Everyone laughed for a good minute, annoying Oyed. He even went so far as to put his fingers in his ears. The laughter soon died down as everyone picked themselves up. Their sides were hurting from laughing so much and tears fell down their face. “By the Ones,” panted a guard, “I never laughed so hard since the Trinnies killed my wives, harem, and children!”
“Are you finished?” asked Oyed as he unplugged his ears.
“…You’re serious, aren’t you?!” realized Arsha.
“Deathly serious.”
“All right, buster, riddle me this: why should we help you?! You’re Oyed the Destroyer! The title alone tells us what you do for funsies! Why should we do ANYTHING for you?!”
“You’ll help me because doing so will give you a weapon against Dr. Borg and her Councilors should they rise to godhood!”
“Captain, a word,” called another guard. Everyone gathered around the guard, and they whispered to each other. Oyed could see Arsha’s tails and ears droop. She turned back to the cell.
“Fine, we’ll help out,” she muttered. “What needs to be done?”
“The weapon I speak of is known as the Talkwen Stone,” explained Oyed. “It was designed to drain Divine Mana through magical means. I never expected Dr. Borg to make a technological version of it (shows how much I underestimated her), but her research said that anyone with Divine Mana could be drained through her machine, meaning that the Council would be vulnerable to it as well. It took her the entire war, possibly before that, to construct the original machine and you lot don’t have the time to make one for yourselves. Mortals can touch it with no problems at all, but I couldn’t, and neither could my children when we were gods. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get it to discern between my own Divine Mana and your precious Divine Ones. So I tossed it away…until a certain someone picked it up, then set it into a crown later in his life. I believe there’s a city named after that certain someone, right here in the Under-realm.”
“…Crelima?” asked Arsha
“The first Vampire King himself!” confirmed Oyed. “When he ruled the Eastern Continent’s night and constructed Crelima City to his original design, he listened to my whispers. He was the first of my thralls…and the first to betray me! It DID cost him his life, though. At my behest, I ordered him to construct a crypt that only my immortal body could go through. He ordered all sorts of traps to be built; bladed pendulums, poison gas, spears shot out of the wall, spiked pits, acid, flame jets, the works! For reasons that escaped me completely, he ordered the crypt to be constructed from the center to outwards, then he set the traps from the outside to the center. In the central chamber, there was a window with a curtain. I always found it odd at the time…until he finished the traps. I don’t know if you know this, but there’s no way to tell time in the Depths. Well, there was no way for me to tell what time it was when Crelima finished setting all the traps. He looked around the central chamber to admire the handiwork. He then muttered that it would serve. I told him to leave the crypt…but he said no.”
“That must have ticked you off to no end,” chuckled Arsha.
“Oh, I was LIVID! You see, I needed him to tell his family about the use of the Talkwen Stone, but he intended to stay there for the rest of his life, and it was cut short by his own actions. You see, by the time he finished his labors, the sun was already in the sky. He told me that the weapon would be forever lost to time, then he threw back the curtain and allowed the sun to enter the chamber, and you know what happened to Vampires of that time when they are bathed in sunlight.”
“They turned to ash.”
“That’s exactly what happened to King Crelima. There the Talkwen Stone sits, embedded in the first symbol of office, the Crown of Eternal Night, in the ash that was the first Vampire King, Crelima the Mad.”
“The Crypt’s been off limits since 900 FAU,” Arsha muttered. She then started planning. “Maybe if we can get permission from the Hanthuus, we could get access. They’d understand the need.”
“How are you going to get past the traps?” asked Oyed.
“Well, considering that you were involved in their creation-”
“Hold on, let me make sure I understand you. You think I’m going to get you past the traps?”
“Well, given that time is against us-”
“You’re the miracle worker. So, work a miracle. I already told you of the Talkwen Stone’s existence. That’s all the help you’re getting from me.”
“That’s not funny!”
“It wasn’t a joke. Arsha, you said that people like us were parents. Well, unlike my children, I ain’t no whirligig parent. Sink or swim.”
“Oyed, you want this war to end as much as I do and-!”
“End? Oh, I see! Arsha Royana, this war is FAR too entertaining for me to want to end right now! There’s only one path I see for you, and that’s you trying desperately to use the Talkwen Stone! And you said that time is against you. Did someone in Realmfleet tell you to end the war or surrender your claim to the Mid-realm throne?” Arsha said nothing. “…The silence speaks volumes! The war may end, but I WILL see you fail in SOME capacity! That’s likely the only bit of happiness I’ll get now that I’m as mortal as you.” Oyed then laid down on his bunk. “Tell me how it goes. I eagerly await the results.” He then shut his eyes and started napping.
“Captain, we can-!” called a guard.
“That won’t be necessary,” replied Arsha. “I have a plan in mind, I just wish I didn’t need to resort to such a barbarous method.” She then whispered instructions to the guard.