I stood in silence along with everyone left in the meeting room as our mouths and brains were still numb by the show of power that just a few seconds ago ran rampant like a herd of oxen through a field of grain. None were able to fully understand the pressure that bore down on us like a blacksmith's hammer that we all felt. Neither could we understand the shadowy figure that clung to the person responsible. He stood silently looking down into the street below as if unaware of the thing that stood so close. I watched as my father down the last of his ale placing the empty mug on the windowsill as he gathered his thoughts.
I had seen him like that once before when dealing with my birth-giver when he saved me from being devoured by my brethren. Even so young, I remembered him standing at the center of the voracious frenzy that surrounded him as two other meals huddled behind a rock while I hid in one of the alcoves on the ceiling. A glimmering black barrier shimmered between the dumb human and safety of the surface. I thought for sure he would be slaughtered, but that changed as a torrent of flame followed by a noisy explosion came to life, swallowing most of my siblings and scaring my birth-giver. When the smoke and chaos settled, he remained standing though severely injured with a large poisonous fang embedded in his shoulder.
I must admit that feeling such strength again sent a chill down my spine tempting me to run as far as I could. My mind screamed the danger that stood a mere feet ahead of me. I fought the urge to retreat downstairs taking refuge at the bar and downing several ales until I fell unconscious. I found it quite humorous that I as a guardian of the Undercroft was terrified by a frail halfling. I stood my ground however as I reminded myself that the wolf in sheep's clothing was my adoptive father.
I turned to Jack Lloyd and his escorts as I asked, "Father, shall I lead them to the parlor?"
Turning my head to see my father's response, I kept a close eye on the Lloyds from my familiar's web. A trick that I learned from my father when he explained his relationship with the black raven that kept him company. At first it was quite unbearable to see one thing with my eyes and another different thing from another set of eyes, but I became accustomed to it after several practices. It was like watching two scenes with the one that I personally viewed on top and my familiar's vision on bottom. In this case, I watched from the corner as Jack Lloyd and his guard remained in place as if frozen with their eyes unmoving from my father.
My father turned to face me as he leaned against the windowsill with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were pointed to the ground as his mind was elsewhere deep in his thoughts considering what to do next. This was a side of my father that many don't get to see often which he found far better than the alternative. The side of him that takes careful consideration before acting as he balanced on the tightrope between life and death. Most saw my father as a mindless harbinger of death or a deranged psychopath. I knew that in reality he was just a man trying to live what life he has after so much had already been taken.
I watched quietly as he took a calming breath before speaking, "I think I'll take the lead this time, Isho. I'd like to stop by the medical ward and see how things are running there, anyway. Brother, if you and the others would follow me."
As we walked downstairs to the ground level many eyes filled with joy fell upon my father as the air had a feeling of excitement to it at his return. They all bowed before their king as he passed them. Some out of respect even after many failed attempts to persuade them otherwise while the others did so out of humor. No matter the reason, each one present had the utmost respect for him for a plethora of reasons. My father couldn't understand why every being in this hall, both monster or not, had pledged their sole loyalty to him. To us, he was the hidden ruler of the Undercroft that so few knew existed. Allegiances that he himself never wanted, but life has its ways to sneak surprises.
I walked beside my father who had his hood over his face so that only his right eye gleamed in the darkness. He yearned to once again hide in the shadows and out of the light of so many eyes that looked up to him. I took his hand into mine hoping to cheer him up, "Father, you should really be used to this attention by now. You are their king no matter how it happened and a king does not hide like a thief."
I watched as his mouth turned to a careless grin as he gently squeezed my hand as if not to break it. It was these moments that went unnoticed when it came to a person like my father who thrives in the darkness. Even more so when people find out that I am his daughter. An offspring not bound by blood but by his choice in the matter. He treated me like his own even after he nearly died due to my kind. Not once has he treated me differently even after my evolution into the body I have now.
He muttered in a soft caring tone, "I'm alright my dear, just tired. Anyway, how have your studies come along?"
I chuckled at such a question, "I am studying the research of an alchemist by the name of Tiberius Augusta who lived over a century ago. He conducted several experiments trying to see if Lunar Lilacs could possibly grow under different circumstances and if so, how many were produced."
Father's eyes lit up like they usually did when I spoke about my studies, "My favorite experiment he conducted was the effects of shadow magic upon vegetation. He theorized that shadow magic could possibly help with plant growth of subjects such as Imp's Root that grew in darker environments. I haven't really gotten far, but it seems promising in the least."
My father chuckled as I went on to explain that I chose this topic for my research based upon him. He was what the magi, the arcane officials that council those of the magic school to the north, call a shadowmancer or one who uses shadowmancy. Though in my opinion, my father was more of a master of the craft. As the name suggests, shadowmancy refers to the manipulation of the shadows. Unfortunately not much is truly understood about it so it's placed along the lines of necromancy, and such users are to be brought before the king.
"You don't need a book to tell you the effects," my father said as we turned the corner and went down a flight of steps, "like most magic of the world, shadowmancy has its own unique traces left behind by the caster. Pyromancy for example leaves remnants of scorched earth or char marks behind while cryomancy on the other hand leaves a trail of ice particles in its wake that take time to fully melt."
We took a left down another corridor as my father continued his lecture, "As for my craft, shadowmancy simply steals a small part of the affected object whether living or dead. Like necromancy, shadowmancers can touch the very life force of a subject though how much is up to the power of the user. That is truly why it is somewhat of a forbidden magic because necromancy and shadowmancy are sometimes considered two sides of the same coin. As for vegetation, I haven't really seen much effect, but that isn't to say there aren't after effects that come later."
I find such information interesting and an insight when I further read my studies. I didn't understand what my father meant by touching the very life force. From how he said it, I thought it had to deal with one's very soul. Some believed that our shadows are direct links to our souls just as our eyes are the windows. I for one believed that much more study needs to be conducted to truly understand the capabilities of shadowmancy.
Along with manipulating shadows it appears that the shadowmancer's own shadow acted like some kind of storage. Father for example could simply place objects from boxes to himself in the space and freely retrieve them. The space that a shadow contains is still a mystery but by my father's account it's quite massive. The way he put it was that each shadow is connected to a world filled with nothing but darkness as a city of light hangs in the air. That particular space could be of any size based on the strength of the mage.
With my mind in thought about the newly acquired information we walked through a wooden threshold and found ourselves in a world of groans, weeping, and blood. This area was the medical ward where the injured or sick were taken care of. More times than I can count most of our kind gets severely injured during hunts from other monsters or humans looking to exchange our corpses for gold. It was my father who suggested using the old mess hall as such for its sheer size. The place looked to be built by giants as the roof was more than twenty feet above and thirty or so feet from wall to wall.
Pushing forward between the groaning patients, we found a short stout woman dressed in a light yellow dress with a bloodied apron around her waist. The woman's long grey hair was pulled free from her white coat and tied back out of her eyes. A pair of black spectacles adorned her nose as she stitched up a large gash across the temple of a goblin child. The woman was Beatrice Hunnington and one of the few humans to live among monsters. With her knowledge, she was the acting physician that looked after everyone in the underground.
Beatrice asked with her back toward us as we made our approach, "Have you finally come for your check-up Isho or have you just stopped by to give an old woman company as she works?"
I just smiled as I reached out nudging the little goblin girl she was patching up with one of my legs. The young lass just gave the biggest grin as Beatrice tightened the first stitch pulling her green flesh together. I was often found sitting at a small wooden table adorned in lavish pottery fit for a young princess filled with hot tea. The children would try to dress me like some of their dolls as we sat around having small tea parties and the like. Such tea parties were my way of keeping the children that visited the hall occupied while their parents worked or attended to any business.
The Madame, my Godmother, acted as the central point of the hall and queen of the underground. She was quite the negotiator as well, over seeing that the Undercroft didn't run out of value necessities. This was just one of the activities that the hall accommodated through the years. Though not many knew, my father was the true ruler of the underground that stayed hidden in the shadows with eyes that see everything and ears that hear the slightest of conflict. The building, Shade's Grove, itself was the heart of my father's spies in and around Ironclad.
I responded to Beatrice, "More or less both you could say. I was planning to stop by later when the children were all checked on, but someone changed that."
Beatrice shook her head as she finished closing the wound and applied the final dressing. For an old woman, her speed was unmatched as was her knowledge of the body. "Child, you should learn to say no here and there. Even if the Madame is your Godmother, you should be able to live life your own way," she chuckled as she helped the child from the table, "then again she's probably trying to live up to your reputation, Lord Jackal."
Before I could protest, father placed a hand on my shoulder as Beatrice turned to face us. The single scar that ran diagonally from her left temple to right cheek in full view as she bowed to my father, "After all, she is the daughter of a king."
My father retorted, "You along with everyone here in the Grove know that I have no such standards, Beatrice. As for my reputation, I enjoy being nothing more than a ghost story told around fires to frighten unsuspecting children."
Father turned to fully face me, "Don't ever think that my reputation is more important than your health. Okay, my little spinner?"
Hearing him call me by that name had brought treasured memories to the surface. I remember hitching a ride on one of the wagons that the two other meals were part of. The sounds of the clattering hooves as I held on with all my strength as the land changed without stopping. The view from a nearby tree that looked over the tent where the human slept as I tried to understand why food risked its life to save me. The sight of its convulsing body as the venom began to take effect only to be spat out like black water.
The lower parts of a wooden wall towering over a small town deep in the grain fields and resting near a forest. Times that I spent watching from a window as a silver haired woman radiated a green aura from her hands and ground concoctions for the weak hand to drink. The nights I followed the healer as she made her rounds buying things with pretty shiny orbs. I remembered being discovered by the woman and allowed to take shelter from the storm. The yummy foods I was fed as I sat watching the sleeping human.
The images then changed to the tops of trees as I stalked the human I would eventually call father. Faint smells of blood filling the air with a pleasant coppery aroma as clashing metal sounded from below. Sights of ragged looking humans of different types being cut down in a symphony of blade. The yummy juices of a pointed eared human that I snatched up as he tried to flank the conductor satisfying my hunger. A perfectly woven web set between two trees that shimmered in the moonlight as I fed from the day's feast. The countless nights I stayed hidden in the shadows out of reach of the small flame.
The sounds of the human that I followed for over two months finally calling out to me as I observed him and the yummy looking black bird on his shoulder. Rocks moving underneath my paws as I cautiously made my way to the figure who smiled at my approach. The smell of roasting pig hung over a fire made my mouth water with every step. How frightened I was when the scary bird that I would consider brother stared at me with hungry eyes as if I were next to be placed on a spit. The small smile the human had as he cut a plump piece from the pig and held it out toward me.
I was brought out of my fond memories by my name being called, "Isho?"
I found my father standing in front of me with his hand gently placed on my forehead. A worried expression was chiseled on his face as he checked my temperature. I must have been deep in my thoughts because Beatrice had a thermometer in one hand and a water spell in the other ready to douse me. I saw relief flutter to the surface of my father's eyes as I smiled showing my fangs as I tilted my head. He chuckled a soft laugh before placing his head against mine.
"I'm alright father," I muttered, "just in my thoughts."
After seeing Beatrice, my father led the way deeper into the bowels of Shade's Grove where the meeting rooms sat. The parlor was a personal favorite of father's for the fireplace and the mountain of books it offered. When he comes to visit or just to check on things, I would often find him sitting by the fire or asleep behind the wooden desk with a book in front of him. I guess my thirst for knowledge came from him. I remember the times he would read a little passage or two when we traveled together before I took up the mantle of guardian. His eyes still lit up each time he saw the bookshelf like an aranea feeling vibrations throughout its web.
"Isho!" Clara called as I was about to enter the parlor.
Turning to meet her gaze, I found a rolled parchment clutched in her taloned left foot as her blue bird wing flapped vigorously. "Madame asks for you to check the western district with me," Clara spoke through rasps of breath, "Something about rampaging Ornux in the vicinity. Ogga was busy keeping an eye on the bar for troublemakers."
Sighing, I took the parchment and read it looking over the details of the destruction so far. Ornux were burly beasts with thick hides and quick to anger. Three sharp horns adorned their rock hard heads while a roll of spikes ran down the middle of the back. Though large, they were unsuspectingly agile as they glided through forests they called home. Funny thing was that they fed on plants and berries yet proved to be tough cookies to break, not to mention their blood tastes just like fresh clipped grass. They have caused several problems before making it somewhat difficult for traders to sell in the markets.
Looking at my father, I found him smiling as he nodded his head urging me to go do what I must. "Promise you'll say goodbye before you leave," I pleaded.
"I promise, my little spinner," he kissed my cheek, "put down those Ornux with the might of the Grove."
I nodded as I turned and followed Clara as we wasted no time. As we went, I gave one final glance at my father. I watched as his figure disappeared behind the closed door after allowing the Lloyds passage. My heart sank a little as I saw the two orbs of flames looking from his shadow almost taunting me. Since I first saw it, I had a feeling it was a dämon looking to take control of a new body, but I knew better. I knew my father had the strength and will to push back whatever clung to him. After all, he was the Uncrowned King.
[(No matter what the world may think of him, he will always be my father. I shall walk by his side no matter the case as long as it meant I could support his dream. A dream he told me one night when I was a spiderling. A dream of a world where he didn't need to walk the line between man and monster. A kingdom where I and everyone of the Grove could live in harmony with the humans that feared us. A dream that I believe will come true by his will to see it through. Until then, I'll protect such a dream with everything I have.)]