.

Poi said, “Warchief Ikabobbi believes what he is saying, and the event that he is referring to is the Insurrection of 1406, thirty years ago, when a string of massacres inside Treehome was found out to be the result of Cultists.”

Erick felt himself go a little pale, then mentally reminded himself that he didn’t always know everything, and that this wasn’t Earth. Erick’s experience with the Cult was not everyone’s experience with the Cult. He sat back down, saying, “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Koropo and Peron sat back down.

Erick said, “My initial statement stands, but there is an amendment: If they start doing what you say, then I will help you eliminate them all. If they do not activate their sleeper agents, if they do not start killing indiscriminately, then I want you to leave them alone. I will leave it up to you to proceed however you wish in order to enable a quick kill on whichever targets you desire, without alerting too many to what is going on, but, if possible, I ask you to detain and then release whoever you capture who is not directly responsible for some atrocity.”

Koropo said, “There will be collateral damage, no matter how much my people would wish to avoid such. I need to know that you’re in this till it’s over, no matter what happens, otherwise you’re a liability I won’t risk. I won’t risk stirring the dragon’s nest with a partner that is going to [Teleport] out at the first sign of trouble.”

“I’m taking a risk here, too, Koropo.” Erick said, “If you aren’t willing to take a risk that I’ll leave as soon as I see you harming innocents, then maybe you’re right. We shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

While Koropo slightly narrowed his eyes, in what had to be either a practiced or naturally perfect manner, Erick waited. He had given his line-in-the-sand, knowing that it would be tested, going forward. He hoped his morality wouldn’t be tested too harshly.

Another silence stretched through the meeting room.

Koropo said, “What do you need to find people?”

“... Are we going to do this, then? Will you abide by my rules? Both in spirit and to the letter?”

“Fine, dammit.” Koropo laid a gauntleted fist on the table right as Peron’s mask slipped, and the Chieftain’s anger briefly showed to the world. Koropo tapped the wood with a thick, armored finger, saying, “But listen to me when I say that stepping out halfway will be worse than doing nothing. Listen when I say that collateral damage is expected. We fully expect a large-scale retaliation, and we will be preparing some specific countermeasures to counteract that, but— Gods dammit, I’m usually the one telling my hothead subordinates not to get carried away.” He took away his hand, adding, “I haven’t been on this side of the table in forty years.” He stared Erick right in the eyes, saying, “I need you to go the distance with us. The Cult of Melemizargo must be eradicated from Treehome and the surrounding lands. Roots and all. I can’t have you getting scared halfway through. And I mean that.”

Erick softly asked, “What sort of large-scale retaliation?”

Koropo sat back in his chair, saying, “Archmage Syllea’s brother, Omaz, is one of the Cult leaders, so. Something on that level, and Syllea will likely get involved, too. Do you know Omaz? Anything about him?”

“No...” Keeping the sudden horror out of his voice, Erick said, “I met him once. But. No. I don’t know the man. At all.”

Koropo said, “He’s picked up some tricks from his sister over the many years. She’s got that famous [Starlight Fall] magic. He’s got it, too.” He whipped out a blue box and gave it to Erick. “According to Syllea, this one is Omaz’s version. It’s a pale imitation of the original, but it’s still an existential threat.”

Starlight Fall, instant, super long range, 35,000 mana

Conjure countless stars down to Veird, each creating a small explosion for 25x WIL per star.

It was almost the same spell that Syllea had shared with him way back when. He looked at that one, now, and saw that they were pretty similar.

Starlight Fall, instant, super long range, 29,900 mana

Conjure countless stars down to Veird, each creating a large explosion for 50x WIL per star.

Erick mumbled, “Syllea is better than her brother, but...”

“But ‘countless’ stars is still ‘countless’,” Koropo said.

Erick asked, “How many is ‘countless’, anyway?”

Peron said, “About three million, over a ten kilometer diameter space. Normal [Dispel]s are useless. You need a [Chaining Dispel] to counter those magics.”

Dawning horror turned into something darker, as Erick realized what sort of ‘Cultists’ he was going up against. At least when he had been in Shadow’s Feast, no one could escape the Feast Barrier, and he didn’t have to worry about hostages and collateral damage. But this? This was worrying.

Koropo said, “Syllea gave me a breakdown of her brother’s capabilities when he proved himself a traitor. Pretty much the only spells he has are Star-based, so we don’t have to worry too much about Blood or Soul magic, but the fucking traitor probably hid that stuff from her. You see it all the time with these types. They lead double lives in the shadows, practicing ritual murder and conspiring in ways that any normal person would never consider doing. As for what Syllea knew, Omaz is at least level 75, and he certainly has Intelligence. Syllea clocked her brother at a max of 36,000 mana, or 150 Willpower, but that could be a screen, too. If he gets the chance to retaliate, then he would certainly put on some temporary Stat Rings to boost his Willpower higher. That much mana in a mage would normally be a limiting factor, even if it is rather high, but with his Intelligence, we have no doubt that he can cast his [Starlight Fall] at least ten times in a row, and still have mana left to escape.”

A lot of things stuck out in that little bit of information, but what Erick focused on, was asking, “How are you able to wear casters out?” He clarified, “I mean: You speak of how many times he can cast his spells, and I think you’re vastly underestimating the value of Intelligence, but I have literally never seen a long fight. Everything is always over within minutes, if not faster. Do you plan on winning by wearing out the opposition? Is that a real win condition? How do you do that and not just kill them, accidentally or otherwise?”

Peron couldn’t help but smile, it seemed. “Not everyone’s magic is as strong as an archmage’s.”

“Ah.” Erick said, “Well. Yes. My experience with fighting is not normal. I accept that. But you can still Critical someone by hitting them in the head.”

Peron nodded, accepting Erick’s words as they were.

Koropo said, “We have a lot of experience taking down strong targets while minimizing casualties. The problems arise when people outside of the targets get wind of what we’re doing to their friends. They start shit where we can’t see them, and where we’re not prepared. Which is what will happen if we do this wrong.” Koropo asked, “But is the question you’re asking about taking down targets without killing them?”

“Yes. How do you do that?”

Koropo nodded, then said, “Most of the people in my Special Units have vetted experience with Blood Magic and Soul Magic, and most of them are Mage Hunters, but we also have a few Warrior Hunters for the less usual targets.” Koropo said, “I’m a Witch Hunter myself. All of us have high-rate [Mana Drain Wards] which we can latch onto various targets we're actively fighting. We even have several people with [Curse of Locality], to prevent [Teleport], as well as counterspellers to prevent the use of magic. But our best offense, is to take people out before they realize they’re in a fight. We don’t like long fights, either, for when that happens, something has gone wrong. But if we do end up in a long fight, we’re always at an advantage because our Drain spells not only deny the targets many of their resources, but we take those resources for ourselves. That is what Mage Hunters do.”

Koropo’s words were a shock to Erick’s mind. How could he have forgotten about [Drain Ward]? The rate it drained was rather slow, but there had to be some way to make it drain faster!

[Drain Ward] was an inherent part of [Ward]’s big blue box, and Erick had somehow forgotten about that when it came time to think of ways to incapacitate a person without killing them. He had certainly remembered the Drain part of [Ward] when he was making [Ward Destruction], though!

“Well... I can. Technically.” Rudidi scratched the back of his head, then asked, “I can pay you for the cost of this orchid, if you will help me with some information? How much is it, anyway?”

The owner crossed their arms, then said, “It’s 25 gold.”

Rudidi didn’t even balk at the inflated costs, or at least he tried not to. Something must have shown, for the owner got a rather disgusted look on his face.

The owner said, “No. Get out of my shop. You don’t deserve—”

“But! Please!” Rudidi got closer to the man, pleading, “I need—”

Before their relationship could deteriorate any more, Rudidi whipped a hand out, up, and directly into the owner’s chest, driving inward with all of his might. The man didn’t even know what had hit him as Rudidi grabbed onto what was left of the man’s heart, his hand encircling a mass of tough vines that had evaded all attempts to tell them apart from actual arteries and veins until just half an hour ago, when Archmage Flatt narrowed in on this space and confirmed what no one else could see. The Flower Killer was part flower himself.

Right as Rudidi’s hand struck true, four people stepped out of the shadows and into the room. One cast an entangling [Ward] that wrapped around the Flower Killer, into his body, and then down into his heart, draining Mana. Another cast a similar spell that began draining Health. The third person cast a special Curse onto the Flower Killer, preventing it from using all Spatial Magic for a short while; hopefully their presence would prove to be superfluous. The fourth was a new person, and so their timing was off, slightly. They cast a flash of black magic into the air, instantly killing every plant in the room, turning precious, well-tended flowers into naught but sludge—

Rudidi banished that stupid thought, and focused on herself, and the mission. Naervion, with her arm in the Flower Killer’s chest, finally had another second of the battle to use another attack. As the Flower Killer’s heart flailed against her touch, trying to dig into her hands, but faltering because of the pulse of black that turned it weaker than a shadowolf, Naervion pulsed burning light through her hand.

The Flower Killer’s skeleton, along with all the vines and roots inside of him, turned radiant, illuminating him from the inside-out, before flashing through his skin, and detonating the body. Blood, organs, bone, and roots, exploded into the room, splattering against everything and everyone.

No notification came.

And yet, there she was, currently [Polymorph]ed into Rudidi, with her hand empty, and still, no notification.

She didn’t have to yell that the target was getting away. She had worked with most of these people before, and they all knew what ‘no notification’ meant. Every single person in that room should have gotten at least 1% if the target was dead.

“There!” shouted the new guy, as he pointed at the ceiling at a glob of flesh and root stuck upon the stone. The blob was moving.

Fire and lightning blew a hole in the stone ceiling, revealing the light from outside. Still no notification. Three awful, terrible seconds had passed since the start of the actual fight. Naervion leapt through the roof.

She paused. Anger stilled, as she saw the salvation of her fuck up, hovering in the air before her.

A fluttering abomination of light, eyes, and wings, shone like a second sun had come down to Veird. A pleasant trilling of violins flowed on the breeze, as Naervion’s eyes moved from ‘Ophiel’ to what looked almost like a solar flare coming off of the [Familiar]. Inside that pustule of light, was a ball of bloody roots. It struggled against its confines like a crazed spider.

Erick’s voice came through the air, “It’s trapped. It’s not going anywhere; not with those spells and that Curse you put on it, but at the same time, I don’t want to kill it—” He seemed to change tactics, as he said, “I mean: I don’t want to kill it because then I’ll get full Quest completion.” He said, “I won’t steal this win from you if you want to kill it yourself.”

“I’m not an ‘it’!” yelled the ball of roots. “I’m just trying to have a child! Let me go! Don’t do this to m—”

Something happened to the light around the Flower Killer. It railed harder against its cage, but no sound came out.

Naervion took one look at the Flower Killer, the one who had killed her former boss, the one she desperately wanted to kill herself, and knew that if she asked for the chance to kill it while Erick held it, it might be able to slip away. She couldn’t take that chance. She said, “Kill the fucking thing and be done with it!”

Ophiel’s glowing light flexed around the root ball, crushing inward, twisting, then flexing back out.

And the rootball still moved. Still, no notification appeared.

Erick’s voice came through, “What is this thing made of?”

He crushed again, and with a great deal more force than probably necessary. Naervion watched as the very air seemed to crack and break as light piled into light, crushing, tearing, and forming even brighter cracks in the radiance all around.

The air popped, as the root ball broke inward, all resistance vanishing.

A notification came, like blessed rain after a drought. Naervion looked upon the proof of death, and blinked long, as a wave of memories came over her that she would spend a long time dissecting. Disbelief, rage, acceptance, even more disbelief. She sniffled, then [Polymorph]ed back into her normal body. When she opened her eyes again, Ophiel was still there. The notification was still there, and she would deal with that later. Her old boss’s final theories had been right, and Archmage Flatt had proved him right, or at least on the right track.

You have slain Carmine Changeling Vine!

31 % participation!

+20,328,157,991,507 exp

And then a second notification joined the first.

Special Quest Complete!

Find or Kill the Flower Killer

Find: 0/1

Kill: 1/1

Reward: 1 point

Erick seemed happier, as he said, “Oh! Quest Complete! And I didn’t get major Kill credit. Who did? All I got was 30 percent.”

All Naervion wanted to do was visit the old boss’s grave and tell him how he could rest easy, now that the Flower Killer was dead. But she maintained poise. She said, “That would be me, sir. 31 percent.”

“Very good then. I’m glad it worked out like that.” Erick asked, “So? Next target?”

“Right!” Naervion rolled with the emotional punch to her face, the quick shift from one problem to then think about the next, muttering, “The next target.”

She’d go to the old boss’s grave after work. Or maybe in a few days, when work calmed down. She had seen the map that Erick had summoned. She had seen the ease at which he put together facts and postulated answers that no one had thought of. No one, except for one.

The old boss was the first to consider that the Flower Killer was a plant himself. Because of that, some of those files were left in the case file, and Erick had seen them. And yet, even the old boss had given up his thoughts of killer plants when further pursuit of the ‘plant angle’ got them nothing and brought them no closer to catching the Flower Killer. For if the Flower Killer was a Deathsoul Shroom, or a Changeling Vine, or a Meat Gardner, then why were the victims left with their soul, or why were there victims at all? Deathsoul Shrooms consumed the person from the inside out, eating their soul, as they spread spores over a population center. The Flower Killer didn’t do that. Changeling Vines ate their victims whole, before spitting out copies to entice or force more people into the Forest. The Flower Killer left their victims in the middle of roads, or other sun-filled places, with a Carmine Orchid growing out of their opened rib cage. Meat Gardners fit the Flower Killer’s profile the best, but even those treant-like beasts weren’t methodical enough to drop bodies every 6 to 7 months.

But a Variant Changeling Vine?!

Someone had to have made that. Someone created that creature, on purpose. The creature spoke, too, so some soul magic had to be involved. Or maybe the creators were trying for an intelligent Changeling Vine? Those plants were already almost creatures, based on intelligence alone. Maybe the old boss had gone back to the plant angle on his own, off the record, and gotten himself killed for it...

Some Cultist probably made that Carmine Changeling Vine. The arrival of that killer was pretty close to the Insurrection 30 years ago. Was there something to that angle, there? Maybe the old boss had pursued that angle, too.

Ahhh. Yet another thing to tell the old boss when Naervion visited his grave. But then again, he probably already knew. He was probably watching them from the Red Dream right now, and smiling.

We finally got the bastard, sir.

- - - -

Erick sat up in his chair. “That ‘Carmine Changeling Vine’ was just trying to procreate? Huh?” After a moment, he asked, “Failed experimental monster? Or a dead-end natural evolution?”

Poi said, “No way of knowing, sir.”

Koropo, who oversaw the whole operation from his own [Viewing Screen], from his own seat to the side, said, “A lot of blame for these sorts of things is irrationally laid at the feet of the Cultists of Melemizargo, and the Forest produces a lot of strange monsters... But my gut is telling me that this was a Cult project. Chimeras usually are, and this one managed to live underneath Nosier for a long while.” He added, “The only time that happens is when the Cult is involved.”

Erick didn’t want to argue with the man. The Halls of the Dead and their Queen Daydropper had no known ties to the Cult of Melemizargo. The Flare Couatl was a product of Messalina. Messalina made the Toxic Hydras, too, centuries ago. But he recognized that he lived in Spur, a land where Cultists could not survive at all, and why would they want to? Ar’Kendrithyst was a safe haven for them, just on the horizon.

Erick said, “A lot of people make monsters. If this was a Cult-made monster, then I doubt it would have failed to procreate after all this time. I have a feeling that it was actually a strange cross-pollination event, perhaps involving dragon essence, since that is a melting pot of biology.” He added, “I’m just glad you guys had samples of every possible monster you’ve encountered. I couldn’t have tracked down this chimera without those.”

“I’m surprised those samples worked for you. We keep them around for Scanning people we have in custody for the stranger of the Forest’s infections, but that long range Scan of yours is something else...” Koropo’s gravely voice turned fractionally harder, as he asked, “How did that work, exactly? Never seen that kind of Blood Magic before.”

Erick said, “The less people that know about this right now, the better. I will not answer that question.”

Koropo grumbled something resembling either assent, or resignation. And then he returned to work. With a grab and a flop, he moved a thick folder from the pile beside him, onto the table in front of him, saying, “Moving right along. The next target is...”

Erick listened to Koropo, but he also glanced around the room, watching as more Special Forces put up more police work onto more cork boards, for Erick’s eventual perusal, while a cadre of paper pushers gradually added more and more thick folders to the pile beside Koropo. It was going to be a long day, and Koropo had already said that they likely weren’t getting to the Cultists till tomorrow, and maybe not even then.

Erick suddenly had a question, and he couldn’t wait till Koropo was through with his overview of the next killer, so he interrupted, saying, “Sorry for the interruption, but I just have to ask.”

Koropo looked up at Erick, asking, “Yes?”

“How many violent crimes go unsolved each year?” Erick looked to the stack again, asking, “How many murders per year?” Erick thought again about what he had seen across the city, which was more like 12 different kingdoms all connected over a vast area of land a good forty kilometers across, and that was just for the main Districts under each Arbor. He asked, “How many people live here?”

Koropo seemed to organize his thoughts, then said, “You have to know a few things for me to answer that question. Firstly, there’s about 9 million orcols who call Treehome home at least part of the year, with most of those being nomadic. Maybe 40% permanent, 60% nomadic. Then you gotta know that there are two categories of killers. You got your low-level crimes of passion or unprepared planning. And then you got your high-level premeditated murders.

“The Guards of the Districts take care of all of the first category and we rarely have to step in to help, though when we do, it's a near 95% clear rate. Otherwise, the Guards of those Districts clear low-level murder cases at about an 85% rate. For this last year of 1436, we had about 250 low-level murders of passion inside the Districts of Treehome, and 1500 in the itinerant lands, with the vast majority being low-level problems and quickly solved. We had about 75 high-level murders this year, with most of the culprits being Hunters or terrorists or cultists, though there is quite a bit of overlap with the terrorists and the cultists. We don’t get much of the Quiet War up here, thank the gods.

“As for violent crimes, total, including rape and assault and burglary and such, we had 2500 cases in the Districts, and 18,000 in the itinerant lands, with rape being very low on the list of crimes, but it does happen.” Koropo said, “But you don’t need to worry about all that. The Guardmasters take care of much of that. All we’re having you deal with are the high-level or weird murder cases that are strictly the realm of Special Forces, like the Flower Killer. Special Forces has about a 30 percent clear rate on these dangerous cases, but that number comes with a high mortality rate for our people, and many of them don’t get solved for decades, when the killer dies of old age or just stops killing for whatever reason.

“I’d like to say that what you saw happen with the Flower Killer today was an aberration, but these are the sorts of cases Special Forces deals with, but we’re only mortal. Usually, we know exactly who has done what, but the trouble is finding them, and when we do manage to find them, our people are rarely as prepared as we were today with the Flower Killer. But even that wasn’t enough, as you well saw.” Koropo said, “You’re saving a lot more than just the lives of future victims by helping us today, Archmage Flatt, so thank you for this.”

Erick couldn’t help but compare the violent crime statistics of Treehome to the violent crime statistics of New York City. That was why Erick had asked after Treehome’s statistics, after all. Somehow, New York City’s violent crime numbers, from a should-have-been forgotten internet surf so long ago, had surfaced onto the mindscape of his brain and dominated his focus.

New York City went from something like 2,200 murders per year in the 90s, and half a million assorted violent crimes, to something like 500 murders per year in recent times, and a hundred thousand violent crimes. That place had a population of something like 8 million people in a much smaller space than the widespread Districts and the surrounding land of Treehome. NYC was about half the space of Treehome, actually, and that wasn’t counting much of the rural land further out from the Districts.

Koropo asked, “Is something wrong?”

“... Ah. No. I’m just... I was thinking of a city of comparable size back on Earth. My home planet.” Erick said, “People have told me that Treehome is one of the best places to live on Veird, and I guess I didn’t actually believe them, until now.”

A gentle smile broke across Koropo’s face. He said, “Damn straight. We work hard to keep those numbers that low, and it’s not always easy, but we get the job done.” And then he lost his smile, as he complained, “I don’t mean to disparage others in my own comparable position, but those assholes over in the Greensoil Republic are a shame to the job. I hear that they’re lucky if they get 50% clear rates for violent crimes in some of their major cities. The Kingdoms are not much better, hovering around 60%.” He waved a hand, saying, “And the Sovereign Cities are terrible. Every single one of them is a pile of shit, and the people in charge are shitlords themselves. Never walk those streets if you can help it. Stepping on the mud out there is taking your life in your hands, for sure.”

Erick felt a pang of sorrow, and said, “Yeah. My daughter went there once... I did too. It was... It was awful how they treat their people over there.”

Koropo said, “I heard that they’ve got a major rebellion on their hands. They’re calling themselves ‘Dicers’ and they’re killing every noble they can find, and killing hundreds in the crossfire.” He added, “Their problems are systemic, from top to bottom, from noble to mudslinger.”

Erick went silent, and then he began, “The Shades...”

The room was full of people, moving around, getting ready for more operations, but at Erick’s words, almost all of them paused. Koropo just listened. Erick knew that the Warchief was pumping Erick for information, or maybe he was just an amiable man, but Erick was willing to oblige this much, especially if the ‘Dicers’ were killing hundreds in the crossfire. But just to be sure, he glanced to Poi.

Poi just nodded.

Then Erick turned back to Koropo, and said, “The Shade who called himself the Toymaker created these dice artifacts, about the size of a fist. When I was at the Feast, he bragged about seeding the Sovereign Cities with them. Tania, the former Champion of Melemizargo, wanted to expand that program to the rest of the world. What those dice did was grant someone one step on the path toward an Elemental Body that was best in tune with their nature. This action automatically Matriculates a person, you see.” Erick left the rest unsaid.

Koropo breathed in, deep, then said, “I see. So that’s where they’re all coming from. The current rumors had the Dicers as having some unknown dungeons where they were gathering elemental essence, and then unlocking new people in defiance of the law. But Shade artifacts? I don’t think many people guessed that.” He added, “They probably did, but thinking that the Shades are responsible for all the evil in this world is...” He almost smiled, but he didn’t, as he said, “Well, that thinking is going to have to change an awful lot, isn’t it?”

Erick said, “I gave out a full accounting of all the artifacts I heard about, including those dice. Someone should have heard about those dice by now.” He almost said that he was glad that the Sovereign Cities were imploding in revolution. Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving place. But to hear of collateral damage put a heavy damper on that thought, and Erick said no more on the subject.

Koropo turned back to his paperwork, asking, “Back to the case?”

“Yes. Of course. I’m listening. Thanks for the tangent. I’ll try to keep them to a minimum going forward.”

Koropo nodded, then restarted, saying, “So this woman is a Hunter who...”