Headed by a Snake

Chapter 1069 Count-Off (Part One)

Gnomes were a somewhat sinister species.

They were a diminutive people-- standing below half the height to a common human.

A people born from the recesses of the earth, their eyes had no pupils, only a dark sclera.

And their teeth were sharp and pointed. Their conical shape suggested that gnomes of old hunted prey by grasping and holding, rather than biting and chewing.

From Master Leafstrangle's facial features, he might have appeared to be a young gnome.

His head was covered with vibrant green hair with plant life seeming to grow within, and whatever was growing out of his chin didn't look like hair.

But Master Leafstrangle's face...

--it didn't look quite right.

While it was absent of wrinkles, Domhnall thought it seemed... too far taut-- stretched and overly smooth.

--waxy white, not dissimilar to a putrefying corpse.

Domhnall found it slightly unnerving.

...and he was a dead person.

"I wish to know why Vortimer's dis-GUSTING voice has awoken me," the gnome spat.

He waved an old tree branch at the Giant-King in a threatening manner.

Domhnall took a healthy step backward-- just in case.

"That's uh... that's not my name," said the King of Vralkek, scratching at his fiery beard.

The gnome sent an angry glare up from where he stood.

As King Guorthigirn was more than thrice Leafstrangle's size, the gesture appeared ridiculous.

But... even though Domhnall was closer to the bothersome king's height than to the old gnome's... he was glad he hadn't made himself a target.

Though Leafstrangle's walking stick didn't look like much, Domhnall sensed mana in it enough to break him in two. And for King Guorthigirn... it could at least leave a nasty ankle sprain.

"I wish to know *just* who you think you're talking to, boy?!" Leafstrangle growled.

"Um. Ah... haha... Good morning, Master Leafstrangle," the King said with an uneasy smile.

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Ignoring him, Leafstrangle doddered forward with an aged, uneven gait... stopping in front of Domhnall.

"...The dead boy. Pun~ctu~al~."

The Ancient savored the word in his mouth, spreading it out over an awkward four syllables. His pointed tongue ran over his tiny, sharpened teeth.

Domhnall was a dead man. No longer fearing death, he had very little to be afraid of.

Nonetheless... the unfathomable mind of the gnome at his feet was a source of great distress.

"Domhnall, was it?" Leafstrangle growled.

The directness of his rough, scratchy voice made Domhnall check his posture before answering. (It was perfect.)

"[That is correct. Good morning, Master Leafstrangle.]"

"Indeed," the gnome replied. "A good morning to die."

"My ancestors would sing a similar song, Master Leafstrangle," said an unfamiliar woman. "They sought to amuse the fates with their courage, openly courting death on the eve of glorious battle."

It was a strong voice, yet one that was inherently musical.

Another flurry of leaves whirled on the tree stump behind the gnome... and in its wake remained a... harpy.

Harpies were hybrid creatures, with their largest flights hailing from the Tyrion region. Their heads and torsos were of young women, but they had powerful wings instead of arms, and sharp talons instead of feet.

And, concerning the woman that appeared, Domhnall found her dark, almost blue, plumage to be rather fascinating.

The color of a harpy's plumage correlated with their age and, thus, the woman's deep, lustrous blue signified...

--Domhnall wasn't exactly certain what it signified, but the beauteous harpy-woman was 100% that.

Guorthigirn respectfully lowered his big body.

"Don't worry about Master Leafstrangle, little lady," he said, "he's too old and stubborn to die."

"Bah, shut up, you bRAT-- you don't know anything, so shut up," the gnome groaned, "nO one wiLL forGettTtt you are capable of spEECH should youUuu reserve the right..."

"I believe my point has been made," the King nodded, "Lady Darkfeather."

"Master Vralkek," the harpy nodded.

Darkfeather.

That seemed to be her name.

...Or was it a pet name?

Domhnall also realized it was so simple, the name might have been coined then and there.

"I have seen my death," Leafstrangle said.

An awkward silence ensued from the ominous words.

The gnome opened his mouth wide in an indolent yawn. He didn't seem to realize the gravity his words had induced.

Guorthigirn's jaw had dropped but in disbelief.

Lady Darkfeather was covering her mouth with her wing.

Domhnall...

Domhnall felt pressured.

...As a gentleman and one whose status was lower than his King's, the responsibility of breaking the awkwardness fell to him.

"[It appears the, uh... weather temperature has been increasing as of late.]"

Perfect.

"Y-yeah," King Guorthgirn agreed, forcing a laugh. "If anything'll kill ya, Master Leafstrangle, it'll be the heat!"

"What nonsense are you blathering about, now..." Leafstrangle growled.

"If I may, Ancient One," Darkfeather said with a bow.

The old gnome narrowed his black sclera eyes, but gestured for her to continue.

"From what this servant understands," she said, "the younger races still approach the prospect of death with trepidation. It is disheartening to hear even the possibility of loss-- especially of an esteemed individual such as thyself."

"Ahahaha! What nonsense!" the gnome cackled. "What an *aBsuRd* fancy, little hatchling-- but it is your right to be young and foolish."

Despite his outcry, Master Leafstrangle did not seem to be upset.

"DEATH! Bah!" he waved, "Death is e~ver~y~where! Death is in these two gnarled hands. Death is in tHyYy talons, dearest Virgilia. There is death is in the fiery battlecry of the Golden King of Vralkek! And DEATH..."

Leafstrangle paused for a moment, eyeing Domhnall carefully.

The long stare prompted him to, once again, examine his posture. (Still perfect.)

"Virgilia," the gnome said.

"I heed thy call, Master Leafstrangle," the harpy replied.

"When the fighting begins in earnest, remain by this boy's side."

"I... I will heed thy words," Virgilia said, albeit with some hesitation. "I shall be in your care, Master Domhnall."

"[Uh, likewise,]" Domhnall nodded.

It wasn't an order he could refuse, considering that even King Guorthigirn acted with subservience to Leafstrangle's wishes.

He didn't particularly hate the notion. He was, however, rather curious as to the reasoning behind it.

The old gnome stroked his scraggly beard, reminiscent to the thin tendrils of an uprooted rosebush.

"Vortimer."

"Yessir," King Guorthigirn bowed, not even bothering to correct the old gnome.

"Perhaps I will not die this sun."

The good king's mouth split into a quiet smile, "I'll watch your back, old man."

'Yet if it is not this uncertain sun, there would be too great a certainty in the morrow...'

Domhnall thought he could hear the wind whisper the old gnome's words. However, the senses of his physical body were not something he could place his trust in.

The flutter of Lady Virgilia's wings interrupted Domhnall's train of thought. She vacated the tree stump, taking her place by his side, just as a third whirl of summer leaves took her place.

"[That's some kind of teleporter, isn't it?]"

"That's correct, Lord Domhnall," Virgilia said with a polite bow.

Her voice, Domhnall realized was even more pleasant, hearing it up close.

"Are these the representatives?" said the column of spinning leaves.

A surprisingly muscular elf stepped off of the tree stump. They presented as a male, if the depth of their voice was any indication.

"Everyone is present, Lord of Dawn," Leafstrangle bowed.

The atmosphere grew strangely tense.

Even frivolous King Guorthigirn had straightened his back in the presence of that man.

"Mind your words, Leafstrangle," the elf said. "The youngest Morninglord, Master Pelor, has come of age. I am the Lord of Dawn, no longer-- merely Tethrin of Highblade."

"Ah, yes," Leafstrangle frowned. "Forgive me-- my memories have grown dull with age."

Tethrin of Highblade. Domhnall knew the name. He was the youngest scion to achieve the title of Blademaster in House Morninglord-- though his current age made him older than both him and his King. Then, Tethrin married into a wealthier, more influential house: House Highblade.

It was a big deal a couple of decades prior. House Highblade was the most renowned Elven House of the century, their scholars and warriors making contributions to societies across the Realm.

A century was a respectable length of time for most cultures, Domhnall's own included.

However, House Morninglord was a name known by all peoples throughout written history. Their incredible deeds were omnipresent in the legends of every culture on every continent.

But... Domhnall hadn't heard of the contemporary Morninglords for many years.

Pelor.

He wondered if that Pelor was present on the field. The end of the Realm was nigh, after all.

The Highblade sharply turned his head toward Virgilia and the young lady stood up straight, as best as her bird-like form allowed.

"Holy Country of Tyrion," Tethrin said, "render your count."

"8,200 humans, present and accounted for" Virgilia stated, "as well as 41 god-machines, including god-slayer Starfury...."

That was more than in the reports... but from what Domhnall knew, logistics personnel made up a large percentage of the Holy Country's forces.

--not that it was a bad thing, but both the Free Nation and the Sleeping Country took a peculiar amount of pride in their larger warrior count.

"This one begs for forgiveness," Virgilia added with a deep, mournful bow, "but god-slayer Dawnbringer is not accounted for."