Chapter 97: The Council of Doras Dagda
The morning air was crisp and quiet, a short break before Robert's leadership duties kicked in. Doras Dagda buzzed with life even this early, and he'd already spent hours guiding clan leaders on handling thousands of refugees. In the central square, he'd walked with Hamish, hashing out plans to share resources. Some clan folks hesitated to give too much to outsiders, but Robert's firm presence shut down any pushback.
Food was holding steady. Makeshift bakeries had popped up overnight, the air thick with the warm smell of bread. Robert had watched volunteers, including a lively old woman named Maggie, teach refugees to knead dough and cook simple meals from the settlement's rations. It wasn't fancy, but it gave the newcomers something to do.
STEVE's voice boomed across the square, dishing out jobs to refugee groups. Some fixed fences or tended livestock, others hauled timber from the nearby forest. Robert paused to see young guys lugging fresh logs, faces red but eyes bright with purpose. STEVE shouted encouragement, his mechanical tone softened just enough to feel like guidance, not orders.
"Good job, lads! Keep it steady. More work's coming, and wages are on the way!" STEVE's words sparked cheers, and Robert cracked a small grin. For all his focus on efficiency, STEVE knew how to lift spirits. It warmed Robert to see refugee men pitching in. Idle hands and pent-up energy could wreck any place, and he was glad to see them busy.
DAVE, meanwhile, kept things low-key but just as crucial. Robert had swung by the Sanctum's mining operations earlier, finding the upbeat kobold foreman running a tight ship. The mines, boosted by leprechaun runes, were pumping out gold like never before. DAVE turned the haul into coins for refugees, minting pouches based on STEVE's labor reports.
"DAVE is best kobold boss! No whining, just gold!" he'd crowed, perched on a pile of ore like he was king of the world. His theatrics were over-the-top, but the gold gave refugees hope and stability. Some humans were even learning mining from the kobolds, who'd expanded the mines with new M Power cores.
Still, a tense vibe ran through the settlement, like a rubber band ready to snap. Robert caught whispers as he passed refugee groups: gripes about being denied magic training, resentment toward those cozy with the leaders. The unease gnawed at him, a sign things could go sideways. Refugees often ignored the kobolds, calling them creepy, but still complained in their earshot. More than one kobold had reported gripes to DAVE, reports Robert could read anytime.
"I should recruit more mages from the refugees," Robert told a kobold who'd mentioned the complaints. "But I'm worried about handing out magic to just anyone, some might not deserve it, others might have a twisted streak that'd turn it dark, or shaky minds that'd crack under the strain." The kobold shrugged. "Yer problem now, boss man. Bye!" he said, diving back into a stubborn ore chunk.
Robert couldn't shake his worry about handing out magic to just anyone, some might not deserve it, others might have a twisted streak that'd turn it dark, or shaky minds that'd crack under the strain. He wanted Doras Dagda stronger, not broken, so he went to STEVE to lock down the application process. "Tell every refugee, inside the walls or in the Arcoplex, that anyone wanting to learn magic to protect their homes and build a better life should apply to you by noon." STEVE didn't dawdle. His voice echoed through the Arcoplex, reaching every resident. A murmur rippled through the market and city, excitement mixed with caution. Many linked magic to the Nuckelavee that trashed Edinburgh, making them wary.
"I hope they see magic can be used for good," Robert told STEVE. "I won't force anyone, but I'd love some volunteers to take the spark and start fresh." He'd expected more enthusiasm, but the fear lingered. No kids could apply yet, just adults of fighting or working age, hopefully eager after a few days in Doras Dagda.
After the announcement, Robert headed to the gardens of Doras Dagda, craving a break. The gardens were a sanctuary, walled by tall hedgerows and bursting with vibrant flowers and magical herbs. Lillia moved through them, her raven curls catching the light as she tended shimmering lavender herbs. Lillia lost herself in her gardening, every careful snip and touch pulling her in deep, it was her little escape, a way to steady herself far from the city's constant pull.
Robert leaned against the wooden gate, watching her. Her calm eased the knot in his chest. She glanced up, emerald eyes meeting his, and a small smile curved her lips. She tilted her head, inviting him in, and he stepped inside.
"Morning," he said softly, the breeze nearly swallowing his voice.
Lillia pointed to a bench under a willow tree, and Robert sat with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. She joined him, her hand warm on his arm, stirring thoughts he tried to push aside.
"I needed this," Robert admitted, voice low. "Everything's fraying, the refugees, the settlement, even me. Something feels off, but I can't pin it down."
Lillia's eyes softened, her silence loud with understanding. She pulled a glowing petal from her herb basket and handed it to him, a simple but deep gesture.
Robert took it, smiling faintly. "A nudge to focus on what I can grow, not what I can't control?" he asked, grateful but light.
Lillia shrugged, her smile teasing, as if saying, Sure, why not? But her eyes hinted at something else. She urged him to nibble the petal. He did, tasting its soft, bitter-sweet bite. Warmth spread from his stomach, relaxing his muscles and calming his mind. Stress melted, if only for a moment. The sun warmed his face as he leaned back with her.
"Well, interesting leaf you got here," he said, feeling a gentle buzz. She leaned over, kissed his cheek, her wide pupils showing she was feeling it too.
"You always know what to say without saying a word," Robert murmured, affection in his voice. Lillia's silent laugh sparkled in her eyes. She signed, All I did was get you a little high.
"Mn. Thanks. Is this stuff illegal?" he asked. She shrugged, grinning. "Not here. Shush, you talk too much. Let your mind wander."
After a bit, Lillia took his arm and led him to his cottage, shushing his questions with a mischievous grin. Inside, she unfastened her dress, letting it slide to the floor. Her green eyes locked on his, confident, daring him to look away. She traced her curves, teasing.
Robert's gaze wandered, and soon, they were tangled up, exploring each other all afternoon.
While Robert and Lillia were occupied, the settlement prepped for a council meeting. A large, enchanted chair, carved to boost wisdom, was set in the training ground, the only space big enough for the clan and Robert's allies. STEVE's morning announcement had reached the Arcoplex, drawing over four hundred applications for mage training. Applicants left a blood drop on their forms for identification, a requirement that spooked some, but 479 pressed on.
Only 150 could be trained, mentored by Clan MacEwan mages. By 4 p.m., a relaxed Robert and Lillia emerged hand in hand. Sorcha, Lillia's grandmother, noticed Lillia's unsteady steps and Robert's blissful calm, smirking to herself but keeping quiet. Ewan MacEwan, Sorcha's son, spotted them and shouted, "Hey, you two! Meeting's almost here! Come on!"
Everyone gathered at a broad table, sipping sweet honey mead. Ewan, Lillia, Rauri, Ewan's heir, Hamish, Chaucer, Sorcha, the clan matron, and Snow, Hamish's partner, took seats. Snow, busy with the market and alchemy, had pupils learning potion-making, noting that complex potions needed specific magic skills. Robert sat in the enchanted chair, feeling a clarity wash over him. He chuckled, realizing it boosted his wisdom, and didn't take it personally.
Robert had reserved an empty chair for the Dagda, a symbolic gesture. He called the meeting to order, asking observers to stay quiet unless called on. The crowd, clan members and curious refugees, settled, eyes on him.
"Good afternoon, friends and residents of Doras Dagda. Thanks for coming as we review applications from our new Edinburgh friends. We've sent a strike team, including Captain Montgomery Scott, one of your own, to support Scotland's military against the monsters that hit your capital. With the Nuckelavee still out there, we need more mages to protect Doras Dagda and back up Scotty's team." Relief showed on some faces, but others looked down, haunted by memories.
A broad-shouldered athlete, known among the refugees, cupped his hands and boomed, "And like any true Scot, Cap'n Scotty's gonna make that piece of shite Nuck pay!" Nods and cheers rippled through the crowd.
Robert grinned, approving the spirit, and continued. "Aye, I hope so. But Scotty needs help, like we all do. Doras Dagda's magic was sealed here long ago, hidden until it was safe to return. Weeks back, I found an artifact that gave me powers I couldn't grasp. Now, after fighting kobolds, dire wolves, a giant grub, dark fae, Cu Sith, and worse, I've learned magic's strength. We want to share that gift, introducing some of you to Moira, the entity who guides our magic."
The crowd listened, rapt, finally getting why Doras Dagda's people wielded such power. Robert noticed a woman at the back, Isobel Strathmore, her face neutral and watchful. Unknown to him, she'd helped Edinburgh fall, sacrificing hundreds to spawn the Nuckelavee. Her lack of enthusiasm stood out, but he refocused.
"STEVE! Bring the applications!" The 479 forms teleported to the table. "I'll sort these, letting Moira check the blood on each. We can only train 150 now, so she'll pick those fated to start."
The crowd stirred, confused by "fated" and Moira's role. Robert extended his hands, and the applications shuffled into stacks, guided by Moira's magic. She channeled wind magic through him, scanning each blood drop for a magical spark. Her system filed the data, sorting by combat or crafting skills, raw potential, and elemental types like fire or water. It picked fighters against threats like the Nuckelavee. It was over fast, stacks neatly sorted.
Robert spoke to Moira aloud. "It'd help if you spoke directly, like you did for Hamish. It'll make you real to them, not a magic trick." Moira sighed in his mind, "But I'm shy…" Robert laughed. "No way I believe that!" He insisted, explaining to the crowd, who shuffled, thinking it was a show.
Robert tilted his head, then gestured at a grassy patch. "Pardon me, we need something." His left eye glowed gold, earth magic from his early days with Moira kicking in. He sensed a buried stone, long hidden by erosion. "There you are," he said, and began to lift it through the ground. The earth rumbled, making the crowd nervous, until a dirt-covered shape broke free.
"Snow, wash it off," Robert said. Snow stood, curious, and sprayed water from her fingers, rinsing the stone. Mud splattered, revealing a petite, curvy woman carved sharp and clear from rough stone. The statue looked so human, every curve, every strand of hair so lifelike, it could've stepped off the table. Hamish's eyes widened, Chaucer clapped, whistling.
Robert smiled faintly. "Everyone, this is Moira, as she appeared here over two thousand years ago. Please make her feel welcome, she says she's shy." Nervous chuckles spread, some clapping.
Isobel stared at the statue on the table, her frown conniving. The crowd's hopeful eyes turned her stomach. She noted others who weren't thrilled, planning to talk to them later.
Robert shot a colorful beam of magic into the statue, not to attack but to infuse. "I'm giving her a way to move, like Toby's figurine or the walking gnome some followed to escape." Between breaths, he explained, "This is Moira's will."
Some residents nodded, confirming the gnome's role. The statue moved, smiling at the crowd. "Oh dear, hello everyone. Listen closely, this is temporary. It takes a lot of energy to hold this form. Robert insists it's important you know I'm real. I'm not a goddess, not yet, just a demi-god, like Hercules, Perseus, or maybe Maui." The crowd stirred, recognizing Maui from a popular film, nodding at the idea of a demi-god helper.
Isobel scoffed, nearly revealing herself, and hid her scowl. "The bitch is here. The Warlock will pay well if I ruin her plans in this cursed town. I'll see her dead!" she thought, plotting.