All Epilogue 12 - Mila and Pierce

Pierce shifted uncomfortably, as Lucca spoke to the two druids they had brought with them a short distance away; they would bring two more later, and the four would be responsible for keeping the planar anomaly stable, as well as for rehabilitating the charred land that was assaulted by the Firehawk. Itzli, the Eshbolian who had minded the rift in the interim, approached Pierce, causing him to flinch slightly more. The illusion that covered him hid his true form, but for some reason, an artifact of his biology they supposed, his eyes continually appeared to rove about spastically. Try as he might though, he could not fix the illusion without it requiring active concentration, and polymorph magic seemed to have no effect when trying to take his old human shape. So he wore the broken illusion and covered his eyes, and worried about being seen through. Itzli regarded him for a few moments before finally stating, “You’re not the Dragon King. Your smell is wrong, and something...you have something about you.” He squinted slightly, before saying, “You’re shrouded in magic. Who are you to impersonate the king?”
“I...I'm..." he faltered, then sighed, "I'm...not who I was...but...but I was..." he reached to his arms, and he pulled off a set of bracers, one black and one white, both beautifully embellished. Holding them out to the acolyte, he kept his gaze down, "Here...I...I can't go back. You should take these. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being such a terrible leader. Leaving you, and leaving this...but I can't."
Itzli looked at the bracers for a long moment, scrutinizing their legitimacy. Finally, he looked back up at the man who stared at the ground. Itzli sat down cross-legged on the ground, still looking at him. "You have had something happen. Explain. Tell me your story; tell me what happened."
Pierce's gaze moved up from the blackened dirt to the gnoll, his expression pained. Eventually, he sighed, and began to tell the events that had transpired: the state of Mirilarin; the All and the measures that had to be taken to repel them; the Few, and his relation to them; the loss of Sienna, and his bond with Banish. When he finished, he held out the bracers once more, "So...that's why I can't go back. I can't leave them, and I wouldn't bring them into your country; that's not fair to your people. So, take them. Take them back, and apologize for me. Tell everyone I...tell everyone Percival Webber died. Because, really, he did." He bowed his head, "I'm sorry, for being a terrible leader. I'm sorry to you, personally, for dragging you around, and for leaving you here. I can't be the Dragon King."
Itzli regarded him dispassionately for a long moment. Eventually, he smiled. "I can see you now." Pierce flinched, and looked away again. Standing up, Itzli shook his head, gesturing Pierce's hands away. “No. No. Those are yours. You are the Dragon King. You are just as you were: here to lead your lost people to their land, and to make them great. It was our mistake, our pride, assuming that you would come for us again. But you already brought my people greatness, long ago. Now, you are here for these people, these Few. And you will lead them, just as you did us, and I wish you all the best of luck and successes on your path.” Pierce just looked at him, uncertainty written on his face. Itzli continued, “I will tell the priests what they need to know, and they will tell the people. I cannot promise that there will not be argument. Hurt feelings. Loss. But we are strong. We have been strong, in your stead.” He bowed, “We are honored that you came to check on us, Dragon King. I am honored that I was chosen to be your scribe, for this short time, and that I could assist you on your quest, in what little I did. And I will ensure that you are praised, for saving the world from its threat.” He straightened, and gestured Pierce’s hands away once more, “Those are yours. Only you shall wear them, in any time, in any form. Blessings be with you, Dragon King.”
Pierce looked at the bracers for a moment, touching them gently. Eventually, he said quietly, “I’m...not deserving, of this...”
“Heh. Maybe you weren’t then either? Who knows. It is hard to remember a man, from so long ago. Maybe no one will remember you either, so long from now. But people will remember what you did. And we will remember that, even if you will not lead us in this life, you still saw fit to save us from destruction. I do not know what you will do next, but I’m sure that your people will remember it, and will honor it, regardless of whether you think you are deserving.”
Pierce drew his finger along the fine engravings, able to feel the thin lines that he couldn’t see clearly, even at this short distance. The Few felt them through him, and he could hear their questions, their interest in the lines and the words and the man talking to them, and all the little things around them that they saw and felt and didn’t know but wanted to know, and they held on to every little thought and explanation that he gave them, and they treasured the knowledge and knew it, and ever wanting to know more they looked to him: the source of all their knowledge, their guidance and confidence, their Director. Pierce smiled, ever so slightly.
----
----
"Ok. I have to say something, because I think it's kind of funny," Mila said. "Don't get upset?"
Pierce sighed. "Ok. What is it?"
"Your mouth is dry. It's so weird. Like, everyone's tongues are always wet, so I'd never thought of what kissing someone who didn't have a wet mouth would be like. And you taste kind of metally. Like a spoon." Pierce closed his eyes, sighing sadly. "No no!" Mila said quickly, "It's not bad, it's just different and I'd never thought about it before!"
"Mila..." he sighed again and looked at her with a tortured expression, "It's metallic. Metally is not a word."
She frowned playfully and smacked him. "Ugh! I thought I hurt your feelings."
He grinned, "Then don't say things like 'metally'. Ugh, it hurts saying it. It physically hurts me, Mila."
She smiled, "Jerk."
----
“Honey…” Mila said sweetly.
“Yes…?” Pierce mocked her dragged out tone.
She kept her innocuous tone as she asked, “You know I love you, right?”
He sighed jokingly and turned towards her, “But?”
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she hugged him and replied, “But you look stupid with a goatee.” Her statement elicited a deeper sigh as she continued, “You’re home now; why don’t you get rid of it?” Pierce didn’t reply, as he looked down and fiddled with his hand. Mila looked at him gently, “What?...What is it?” She cocked her head and shifted further into his field of vision. “Can you not shave?”
“No, no I could,” he said quickly, then sighed again. He ran his fingers through the beard he had grown over the course of his trip in the Gunakadeit. “I know it looks stupid. I’ve always looked stupid with a beard. Can’t grow a good one.” He had been shaving, up until they reached Invershiel and he was made the Dragon King. Apparently to the gnolls who lived there, it was deviant to shave, and though his attendants didn’t want to tell their emperor what to do, they were obviously deeply unsettled by the concept. Then, after two weeks of guilt preventing him from being clean-shaven, Cress prevented him for another month while they had swapped bodies, keeping the patchy beard there as a joke and an experience. By the time he had the opportunity to shave, he had already grown as much of a beard as he ever would; it seemed stupid to shave it off then, if the gnolls would make him grow it back later, and honestly, he had been in too much of an anxious panic near the end to consider his appearance much. “It’s...it’s just…” he stammered.
“What?” 
Mila hugged him tighter and prodded him until he finally admitted, “I...can’t feel much, in my face. My hands are sensitive...”
“You’ve said that before,” Mila cut him off.
He frowned slightly towards her at the interruption, before adding, “...And my hair.”
“Ok…” she said, obviously not understanding and waiting for more explanation.
He looked at her for a long pause, then sighed and looked down. His response was tinged with embarrassment as he muttered, “If I get rid of it, I’m not going to...feel anything, when I kiss you.” She blinked, and he added quickly, “But I can get rid of it if you want.”
She processed the information for a moment before breaking into giggles and kissing him, toying with his beard as she did.
--------
Mila laughed at her husband’s remark, before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “I love you, sweetie.”
He grinned and kissed her back on the forehead, “Heh. We love you too.”
A confused look flitted over her eyes. “Hmm?”
He blinked and stammered, “I...I’m sorry, that slipped. It’s just, the Few call each other ‘we’ so I hear ‘we’ a lot. I meant ‘I’. I’m sorry; that was weird…” he trailed off, embarrassed. 
Mila looked at him for a moment before grinning again, twisting about to lean on him with crossed arms, chin resting on top. “Heh. Well, maybe I said ‘you’ as in all of you, hmn? I didn’t say I didn’t mean that.” It was Pierce’s turn to look confused, so she snorted and continued, “I love you, Percival Webber. You’re my husband, and you’re a wonderful, loving, silly, short-sighted man. You aren’t perfect, and never were, but I love you. I love all of you. So I love Banish, who’s really just you, confused and paranoid over different things. And I love the Few, who are really just you again, gentle and caring and trying so hard to be liked by everyone. You’re all a little different, each Few and Banish, but they’re all you. And I love you.” She kissed him playfully on the nose, “All of you.”
Peirce smiled at her lovingly before kissing her again, “Well, all of us love you too.”
She grinned, laying down and nestling into him, “I’m lucky.”
He feigned thoughtfulness and said, “If I’m no less lucky than you, but I am also 2,766 distinct, equally-lucky people, mathematically speaking, I’m 2,766 times luckier, right? Right.”
Still smiling, she replied, “You’re also all idiots.”
----
Mila grinned crazily; she pushed her husband over, giggling and saying, “Lay down here!” Looking very confused, he complied as she tugged at Banish. “You lie here beside him.” The two lay side by side, looking between each other and Mila, confused. Mila proceeded to lay across them both, pulling a blanket over her and grinning into Pierce’s face, with the expression of one just begging to be asked what they were doing.
With a laboured sigh, Pierce asked, “OK. What is it?”
She barely contained her giggles as she said, “Twin bed.” Pierce groaned as Mila laughed.
Banish raised an eyebrow, “I don’t get it.”
Pierce explained while Mila continued laughing, “It’s a pun.” He tried to keep his voice disapproving, but his wife’s laughing was proving infectious, “They’re jokes that involve word-play, and can be identified by the teller being at least twice as amused as anyone who heard it.”
“Ohhh,” he drew out the word. After a moment of thought, he nodded, grinning slightly, “I get it.” Mila kept laughing.
-----
Pierce turned the lenses over in his hands, tracing the tip of his finger over their edges to feel the miniscule runes that he had carved along them, double-checking their accuracy. His vision had left much to be desired since becoming the Director: he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him, what he could see was grainy at best, and he couldn’t even remember what colour looked like, try as he might; the fact that none of the Few even remotely understood what the concept of colour was suggested to him why that particular concept had gotten lost in translation. The fact that he could nearly feel the tiny etched runes in the lenses more easily than see them underscored his poor vision, but that’s why he had made these, after all. It had taken months to design the enchantment and engrave it correctly, but considering that he no longer needed to spend time eating, sleeping or anything else of that nature, and that he gained the full knowledge of any of the Arms whom he set about reading tomes and texts, not to mention that he was still an ascendant with an affinity for crafting, he had easily created it years, if not decades, faster than any other mortal mage might have. 
Satisfied with the enchantments on the lenses and frames, Pierce set about the last steps of putting the pieces together, setting the crystals into the gold. He hoped that they would work, but until the enchantments on the two individual lenses were attuned to each other through the magic in the frames, none of the pieces would do anything. 
Finally, he had finished. Inspecting his handiwork, he twisted the pair of glasses about in his hands, feeling them moreso than looking at them. Though he had quickly adapted to using touch over sight for fine details, aided by the fact that it was all that the former All had ever really known, his loss of vision had continued to bother him. Almost more than that, however, was that his eyes were the weak spot in any illusion he attempted to cast. No one had been able to come to a precise reason why, but whenever he covered his appearance with a human-shaped illusion, seeing as how polymorphic attempts did nothing, his eyes would glance about in wild directions continuously. He supposed that the magic, in its attempts to produce a human figure, could not correctly translate the position of his eyes due to the complexity of the mind of the Few. With the hope that these glasses would fix both problems, he slid them on.
The immediate shock of paradigm-shifting discovery rippled through the Few; Pierce instinctively wrenched away the glasses in surprise before he had even fully put them on. After a few stunned seconds, he slowly put them back towards his eyes, every unit of the Few trained entirely upon what he saw. As the lenses moved into place, their magic enhanced the Director’s vision by magnitudes, restoring it to nearly what it was when he had been human. More importantly, though, it restored his ability to see colour. He couldn’t tell if it was precisely the same, but his attempt to scrutinize was overwhelmed by sheer wonder, as the Few experienced colour for the first time. He was washed away in their emotion, and the Few stared through the eyes of the Director, considering the fine nuances of the room.
It was much later when Mila found him, kneeling above the floor and staring transfixed at a highly-patterned quilt. The two Arms who had been assisting him floated nearby, motionless as well. It took some effort to rouse Percival back from the collective thoughts of the Few, which culminated in removing the glasses altogether. It took some convincing on his part that he could be trusted to have them back again; if the Few couldn’t handle it, she would take them away again and wouldn’t give them back this time. The shock had worn off though, and the Arms quickly set about collecting the materials for more. The Director had told them that they would like colour, and he had been correct; they would increase their capacity to view the world in colour. Meanwhile, Pierce was pleased: not only could he see as he could in the past, but more importantly, the glasses were performing their second function. Through the green, polished lenses, it seemed you could see his eyes: human eyes, not his grey, diamond-pupiled true eyes or the spastic illusions he normally produced. He smiled; disguising himself would be simple now, though the glasses made something of an obtrusive fashion statement. 
----
----
Pierce sat cross-legged, hovering silently over the bed beside Mila, who was falling off to sleep. As he looked blankly into the middle distance, he said her name quietly, causing her to stir; he repeated it until she leaned up on her elbows. “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking at him softly.
He was silent for a moment. Eventually, he said, “...If I could make you immortal, would you?”
“What?”
He turned to look at her. “I’m not going to die, Mila. I’m not going to get old. We're just going to keep existing forever, and I’m so scared of being without you. You keep me myself. I can’t...I don’t know how to live without you. I barely made it six months without you, before; how am I supposed to go forever? How are we supposed to exist forever remembering you, and knowing you'll never be again? And, without you, what’s the point of being anything other than the Director? We need the Director, but we don't need Percival. I don't need self; I can just be Few. Without you, I won’t have any reason to be Percival. But, I don't want to lose you, or myself. We love you, I love you, and I need you, so badly, to be with me.”
“Percival…” she looked at him sadly. “I love you too. So much. But...people can’t just be immortal…”
Pierce snorted, “I wasn’t immortal, then I got hit with an overpowered spell. Osamu made two people into immortal devils, and I would bet millions on him going to make more. Ryuji was turned into an immortal undead. Cohen is immortal because he literally believes he should keep on living.” He looked at her with equal parts vehemence and pleading, “There are so many ways to circumvent death, if you’re powerful enough, and I know that I am powerful enough to make it happen. We can and will find a way…” his voice dropped suddenly, “...but only if you want.”
Mila sat up and hugged her knees, thinking hard. Pierce watched her, his face showing his anxiety. Eventually, she said from between her knees, “...Living forever...watching everyone die...becoming inevitably bored with everything as it all becomes a repetitive, monotonous blur…falling into a malaise where there’s no point in even breathing anymore, let alone pretending you’re still alive...” As she spoke, Pierce’s face fell, and he seemed to fold in on himself. She turned to look at him and smiled, “You’re not even going to argue? While you’re trying to sell me on the idea? You’re so melodramatic, Percival.” She leaned over and hugged him, “I don’t know what you’d do without me either. You’re depressed enough now. Gods forbid I leave the poor Few with you in charge, if that’s the way you’re going to think. They’ll all be depressed, mopey cynics. Poor things don’t deserve that.”
“You...you’ll…” Pierce barely whispered.
“If you can figure out something, I’ll be immortal with you,” she said. “If nothing else, the afterlife would be pretty horrible, watching you sit and be all cold and pathetic forever. How would I enjoy my cloud and harp music?”
He wrapped her in a tight hug, “I’ll find something.”
“Try to find something that’s not too unpleasant,” she said into his shoulder. “I don’t think I’d want to be a devil.”
“I’ll find something good.”
“I know you will.” She pushed back and regarded him earnestly, “Promise though, that you won’t obsess? I don’t want you to push me away because you’re consumed with finding something, and end up wasting good years that we could have spent together. Especially if you don’t find it in time. Alright?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.” He smiled and hugged her again, “I would never put finding something over being with you.” His grin turned wry as he said, “I get other people to find things for me.”
----
Cress sighed, “So, I guess since I was probably going to ask you eventually anyways, and we’re both here now, and everything is super uncomfortable…” Cress said, “Can you tell me what all this stuff the Necroprick was carrying does?”
Pierce looked at him flatly for a second, then sighed, “Why not?” Cress began emptying his bag of the various objects: his portion of Xander’s things. One by one, Pierce inspected them, translating the arcane enchantments on each of them to plain language.
Eventually, he came to the black mantle that he had worn as part of his clerical vestments. He frowned slightly, “Is this...an echo object?”
Cress shrugged, “Maybe? Feels kinda like it, doesn’t it? What’s it do?”
“Give me a minute…” It took Pierce well more than a minute of intense scrutiny, mumbling to himself about what it could mean, what it could do. Cress rapidly became bored, and left the room. As Pierce started to piece the mantle’s magic together, he began to look at it with an ever increasing excitement and purpose, checking and re-checking to make sure that it indeed did what he thought it did. When Cress returned, Pierce practically leapt upon him. “I will literally give you anything in my power in exchange for this.”
“Woah, whoa,” Cress said, backing away a step. “If it’s super important, you can have it. What is it?”
“It’s…” he looked at the object in his hand. “It makes the wearer undead.”
“Huh!” Cress seemed impressed, looking at it in a new light. “Like Ryu?”
Pierce shook his head, “I don’t think so...I don’t think it makes the wearer into a vampire or a wight or a lich, or anything like that. It doesn’t give them the hunger or let them rot. It just...makes them not alive. They won’t age, they won’t eat or sleep like an undead. It’s most of the benefits of undeath, with few of the detriments.”
“That’s why he didn’t look undead!” Cress exclaimed. “I thought he just might have an illusion or something on him, like Nisa did. Neat!” He paused, before asking, “...Uhh...why do you want it?”
He continued to look at the cloth, and said quietly, “...Because Mila could wear it…” Cress stood silently, his expression and posture screaming for further explanation. Pierce gave a small, tight-lipped frown, “I’m not aging or dying, Cress.”
“Oh...OH! Oh, man, I get it. I get it now. Sorry, I’m kind of thick. We all know that,” he added, his voice dropping off with a hint of shame. He shook it off, “Yeah, geeze, take it.”
“I...I can’t just take something this valuable…I should…”
Cress cut him off with a wave and a shake of his head, “Nah, go for it. I’m not going to be the dick who makes a guy watch his wife die, and fuck, I don’t want to be immortal anyways. Fuck that noise, I’m screwing enough stuff up with a limited lifetime. Gods know what shit I’d cause if I was around forever, right?”
Pierce frowned at the elf’s self-derision, “Cress, you’re not…”
He was cut off again, “No, seriously. I honestly do not want that thing. If Mila does, then please, go on and take it. If it means you both get to be happy forever or whatever, then seriously, keep it.” He held up his hands and took a step back, “Go for it. It’s not like it’s really mine or anything to begin with.”
“Cress, I…”
“Nope! Not taking it! Yours now!” Cress turned and left the room, making mock singing noises to block out any sort of protest from the other man. Pierce tried weakly to get him to stop, but he was gone. Looking down at the mantle again, he smiled softly. “Thank you…”
----
Pierce came up behind Mila, who was busy taking muffins out of the oven. He watched her for a moment before finally saying, "I found it."
"Found what, sweetie?" she asked, wiping her hands.
He held out a shirt box, "The solution."
"Solution to what?" she asked, even as she took the box and opened it. Inside was a very nice pashmina.
As she pulled it out, he replied with a wry face, "Death."
She looked between it and her husband for a second before catching on. With a small smile of her own, she put it over her shoulders. She made a considering expression, eventually saying, "Well, I don't feel any different..."
Pierce reached over and touched her neck, "...Well, you have no heartbeat, so, I assume it should feel a little different."
"Really?" She felt herself; a few seconds later she grinned, "Huh! Well look at that!" She smiled at her husband, "This is a rather interesting scarf."
"It used to be a cleric's hood. I couldn't actually move the spell to anything else; the best I could do was layer in a spell that lets you change it to other mantle-like outer wear."
"Aw," she gave a mock whine, "So I have to wear a scarf forever now?"
"Well, I'm terribly sorry, perhaps I'll just nip off to the store, get a different artifact of immortality," he said, returning her sarcasm. "Be glad it's not a hat. You know how sick I get of wearing a headband."
She laughed before leaning forwards to kiss him. He hugged her tightly, lifting her into the air. “Dare I ask where you found it?” she asked.
“It’s a gift from Cress,” he replied. “He wouldn’t let me pay him anything, so I’m just going to be indebted to him forever, I suppose.”
“He’s a good boy,” she said. “...Man. Good man. He makes it a bit hard to tell sometimes, doesn’t he?” Pierce nodded as she stepped down. She went back to her fresh tray of muffins and, without hesitation, touched the pan.
Pierce jumped forward, "What are you doing?!"
She looked at her singed finger thoughtfully, "I wanted to see if it hurt. You and Ryuji don't feel pain, but Malcolm does." She made a humming noise, putting her finger to her tongue. "...That didn't feel like real pain, but still...hurt? Not like a burn should, more like...a pinch. Uncomfortable."
“Auugh, Mila, don’t…” Pierce groused at her, covering his face with his palm. “Don’t deliberately hurt yourself.”
“Oh I’m fine,” she said, waving him off, “stop being such a worrywort. It’s not like I threw myself down stairs or cut out my own organs,” she said facetiously. She went to where she had put another batch, now mostly cool. Bringing a muffin close to her nose, she made a face and put it down. “Geh. That’s worse than when you get the flu. Guess I’m not supposed to eat.” She shrugged, “Oh well, that’s the price I guess.” Without any hesitation she pulled off the cloak; she winced at her burned finger as she picked up the muffin again.
“Uuugh,” Pierce said with great aggravation. “Don't just take it off! You have to keep it on; we don’t know what will happen. You’ll keep aging if it’s off, and if you take it off in fifty years, you might...retroactively age or something and just die outright, and…”
“Oh Percival, seriously," she said with a good-natured scold. "I understand that much. But if I take it on and off now, when I won’t retroactively die, then we will know if it’s counting the time when it’s on. I should age much, much slower if I'm only taking it off for a minute or two every few days; we'll know fairly quickly, because otherwise, I'll age years in minutes and keep getting older. Then I'll just keep it on when we notice! But, if I don't get older, than it's not counting time when I wear it, and I can take muffin breaks.” She took a bite of muffin with a self-satisfied smirk. Holding up her slightly burnt finger, she said, “Already learned that I stay hurt! That’s a good thing to know.”
He gave her a long-suffering sigh, “You’re far too careless.”
She remained smug, “You just wish you could take muffin breaks.”
He sighed again, “...I do.”
Mila put the muffin down and hugged him again, smiling. “Well, I’ll just have to take muffin breaks for the both of us.”
He smiled, holding her tightly, “That’s why I need you.”
Category:Advent of the All