A Bunch of Lesbians Fight the Demon Queen, and also Kill God, Maybe? - Chapter 1

Hello my wonderful patrons! So this is an idea for a long form story I've had bouncing around in my head for a while now. It still needs a proper title, but this rather silly light novel esque title is what I'll call it for now. I didn't include it on that voting sheet cause I wasn't really sure how to pitch it. I'm still not, but here's a basic idea:

Two parties of adventurers from different kingdoms set off on a quest to defeat the big bad (because we're dealing with Scribblehub audiences, it's gonna be the big DQ). One party will have a sort of standard fantasy adventure with a trans POV and an enemies/rivals to lovers plot. The other will focus more on some mysteries surrounding the plot, with a friends to lovers romance and an egg main character. There are also a bunch of fun twists and turns I have lined up that I don't want to spoil, but trust me on this, there's a lot more than meets the eye going on here.

Chapter 1

Renault could not keep quiet. Honestly, he’d been babbling on and on in circles for what at the very least had felt like several minutes. He was giving out excuses and caveats and ‘listen it won’t be so bads’ as though he were some ascetic priest surrendering his personal effects to the poor. Not that Lyra really faulted him for it. It tried her patience a little, but she was used to him stammering and apologizing at the slightest indication he was about to inconvenience her. For a paladin, he could be way too meek as soon as he felt he was stepping on someone’s toes. Or, at least, stepping on Lyra’s. Regardless, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to stop with his sputtering.

“It’s fine, Ren.” Shushing him, she placed a hand on his forearm; he blushed and nodded.

“My apologies. I just,” he centered himself with a slow breath, “you’ve been through a lot. And I hate making you feel like you owe me or the Crown or the church or anyone anything.”

Sighing, Lyra leaned back into the comforting embrace of her custom-build parlor chair, its cushioned back hugging her just right, her arms sinking just the right amount into the soft fabric as she set down her tea and gestured to the ornate room around her. “I think I’m doing just fine. And if I’m not mistaken, I have you and your father to thank for much of that. Now, will you sit?”

With a resigned nod, he fell back heavily onto the sofa across from her, then met her gaze with renewed seriousness. “It’s going to be dangerous, Lyra.” Without a doubt, Renault always acted with the best intentions, but sometimes he had a tendency to overstate the obvious.

“Sneaking into enemy territory as advance scouts to monitor and sabotage the Demon Queen’s army? Dangerous? How preposterous.” Lyra curled her lips into a teasing smile. “That’s exactly why I can’t let you go without me. You need a magic-user.”

He shook his head firmly. “I already have Priscilla.”

“The witchblade? She can’t do what I can and you know it. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Your superiors wanted me to come along. They know as well as you and I that nobody can do what I can; I’m not about to make this more difficult for you than it has to be. We know how this will go in the end, but I’ll be naming my price.” Money was hardly tight, but helping with Renault meant Lyra would be helping both the church and the military; together they had plenty to offer besides gold.

“You’re seriously just going to dance on a string for them like that? You know if you hadn’t proven useful to them they’d have made you a pariah,” he bristled. Admittedly, Renault was correct. And that matter was worth considering, the matter as a whole too, really. Still, spiting some cadre of hawkish nobles and old zealots who only took their nose out of scripture long enough to smell their own asses wasn’t more important than helping a lifelong friend. Ren had been there since the beginning, when they were both noble sons of noble fathers; that had held fast, even after the ‘accident.’ They’d called her all manner of things, corrupted, warped in body and mind. Some manner of curse was the only explanation they could accept for how a proud, outgoing noble’s son could spontaneously become a timid daughter. Nevermind the possibility that she had been shaking with fear at the prospect of them taking away what had always been her deepest wish.

Renault’s father, Roderick, had been the only ranking member of the clergy who thought to ask what her feelings on the matter were, and the only one to believe Lyra when she said she was happier as a girl. Though she still neglected to mention the whole truth: that it had been her choice. The voice which had come to her in her sleep, that offered her what she had prayed for each night, only Renault knew that half of the story. Regardless, Lord Roderick had done his best to shelter Lyra from the brunt of the disdain aimed at her.

Lord Roderick even provided Lyra a place to live, sending her to live with his half-sister. Whose home was close enough that he could keep an eye on Lyra without raising eyebrows. Perhaps, in some other life, that would have been it for her. She would have gone on to lead a comfortable, if unremarkable existence. Fate, however, had made other arrangements.There were any number of possible explanations, none of them proven, but a month after Lyra had been transformed, her extraordinary magical prowess made itself known. And who would have guessed it? Suddenly the Crown and its army, the nobility, the Ferham Wizard’s College, the church, all of them took interest in her.

Lyra had managed to avoid being a pet test subject, mostly through cooperation, veiled intimidation, and no small amount of behind the scenes cajoling by Lord Roderick, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a veritable procession of scholars hoping to learn from her. In the end it worked out, Lyra gave her share of blood to be tested, went through some odd arcane examination from time to time, and in return, was trained to utilize her abilities by the top mages in all of Ossos’ military. Not only that, but she didn’t have to worry about hiding who she was anymore. Was it fair for her ability to exist authentically to come at a price? No. Did she care? Not particularly. There were plenty of people who were worse off than Lyra, and, come to think of it, that was precisely the reason why she was going to be helping Ren, even if that also meant helping a few high and mighty bastards. At least, that was mostly why. Something else pushed her in that direction as well. Ever since Renault had arrived, Lyra had been beset by a rather peculiar feeling. One she couldn’t place; it was faint and vague, but felt important, important and relevant. It told her she needed to go.

“You’ve been quiet for a while.” Renault’s remark pulled Lyra from her consideration.

“Just… reminiscing. My friend, why is it that you chose to act as a sword for the church? For the Crown? You seem to have no love for them.” Casually, Lyra lifted her teacup, sipping at it as she eyed Renault expectantly.

“You know why, Lyra. The church and nobility may be packed with old fools who would sooner dive headfirst into a pit of vipers than change their ways, but they are not who I serve. I serve the people. I serve the gods. I serve goodness.” Perhaps his convictions came off as naive, but something along those lines was, indeed, what she had been expecting Renault to say.

“And that is precisely why I’m coming with you. People are dying out there; I’ve been cooped up in this city for my whole life, watching the constant influx of refugees from the countryside. If the paladins are sending their golden boy and favorite heretical magics expert on this mission, and they expect me to go too, then obviously it’s a pretty important mission. This was what they wanted from me to begin with, wasn’t it? A soldier? I’m not eager to go out and risk my life, but I’m sure as hell not letting you go out alone. Besides, it’s not as though I actually have much of a choice.” As though to prove her point, a cursory glance out her window showed that yes, indeed, there were about twenty odd members of the town guard stationed outside her front door. “Honestly, they have so little faith in me.” She grinned, shaking her head. “Not that I blame them.”

The moment her eyes fell upon the unwanted company outside, Renault grew ashamed and gravely sober. He leaned forward, speaking in a hushed tone. “It’s not too late. I spoke with father; if you sneak out, he’ll hide you.”

Fondly, Lyra reached across the table and took his hand. “No, Ren. I’m not letting my dearest friend go on a dangerous expedition without me by his side. Besides, I was trained to fight in this war the same as you were. Being deployed on some special assignment or another was an inevitability. The people of Ossos want us to be heroes. Let’s go be heroes.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt. Or worse,” he choked, face reddening as his eyes began to water.

“You won’t.” There was a finality to her voice that even Ren seemed to detect, he slumped backward in a twisting mixture of defeat, fear, and what may have been relief. Quiet fell over the pair, silence broken only by distant sounds of the city: shouts from hawkers, the baying of a stray hound, a song drifting on the wind. Through it, Ren seemed pensive, preoccupied. Then, with the apathy of a man who had finally learned to just accept he had absolutely no control over his situation, he leaned back and cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m not their golden boy.”

“So now you’re gonna pout about that, huh? Mr. Wielder of Holy Blades.” Rolling her eyes, Lyra stood and crossed the room to the window, which flew open with a flick of her wrist. “Alright, yes, fine, I’m going. You can disperse now, I’ll cooperate. Shoo!” she called to the soldiers below, who shared a perplexed look. With a huff, Lyra  shut the window and turned to face Renault.

“You don’t actually expect them to listen, do you?” he mused, fighting a smirk. “Regardless, it’s holy blade, singular. Just the one.” Despite everything, there was a hint of laughter lingering in his voice.

“Well, maybe I’d have an easier time remembering that if they named the damn thing. Perhaps Light Piercer or Faran’s Judgement. Honestly, this isn’t hard.” Lyra casually leaned against the wall, crossing one leg in front of the other and doing all she could to look utterly pleased with herself.

As though Lyra had just swiped at it, Renault snatched his sheathed blade from the table before him and clutched it to his chest. “It doesn’t need a name! All that matters is the inscription,” he protested.

“Yeah yeah, ‘Evil shines in the brightest hearts’ or whatever it actually reads.” At this point, Lyra may or may not have been trying to antagonize her companion.

“That’s not it! It’s ‘Shine light on evil wherever it hides, even within the purest of hearts.’ And it’s a big deal,” he grumbled.

“Exactly! See? Golden boy. Your father is church leadership, and you’re one of the few people who can channel the magic contained within that sword. And that’s without even touch on your actual swordsmanship skills, so of course you’re a big deal. But back to the matter at hand, I assume they want us to get started as soon as possible? Will it just be you, me, and the witchblade?” Not bothering to wait for any response, Lyra crossed the parlor and donned her cloak from its place hanging upon the wall. There was something on her mind. That feeling from before, the vague but important one, it was back. Something was strikingly familiar about this. Suddenly, Lyra recalled that there was something she needed to remember, but what?

“No, there’s a man by the name of Trevor Foller; he’s a scout captain for the Ossos military who has been assigned to aid us. He’s familiar with the territory, so he’ll go a long way to ensure we don’t get lost.” Casually, Renault fished a sealed scroll from his pocket along with a bit of parchment. Captain Foller’s official assignment orders, no doubt, likely a description of the man as well, for Ren’s benefit. “I’ll probably have no choice but to bring Laith with me as well, he practically lives in my shadow these days.”

“That kid you rescued from those bandits last year? He won’t be a liability?” Admittedly, Lyra had hardly given him the time of day whenever she saw Laith, so he’d found few chances to make an impression on her. Regardless, the boy hardly struck her as particularly impressive.

“You would be surprised just how good he’s gotten with a sword and spear. Besides, he’s nineteen, hardly a child, even if he is a little starry-eyed. I was given free rein to make my team, and I trust him.” As Renault spoke, Lyra had already begun making her way for the door, eyeing him expectantly. She spun around and leaned against the door, as, with a grunt, Renault stood, and trotted after her. Having no desire to worry her lifelong friend, Lyra’s demeanor exuded playful confidence and grace, but beneath that facade, the currents of her mind churned. That thing, the thing she needed to remember. It was related to all this, Lyra was certain. Ren, herself, Priscilla, this Trevor person, then Laith. That was five, but weren’t there to be six? Six of what? Had someone told her about this? Yes, a man. A foreign man. Perhaps she should say something to Ren? But say what?

Catching herself on the precipice of allowing her mask to slip, Lyra turned the handle and, with a light tap of her hip, casually nudged open the door leading out of her parlor. Playfully, Lyra spun on the ball of her foot while her gaze lingered back to Ren. “You know, you hardly put up much of a fight against him coming along, at least considering all that caterwauling about my own part in this.” She called, gliding down the stairs of her townhome to the street entrance below. As she drifted, so too did her mind. Six people, the man had said. And something about fate?

Behind her, Ren’s thundering, boot-clad footsteps sounded his much less graceful descent. “Forgive me for not wanting to see you become a pawn.”

No, it hadn’t been fate. Where were these memories coming from? Just as her foot hit the bottom step, realization dawned upon Lyra. There on the landing, she halted. “It’s too late for that, Ren. That’s what they trained me to be. And then, on top of all that there’s also...” Lyra trailed off as, gingerly, her hand fell upon the door handle. One last time, she considered the circumstances, but no, this could not be ignored. Facing Ren once more, Lyra spoke in a hushed voice. “Recently, I can’t tell you exactly how long ago, I had an odd dream.”

“You don’t mean like that—”

“Nothing of that sort, no.” She waved her hand, as though brushing the thought aside. “There was this man; he was dressed like a doctor from Ilhün. You know, with the flowing black button up cloak and the wide brimmed hat? He said something about destiny showing up at my door with sword in hand. It was all very vague. Either that or I’ve just forgotten bits of it. Something tells me this is what he meant, though.” Part of Lyra felt foolish even mentioning the dream. Who was to say her dream was anything more than just that?

Nonetheless, Ren seemed serious and attentive as ever. “Did he say anything else?”

“He did; something about six people. And then, also, ‘Trust Maya.’ That was it. I haven’t the slightest what that means. Either way, say whatever you like, but after that first time, I’m inclined to, at the very least, take the appearance of a mysterious visitor in my dreams seriously.” Her gaze searched that of her companion, seeking any sign of disbelief of dismissal. She found none.

Solemnly, Ren bowed his head in thought. “I can’t say I love the sound of all that, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m not sure whether to believe it or not, but nothing about you has ever been typical, Lyra. I’ll trust your judgment on this.” Mind made up, he raised his eyes to meet hers. “Let’s get to work. We need to gather everyone and head to Cyres, we’ll receive further orders when we arrive.”