The Legend of William Oh-Chapter 223: Save The Last Dance

The pre-wedding meet and greet wound down slowly as the people who got the favors they wanted gradually drifted out the door, making the party more and more sparse, leaving behind a thinner and thinner crowd surrounding the tireless Lords or milling around each other on the dance floor.

Finally there was a spare moment when Bakton, Luis Akul and Mark Wyrd weren’t crowded by anyone, chatting with each other.

“What’s wrong with that guy?” Will cut his way into their conversation, pointing at Fabron Faefire. Probably rude, but Will was a bit tipsy.

“Fabron Faefire is currently in the process of self-destructing.” Luis Akul said.

“Eh?” Will grunted, prompting them to explain.

“Not everybody is suited for being a Lord. A fair number of people destroy themselves in the pursuit of power. This Fabron is an excellent example. The man’s practically wearing a sign that reads ‘Disaster waiting to happen’.” Bakton said, his voice tinged with a bit of malice as he glared at Fabron across the room. “He’ll be dead soon enough, either by his own overreach or someone else deciding to do me a favor.”

“Yeah but…” That doesn’t feel like the whole story. Will thought. Fabron felt like a drowning man reaching for a rope, not someone driven mad by greed.

“What’s up with the fae butler?” Will asked.

“I’m told his maximum set bonus provides a certain number of fae attendants to serve him, at no cost. That happens to be one of them. They’re pretty strong. Lost a couple guys to them in the first couple days after he escaped the keep.” Bakton said.

Hmm…

I wonder if they’re spirits created from an amalgam like my butlers. Will wondered. Were they distinct individuals or assembled from a slurry of random…fire-fae?

Hmm. I guess the question is-

“Where the Abyss did a set like that come from?”

“Our best guess is that Kincaid had it hidden somewhere in his castle,” Bakton replied. “Mr. Faefire over there was the lucky one to find it while we cleaned up the lump of glass.”

The word ‘clean’ triggered a memory of Reese.

The thing. Did you clean up the thing?

…I suppose I didn’t clean up the thing, Will thought, realizing that Reese had been talking about the remains of Kincaid’s castle. It made sense that treasure had been sealed inside the ruins of the castle, waiting for someone to discover it.

Will had been so focused on Caddock that he hadn’t even spared the castle a second thought.

Then, if Reese is right, this wedding is going to get violent…unless we can figure out how to remove the fuse from this barrel of cannon powder.

Will scanned Fabron from head to toe.

A gold diadem studded with fire opal on his brow. A fire opal amulet, a cloak with a white fringe around the neck, with thick embroidery and rich fabric, studded with small fire opals in the center of the patterns.

Shirt, gloves, boots, pants, a tiny scepter and an ornated sword at his waist, all with the same aesthetic.

Will spotted rings under the gloves, but who knew if it was fire opal?

That’s like…nine items.

“…Does he sleep in all that?” Will asked.

“When I’m in someone else’s Stronghold, I don’t take my kit off for nuthin’.” Mark replied to Will’s question, with a scattered grunt of acknowledgement from the other Lords.

“It might not all be the Set.” Void approached to stand beside his Lord. The necromancer was wearing his featureless black mask and the scythe over his shoulder.

He was wearing a tight black getup that emphasized how gaunt he was, causing the nearby attendees to shy away in discomfort.

Will, too, but for different reasons.

Void and Will had run into each other on multiple occasions. He was a heartless mercenary who thought nothing of the kidnapping and/or murder of talented children to keep his Lord in power.

On the bright side, he didn’t do anything he wasn’t commanded to do, so his behavior was largely dictated by the morals of his Lord.

…Who had recently been replaced by Mark Wyrd.

And while Mark Wyrd wasn’t the nicest guy, he wasn’t a complete monster like his father.

Still, best to give him some distance.

“Any jackass whose momma didn’t give them fetal miasma poisoning could come up with the idea of commissioning Relics that look like the rest of the set, making any attempt to target them have a small chance of failure.” Void said, watching Fabron through his inscrutable mask.

Simple, but effective.

“Bet he didn’t think of it himself, though.” Bakton mused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those fae are the ones doing the thinking.”

If I take away the full set bonus, Will thought, focusing on the amulet. Maybe I can get an honest answer out of him…assuming that amulet is a piece of the set.

Will recalled how some invisible force had turned Fabron’s head to face Will.

It’s gotta be more than just the butler. There were other eyes on us.

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Is that why he didn’t say anything?

Sure, there was probably some element of pride at work there, but…the way Fabron had replied to his offer to help…was stifled. He wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

The butler had been out of earshot, the loud chatter of the party effectively preventing anyone else from hearing.

Except he still denied everything.

They’re – I can’t…I’m fine. Fabron’s exact words.

They’re what? You can’t what?Will thought, replaying the conversation in his mind. It sounded like they had outsized control over him.

Maybe these fae attendants can see and hear everything he does. What do they have over him that would allow them to dictate his behavior rather than the other way around?

“Hey, if you caught Fabron without his set on, would you kill him?”

“Yep.” Bakton replied.

“Yeah, probably.” Mark said while Luis nodded in agreement.

“I would be interested to see how his set works with my family’s Build, since it’s a fire-based set.” Luis responded. “I don’t particularly desire his death, but I can’t see him giving it up willingly.”

So he can’t take it off, because it’ll get him killed. So that’s one source of pressure.

What’s the other source? What is causing him to suffer from being forced to keep the set on? Are the fae threatening to withhold assistance or betray him if he doesn’t do as they wish?

Or is it worse than that?

Tap, tap. Will glanced over and spotted Brianna tapping on his shoulder.

“Hey you.”

“Me.” Will replied.

“I talked to the crew. Last song’s coming up.” She said, offering him a hand. “You owe me a dance.”

“Sure do.” Will took her hand and the two rounded out the night with a bit of awkward spinning around each other.

Some of what he learned from Bakton translated into dancing, but overall, Will would rather somebody be trying to kill him than spinning in a circle with a pretty girl in front of an audience, trying not to step on her feet while everyone judged him.

Ah well, it’s part of the job.And it’s at least a little bit fun.

“Ahem.”

Their dance was cut short by a black-haired young woman in a crumbling evening gown. Bits of corroded wire were exposed where the dress had been reinforced to last the evening.

She had pale skin and piercing green eyes, appearing to be only a handful of years older than Will himself….but she was likely much older.

The Rotwitch.

Damnit.

“I’m sorry miss, but I didn’t think I’d get another opportunity tonight…may I?” She seemed genuinely contrite as she gestured to Will.

Brianna’s expression twitched, obviously wanting to say no.

…But she wasn’t stupid.

“Of course.” Brianna said, stepping back.

“I haven’t seen you in what, three years?” The Rotwitch asked, taking Will’s hand. despite her toxic, corrosive influence, her voice was as smooth as velvet.

Last time Will had been in awe of a practically mythical figure, too focused on survival to really take everything in. This time, Will’s eyes could see the miasmatic structures in his hand roiling as they came into contact with The Rotwitch’s, vibrating not quite hard enough to fall apart as they influenced each other. His Resistance seemed to play a strong role in resisting the effect, but Will knew she was consciously suppressing it so as not to harm him.

“Or thereabouts,” Will said, putting a hand on her hip.

“See something you like?” She asked, watching Will study her hand.

“Corrosive miasmatic structures in your skin that are both controllable and self-replicating.” Will mused as he led The Rotwitch around the dance floor. “Some of the most interesting, complex strands I’ve studied to date. You make an excellent case study.”

“You sound like Ghoul.”

“I like Ghoul.” Will said.

“Ghoul is a nerd.”

“And?”

The Rotwitch blew a strand of black hair away from her eye, giving him a pout.

“You know, the term ’dance with the rotwitch’ is a euphemism for dying horribly.” She said, looking up at him.

“I know,” Will said.

“Then you better stop screwing around and dance.” She said, the miasmatic structures in her hand undulating like the ribs of a snake, causing Will to blink as the effect intensified, his palms beginning to sting. He’d been spending more mental effort trying to memorize the unique miasmatic structures in her skin than dancing, and this was her giving him a nudge.

Fair enough.

Will turned his attention to impressing the ancient monster rather than studying her, focusing on footwork and keeping her moving at a pace only a Lord could follow. When the music came to an end, she gave a satisfied grunt.

“Better. You know, If I’d found you just a few hours before Akul did…” She said, shaking her head. “You’d be my favorite Vassal. Alas. You’ll visit me on the 13th Floor, won’t you?”

She fluttered her eyelashes up at him.

Will glanced down at where his hands were tingling, Rotwitch’s poisonous Miasma chewing on the outer layers of his skin.

“May I…ask something rude?” Will asked.

“How forward.” She said, smiling. “Go ahead.”

“Are you really that lonely?” Will asked. “Or do you want something else?”

The Rotwitch froze in place for a heartbeat, pinned in place by his question.

“I’m really that lonely. I haven’t had a friend, let alone a lover in…gods, thirty years?”

She stared off into the distance, seemingly lost in thought.

“Why not?” Will asked. It seemed like if someone stacked enough poison resistance effects, they might be able to…’handle it’, so to speak.

The Rotwitch leaned close, the corrosive miasma in her voice stinging Will’s eardrum.

“Because any man who could be my lover could also strangle me to death with ease.”

Ah. I see.

Her poison was her one defense. If they were immune, she was helpless. Which wouldn’t be that big of a problem with a normal person, except a lot of unscrupulous people would likely pay good money for her corpse, so she couldn’t trust…anyone.

That sucks…but…

You realize I’m taken, right?” Will asked. And you’re triple my age…at least.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Rotwitch said, waving him off.

“Have you considered a Contract?” Will asked.

“Psshhh, I’m not far gone enough yet to force someone into my bed,” Rotwitch muttered, crossing her arms in a huff.

“I mean the contract doesn’t have to include…’that’,”Will whispered into her ear. “It could just be a simple contract not to harm each other. Then you could seduce them yourself. No coercion, no harm done.”

The Rotwitch’s green eyes widened in realization.

“A contract wouldn’t work, I’d erode it when I…ahem,” She blushed and cleared her throat. “But you’ve given me an idea…that I think Bakton can help me with.”

“I think…it might actually work.” She turned to Will. “Thank you! I’m going to-“

“Before you go, could you do me a favor?” Will asked, catching her before she turned towards Bakton.

“Hmm?” Rotwitch asked, glancing up at him.

“I think there’s going to be some kind of outbreak of violence over the next few days. Would you mind making yourself scarce? One less variable for me to worry about.”

Will was picturing an explosion scattering bits and pieces of The Rotwitch across the party, making the explosion far more deadly than it had any right to be, or her poison transferring from an aggressor to an innocent through incidental contact.

Her mere presence made everything more dangerous and volatile, and in Will’s mind it would lower the chances of Brianna being killed if The Rotwitch simply sat the rest of the wedding out.

“Hmm…it would be rude to Zodiac, but he’s not going to do anything about it. Sure, after I get what I want from Bakton, I’ll ditch the rest of the wedding…IF you promise to visit me on the thirteenth Floor.”

“Sure. If you let me study you.” Will replied.

“If I get to be nude.” Rotwitch added.

“Deal.” Will said, offering a hand which The Rotwitch shook with a wry grin.

“Took that in stride, huh? I was hoping for more blushing.” She said before letting go.

“He’s used to it.” Brianna said as she arrived beside him.

The Rotwitch raised a brow.

“I-It was the sixth Floor, actually.” Will lied. “Life on board a ship doesn’t allow for a lot of privacy.”

“I think he’s blushing a little bit.” Brianna said, poking Will’s cheek.

Will was about to reply when the music started up again, and he found himself being led away from The Rotwitch.

“Oh look, someone bribed the band to play one more song,” Brianna said, guiding Will towards an open part of the ballroom floor.

“Really?” Will asked, unable to muscle back a grin.

“I wanted the last dance…And I get what I want.” Brianna said.