[Exalted] The Dragon's Spite
- Thread starter EarthScorpion
- Start date
- Mature Fantasy
SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
Well, I'm convinced. We'll face the trickster with our tricks and our fighty new ally deal with their fighter.
[X] Silk-and-Eye. The smiling, playful prince of foxes who revels with his kin in decadence. It will take all your wit and whim to confront him and eke out a victory, but this wouldn't be the first trickster you've played for a fool.
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[X] Silk-and-Eye. The smiling, playful prince of foxes who revels with his kin in decadence. It will take all your wit and whim to confront him and eke out a victory, but this wouldn't be the first trickster you've played for a fool.
- Location
- PA
[X] Silk-and-Eye. The smiling, playful prince of foxes who revels with his kin in decadence. It will take all your wit and whim to confront him and eke out a victory, but this wouldn't be the first trickster you've played for a fool.
Let the smoke and mirrors and word games commence! And if our fae girl wins her fight we can weave her a narrative of facing down an expy of the monster within or something.
Let the smoke and mirrors and word games commence! And if our fae girl wins her fight we can weave her a narrative of facing down an expy of the monster within or something.
- Location
- Malaysia
[X] Silk-and-Eye. The smiling, playful prince of foxes who revels with his kin in decadence. It will take all your wit and whim to confront him and eke out a victory, but this wouldn't be the first trickster you've played for a fool.
[X] Redtail Dae
Northern Man-Eater versus Northern Man-Eater, a rumble in the desert. I wanna see a fight where Rena actually pushes herself and Redtail will offer that challenge.
Northern Man-Eater versus Northern Man-Eater, a rumble in the desert. I wanna see a fight where Rena actually pushes herself and Redtail will offer that challenge.
[X] Silk-and-Eye. The smiling, playful prince of foxes who revels with his kin in decadence. It will take all your wit and whim to confront him and eke out a victory, but this wouldn't be the first trickster you've played for a fool.
- Location
- USA
[X] Redtail Dae
Omicron and Aleph both seem to have good points, but I'm leaning this one because Rena seems more built for one-on-one conflict over playing a whole messy crowd at once, and honestly I hate illusionists and general "will save or lose" fights too much to want to read about it
I would rather see Rena have to push herself being the very bestest battle-sensei for our young ensnared protege that we can be. The possibility of northern tie-ins that Rena keeps dropping in-story (and not getting an answer on yet) is a shiny shiny bonus.
It is always a headache trying to navigate whether a given quest is "choose which flavor of story you want to read" versus "figure out how to solve the challenges and puzzles by herding voter-cats" , but as often as the voters have cheerfully doubled down on that "comedy bad decisions" tag why start with the careful strategy now? If you wanted that shouldn't have chased after fox-boy tails and hot baths when we first arrived.
Omicron and Aleph both seem to have good points, but I'm leaning this one because Rena seems more built for one-on-one conflict over playing a whole messy crowd at once, and honestly I hate illusionists and general "will save or lose" fights too much to want to read about it
I would rather see Rena have to push herself being the very bestest battle-sensei for our young ensnared protege that we can be. The possibility of northern tie-ins that Rena keeps dropping in-story (and not getting an answer on yet) is a shiny shiny bonus.
It is always a headache trying to navigate whether a given quest is "choose which flavor of story you want to read" versus "figure out how to solve the challenges and puzzles by herding voter-cats" , but as often as the voters have cheerfully doubled down on that "comedy bad decisions" tag why start with the careful strategy now?
If you wanted that shouldn't have chased after fox-boy tails and hot baths when we first arrived.
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
Ok I'm sold on getting a second fae knight. She is cool, and I don't think she is lying- although I do suspect that the actual threat she would pose is different than the "im a corpse eater" she went with. She wants to be wildfyre still, I think.
I bet blue is going to be almost theatrically cruel towards her, as her role of "stained penitent" intersects with his "lady's champion" story in a way that both seems to have him accepting her presence and rejecting her socially.
Anyways- the story I want to read is about a sorceress who can twine even fae around her fingers, rather than striving to be a solar-equivalent warrior.
[X] Silk-and-Eye. The smiling, playful prince of foxes who revels with his kin in decadence. It will take all your wit and whim to confront him and eke out a victory, but this wouldn't be the first trickster you've played for a fool.
I bet blue is going to be almost theatrically cruel towards her, as her role of "stained penitent" intersects with his "lady's champion" story in a way that both seems to have him accepting her presence and rejecting her socially.
Anyways- the story I want to read is about a sorceress who can twine even fae around her fingers, rather than striving to be a solar-equivalent warrior.
[X] Silk-and-Eye. The smiling, playful prince of foxes who revels with his kin in decadence. It will take all your wit and whim to confront him and eke out a victory, but this wouldn't be the first trickster you've played for a fool.
The brackets for your vote are broken and will not be counted unless you fix them.
- Location
- Vermont
[X] Redtail Dae. The proud, solitary man-eater who lurks under the city in the lowest warren among his treasures. To wander into the den of such a creature and trick or defeat them would not be easy, but you have done it before.
I wanna stab him and see what loot he has
I wanna stab him and see what loot he has
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[x] Betray Her. It's not your problem, but this fool has just given you material on her. Pretend that you're not interested, and then the first chance you get, take it to the other two. And try not to get stabbed by her.
If you think about it, she's basically asking for it by having revealed to us enough that we can backstab her. It'd only ruin the general vibe if we don't backstab her as soon as we can.
If you think about it, she's basically asking for it by having revealed to us enough that we can backstab her. It'd only ruin the general vibe if we don't backstab her as soon as we can.
stormbringer951
Against Eternity
[X] Redtail Dae. The proud, solitary man-eater who lurks under the city in the lowest warren among his treasures. To wander into the den of such a creature and trick or defeat them would not be easy, but you have done it before.
Vote closed
LXIX. Glamour Us
LXIX. Glamour Us
They come for your dreams.
This is what they eat, after all. This is the payment they demand. The wandering mind exposes the little bit of chaos that lives within the souls of even the most ordered being, and so the lords of chaos take that to survive in a world that hates and abhors them. Their power makes dreams real, and to hold off the real they need dreams.
And so there are foxes in your dreams of the pine-smelling depths of the Cheraki forests. They are watching you, their eyes gleaming in the shadows as you pick your way down once-familiar paths. They are dressed as your servants in the hunting cabin and one of them is your maid, her ears poking out from her little modesty hat, her eyes predatory slits.
The smells, the feel, the comfort. It is all made of better times. They are offering you the chance to live them again. If only you open up to them. If only you give them what they want.
You feed them tidbits. You have touched the wyld yourself, and you can spin dreams with an artistry that you never managed to replicate with charcoal and paper - in fact, you find it easier than ever before to blind them with fumes so they take what you want rather than what they would desire. It is so easy to wrap yourself in lust, whimsy, and indulgent hungers, and the foxes feed freely on the buffet you set before them. They want more of what you bring up about past lovers and try to coax you into drip-feeding more of the memories from which dreams are inspired; you call on your memories of Hilmi and those few days you spent together. But that banquet is nothing but stodgy peasant-milled rye bread and swamp rice; filling, but costing you little. Giving them their fill of simple base urges so they won't go looking for something more flavoursome.
Dreams of wine and the company of handsome men are what they'll take, but there is nothing of the piquency of real feelings for them to feed on. They can't find the real you.
Shallow, superficial wants save you from getting hurt.
Your eyes are thick with sand when you wake. You ache in the morning, because you still lost something to their hunger. It is the familiar feeling of a night of bad rest. But that is all it is, no different from when you sell Sei your dreams for a night in return for power.
Stumbling out of bed, you splash lukewarm water on your face, stare at yourself in the mirror and do not like what you see.
The fae dislike silver, so the mirrors in your bedroom are polished brass. And they can polish them to a fine sheen, but they never quite reflect things as they are. They reflect things as they were, as they might be, or perhaps as one fears. One of your fae lovers once said that the mirrors of his people do not care for the truth of the eyes, and rather show the truth of the mind — which is a load of hot crap because what they show is very seldom true. But it does explain how they show those strange queer reflections.
And so you take one look at yourself in the mirror, and promptly cover it up with a towel. Because the face you see in the mirror is the one the fae see, and you do not like to see yourself as a victim.
Your clothes have been laundered and smell of faint, delicate perfume. Your inner layers are silk-soft; the other layers are beautifully pressed and creased. It doesn't fool you, because you can see the wyldflowers that now grow from it. You can slide the freezing cold tip of Tramontane under the glamour and peel it back, to see the unwashed garments below it.
But then again the princes of chaos have never been fond of laundry. That is something for wisps and mortal slaves to perform. The very idea that something might not look as you wish is an imposition of order. If an action, then a reaction; cause and effect.
And you're not going to shred that glamour. You know it's there, but you'll let them fool you into believing that your clothes are clean. It will make you feel better.
You let one of the wisps see to your hair, and then you head down to eat and see the state of the others.
They are not as they were when you last saw them. They don't realise it themselves, and might not even if they were not under a glamour. People's self images are seldom accurate. But you are sharper-eyed and more suspicious, and so you can see the sea-foam highlights in Inaan's hair, and the fact that Amigere's feathers are more brightly plumaged, without some of the stress-induced thinness. And then there's Zia…
"This really is an awfully lovely place," Zia says over breakfast, grinning like a fool. He is wearing a delicate robe which would not drape in the way a real garment would. It is far too floaty and delicate, baring a surprisingly muscled chest that really doesn't actually fit his face. Which is slightly less round and soft-featured, has acquired a stronger jawline, and grown a beard that would take more than a single night to appear.
He doesn't like the way he looks, does he? The other two have just been… adjusted in the way that a painter might at the request of their client. Amigere wants to be less exhausted and stressed and about five years younger; Inaan wants to be a dragon-child and so her aspect markings are in full bloom. But Zia's glamour is a demonstration of some deep rooted dissatisfaction in his appearance, specifically in the way he doesn't live up to the foolish standards of Cahzori masculinity. That would also suggest why he doesn't reciprocate to your advances, if he doesn't believe he's attractive in the way he looks.
More fool the Cahzori. There is a place for tall, well-muscled men, and there is a place for delicate, soft-featured, bookish men. The world would be awfully boring if everyone was the same. Variety spices up your life.
"You're looking well today," you say to him, though, because walking up to someone and saying 'you have deep-rooted issues with your appearance' to their face is not breakfast conversation. Not unless you are feeling awfully spiteful.
"I feel wonderful," Zia responds brightly, stroking his beard. "This place and its baths are just so relaxing."
Does he know he has a beard? How aware is he of the glamour that wraps him up? It's not exactly something you can ask someone. "It'll be a shame to move, but we really want to head along so we can get to your mother's house before the year gets even hotter."
"Oh, yes, yes…"
Only, you think.
"Only, I don't think there's any need to rush."
Called it. "I certainly don't want to be travelling in the hottest part of Fire," you say.
Amigere leans forwards, cup in hand. "It's far too hot outside," he agrees.
"Not like here," Zia says.
Inaan has a complicated expression. "It is nice to be here," she says, but she looks guilty.
From what you understand and the hints have been dropped, she isn't looking forward to meeting her mother again. The fae are playing on that. But two can use that. "I certainly don't want to anger your mother by being late after she invited us."
That seems to shock some of the dreaminess out of Inaan's eyes. "That would be bad."
"We're not staying here forever," Zia says. "But we can spend a few more days here, surely. If only to allow the crew to rest. And the repair work on the ship to be completed."
Crap, you'd forgotten that the ship was broken. There's no way you can just run out on things. "I suppose you're right," you say, conscious that the fae serving you are no doubt listening and reporting to their masters.
"More wine, Rena?"
"... just a little bit," you decide. Because you've made a play, and now it is time to see what they do to try to silence your suggestions that you leave.
The next move doesn't come quickly. You laze around, get tipsy on wine, and then go get a massage from a handsome fox-man who is only wearing a loincloth and his tail.
"You are drunk," Inaan informs you when you stumble into her in the gardens, feeling nicely loosened up. "And do your robe up properly. You are showing far too much cleavage!"
Puritanical teenagers are a blight on society. "I'm not drunk!" you inform her, blinking in the too-bright sunlight.
"Yes, you clearly are!"
"I am not, and to show you, I'm here to give you a sparring lesson."
"Dressed like that?"
Why does she keep going on about that? "If you can't fight people in a bathrobe, assassins will try to kill you in the bath."
"Has that ever happened to you?"
"Well, of course." You tilt your head. "Don't tell me that there's something sacred about not murdering people in the bath in Cahzor? Because I've seen enough of this city to know that isn't true. A bath's the perfect time to try to murder someone. They're naked, unarmed, and maybe even sleepy."
"Well, I mean… this is a beautiful peaceful place. We're meant to take more care in someone else's lands, but this isn't a jansi estate. Politics won't follow us here." She glances at you. "Correct?"
Foolish child. "Feeling safe makes you vulnerable. Do you know the people who live here? Who they report to? Who their masters are? No, you do not." Cracking your knuckles, you sink into a ready position. "Let's see how well you can fight in your bath robe, Inaan."
She uneasily readies herself. "What if… this isn't the most secure garment," she blurts out, cringing.
"So?"
"I don't want to shame myself!"
She is very young, and not at home in her body. "Well, then, Inaan," you say, "I suppose you have a choice. Fight properly as my student and things remain civilised, or spend half the fight clutching at your robe and get thrown into that fish pond over there."
"You wouldn't!"
She knows that was a foolish thing to say, and you don't dignify it with a response. You aren't intending to humiliate her, anyway. You just want to scare her enough that she takes this seriously. And to her credit she does.
"You're a monster," she grouses in the aftermath, spitting out dust.
"Such a rude child. I'm only thinking of your best interests."
"That's what they all say." She is back to sulking. "I don't even stand a chance against you when you're drunk."
"Darling, if I was drunk, you'd know it. I'm simply… tipsy."
"So you went and beat me up for your tipsy entertainment."
Applause sounds out before you can reply. "Sorry, sorry, I was just too admiring of the fighting spectacle you two put on," says Silk-and-Eye, his umber eyes gleaming in the sourceless light, his tail swishing behind him, his ears perked up and alert. His bare chest is toned, and tastefully muscled under lovely softness; his short skirt bares adorable calves that hint at the thighs above. "Such a thing to behold! Such passions, such emotions — at least from the young lady!"
Your eyes narrow. You hadn't wanted to see him fight. But maybe you can use this. "And not from me?"
"Beautiful lady, you are the mentor, the older woman who the young must exceed! It is a tale as old as time; that the new takes on the old, and either breaks itself against the walls that stand or topples them and supplants them! Such youthful strength, set against experience and power!"
Inaan is flushed in the face, and it is from more than the fight. Well, she is young, and he is a pretty man; round-faced, boyish, wide-eyed and soft-featured. And wrapped in a glamour as she is, she can't see the slitted pupils and the sharp teeth which admittedly add a little edge that you find attractive. "Youthful strength?"
You step in front of her, because she can't handle a fae courtier like this one with no small amount of power. "I'll show you experience," you say, letting a husky note into your voice, and bringing forward your dragon blood just enough so he'll ignore the girl and pay attention to you.
"You are an interesting client, my lady. And so tense!" You can feel the clinging, lulling, heavy blanket of a thicker glamour wrap itself around you, coaxing the wine you've drunk into a loose tongue. "We don't want you tense — or worrying about assassins! Heavens, no! Please, lady, what can we give you to make you relax?"
Smiling, you pat his cheek. "What does any woman who's trying to relax at a provincial bathhouse want?" Yes, you do make sure to add in the provincial jibe. "Wine, good food, and handsome attendants willing to give me what I want. Because," you ride the wave of the glamour, embracing the drunken truth for a moment, "Inaan's pretty brother doesn't have the guts to make a move on me. It's a shame. He was looking very handsome this morning! So instead I'll just have to entertain myself with your handsome men here. And Amigere, of course. But it's not like I'm in love with him."
"Oh?" Silk-and-Eye flashes his very white, very sharp teeth. "Because this is funny. I spoke with him earlier and he is attracted to you, but doesn't have the courage to make a move. But," he spreads his hands, "this is a place of relaxation and pleasure in this dry, dry city! Who knows what magical things will happen here?"
"I do declare it would be marvellous if they did. Just a little bit." You beam foolishly, and wrap your arms around his neck, considering for a moment whether you could break his spine here and now. No. You don't know this is actually him, rather than some seeming he has sent in his place. "I'm so lonely, you know. My husband died and—"
Crap. That is always the danger in trying to ride the tiger's back. The tiger will get back to its den at some point, and then you become its lunch.
"I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just drunk," you say instead, swaying on your feet in a way that isn't feigned. "I don't mean to recount a boring, boring sob story to you."
He untangles himself from you. "There, there. You are drunk, my lady. It might be an idea to go back to your room, and maybe rest. And then who knows? Maybe magic will happen!"
That transparent fucker. "A good idea," you say. "Inaan? Can you help me back?"
She is vacant-eyed and entranced, because Silk-and-Eye shuffled her attention away from the conversation you actually had so that she didn't interfere. After a moment she shakes the fogginess away. "Huh? Sorry, I'm just… just exhausted. From what you just put me through!" You repeat your request and she nods. "Oh, yes, yes, I told you you were drunk!"
"Thank you!" You glance back at Silk-and-Eye, feeling the pressure of his story. "And thank you too!"
"It is my pleasure," he says with an easy grin, his tail twitching as he stalks off. Urgh. What an ass, but also, what an ass.
"Come on, old lady," Inaan says, offering you her arm.
"I'm not old," you say reflexively.
When you get Inside the cooler walls, Inaan sags slightly too. "I don't feel too well," she mumbles. "Maybe I'm still hungover from last night. Or from you making me fight you."
"Maybe you should lie down too," you suggest.
"That… that might be a good idea. Get out of the sun. Yes."
She shambles off, and you return to your bedroom and stretch out, counting in your head.
"You know he's going to give Zia the confidence to make a move on you," Sei says, from the window. "Or otherwise coax him."
"Of course." You fold your hands behind your head. "Silk-and-Eye is not weak, but he is used to playing against sloppy opponents. And so he himself is sloppy. He went out and asked me what I wanted. He isn't used to playing against people who know his games."
"Or nasty suspicious women like you."
"Thank you, Sei." You're genuinely flattered. It's rare for him to compliment you like that.
"Meira?" Zia's voice comes from the door. "Is there someone in there? Are you speaking with someone?"
"Oh look, your nicely wrapped bait. Are you going to bite down on him and get a hook embedded in your mouth?" Sei drawls.
You flap your hands at your annoying familiar, trying to get him to shut up. "Just talking to myself," you reply.
"Are you decent?"
There are several responses that you could give(you're rather a fan of 'Do you want me to be?'). But you settle for "Yes, come in!".
Zia enters, and if he was glamorous this morning it's actually sort of ridiculous now. Sloppy. Very sloppy. If he suspects that you're not playing along, why would Silk-and-Eye go and make Zia into this walking figure composed of bits taken from all the fantasies you fed him last night? Oh, if you were as shallow as the version of yourself you showed him it would probably have worked, but he is assuming that everything will work in his favour and you will perfectly play along with the directions to his stage play.
Strong, but not used to shaped beings who can oppose him. A dangerous combination, especially if he can learn.
But those thoughts are just running over in the back of your head, because for all your pretences, the fact is that Zia has been enchanted with layer upon layer of glamour spun from your dreams and fantasies. And if you didn't have extensive experience with boyfriends who did the same thing as a fun past-time, you'd be struggling to keep a clear head.
"Meira," he says at the door. "Sorry for the intrusion, but—"
Rising, you smile at him. "It's quite alright." He's taller than you even when you stand up, but slender with those deep blue eyes even bigger and more soulful. "It's awfully hot out there."
"It is." He coughs. "I… I wanted to talk."
"Yes?"
"I… do you remember the party? The one at the Kinzara house? Before you were involved with Hilmi?"
"Yes?"
"I wished I had the courage to say it then, but," he steps in, "you're a beautiful woman, Meira. Very beautiful. I wanted you then, but I was too ashamed. Afraid you'd reject me. But I'm not afraid anymore. As the poet Raitha wrote to her lover, 'and your enticing laughter— that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast. For whenever I look at you even briefly I can no longer say a single thing'." He smiles at you. "She was my great-great aunt. She didn't marry, for… ahem, obvious reasons. But I remember reading her poetry and feeling the depths of her adoration all the way through time - and Meira, I adore you!"
It's nice to have someone who quotes poetry at you. What a shame he's being used as a feeding maw by a malevolent prince of chaos who wants to reduce you down to chow. You don't even know these feelings and words are real, as opposed to a false memory that Silk-and-Eye embedded in him. After all, Zia does not like the way he looks. How easy would it be for a fey enchanter to turn him less into the man he is and more into who you want him to be?
It still isn't going to be easy to do what you're going to do.
"You want me? I… I didn't think…"
"I do, Meira, I do!"
You bring him into your embrace, leaning your head against his chest and feeling the wyldflowers trying to entrap you too. "I love you," you lie.
"I… I love you!"
Hmm. Interesting. That doesn't feel like it is in character for Zia. In fact, it feels more like the memories of Hilmi you fed the fae in your dreams. He quoted poetry at you too. It's too simple, without the adorable shyness; it is the mode of address of a playboy who's found that many women are weak to unconditional, unprompted declarations of adoration. It helps take you out of it, because it reminds you that while you are attracted to Zia, that is exactly it. You are attracted to quiet, bookish, intense-when-talking-about-history Zia. And this is not Zia.
You cup your hands around his head, kissing him, and you feel the phantasmal growths on his head. And then trace your hands down his back, to his bottom. Another growth.
Ears. A tail. This is not Zia. This is a fox, who has stolen his shape. Zia will be in his room, asleep yet seeing what happens here and now in an uncannily vivid dream, his will and thoughts slowly being drained by the leech of his soul. The one wearing his visage is a servant of Silk-and-Eye.
That makes things easier.
"You love me?" you ask once you come up for air.
"Yes! And I want you!"
"Trust me, darling," you purr, "you've never had anyone like me before. I'll show you things you never expected."
"Oh?" He smiles sweetly at you. "Tell me more."
"Let me put it this way?" You lean in to kiss him on the cheek, and then whisper in his ear, "I'll make you scream. When I'm through with you, you'll be moaning and gasping. You'll be on the floor, feeling like your legs don't work."
You place your finger on his lip to shush him, and then undo the belt of your robe. With a coquettish smile, you let your robe fall.
Then you jab forwards, your fingers aimed for the site of his liver. Foxes place great spiritual importance in their livers. For a tricker fox like this, it is considerably more painful than a mere knee to the crotch.
He sinks down, making a faint noise that would be a scream if he had the breath for it. The green stain of your venom oozes out, staining the cloth. You catch his hand.
Then you break one of his fingers.
You really take no pleasure from it. But Sei, whose chuckles echo in your ears, does.
"... no-no-no, please, please-"
It's a shame to hurt a face that looks like Zia's, but it's something you can do. "Come now, fox," you tell the fox spirit that's stolen his face, "what I ask for is really very simple. Tell me your name. Or," you trace your finger along the tendons of Zia's delicate hand, leaving a stain of green viper-curse, "I'll start on this hand too. I can hurt you quite an awful lot without doing anything permanent. The choice is yours. Stop draining his spirit by stealing his face, or tell me your name."
"Please, I—"
You apply pressure to his index finger's knuckle, injecting your venom, and he moans hoarsely through clenched teeth. "Oh, you big baby. Darling, I didn't even break a finger that time. There are so many more ways I can hurt you. Just imagine that." You lean in towards him. "We can explore it together."
He whimpers at the back of his throat, and lets his glamour slip. The twisted image of Zia's fantasies drops from the face of the fox, and now you can see that he is exactly that. His face is long and vulpine, more besial than human, with over-large fox ears and a sandy beard that merges into the sandy fur on his neck. His eyes are large, like that of a night-dwelling creature, and full of fear; his teeth are sharp.
"Now, isn't that better?" you say. "Now you're no longer feeding from Zia's mind, the two of us can have a little talk. Tell me about Silk-and-Eye and where he hides when he's not attending to this bathhouse."
"He'll eat me if I talk!"
"Funny. So will I. And you might get away from him if you run." You trace your finger along the back of his hand, and he recoils away from you. He knows what will happen next. "Tell me your name, darling."
"I'm… I'm Sand-Sings-to-the-Night."
"Ah, honesty. Doesn't that feel wonderful?" You tap the back of his hand, and he yelps, but it was just a tap, not a blow to a nerve point. "Now, you'll tell me about Silk-and-Eye. Won't you, Sand-Sings-to-the-Night?"
You have his name and that gives you a certain power over him. He talks. He tells you the hidden path to Silk-and-Eye's lair, a place down below that is half warren and half bathhouse; a palace where he feeds his hungers and nests down with the other foxes. You push him for more and more, and since you have his name it is far more than he wants to give.
Once you are done, you wipe your venom off on his tattered clothes. "Thank you so much, Sand-Sings-to-the-Night. I will do nothing more to you."
"Y-you mean it?"
Rising, you turn your back to him. "Oh yes, darling. I won't do a thing." You pause, and give him a moment of hope. "Sei? I grant his name to you. He's all yours."
And Sei laughs and laughs and laughs, and you might have turned away but you can see his shadow grow on the wall. It billows up into something humanoid, and the laugh shifts.
"What are you?" the fox squeals. "You're… you're not human, you're…"
The fox doesn't scream. Well, not more than once, at least.
You don't watch, because Sei drinking breath is one thing, but when he really gets hungry it's enough to put you off your food. The sounds are mystifying enough; musical chords, whispers and echoes of strange voices, and always the breaking of bones and tearing of flesh.
"Well, that was lovely," Sei purrs when the noise dies down. Your little white deer-cat is back in his normal shape, and the fur around his mouth is stained red. "You're right, Rena. This was an awfully relaxing place. I'm feeling so much better after this little relaxing endeavour. And…" he pauses, coughing, and hacks up a few sharp teeth. "Oh, better out than in, I always say."
"Must you?"
"Teeth don't agree with me." He licks his paw and wipes at his mouth. "Oh, I can see so much. Your rotten ghul-friend is headed your way. Me? I think I'm going to have some fun. And," he smiles at you, as he fades away, "you can use my power freely for this. This was such a lovely gift. You do care."
He always does get in a good mood when he eats other fae. He prefers the taste even to human souls. You dress quickly, and make sure you have Tramontane close to hand. Then, just as you hear the footstep outside and smell the wyldflowers;
"Come in, Ukt Ghulah."
She slides the door open, and stoops under it.
"So the betrayal begins," Ukt Ghulah says from the door. "You shun his hospitality." Her smile is from ear to ear. "Good."
"Good?"
"Betrayals are beautiful." She rests her hand on her blade. "You are going after Silk-and-Eye."
That doesn't sound like a question, and you say as much.
"You did not know he has taken your daughter?"
Your… she is not your daughter! Why do these foxes make that assumption — no. No. Not the point. "He has?"
"Oh. You betrayed him on a whim." Her eyes gleam with a hint of the fire she once claimed to have. "I like you."
"He has Inaan?"
"Yes. He has taken her down to his den. For a feast of foxes. They like noble blood for their games."
Inaan is a brat, a pest, and too inquisitive for her own good. And no one gets to do that her. Whether they devour her whole and crunch her bones, or 'merely' discard her as a vacant, will-less husk that has had every ounce of creativity and inspiration and personality drained that will wander in the ruin until it dies… no.
You are angry, and had not realised how angry it would make you until this moment. You barely know her. Attachments only get you hurt. And right now you want to stab Silk-and-Eye right in his stupid handsome face with Tramontane.
Ukt Ghulah licks her lips. "Good. You have reason to kill him. A guest betrays hospitality to save a maiden. A good story. And now I will turn on Redtail Dae. Because it would be boring if I was called to defend Silk-and-Eye from you." She inclines her head to you. "Take from them; everything. Devour them whole, order-child."
She is gone. And like clockwork, in her place is one of the hob fox-maidens, the one with eyes the colour of rubies and two flicking tails of a darker hue than the wisps.
"Oh, lady," she says, smiling widely. "Where have you been? I was sent to attend to you. There is a great feast planned for entertainment, and you and all your friends will be there! The master has specially authorised us to open the old wardrobes for the most beautiful garments!"
The gown she has offered are beautiful, more so than anything you have seen among the jansi at the Kinzara party. They are a glamour, a fae-weaving of dreams and thus they seem to be made of woven cloud and shadow, as light and comfortable as the most fine silk. They perfectly match your skin tone and your jet-black hair, and you immediately see that they will draw attention to the green of your eyes and the flowers that grow in your hair. The sleeves are long and fine and will flow like water; the high-slit train will not harm your mobility. It is something you would pick out yourself, which tells you it was woven from your own dreams.
What a shame that they're little different from how a master chef might form a fancy of sugar-glass and fruits as a display of skill at a great banquet, as an amusement between the courses of the meal.
The fox-maiden sees your express. "Lady? Is something the matter?"
They come for your dreams.
This is what they eat, after all. This is the payment they demand. The wandering mind exposes the little bit of chaos that lives within the souls of even the most ordered being, and so the lords of chaos take that to survive in a world that hates and abhors them. Their power makes dreams real, and to hold off the real they need dreams.
And so there are foxes in your dreams of the pine-smelling depths of the Cheraki forests. They are watching you, their eyes gleaming in the shadows as you pick your way down once-familiar paths. They are dressed as your servants in the hunting cabin and one of them is your maid, her ears poking out from her little modesty hat, her eyes predatory slits.
The smells, the feel, the comfort. It is all made of better times. They are offering you the chance to live them again. If only you open up to them. If only you give them what they want.
You feed them tidbits. You have touched the wyld yourself, and you can spin dreams with an artistry that you never managed to replicate with charcoal and paper - in fact, you find it easier than ever before to blind them with fumes so they take what you want rather than what they would desire. It is so easy to wrap yourself in lust, whimsy, and indulgent hungers, and the foxes feed freely on the buffet you set before them. They want more of what you bring up about past lovers and try to coax you into drip-feeding more of the memories from which dreams are inspired; you call on your memories of Hilmi and those few days you spent together. But that banquet is nothing but stodgy peasant-milled rye bread and swamp rice; filling, but costing you little. Giving them their fill of simple base urges so they won't go looking for something more flavoursome.
Dreams of wine and the company of handsome men are what they'll take, but there is nothing of the piquency of real feelings for them to feed on. They can't find the real you.
Shallow, superficial wants save you from getting hurt.
Your eyes are thick with sand when you wake. You ache in the morning, because you still lost something to their hunger. It is the familiar feeling of a night of bad rest. But that is all it is, no different from when you sell Sei your dreams for a night in return for power.
Stumbling out of bed, you splash lukewarm water on your face, stare at yourself in the mirror and do not like what you see.
The fae dislike silver, so the mirrors in your bedroom are polished brass. And they can polish them to a fine sheen, but they never quite reflect things as they are. They reflect things as they were, as they might be, or perhaps as one fears. One of your fae lovers once said that the mirrors of his people do not care for the truth of the eyes, and rather show the truth of the mind — which is a load of hot crap because what they show is very seldom true. But it does explain how they show those strange queer reflections.
And so you take one look at yourself in the mirror, and promptly cover it up with a towel. Because the face you see in the mirror is the one the fae see, and you do not like to see yourself as a victim.
Your clothes have been laundered and smell of faint, delicate perfume. Your inner layers are silk-soft; the other layers are beautifully pressed and creased. It doesn't fool you, because you can see the wyldflowers that now grow from it. You can slide the freezing cold tip of Tramontane under the glamour and peel it back, to see the unwashed garments below it.
But then again the princes of chaos have never been fond of laundry. That is something for wisps and mortal slaves to perform. The very idea that something might not look as you wish is an imposition of order. If an action, then a reaction; cause and effect.
And you're not going to shred that glamour. You know it's there, but you'll let them fool you into believing that your clothes are clean. It will make you feel better.
You let one of the wisps see to your hair, and then you head down to eat and see the state of the others.
They are not as they were when you last saw them. They don't realise it themselves, and might not even if they were not under a glamour. People's self images are seldom accurate. But you are sharper-eyed and more suspicious, and so you can see the sea-foam highlights in Inaan's hair, and the fact that Amigere's feathers are more brightly plumaged, without some of the stress-induced thinness. And then there's Zia…
"This really is an awfully lovely place," Zia says over breakfast, grinning like a fool. He is wearing a delicate robe which would not drape in the way a real garment would. It is far too floaty and delicate, baring a surprisingly muscled chest that really doesn't actually fit his face. Which is slightly less round and soft-featured, has acquired a stronger jawline, and grown a beard that would take more than a single night to appear.
He doesn't like the way he looks, does he? The other two have just been… adjusted in the way that a painter might at the request of their client. Amigere wants to be less exhausted and stressed and about five years younger; Inaan wants to be a dragon-child and so her aspect markings are in full bloom. But Zia's glamour is a demonstration of some deep rooted dissatisfaction in his appearance, specifically in the way he doesn't live up to the foolish standards of Cahzori masculinity. That would also suggest why he doesn't reciprocate to your advances, if he doesn't believe he's attractive in the way he looks.
More fool the Cahzori. There is a place for tall, well-muscled men, and there is a place for delicate, soft-featured, bookish men. The world would be awfully boring if everyone was the same. Variety spices up your life.
"You're looking well today," you say to him, though, because walking up to someone and saying 'you have deep-rooted issues with your appearance' to their face is not breakfast conversation. Not unless you are feeling awfully spiteful.
"I feel wonderful," Zia responds brightly, stroking his beard. "This place and its baths are just so relaxing."
Does he know he has a beard? How aware is he of the glamour that wraps him up? It's not exactly something you can ask someone. "It'll be a shame to move, but we really want to head along so we can get to your mother's house before the year gets even hotter."
"Oh, yes, yes…"
Only, you think.
"Only, I don't think there's any need to rush."
Called it. "I certainly don't want to be travelling in the hottest part of Fire," you say.
Amigere leans forwards, cup in hand. "It's far too hot outside," he agrees.
"Not like here," Zia says.
Inaan has a complicated expression. "It is nice to be here," she says, but she looks guilty.
From what you understand and the hints have been dropped, she isn't looking forward to meeting her mother again. The fae are playing on that. But two can use that. "I certainly don't want to anger your mother by being late after she invited us."
That seems to shock some of the dreaminess out of Inaan's eyes. "That would be bad."
"We're not staying here forever," Zia says. "But we can spend a few more days here, surely. If only to allow the crew to rest. And the repair work on the ship to be completed."
Crap, you'd forgotten that the ship was broken. There's no way you can just run out on things. "I suppose you're right," you say, conscious that the fae serving you are no doubt listening and reporting to their masters.
"More wine, Rena?"
"... just a little bit," you decide. Because you've made a play, and now it is time to see what they do to try to silence your suggestions that you leave.
The next move doesn't come quickly. You laze around, get tipsy on wine, and then go get a massage from a handsome fox-man who is only wearing a loincloth and his tail.
"You are drunk," Inaan informs you when you stumble into her in the gardens, feeling nicely loosened up. "And do your robe up properly. You are showing far too much cleavage!"
Puritanical teenagers are a blight on society. "I'm not drunk!" you inform her, blinking in the too-bright sunlight.
"Yes, you clearly are!"
"I am not, and to show you, I'm here to give you a sparring lesson."
"Dressed like that?"
Why does she keep going on about that? "If you can't fight people in a bathrobe, assassins will try to kill you in the bath."
"Has that ever happened to you?"
"Well, of course." You tilt your head. "Don't tell me that there's something sacred about not murdering people in the bath in Cahzor? Because I've seen enough of this city to know that isn't true. A bath's the perfect time to try to murder someone. They're naked, unarmed, and maybe even sleepy."
"Well, I mean… this is a beautiful peaceful place. We're meant to take more care in someone else's lands, but this isn't a jansi estate. Politics won't follow us here." She glances at you. "Correct?"
Foolish child. "Feeling safe makes you vulnerable. Do you know the people who live here? Who they report to? Who their masters are? No, you do not." Cracking your knuckles, you sink into a ready position. "Let's see how well you can fight in your bath robe, Inaan."
She uneasily readies herself. "What if… this isn't the most secure garment," she blurts out, cringing.
"So?"
"I don't want to shame myself!"
She is very young, and not at home in her body. "Well, then, Inaan," you say, "I suppose you have a choice. Fight properly as my student and things remain civilised, or spend half the fight clutching at your robe and get thrown into that fish pond over there."
"You wouldn't!"
She knows that was a foolish thing to say, and you don't dignify it with a response. You aren't intending to humiliate her, anyway. You just want to scare her enough that she takes this seriously. And to her credit she does.
"You're a monster," she grouses in the aftermath, spitting out dust.
"Such a rude child. I'm only thinking of your best interests."
"That's what they all say." She is back to sulking. "I don't even stand a chance against you when you're drunk."
"Darling, if I was drunk, you'd know it. I'm simply… tipsy."
"So you went and beat me up for your tipsy entertainment."
Applause sounds out before you can reply. "Sorry, sorry, I was just too admiring of the fighting spectacle you two put on," says Silk-and-Eye, his umber eyes gleaming in the sourceless light, his tail swishing behind him, his ears perked up and alert. His bare chest is toned, and tastefully muscled under lovely softness; his short skirt bares adorable calves that hint at the thighs above. "Such a thing to behold! Such passions, such emotions — at least from the young lady!"
Your eyes narrow. You hadn't wanted to see him fight. But maybe you can use this. "And not from me?"
"Beautiful lady, you are the mentor, the older woman who the young must exceed! It is a tale as old as time; that the new takes on the old, and either breaks itself against the walls that stand or topples them and supplants them! Such youthful strength, set against experience and power!"
Inaan is flushed in the face, and it is from more than the fight. Well, she is young, and he is a pretty man; round-faced, boyish, wide-eyed and soft-featured. And wrapped in a glamour as she is, she can't see the slitted pupils and the sharp teeth which admittedly add a little edge that you find attractive. "Youthful strength?"
You step in front of her, because she can't handle a fae courtier like this one with no small amount of power. "I'll show you experience," you say, letting a husky note into your voice, and bringing forward your dragon blood just enough so he'll ignore the girl and pay attention to you.
"You are an interesting client, my lady. And so tense!" You can feel the clinging, lulling, heavy blanket of a thicker glamour wrap itself around you, coaxing the wine you've drunk into a loose tongue. "We don't want you tense — or worrying about assassins! Heavens, no! Please, lady, what can we give you to make you relax?"
Smiling, you pat his cheek. "What does any woman who's trying to relax at a provincial bathhouse want?" Yes, you do make sure to add in the provincial jibe. "Wine, good food, and handsome attendants willing to give me what I want. Because," you ride the wave of the glamour, embracing the drunken truth for a moment, "Inaan's pretty brother doesn't have the guts to make a move on me. It's a shame. He was looking very handsome this morning! So instead I'll just have to entertain myself with your handsome men here. And Amigere, of course. But it's not like I'm in love with him."
"Oh?" Silk-and-Eye flashes his very white, very sharp teeth. "Because this is funny. I spoke with him earlier and he is attracted to you, but doesn't have the courage to make a move. But," he spreads his hands, "this is a place of relaxation and pleasure in this dry, dry city! Who knows what magical things will happen here?"
"I do declare it would be marvellous if they did. Just a little bit." You beam foolishly, and wrap your arms around his neck, considering for a moment whether you could break his spine here and now. No. You don't know this is actually him, rather than some seeming he has sent in his place. "I'm so lonely, you know. My husband died and—"
Crap. That is always the danger in trying to ride the tiger's back. The tiger will get back to its den at some point, and then you become its lunch.
"I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just drunk," you say instead, swaying on your feet in a way that isn't feigned. "I don't mean to recount a boring, boring sob story to you."
He untangles himself from you. "There, there. You are drunk, my lady. It might be an idea to go back to your room, and maybe rest. And then who knows? Maybe magic will happen!"
That transparent fucker. "A good idea," you say. "Inaan? Can you help me back?"
She is vacant-eyed and entranced, because Silk-and-Eye shuffled her attention away from the conversation you actually had so that she didn't interfere. After a moment she shakes the fogginess away. "Huh? Sorry, I'm just… just exhausted. From what you just put me through!" You repeat your request and she nods. "Oh, yes, yes, I told you you were drunk!"
"Thank you!" You glance back at Silk-and-Eye, feeling the pressure of his story. "And thank you too!"
"It is my pleasure," he says with an easy grin, his tail twitching as he stalks off. Urgh. What an ass, but also, what an ass.
"Come on, old lady," Inaan says, offering you her arm.
"I'm not old," you say reflexively.
When you get Inside the cooler walls, Inaan sags slightly too. "I don't feel too well," she mumbles. "Maybe I'm still hungover from last night. Or from you making me fight you."
"Maybe you should lie down too," you suggest.
"That… that might be a good idea. Get out of the sun. Yes."
She shambles off, and you return to your bedroom and stretch out, counting in your head.
"You know he's going to give Zia the confidence to make a move on you," Sei says, from the window. "Or otherwise coax him."
"Of course." You fold your hands behind your head. "Silk-and-Eye is not weak, but he is used to playing against sloppy opponents. And so he himself is sloppy. He went out and asked me what I wanted. He isn't used to playing against people who know his games."
"Or nasty suspicious women like you."
"Thank you, Sei." You're genuinely flattered. It's rare for him to compliment you like that.
"Meira?" Zia's voice comes from the door. "Is there someone in there? Are you speaking with someone?"
"Oh look, your nicely wrapped bait. Are you going to bite down on him and get a hook embedded in your mouth?" Sei drawls.
You flap your hands at your annoying familiar, trying to get him to shut up. "Just talking to myself," you reply.
"Are you decent?"
There are several responses that you could give(you're rather a fan of 'Do you want me to be?'). But you settle for "Yes, come in!".
Zia enters, and if he was glamorous this morning it's actually sort of ridiculous now. Sloppy. Very sloppy. If he suspects that you're not playing along, why would Silk-and-Eye go and make Zia into this walking figure composed of bits taken from all the fantasies you fed him last night? Oh, if you were as shallow as the version of yourself you showed him it would probably have worked, but he is assuming that everything will work in his favour and you will perfectly play along with the directions to his stage play.
Strong, but not used to shaped beings who can oppose him. A dangerous combination, especially if he can learn.
But those thoughts are just running over in the back of your head, because for all your pretences, the fact is that Zia has been enchanted with layer upon layer of glamour spun from your dreams and fantasies. And if you didn't have extensive experience with boyfriends who did the same thing as a fun past-time, you'd be struggling to keep a clear head.
"Meira," he says at the door. "Sorry for the intrusion, but—"
Rising, you smile at him. "It's quite alright." He's taller than you even when you stand up, but slender with those deep blue eyes even bigger and more soulful. "It's awfully hot out there."
"It is." He coughs. "I… I wanted to talk."
"Yes?"
"I… do you remember the party? The one at the Kinzara house? Before you were involved with Hilmi?"
"Yes?"
"I wished I had the courage to say it then, but," he steps in, "you're a beautiful woman, Meira. Very beautiful. I wanted you then, but I was too ashamed. Afraid you'd reject me. But I'm not afraid anymore. As the poet Raitha wrote to her lover, 'and your enticing laughter— that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast. For whenever I look at you even briefly I can no longer say a single thing'." He smiles at you. "She was my great-great aunt. She didn't marry, for… ahem, obvious reasons. But I remember reading her poetry and feeling the depths of her adoration all the way through time - and Meira, I adore you!"
It's nice to have someone who quotes poetry at you. What a shame he's being used as a feeding maw by a malevolent prince of chaos who wants to reduce you down to chow. You don't even know these feelings and words are real, as opposed to a false memory that Silk-and-Eye embedded in him. After all, Zia does not like the way he looks. How easy would it be for a fey enchanter to turn him less into the man he is and more into who you want him to be?
It still isn't going to be easy to do what you're going to do.
"You want me? I… I didn't think…"
"I do, Meira, I do!"
You bring him into your embrace, leaning your head against his chest and feeling the wyldflowers trying to entrap you too. "I love you," you lie.
"I… I love you!"
Hmm. Interesting. That doesn't feel like it is in character for Zia. In fact, it feels more like the memories of Hilmi you fed the fae in your dreams. He quoted poetry at you too. It's too simple, without the adorable shyness; it is the mode of address of a playboy who's found that many women are weak to unconditional, unprompted declarations of adoration. It helps take you out of it, because it reminds you that while you are attracted to Zia, that is exactly it. You are attracted to quiet, bookish, intense-when-talking-about-history Zia. And this is not Zia.
You cup your hands around his head, kissing him, and you feel the phantasmal growths on his head. And then trace your hands down his back, to his bottom. Another growth.
Ears. A tail. This is not Zia. This is a fox, who has stolen his shape. Zia will be in his room, asleep yet seeing what happens here and now in an uncannily vivid dream, his will and thoughts slowly being drained by the leech of his soul. The one wearing his visage is a servant of Silk-and-Eye.
That makes things easier.
"You love me?" you ask once you come up for air.
"Yes! And I want you!"
"Trust me, darling," you purr, "you've never had anyone like me before. I'll show you things you never expected."
"Oh?" He smiles sweetly at you. "Tell me more."
"Let me put it this way?" You lean in to kiss him on the cheek, and then whisper in his ear, "I'll make you scream. When I'm through with you, you'll be moaning and gasping. You'll be on the floor, feeling like your legs don't work."
You place your finger on his lip to shush him, and then undo the belt of your robe. With a coquettish smile, you let your robe fall.
Then you jab forwards, your fingers aimed for the site of his liver. Foxes place great spiritual importance in their livers. For a tricker fox like this, it is considerably more painful than a mere knee to the crotch.
He sinks down, making a faint noise that would be a scream if he had the breath for it. The green stain of your venom oozes out, staining the cloth. You catch his hand.
Then you break one of his fingers.
You really take no pleasure from it. But Sei, whose chuckles echo in your ears, does.
"... no-no-no, please, please-"
It's a shame to hurt a face that looks like Zia's, but it's something you can do. "Come now, fox," you tell the fox spirit that's stolen his face, "what I ask for is really very simple. Tell me your name. Or," you trace your finger along the tendons of Zia's delicate hand, leaving a stain of green viper-curse, "I'll start on this hand too. I can hurt you quite an awful lot without doing anything permanent. The choice is yours. Stop draining his spirit by stealing his face, or tell me your name."
"Please, I—"
You apply pressure to his index finger's knuckle, injecting your venom, and he moans hoarsely through clenched teeth. "Oh, you big baby. Darling, I didn't even break a finger that time. There are so many more ways I can hurt you. Just imagine that." You lean in towards him. "We can explore it together."
He whimpers at the back of his throat, and lets his glamour slip. The twisted image of Zia's fantasies drops from the face of the fox, and now you can see that he is exactly that. His face is long and vulpine, more besial than human, with over-large fox ears and a sandy beard that merges into the sandy fur on his neck. His eyes are large, like that of a night-dwelling creature, and full of fear; his teeth are sharp.
"Now, isn't that better?" you say. "Now you're no longer feeding from Zia's mind, the two of us can have a little talk. Tell me about Silk-and-Eye and where he hides when he's not attending to this bathhouse."
"He'll eat me if I talk!"
"Funny. So will I. And you might get away from him if you run." You trace your finger along the back of his hand, and he recoils away from you. He knows what will happen next. "Tell me your name, darling."
"I'm… I'm Sand-Sings-to-the-Night."
"Ah, honesty. Doesn't that feel wonderful?" You tap the back of his hand, and he yelps, but it was just a tap, not a blow to a nerve point. "Now, you'll tell me about Silk-and-Eye. Won't you, Sand-Sings-to-the-Night?"
You have his name and that gives you a certain power over him. He talks. He tells you the hidden path to Silk-and-Eye's lair, a place down below that is half warren and half bathhouse; a palace where he feeds his hungers and nests down with the other foxes. You push him for more and more, and since you have his name it is far more than he wants to give.
Once you are done, you wipe your venom off on his tattered clothes. "Thank you so much, Sand-Sings-to-the-Night. I will do nothing more to you."
"Y-you mean it?"
Rising, you turn your back to him. "Oh yes, darling. I won't do a thing." You pause, and give him a moment of hope. "Sei? I grant his name to you. He's all yours."
And Sei laughs and laughs and laughs, and you might have turned away but you can see his shadow grow on the wall. It billows up into something humanoid, and the laugh shifts.
"What are you?" the fox squeals. "You're… you're not human, you're…"
The fox doesn't scream. Well, not more than once, at least.
You don't watch, because Sei drinking breath is one thing, but when he really gets hungry it's enough to put you off your food. The sounds are mystifying enough; musical chords, whispers and echoes of strange voices, and always the breaking of bones and tearing of flesh.
"Well, that was lovely," Sei purrs when the noise dies down. Your little white deer-cat is back in his normal shape, and the fur around his mouth is stained red. "You're right, Rena. This was an awfully relaxing place. I'm feeling so much better after this little relaxing endeavour. And…" he pauses, coughing, and hacks up a few sharp teeth. "Oh, better out than in, I always say."
"Must you?"
"Teeth don't agree with me." He licks his paw and wipes at his mouth. "Oh, I can see so much. Your rotten ghul-friend is headed your way. Me? I think I'm going to have some fun. And," he smiles at you, as he fades away, "you can use my power freely for this. This was such a lovely gift. You do care."
He always does get in a good mood when he eats other fae. He prefers the taste even to human souls. You dress quickly, and make sure you have Tramontane close to hand. Then, just as you hear the footstep outside and smell the wyldflowers;
"Come in, Ukt Ghulah."
She slides the door open, and stoops under it.
"So the betrayal begins," Ukt Ghulah says from the door. "You shun his hospitality." Her smile is from ear to ear. "Good."
"Good?"
"Betrayals are beautiful." She rests her hand on her blade. "You are going after Silk-and-Eye."
That doesn't sound like a question, and you say as much.
"You did not know he has taken your daughter?"
Your… she is not your daughter! Why do these foxes make that assumption — no. No. Not the point. "He has?"
"Oh. You betrayed him on a whim." Her eyes gleam with a hint of the fire she once claimed to have. "I like you."
"He has Inaan?"
"Yes. He has taken her down to his den. For a feast of foxes. They like noble blood for their games."
Inaan is a brat, a pest, and too inquisitive for her own good. And no one gets to do that her. Whether they devour her whole and crunch her bones, or 'merely' discard her as a vacant, will-less husk that has had every ounce of creativity and inspiration and personality drained that will wander in the ruin until it dies… no.
You are angry, and had not realised how angry it would make you until this moment. You barely know her. Attachments only get you hurt. And right now you want to stab Silk-and-Eye right in his stupid handsome face with Tramontane.
Ukt Ghulah licks her lips. "Good. You have reason to kill him. A guest betrays hospitality to save a maiden. A good story. And now I will turn on Redtail Dae. Because it would be boring if I was called to defend Silk-and-Eye from you." She inclines her head to you. "Take from them; everything. Devour them whole, order-child."
She is gone. And like clockwork, in her place is one of the hob fox-maidens, the one with eyes the colour of rubies and two flicking tails of a darker hue than the wisps.
"Oh, lady," she says, smiling widely. "Where have you been? I was sent to attend to you. There is a great feast planned for entertainment, and you and all your friends will be there! The master has specially authorised us to open the old wardrobes for the most beautiful garments!"
The gown she has offered are beautiful, more so than anything you have seen among the jansi at the Kinzara party. They are a glamour, a fae-weaving of dreams and thus they seem to be made of woven cloud and shadow, as light and comfortable as the most fine silk. They perfectly match your skin tone and your jet-black hair, and you immediately see that they will draw attention to the green of your eyes and the flowers that grow in your hair. The sleeves are long and fine and will flow like water; the high-slit train will not harm your mobility. It is something you would pick out yourself, which tells you it was woven from your own dreams.
What a shame that they're little different from how a master chef might form a fancy of sugar-glass and fruits as a display of skill at a great banquet, as an amusement between the courses of the meal.
The fox-maiden sees your express. "Lady? Is something the matter?"
Article: The fae have Inaan. They have invited Rena to a party, where - knowing them - they will intend to make their guests the main course.
But they've made one mistake.
They fucked with the wrong hedonisticevilsorceress.
What does Rena do?
[ ] Thorns of the Rose: Play along for long enough to get into his heart. And into stabbing range. And go for his soul. [Hidden Talons Methodology] [Disturbed Snake Stance]
Foxes are lazy, vice-filled creatures, which is why you get along with them so well. Silk-and-Eye will try to seduce you, try to tempt you, try to win you over as a dashing, handsome rogue (which he is). But you will have to resist temptation and alay his suspicions long enough to get in close enough to deliver your bite and carve out his heart. After all, he doesn't know anything is a weapon in your hands - and the garment he gave you is one you can practise Peacock Style in.
[ ] High Stakes Wager: Attend the feast and challenge Silk-and-Eye to high-stakes gambling, to win back your companions and maybe gain even more than you started with. [Finding the Water's Depths][Verdant Revelry Inspiration]
Trickster-foxes are garrulous, impulsive, and compulsive gamblers. If you are willing to walk into their den and bid things you might not want to lose (matters of the heart, or of the flesh, or the soul), that will give you the initial wager to try to win back the ones they have taken. If you win, you could win it all; lose and the price will be painful.
[ ] Coiling Viper, Peacock's Blade: Reject the invitation. Stab the emissary to death. Derail their story into a story of revenge. [Nerve-Crippling Strike][Fleeting Breeze Style]
The story the foxes tell is this; a remote place of indulgence and vice, which consumes those who stay here whole. But you are a student of the Path of the Jade Fang. Fear is your weapon too, and you can use it to strike at the heart of their story and burn their glamour to the ground.
Aleph
Princess of Stabbity
- Location
- The sixth circle of Hell (second on weekends)
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Thorns of the Rose: Play along for long enough to get into his heart. And into stabbing range. And go for his soul. [Hidden Talons Methodology] [Disturbed Snake Stance]
High-stakes gambling is too risky for Rena's liking, and while a vengeance story would be fun, that would require her to fight her way all the way through to Silk-and-Eye, which sounds too much like effort. No, she's going to do what she did to that little fox. Play along, pretend they have her... and then stab them right in their smug faces. Because she's got the advantage of surprise here. Rena is used to dealing with chaos lords. But these idiots aren't used to dealing with Dragonblooded or wyldworkers, and especially aren't used to dealing with Dragonblooded wyldworkers like Rena who know all their tricks.
Plus, I really want to see the moment Silk-and-Eye realises how badly he fucked up. And this is the option that gets us that.
High-stakes gambling is too risky for Rena's liking, and while a vengeance story would be fun, that would require her to fight her way all the way through to Silk-and-Eye, which sounds too much like effort. No, she's going to do what she did to that little fox. Play along, pretend they have her... and then stab them right in their smug faces. Because she's got the advantage of surprise here. Rena is used to dealing with chaos lords. But these idiots aren't used to dealing with Dragonblooded or wyldworkers, and especially aren't used to dealing with Dragonblooded wyldworkers like Rena who know all their tricks.
Plus, I really want to see the moment Silk-and-Eye realises how badly he fucked up. And this is the option that gets us that.