Cultural Exchange, Pt. 1

The salutations and well-wishes she got from the servants and demons leaving the manor were honestly unnerving.

Clearly, she did things that meant a great deal to them. Beyond the fact they were demonkin or humans in cahoots with demon society… she didn’t know if she had it in her to match what the Old Elisa was capable of.

Thankfully, as it turns out, the method of traversal in Highcliff did not change one bit. The scenic route remained the default option, together with all the effort that came with it.

But the world had changed. And as she descended onto Middletown, evidence of that was everywhere.

“Whoa…” 

Elisa didn't need to look up to know the Kobold was clambering on her hair to get a better view. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen this place before.”

“But master, it’s been a long time for me! Mama always told me to stay in her nest and not to go outside. It still isn’t safe for kids, she said. I will show her!”

“Not safe, how?”

“Well… I don’t know. Some human gangs beating up us folk, she said. But Master Blac’hil and the guards have it handled when it gets reported, so I don’t know…”

Good to know he didn’t have an iron grip, and that her initial assessment still remained false for the most part. 

While crime may be bad… in Highcliff, you gotta learn how to defend yourself. That’s how they kept their freedom all these years, after all. Everyone is their own lord, and is therefore responsible for their own actions. 

It is a trade-off, for sure.

It’s like one of the Concordant’s guardian… police force? She didn’t know the term, nor did she care to. She heard some really bad things that came out of organizations like that. Something to the tune of massacres, when none were planned. 

Can't trust authority to decide anything for you when if you strip their uniform they are the same flawed people underneath.

Near the bottom of the cliffs lay the few flatlands available to the Highcliff people. There weren’t many—Highcliff was not a land of open plains and vast, endless fields. Middletown was one of such places.

She remembered these streets.

The old, uneven roads on an incline, that remained.

But her eyes had not deceived her when she looked down upon the manor gardens. Indeed, small demon types roamed freely—creatures whose names she couldn’t be bothered to remember, scattering between the growing trees and brickwork.

Middletown had been among the worst hit in the war. So, it was the ideal place to start anew. And apparently, also made a good host to its immigrants as well.

The old architecture remained, but it had been twisted, reshaped by demon influence.

Stone houses once carved for practicality now stretched taller, reinforced with magickstone that pulsed faintly under the daylight.

Beams of dark Ve’trian wood supported archways that had never existed before.

What once had been tight, clustered homes, built for warmth and survival against Highcliff’s harsh winters, now had open, airy courtyards in between them. Most likely for the lycans and furred creatures that came from demonkin lands, who might have a harder time in the summer months.

Some buildings had multiple levels stacked precariously, connected by hanging bridges and walkways, a fusion of Highcliff practicality and demonkin ambition.

But for all its grandeur, it was still Middletown.

A place for merchants, for workers, for the ones who weren’t rich enough for the manor but weren’t poor enough to live in the far valleys. The few humans that were left were, understandably, none too happy to see her. Her showing her face here having presided over Midtown's transformation didn't win her any favors, that much she can see. Valuable, in any case, to remind her the Highcliff spirit was not too easy to break down.

She needed to get her bearings and make her own opinions on things without that damned Count manipulating her. This was a necessary calculation.

When they got near the markets, Cynthia tapped her shoulder. “Mistress, I would like to take this opportunity to restock the pantry with demonkin essentials. If you didn’t know—different nutritional needs and values.”

Elisa only nodded.

The kobold on her shoulders sagged, but otherwise didn’t make a fuss. “Bye bye…”

Elisa adjusted her headdress, the late morning sun pressing heavy against her back. She was about to move on before something called out her name.  

She hadn’t expected to stop on the side of the main street—hadn’t expected to find an imp laying brickwork, dirt smeared across her hands, tiny horns dusted with clay. 

And with the venom with the way she enunciated every syllable of her name, hadn't expected that something to be her. 

The demon barely spared her a glance before speaking.

"His Highness' energy could be spent here. He would have had a solution to all this clay under the soil by last week."

Elisa crossed her arms. “And who are you, exactly?”

"Doesn't matter to know my name. You haven't earned the right to know my name. You barely spoke to those who opposed you from the get-go and you expect me to give you any respect? And now you are here, sightseeing, while everyone else is working hard to achieve your vision."

Ah. "That's not exactly fair; I am still getting my bearings recovering from a life-ending poison. Give me a break.”

"You think you are owed one? I forget the selfishness of humans sometimes. You think you’re helping by throwing new ideas at him and expecting him to make those ideas reality. All you’re really doing is giving him more work to think about when the situation here is unbearably simple."

The kobold couldn't take it anymore. "H-hey, stop it!"

"Kid, take notes on how to treat people who don't treat you with dignity." 

Elisa growled. “We could start having an earnest discussion about this by looking me in the eye. Not letting me get a word in.”

“Can't see what I am busy? I am not done with this patch yet. Not exactly beating the allegations of selfishness, here.”

Elisa's eyebrow twitched. 

The imp scoffed, tail flicking. "Anyway, you wanna help? Then shut up and unleash Blac’hil from your collar. Go back up there, be his moral support, and if that's all you are good for, then so be it. But at least you are doing something."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, the demons over at Ve’tria converted their entire landscape into a Magickstone mining production in a year. A year. While here—" she gestured vaguely at the patch of dirt underneath her, "we still have heavy clay under the soil."

Elisa set her jaw. "That kind of rapid change isn’t always a good thing. It will harm the forest gods, disrupt the living tree—"

The imp snapped upright, tail bristling.

"I knew it! It was you. Of course, it was you."

She let out a sharp exhale, as if Elisa’s words had personally offended her. "Hohhh, we had saplings in the Capital raring to go, ready to replace the dead weight in the cliffs—all while doing the exact same job, mind you. But nooo, in a truly mindboggling turn of events, someone decided to keep the plants native."

The only eye she could see narrowed. "And guess what? That someone was you. That was your decision. And now, instead of progress, we have bureaucracy and diplomatic talks with a bloody patch of forest."

"But they are our gods!"

"Gods who aren’t very good at their jobs, clearly! We have a Bi-Millenial Invasion breathing down our necks, and you people care about some forest gods’ feelings? What did they do for you when we invaded anyway? Defend you? No. Nothing. Only people worth worshipping are the High Lords, who actually. Take. Action."

Elisa’s blood boiled. "We are beneath the gods, and it’s the height of egotism to assume we are obliged to know their plans."

The imp let out a sharp bark of laughter. "And what exactly are they gonna do? Blow sapling seeds at me? Wrap me up in vines?"

"If you hate Highcliff so much, why don’t you just pack up and leave?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed people staring. Some sat down. Even the ones who gave her dirty looks early on by virtue of being 'noble' stuck around. There was a kid currently chewing on her hair for Gods' sake.

A human and demon coming to blows was hardly rare. But someone high up the food chain and what looked like a noble woman tussling? Your ass was sat. 

They say a punch from a Highcliff native was something you could feel in the indents of your flesh at least five years after the fact.

And she really wanted to do a little bit of cultural exchange.