In Loki's Honor

"Good. Now, how to drink the tea," Elizabeth started to recite as if the instructions were poetry or some archaic verbal spell.

"Stir the tea lightly, then lift the spoon, let it dry a bit without shaking, and place it on the saucer without making noise.

"Never shake the spoon or ring the cup or saucer, like a bell. And for the love of the Goddess, don't put the spoon in your mouth.

"Tea is hot, almost boiling. Make sure to have a heat resistance Perk, enchantment, or ongoing spell.

"Tea is sipped, it slides over the tongue and then is gently swallowed. Do not swill, swish, swirl, slurp, or swig the tea.

"Never dunk any pastries into the tea."

Eleanora giggled, "I love when she says that. Look, Barbara, the fork is a trap. Never touch the fork. Use your fingers to take the pastries. The pastries' frosting and fillings are a trap. Dirty fingers are the sign of an uncouth lady."

Elizabeth glared. "She has a point."

"If you dirty your fingers with frosting or fillings and become an uncouth lady and the target of the gossip and scorn of the court, please, for the love of the Goddess, DO NOT LICK YOUR FINGERS. That's what handkerchiefs are for. An affidavit that you are an uncouth lady that is the target of the gossip and scorn of the court."

"It's that important, Nethe!" Eleanora rebutted. "Noble ladies live and die by their manners.

"True," Elizabeth added. "You must be gracious when eating. Do not open your mouth wider than necessary to consume the pastries. Make sure the corners of your mouth and lips don't have frosting or fillings on them. If you do have frosting or fillings on your mouth, that's what the handkerchief is for.

"And if you have to use the handkerchief," Eleanora added like a mad crone doom-saying, "You know the drill, now go and wallow in shame."

Barbara sighed exasperatedly. The instructions, however, kept coming regardless of her feelings.

Eleanora taught next, singing as she did, with a lot of gestures showing table manners and where some imaginary food should be. "Food is consumed from savory to sweet. Food is consumed from the bottom up. Do not cast spells at the tea table, even if it does not have any verbal, somatic, or visual elements. Never, ever, levitate your food or the teacup. It's not funny. You are a Lady, not a stage magician. Huff, I'm out of breath," she passed the metaphorical baton to Elizabeth.

"Never {Appraise} the guests or the food. That's an insult to the host. Do not use active detection Perks."

"Thanks, Lizzy. Here I go. Cup leaves the saucer, tea is sipped, and the cup returns to the saucer. Without clinking. Saucer never leaves the table," Eleanora started wagging her finger like a mother scolding a child. "Stop talking when a person of a higher station is sipping. You don't want to ruin their enjoyment of tea. Stop sipping when a person from a higher station is talking. Their words are more important than your tea."

Barbara's head was spinning. Elizabeth plowed forward, heedless of the halfling's confusion.

"When someone of a higher station praises one of the pastries at the tea table, say 'may I' before you pick a sample up. When you taste the pastry, praise the refined preferences of the host."

"Remember you're a lady and not a starved wolf," Eleanora took her turn. "Do not ask for a refill of tea if neither the host nor the crown asked for one. Never eat the last two pastries of the same kind. Never take more than one pastry."

"All true," Elizabeth agreed. Her instructions came like a derby announcer, words flowing from her mouth faster and faster. "When you pick up your teacup, never grasp the cup, always the handle. Make sure to hold it with only three fingers touching the handle with the other two lying along with the ring finger. Do not put much pressure on the cup so as to make the tips of your fingers whiten. When someone of a higher station speaks, your head is pointed at them and your gaze should slowly wander around, no higher than the philtrum and no lower than their chins. Do not nod at every statement. When servants lean next to you for any reason, pretend they're invisible. Do not directly thank the servants at the table. If no incidents happen, praise the household and its staff at the end when you have the host's ear. Do not go over the top."

Barbara's brain blew a fuse. Her sight was spinning, with black spots.

The girl sat up in her bed, screaming.

*

*

I leaped from the nightstand onto Barbara's lap and comforted her with my ribbon-tentacles.

She sighed and then hugged me. "Nethe, I had the weirdest nightmare. It was so real, and so absurd all the same."

"Etiquette lessons... I... already forgot," She blushed.

"I think I'll go for a walk around the campus. I can't sleep right now."

I wondered what was wrong with people having weird dreams this time of the year in this accursed city. But at least this time, nobody blew them a new lake."

*

*

*

*

Floating in space, a fairy made of ice and a golden orb made of... divinity, stared at the clouds of dust coming up.

"Finally, the first pieces are coming up," Nenandil remarked. After centuries, thousands of years of empowering the moon debris to come back to orbit, it was good to see some results.

In front of the duo, a few rocks churned as they struck each other, like an awkward stand-up meet-and-greet that was too crowded. They were trying to find the optimal arrangement to coalesce together, reforming the Lost Moon. Wave upon wave of sand and grit, particles of the moon that got ground up during the Cataclysm, floated like surf foam on the waves of a calm beach.

the human consciousness inside Pandora cheered.

"A few more centuries, she says," Nenandil rolled her crystal eyes. She had to use [Ice Elemental Form] to survive in the vacuum of space.

"Can't you speed things up? I really want to go back and find her."

That was the first time she was hearing of it. Nenandil looked askance. "Beg your pardon? Which trap?"

"I'm listening. Please explain. How is it a trap?"

Nenandil nodded. Rosalinda almost never manifested, instead of letting Pandora act on her own. To the mother who lived eons trapped in stone, just being next to her daughter, just that connection was enough. "Thank you," the fairy said with a sniffle. Small ice beads flew from her face.

"What about the other traps?"

"How so?"

"Is that what happened to the Empire?"

"Windemere?"

*

*

*

*

Two thousand years ago.

Panic struck the streets of Windemere. Dragons struck and caused as much damage dying and falling off the sky as when they rampaged. The Academy's teaching staff [Wizards] were exhausted, out of MP. But the battle was over. They'd won against the dragons.

Marlowe looked up with his gem eyes. The last surviving dragons lost heart and fled to the mountains. They would be hunted down viciously in the next centuries. He had more than enough funds to bribe enough Adventurers to go comb the mountains for dragons and their treasures. He sighed. The [Archmage] was forced to swallow his pride and tap into [Kel'Caldor's True Phylactery]'s reserves, draining it almost empty.

It was necessary. Windemere had to survive. But now it was over.

That's when he knew he fucked-up setting the flag. A beam of pure power struck the viridescent moon. Sylvis, the Green Moon broke in slow motion, the pieces cracking more and more as the beam of light split to strike each piece of the moon...

And drag them onto the world. A rather large chunk came straight in their way. It ignited as it crossed the atmosphere, and brought early dawn to Auvanini.

Marlowe cast a few spells from his specialty. Despite knowing general magic enough to claim he didn't have one, he was a [Diviner] first, and [Wizard] second. He knew for centuries that the events of this day had enough divine magic seeping into the lattice of reality to make any magical prediction impossible. But now, seeped in the scattered divine energies himself like anything else existing at this moment in time, he could use {Clairvoyance}. He cast his spells and soaked in information.

The third biggest chunk of the destroyed moon was coming straight for Windemere. It wasn't a coincidence. The dragon Goddess must've done this out of spite, to destroy something Marlowe's mistress held dear. He sighed and sagged as he gathered his resolve. Windemere couldn't fall. Not on his watch, not while he, Marlowe the cloth golem [Archmage] still could use magic.

The animated doll of a caster cackled. He knew exactly what spell to use. The same that he, then a human serving the King of Virturia, fighting against mermaids, did. Marlowe lifted his hands and the diagrams sprung to life. He had improved on that spell over the centuries, as he did diligently with all his signature magics.

The diagrams spun and split, forming more sub-diagrams as he tapped into his [Layered Complex Arcane Networks] fourth-tier Perk. The purplish-brown energy of Disintegration magic shone along the lines, converting raw MP into aspected magic.

But he was out of MP and the magical battery sitting a continent away was tapped out. It left the cloth golem only one choice. He connected the diagram to his own animated body. Marlowe was dead for thousands upon thousands of years. This body was but a gift from his mistress, one she could gift again and even improve on.

He regretted losing the high-level {Living Silk} body and starting again from level one but that too could be fixed. He knew better how to guide the rudimentary consciousness in his cloth body to earn the Perks he knew were best for him. The current one did... some mistakes out of ignorance, to put it lightly.

That's how Marlowe met his second death. Though his body was consumed by the spell, his spirit would linger on. He still had a {Soul Servant Contract}, after all. He belonged to his mistress, to his Goddess.

Thousands of years of service and the opportunity to study magic beyond what his human life could fathom were more than enough to make him absolutely loyal. To trust his deity completely.

The strands of {Living Silk} dulled and faded as the cloth golem frayed. The fully-powered diagram shone and then discharged his deadly energies up. Disintegration magic of the likes none have ever witnessed in this world and that would give Siren Arista the Dolphin Mermaid Princess's barriers trouble met the falling chunk of the moon and did its work.

Dull gems struck the battlements atop Windemere's Academy main tower. Marlowe floated, a disembodied soul unable to affect the mortal world, watching the falling piece of the moon, as large as a continent, shrink as it was disintegrated.

Yet a chunk, small in comparison to the initial extinction-causing planetoid but still big enough to destroy the nation kept coming. The diagrams vanished into motes of magic, its work done. Extremely solid, this core of celestial bedrock survived disintegration.

The flaming petard then struck something in the skies above Windemere. The Goddess' floating island. It hit the Force panels acting as railings around the island first, losing some kinetic energy but utterly unraveling those. Then thousands of enchanted floating rods groaned and broke, the weight pushing against their magic too strong. But the Goddess' enchantments, especially those who could level up on their own like the floating island's lattice of enchanted immovable metal dowels.

The orchards, gardens, and priests living in the lofty abode perished. The island came down pushed by the inexorable chunk of moon, albeit severely slowed down. Some enchantments held, and Marlowe sighed with relief. Not enough, however.

That much mass crashing straight on Windemere wouldn't destroy the continent but the country was doomed nonetheless. Marlowe's ghost, without any other choice, prayed.

And so did the people of Windemere, the cradle of the Matriarch's faith. They raised their voices, clamoring for deliverance.

The Goddess, at least the [Wisp of Creation], obliged. Golden light enveloped Windemere, From Vugh Tarim's underground vaults to the port at the end of the Uroko Gulf.

Windemere and its people shone goldenly, then vanished from the face of the planet.