#baelisian

[jessipalooza]

Hair of a Virgin; Eye of a Whore

It was in the later hour of the day that Karsteth found himself in The Leaning Mast, a shit hole of a tavern in Booty Bay. The floors were sticky with gods only knew what, the chairs and tables were lopsided, the art on the walls were stained and awful knock-offs of paintings...but the drinks were damned good, and if a fight was to turn up, nobody would give a shit. Bouncers and guards were merely a formality, meant to keep ruffians and pirates from stealing from the house. They did not care if the patrons stole from each other. With Booker at his feet, he sat in the corner, masked in shadow and with a mug of whiskey in his hand, the leather wrist cuffs stained with blood. Hanging from the belt around his waist was a small pouch also stained with blood. But nobody gave it question in The Leaning Mast. Just like nobody gave a second thought to the gnarled scar of a hand over his face, poorly hidden by the eyepatch he always wore. It was amidst the loud chatter and chaos from the other patrons that the Captain of the White Widow relaxed with his mutt of a worg. He was thankful that he had informed Vinny that he would return to the ship before midnight. It gave him time to relax without the goblin chirping in his ear about gold. The men had been thriving, but not as much as they had before. He complained that they complained and all Karsteth could do was tell him to be fucking patient. He was almost done, after all. 

Elleynah balked at the door of the tavern, her freckled features drawing into a disgusted frown. She quickly schooled the expression away, patting the layered of her vest and tunic, making sure it was secure-- and the deck of cards beneath were as well. 

It had been a long time-- a year if not longer-- since she'd served in a shithole of a bar in Booty Bay. Since her promotion, Elleynah had forsworn any work that was not going to reflect well on the Guard or herself, as a leader of the menders. Gone were the days of tight blouses and slit skirts, forever. She had hoped never to have to return to a place like this for anything save a war or a rescue... But loyalty was a bladed virtue, and it bit deep and with nothing promised in return. She had been summoned by an old friend to the dank little space. Elleynah remembered at least, how to dress so she wouldn't get many looks; the right level of hand-me-down, fitted fabric that had seen better days, a scarf holding her orange curls tight to her head save in the back where they spilled to the nape of her neck. Her vest and tunic and leggings were all things from the old days, quickly rehemmed and fitted to her new frame, in faded burgundy, amber and sage. Taking a breath of the at least sea-salt cleaned air before entering the murk, the mender attempted to let the years of propriety slide off. She stepped through the doorway, through the dark and grimy hall and into the tavern itself. The Leaning Mast was never a place she worked when she worked here, for its... reputation. Bell had insisted that her sister avoid the place. Perhaps that was why she'd sent notice to Bell that she'd be going there tonight-- just once. Just for a friend.

Her eyes wandered the place very quickly-- not lingering on any male face (that was always a danger, when you weren't on the clock-- no one cared if you got hurt if you were off shift). Instead she looked to the bar and the servers, and found the woman she was looking for. Shariya was tressed in the frothy faded dress of a barmaid, her lank blonde hair pulled away from a face that while normally made up to look flawless, was now smudged. Leaning at the edge of the bar, the woman was all exhaustion and drunkenness, despite being on her shift. Elleynah didn't hesitate-- perhaps another of her faults. She walked to the bar and whispered to the woman as she neared, placing a hand on the stained-lace at Shariya's elbow. "Shar--" The other elf blinked, automatically recoiling at the touch. Her features only unknit when she recognized Elleynah's freckled face. "Oh, Elley." She sighed, eyes closing with the effort it took to focus. "Ohh thank you for coming, I didn't know--" Elleynah let her hand drop, and looked around. "Why are you here and not the The Linewalker's?" That had been their place, it was one of the nicer Inns, and was always bright and clean-- an officer’s pub, where coin was made even if you got your ass grabbed by men who thought they were entitled everything by rank. "I just-- It’s such a long and sad story... little Elley, gods, imagine you going so high." Shariya leaned forward, lifting a hand as though to cup the younger elf's cheek. "Always was better than Bell and me."

The mender leaned away from the hand, lips pursed. "You said you needed a reading, are you off your shift?" Elley's eyes slid around the bar itself, not daring to venture further or invite attentions their way. She did not want to be here longer than needed.

Shariya shook her head, about to speak when the bartender-- a gruff orc-- slammed a pair of tankards down next to her. He rumbled out an order inaudible to Elleynah, but Shariya must have understood. Forcing herself to unsteady feet, the woman took up the drinks. "No, I'm here til dawn, I don't--" She looked at the smoky bar. "If you get a table, I can sit down when my break comes... I need that reading, Elleynah, you're the only one who can tell me true if--" She shook her head, and jolted forward. "I'll be back!" Elleynah felt her gut clench. This was not what she had hoped for at all. Worrying her lip, she selected a table near the bar, under one of the few lights that seemed to be in working order. Working her vest pocket open, she ran her fingers nervously over the deck, pulling it from the silk to smooth between her fingers. It spoke to her discomfort, that she would use the cards to soothe herself.

Chatter. Loud chatter and shouting. Conversations about gold and blood and tits and drinks. It all filtered into the air, making a white noise that cut nearly everything from Karsteth's ears or mind. The perfect way to relax. However, one thing was able to reach him, always able to reach him, above it all: a growl. A low growl scratched its way up from Booker at his feet. Mid-sip of whiskey, Karsteth stopped and glanced downwards. The giant, black mutt was facing towards the door, and so towards the door, the pirate looked. He was about to abandon the task when he saw a flash of bright red. Even with one eye, he could see the light that flickered and how it bounced off of the curls of the Stormsummer girl. A dark look overtook his face, but he paused before it got too far. Raising his free hand to rub at the five'o'clock shadow along his jaw, he spared a glance down towards the bloody sack at his side. The irony did not escape him, and it drew forth a low, harsh breath of a laugh. When he saw the cards, he saw an opening. "Booker," was all he said, his voice a low rasp in his throat. He finished his whiskey in one pull and stood. With little care of the sticky floor, the drunkards around him, he moved forward. Those that were in his path, drunk or not, cautioned away - by either luck or will. Each step was slow and purposeful, silent thanks to the loudness of the rest of the tavern. It gave him the surprise he needed. Ignoring the look on on Shariya's face at having a man with a scarred face abou tot interrupt their reunion, he placed a rough, callused hand on Elleynah's shoulder. It was firm, powerful, and his tone of voice spoke the same intention: Do not move. Do not scream. Do not be stupid. "Are those cards, girl?"

Settled at her table, Elleynah had pressed the deck to her chest a moment; she could feel her heart in her chest beating just a pace fast, as though she was coming down from jogging; she was nervous here, despite all her history with taverns. The pressure of the paper against her sternum was a comfort; she could feel... something. It was the magic of her bloodline, the pump of it through veins and through the filaments that connected her to the cards. With one hand he kept them there while she worried at the silk. Shariya approached, having dropped the drinks down, and Elleynah looked up to meet her eyes, when-- Horror and sudden panic washed through Shariya's face, making her cosmetics stand out harsh against a fear-pale face. A hand fell on Elleynah's shoulder, and it held her in place against her chair. Along her spine, the hairs stood on end up to the nape of her neck, and the magic comfort of the cards became a screamed warning only she could hear. If she had been someone else, outrage might have come before fear, but she had grown up in the apocalypse of a people, in a city overrun by the dead and worse, the living. She was stock still and quiet, the prey-wary sixth sense reminding her that this was a predator. Elleynah cleared her throat of the fear that constricted it. "Y-yes sir." She couldn't help the stammer and hated her voice for it, and the hotness in her cheeks that was all shame, the only thing that was powerful enough to rise against the bloodless fear that had turned her pale. "Fortune cards." She almost emphasized they weren't for gambling, but she did not want to say more than she had to. Say what he wanted to hear, and then run. Always what Bell told her to do.

A glance was spared to Shariya with his one good eye and he nodded once, looking to the side. It was a silent speech, but one a barmaid would know well: Get the fuck out of here. Already, he had started to walk towards the other woman's chair. If she did not move away from fear, she would move away from having no room of her own. Karsteth sat across from Elleynah, the chair creaking under his weight. Booker came to a rest at his feet again, baring her teeth briefly to the Stormsummer girl, but silently so. In reward, a heavy had swung down to ruffle the coarse fur between her ears. But the pirate's attention remained on Elleynah. "Tell fortunes, do ye?"

Loyalty was bladed, given without the promise of any sort of return; Shariya proved this, when with a frightened glance to Elleynah, she dropped her eyes and wandered back into the tavern, heading to the bar where the orc behind the counter slammed a meaty palm down and pushed drinks forward. This left Elleynah with... the man from the tavern. The one who had scared her half to death the last time she'd been down in Booty Bay; the one whom Gabriel had warned her off. "I do." She took the deck away from her vest and fanned the cards expertly; some skills did not diminish in fear, and thankfully this was one. She met his single visible eye without wavering, but she was young enough her own gaze was as legible as a book. He'll kill you as easy as anything. Gabriel's warning was in her ears. Fear lanced her body. "Do you want me to tell your fortune, sir?" She tried a small smile, fake and hollow, to see if it would thaw the panic that made her stiff and still.

He stared Elleynah down with no need to ask if she remembered him or not. The question was a nonissue. He could tell enough by the slight tremor of her voice - so slight, but there nonetheless. He did not bother to look at the cards as she fanned them out. He raised a hand and snapped his fingers, calling over his shoulder in a raspy order: "Whiskey." He waited in silence after that. He did not answer her question, nor did he pose one of his own. He merely stared, and the weight of his one eye was monumental. He allowed her this silence to look over the scar should she so choose. And should there be any unease, he relished it. Only once he received another mug of whiskey did he speak. "Know another bitch that reads cards. D'ya believe in what yers say?"

The silence stretched. She would not look at the scar. Despite the time, the seconds ticking down, the hairs would not settle on the back of her neck. He was familiar, for more than the drink-- for more than the time she spent on his first mate's lap. There was something in that green, tainted gaze that was clawing at memories, something she almost remembered from a dream... or a-- Shariya returned, eyes averted, with a glass of whiskey; the cup was marginally clean, but there were smudges around the rim that caught the light. Elleynah did not regret her choice of seat-- everywhere else was cast in shadows, and here, despite the baldness it showed her the danger, at least she could see it. Clearing her throat, attempting to reign in the panic that threaded her, Elleynah spoke carefully and succinctly. "I do." The next words spilled out. "Do you believe in the cards, Captain?" There was no use pretending she didn't remember his title. She did not know how they had circled back to each other in the scheme of fate, but it was a cruel twist.

His lips pulled into a smirk - small, but there. He took a pull from the mug of whiskey and rather than answer her question, he waved her forward. "Give me a fuckin' reading," he said casually. Beneath him, there was a low growl, barely heard over the chatter of The Leaning Mast's patronage. Another pat of Booker's head was all Karsteth offered before he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Y'need a question, aye?"

If the flat stare had been unsettling, the smirk made something inside her wither. It was threatening in a way the touch had not been, and she fought the urge to bolt. Not that she would get far, the hound;s growl reminding her precisely of how tenuous the situation had become for her. Heart hammering, skin cold and clammy, she nodded assent to his request-- demand-- and started to pull the magics of the cards into her. There was always a moment of hesitation, when she reached into the weave to let the parts of her that were young and unwise fall away. It was frightening, to suspend herself-- the part of her that was Elleynah-- while the magic slid into place like a mask, covering and separating her from the words she spoke, the visions she saw. There was a fear-- what if she never came back? What if she was adrift in that nothing, the threads of fate, for eternity? Now, the hesitation tasted like copper and fear as she forced the mask to come over her features, the magic sliding through veins. Between breaths, it settled on her-- one moment, the girl was stiff with fear, and the next, she was... still. The tension left her frame, leaving her motionless but calm, all trace of emotion fading from freckled features. Her eyes closed, and opened, and within them was... nothing. Empty green eyes met his gaze, vacant and distant. With mechanical precision, she gathered the fanned cards and laid them in a neat-- unnaturally neat-- stack. With a voice as flat as her face, and low enough to nearly be drowned by the clamor of the bar, the Oracle spoke. "What is your question of the cards."

There the two were, surrounded by people. She could turn and tell the person next to her that she was seated with a murderer, a pirate. But she would only be telling yet another murderer, another pirate. She could scream for help, but nobody would listen even if they could hear over their own loud conversations and songs. She could run, but she would need to push through the crowd and she would need to outrun Booker...and Karsteth. He watched her as she changed, his head tilting slightly as her eyes became vacant. Finally, he looked away, towards his mug and then towards the cards. He took a long sip of whiskey and then asked in that low gravelly voice: "Will I get what I want?"

There was no movement in the woman, save for her hands-- it was so very different from the old witch in the forest; where Dasia had simmered, swaying with her power, words dripping with potential, the girl before him was flat and featureless; just like one of her cards. Lifting the deck, she spoke in that same tone. "A worthy question." The petition offered, she now started to weave. Moving with rhythmic precision, the Oracle's hands moved mechanically. The cards flashed quickly through her fingers, almost too fast for the eye to follow. It might have been merely interesting in sunlight, but in the murk of smoke and low light, in the swaying of shadows, it was almost... hypnotic. There was magic threaded between the motions, something barely felt, an old power that was felt, not seen. As the cards twisted, showing myriad colorful faces, the woman seemed to still even further, like the sensation of a held breath. "Tell me... when to stop."

Karsteth watched as Elleynah's hands worked over the cards. His one eye traced over her movements and then studied her face, watching the vacancy in her expression, in her gaze. He took his time, took another pull of his whiskey...and then finally spoke. "Stop."

They were in a tavern, surrounded by the lowest of the low; she was at a table with one of those whose deeds and history might make some here pale, or stand with the worst-- it was all evilness, in the smoke and noise. The Oracle seemed to shift, even as he spoke the word; it was like there was two of her, one overlaying the other-- the mask, all calm perception and flat, and beneath… the girl he had scared, hiding in the shadow of the self that wasn’t. The first card hit the table, and it was like a thunderclap; just between them two. The world around stilled; sound died in a single instant, like a grinding of the gears of the world that missed a cog, and beyond their table was nothing but flatness. Even the dog who had been at his feet was gone; he was alone with the woman, and the cards laid out. Six cards-- one more than the witch of the woods, but then again, this seemed something as far removed from Dasia as Karsteth himself had been from the cowardly, simple Booker. 

Now though, he was without anything. He was simply Karsteth, man without mother, killer of his father, murderer and thief. And in front of him, the woman-within-woman and the cards that seemed to lift, glow of their own power. They rose, and began to spin-- growing faster and faster while he was rooted to his seat, powerless. Erupting with crimson light, they seemed to unmake whatever their light touched. They whirled, the faces-- the figments of the paint and paper revolving around him, caging him. They turned potential into something visible, touchable, real. The first of the cards pulled from the wildly careening halo, and like a bolt of lightning it struck him, right in the chest; one moment he was in his chair in a world of nothing, and then, he was-- Stormy seas, a ship in the distance. He was at the helm of his Widow, but it was not his. Not now. At his side, Booker leaned over the gunwale; he looked young and strong, no grey at his temples yet, a hunger in his eyes.

Yet, when he turned to Karsteth, where his mouth should have been was a maw of shark teeth, cutting up from the soft flesh of his mouth, and blood ran down Booker’s chin and throat to his chest, where a gaping wound cut across. It was not one wound; no, Karsteth had been thorough, and took his ascendancy by force of cruelty. “Always want what is not yours; a creed we shared in seas dark.” Around them, the waves seemed to grow higher and higher, the storm clotting and darkening the sky. Booker stepped forward, his head hung at an unnatural angle. “Always meant for nooses, we, but no-- you would always want for a blade, wouldn’t you?” Booker’s voice is made of the crash of bodies into distant waters, the gurgle of his death rattle. “Can’t keep happy, can’t be satisfied-- that’s what the witch did to you too, made you outside how you is inside.” The frozen vision seemed to warp, and Karsteth could once more move. He lunged forward, bow in hand, and struck down at the human. Just as he had before, his face held shock when he collapsed. “Don’t say… you weren’t warned… bastard.” The glaive of Karsteth’s bow slammed down again, and the man seemed to explode into light; bloody, vermilion light, that lanced through the world, through human and elf and ocean alike until there was nothing but red.

For a moment, it was like he could see them; the threads of magic, the tavern, the girl. Time had stilled; he was still there. But the magic flooded into him red and blinding and the vision of reality broke. The world seemed to right, and he was no longer at sea. Karsteth was in his father’s lighthouse; in the signal room, where the pillar of magical light would shine, but it was dimmed. It was in disrepair; around him, the chairs had moldered down to nothing but debris, windows cracked or shattered, piled of leaves and other trash catching in corners. Outside, the storm from the ship seemed to still rage, casting long shafts of pale light into the room and the rest left in inky dark. From the shadows, three figures rose; as though from the piles of detritus, they walked from the darkness. Two women, and in the center, a man. He recognized them; he had played his part in their ending, and the familiarity of features was evident… even in death. His mother reached for him, jawless and rotten, half bones and rot but overlaying her was the woman as she was, when he ended her short and useless life. Accusation burned in those eyes, her silent judgement unheard. The woman to the other side hummed softly, offkey, a sailor’s shanty but she too spoke no words. It was only the man in the center who spoke, and his voice was soft. “You’re going into a ruin. You’re running and fighting but it’s going to burn for awhile longer.”

As one, the three figured turned their heads; not even a second later, lightning struck the side of the lighthouse with a crack like the end of the world; when the light faded, the three figures were gone… but below, the night turned to orange. The lighthouse was on fire, and the rain and smoke began to fill the tower room. Karsteth would look for escape, but as he neared the broken windows, they seemed to grow whole-- barring his exit. The door vanished entirely, and then the flames began to eat at the floor. They licked at the beacon, and it shuddered to life, filling the room with light-- blinding, crimson light and he could hear the flames and then-- He was in the familiar cursed woods. All was night; the storm rumbled behind him. He was running and the shadows of the trees seemed to shift to follow, grabbing at him with spindly fingers, catching and slowing him. He heard laughter-- hawk cries-- crow caws-- in the air but saw no shadows of wings… instead, saw scales in the dark places between the trees that vanished before he neared. He was running to and from-- he saw what from, but it was not until he saw the scarlet glow of flames that he knew his aim. He fled to the circle of light, where the trees ended abruptly. Across the flames, he could see her-- Dasia, the witch woman. She swayed in an ancient dance, her dusky flesh painted in whorls and symbols alien to him and nothing else. The light caught at her; the long, free hair, the swelling of her belly, the bloody feathers beneath her feet. She sang, soft and barely audible over the crackle of flames, but it was unsettling and eerie.

Where she walked, he could see; the threads of reality seemed to coalesce behind her, and he saw the tavern, the girl, the mug of whiskey. Dasia smiled to herself, as though she could not see him. Instead, he saw, she danced with a bone-- his mother’s jaw. She sang to it, weaving softly through the smoke. As she moved, the feather beneath her feet shifted; he could see the other offerings there too. This was the preparation he was paying for; it waited only for him to return with the last of his deed and spoils. He smiled-- for the first time-- and the woman stopped, confusion and wonderment on her features. “An’na maehik...? Aeyanti--?” She reached through the flames, but she shifted a foot-- feathers fell into the fire-- and it began to roar, growing into a column of flames, all vermillion and searing. Karsteth surged through the flame, trying to grab at the witch to make this stop, but instead, as he emerged from the fire, he was… on a ruined path. Around him the woods of the Ghostlands were overgrown and clawing to reclaim the road, but he was there now and the recoiled. In the distance, he could see the glint of something-- and he moved towards it, walking at first, his boots thudding on the stone, and then he ran, and then he bolted, sprinting as fast as he could. In the woodlands he felt eyes on him-- so many, single eyes just staring, but they dared not stir from their darkness. At his hip, the bag of spoils was full. He had all he needed. Karsteth ran, and as he ran, the bag seemed to empty on its own, and he was leaping, and he was flying and his sight became endless and he was seeing all-- those whose eyes were stolen, those whom he had hunted, those who hunted him, and he felt the malice and fear there.

Forcing himself towards that feeling like a loosed arrow, he spun towards his enemy, through the forest of Eversong, and deeper, and then-- He flew through the red run, and this was becoming familiar, this feeling of being unmade, and-- He was once more on the White Widow, at the helm. He was where he belonged. His eyes-- both-- scanned the horizon. The helm seemed to erupt beneath him, as he took a step back, but he was confident in this. Karsteth smiled to himself as the deck formed beneath him, splinters and bones and gold and steel, a throne. He sank into it-- made from the eyes of whores and holy men, the amber of witches and amethyst. Beneath him, the crew were rendered faceless, obedient and fearful, and he was their god-- unstoppable, with his vision thousandfold, with his witch. In the hole through the ship, he saw all his precious treasures; gold in his quarters piled, crusted over the walls and floor like barnacles, sliding up the swell of thighs and breasts of the women who rested in silks on his berth, their bodies pliant and waiting, chains of that same gold wrapped around their throats. Below them, more gold clotted the veins of his ship, and then, the weapons of his crew glinted with hunger-- he could see the maps of Azeroth, and with a narrowing of his eye he could see the paths of the ships, the wealth they could vomit up at his feet. He was smiling, a satisfaction rising in him, when a familiar and cool voice clipped through the rising smugness of the vision.

“Be wary of anything that offers something, for nothing.” Karsteth looked back to the helm, and at the wheel, was the thin quel’dorei-- Quineven. The man turned, and he stared back with his own replacement eye. It swirled with a cosmos, severe and stark against his pale features. “You’re going to regret the greed. You can have a taste, but the weight of that want is going to bring you… down.” He waved a hand to the deck beneath them, and Karsteth looked at his ship. The hole he had torn in her heart was filling now, crimson waters rising and flooding each level of the ship. The captain of the vessel tried to rise, but the chair had become host to that golden barnacle infection, and it crept over his calves, over his groin and arms. When he opened his mouth to speak, it rushed between his lips, and he tasted the tang of metal before the ship sank beneath the waves, crushed and drowned in vermillion. When he opened his eyes, he was once more in the tavern. He reached for the bitch in front of him, the witch still motionless, ready to throttle the life from her, and his hands passed right through Elleynah, past her chair. The tavern was still frozen, and now too it was dark with the red light.

At his back, he felt a single point of pure, steely cold. It erupted through his chest, and he saw the sword burst through his sternum, and not even his blood could turn it red, it shone clean and sharp, glinting in the light. The thick scent of ichor and copper filled his nose as he gurgled on his last breath. There was a single, quiet whisper in his ear. Fair and forgiving. The world went that red, and it consumed him. It was everywhere, like the pain that enveloped him, and Karsteth was falling, falling… He was in the tavern, and the witch sat before him, her features flat, the shadows in her eyes shifting with the magics. Beneath her fingers, he could see the cards. Knight of Cups, reversed. The Tower. Queen of Pentacles. Six of Wands. The Devil. And then… The Ace of Swords, reversed.

It was unsettling to say the least. One moment he was there, the next he was not. The woman in front of him - the girl was there, then she was not. 

Then she was Sid, his work shown on the former captain. Karsteth looked over the gruesome cut, the way he was split and the unnatural form of his movement. He could still feel the weight of his own bow as he swung it down, the resistance of flesh against blade as he cut through. He could still hear that bitch gasping for breath between pained sobs as she bled out on the floor. But he was a man of reason. This was not real. This was not real. And so, even as he felt a spark of fury ignite in him at the dead man's words, he did not shout back. And then the ship was gone. Sid was not Sid. Sid was his mother, his father--.... Karsteth looked at the three and shook his head as they reached out. 'Ruin' they said. Piss on them. Piss on all of them. They had no idea. They were dead. And then they were gone. He was out of breath from running, panting with sweat dripping down his face. This was not real, but he felt the moisture, tasted the salt, and smelled the smoke from the fire that she danced around. He saw her. Dasia. Not of his own will, he felt his loins tighten and his mind surge with rage. He had no control over this and he did not like a loss of control. Spit on Sid. Spit on his bitch of a mother and his coward of a father. Spit on the witch herself. Spit on the eyes. Spit-- He felt the ship erupt beneath him. The loss of control was gone. He felt completely in control. The ship was steady beneath his feat. The throne of gold was heavy, sturdy, and built for him and him alone. No seat had ever felt as good as that throne did then. He felt the smoothness of gold beneath his hands--

--but then his hands could not move. His feet could not move. His legs, his arms-- he was being swallowed. He was being restrained. He was being-- His eyes opened wide and he looked down at the pristine sword protruding through his chest. He was about to shout, about to curse, and then he heard the voice of a woman. Something familiar. Someone familiar. And then he was in the tavern. No throne. No sword. No ship. No father, no mother. No Dasia. No Sid. Only himself, the bitch at his feet, and the bitch across from him. And the cards laid out before him. He steadied himself from the vision, catching his breath, and trying to do it subtly. His palms were clammy and Booker, sensing something was amiss, growled a bit louder. Beneath the table, she bared her fangs at the witch across from her master. But he gave no sign to attack and so she held. His gaze lingered on the final two cards. The Devil on his throne and the Ace of Swords. Looking to Elleynah, he spat out a low and dangerous question: "What the fuck was that?"

The flatness remained; whatever had taken the space within the girl's skin remained, and with empty gaze, it spoke. "You seek to gain, to ruin others and rise yourself. You have bones and bodies and eyes laid at your feet, and they lift you towards the goals you seek. You were content to feast, but then the hunt came for you. You have run, and clawed, and kept your feet but the tangling roots and the clawing shadows come closer. In seeking salvation from your hunt, in turning the tides against the predators to hunt in return, you have left yourself few doors, few ways safe to walk. Be careful, Karsteth Dusktide of the White Widow, who shows an unberbelly only to strike; you will taste what you want, and in knowing you have won, you will fall. Take warning here-- a victory precedes the end. Be wary." The Oracle remained, because Elleynah was lost-- caught in the vision of her own magics, she was slow returning to her flesh. Fear, thick as the smoke in the bar barred her return. Instead, the featureless facade of the cards blinked once, and a smile turned the lips. "You have been marked by witches, and witches know you. The weaves of fate clash over your name; the mother of your sons awaits your return, and she will give you the answers you need, and offer the final prize for all your efforts..."

He listened to the words that were spoken by the puppet of the cards with a grit of his teeth. The vague nature of them infuriated him, especially after having been jerked around in his own mind, as far as he was concerned. When he heard his full name and his ship, his jaw clenched, his temples pulsed, and he looked like fire ready to burst into something more wild. A victory precedes the end. Be wary. As she smiled, he felt fury rise in his belly. She spoke of witches and fate and Dasia, he knew that well enough. And though she spoke of him getting what he wanted, he felt mocked. He did not like to be mocked. And in order to get what he wanted, he knew what that meant. "You sealed your own fucking fate then," he all but growled. Knocking back the remainder of the whiskey, he slammed the mug down - to not other patron's surprise or care - and stood. In an instant, Booker was on her paws and growling as the captain rounded the table. He harshly grabbed Elleynah's arm and whether she was still in a daze or not, he dragged her as a child would a rag doll. Out of the chair and out of the bar, caring not if the heavy door slammed against her as he pulled her with him.

Before he moved, her hands were gathering the cards. It was fate-- premonition? That they were all gathered and pressed to her chest before the storm broke around them. Even still, pressed to her heart as they were, she was hapless to stop the pirate's moves-- even if she had been herself, he was stronger and faster. Elleynah watched from behind her own eyes, stapped in the space between. It was with horror that the doll that she had become was yanked bodily from the chair; Her feet moved with surety, between the patrons. Though he pulled her callously through the wildness and the riot of the Leaning Mast, whatever magics were in her made the progress oddly... smooth. Where he tugged, she followed, her feet landing precisely where they needed to be so as not to fall-- and with the space of a hair, she managed to slide past the door without it crashing on her frame. It was only when the bracing scent of the sea air hit her that she felt herself slam back into her form; and her knees nearly buckled with the sensations of fear and panic. A scream clawed at her throat. Inside the murky tavern, Shariya watched as the girl was dragged away, guilt and shame clawing her her belly. Reaching for a mug, she turned to deliver it, excuses tumbling around in her mind. A scarred and calloused hand closed around her wrist, with enough force to make her gasp. "Where'd she go." Baelisian's voice was low and dangerous, the sinuous roil of ink on her bared arms leading to a face thick with anger and disgust.

Into the dark, Karsteth dragged Elleynah. If she fell, he jerked her back up without a care. His strength was raw and animalistic, his stride deliberate and primal in its anger. He was so fast that Booker had to trot at his side, her claws clicking against the rickety, wooden dock-like pathways of Booty Bay. They passed the drunkards, laughing or puking over the edge of the docks, half-digested food splashing into the disgusting water below. Nobody paid them mind. Even the 'guards' cast looks briefly, but couldn't be bothered to intervene. A lover's quarrel perhaps. Or a debt owed. Either way, not their business, not their problem. Through the shark's mouth and into the tunnel that lead the way out of the 'city' did he lead, already starting to brandish a knife as he went. Once they were out of Booty Bay and surrounded by the sounds of the jungle, he swung Elleynah around until he back slammed hard against the rough bark of a palm tree. What anger he had at the vision was now beginning to boil over, having something - someone - to point it towards. A hand grabbed her hair roughly, calloused fingers wrapping into copper curls and jerking her to stay in place. "Marked by witches, am I, bitch?"

Now the girl staggered, her voice stolen by fear-- this was when she should fight, should run, but no one around her could help-- it had been so long since she had to think of life and death in so small a way, so personal, and the Spectre would be so disgusted, Bell would be so angry at her for letting this happen-- She tried, just once to yank away, but it was was futile enough he didn't even notice. He just pulled her along, and the sounds that shuddered and fought in her chest were rendered mute. No one could help her; these were pirated just the same as he was, this was not her world any more and she had forgotten the simplest of rules. In the tunnel of the Shark, she tried to look for anything-- any last-minute help, something, but if she lashed out now, she felt he would murder her where she stood. He'll kill you as easy as anything. Gabriel's warning, offered early, forgotten for only one moment and now-- Elleynah's only hope was to send for help. At her side, she concealed reaching for her commstone with a fake-stumble, turning it on. The last person she had messaged was Bell-- maybe the woman would be able to hear the sounds of the city die, the rise of the insects of the jungle. Closing her fingers around the comm, she held it tight-- it was her last, and only hope, as she was too weak and stupid to have prevented this. Her back slammed against the palm and a pained gasp broke from her lips, and with it, the silence was broken from her. "Yes, you've been-- there were deals, and a witch, the cards showed you what you asked for--" A cry broke from her as he yanked hard at the curls, her scarf unraveling at the rough treatment and sliding off her brow to the jungle floor. Meeting his eyes, fear and desperation flooded her freckled features. "I gave you the truth, not what you wanted to hear."

"You didn't give me fuckin' truth, you gave me something fuckin' else," he said, slamming her head back against the tree once more, his grip stern and never-faltering. He could hold the helm through a storm, he could most certainly hold a young girl against her own futile struggling. He had done it before. Many times. "What the fuck did I see? I know you fuckin' know." Again, he slammed her back. "What did you fuckin' make me see, bitch!?"

Elleynah closed her eyes as her skull slammed against the palm bark, stars going off in her vision like fireflies. "Th-that's the magic! That's the cards-- they-- they show the truth, in their own way--" She gripped the commstone, raising her voice as though on the verge of tears. It wasn't an act. "Please, let me go back to the city, I g-gave you the reading you asked for-- you saw what you needed to see, you got your warnings!" Panic was beginning to bubble over inside her, and if he didn't let go of her soon, she was going to make the mistake of trying to escape-- despite knowing his dog was waiting for her with bared teeth, despite knowing there was a blade held close to her throat.

Karsteth's grip tightened and he leaned in. The stench of whiskey was sharp from his breath, permeating the air between them. "That's not what I fuckin' wanted," he said, his voice a low growl - one that matched Booker as her snarling became more prominent. "Yer a fuckin' witch. Can't see that in yer fuckin' cards?" Brandishing his knife, he reached upwards and placed the cool blade against Elleynah's freckled cheek. He pressed hard enough to draw blood if she continued to struggle - and then a harsh jerk of her hair, enough to rip some out of their roots. He tugged downwards and then cut, a clump of bright orange hair left in his hand - and the knife was back at her throat. As he stuffed the hair into his pocket, he tilted his head to the side. "Ye talk about fate and witches and what ye want t'hear, what ye don't want t'hear. If it's really fuckin' fate, then it fuckin' hate you, bitch." Booker growled a bit louder and then barked once, the sound vicious and wet with frothed saliva. But Karsteth paid her no mind, his anger still narrowed at Elleynah. "Hair of a fuckin' virgin. In The Leaning Mast. How fuckin' perfect is that." With a harsh laugh and his hand free, save for a stray curl clinging to a dirty nail, he balled his hand into a fist and swung it into the young woman's gut.

She struggled, until the cold pressure of the knife cut her cheek; it was a small pain, but it shot through her, turning the threat in his voice and the cruelty in his words into something palpable and real. Panic blinded her; Elleynah’s breathing grew shallow as his hand twisted-- sharp pain slicing through her scalp and face, a small cry breaking from her lips-- And the hair came away in his hands, the brightness of it shorn from her, and something inside her quailed. There had been warning-- she knew, not to let this-- he shouldn't be allowed to-- The punch landed hard in her belly and Elleynah doubled over in pain, acid racing up her throat with the strike and she heaved on the emptiness in her stomach. Her limp fingers dropped the commstone to the rotting undergrowth. Tears fell from her tight shut eyes, and she waited, waited for the next blow to land. There was a single moment, in the jungle, where the insects sounds dulled; half a heartbeat of quiet. It was followed by two booms-- two shots from a rifle. The rounds thudded into the hound's flank; one near her throat, the other in the soft part of her belly. They were aimed to take the beast out of combat as quickly as possible. Bell lifted the gun to pepper one in the back of the pirate, but she'd loaded quickly-- the gun jammed, power not igniting. With a curse, Baelisian dropped the rifle in favor of her sword and lunged from the vegetation, straight towards Karsteth's back.

Booker snapped again, lunged, and took the two shots. The power of the rifle was enough to send the mutt back  and tumbling into the dirt with a splatter of blood following her. With a high-pitched yelp, her growling continued, but quieter and slightly strangled. It at least pulled Karsteth's attentions to the side. He almost looked surprised at the familiar sight. He recognized the harsh features, the black hair, the tattooed arms. He smirked and swung his fist against Elleynah's face with a low grumble of, "Fuckin' fate. Your boy ain't here too, is he? Slinkin' around in the shadows like a fuckin' dickless bitch?" In an instant, he threw his knife forward and the blade sung as it whipped through the air towards Baelisian. Quickly thereafter, he swung his bow from his back and held it at the ready. And arrow was notched and in the blink of an eye, it flew after the knife, towards its prey.

Baelisian had sized up the man when she saw him in the tavern; he was lean muscle and hate, stank of his sins, hollow-hearted and mean. With Gabriel, it might have been a fairer fight-- or alone, she might have had the thought and the wherewithal to stay clean, stay concise, fight with her mind and not her rage. But his fist slammed into Elleynah's cheek and she went down, cradling her cheek and eye, and everything in Baelisian vision narrowed to red. The dagger grazed her temple, the sting sending her forward; it informed her enough of his aim that she was nearly vertical in the air when it went flying. Sword held against the length of her arm, she launched herself at him, trying to force him away from the woman and the palm tree by any means necessary, throwing her arm in a slash towards his belly.

The dagger flew by, the arrow followed it, and then in an instant, Baelisian was upon him. He had no idea why she was there, but he did not mind. He could only laugh, low and cruel like the Devil himself. How fortuitous. Why had he even bothered asking the cards? Cruel joke or no, he knew exactly what he was looking for and that he would get it. He would get it this day. With a trained shift and twist, the bow become glaive and he brought it up along his arm to block the sword. She was fighting with rage, something he knew and knew well. And he knew how it could blind. Ah, the irony. Pressing in hard, he his words were a hiss through gritted teeth. "That shit of a boy not enough for ye? Gotchyerself this bitch too? S'that how it is?"

There was nothing that made it through the roar in her ears; it was anger, and it was panic. Everything was going wrong and she was vicious with her rage-- it moved her, but not her sister. It wasn't a thought; her body moved of its own, and she was closing the distance again between her and the mongrel who was the target of that rage. Baell brought the blade up again, attempting a slash at his side; it might hit, but her own defenses were shoddy and half-forgotten in the anger that fuelled her. Behind, at the root of the palm, Elleynah's head swam. After the vision, after everything, she could barely mend the parts of her thoughts that broke along the edges. There was loudness just beyond her, and she scooted away from it lamely, trying to make sense of all that was going on.

With a blade as massive as that of his bow glaive, Karsteth's movements did not have to be precise to crash into Baelisian's, but they were anyway. Where her anger made her vicious but shoddy, his own made him more dangerous, more even. He had learned to harness what drove him. With a shower of sparks as steel met steel, he swung his way down harder and pushed back what ground she had tried to claim for her own. "C'mon, bitch, ye can do better than that," he taunted, emphasizing that last word as he crashed his bow glaive downwards for an opening, drew back the first of his free hand, and let it fly towards her face.

She had been born a fighter, but her years were her enemy here; she had fewer than her own Captain, for all they had been cruel to Baelisian as well, but where others might have honed anger into coldness, hers was still heat-- too much fire in the bloodline, too much animal. Baelisian barely held out against the parry, her foot sliding in the rain-and-rot slick leaflitter, and she caught Karsteth's fist in her temple. It made her fall back a step, but where anger made her decisions poorer, it sped her, and she lifted her blade to block his own incoming attack-- or would try.

Karsteth took the dagger to his arm and it drew blood with a vicious hiss between clenched teeth. He looked down, the flesh between his rolled-up shirt sleeve and leather wrist cuff prickling with red. Behind him, Booker was making her way to her feet and at the smell of her master's blood, she growled obediently. He looked to Baelisian and in an instant, the bow glaive was against the dagger, against her arm, and then he dropped, swinging a powerful leg beneath her to sweep her off of her feet.

Elleynah hobbled away from the combat, her head throbbing, belly churning like she might vomit at any moment. It was-- this was wrong, something felt wrong in the weave. This wasn't supposed to happen; that thought repeated over and over in her mind. This was not the way the threads unraveled, it was-- She shook the useless imaginings away, and with a calming breath, steadied her thoughts. It had not been so long ago she had turned herself to steel under Esme's eyes-- not so long since she fought for her rank. This was not the end of her. Placing hands over her belly, she let the green magics flow from the earth around her, fecund jungle rife with energies just waiting to be used. It rushed into her, stealing the ache from belly and brow, and Elleynah scrambled to her feet. Baelisian, facing against the calmer pirate, fared less well than her sister. She snarled, teeth bared like a hissing cat, and tried to press her advantage-- only to have her momentum play into Karsteth's hands. His calf connected with Bell's knees and she went down. Back hitting the mud with a thud, she grabbed for the leaflitter with her free hand and threw a handful up into Karsteth's one good eyes, pushing backwards to put space between them now that she was prone.

Karsteth turned, but too late. Dirt flew into his vision, causing it to burn and feel sharp. He growled, not unlike the bitch nearby, and then swung his bow glaive down with a vicious attempt at cutting Baelisian's legs - one or both - as she tried to scamper away. Crawling on top of her, using his weight to his advantage, he shoved the bow glaive down against her neck with little care if it cut her or not. Holding it with one hand, he swung down with the other. Over. And over. And over. And over. He was brutal in his assault and kept punching until his knuckles were bloody, blisters in his future. Bone against bone, flesh against flesh, blood against blood. And then, he pressed down. When the cunt finally stopped moving, he leaned down with a whiskey-scented scoff. "Supposed to be a whore. You'll fuckin' do." And then his fingers plunged. They pressed into Baelisian's eye socket, pushing against the lid, surrounding the eye within. If blood spurted, he cared not. Her screams caused him no pause. Booker's growling caused him no pause. He had a task - a bloody one - and he would see it done. He pushed, reached, grabbed, and then yanked. He yanked until the slick and slippery green eye was free and in his blood and dirt-stained grip.

She's been caught up in the attempt to get distance-- she wasn't thinking, she was acting on instinct and it was the undoing of her. The glaive caught at her thighs when he slashed downward, and Bell barked out her pain-- but it wasn't anything compared with what was to come. The attack slowed her enough that he had his moment. The pirate dropped, weight enough to pin her. Baelisian kicked, thrashed-- the glaive cut against her neck, even as his punches rained down. She blindly groped for her blade as his fist smashes against her face, fingers coming away with nothing but leaves. She fought until she saw stars, until blackness swam in her vision, but her head was ringing and she could only focus on breathing through a broken and bloody nose, the whistle of air through it and her swollen, bust lips haggard. It was enough to make her go slack, panting hard, rattled as she tried to find her opening, find her strength to fight him through the aches and pain. She couldn't understand what he said through the ringing, but she knew what was coming when his calloused, dirty hands got near her eye. A feral, angry scream erupted from her and it soon became one of genuine agony. Baelisian thrashed, to the last-- even when the filaments snapped between eye and socket, she was fighting. There was a slick sound of boots sliding on mud and leaves, and despite the prize already taken, Elleynah's frame slammed against the man's side. She was not a fighter by nature, but she was solid with the muscles of years in a military and all of her was flung at the center of Karsteth's mass, anything to get him away from Bell.

It was a slick thing, a fresh eye. As difficult to hold as a small bit of soap. Still gritting against the dirt in his own eye, he felt the hard hit of Elleynah against him. He tumbled to the side, clutched the eye in one hand and kept hold of his bow in the other. He didn't bother with a pouch - there was no time. He stuffed the bloody eye right in his pocket and then rubbed to try and rid his sight of the dust that made such a haze. Viciously and blindly, he swung out with his glaive to keep both of the bitches at bay. But behind them, the third bitch growled. Booker was on all fours once more, though limping on her hind leg. Blood matted the dark, coarse fur, and she looked angry. Slow, but angry - and nonetheless dangerous.

The night was thick with the lengthening shadows, and Elleynah missed the fly of his glaive; she caught the slash in her upper arm, but she wasn't staying to fight. Whatever Bell had done was slowing him enough for her to think, and move, and use the skills she'd won hard at the Spectre's heel. As soon as the man was off of her sister, Elleynah was scrambling back, mimicking (without knowing it) Bell's actions-- another handful of grime and leaf litter was lobbed at his eyes. This time, though, it was filled with magic; her anger threaded the leaves and the dirt, and as soon as it contacted Karsteth's skin the debris would attempt to root itself-- green tendrils pobing at his pores, attempting to slide into his nose, if any reached the eyepatch they squirmed beneath it as well. A growing charm, made into annoyance. She did not look back to see if her dirty trick landed-- instead, she clawed her way towards her sister and tugged up at her arm. "Get up get up for fucks sake get up!" Elleynah's voice was shrill and high, panic leeching into it. Once the dark-haired woman was on her feet, Elleynah pulled her along-- there was no fight, there was only getting away.

With a vicious curse and a scream of, "YOU FUCKIN' BITCH!!", Karsteth wildly wiped at his eye and nose with his free hand. It was a throb of panic in his chest that the tendrils would do as he just did and go for his eye, so he ripped them away from any possible hole they might have made. He scratched, tore, and ripped, neverminding if he clawed at himself and drew blood. He heard both of the bitches start to scamper off, but so did he hear Booker start growling, snapping and snarling. Even wounded, she stood in the way, in the center of the path - though, she would be slow should they dash in their blood-covered retreat. Wildly wiping at his face, he then grabbed for his glaive, grabbed for a bow, and in the general direction of where he heard the two, he let the arrow fly.

Baelisian was panting hard through clenched teeth, brow to neck nothing but tense muscle and grit. Her face was a sore of pain, all of it, from fist and... She couldn't think-- gods, her fucking eye. Anger and senseless hate brimmed in her skin as she tried to imagine the  ways she would kill that man, but all it did was made her feet unsure as she was torn in directions. In a last act of anger, Bell groped at her thigh, reaching for the dagger there-- she held it up to her chest aggressively, ready to fight despite the fact her world was darker by half. Booker’s growls caught her ears, and she bared teeth as they neared. The thing was still alive, for fucks sake. Something had to die tonight. She would have lunged for the dog, but Elleynah tugged her along with strength that belied her cowering earlier, all purpose for now. "No, no come on--" Elleynah summoned more of her panicked magics, knowing it would tax her later but at that moment she wanted to get away. Muttering a spell beneath her breath, she mimicked the other casting she had used against the pirate himself but on a greater scale; it was a druid’s calling, not hers, but she'd learned from them she served with-- more greenery rose to meet her fingers, all vibrant and powerful, almost more than she could grasp. With a hiss, she spun the magics like thread between her fingers, letting it build. Once there was enough of it, she cast it towards the pirate’s bitch, and Elleynah could spare no more time or thought; she had to run.

"Booker!! Go!!" Karsteth shouted, wiping madly at his face, even as the greenery faded and all that was left was dirt and paranoia. He notched another arrow and with a squint against the haze, he shot it towards what he could make out of the two women as they hastened their retreat. Booker yelped and snarled as the greenery wrapped around her, tightening her wounds already made by Baelisian. Though she tried to be loyal and heed her master's command, she kept halting to gnaw at the vines that the younger Stormsummer had summoned to her call.

The first arrow whizzed by as the spell was launched-- it soared past Elleynah's extended hand. She had snatched it back, panic still threading her, but her focus was forward. If fear would slow her, she would have none of it-- she was already laden with a sister who was lurching more than running and her own, other hobbles. It was the ache of the magic use made her steps leaden, not fear-- she was no druid, no Greenseer or Dor'wynn to whom nature bent like bower-leaves; she was just a witch, and the charms of life-giving, the blessings that grew, were taxing still. She could hum healing into tea leaves, but it was an effort of days, of sunlight and rain. Magic as aggression was alien to her. She was nearly to the edge of the palms when Karsteth's next arrow was loosed; The second shot flew truer than the first. It pierced the jungle-moist air and slammed into Elleynah's thigh. A cry erupted from her at the pain that blossomed, and something inside her grated hard against the spell-exhaustion. Something stirred, below the surface of her magics, old and calm. It morphed panic to something harder, more cold-- and she almost hesitated, hand drifting towards the shaft that sprouted from her leg. Baelisian's pained grunt brought her back, and the thing beneath slid once more into the dark of subconscious. Shoving her arm around Bell's shoulders, Elleynah spared no more time-- she ran, leaving blood and green in her wake.

Though Booker tried to follow the two women, she stopped eventually to gnaw at the vines that continued to sprout, until they withered and died from the sheer distance from their maker. She had drawn more blood, matted in her teeth with her own black fur. The bitch limped her way back towards Karsteth, whom drew himself up to his feet, angry and seething. He rubbed the dirt from his eyes and it caked on his skin, moist from sweat and the humidity of Stranglethorn. Blood trailed into the jungle , the dirt was scuffed from their tussle, and he was breathing hard with anger at having prey escape. Taking a deep breath, his low and hoarse voice boomed throughout the area, weaving its dangerous way through the tall trees and thick vines. "RUN AS FAR AS YE FUCKIN' CAN!! RUN AN' DON'T YE DARE FUCKIN' LOOK BACK, 'CAUSE I'LL FUCKIN' BE THERE!!" Would he truly be there? No. More than likely not. But as he heaves a breath, he felt more accomplished. The two would run and run far, and his mark had been put on them. An arrow into one, and the other would not see again out of her own eye. The eye.... He shrugged and swung his bow over his shoulder, into its usual and comfortable place. With a bloody and dirt-covered hand, he reached into his pocket and felt for the slick eyeball, the trail of nerves after it still warm. Plucking it out and giving it a careless toss (to which Booker barked slightly), he then dropped it into the small pouch at his side, where the other eye sat. His other hand made its way to his other pocket and when he felt the curls of copper hair still in place, his anger started to subside. A cruel smirk slid up onto his lips and he looked after where the two women had escaped. "AND THANK YE - VERY FUCKIN' KINDLY!!" he shouted back, for no one's benefit but his own. With a bark of a laugh, he looked down to Booker and tilted his head to the side. "C'mon, y'fuckin' bitch. We got a delivery to make."

[curiouslich]

Threatening Promises

Wiping a hand across the mirror Zanarian stared at the mirror with a hint of grimace on his face. Claws reaching up to probe the tender discolored flesh on his face. Met with a jolt and a hiss. The wound was fresh. The feeling of sore blood and throbbing heart beats echoed in pulsing waves of heat. The bath had done nothing to ease the pain, but that wasn’t his intention.

Without preamble, without warning one swift right hook had shattered his face. There was a great deal of indignation to it. The Overseer was a leader of the Cabal, a proud soldier that was adept at reading fights and coming out on top. He just didn’t see this one coming and paid the price for his growth of his contempt.

Hissing again as he stared through the mist at the set nose. Running his hand over the bruised eye, he had leaned in closer to get a look at the damage. The lesson was learned Baelisian was not to be trifled with. The scene still played in his thoughts.

"Oi." She jabbed her knuckle into the bruised and broken skin. "Keep yer claws off the girl. Orange curls. Freckles. F*** whoever else ye want in this pisspot world, but keep yerself off Elleynah." Her words were quiet at the end, the threat realer. "Don't touch her, or all your wantonness will be ended."

No one else had challenged him like that. No one else had dared, but here, without warning, without hesitation, she struck. Not even Kaltaia, No even Asteryn, or the rest of the realm of Demons caught him off guard like that.

The deal was simple, the threat even more so, keep his eyes and hands off her, and she’d look the other way, fail, and he’d be dead, or worse, mutilated. Pulling at the skin below his eye the swelling of pain boiled up around the wound. Bell was a rare woman, probably one of a handful that could manage it. Even more so Zanarian didn’t look forward to the idea of being on a ship with a woman eager to murder him.

And at the end of the day, why bother? It was no secret he liked pushing people, but trying to push someone into enjoying themselves to let go? Not when threatened, not when Bell offered herself to him? Waste of time, and there was other prey with less than half the peril

Bell offered a lot though, in exchange for the deal, for the threat, and the attack she gave him the most decadent night of his life. His muscles were still sore after returning to the Glave, after the bath. Everything ached, and it sent lightning down his spine thinking about it. She was a rare woman indeed. 

But there was more, a hint sweeter than any demon gave him. The scent of the of honey, and the hint of a promise to ensure he kept the deal even beyond the threat.

“Keep ya damn claws off her, and maybe, maybe, next time things get heated between us, I may invite a friend to help cool us off.”

@stormandozone

[pydoodles]

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[pywriting]

Following the Hidden - Finale

The sun was low and the winds blew cool air up from the river in the base of the valley. Warmth fell over his skin as Quineven was resting against the pillar. No matter how long he’d been away from this place, and all the devastation that ruled the lands around it, it felt so very much like his home. His wanderlust has caused him to leave it, morphing into his current profession which forced him to stay away from those he cared for fear of retaliation from unhappy customers.

Ah, but it never was unwelcome to be here, despite what his family would think. Time seemed to pause just for a bit, and problems could easily be forgotten under the warm light of the sun and the soft breeze. Memories of years upon years spent here before it all, filtering into his mind with welcome arms.

His eye was closed, and he just laid there, unaware of what was slowly coming to him through this valley.

Time passed, perhaps he’d fallen asleep? He hadn’t heard the sound of feet, but he felt something near. He wondered briefly if it was his daughter or one of her children. The voice that called his name was not one he expected, though, and it was enough to bring him into an alert state of mind immediately.

Never was it hard to hear Taliori, the excitement and relief clear just in how she spoke out. It had been long enough the two of them hadn’t seen one another, but even so, it seemed she thought it had been too long. She currently was struggling with his Nythandiir, tugging at his hold and obviously wanting to run forward, and he could hardly blame her, considering how he looked currently. She didn’t look all that much, and in an instant, he knew that Nythandiir had gotten himself into a fight with the…. Pair of them? He saw another woman standing next to Nythandiir, not doing anything, but looking far from pleased.

Nythandiir cursed as the small woman gave him a bit of a struggle, scratching at his hand as if that would do anything… but how curious it was that she wasn’t succeeding in getting away from him. Something wasn’t right, though it wouldn’t take long to figure it out, he summarized something must’ve happened in the fight itself to hurt her, and in that case, he’d have to get Anaestiria to help out.

Nythan spoke up first, “These two say that-”

Tali interrupted by turning and shouting at him, “Let me GO! He knows who we are! He knows us! I told ye!” She almost sounded panicked by the fact that Nythandiir had the audacity to keep her back.

Before any arguments surged up between the two, or even the three of them, he spoke in a crisp and clear tone that demanded the attention of the trio. “Let her go, Nythandiir, she will not cause harm. Go and get Anaestiria and tell her what you have done to the two of these.”

There was a moment of pause, and perhaps it would seem an argument would be made against the elders word, but soon Taliori had been released and a look was given to Baelisian… cautious and untrusting, especially of that one whom had gotten more than a few good blows on him. The only response he got was a smirk, a small wink, and a little kiss blown to him. Vile woman.

As soon as the grip was released on the smallest of those present, she bolted for the man resting against the pillar, and perhaps one unaccustomed to such would be fearful of such. In a moment, Quineven spread his arms out and allowed Taliori her place to latch onto him, as was to be expected, her arms tight and burying her face into him as if he was going to off and disappear right there. Slowly, despite the approach of Baelisian, he pulled his arms around the woman, his eye lidding as he felt her body heave at the start of a cry.

Despite the lack of understanding of how or why she was there, he felt relief. A small hint of this shown in a tiny smile that made it’s way onto his face. His hand brushed down her back in a small comforting gesture, and he murmured softly, “You have come a long way, Tal.”

There was a response given, though it was muffled and spoken between what was obviously little sobs. He let out a breath, raising his hand to brush it over the top of her hair, then looking back to Baelisian. The smile slipped away a bit, but he did not show signs that she was unwelcome here.

“I suggest you come sit down. You’ve quite a tale to tell me if you’ve come this far to find me.”

Read the rest of the Following the Hidden Series here

[pywriting]

Following the Hidden V

Taliori’s breath came in clouds of condensation, the ground beneath her slippery and falling apart with each step she struggled to take. Snow was not something she was accustomed to trudging through, and especially when she was running as quickly as she could. Each movement threatened to toss her down into the white powder and ruin her chances…

What had happened? It had been going fine, then suddenly it wasn’t.

Someone had walked out of the shadows- attacked the pair. She hadn’t even heard the sound of it, and then Baelisian had been struck. It happened so quick, and then she’d been the next target. He’d hit right on her left, breaking any sort of defense she had started to put together due to the soreness in her arm. It hurt. The kicking, the falling into the cold snow, having to quickly pick herself up. She’d not been prepared.

Neither of them were prepared.

Baelisian had tried to fight back, but in the end, she’d told her to run, that she’d be following. Tali didn’t like the idea of that, but it was the best shot. As soon as they’d reach the goblin town that was over the next few hills, they’d surely find safety. The cartels wouldn’t take kindly to that sort of trouble…

And so here she was, running up a hill in the growing dusk that seemed so much darker due to the heavy and grey clouds above them. She heard something behind her. She wouldn’t know if it was Baelisian or if it was the shadow that had attacked them. Her heart was in her throat, her back was sore, she could only focus on not falling… not letting herself fall behind for an easy prey.

She should’ve stayed to fight, should’ve helped… but she wasn’t going to be help in the state that she was in.

Tali made it over the crest of the hill, then felt a blow smack against her left side, the ripping pain shuddering through her back and causing her to actually release a sound of pain as she toppled into the snow, rolling down a bit in a mess of cold. She’d lost her breath, sucking in, but not before she felt a foot on her neck, heavy and cold as the snow that now surrounded her. It pressed down hard, threatening to break something, and she felt a well of fear, looking up to the covered figure- featureless, completely a mystery to her.

Her eyes squinted shut a bit, struggling to calm herself as she moved her right hand abruptly to punch right at the joint of the man’s knee. It wasn’t nearly as strong as she could’ve offered, and she’d not trained as of late, but the impact was obvious when it struck. There was a sound of pain, and he lost his balance. It was the only moment she had, feeling her throat released by the foot and struggling to get up and slip away from him again.

She managed to get a whole foot from him before there was another strike to her, this time slamming her down onto her stomach, the foot digging down painfully between her shoulder blades. Another sound of pain escaped her and she struggled to push herself up.

“Trying to get up?” Came the rumble of the deep voice above, a teasing tone before he clicked his tongue. He spoke in an odd fashion of Thalassian, and it reminded her of something, but she was quickly derailed from any such thought as he went on. “Come now, you can do better.”

The feeling of his foot coming up just enough gave her the hope to push upwards with all her strength… all before he put pressure right onto her again, focusing his heel right into the scar that was across her back. Tears welled up in her eyes from the sheer pain, clawing at the snow as she tried to get away from this.

“Does it hurt? Hrm? Not too much I hope, because you’ve questions to answer, little thing.”

The way he called her that caused a shiver to run up her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck rose straight up. So many thoughts were running through her mind, trying to figure out what to do, where bell was, who this person was, what it was they wanted.

Suddenly there was the weight lifted from her back, and she heard a cry of surprise and another of anger. She shifted quickly, picking herself up and looking to what caused this.

Baelisian had come back, bloody faced and all as she’d tackled the man, struggling to maintain a upper position to him. It seemed as if she was winning, and it gave Taliori the chance to pick herself up. Punches were being thrown from both sides of the predicament, and there was a ripping sound somewhere.

All of a sudden, Bell was smacked hard, and it seemed there was a flash of something… and she dropped to the side, limp as a corpse. Tali’s heart leapt to her throat, beating fast as she backpedaled, then quickly tried to get away. There was another flash, then she felt the world spin in a dizzying manner, rolling about her vision in a mix of white and blues and browns. Her hair loosened from the security of her hood and next she saw was the hazy image of that man back above her.

The mask had been clawed away, and clear was the annoyance in the man’s features… Familiar features.

Her eyes widened as she saw his foot moving as if to kick her right in her face, she was quick as ever, calling out the name that finally came to her mind.

“Nythan-!”

She felt the cold impact and saw only darkness.

Following the Hidden Series

[pywriting]

Following the Hidden IV

The sensation of the stones were weird, the solid crumbled as soon as her fingers wrapped around them and she felt the rush of air around her that surely was the magics working on her. She watched as the dusts from it swirled around her, and she had to close her eyes to avoid getting any in her eyes; a natural reaction.

The next time Taliori had opened her eyes, she was standing alone on the far outskirts of Orgrimmar, on the Azshara border. In the blink of an eye, they’d traveled from far south Kalimdor to the north, and needless to say, it was a bit odd. Without warning, she felt a vile reaction in her stomach, as if she suddenly settled from the movements and she had to run to the side, falling on her knees and bracing herself up as she lost the last meal she had. It was not often she used such means of transportation, and it never did make her feel well… this one felt even worse.

Baelisian was nowhere in sight, and for the time being, she couldn’t find the care to figure out where she was, trying to release the sickening feeling into the grass below. Deep breaths were taken, and finally she wiped away her mouth, sitting back and looking up and around. She knew the place, if only somewhat. Tall pine trees that colored a odd copper and auburn mixing with the deep greens.

The whistle, while far away, was heard, causing her ears to perk. Her stomach still felt weak, but she got herself up and swallowed down the nausea. Slow as she was, still she started to move towards the distant woman whom had spotted her first. It took awhile, but with each step, the sickness seemed to pass. Soon, she felt just as she had before, and just in time as Baelisian and her met once more.

Thankfully, if the other woman had noticed her looking a tad more pale from the sickness, she hadn’t mentioned it and quickly they set off on their way to find a good landmark to start from. Taliori hadn’t been too familiar with the place, other than some extension of orgrimmar, and even that was not very far into it.

She’d known there were ruins here, that goblins had taken up residence here, and that there was a multitude of naga along the coast that were rather troublesome to most that wished to explore this land. Mountains bordered the entirety of the place, and had she seen it in another season, she was assured that it probably would almost look lovely.

Of course, that would be minus the large structures of goblin craft that spanned the length of the land. One of the odd bridge structures were ahead of the pair, and already she could hear the loud sounds of it all. She had grown accustomed to goblins, and all their… interests. In fact, she found a large portion of them most fascinating, especially when it came to when they actually would divulge their ideas. Most, of course, were less than exciting, but it was interesting none the less.

There was no goblins on the bridge-like structure, though. There had been one rocket that shook the metallic legs that they passed, but otherwise it spanned far out of her gaze on either side. It was here that they finally paused, Baelisian pulling out one of the multiple maps she’d brought with her. Tali had seen it before, of course, and saw no need to look at the same time. She could remember it enough to get a general idea. The night before they’d left, in Uldum, she’d pointed out certain ranges of the mountains that met the coastal region, speaking of caves and the sort of places that a structure or old ruins could serve as a good spot to hide away. Far enough from the goblins, but close enough to get an idea of rumors if need be or the pay was good enough.

It made sense to her, and it aligned with what she knew he’d look for in such places. Of course, he’d wish to keep his ears open for any news of the man that attacked him, and perhaps other news that might pass by to start regaining the leverage. Her thoughts wandered back to the house in Ferlas, the fire that lit the tree that had survived for so very long and protected that beautiful place. She’d made the decision to allow Baelisian her peace to burn it all, but, she had to wonder, was it right of her do such? To make that decision? So much would’ve been lost, and so much of his work was balanced on the centuries of work there. Not that it could not eventually be regained in time, but, it would be as if starting from nearly the bottom all over again.

She felt a start of worry, looking to Baelisian for a moment while the woman was still gathering her bearings on the land and figuring which point would be closest for them. She liked her, but it was odd that she was so intent on burning it. It would be no harm to her, surely, to leave such. And if it was her own secrets she was after, then why was it that she had not simply taken those tomes instead of burning it all. Taliori could even have gotten them for her, knowing well enough where they’d have been kept. Then again, perhaps it was for the best that the information was left unprotected. The seals had been broken on the wards that so often protected it, and it was simply left there. Like a hidden treasure among the tops of the trees.

Straightening up a bit, she looked forward again, realizing Bell was already starting to move once more, shoving away the map and speaking to her. She’d failed to hear most of it, busy letting her thoughts run rampant in her mind instead of the woman. She trusted where this woman would take her, and followed by her side.

It was interesting to go through the lands, seeing ruins mixed with structures built about by goblins here or there. Certainly a change of landscape from the desert dunes and sparse mountain ranges. They’d made it to the coast first, Baelisian explaining that they’d search the southern shores first, then move up to the Northern shores. From there, they’d go to the mountains where there was a larger grouping of ruins to check in on.

It took what felt like forever. Going around not only groupings of murloc and naga, but through the ugly ruins half filled with tidewater during parts of the day or night. She hated this place quite a bit. There was far too little places to check, and it made her feel as if not enough was being done. Her shoulder ached when they climbed, and she still did not wish to raise it too high. Bell was no mender, if if she tore something, than perhaps she’d accidentally ruin it to the point she’d never be able to use it.

The thought terrified her for the time being, and because of that, it took her even longer to move. It irritated her more when each stop they had procured no results that she so wanted. Even when they’d stop for rests, she was still on her feet, wanting to rush Bell along, despite all the woman’s complaints.

It didn’t go any quicker, no matter the efforts on Taliori’s parts, and eventually after a few days of traveling around and about, and one large detour to avoid even having to deal with the goblin city, which would only waste more time for them, they made it to the cliffs on the far end of Azshara. When they saw the high ruins littered in the cliffside, Tali felt a bit of renewed hope, though despaired at the thought of having to climb up all the ledges they’d eventually have to.

It took two hours, including a few breaks, just to make it up the cliffside. The start of the ruins were there, and more were further up. They went for the largest, most promising one, hoping that inside of the mountainside would be connecting tunnels or staircases.

Just as before, the pair looked about the ruins- some signs showed of perhaps others being here, but there was far less to steal in terms of treasure here. Plus, there was echos of sounds that were far too close to moans or other such whispers to fuel the imagination with thoughts of the dead come back to protect their own.

In some of the hallways, it was noticed that there was odd groupings of driftwood and the sort, rationalized to be what might have washed in given the cataclysm. More was found, of course, everywhere, but in the larger rooms at least it seemed to dwindle down, as did their chances of finding anyone living here recently.

By the tenth room that lead to nowhere and showed nothing but decay and age, Tali felt that sinking truth that he was, more than likely, not here. Even so, it felt weird here, and the thought of leaving was not so bad. Passing conversation kept them from hearing the odd, eerie sounds of the ruins. As they brought themselves back out to a lower point they’d discovered at the end of some of the hallways, there was a sudden sense that made Tali’s hairs stand on end. It seemed she was not the only one, considering Baelisian stopped as well. There were no words, surely they both felt it. The twitch of tali’s ears, the holding of their breaths to strain and hear. Nothing came- nothing more than wind howling through long forgotten archways and halls. No, nothing there at all. Tali had murmured something of ghosts, perhaps in a slight tease to them both if only to settle the feeling they both shared. She offered the suggestion to leave and find somewhere better to stay for the night, and Bell easily agreed.

As both of them left, there was relief that washed over them, though there was still that slight discomfort there, like an itch somewhere you can’t quite reach. Slowly, though, they’d forget it and simply focus again on what their reasoning was. They’d find shelter for the night, they’d rest, and they’d move on to the next point they could to attempt to find Quineven

Night fell, and in the blanket of that night, a pair of eyes watched them closely. Each movement taken, each word heard. No move had been made yet, but they were there… waiting for the right time.

Following the Hidden Series

@stormandozone

[pydoodles]

Forgot to post yesterday's work doodles. Noble!Ykalei for @spiral-seeker A tali for me A Baelisian attempt for @stormandozone

[pywriting]

Following the Hidden III

With the lead in the Un’goro Crater wasted, they’d moved off to Uldumn next, finding it closest. It was worse than Tanaris, hot and far more creatures and things hiding in the dunes. Ruins littered the area as if it were one great city hidden under the sands, and truly, there probably was. Taliori had little knowledge beyond the information that had passed when everyone seemed to flock that way after the Cataclysmic destruction upon the world.

Archeologists, she recalled them. A great deal of them came through his place when they had spent time in Tanaris, looking for information upon one another and their movements. She knew that Baelisian was right on this one, that there might be a place he’d hid here. After all, it was not as if she had never been here.

The great city in the center of the land was a place that she’d gone once with Quineven. She still remembered the odd surge of greenery in comparison to the mass of endless sand. It was nice, even, with the wide lake kept up by a dam that sunk under the surface. She remembered following Quineven down there, bathed in a blue light brought on both by lights and the water’s reflections. She remembered stopping and watching as the creatures swam about near to the glass, and watching the larger ones as they floated by. Enchanted by the sight and even managing to name off more than just a few. She’d been like a child, curious at every site, letting the images sink into her mind.

They were far from there, this time. There was somewhere else they were going, and it was no easy feat going there. Deep in a cliff face, through ruins, they’d find a place that was their next lead. The entrance was the hardest part to find, but upon going deeper in, they soon discovered every surface stripped clean, every trap undone, and signs of life having been through.

Baelisian had cursed, Tali had just been silent through it.

He was not here, and they’d wasted a total of two days just traversing the desert itself . There were other places, of course, within just Uldum itself. They had to try, and after some consideration, they went to the great city in the center of the land. The oasis in the desert, filled with the odd species that ruled the desert.

Even after all this time, there was still those who flocked here, curious of the lifestyle or the history behind the place, ever studying what their predecessors had left them. There was a setup of more permanent shelters made on the outskirts of the city, granted by the residents to these people, and it is in there that they found themselves a makeshift bar. Enclosed from the sun and hot winds, it was pleasant and cool in the ‘bar’.

It had been late by the time they’d made it in, and plenty enough people were around to speak to. Hours passed, drinks were shared, and Tali’s mood lightened with a more familiar atmosphere. The pair of women were natural in such an environment, soon enough getting enough information out of them to figure where it would be best to head next. They’d spent the rest of the evening enjoying drinks, and for the first time in awhile, tali had a genuine smile on her face from the night. After all, Bell somehow knew just how to make her happy, that was for sure.

The next morning they were on the move again. More ruins explored, more fruitless results. Honestly, it was amazing just how much the two of them would see in just the spare days, walking through pillaged structures and long lost architecture. Each one brought little but disappointment. By the time nightfall had fallen again, she swore they must’ve walked the entire perimeter of the desert

Even so, there were more leads, she’d been assured. She’d keep searching, and even told Baelisian that if she wished to leave, she could. Taliori hadn’t wanted her to leave, but she did. Baelisian could easily give her the locations and go back home, but… she didn’t. Even despite the conflicting thoughts, the night under the myriad of stars with Baelisian’s assurance to keep going felt good.

They’d find him.

Surely, they would.

Following the Hidden Series 

@stormandozone