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From the view of a great eagle, flying high across the world of Elna, the land of Gorgar was almost entirely hidden by thick, acrid, stinking clouds of black smoke and smog. Here and there lone outcroppings burst up like pustules, jagged rock or twisted metal spires dotted with unearthly green lights. But all were dwarfed by the great mass of Ro'ro'ro'ro'ro'kin'drath, the Scary Volcano, and the tips of the black towers of the Bloodkeep at its base.
Though he was still many leagues from that looming shadow, the eagle tilted his head, adjusting the fit of the jaunty leather cap on his head, and then angled his wings to dive as swiftly as he could through the burning clouds.
Bursting through, he came into the eternal night of the dark and terrible land of Gorgar. Across the ashy volcanic landscape, the swarming hordes of orcs and goblins and stranger more terrible creatures were an even more frantic anthill of activity than normal. Eagles have excellent hearing, and the wind brought him many cries and groans of despair. Whispers of a spreading panic.
“...the Queen’ll have all our heads for it, if the building’s not done on time.”
“You won’t have to worry ‘bout the Queen if the Dark Lord himself’s thrown a tantrum and drowned us all in rivers of lava, I’ll tell you that for nothing.”
“I’d count myself lucky to survive to die in the lava. Those beasts they’re bringing in are hungry, and the captain’s been giving them the weakest new recruits.”
As he passed over the mines and factories and camps, the eagle approached Gorgar’s main road; wide, smooth, paved with glassy black stone. The hooves of the black horses made a painfully musical ringing noise as they trotted. Their riders, hooded and cloaked, conversed in sibilant whispers that only an eagle could have discerned.
“We’re screwed. We are cooked. Leiland is going to go spare.”
“Technically true, Reginald, but not especially helpful at the moment.”
“Couldn’t we just… stall for more time again?”
“The birthday party’s on Monday, Reg. We’re out of options.”
Banking, the eagle alighted in the gnarled twisted corpse of an ancient dead tree, a little ways ahead on the road, and waited for the riders to approach.
“Hail, Lord Eagle,” the lead Vinguri said, hesitantly but politely. Everyone in Gorgar knew to respect the Eagles.
“What’s up, my man,” the eagle said, genially, and extended a wing. “John Feathers. Kaelstoop Foreign Minister, though I do a lot of brand sponsorships on the side. You must be Leiland’s new crew. Looking good, looking tight.”
“Well, thank you,” the Vinguri said, relaxing a little. “I’m Godric, and this is Reginald and Christiona. We’re, you know, doing our best.”
“Where’d Leiland find you?”
The Vinguri dissembled a little, their midnight steeds shuffling back and forth, before the most tattered Vinguri, the one who had been introduced as Christiona, said, “We were in life the vassal rulers of the Gorgarian confederated states. When our… esteemed yet tragically fallen ancestors met their final fates one year ago, our king approached us with an offer we could not refuse.”
“Literally could not,” Godric said. “It’s part of our bloodline’s curse or something.”
“Love that for you,” John Feathers said. “So what’s this problem that’s going to have Leiland crashing out when he finds out about it?”
Three ghostly faces seemed to pale even further, as impossible as that ought to be.
“It’s this party,” Christiona said, wretchedly. “The Lord of Shadows’ first birthday. Our king asked our Lord what he wanted as a present, and he apparently requested one of the fabled Tears of the Moon.”
They looked at John Feathers, who looked back at them quizzically over the rims of his aviator glasses. “Never heard of ‘em.”
“The seven primordial crystals of light wept by the Creator at the dawn of the universe? The artifacts of all-seeing lost for centuries? The cause of endless strife between jealous Men and Elves and Dwarves?”
“Nope. Not ringing a bell.”
“You’ve really never heard of them?”
“I wish I’d never heard of them,” Reginald groaned.
“Cut to the chase, my friend,” the aquiline fashionisto advised. “Leiland sent you out to look for these things. What’s gone wrong?”
“Well,” Godric said. “Our king asked the Oracle where one of these lost treasures might be found, and she answered that one of them in fact resided in, um. A distant, very strange land known as… Ruckland.”
“Ah.” John Feathers nodded knowingly. “I’m starting to see where this is going.”
“I don’t get it,” Alistair exclaimed. “They’re so tiny and weak. Why are they so hard to crush?”
“How about this,” the eagle said. “I’ve got some good news to give him, I think. I’ll give him your bad news at the same time, cushion the blow, maybe propose a solution with the problem.”
From the way the three wraiths looked at him, he had a feeling the John Feathers Fan Club might have just gained three new members.
In the great, cavernous, echoing grand throne room in the Fortress of Evil, the Dark Lord’s inner council assembled in an emergency meeting to address the ongoing crisis.
“Sokhbarr, you promised you’d take care of the music,” the King of the Pactwraiths moaned. His ghostly, skeletal fingers patted down his newly coiffed locks as though to soothe himself in the face of this latest adversity.
“I know, Leiland, I know,” the Bog Lord said, wringing his own, thickly scaled hands. “I thought this would be the bog band’s big moment, a chance for everyone to get to hear the glorious music of the marsh Weepers, but it’s not Andrew’s fault he got bronchitis.”
“It’s all right, dear,” the Queen Regent reassured him, patting him on the massive shoulder with one claw while rubbing Leiland’s back with another. “Some of the children have been practicing their choral stridulation. They’ll be happy to perform.”
“Just tell me the petting zoo will be there, please,” Leiland begged Sokhbarr. “My Lord has been asking about the “wooly sheeps” all week.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, but please remind Orgrim to keep a good stockpile of goblin limbs this time. The girls get cranky when they’re hungry.”
“Goblin limbs,” Leiland said, scribbling another line on his parchment list. “Dark one preserve us…”
The meeting was interrupted by the ringing of a great clanging bell that sent terrible waves of dread through all that heard it. Everyone turned, irritated, to look at the small goblin standing nervously by the bell pull in the open doorframe.
“We really need to install a better doorbell,” Lilith murmured. “Yes, what is it?”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, your majesty,” the goblin stammered. “Viceroy Leiland, sir, his excellency Lord Feathers of Kaelstoop is here to see you.”
The temperature in the throne room changed instantly and dramatically. “Oh, how wonderful,” Maggie gushed, and Lilith proclaimed, “Show him in immediately.”
John Feathers fluttered into the room, tipping his hat and winking at Maggie before sweeping into a feathery bow for Lilith. He submitted to a bone-crushing barbarian hug and several stinging spider kisses before turning to Leiland. “How’s it hanging, my guy?” he said.
“Oh, John, it’s wonderful to see you,” Leiland said.
“You too. Damn, I love the new look.”
Leiland smiled a little self-consciously, patting his updated, sleek and modern spiked armor. “Really? It’s nothing, I just felt like a bit of a change. Do you, uh. Do you think Marcus would like it?”
“He’ll be gagged, baby,” the eagle assured him. “Speaking of which, I’m here to let you know the Pirate King will be sailing in tomorrow… and he’s bringing the little guy a big birthday present. A new flagship for the Forgotten Fleet.”
“Oh my god,” Leiland said. “My Lord will be thrilled. Though your presences are present enough, to be sure,” he said conscientiously.
“Yeah, well, I think it’s great timing,” John said, “because I just ran into your new crew on the doorstep- great bunch by the way, full of potential- and they mentioned having run into, well, some roadblocks in the course of acquiring that Tear thing.”
The warmth in the great throne room vanished as a howling wind spun up and frost started cracking along the tiles. “They WHAT,” Leiland screeched.
“Darling,” Lilith murmured. Maggie sighed, walked over to Leiland and picked him up.
“Calm down, remember your breathing exercises,” she said. The heat from her infernal form met the frost blasting from the King of the Vinguri and started creating a cloud of steam. “Breathe in, breathe out…”
“Buddy, buddy, it’s ok,” John said. “I got this. The flagship, remember? There’s still two days before the party. You, me, and Marcus will zip over to this Ruckland place, Marcus will raze it and you can loot the smoldering ruins.”
“Oh, that’ll be such a fun boys’ day out!” Lilith cooed. “John, you’re a miracle worker.”
“I try,” he said. “Sound good, my man?”
Leiland took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes.” His visage darkened, and his skull-like face twisted into a savage grin. “Ruckland,” he said. “At last, the time has come for us to meet once more… Galfast Hamhead.”
“Leiland,” Maggie said that night, over their traditional Friday night drinks, “have you considered you might be taking the birthday planning a little.. Too seriously?”
“Does Our Lord not deserve the best?”
“Of course, Leiland, but you deserve it just as much. Self-care is very important, you know. Everyone’s working hard but I do think you and I are taking on the majority of the parenting role, you know what I mean? And that really can be stressful. Effink recommended I start taking a bubbling blood bath every evening and I really feel so rejuvenated and ready to give it my all every morning.”
“Yes, well,” Leiland said gloomily, “there’s not much a skincare routine can do when you’re incorporeal, let me tell you.”
“It’s not just about that. It’s important to get all our needs met. Let me be frank, Leiland; do you ever think about going out in the evening? You might even meet someone.”
“But, my lady,” Leiland said, “are we not, as you have put it so eloquently on past occasion, strong independent avatars of wickedness who don’t need a romantic partner to feel happy in ourselves?”
“Well, I’m not saying you have to date, if you’re really not ready for it. Did you know the castle library has a really extensive erotic fiction collection? Any idea who might have put it there?”
“What?” Leiland said, face becoming slightly less transparent. “No, absolutely- absolutely no idea.”
“It can’t have been my husband’s,” Maggie said disparagingly. “Whoever picked these out had really good taste. It’s practically literary.”
“Oh,” Leiland said. “Really?”
“I bet it was Effink. I’ll have to ask her next time I visit the basement. And thank her, because boy, have those books been helping me work off some steam lately.”
“My lady,” Leiland said, sounding distressed. “I don’t know if I really need to hear the personal-”
The respectful scratching at the door that was the signature knock of a giant spider saved him from having to finish his sentence. “Yes, enter,” Maggie called.
“Lady Maggie,” the spider said, dipping into a bow. From the pattern of spots on her thorax and the fashionable little black lace scarf around her slender pedicel, Maggie recognized Julia, a younger spider less than a hundred years of age, recently coming into her own as one of the middle managers in Gorgar’s vastly complex supply chains. “Doctor Zornak’s been looking into synthetic alternatives to monster balloons and she thinks she’s come up with a workable process using oil and rubber. The process produces a chemical byproduct that’s filling River Grishlung with black sludge, but as an unexpected plus, the endangered death eels actually seem to really like it, they’ve been breeding like crazy, so the Bog Lord will be happy about that-”
“Take a breath, honey,” Maggie told her. She gave Leiland a pat. “And you, go take a break. Have fun tomorrow. Remember what I said and don’t overdo it.” She looked at him and suddenly smiled. “Are you excited to see Marcus again?”
“Well, of course, it’s been- Magfelda, what exactly are you insinuating?”
“Have fu-un,” she whispered, and giggled.
From the Aerie, near the twisted peak of the tallest spire of the Bloodkeep, Leiland whistled sharply, and as his loyal steed rose up he threw himself onto her back, and they soared out into the air.
“Nice,” John Feathers called, lazily coasting several meters away.
Below them, a massive shadow began to creep over the land, blotting out even the faint light of the sun that shone in the dark land.
The new flagship of the rebuilt Forgotten Fleet was easily three times the size of any airship that had ever graced the skies of Elna in all the ages of the world. Three masts tall and wide as the greatest of trees, broad flanks bristling with wicked-looking cannons, and at the prow, the exquisitely carved visage of…
“Is that J'er'em'ih?” Leiland said. “Oh, Sokhbarr will be thrilled. And so will Junior. How beautiful!”
“Leiland,” a warm voice called, carrying over the rush of the wind.
Sitting casually on the railing, one gloved hand loosely holding the rigging, was a masked and leather-clad figure. As Leiland and John approached, he pulled the mask off with his free hand, and his long locks flowed out in the wind, framing the face that had won Sexiest Man of Elna five years in a row.
“Hi,” Leiland said, faintly.
“Good to see you,” said Markus St. Vincent, and he grinned his pirate grin, several gold teeth glinting. “Let’s go halfling hunting.”
“Fuck yes,” Leiland said, and laughed.