[Aminatu]

HP 100% | MP 100%

Paladin - Cavalier - Blacksmith

____________________________________________________


After yet more arduous hours of laboring in the grueling sun, Aminatu wipes the pearls of sweat from her brow. Her heart pounded today. For even as she cracked the Earth like the God Geb cracked mountains, her thoughts were of her lover, Taliset, who had gone missing. Her, steed, Anhur, helps haul away the troves of ore and precious metals away as Aminatu heads to her tent and slides releases a rough exhale, finding idle time amongst her hookah and several of Taliset’s Memoirs. And there, she smoked as she read these letters of old and that kept her going on the road.



These last remnants of Taliset:



This woman makes me furious, in so many terrible ways. She has made multiple mistakes after I promoted her to be the Captain of the Sentinels, so my ferocity is anger. First when I had to clean up her mess, along with the other wolves. In but one night, a handful of more lives, perhaps innocent, were now on my conscious. All to protect her and the others. I shall never tell her how it pains my soul. There were other times, with the most recent being when she was among the numbers who spoke freely in the common room, but the first incident still haunts me.



But alas, this woman makes me furious, in so many wonderful ways. Now, in this moment, my ferocity is lust. Here I am in her quarters, the room almost black with the desert night singing its lullaby. The few candles I had the servants bring me along with this journal are all that light the room. I admit, I could not help but place one near the bed she is lying upon, only half covered by the black silk, just so I can partake of the brilliant art the flickering flame makes upon her skin.



She sleeps on her stomach mostly, I've found. And I cannot keep my eyes off of her muscled back. To think, just an hour or so ago I had her on all fours calling out my name. It is not often that I take a woman as a lover, as I have particular preference, which usually leans towards a male specimen - but there is just something about her. And in this moment, I am satisfied.



Now I sit here, in a small chair beside her bed, proudly naked and only wearing the scent of our passion. My skin blushing almost the same color as my hair. Lounging back with my legs swung over the arm of the chair with a lazy sheen of sweat on my skin. Moments like these taste like freedom.



Perhaps I should not mix business with pleasure, but so far we have been able to manage it quite well. She expects no special treatment and takes the punishments I must enforce for her actions without question or request for them to be lessened. Furthermore, she accepts my predicament. Regardless of my desire for her, I must find and take a husband. She is understanding, patient, and willing to allow me to do as I must. Even if it means I love another.



I cannot sleep. I think I shall wake her up here in a few minutes. Encourage her to turn onto her back and then slip myself under the silk. It will not be too long until it is not only this desert night that sings.





This day brings me to your pages twice. I am plagued with constant thought. Decisions in each moment that can change the future for not only myself, but could extend as far as the Heliopolite populace. One wrong choice and everything tumbles like an avalanche of sand down a cliff side. Because of this, I live in perpetual fear that begs me to stay awake at night. It makes it difficult for me to sleep alone. I miss Aminatu.



Tonight, though, I was able to see small choices I made over time come to fruit. Dagaroth came to me quite upset, which I expected after his poor behavior during our Fight Club. This is twice now, that he has overreacted due to his paranoia. Pointing fingers and embarrassing me with claims that I am ignorant. He might as well have called me stupid, frivolous, and silly. An ignorant leader is even worse than those claims.



But, he came to me. He cried. He told me his true name - of which I will not write here. I promised to not tell another soul, and this includes your pages. The poor Alv has been alone, lied to at every turn, but yet a liar himself - for as long as he can remember. The pain of this was obvious to me since he came here. Many others wrote him off as arrogant or rude, but I only saw pain. He needed empathy, forgiveness, and love to convince him to freely give his loyalty. So that is what I gave.



Some may have called me silly when I informed him that his punishment for his first outlandish behavior was to hug me. He did so and behaved as if it was painful to touch me. Tonight, though, I held him in my arms as he wept. Finally, he released himself to my charge. And I shall uphold my promise. I shall keep him safe. And he shall be Family. Finally, he will not be alone. Finally, he will lie in a bed made of silk and honesty.



He also revealed to me that he was essentially a virgin, having only encountered sexual experiences in work. I cannot imagine never having the experience of giving yourself, truly, to another. While, perhaps, physical intimacy to deceive another could be enjoyable, it is limited. There are passions, desires, and sexual energy that lies and deceit cannot touch. Someone needs to free him from this cage.



Today has been a long day of meetings, all with various nobility of Romalia. My monthly tea, coy flirtations, and vague threats to keep them quiet and on my side. My father taught me well and the history of my family serving the Heliopolite people is always of help to me. Half of them purchase skooma from my stores, that helps as well. I do not think they wish the town crier to be spilling news of their sweet tooth. But alas, all went well.



I have not yet written of the occurrence in fear that it is some cruel joke or apparition, but Za has returned. That evil fiend Grierat must have thought it funny to tell a mourning widow that a friend, Faunri no less, had parted from this world. My first wish is to cut out Grierat's tongue as punishment, for the night I heard the lie I wept all over again for my Aminatu and Za along with him.



But Za, that randy sea captain, is alive. I needed to write it again here with my violet ink just as a reminder. He was brought into my common room still holding his swagger, by Ethan. It seems he is credited for returning the dear Faunri to his Family. It was good to hug him, to feel Faunri arms around me again, but it only reminded me of Aminatu. I fear that I have been somewhat avoiding him, merely because of my sorrow.



Ethan shall be rewarded for this act. He is a quite a surprise to me, for I never know what he will do. A third of the time he is following Leone, a third of the time he is participating in foolishness that I need to cover up, and then a third of the time he carries out significant acts this House can be proud of. I feel as though I should spend some time with him.



As well as Za. I missed him. And I am sure he misses Aminatu too.







_____



Interrogation can be somewhat of a thrill for me. I usually leave it to those who are the experts in that field within my House, the Widows and Falcons, but I stumbled upon the necessity for me to participate in a sudden query with a Communion member. I admit, there is much that my family do not see nor know about me, save for a few. One being my well-trained skill with a dagger and the other being my extensive knowledge of interrogation techniques. Alongside lessons of history, arithmetic, and reading - my father also had be undergo instruction in fields far more dark.



It is beyond me how some think they will fool me. The idiot was dining with me, a private lunch at his estate. Due to some holiday, all of his servants save for one had been given the day off. That was the first failure on his part. Perhaps, though, he was wishing for privacy, for his grabby hands were always aiming for my inner thigh.



And there we sat at his small table in his petite dining room, bowls of soup before us and speaking of business deals. Not soon after did he begin his not so vague threats - he was convinced that in order to avoid him releasing some 'information' he held about me, I would fuck him. Now, he was a handsome fellow. If he wasn't so vile, perhaps I would. I've used this technique for business before, but not to sway a threat. I won't be made into a whore.



After some talk where I allowed him to carry on with his arrogance, I found myself on his lap - legs spread on either side, straddling him while we both remained clothed. At first he opened his blue eyes wide open, gasping with anticipation like a puppy getting its first juicy bone. Disgusting. Just as I rolled my hips forward into him, one of my hands slipped back to my heel, where a small dagger was concealed.



He let out a throaty moan, sounding like a frog choking on swamp water. His confidence was then broken by my dagger held to his gut, aiming at a spot that would make him bleed wonderful red silk. It didn't take long of me using the blade and the clever squeezing of my thighs to gain access to the information he held - which was nothing. The soul servant he had allowed to stay, ironically, was one of my Falcons. She had infiltrated years ago. This made me laugh. Luckily, she was there to clean up and conceal the mess I made.



Because still, I was offended. So I cut him anyway.



____





I miss you, Aminatu. Last night, I dreamed of you. A teasing dream that was a nightmare to wake up from, for in the dream I saved you. Then the sweat upon my brow woke me from slumber, to an empty bed. Right then and there, I stripped all the sheets until a bare, white mattress stared at me like a full white eye. The mattress we shared so many nights. That we made love upon.



I stared for a few hours, the quiet darkness like death around me. I know the guards that are always with me, that watched us almost break the wood, must have thought me a crazy woman. Or perhaps they thought a ghost had taken over my body. I wish you had, for then maybe I could feel you. On nights like these, when I miss you so roughly that the hollow place in my heart, that broke when you left, screams out and scratches. Digging at what is left and swallowing me whole.



And then my mind races. Over and over I think, "She’s gone. She’s gone. She can't be gone. Why did you leave me? Why did you do this? What did I do wrong? I could have changed this. I could have done something different. She’s gone. She’s gone." It's like the most horrendous music, like Set has driven me mad. The guilt I feel is like the weight of every anchor in my ship line. Causing me to swim in the black deep of an ocean of dead wishes and dreams.



After awhile, my mind is blank again. Nothing. Nothing at all. I think this 'nothing' is worse than the anchor, for it is in these times that I wonder if anything will ever be okay again.



But I know, you told me to be strong. To find happiness. Promised me that I would. Can you promise me again?



________



Last night made me so very proud, as every Initiation does. It warms my heart to bring more into the family, especially when the individuals had nothing before - no family or purpose to speak of. For, it is my purpose to provide both. As my father spoke, there is no better way to solidify a promise of loyalty than through love. Not even fear nor hate can suffice.



Last night there were four individuals who joined my Family - Calico, Ri'zhat, Hypatia, and Galacier. I see great things coming from each of them.



Calico, from secrets I have been told, may have a skill that could also benefit the Foxes. I ponder on this greatly for, I see my Dagaroth rising quite quickly. I wonder if he is truly happy as the Capo of this Division, for it is not where his heart lies. From the day he set forth in my Inn he was ever watchful, lending advice and protection in his silent way. He reminds of my father's Consiligere - Osei. I think, however quick it seems, Dagaroth should rise. And with that, perhaps Calico should as well.



Then I ponder on Ri'zhat. His love of providing adequate service to others is inspiring. I shall have him spend time with my prized chefs. I think he would enjoy that. They are, I am told, sought after to both eat at their table and learn their ways. Perhaps they will approve of Ri'zhat and he can join their ranks.



Hypatia, what a strikingly lovely Zarian. She is most efficient, quiet and reserved thus far with me, but most efficient. Her focus on her work is inspiring. I shall like to see her open up more, spend more time with family. Perhaps another ladies' night is in order.



And Galacier. My, my. What talent. We have not had a talented Capo of the Scholars, an Archon, in some time. There was one during my father's rule, but sadly he met his end quickly for defending my father during the uprising. Already, the other scholars and book-keepers of my House look up to Galacier. Past and Capos go to him, out of all the current Serpent staff, for advice and information. I can see his true calling. He shall rise as well.



And then, last night, Aminatu announced our impending engagement. It was thrilling, hearing him actually speak the words. Especially after his blunder the night before. Really, people need to learn to keep their hands off my things. He had no clue, my innocent Aminatu, what was occurring until it happened. For I remember his surprise and confusion when I first performed the same act for him. For all his years... I digress.



Seeing him formally step down as spymaster was an achievement. It did, however, make me think back to all he has done for my House. Specifically, his infiltration with the Scimitar. She is greatness, my Aminatu. Her skill in spywork will only help her weave through politics, thankful to her other skills of grace and speech. My father would not like that she is a mercenary, but my father's choice for me betrayed us. So, I daresay my choice in who will publicly stand beside me is more sound. The world is changing, after all. Soon the war will be over and more people will travel. I would much rather look towards the future. If I could have found a suitable Heliopolite partner, it may have been more appropriate. But pish-posh. Appropriate.



Zafira is the new spymaster, then. She has been with us for quite some time. Her loyalty is just as unwavering as Aminatu. She will do well. I am eager to see how she leads now that she is formally in the position.



I think, soon, I shall offer a few others a chance to join the Family. Vorus and her concoctions. Starre and her skilled hand. Hlor and her strength. And Farzana. They all have promise. I do think, however, it might behoove me to place another Heliopolite in a Capo position. I turn my eyes to Farzana. Perhaps, she has the skills for such a role. I have asked her to do a few things, like interviews of new recruits. We shall see what comes of it.



I have been asking, with no avail, where is Doctor Flaccus? He has disappeared. His room should be searched, I think. I do not like to be left in the dark.





_______________



I am unsettled, disturbed, and disgusted. But yet - intrigued and confused. And it all began with our last Fight Club night. Coin was made, fists were thrown, and drinks were had. Successful, as always. New faces and old ones.



Out of both the scuffles, the last fight between Setzer and Findin remains in the fore front of my memory. Such a small Alv against a large Nozgor - even I felt guilty pitting them against one another. In the end, though, Findin was a surprise. He kept up with Setzer for quite some time, clever and feisty.



Setzer, however, is a true gladiator. And for this, I despise him. His musculature and bold skill in the contest keep my jade eyes locked upon him in what others would call a guilty pleasure. I feel no guilt, though, for it is not a crime to enjoy. And that I will do - enjoy. For this life, my life, has enough that hinders me and holds me back already. As if I am constantly a bird in a cage so small I can barely lift my wings. Nobility is no gift. So, in any moment I can, I will partake of freedoms. Without shame.



My confusion lies in his condition. I want to kick the sand his face - presenting me with a temptation that I would never dare fully partake in. I am reminded what a cruel world this is, for it would be against my culture and dishonor my ancestors to look upon him in such a way. So here, where I would never feel guilty with feasting my eyes on an attractive man, I feel sickened with myself. What does it say about me, that I wish to look?



Such a curse, his condition. And he spoke of it freely to me. That, I did respect. For, he allowed me a long, philosophical conversation about his curse. Before Karinea and he, I had never known of two vampires who could live within the confines of their disease without trying to over power others. Their vulnerability is their strength. And the only reason that they are left alive.



That, and I find myself loving Karinea. This confuses me even further. She feels like family to me. A sister. Am I cursed now as well? Maybe the desert's whispers will tell me.





_______________





Dagaroth. Taneris. Whatever the fuck his name is. My advisor. My friend. My family. My lover.



...Is a spy.



My heart is broken as K'arok broke it years ago. Once again, I feel the dreaded fall off of my own balcony into the sea below, with no one to catch me but the thunderous waves that are to engulf me whole.



My heart is broken.



My only hope is that it isn't true.



It can't be true.



He wouldn't do that to me.



Would he?



_________





It's true.



_______







My future wife, Aminatu, and I held court tonight. There are no other moments more taxing than nights like these. I am no demon, no evil-doer, nor a cruel woman. But on these nights? I must decide the fate of those I love. Without jealousy. Without vengeance. Without misplaced hope. And without bias.



I am the mother of this family. Their advocate. Their lioness. All depend on me to make the wisest decision, taking into account their own beliefs. None know this, not even Aminatu, but I sing a melody my father taught me, for times like these:



When I have been broken, bent as it stings,

Against the faultiness of things,

Remember true freedom of the eight,

Behind each hardly opened gate,

When I have looked Life in the eyes,

Grown calm and very coldly wise,

Life will have given me the Truth,

And taken in exchange my youth.



And then my words are weaved. For maximum benefit, purpose, and strength. I must balance punishment and mercy in a way that no mortal should be allowed. The power of this moment is more intoxicating than the finest opium, but more lonely than the coldest of nights.



Tonight, there is no better choice than to spare them both. It was common that the finest of my father's numbers came from the same story. A common thief given new life, new purpose. There is no better way to secure loyalty than to have their life in your hands because of a crime they committed, and you display you have the power to pardon them. And do so, with love.



Akoina was an easy choice. She is feisty and strong, she just needs direction. Family. Something real and of substance. I will give her that.



Dagaroth. He speaks words of love to me, Leone, and Aminatu. That we changed who he was within the innermost depths of his being. As if I, especially, am his savior. Am I to forgive him? Welcome him back into my heart of hearts and within my bed? This, I am not sure.



But the others were right. Zafira, Drusus. He needs punishment and to be shown that betrayal is not an option. And the fact that this group knows that he was here, in court... I must not show weakness. They expect that. They will tattle and think it is the opportune time to invade.



I will not give them the chance.



He will feign dead. Relive my nightmares as the stories are told by those horrible walls that surrounded me. And I will have each and every one of their heads on a platter before me.



Next court? That is what I will have.



All of their heads. Lined one by one on golden plates before me.



A bold statement - I conquer even my nightmares.





_______





Around ten years ago.... During the Rebellion.



My father's coin seems to have been put to good use. Somehow, since they planted someone in what would be my place now, since they murdered my father, they also had access to our treasury vault. Oh well, let them. They are much easier to track that way; a true example of arrogance as a fault.



I had been to this building before, many times over. There was nothing like sitting in the high rafters, where your eyes could take in the velvety, enduring crimson curtains, the glimmering black stone stage, the dripping chandelier and candle lanterns that lit the space, and the rows of ruby-hued seats trimmed with gold. Any, and all, who came felt like royalty. For a short time, you could escape whatever empty life you were trapped in and enter a world of starlight - where only the play and it's players knew your fate. Bells chimed just as I climbed the stairs - it was almost time. In mere minutes, an orchestra would invite your senses into a garden of song. A voice would echo against the walls, triumphant and entrancing. The opera house.



The opera house won't be taken from me. Despite what I have to do tonight. I carry a small coin purse, but it did not jingle. For inside it lay only a feather, as black as night. She was with me, hidden among the rafters somewhere high above where none could see. If all could see what I truly wore, they would see a cloak. One of magic - for I did not look like myself tonight. Instead, my ginger curls were ebony, trailing down my back in a sleek, smooth line. My eyes were a vibrant blue, like where the ocean is clearest. My skin was still dark, like my own, but my features adjusted so they appeared more pointed, strict. I was a panther, slinking through the night to one of expensive viewing balconies high above.



The red dress I wore called attention, for I wanted his. I knew well how to expose my thigh, tilt my hip, and bite my bottom lip to flirt across his way, for my seats were in the balcony next to his. Spreading the curtain open that led to my balcony, I stepped inside and took my seat, carefully adjusting my dress so a portion of my leg, up to my hip, was bare for him to see. My behavior was one of a naive, albeit wealthy merchant princess who wanted nothing more than to spoil herself. Giggling, peering over the edge, ordering the most costly wine on the menu.









He was right where my little spies said he would be. His name was Rael, a mixed race man like me. His mother Alven, though he held more features of his mother than I did of mine. One could hardly see the Heliopolite in him. Inwardly, I frowned, the spite like a knife that was piercing every internal organ it could find. He had been my friend. We were close. When I had ran off to get away from my lessons, he would find me before my father did and give me some excuse for having been gone. We had laughed over drinks. He even tried to kiss me once, though I was taken.



With my clever rouse, he's already looking my way. He worked as a spy, under Cedric, with his cover being as one of our experts in artistic talent. Even now, with my father gone and my 'disappearance', he is trying to pretend he was not part of the revolt. When this is done, if I allowed him to live, I'm sure he would play his game and try to win back my trust. Despite my demeanor tonight, I am no longer naive. In the past few weeks, I have aged a great deal.



My body wants to twitch with agony and impatience. I'd much rather just go be done with it and slip out of here. But, I am far too clever for that. Everything must be perfect. So, I sit through the majority of the performance. If I were not here for him, I would have enjoyed this opera. The story of two lovers, forbidden. Betrayal. Tragedy. Death. A different tale, but the themes are far too close to my heart.



Glances, his eyes meeting mine and then his finding my thigh. When servant staff arrive, even if I am not a distraction, he does not even look at them. By now, with his clear plan to bed me after, his multiple drinks are only bringing him to order more. I do the same, echoing him, but mine is just juice for I had told the server to keep it private, but I was pregnant. A pang hit my heart just after having to say that. I even had to turn my head down. For I wasn't pregnant. Not anymore.



The final song rises, the woman's voice gentle, coaxing goose pimples onto all of our flesh and tears to brim our eyes. With the length of the song, I should have just enough time. I allow tears to fall, though they are false and just for him. Our flirtations back and forth throughout the night had worked as I wanted - keeping him from leaving early and distracting him from being on guard.



Rising, my cheeks are stained wet. Blinking his way, I mouth to him that I will be right back, gesturing towards my eyes and the performance as if it was just too much for my sweet, naive self. He nods to me, a promise in return that he will be waiting for me. Such arrogance they have, to go about their life now that my father is dead and I am 'gone'. They think me dead too. For now, I have that on my side.



Sliding out through the heavy curtain, I enter the narrow hallway that would lead to the powder rooms, but also to the other balcony seating. Quickly, with soft footing, I find his. The smoke from his cigars even forces its way past the fabric, like ash burning my nose and mouth.



It is impossible to nudge through the heavy curtains without making any noise, but I do my best. He lifts his drink back in a silent, demanding request to fill it like he had many times before. I release a breath of relief, then a smirk. Between my legs, against my covered thigh, a strap held a dagger close. With a quick motion, the blade finds it's freedom in my hand.



I must make quick work of it, for the servant would have filled his drink within seconds. Only a few paces forward and I am behind him, leaning down with my breasts against the back of the chair. My free hand grabs his forehead, pulling it back flush against the chair as the other finds the beat of an artery beneath my fingertips where I hold the dagger in place.



He doesn't move, calculating through his drunk haze what to do next. I should kill him quickly, but I need to know. Why him, of all people? Why any of them, really? They were my family. But he and I? We were friends. Why did he make the choice he did? I couldn't help myself.



Answers. And I could only get them by giving him what he wants. The orchestra and soaring female voice grew more passionate, so my voice echoed this in sensualism and invitation, "You taught me this." Of course, I was referring to the positioning of the dagger, which was on the opposite side of the neck from where my arm was. During our training, he showed me how to make a clean, deep cut from one full side to the other - like a grin.



There was no way he could hide the smirk in his voice. Even now, he was excited enough to grow hard, like this was the moment he had wanted all along. His trousers revealed this, and his eyes glanced downwards as if to point to it, "Yes I did. Though, I offered to teach you so much more."



My lips neared his ear, kissing it almost, letting the tender flesh of my mouth graze against his skin like butterfly wings, "I was already satisfied."



He chuckled, grabbing his manhood with a free hand, "Not like I could have, clearly. Although, it seems you have nothing now. I heard K'arok shoved you off that balcony. Seems like he didn't do a good enough job at... many things."



Another sting, though I hid it well. The dagger pressed deeper into his neck, a punishment and promise, "You're right. There was much I didn't know. Many people I didn't know. I thought I did. But, I'm not a little girl anymore."



Another chuckle as he released himself, licking his lips, "Oh, we all noticed. All it took for me to get a little touch was to be your 'friend'. You're an easy little tramp, you know that?"



My hand holding onto his forehead now pulled back on his hair, causing him to wince, "So that's all it was, hm? None of it was real."



For a moment, then, his facade faded away. Honesty, "No. We were friends. I did care about you. I still do."



I feel as though I could tell he was being genuine. From what I knew of him, at least. But, I don't know anything anymore. There was nothing I could do but ask, "So, why?"



He set his glass down on the nearby table, as if succumbing to his fate, "Why? Opportunity. Opportunity can control loyalty."



I pulled on his hair again, only enough to cause pain so I could make a slash across his face before the dagger returned, "That's it? An opportunity came your way, so you threw away ten years of friendship with my father? With me?"



The song was near it's end, soon, we could both hear it in the swell of the woman's voice. My dagger found it's home deeper in his throat, though not ending his life yet. With wisdom, he spoke, "Darlin', people like me stay just long enough to get what I want from you."



Now, a real tear. But, I wouldn't let him hear it in my voice, "So that's it. Simple greed is all it took. Nothing else? No other vendetta? No other motivation?"



His eyes were lost on the stage, taking in the final beauties of this earth he ever would, "That's all it takes, sometimes."



I'm sure he could tell now, my voice cracked, "Why are you telling me this? Why aren't you trying to kill me?"



Now, another chuckle. This one arrogant, knowing, and cruel, "Did you really think Cedric didn't know you were co...."



I cut him off then, in more ways then one. The blade cut deep, across in a curve from one side to the other, creating that endless smile on his neck that I had planned all along. Music lifted in a crescendo, the woman's voice invasive and holding as the blood sprayed across the balcony. Gurgling sounds, then nothing - he was limp.



Gazing up to the ceiling of the opera house, I called silently for Wren. She hadn't seen this, that Cedric knew. Neither had I. The song stopped, the crowd rose to clap and holler, and I had a manner of minutes to flee without being caught.



My next choice could be my last.





_______________________________________





The room had to become a masterpiece. After my extensive classes in luxury, decor, and attire that was required of me while growing up, this would be an easy task. After all, the at-Rabiah name was entwined with beautification and strength like two lovers’ legs that held one another.



A few hours passed as the planned furnishings were carried in and arranged. My parlor transformed from its usual state of opulence to a lush, sensual comfort. Crimson curtains hung from a chandelier of multicolored paper lanterns that dripped from the center of the room. Chocolate, butterscotch, and tangerine mache painted a kaleidoscope of hues across the silk tapestries that created a tent of cherry. The heavy fabric was held upon the ceiling and walls with strategically placed fasteners that displayed a ruby in the center of a golden sun. Rounded pillows of tucked silk matched the colors of the lanterns, lining the room until they met into a precipice of lofted cushion. Their height reaching high enough for those seated around the darkwood table to lean back against them.



Thin, golden pillars of candles rose from the bouquet of pillows, lit downward in cascades, like a flamed waterfall. The same gold dangled from the ceilings, in the form of chains as delicate as lace. Each chain was held in one place, to enhance the tented aesthetic.







The darkwood table was lightly decorated, with only a tea kettle and two cups. Each cup had gold trimming that appeared as if real petals were sketched into the curve of the glass. Turquoise centers blossomed within the embellishments upon a base of cream-hued porcelain. A few short steps led to the table, with two incense burners hanging from a twirled, bronze holder on either side of the raised flooring.



Now, awaiting the parade, I lounged against the pillows that created a half-circle divan around the low table. One knee was bent, exposing my bronzed skin and the hint of gold henna that trailed up my inner thigh. My dress contrasted from the rest of the room, a planned encounter for the eyes of those I would meet soon. The chiffon held against my curves, now brought more pronounced from motherhood. With the gown being the length down past my ankles, a generous portion of fabric would trail behind me if I would walk within it. The neckline exposed my collar bones and a gentle amount of bosom, leaving much to be discovered. Just below the breast line, a bronze broach with an engraving of a rose held bunched fabric together. Henna could be seen, subtly, beneath the chiffon fabric, though it ended just below my chest. Chiffon continued down my arms, loosely, creating easy sleeves that had a split in one side, revealing one side of my arm.



I let my curls lay naturally, proudly today, though they were tamed softly by the experts at my personal hammam. The only jewelry I wore was a petite nose ring and a small gemstone on my forehead a shade of blue two steps lighter than my dress.



Recent events had been difficult and my devoted husband spent many nights working. Although painful, this was agreed upon and necessary. A bitter truth that we accepted when we chose to be together. He, the House’s spymaster, was duty-bound to protect me and Ra Kotu in the face of the Brotherhood of Shame. Nobility had many drawbacks, one of them being that the ones that held your heart, if they shared the same status, were pulled away for business and politics.



I hate sleeping alone. Nightmare after nightmare breaks me awake into a cold sweat, the servants already trying to calm my screams. Calem is held to me so often, so tightly, I am barely able to let him out of my arms to let another hold him. I know I need help in this transition - to feel safe, not so alone.



In the past, I would quickly and flippantly take lovers without much of a second thought. This put me at risk and hurt myself and others, as the hastened pace usually had a cost. My addiction to that sweet nectar that I still sell to others had turned me into a woman without much forethought. Not anymore.



After a discussion with Aminatu, we decided that I would need to find others to fill the void that she often left. While discussions of partners was still on the table, we currently settled on hiring professional staff. I owned a business of high-price courtesans, after all. This was no brothel, no. They did not flirt in a tavern setting and then pull a temporary lover into a paid room. Each relationship was settled with contracts through the Madame before any private contact occurred. In addition, each courtesan was more than just a lover. They each had trained in different specialities outside of love-making, so each was talented, intellectual, creative, and unique.



Today, I would meet those that the Madame chose for me as possibilities. A parade of Morwha’s blessings that I was eager to partake of, like a picnic of fruit ripe for the plucking. I had very strict needs for this relationship - someone who could be emotional support, someone who could provide laughter and companionship, and someone who could experience sensual love with me, when I was ready. With intimate relations, my appetite did not sequester after I conquered my addiction, my decisions and inhibitions just wisened and matured. The Madame had a list of my requests of that nature as well.



One by one, gentleman filtered into the room to greet me. Each had around twenty minutes to persuade me. For, while they worked at the Fig they were contracted by various wealthy partners, when I called them they would be exclusive to me and no other. This kept nature would provide them with the comforts of some of the wealthiest men or women they entertained before.



The first three were up to the standards of the Fig, but not to my liking. The first was an attractive, lean Heliopolite man who performed an erotic dance. While it drew my eye, I was looking for more substance. While in the past, with my addiction, I was quick to flame, now I was slow to burn. Which, I think is the best way.



The second gentleman was a hefty Anta. Stronger than most I had seen. I think he could pick up and carry at least five of me. This was a bit overwhelming, especially with his very forward flirtations. His hand was already on my knee and whispers of how pleasured I would be met my ear. While alluring, seducing me takes much more effort. I play coy, where the build to even the first touch must have be wanting.



Then, an average-height Human with dark skin and long, braided hair entered the room. You could mistake him for Heliopolite, I think. He was well spoken, just sitting with me and drinking tea. I will admit, I almost chose him. Conversation, companionship, and substance. He had all of this. But, there was something lacking. I was unsure anything more than friendship could develop. This was only a twenty-minute meeting, so surely I could not assume something so quickly, but the Madame told me to trust my instincts.



Finally, a half-Zarian, half-Alv entered the room. A sweep of blond hair fell over his brow, shielding one of his eyes that was the hue of a fresh blue day. He was larger than an average Zarian, a mixture of their toned physique and a Anta’s masculine presence. He wore a casual suit, something that breathed. Nothing revealing like the first two men, as if I wanted to digest them right there.



Politely, he stopped a few paces before me, bowing and introducing himself, “Sabien Volclain, my Sheikh.” His voice was fluid, smooth, and charming. I knew right then that he could be taken to public meetings as my escort just by the humble, albeit strong way he held himself.



He waited for me to speak. Which, was already different than the last few men. They were in a hurry to use their twenty minutes. Even more curious, Sabien held a book in one hand. An odd thing to bring to a short meeting when you wished to impress the lady to hire you as a courtesan. I was intrigued.



With a flourish of my wrist, I welcomed him to sit by me. The divan was expansive, so his choice in distance of seating was an important tell, “Please, call me Taliset, Sabien. Join me?”



His response was patient, though his use of my name was immediate, “I would be honored, Taliset.” The way he said my name, I could feel it on his tongue.



I had already read the resume of each of the gentleman, so I knew their specialities, what they did in their off time, and other details. His intimate list of qualities fulfilled my desires perfectly. He was a single man, who preferred it that way, for most of his earnings went towards building a library and personal collection. He was an intellect, played cello, and expert swordsman.







He chose a seat that would place one person between us. A respectable distance, which was well chosen. His knees turned towards me, indicating interest. One of his arms lifted to drape over the pillowed backing of the divan, his posture as casual as mine was. This immediately relaxed me, for he was able to set me at ease and be professional at the same time.



It was him that spoke again next, for I was lost in watching him and thinking of him with a cello between his legs and a sword in his hand. I was taught to be an expert in reading the expressions of others, and he was calm and collected, “Taliset, how is today going for you?”



I couldn’t help but blink and smile. I was completely caught off guard by such a basic question to be used as his temptation. My response was just as laid-back as he was, “It is going well, though, somewhat overwhelming.”



The news of my capture, return, and new baby was quite known. In the past, I most likely would have paid for the most sexual, forward man. Now, I was scared. Trapped. And I had no idea what I needed in a courtesan, not really. I had my list, but none of it seemed to matter after all that happened. Suddenly, static noise filled my ear as if waves were crashing over and over against the same beach. Rushing horses, their hoofbeats louder and louder.



His voice steadied the water and pulled back the reins, “I can imagine. That is why, Taliset,” Again, he used my name, “I am going to read to you. Just read to you.”



My hand was shaking, elbow bent so two of my fingers was touching my cheekbone. In an attempt to distract from my obvious troubles, I slid my hands over the fabric that formed the cushion beneath us.



Reaching over, Sabien took my hand. Not a forceful touch, a guiding one, “Taliset, close your eyes.”



I did exactly as he said. And there, for the next fifteen minutes, he read to me. A story of peace, serenity found on a mountain-top where the wind was beneath my arms and the strong stone cradled me safely. Birds of blue flew above and over me, singing songs of poetry. And the sun, rose, once more.



About ten minutes into the reading, my heart was a slow, steady pace. I know he told me to close my eyes, but I couldn’t help but open them just a touch. He caught my eyes immediately, reading as if he had memorized or written the story himself. Silently, he gave me permission to look with a crook of his mouth upwards on one side. Just a touch, not enough for someone who was versed in minute expressions to see, but I did.



As his fingers stroked the page to turn it, my eyes were transfixed on skin to paper. He caressed the words as if he loved them, beckoning them to life to circle me like the life-giving winds of the mountains. A lock of his loose hair fell before his eye again. I had caught him pushing it behind his ear from time to time, but he left it as it was, now.



When his mouth parted in different shapes to speak the words, his tongue pushed against his lips and the roof of his mouth. His eyes dropped to the page, then back to my eyes. It was like this until, for the last minute, he didn’t leave my gaze. And then, I knew, he wrote it and read it just for me.



My mouth was wet and my throat was dry at the same time. I reached for my tea as he finished, letting the hot liquid soothe the ache as he asked, “Did you like it, Taliset?”



And then and there, I decided to sign the contract just as I said the words, “Yes, Sabien. I liked it very much.”





_________________________________________




There were dark days, yes. Dark days in the past when the desert clouded over to give way to a torrent of rain and thunder. When the sand that had been ever-present, without hope of a drop to drink, was flooded into pools of messy muck. On those days, the vibrancy that brought the desert heat to bloom its exotic flowers, sprout its tropical fruits, and sing it's torrid song was dulled into a hum. At first, relief was felt that water came to bless the drought. Then the storms would not subside - washing away beaches, drowning the life that the usual heat beckoned forth.



There were dark days, yes. But not like these. When no sunlight was allowed inside her tomb that buried her away from the life she once knew. Hidden in the deepest dungeons, to which of all persons, she knew the best that she could not free herself simply with shovel or strength. There was no way out. No relief.



A letter had arrived from a Communion member some days before Taliset's taking, pleading for her help in the political arena. Begging for Taliset to travel to their smaller village to offer advice and support, the letter was desperate in tone and verbiage. With Aminatu away on another job, the letter was investigated by another Falcon of the House, to which spoke their approval of the Communion member requesting her appearance.



As many of her former guard had taken their leave, the ones who attended to her on her journey through the hot sands were new to her ways. Still, she placed her trust in them as they traveled to assist the pains of the Communion member.



Halfway along, once their path had taken them far from any highly trafficked road, what seemed to be creatures made of thistle and sand rose from the tumbling hills. The men had been laying in wait, concealing themselves expertly with prepared garments. The guards were taken one by one, with Taliset pulling a dagger from beneath her dress that sat strapped to her thigh to defend herself.



Without the proper training of a Head Guard, the men fell to the ground and stained the white sand red. In their blood Taliset fought, making swift work of two men prior to her capture. The first she cut deep on his inner thigh, thrusting upwards with a rough slash that tore through the artery. A fountain of red ribbons burst from the seams of skin as the man's knees buckled beneath him. The second grabbed hold of both of her arms, trying to gain control of the fiery Redhead. Twas' his mistake, for since he was the same height as her, she swung her head back to crash into his own. The man stumbled backwards, giving her enough time to spin upon the red carpet and thrust the dagger upwards into his throat.



Even Taliset, the noble who feigned poor skills at any combat, was a serpent with a golden dagger. But the "Jewel of At-Rabiah" was surely not enough for a team of armed, vicious men. She was only her in the end, after all. Three grabbed her all at once - one twisting her shoulder out of socket with a wrenching twist that even made vermin hide in their burrows while another threw her fist forward into Taliset's eye and cheek to bring a sudden end to Taliset's consciousness.



Hours later, Taliset woke in the darkest of hells. A hell she created for others to endure at the end of her wrath if they should meet it. The dungeon cell skillfully hidden far beneath the upper floors of the Inn, in the bowels of the beast. She was where the worst of her enemies were kept - those intended for torture in cases where persuasion was needed. The location she pretended often was not there, as to avoid thinking of the difficult decisions she must make to inflict such pain on another to protect whom she called Family.



Her red curtain of hair was echoed by a sticky mess of blood down her forehead alongside cuts that still lay open upon her arm from the skirmish prior. She needn't touch her cheek to know what lay there, for the swollen, flowering bruise screamed of it's presence around one of her eyes. One of her soft, pouty lips was now angry and puffy with a small cut that broke through the coral-hue. And her shoulder twisted horribly too far in one direction in desperate need to be set back into place. The same purple that adorned her eye circled the disjointed limb, leaving her like a broken rag doll on the unforgiving, wooden cot. Thankfully, using torn cloth and pieces of clothing, she managed to set her shoulder back in place with great effort that nearly exhausted her for a week after.



She curled into a ball, in far too much pain too move. Far to hazy in mind to even think, with a headache and concussion from when they must have hit her to keep her sleeping. The world is a blur of nothing but darkness. A small door on the bottom of the wall that barely let a few inches of air inside the dreadful room would open occasionally, slipping a meager amount of food and drink inside.



And there she remain. Alone. Only darkness to keep her company. Had it been weeks? Months? How long had it been since another soul had been before her?



The Jewel of At-Rabiah now a buried treasure, never to be seen again.



__________



Away as her nest was stolen from under her, the Huntsmaster yet became aware of what had transpired prior to her return. When she did return, she saw from a distance the metaphorical ruin of his home, and the very real savages that had taken the place of his family. Through waves of despair and disbelief, she racked her mind for action, a response. Countermeasure. Though anger clouded her at first, in the end she gave a last ditch effort. A long shot if there ever was one.



Through grim silence and the cool of night, the Spymaster gained entry of the Rousseau Inn through perhaps only he now knew of. In the dark, she found the paths that took one inside the very walls of the old stone structure. As she crawled through spaces filled more of dust than stale air, she could hear from all sides of the intruders infesting the nest. Soon, she heard the supplanters themselves, alone and in talks with one another, but in voices too low or deep to discern through rock. She pressed on.



After much time in the dark, she finally found himself at her destination. Almost praying, she'd hoped Taliset was still alive, but either way, she could not get to the dungeons by way of secrets. Instead, she stopped just outside of the drug lord's private chamber- with the gruff voices of goons and the beast himself echoing from within. She stayed in wait there for some time, with her keen ear pressed to the cold stones between he and his enemy. And so the Spymaster did as she does. Listen, and wait...



After another hour or more in the cramped, dry space, Aminatu was rewarded for his patience, as the Scimitar barked with a laugh, "Don't forget to send someone down there to feed the bitch soon; I want her alive... mostly." With great relief, the Enoch sighed and slackened her stance. Taliset was alive, if at least for now. After a few deep breaths to ready himself- which was in truth, not enough- she activated the hidden release to the secret exit, and stepped from the safety of her shadows into the light of the room, behind the brutish Scimitar.



The two men with her gasped and swore as they quickly found their weapons and pointed them at the unusually calm 'visitor', who regarded them with nothing more than a note in his head. His eyes were only on the Scimitar. The Heliopolite met his gaze, clearly surprised, but obviously intrigued as well. Through narrowed eyes, she said to the Alv, after looking him up and down, "You have ten swishes of an oxe's tail, pale-skin." To the surprise of those at his side. They looked a bit eager to cut down the winged Enoch, but nevertheless obeyed the unspoken order to wait. Aminatu wasted no more time.



"I am- or, as of now, was- the head of the Khi’fika empire's intelligence network. I seek to keep my position, and am willing to prove my loyalty to do so. You'll never be able to get all my files, my contacts, or my operatives. Not without me. I know more about this place and what goes on here than you shall find save the Lady herself, and..." he paused then in his verbal, traitorous oath. It was almost like a bad dream, behind the dry eyes and even expression, but outside was only added inflection to his final statement. "...I know how to make her talk."



He dared not move his eyes from the Scimitar. Every muscle fiber in his body tried to seize as the words left his mouth, though a purposeful lie they were. After a long silence in which heartbeats were the only sound, a heavy laugh split the air between the man and the Enoch. Having conjured a cruel, but genuine smile, the Scimitar finally responded.



"Is that so, spy? I will not lie- you make a good case, and you had the stones to sneak in here by yourself. Maybe not so smart, but that's more guts than these louts have." He punctuated the insult with a smack to one man's chest beside him, but soon moved on, as he slowly stepped near the Enoch.



"You'll get your chance to prove yourself, but not yet. For now, you'll follow them to your 'new quarters'..." he laughed again in sickening distaste, the sound lingering in the air even as he waved for the two guards to seize the Enoch and take her away, bound at the wrists.



As they led him down to the small, single cells, Aminatu looked on with masked sorrow at the emptiness of the once vibrant inn. Signs of struggle lined every wall and every corner, and here and there a servant cowered in the corner, wounded in some way more often than not. When they finally got to the 'room', the guards stood him in the doorway and untied his wrists, before roughly forcing her inside the modest cell and slamming the door with a resounding 'click' of the lock.



Aminatu took a small look at her surroundings, as she idle rubbed the skin frayed by the rope. It was a small, square stone cell, with a small bed, an even smaller table, and a broken dresser being the only furnishing. The 'room' was for the less heinous offenders to the House and the Communion. A middle ground, between common, simple 'fines' and the torture/solitary of the lower dungeons. She sat on the edge of the cot and dreaded what task of proving her pseudoboss would have her do. She would do whatever it took to get Taliset free, but the swirling fears of the price to be paid kept her far from sleep. She remained there, on the edge of the cot, in the roaring silence of thought, until the guards returned.



In the dim light from but single torch out of view, she too, knew not how long she waited for a soul to appear.





____________________________





The darkness has a way of crawling beneath your skin, like tiny insects burrowing inside only to strain, pull, and beg for their way out. As if Silence exists in a physical form with his lover Stillness coiling around him, both turning their hollow eyes towards you to force you into their indelible embrace. Here, where black obscurity is your only friend, is where Taliset remains.



Where whispers have whispers.

And their secrets tells lies.

Pretty, little lies with waking dreams of freedom and saviors.

Deceit in the most horrid of fashions.



Four weeks had passed. An entire month of the shadow's solitude. The dress of which she wore when she was taken now a mere slip of torn, sheer chiffon adorned with the stigma and shame of blood and dirt. She held the aroma of the room - human filth that was only offered relief when she could trade the small bucket for a new one when the meager breach in the wall opened with food and drink.



Despite the knowledge she possessed that there was no way out, Taliset had attempted to claw her way out from every dark corner within the cramped dungeon cell. Beneath the iron chains on the wall that were stained with rust and blood. Under the rickety, wooden cot that held etchings of former prisoners. A name even. Two.



Ja'quim

Vaylani





Long days, nights - deceivingly both or either here where the sun and moon did not exit - had been spent with Taliset searching her mind for whom those individuals were. Their crimes, their fate. Had they deserved this, as she did not? Had it been her, her father, her father's father.... Which generation had taken freedom from the poor souls whose blood painted the stone walls with that horrible crust of red?



In the end, Taliset wrote their story in her mind. Stories of how it was for good reason, that they were here. They must have been worse than she, and her family. Surely, they had committed crimes so heinous that even those who worked for her had shaken their heads. Guilt is a curious creature, illusive and devious. Like a mornings' fog that buries even the sand in its mysteries.





Anything was better than when her thoughts focused on who she had lost. Circling round and around again of who had departed from her House prior. What if they had stayed? Would she be here now? How did she not see this coming? Were any of them still alive? And her spymaster, dear Aminatu, had she fled in time?



There were nights she cursed the names of those who vanished, scratching her long, ragged nails into her skin out of anger. Other nights she cried for them silently, thankful they had were safe and shamefully pleading for them to return for her in one breath - careful not to ever let her captors see a tear.





Pretty little lies with waking dreams of freedom and saviors.



____________





Only few days passed for Aminatu in her cell, instead of weeks. Though her captors at first enjoyed taunting him from behind the bars and throwing his food at her, by the end they'd grown bored with it. Through all four days, she hadn't made a sound. She did not respond to, nor even acknowledge them. She just slept when night fell, ate when the food came, and sat in silence. Years alone in the wild had prepared her for far worse than what these simple, cruel men could dish out.



By the fifth day, the Scimitar himself had finally reappeared at the cell door. As her guards unlocked it, he ordered with a bemused, yet also curious tone, "Get up, spy. It is time for your test..."



With nothing else offered in explanation, Aminatu could only follow in silence. They did not bind her hands this time, but as they wound through the stone halls, she realized they didn't need to. She stopped counting how many guards they passed after 35...



Before long, they were at ground level, near the servant quarters. The area still looked looted, like an unruly, thieving tempest had swept up all items of value, monetary or otherwise. They led her into one of the rooms, which held yet another group of armed men. But in between them, shackled and hunched on their knees, was a number of young men and women, with a few wisened elders among them. Servants, which, under the House, had the chance to become something more. And here they sat, in chains.



They all seemed to gasp and shift in unease, or excitement, or surprise as Aminatu entered the dimly lit room. The fear in their eyes stopped him in his tracks. They were all looking at her. She recognized nearly all of them, most by one name or another. Though they said nothing for fear of correction, the looks no doubt pleaded with his heart to save them. She swallowed, before someone from behind pushed her forwards, until she was standing in front of the whole room. The Scimitar stood next to her, with his hands folded behind his back, and a haughty, disinterested expression on his face. Distantly, he seemed to ask of the room,



"Where, does the Lady, keep, her money?"



At the very sound of his voice, the people cowered, and some began to whimper. Clearly, he had asked this question of them before. A girl in front squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to make a sound- but to no avail. The vile Heliopolite smiled thinly, and leaned down to grip her chin roughly. She tried to shake her head and pull away, but he refused to let her do more than flinch.



"Where is the treasure?" He repeated. She did not answer.



"Where, is, the treasure?" He repeated again, this time with annoyance creeping into his voice. Again, she clamped her mouth shut and tried to shake her head, as if attempting to dispel him as a terrible dream.



"WHERE?!" He shouted at her then, suddenly full of rage. He'd jerked her chin upwards as he asked the question, and all she could do was cry and try to silence herself to whimpers. The Scimitar crouched, as Aminatu and the rest watched, and situated them both so they were looking at each other's faces. She trembled under his touch, too fearful to resist. With an unsettlingly 'kind' expression, he said in a quiet voice barely above a whisper, but audible to the whole room.



"Tell me where to find the Lady Rousseau's treasure, and I promise you shall not come to harm."



She shook in his hands, and closed her eyes again, as she muttered out the faintest reply, "I don't... know..."



This time, the Scimitar's face did not darken, nor did he grow outwardly angry. He just stared at her, holding her face not far from his own. He smelled of opium and wine, and it sickened her, but all she could do was avoid his gaze.



Finally, he released her and rose to his feet, where his oddly kind expression was transformed by the light into a menacing leer. His hand lifted to brush against Aminatu's chest, as he said simply and softly,



"Kill her."



At his words, a guard extended the pomel of a curved dagger to the Enoch. The girl could hardly contain her emotion, as tears and other things streaked down her face and dropped off her reddened chin with each shuddering, halting breath. Aminatu looked from her to the dagger, then to the faces before him. All eyes were on her again. In that moment, she was god.



She fought down the lump in his throat, as the Scimitar whispered maddeningly in his ear, "Do it..." He reached for the blade with a clammy hand. The girl whimpered again. No breath was had but hers. Aminatu brought the blade under her chin, her hand shaking slightly. She cried, the steel edge against her skin. Every heart in the room seemed to stop. With a face like a ghost, she mouthed one word.



And then...



The glass broke. The stone cracked. The heart snapped back from the edge of death in a horrible roar to the ear, as red life spilled from her neck at a ginger tug of the knife against skin. She gasped, gargled, sputtered and coughed for breath, suddenly drowning, suffocating, and fainting away dead in the same moment. As her vision blurred and the whole room groaned, Aminatu shut her eyes, though he could still feel the blood pooling at her boots. The only smile belonged to the Scimitar, and sat beneath glittering orbs for eyes as he watched the life drain from her with glee...



The next she knew, Aminatu were on a fine bed, in a fine room, all alone. It was as if her eyes had not opened at all. She could not see, until now. She could not remember being led away to these lavish quarters, still guarded by a locked door with a man in front of it. Even now, all she could see was her face, not the expensive landscape on the opposite wall.



Guilt indeed was a curious thing. Where for another it was fleeting as memories of the time before, it gripped her like an ebony vice. It leeched at her heart, body, and mind, and she was left both weightless and impossibly heavy; blind, though how clearly she saw her in his mind all the same. Now her tears fell down golden cheeks, as she repeated the one word soundlessly. The last word she ever heard.



Delilah. It was her name.



_______________





"Whatever you do, my Jewel, do not give them what they want.

They can and will take much from you - your body and mind.

But they cannot take your spirit. The moment you give them that..."





Liam Rousseau pauses, looking down to his young daughter as her lessons of endurance with manipulation and torture began. This was not a moment a father is proud of, having to put his daughter through such trials. But if not he - they would. And at the age of eleven, it was time.



"...They win.

And they must never, ever win."





________



Her father's robust, determined voice echoed in her mind as each hourless day and night passed by. She knew they would come, once they thought she was good and ready. Like a fruit finally ripe for the picking after weeks of solitary confinement. It had been at least six weeks now, or was it eight? Either way, they would be coming soon. With each break of the silence, she woke from her sleepless nightmares in wait.



Then finally. The day arrived. Heavy stone of which created a sliding doorway that had separated her from freedom now slowly inched open to reveal rough, black leather steel-toed boots on one man and the cleanest, shiniest deep chocolate-hued boots that any dungeon pit had been accustomed.





"Whatever you do, my Jewel, do not give them what they want."



In tattered cloth, now horribly discolored from filth and suit, Taliset remained in the corner with a hateful, vacant expression. No smile or frown, no tears or laughter - just a void of black as if the depths had consumed her. A distinct Heliopolite voice sounded far before Taliset's jade eyes had enough time to travel up to the source's face.









"Grab the chains overhead. String up her hands and feet. Now."









The voice was without mercy or patience, demanding and rude even to whomever was following his orders. Purposefully, Taliset avoided the Heliopolite's eyes completely. As she also did with the owner of weathered, dark-grey hands of what could only be a large Nozgor due to the size and shape of whom tugged her up off the ground with a forceful yank.



She had been walking, in the dead of night, and doing what strength exercises she could to at least keep her able and walking despite the lengthy torture of starvation and solitude. But still, her legs gave way underneath her as the Nozgor dragged her to where iron chains hung from the ceiling to mirror similar ones that would hold her feet to the floor in place. The metal clanked with sound that brought a wince to her expression, such noise not being granted to her ears in weeks.



Surprisingly, Taliset did not fight as she was strapped with chains on her ankles and hands, with her arms outstretched high above her as if reaching the sky. In her knowledge, she knew it would do no good. For the two that were in here, there would only be four or five more outside. Then three by the outside door to the upper dungeons. And so on. She would only waste energy of which was precious to her survival.



The chains were tight, cutting into her wrists and ankles with unforgiving grip that was surely to leave bruises and cuts if left on for more than a mere ten minutes. They were designed as such, as was the placement of the chains to cause great discomfort to the person locked within the metal bindings. Her muscles stretched and ached from lack of use, as it was already a struggle to remain standing as to not cause more friction between metal and skin.



Taliset held her emotionless stare at the ground, disallowing their contentment at scowling with pride for her to see. No, she would not grant them that benefit. They would have to take it.



And they did, with the Nozgor grabbing onto her chin forcefully with his gawdy hands. From his shiny leather boots to his face, the reason he kept his armor so impeccable was obvious - to create some distraction from the horrible marring that was the rest of his face. Burn marks covered the whole of his face, creating rippling of red and dark blue upon his grey Nozgor skin. Long scars split his lip into a permanent smile to bare fangs far past his teeth, causing a pooling of drool to catch near the muscle and dribble down his face when he talked. He would wipe at this when he could, but was far too distracted by the Redhead before him.



The spit flew as he spoke, that splitting grin growing more.



"Well here's the pretty little Jewel. Covered in her own shit. Ya' ain't so pretty anymore."



Still, his hands groped her, reaching immediately for what was not his as his large hand lunged forward to cup her womanhood with a harsh hand and edged nails that dug into her thighs.



"We are going to get to know one another real well, whore."





The steel-toed boots spoke, from where they were standing with about twelve inches apart and pointed directly at the handsy Nozgor and Taliset. His tone was condescending, but elicited a prompt response of obeying his words from the Nozgor just after.







"Set up the tools."







Dropping both hands from Taliset's tired form, the Nozgor stepped to the doorway to assist a few others who clambered inside. A long table was brought in, enough to hold what ended up to be a long stretch of fabric that held secrets inside. Both the Heliopolite and Taliset were silent, Taliset providing the Nozgor with no reaction prior and no fear now as the fabric unfurled to reveal devices of torture - knives of various size, tooth-pullers, cinchers, and prongs to keep things open.



Two voices sang inside Taliset's head. One was her own, full of guilt with recognizing what the tools were made to do. Holding back the voices of those she had sent here. The second, again, was her father Liam's.







"Whatever you do, my Jewel, do not give them what they want."





__________





"Yes, Aminatu, I understand 'the chances of it happening', but we are not talking about that-"





She sat on the bed, and stared at the wall.





"In the event it DOES happen- I need to know that YOU know what to do."





She blinked, eyes less than dry, but remained still otherwise.





"I understand, my Lady..."





"-Do you?"





"I do."





"Good... I told you. My father trained me for this..."





She shut her eyes fully as the memory fades, only to play over again. For hours now, she sat on the cot and replayed the discussion over and over in her head. How Taliset lectured her on the lessons her father taught her, as much as he detested the subject. In her mind, what Ami knew through conviction and loyalty was somehow different than what she had learned the hard way. She was blind to her hypocrisy. That is, until now.



Every now and then, another voice rang in her ear, from an earlier time.





"Ah, and that in lies the greatest barrier to people like you and I, Aminatu. Our fatal weakness, as some might say. I like to think of it as-"





"-'As our greatest challenge'. Yes, I've heard it all before, Master."





"Oh have you, now? Yes, our greatest challenge. Where duty and reason conflict. Where, heart and mind disagree. Where morality and practicality... fall apart. That's the Balance we strive for, and you know this well. But let me tell you something, my boy. The only way to fail in these moments, the only way LOSE this Balance- is to do nothing. You must always make a choice, for there is always one to be made. Some will hate your choice, and others shall praise it, but what matters in the end is your commitment to that choice. If you move forward with regret in your heart, you'll find the past to be an impossible anchor."





"Why do you speak in such riddles, Master?"





"Riddles? They are not riddles, dear girl. You know part of what we teach is to see things from all sides, all perspectives. To speak in such a way fosters understanding, and I have told you this before. Remember: 'All things are different-'"





"'-All things are the same.'"







The words of the past rang continuously in her hollow mind. She found them now both invaluable and worthless to the weight he felt in her chest, not to mention the fear that racked it.



Her efforts, gruesome as they were, had so far paid off. She’d earned a measure of trust in the Scimitar, however small, at the cost of Delilah's life. So they moved her, from her locked cell to a more spacious, and less obvious prison. Though her door had changed from metal bars to furnished wood, armed guards still watched her at all hours. It was progress. But the costs were quickly outweighing the gains.



Earlier in the day, just a few hours before now, the Scimitar had come to her, and told him they were going to begin "interrogating" the prisoner. His sickening smile said the rest for him. The prisoner was Taliset. And the interrogation, torture.



So now, she sat, alone with the knowledge that someone she cared for- someone she loved, more than any- was coming to harm. Purposeful, deliberate, unspeakable harm. And she could do nothing. Not without breaking her facade. Despite every gut instinct she possessed, the only way she could save her was to do nothing. It was a lesson she knew, a lesson she used in practice in times before. But they did not compare. Nothing, it seemed, could have prepared her for this. This was different...



And like a viper, her actions bit and drained her heart. It stifled her, constricted her breath, beat, and thought. Aminatu swore she'd never hurt her, but now, by her choice of indecision, she was being hurt. And the guilt was eating Aminatu alive.



And Delilah... Poor, innocent Delilah, who had paid the ultimate price, and never knew why. In the moment, she knew he had to, but now, she too plagued him. Even in death. Her gamble, her horrible, foolhardy gamble had killed her, all for the off chance that she could save her beloved from her fate. The only guarantee, the only certainty, was that the girl would never know if it was worth it.



A clear head would tell her that it is done now, and cannot be changed. That her fate, had she not put the knife to her neck, would be worse than death under the Scimitar. That it was better she died to her and her cause, than some uncaring goon for sport. But the calm, collected, mindful Spymaster's head was anything but clear. She murdered her, and right now, when she and Taliset both needed her, she began to fall apart.



In silence, she sobbed. For the dead, the chained, and the lost. For herself, the past, and the dismal future. For she was caught between her heart and her mind, and was slowly falling into the trap that would be her undoing. Nothingness. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to curl in a ball and fade away. To have no more choices. To stagnate. To be... nothing. No man was ever made to endure times such as these. So she thought, and so she believed.



Through the downward spiral, she fell. Every step on the way was another ache to her heart, a mark on her soul. Slowly, the Enoch began to unravel, alone with the worst enemy imaginable- the self.



But she had never cried before. She had never been moved, by either herself, others, or fate so far past her breaking point. Not until now had she ever been unable to shoulder the weight with dignity. She had never experienced the healing that crying can bring.



When her tear ducts ran dry, and her insides throbbed to numbness, she lifted herself from the fetal position she had taken and put her feet back on solid ground. Though it shuddered, she breathed deep, as the fog began to clear. Slowly, she began to realize his selfishness. She was in too deep. Too much had been spent to get here, and there was too much on the line to quit or give up.



Delilah was not worth nothing, and nor was Taliset. But they were worth the wait. So she waited. For the next handhold, the next leg up. The next choice.



This was different. This was the same.



__________________________________________



"Whatever you do, my Jewel, do not give them what they want.

They can and will take much from you - your body and mind.

But they cannot take your spirit. The moment you give them that..."





Liam Rousseau pauses, looking down to his young daughter as her lessons of endurance with manipulation and torture began. This was not a moment a father is proud of, having to put his daughter through such trials. But if not he - they would. And at the age of eleven, it was time.



"...They win.

And they must never, ever win."





After so much blood spills and is left uncleaned on cold, dark stone, it leaves patterns of stains in a variety of hues. Some the deepest mahogany, that bring circles to create a base paint upon grey the cool, tan stone. Then others a strong Merlot, fresher by only a week or so. Still, some are a bright crimson, almost like a red candy. Art most recently made, a lattice work of splatters from recent pain.



The walls must hold a symphony by now, sounds of agony from weeks of slice after slice tearing the desert flower to pieces. Each time, a healer patching up her darker bronzed skin as if she was born again. A horrible game - splitting every seam only to quickly sew the parts back together again. Each new rip to the fabric of skin grabbing greedily at a part of her soul.



Their arsenal of 'equipment' first revealed to Taliset weeks ago, were now all worn from use. Every moment, even to the point where she was restricted of sleep for days at a time until she was delirious at best, she was breached. But still, no names nor places left her lips. She remained silent, ever protecting each secret that not only her, but every family member held.



Now, the Shiekh lay upon frozen floor, her skin only partway traveled down the usual path of mutilation that she had experienced many times over by now. This last occurrence they kept her awake for almost six days without sleep, to the point where she collapsed with exhaustion and overwhelming pain. They allowed her to sleep for the past hour, talking over her as they stood nearby. Pillars of vile torture still watching over their broken doll.







"Weeks of this shit, and this cunt won't talk. Fuck being civil. I'm not waiting any longer. Even those fucking potions didn't work."





"What do you want me to do?"





"Break the bitch."





The Nozgor’s eyes flared open wide upon hearing his commander's decision, knowing full well what he implied. The Nozgor had been begging for weeks while the Heliopolite repeatedly denied the request. As if Taliset was in a gladiator's arena, vicious dogs barking behind a gate to be let free. Held back for weeks, and finally the door of the gate is pulled open. Just like the dogs, the Nozgor snarled. His grotesque mouth, his permanent smile spreading even further.



Boots stomped over to her, Nozgorian arms reaching down to pull at her as he tugged at both of her arms. He violently attempted to stir her from her sleeping nightmare to return her to her waking one. Taliset's eyes fluttered open and she coughed, sputtering out blood that had gathered in her mouth from a few broken teeth. As the Nozgor flung her over her nude, bloody form over his shoulder and carried her over to the old, wooden cot, she roughly came more into the present.



Having missed their conversation just prior, having been needy for slumber, Taliset reacted and moved somewhat defensively as she was carried. Her attempts to hit on his back for him to release her were laughable, hardly any strength left within her. Each flex of her arm and extension to punch him was slow-moving and practically extinct. A large wince pushed forth from her swollen lips when her back slapped against the wooden cot, the sound of the wooden legs creaking her greeting.



The Nozgor used his knee to force her thighs open, hands immediately on his buckle. Clanks and sounds of leather sliding from its confines brought Taliset's jade gaze to his waistline to watch his giant Nozgor hands. It was then, just then, that she knew. Even before the Nozgor grumbled out in sickening glee of his excitement, breathing and panting above her like a rabid dog who was finally getting a meal.



"Tell me you want it."



Taliset's face contorted in newfound grief, shaking her head in disbelief of what was about to happen. As if she had a savior in the man, she finally locked eyes with the Heliopolite who stood over them, smirking.



"You'll talk after he's done with you, bitch. He'll be begging you not to. Because you're his until you give me what I want."



The Nozgor could hardly get his pants down, too excited to have full control of his grubby hands. Taliset shook her head, tears flowing down as she croaked out words, having not spoken in weeks, "Don't..."



This only earned a hearty laugh from the pair in the room, to which she begged again, her vulnerability showing, "Please, don't."



"Then tell me what I want to know. Where are the rest of them?"



More than ever, now, in this moment - Family mattered. Her love for each and every one of them mattered. A choice, to be fully broken again and again or to give in. To be humiliated and abused, mistreated and made to feel like nothing... Or look out for herself.





10.



Duty or misery. The choice had to be made, as the Nozgor’s hands grabbed hold of one of her breasts.



9.



Selfless or selfish. His body laid against hers, weighing her down into the cot as he slapped himself against her thigh to goad her.



8.



Let him take her or curse them for leaving her here. Nozgor lips were upon her neck, letting his fangs probe at one of her wounds.



7.



Love or hate. Her thighs were forcefully opened even more, as his hands touched her in the most private of places.



6.



Trust or abandonment. She cried out for him to stop, a repeated 'no' adding to the symphony of sounds.



5.



Did they even care? Were they thinking about her? His hands wrapped around his own desperate length, slowly bringing himself closer to her.



4.



Did they blame her? For their actions? For her actions? She felt the tip of him graze upon her petals, causing her to scream out and spit in his face.



3.



This was all her fault. She failed them. She wouldn't fail them now. His fist met her face, knuckles to cheek.



2.



Did they even care? That she was being broken? Did they look for her? His attention refocused, his manhood threatening to enter her as disgusting words spilled from his wicked smile.



1.



The choice was made.



His hot stench rattled her, over and over. With force. The wooden cot broke. And he still kept going.







"We are going to get to know one another real well, whore."





"Whatever you do, my Jewel, do not give them what they want."



____________





"...I know how to make her talk..."



Words once spoken, by her, and the faces she knew, had become Aminatu's only friends. Her only company. The only constant in her mind, save the mission at hand. The ultimate goal. Now, it was the turn of these words, to play over and over for her.



After being moved and watched for the weeks following Delilah's death, Aminatu's duty and betrayal had finally begun to pay off. Her 'loyalty' to the Scimitar had been put through many more tests, less traumatic and gruesome than the first, but therefore more... navigable. Questions and curiosities, easily answered with lies where truth would not do, and truth where opposite. A winding, and rocky road it was, but against- perhaps all- odds, she had made it.



And now, they were taking the Huntsmaster to see her...





Flanked by guards, and straight as an arrow, the Enoch walked down steps seen only by the wicked or the damned, in perfect silence. The soft soles of her boots made no noise as they passed through the dark, even if they weren't warded and overshadowed by the clank and thump of thugs painted as better things. Trust was not a thing she owned, any longer, and they were there for her in a way they had not been 'before'.



By flickering torch-light, they descended, until at last the final landing came. The lowest level. The darkest dungeons. Only two rooms existed here, and only one of them occupied. Even without the positions of the guards or the soft echoes of whimpers to tell her, she knew which one it was. Aminatu could smell her torment.



Deep as she was in her facade, they no longer needed to push her along; her nose had been turned high days ago, as she took the air of a woman claiming her place. A measure of authority had been returned to her, and thus promised action from the Scimitar should any move be made against her. Unlikely as that was...



So they walked, Aminatu, and one gruff brute down the dim hallway, leaving the other at the landing like a watchful anchor. The stench only grew worse, the further they stepped, as the floor seemed to lengthen the journey just beyond imperception. When the bars, at last, came into view, the Enoch felt her heart stop. Her visage threatened to crack, as a limp, pale-bronze shape appeared. The guard only smirked, and crossed her arms as she shared the view.





"The Nozgor’s been having his way with her. Boss's orders. Damned tart still hasn't cracked yet... hah! More reason to envy the gray bastard though, right?"



The man playfully smacked Aminatu's shoulder at the lewd comment, wearing a licentious smile. She did not respond, instead appearing to fall into the cell herself, for all the attention she paid the man beside him. But his words did reach her, and started again a fire in his heart. She had met the Nozgor before. And now, she had no choice but to imagine what he must have done. To Taliset. To her love.



Anger swelled in her, to heights he had not known before. It was all she could to contain it, but in the end, she failed. Her jaw was grit, her brows twitched in their lowering, and though unblinking and hard as gem stones... a tear, was shed. Had it not been for that final symbol, the final flag waved in front of her face, the guard might not have noticed. But it was, and she did. It did not take long, even for the brute, to put two and two together.



He snapped, and angrily gripped the Enoch’s shoulder, forcing their eyes together. He searched Aminatu's face under wrinkles of condemnation, and decided for himself, before the Enoch could hide it, her guilt.



He spat at her, "You... damned snake! I knew we couldn't trust you. And you just gave yourself away..."



The guard gripped Aminatu tightly, keeping her from escape. He reached down for his knife, perhaps to kill her right then and there; but in the same moment, as a scowl darkened her chiseled face, Aminatu reached for the man's own knife herself. The quicker of the two, she found its handle first, and swiftly placed it in the flesh below the man's jaw.



As the guard fell back clutching his throat, surprise in his eyes and in the gurgles that spouted crimson, Aminatu shouted and spat: "Traitor! Guards!" and alerted the others present, but until now out of earshot.



As they ran over, hands on their weapons, Aminatu pointed at the collapsing and suffocating man, and exclaimed, the anger on her face very real: "A rat! He attempted to kill me, just now. He sought to 'save' the prisoner..." The words left his lips coated in bile and poison, as for once, she found outlet for the rage he felt inside. It was easy to twist it for purpose.



The guard lie gasping on the ground, drowning in his own blood, stuck with his own knife, attempting to warn his fellows of the Enoch that was a serpent. But he had no such luck. Aminatu had stolen his final words. It was there, on the cold, forgotten floor, that he died, his eyes locked in finality with the hateful orbs of caledon fixated on him from above.



As the last bubbles of air escaped, the other guards simply looked up from the body to the Enoch, in clear shock and surprise. Softening her gaze for them, for the moment, she waved them away. "Take this fool's corpse from me, and tell the Scimitar how he met a traitor's end..." Snapping from their delirium, they quickly carried out her order, and dragged the body from the hall, leaving a trail of dark rust in their path.



As they passed from the landing to the stairs and out of view, Aminatu slowly turned again to the occupied cell, and watched the creature therein. Her hands had taken the bars, as her brow similarly met them, because in the commotion that had saved her illusion- shemay have woken Her.



The mission at hand. The ultimate goal…



_________



The laughter of a small child paired with another's, a boy and a girl.

Sounds of feet skipping against sand, gentle waves greeting the beach, and a fire crackling

with a modest sized piece of pork spinning on a small spit. A couple lay next to the fire, a soft

glow from the heat's curtains painting upon their contrasting skin. One, a bi-racial Heliopolite,

her skin a toasty bronze, and the other a pureblooded Enoch, with a gentle gold hue. The passionate fruit

from their love-making, with skin that took half from each of the two colors.



The Huntsmaster lowered her mouth to the woman's ear, pushing her

red hair aside, "I love you, my wife."



Just a family, a small cottage behind them with the warmth that love and years together brings.

Flowers around the door and windows, a path of stones trailing down to the beach, and a

small living area inside could be glanced through the open archway.



Both children clamber over to the couple on the beach, the woman laying in front of the Huntsmaster

in her arms and between her legs. The little boy first, followed by the little girl, both jump in the

lap of the couple. Both shouted, in squeals of joy and comfort, "Momma! Momma! Come in

the water with us!"



Nothing out of the ordinary, no magick, nor any war. Just this.











"A rat! He attempted to kill me, just now. He sought to 'save' the prisoner..."



A voice broke through her waking dream, returning her to her living nightmare. The voice, however, wasn't from the Nozgor that was above her. Wood of the cot had collapsed, crying for her until the bed split in two. Now, Taliset lay beneath her abuser, the broken pieces digging into the skin of her back. The ocean waves, the children's laughter, and the safe arms of her lover had disappeared - only a figment of her imagination. Now, she was but a fragmented Shiekh being forcefully ravaged by a foul-smelling Nozgor .



For some time, she couldn't place the voice, for her terror was too violent. And the only sound that could beg her focus was the 'creek-creek-creek' of the collapsed cot beneath her. Wood continued to howl and beg for her, constant pleas for the continued violation to end. The sound echoed off the walls, more pronounced in her delusional state, as if a record that was clinging to repeat the same short phrase. A Merry-Go-Round with the horrifying tune playing as it pulled you into hell.



That sound, forevermore, would be trapped within Taliset's brain. On lonely nights, in the future, when all was fine, the 'creek-creek-creek' would return, a haunting phantom of her torture. The Shiekh, who was never racist before, would now hear the 'creek-creek-creek' when an Nozgor stepped in her view. Spinning, swirling a reminder that she was stained and now impure. A demon itself, brought to life this very night.



"Take this fool's corpse from me, and tell the Scimitar how he met a traitor's end..."





The voice, it was like peace. Smooth butter. Her hooded eyelids that could barely open despite her desperation revealed recognition - for it was the same voice as in her dream. Taliset sighed, almost with relief, as she closed her eyes. Her solace returned.







The calming waves returned, like a blanket delivering sanctuary. Back and forth,

they coated the sand with salt water and then retreated. A sweeping trance, a

dream revealing truths.



The redhead wrapped her arms around her children,one blonde and one ginger, as

the Bronze skinned Enoch behind her expressed a warm chuckle, "Perhaps we

should race them there, my darling?"



Fingers tickled at the sides at the two children, encouraging them to leap off of

the laps of their parents. Just after, the half Heliopolite followed suit, holding her

wife’s hand as they blissfully danced down to shore.





"Umph, fuck. Take it, you fucking whore."







The Nozgor grunted and moaned, relishing in his breaking of the Sheikh. His vile sounds of pleasure tore Taliset from her daydream once more, so forcefully it was as if skin was peeled from it's proper place. She cried out then, to the voice she thought, even now, that she had been hallucinating, "Aminatu, save me! Aminatu...Ami..."



Then, her head tilted. Having been staring at the blank wall to her side, her vision could not cast a glance in the opposite direction, towards the opening of the cell door. And there, stand her revenant. Her sobs only swelled, reaching out for Aminatu as the Nozgor pulled back his solid arm and struck her once more across the face with a rabid fist.



Blood sprung free from her lip, where the force of the hit split the tender flesh. Perhaps, it was a relief of color. For the rest of her was blue, purple, and pale with only glimpses of her brazen bronze still surviving.



She sobbed out, tears glistening her bruised and battered skin, in a strained exclamation for her daydream, "Aminatu! Please..."



_________________



"Malfius."



Came the smooth voice from the bronze skinned statue at the bars.



"Malfius. That's enough."



"Uhmp~ What?"



Came the labored, spittle-thrown reply from the disfigured pale-grey boulder, laced with anger.



"Scimitar's orders. You are done for today. It is my turn..."



The words fell from her lips like poison to her soul, but with every ounce of grace she could muster, for their importance was no less despite their nature. They were much the same to their receiver, though he met them with tantrum and rage, angry and defiant at the blueing of his genitals...



Snarling in thought, Malfius reached his decision with length and reluctance, finally removing himself from the shattered gem only to strike her vengefully in the face once again, before moving away, thumping towards the bars as he refitted his trousers.



"You're lucky, bitch."



He spat one last time, before turning his loathsome visage on the regal Enoch.



"He wants your report. You should see him now."



The words even and neutral, but met with the same hatred mirrored by the Enoch in secret.



"Fuck you, jammy Enoch prick. Out of my way."



It was all Aminatu could to keep himself from reacting negatively to the Nozgor. Every fiber was tensed, but this time well-hidden behind calmer features. If she had to kill someone else today, suspicion would surely mount. This she could not have, and so she let the Nozgor exit the cell and pass her unmolested, irony wanting, but for now missing.



And now, with the door open and the savage gone, only cold stones stood between the Huntsmaster and her maiden, battered and chained and soiled as much as Aminatu was clean, collected and refined. Just cold stones and stale air. Heart apace and thunderous in her ears, it took aeons for Aminatu to place one soft sole after the other, and step inside the chamber of breaking. The world had shrunk to this tiny, gruesome space, a waking nightmare for the two who shared it, but in the end a painful reality. Guards were forgotten. Grass, trees, sun and sky; figments of a wistful and childish mind unbeknown to they whether imagination or memory.



Just stones, now. Between the Winged Enoch and lady of despair. Stones, and stale air...

INVENTORY

EQUIPMENT: Arm of Heliopolis, Starter Heliopolite shield, Heliopoilte Platemail
ABILITIES USED:
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Word Count: 17,065
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