§
Curator set up the celebration according to Ceria’s wishes, which left me terribly curious.
“A cat girl from 33rd century Orestania would not know what manner of celebration might be available in the Elder Age Southern Continent,” I pointed out.
At that moment, Curator, Kanon and I were Willing the rest through the ‘Background’, a canvas of abyssal black within which floated a wireframe of glowing lines depicting the Art Gallery, with each artwork glowing in its corresponding position, offering access to all the Training Hall scenarios available.
The Background is the illusion of a simulation, rather than an actual simulation, so compression is whatever one chooses, as long as it is within the range that Curator can provide. We could remain at the 1000:1 of both our point of departure and our destination and not lose the significant time that exiting to the outside and re-entering would cost.
<Lady Ceria did not have specific directions> she explained, with the ghost of a playful smile trying hard to spoil her dignified demeanor. <She simply requested a celebration which a fairy king and a cat girl would both enjoy, without formality or stuffiness.>
I chuckled. “Understood. That certainly sounds like Ceria’s request.”
“And in terms of the time they’ve been living, she made this request quite some time ago,” Kanon supplied. “Curator set it up in the context of the Dragon’s Challenge, as a prequel event.”
“Isn’t the Dragon’s Challenge an initial stage?” I retorted.
<It’s not difficult to modify the context, Commander,> Curator replied. <I can easily add free-form play in a prequel to an initial stage. I have several such scripts for the Dragon’s Challenge to draw from, but I had some fun tailoring a popular one to more exactly match Ceria’s request.>
Kanon joined us because the men and my sister had yet to acquire the ability to navigate the Background, although they had experienced it a number of times already. Dilorè was managing herself but could not help the rest.
This was an excuse though. Curator and I could have managed everyone. She came to play.
As for why we couldn’t move directly from one sim to another, the men were in an awkward gray area between undeveloped in skill terms and spiritually advanced. They possessed too much spiritual mass for Curator to move around without their cooperation, but as yet lacked the ability to relax and allow her to do it for them. When spirit beasts and other immortal entities descended to Sky Ocean always had the same issue at first, until they picked up skills appropriate for the Mortal Realm.
“Have you considered my suggestion yet?” I asked Kanon, having just reminded myself of it with that thought.
“Creating more entertainment platforms for our visitors?” she asked.
Sky Ocean itself offered only a few attractions, although they were spectacular. We held regular tournaments, which began as competitions for my Servants back in the day but became popular with visiting spirit beasts and continue, all these millennia later. The other was the Art Gallery. Our conversations over the last few months since I arrived included an ongoing discussion of what other attractions we could add. Dealing with the Spirit Realm and Immortal Realms had an economic component to it. It wasn’t easy to express in mortal terms, except to say that we have to expend certain assets to bring in the resources we need to operate.
“Realistically, everything I have considered so far can be pulled off in the Art Gallery,” she admitted. “Mother has made a few suggestions, but they are … rather epic, I suppose? Much grander than what you and I had in mind. We’ve arrived, so we should discuss it later.”
Before us floated the familiar painting of the arena, with its packed stands, storm-threatening sky, streaming banners and dusty floor. It was a static painting I did on Huade, not here in Sky Ocean, so it was in Mortal style, without animation. Nevertheless, Senhion’s skill as a painter came through, with the wind-swept scene feeling honestly like it ought to be the dynamic art of an Immortal.
Did I really have that level of skill at one time?
I brushed the question aside, since the answer was obvious, as frustrating as it felt now, and asked, “Won’t we appear in the arena?”
“You’re still lacking memories, aren’t you, sister?” Kanon teased. The answer to that was obvious too, so I just rolled my eyes.
<I can steer you to an alternative destination in the scenario as you enter,> Curator stated. <First timers often are steered into the stands to view an actor take up the Challenge first, to learn what they must do.>
She observed Kanon for a moment, then told her, <You should change your appearance. You are too identifiable as an Elder to the characters you will be interacting with.>
Kanon winked at me and her hair turned pink like Mireia’s, while her eyes turned a beautiful shade of turquoise.
“I’m an Elderling, then,” she stated. “Does that work?”
<It will work quite well,> Curator agreed.
§
The Dragon’s Challenge stage is an ancient desert city resembling in its history ancient trading cities of Petra or Timbuktu, although the architecture was nothing like either. That’s why our feet landed on hard, dusty high ground above a sandy plain
Our location was a low barrier ridge between the valley where the city spread and the dunes to its south. The time period was close to a thousand years before the Elder-Demon war, when groups of humans were branching off into other mortal species. A large encampment with many house-sized tents crouched downslope of us, at the edge of the sand.
Kanon immediately launched into tour-guide mode. The others needed some context before we reached the camp in the distance ahead of us.
“In this time period, the people you know of as Elves and Dwarves do not yet exist, but our hosts are one of their ancestor races, the Spirit Folk. Despite the name, they are not Elementals. They are people who are trying to become Elementals.”
“Trying to become them?” Dilorè retorted, her tone especially baffled.
Fairies have little love for Elementals, and vice-versa. The question, why would anyone want to do that? was clear in her tone.
“Partly through a misunderstanding of what Elementals are,” I added.
“Correct,” Kanon agreed. “Elementals occur naturally, and existed long before we Elders came to Huade. Humans studied them with great interest, as ageless beings born to mortals. In this time period, they didn’t really grasp the clear division between mortal and non-mortal, but they diverged into other species adopting characteristics similar to non-mortal species. Also, many species from the Primeval Age were still around at this time. You would encounter Elementals far more frequently, plus you might encounter ancient magic species like dragon kindred and phoenix kindred, or many ancient monstrous races that are now extinct. Dilorè, your species does not exist yet. If you show your wings, you will be mistaken for a pixie kindred, an extinct variant.”
“A pixie what?”
“The pixie kin were ancient predecessors to lesser fairies, from before Oberon organized the fairy race. They weren’t a proper species, since they appeared haphazardly and any kids they had were pixies, not their own kind. Think of them as pixies who grew up. Today, such pixies evolve into lesser fairies who are able to develop and multiply instead, due to the rules Oberon put in place.”
“Rules?” she echoed, confused.
“Let’s worry about that later,” I advised. I was curious too, but it wasn’t the time for it. I was a little worried about the threatening storm clouds. I turned to Kanon and asked, “So, which type are our hosts? Sand Spirit tribe, Wind Spirit tribe, or what? Lots of Spirit Folk liked the desert.”
“They’re Fire Kin,” she answered, her eyes twinkling fiercely.
I opened my mouth, shut it, then facepalmed. I already knew exactly what characteristics made Curator think this choice would suit a cat girl and a fairy king.
“Curator, what have you done?” I asked the air. Curator did not enter the chat. She didn’t enter the scenario with us.
“What?” Amelia and Dilorè both demanded.
I guess the men had read it in my memories. Rugau looked conflicted, Daq was raising his eyebrow thoughtfully and Kwelabi was rumbling with deep basso laughter.
“Never mind,” I answered, finally giving a tired laugh of my own. “You’ll learn soon enough. Just remember, they aren’t ‘Elves’, they’re Spirit Folk. Don’t be shocked at their behavior.”
We made our way down the slope toward the huge cluster of tents. Spirit Folk tended to be nomads, rarely setting down roots anywhere, in an effort to stay closer to nature.
As we approached, several cute children ran out ahead of the adults to gawk at us. The ‘Adults’ were all gorgeous, of course. Their forefathers and foremothers drew them that way.
First and foremost, do not picture any desert nomads of Earth. These people required no protection from the sun’s rays, so they didn’t bother. Their skin wasn’t browned, either.
Well, to be more accurate, their skin was naturally light-brown, but it had nothing to do with tanning. They would be the same color, living in the arctic.
Many had dark, even black hair, but many others were sand-blond, tow-headed or redheaded. I couldn’t say which color was the majority, only that the redheads were in short supply. And their eyes were all either hazel, bright yellow, or a gleaming, scarlet red. Not the crimson red of an albino, but the fiercer, more aggressive red of beryl gemstones.
The men wore clothing reminiscent of Ancient Egypt laborers from the waist down, just a simple cotton skirt and sandals. From the waist up, they wore heavy beadwork, either in vests or necklaces. The women…
Some wore light silken bibs, tied in back low on the waist, and pareo-like skirts bound with a broach at the hip, flaunting long, eye-catching thighs on one side. Others wore the same as the men, just with a belt made of beads around their bust. A little distractingly, the children dressed in just the skirts, regardless of gender, which my Robert side was finding a little troubling with respect to the girls, even though they did seem to adopt the bibs when their growth began.
All had pixie-like ears. They stuck out like knife blades to each side, in the style of Japanese anime elves, and the women almost all took pains to decorate them heavily with chains and rings hanging from numerous piercings.
“Yup, definitely not elves,” Dilorè quipped.
A tall, muscular man with a broad smile and a long shock of braided black hair draped over one shoulder strode toward us, holding his hands wide.
“You are the Lord and Lady’s guests, I am sure! Welcome, welcome!” he boomed a boisterous, exceedingly un-elven-like greeting.
Several young women dashed forward, running straight up to us and grabbing our hands. All of us except Kwelabi got kisses on each cheek from the pairs of the beauties who escorted each of us, leading us through the forest of tents to the center of the camp. Kwelabi’s pair simply hugged his lower arms to their bosoms, their eyes looking up at him in some amazement as they pulled him along as well. His cheeks were way out of range for them.
Just before we arrived, Ceria, wearing the same silk top and pareo, came dashing out from between two tents to intercept us.
“Lady!” she called out happily as she ran an arrow-shot path straight to my lips, capturing me in a bearhug smooch. Cat hug? I just hugged back while cooperating with the kiss.
My two escorts were giggling, but not upset. Greeting with a kiss on the lips was a little forward even for Spirit Folk, but it was certainly not beyond the pale.
But I had to wonder, the men are all me, and Kanon looks like me, but I’m wearing Lydia’s image and don’t look like my current life. How did she nail me as the right one? Am I necessarily even ‘the right one’ in this case?
She released me and crowed, “I did it, Lady! Level Seven, just like Mom!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I told her, “We saw you on a monitor. That spell was amazing, My Lady.”
She beamed brightly, her ears high and wide, then leaned back and gave me a quick appraising look up and down.
“Wow, you’re cute like this!” she exclaimed. “I like the dress!”
It was just my usual peplos, of course, fixed at the shoulders with silvered broaches. I was glad for the overcast sky, as my arms were way too exposed for the desert sun.
“Thank you,” I told her, then raised my eyebrows. “It doesn’t afford me much protection against your jack of mail though, so…”
She grinned sheepishly, then displaced the girl on my right side to lead me the rest of the way into the courtyard at the center of the encampment, where busy meal preparations were underway.
