Your wish is my command

"May you get exactly what you want and live long enough to regret it." It's hard to understand how confusing freedom is when you've been a prisoner for so long, how hard it is to grasp that you have choice, that you can act; how unimaginable the sun is if you've been living inside for years.

[jinnimaarid]

Wishful accidents

[jinnimaarid]

theother-guin‌:

It had only been a couple of months since she had brought Aneirin to the castle, but already Guinevak could not imagine her life without him. Every day she woke to the sight of him in his cradle it felt like her heart grew a little bit more, and there was a new sense of purpose and belonging within her that she had never experienced before. 

Although she had nursemaids and servants to help, perhaps because she was conscious that she had not physically borne him she wanted to do as much for the baby herself as she could - including spending nights pacing up and down her chambers with Aneirin in her arms, rubbing small circles on his back to soothe him when he couldn’t sleep. The tiredness of a parent was also a new experience, draping across her shoulders far more heavily than any other fatigue she had ever felt, but she did not regret a moment of it. Still, her eyelids were nearly fluttering closed when she heard the knock at her door. Coming fully awake again, she lifted Aneirin higher in her arms, rocking him gently, and called, “Come in.”

His knock was met by the sound of her voice on the other side of the door and he was suddenly filled by a wave of annoyance at his own nerves. Nervousness never solved anything, and in his experience anything that could go wrong would go wrong regardless of him worrying about it. Especially when it came to dealing with his enslavement and his Masters. He opened the door and found himself staring at his Mistress cradling a baby. For a moment he simply stood there frozen, not necessarily out of uncertainty but rather an odd desire to not do anything. Then the moment passed and he quickly lowered his gaze, bowing before Dame Guinevak. “Mistress Guinevak, my deepest apologies for disturbing you at this hour,” he said, and while he was truly sorry it was mostly out of fear of how she might react. Still, at the sound of the babe gurgling the corners of his lips twitched upwards and he almost smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out of the bottle long enough to encounter a child. 

[jinnimaarid]

Wishful accidents

@theother-guin

Maarid had never really had a home; even before his imprisonment he had been a nomad. As time passed the closest thing he’d ever gotten was his brass prison, but that hardly counted. His homelessness had never really bothered him, but as he wandered through the castle and through the kingdom it began to feel problematic. As the day drew to a close he found himself at the door of his Mistress’s chambers, trying to determine how to proceed. He could go back into the bottle for the night, but that was hardly his first choice. Not when his newfound freedom could meet an abrupt end at any moment. Still, he didn’t really know where else to go, and there wasn’t anyone else he could ask. It was starting to grow dark outside, but the sound of a child weeping on the other side of the door seemed like a pretty solid indicator that Mistress Guinevak was not sleeping at that hour. The entire situation felt strange and foreign, and he was growing annoyed at his own awkwardness regarding his new Mistress. Still, he wasn’t sure what else he could do, so after one last moment of hesitance he knocked on the door. 

[jinnimaarid]

lucreziaslies‌:

Lucy looked up from the wine goblet she had in her own had, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Perhaps it is more they are trying to forget something, rather than enjoy the taste of it.” 

He wasn’t particularly expecting anyone to answer, but the woman’s words brought a bitter smile to his lips. “A good knock on the head also makes a person forget, but you don’t see folk going about banging on their skulls.” Or perhaps they did, what did he know? Maarid had only just gotten out of his bottle in a different time and in the wrong land. He looked back down at the tankard with a frown. “And for how long might someone have to withstand the taste to be able to forget?” 

[jinnimaarid]

Maarid couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a drink, but he was certain that whatever it had been it tasted better than this... ‘ale’ nonsense. He lowered the tankard with a grimace. “I don’t understand why anyone would willingly consume such a beverage.”  

[jinnimaarid]

guineverethekind‌:

Guinevere tilted her head to a side curiously. “Lady Guinevak is your mistress?” she asked with a slight frown forming on her forehead. How come she didn’t know the man if he belonged to her sister’s retinue? “Are you new here, sir -..?” He didn’t even introduce himself and she was growing suspicious. 

The woman frowned and alarms went off inside Maarid’s mind. It did not bode well for him that the first person he spoke to in the castle was immediately suspicious of him, and whoever this woman was she seemed important. “Indeed, quite new. Dame Guinevak has been kind enough to offer me employment as her new manservant.” It wasn’t completely untrue. She had been kind to him, and he was her servant. 

[jinnimaarid]

theother-guin:

Under the openness of his stare, Guinevak could feel her face heating a little. This was all so strange and bizarre, she was sure she must be handling it terribly. But what the right way to handle a jinn appearing from magical bottle was she had no idea, so all she could do was go on instinct and try to do her best and hope it turned out alright. And she had to remember that, given his life,  it was likely just as strange for him as well and they would both need time to adjust to each other and this … arrangement or circumstance, whatever one might call it. At least for now his anger seemed to have faded. She could only hope that with time he would begin to feel more at ease around her and in Camelot and then perhaps they could muddle through together and try to find a way to set him free. “You’re welcome.”

Realising she was still holding the bottle in her hands, she moved to put it down on a nearby table and then sat down in one of the chairs by the fireplace. It seemed as if this was likely to be a long and complicated conversation, and there was something formal and tense about continually standing and staring at one another. “You can sit down, if you’d like,” she offered, gesturing to one of the other seats. She didn’t know what he would be most comfortable with, but she didn’t want him to feel as if he had to keep standing if he did not wish to. “Of course … well, you’ll see for yourself and perhaps you’ll find things outside that are familiar. And there is quite a large archive in the city, so there may be more things in there that can help you make sense of everything.” She was thinking out loud as much as anything, but at his question looked back over to him, her expression softening a little. “I think so. He cares very much about his people and wants only to do what’s best for them, to make the world better for them. But there are people with different opinions on what that is, and how to do it.” It would be foolishly naive in the extreme to pretend that there were not those who still opposed Arthur’s reign, however much she disagreed with them. “I suppose I may be a little biased. He is married to my sister.”

He noticed as colour rose to her cheeks and he averted his gaze respectfully, only then realising that he had been staring. In centuries of service she was the strangest Mistress he had encountered, what with her asking about ways to break his curse. She seemed as uncertain as he felt and he shifted uncomfortably. By this point in the conversation his owners were usually already making wishes, or asking about the limitations of his powers. Instead the two of them stood there gawking at each other, trying to understand what would happen next. He looked around suddenly, reminding himself not to stare at her and risk making her unhappy. He was here to serve her, after all, not try to figure her out. It would only be a matter of time before he was passed on to someone else, so in the end he supposed it did not truly matter whether they understood each other or not. 

She eventually set down the bottle, and he could not resist eying her movements with curiosity. He didn’t know how he felt about sitting down and having a casual conversation with the woman how owned his soul, but he didn’t really see an alternative. He couldn’t exactly just walk out, nor was he ready to go back into the bottle. After a moment of hesitation he sat down across from her, listening to what she had to say. At the mention of him seeing for himself he arched a brow. None of his previous Masters had been reckless enough to just... set him lose in a city. None had ever let him wander or explore, instead keeping him locked away in the bottle when they did not require him. “You... you’ll let me go? To see the kingdom, I mean.” Obviously she wasn’t letting him go, per say. She couldn’t. She owned the bottle, and therefore she owned him. But at the notion of having time under the sky, of being free even within measure he felt a hint of awe. “If you do not have a wish for me to grant, I won’t be returned to the bottle?” he said with a hint of suspicion. If she agreed it would be dangerous for both of them. If someone were to find out what he was they risked the bottle falling into someone else’s hands. Someone... less concerned with Maarid’s wellbeing. He’d never been particularly fond of any of his Maters, quite the contrary. But for the first time he felt that it might be best if the bottle remained in his Mistress’s hands rather than anyone else’s. At her next words he temporarily forgot the matter, listening to her speak of the king who ruled this strange new land. It sounded almost too good to be true; a king that genuinely cared for his people. But of course, if she was a royal too, then it all made sense. “You’re noble, then,” he said quietly. That complicated things slightly. Most people wished for wealth and titles, but if his owner already had those then wishes could get a bit more complicated. Sometimes even more malicious. 

[jinnimaarid]

grandmistressofbows:

Hairud realised he was merely holding a bow from a stall and she blushed, feeling embarrassed for her abrupt attack. “Oh. Hmm. Sorry,” she said quickly, letting go off the bow. “Don’t buy that one, it’s poorly made.”

His eyes gleamed in amusement as her cheeks flushed, and he shook his head. “No harm done.” He looked back at the bow as she set it back. He did not know much about weapons, having spent most of his life trapped inside a bottle. Still, the notion of owning something he could use to defend himself was oddly enticing. Not that it would do him much good. “I was simply admiring it. It’s not like I could afford it anyways.” 

[jinnimaarid]

guineverethekind:

Guinevere was sure she had not met the man before. Which was not that strange, after all, only the official guests of Camelot were brought to the king and queen to be introduced and welcomed. Perhaps he belonged to one of the retinues, or was a newcomer altogether. “Please, you do not disturb me,” she said, tilting her head to a side. “If there is anything I can do to help you, I would like to know. Are you looking for somebody, perhaps?”

He was in over his head and he knew it. He didn’t have the scarcest idea of where he was or how things worked there. While he was far from ready to go back into his bottle he also wasn’t keen on giving himself away and ending up in the possession of a less merciful Master. Before wandering off and getting himself into more of a mess than his life already was he needed to know more, and there was only one person he dared to ask. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for my Mistress, the fair Guinevak.” He could not reveal the nature of his service, but in the past his Masters had not taken kindly to him referring to them as friends, or anything other than Masters, really. “I would be most grateful to you if you could direct me towards her.” 

[jinnimaarid]

theother-guin:

While she was quite genuinely horrified by the idea of his being kept prisoner, at first her questions had been borne partly of kindness and partly from a kind of panic; she had no idea what to do on finding herself with a jinni declaring that he was hers to command, and freeing him had been the simplest, and most humane, way to solve the problem (though in hindsight she supposed she should have questioned whether setting a powerful jinni free in the city without any reference to the king or his advisors was, necessarily, a wise decision). The more they talked, the more she let herself actually look at him and see the weight of the years in his eyes and the shadow of what he had been through over him the more she wished to help for his sake. No one should be enslaved in such a cruel way and made to fear for their very existance. No one should wear the look that he did, or be surprised that someone might help.

“I … alright. If you think so.” She did not want to entirely give up on the possibility that the magic might be able to be undone. Merlin was said to be most powerful sorcerer in the world, so if anyone could find a way surely it would be them. But the anger in his voice made her pause; she had no wish to distress him. Perhaps it would be better to let him get used to being out of his bottle and let him learn of Merlin and the others for himself and then broach the subject again. But that meant him remaining in her service for now. Guinevak bit down on her lip, chewing as she thought. If that was the case, then they would need a story. It was too dangerous to let it become common knowledge that a jinni resided in court. A manservant? Someone to care for Aneirin? She shook her head. She would think of something in time. First things first. “I see. Well … you should probably know where you are now,” she said, and offered a small smile. “So, this is the court of the Kingdom of Camelot, which is ruled over by King Arthur Pendragon, and is in the southern part of the island of Albion, or Britannia, as the Romans call it. Does that help? Or would it be better to show you on a map?”

He stared at her openly for a moment, forgetting himself. He’d never been given the choice to even consider breaking his curse, let alone had the option to turn it down. He didn’t know what was stranger, the fact that she was even concerned about his freedom, or the way in which she dropped the matter when he denied her offer. It wasn’t exactly an order, but it had been centuries since he’d even made a decision for himself. It had been even longer since he’d turned down a kindness. Frankly he found the entire situation wildly unsettling, and he kept waiting for things to turn rotten as they always did. It was only a matter of time before his new Mistress realised the power she held and decided to put it to use, or worse, before she decided to dispose of him and locked him back in the bottle again only to for more decades to pass before he was given to a new Master. “I, um, I’ve never...” he didn’t even know what he was trying to say. Or rather he did, he just wasn’t accustomed to it and didn’t quite know how. “Thank you, for trying I mean. No one has ever asked before.” 

She smiled at him, and he blinked, staring back at her in uncertainty. What sort of trickery was this? What fresh torment did the gods have in store for him? Was he to be given hope, only for it to be inevitably taken away as it always was? His frown only depend when she spoke. Not a single one of the names she uttered was even vaguely familiar. Gods, how long had he been in that damned bottle? “I’m sorry, I don’t...” He shook his head, trying to make sense of how much time he’d lost and how far he’d come. “A map? No, it’s quite alright. It’s been many centuries since I last looked at one, and I suspect the world has changed a great deal in that time. It always does...” A thought crept into his head and he looked back at his Mistress. “And this King... this Pendragon, he is a good King?” Even if she said he was, would he believe her? Would it matter? He did not trust people with power. They were always greedy for more, and he would do everything he could to stay out of such hands. 

[grandmistressofbows]

“No no no no no!” Hairud threw herself at the person in front of her, ripping the bow they were holding from their hands. “You’re going to rip the string in half, you dimwit. Let me fix it.”

[jinnimaarid]

Maarid wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up walking out of the castle and into the city, nor was he entirely aware of how to get back to his Mistress’s chambers. Still, he was sure it was only a matter of time before she summoned him and he’d be magically pulled back into his brass prison. Better to enjoy his short lived freedom and see as much of the world as he could. He ended up walking through a crowded market, picking up an old bow absently as he thought to himself that it had been far too long since he owned anything of his own. The last thing he expected was for a small brunette to throw herself at him and yank the thing from his hands. “Oh... It’s not mine,” he said slowly, his accent thick. He’d been called many things in his long life, but never a dimwit. Frankly he didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted. He looked back at the owner of the stall where he’d found the bow, only to find the man conversing with another man, complete oblivious to the two strangers that were manhandling his merchandise. 

[guineverethekind]

“I hope I am not being too forward, but I feel like something is bothering you.” The Queen watched the person standing before her carefully; she wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if they were hiding something. “I want you to know that you can speak to me if anything troubles you.”

[jinnimaarid]

Maarid turned around sharply as the stranger approached him. She looked oddly familiar, but he dismissed the thought instantly. The only person he knew in this entire kingdom was his Mistress. He knew that everything about him, from his clothes to his accent, made him seem out of place. Still, his Mistress had commanded him to be weary and keep a low profile, so he paused for a moment before answering. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you,” he said cautiously. There were plenty things that troubled him, but while he was unwilling to share them he also imagined that outright denying that anything was wrong would also seem suspicious. 

[jinnimaarid]

theother-guin:

Given the fact that he was still a prisoner, it was self-evident that no one had ever managed to free him before now - but it did not really occur to Guinevak until she saw the look of clear surprise on his face that perhaps no one had ever tried. A sudden swell of sorrow for him rose up inside her, and it made his answer all the worse. “Your soul?” she repeated. “That’s … terrible.” It had been unlikely, she knew, that anything involving magic of this power and magnitude would have a simple or easy solution. Even for someone as ignorant of the subject as her, it was impossible to live in a court where some of the most powerful sorcerers and magical beings were honoured members and not come to understand that magic was complicated and dangerous - and often did not work the way the stories would make it seem. Still, she had had to ask.

A millennium. Just the thought of it was astounding. He had been a prisoner - no, a slave - for over a thousand years, and it could not be undone? It was abominably cruel. Although … if there had once been people who could have undone it, perhaps there was still a way. “There are sorcerers at the court here. I could ask them if they could help, if they might be able to find a way to undo it without harming you,” she ventured slowly, hoping she was making a wise decision. What would happen if other people discovered there was a djinni in the court, and tried to take control of him? Camelot was not without its enemies. As the thought rolled over in her mind it sparked another and she looked up at him. “Do you know anything about where you are? When was the last time someone let you out?”

He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. No one had ever asked that before, no one had ever bothered. The sorrow in his eyes mimicked a long forgotten sadness that he had buried deep within himself many years ago. He could not allow himself the luxury of pondering the injustice he had faced. He’d already lost too much of his life to waste what little of it was still his own in self pity. He’d done it many decades ago, and it had nearly driven him mad in fury and misery. When she spoke again he frowned. He wasn’t sure that he wanted her pity. Honestly he didn’t know, he’d never encountered a master who pitied him. They were all too consumed by their own desires and misfortunes to consider his. But hearing her say it brought back a wave of regret, and he had to force himself to stand against it, or else risk drowning in it. “It’s... yes. I suppose it is.” He shook his head. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it for too long, and he lowered his head, averting his gaze respectfully. He could not bear to see the sadness in her eyes, for it was a mere shadow of his own. 

His eyes widened at her offer, but he quickly shook his head. He could not think that way. “It’s too dangerous,” he said, the anger creeping into his voice. He found that despite her strange kindness and concern he was angry with her. Angry for making him remember that this was no way to live. Angry for pitying him. Angry for daring to give him hope after he’d spent so many years learning to stifle it. Hope was a caged bird and he’d been forced to strange it with his bare hands, if only to keep them both from wondering if it would ever be set free. Yes, he was angry, for he did not believe that any human would venture to help him. “The magic cannot be undone. If anything they would risk making things worse.” Trying to break the curse would do more than just kill him. It would destroy him, erase him from existence. His soul wouldn’t just die, it would cease to exist. He could not risk that. Not when a distant death in the horizon had been his only promise of freedom. He did not know what came after one died, but he wanted to find out, for whatever it was, he believed that in it he would be free. It was the only thing he allowed himself to believe in. His only hope. He could not risk losing that. “I- I can’t remember. Time passes differently when one has no way of measuring it,” he tried to explain. “The only thing I know is that I am in your service, wherever and whenever that may be.” 

[jinnimaarid]

theother-guin

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.” Guinevak bit her lip, feeling very much in over her head. She should go for help; there were guards outside her door, still watching over her following the attack on her life, and a simple call would bring them to her. But something in Maarid’s expression stopped her, some flickering in his eyes that suddenly made her wonder how long he had been trapped in his brass cage and what he had seen and lived through. The stories she had read with jinn in them had been centuries old at least, told by bards and travellers from the other side of the world. The man in front of her didn’t look old - but then, neither did Viviane or Queen Caelia, and they were both fairies who had seen hundreds of years pass by them. Belatedly, she realised he had called her mistress, since she had given no other name. “You can call me Guinevak, if you like.”

Hearing it aloud, in such uncompromising terms, was frightening and unsettling. A part of her had hoped that maybe she had been mistaken, that there was another explanation, although she had not expected it. The word prisoner made her think of the cells below the castle, the men she had seen there and the lack of hope. She looked down at the bottle in her hands. It was no less beautiful, but she had to consider now what it must seem like inside, to be trapped with no way out. If his life was truly at her mercy, then there was only one thing she wished to know. “Can it be undone?”

She actually apologised. Why was she sorry? For not knowing of his kind? He’d never had an owner apologise to him, not that there was any need for it. She was hardly the first to make the mistake, and he doubted she would be the last. “You owe me no apology, Mistress.” She didn’t owe him anything actually, that wasn’t how this worked. He obeyed her and went away when she did not need anything from him, that was about it. As if she wasn’t baffling enough she then told him her name. He’d gone decades serving a single Master or Mistress and never found out their name. Most people seemed to like the entitlement of having a magical slave, and didn’t bother to find out his name or reveal their own. His life was simple business. He popped out of the bottle, granted wished and went back in. The notion of calling her by her name brought him more discomfort than it did reassurance. The less he knew about his owner the better. There was no point in getting attached to someone who would only command and dispose of him. Or die. 

At her question his eyes widened. “The bottle’s magic?” he asked in amazement. No one, in all his years, had ever asked that. While he had pondered it himself for many centuries only to come back to the same, simple and irrefutable answer. “No.” It was impossible. He’d spent every waking hour he had free of his brass prison trying spells and searching though lore in an attempt to undo what had been done to him. But he knew that already. Hell, he’d even accepted him. What made him frown now was his new Mistress. Why would she want to break a curse that made her powerful? “My soul is bound to the bottle. To destroy the spell would mean destroying me as well.” Solomon’s sorcerers had rigged the spell in every possible way. “The only people who might know how to undo it have been dead for over a millennium.” 

[jinnimaarid]

theother-guin

“A jinn,” Guinevak repeated quietly, still feeling rather bewildered. She had read of jinns in stories and books, had even imagined them when she was younger and used to pretend that she was sailing across the world on some grand adventure, but the idea that one was standing in front of her now … she couldn’t really being to wrap her mind around it. A small frown creased her brow as she wondered if she ought to go in search of Viviane, or even Merlin. This was far more their territory than her own. 

His explanation only made her frown deepen. It was clear from his voice and expression that, however this magic worked, it was something he did not like. From the way he described it, she wasn’t sure she blamed him … my existence has become yours. There was something dark about the way that was phrased, that sent a shiver of foreboding down her back. The initial, paralysing surprise wearing off, her shoulders relaxed a little and she took a breath and tried to order her scattered thoughts. Oh, yes, she had lots of questions. But she had no idea where to even start, and as she looked at him, eyes disquieted, all she could think was that, powerful magical being or not, the man standing before her had a name. He was a person. “Let me see if I understand you, Maarid,” she said finally. “You’re saying … you are tied to the bottle? And since I now own the bottle, I … own you?” She didn’t even like saying it. It felt deeply wrong. “You’re a prisoner?”

“Forgive me Mistress, but technically I’m a jinni. Jinn is the name of our race, a common mistake, really.” He saw her shiver and something changed in her expression, causing him to panic, thinking he had offended her somehow. He’d served cruel Masters before, and while she didn’t exactly fit the idea he had of an evil, power hungry villain, he had learned that first impressions were of little use in the long run. King Solomon had been his friend at first, and look at how that had ended. She spoke again and it was odd to hear his own name. His last Master had simply called him jinni, or slave when he was feeling temperamental. Even the way she said it was odd, with a strange accent that would have been endearing were it not for the words that followed. 

There is was. I own you. He waited for her concern to fade away as she realised the magic she now had in her possession, but she seemed more disgusted than empowered. Did she disapprove of his race somehow? He hadn’t the faintest idea where in the world he was, or whether jinn even existed in this realm. If they did, were they hunted or imprisoned the way he had been? From the disapproval in her gaze he could only imagine that she was not found of him. Whatever the reason, he needed to fix it. An angry master was the last thing he needed. She could wish to inflict pain on him by his own magic, or send him back into the bottle. She could sell him to someone or demand of him some horrible feat. “Precisely,” he said slowly, waiting to see how she would react. Annoyance prickled at her final question. You’d think after centuries of servitude he would have learned to control his temper. “Yes, I am,” he said, and he didn’t particularly like being reminded of it. “My life, and my magic is at your mercy.” 

[jinnimaarid]

theother-guin:

The bottle had caught her eye entirely by chance. While buying everything she would need for Aneirin, Guinevak had passed by a stall selling all sorts of baubles and ornaments. With a half-formed thought of perhaps getting some sort of mobile to hang over the baby’s cradle, she had stopped, but her as she looked over everything that was set out her gaze was drawn irresistibly to a small brass bottle, unremarkable amid all the other trinkets apart from the fact that the brightly coloured glass decorating it caught the morning sunlight and refracted it, casting sparkling rainbows across the table. The sight was entrancing, and Guinevak thought how lovely it would look sat on her window sill, sending colours and light shining over the walls. It was too nice an image to pass up so without another thought called the merchant over so she could buy it.

It was later in the afternoon, when she was back in her chambers and had put Aneirin down to sleep that she looked at it more closely. Leaning over the cradle she gazed down at the baby’s sleeping face with a smile; it was still so strange to have him here, to know he was now hers, to care for and love, but she could not remember ever being happier. As she reached down to brush a finger gentle over his cheek, she noticed the rainbow light had scattered over the cradle and looked over at where she had set the bottle down. It was even lovelier in the golden afternoon light, and there was something about it that fascinated her. Picking it up, Guinevak took it through to her sitting-room, turning it over in her hands as she walked. 

She hadn’t noticed earlier, but the crystal stopper was not fused to the metal as she had originally though but looked it fact like it could be opened. Had it been intended as a perfume bottle? Or something else? Curious she tugged gently at it. It was reluctant to come away, but with a little effort she managed to pull it free - and then froze in surprise as a trail of smoke emerged, twisting and widening as it spiralled out into the room … and then solidified into the shape of a dark-haired man. Guinevak stared, eyes wide, as he knelt in front of her. “Who … who are you?” she asked, then looked down at the bottle in her hands and back to him. “Did you come from in there?” What sort of magic was this? 

Maarid had centuries of experience. He’d had Masters and Mistresses who’d been expecting him as well as owners who’d staggered back in fear when he’d appeared from within the bottle. As his new Mistress stared at him in awe and then back at his brass prison he stood up slowly, head bowed respectfully. “My name is Maarid Effrit, of the ancient race of the jinn,” he explained carefully, not wanting to overwhelm her. It was always amusing to end up in the hands of someone who didn’t know what he was capable of. 

At her next question he arched a brow, thinking it rather obvious by that point. “Indeed. I live within the bottle that has now fallen into your possession, and with it my very existence has become yours,” this he explained with some reluctance and not without a hint of annoyance. He was grateful to be out of the bottle, but that did not stop him from resenting the fact that he had been in there in the first place. “My will is thine, as is my magic.” Her look was one of astonishment and confusion, and he raised his hands as if to show her he meant no harm. The last thing he wanted was to scare her into sealing the bottle once again. “I know you must have a lot of questions. It would be my pleasure to answer them to the best of my ability.” 

[jinnimaarid]

Grateful to his new Mistress for the freedom to roam the castle he now found himself in, Maarid tried his best to blend in. She had instructed him to keep a low profile, but he did not yet know enough about the kingdom he found himself in to do that. He kept his old attire but conjured up a mask after seeing so many strangers covering their faces. It’s not the subtlest combination, but in the right setting it could all be considered a bright costume. 

[hedwiga-maloid]

Hedwiga raised an eyebrow at the person standing in front of her. “This is just another way of winning the people’s favor and making them happy isn’t it?” She wasn’t particularly happy about being there, but she had to gather her own information about Camelot if they were to destroy it. Besides, perhaps she would be able to snare someone for the night. She had been feeling rather frustrated the past few days. And on an evening with hidden identities and mystery in the air, it would provide a bit of an atmosphere for seduction.

[jinnimaarid]

Maarid frowned as the dark haired woman spoke. She had an air of power about her and he could sense the dark magic within her. He had been a slave to witches and kings before and had grown weary of anyone who had power, for they always seemed to want more of it. “Everyone certainly seems happy,” he said cautiously. “Though I’m not entirely sure what ‘this’ even is.”