"I don't pretend, lords and ladies of the Red, to insult your intelligence and claim birthright to this house. I don't pretend that I spent my childhood with you, learning the ways of the coin at port, or you Lady Dirna, overseeing the cornlands of Eirfeld. I was not primed and trained to be among your number. My path has been a different one, my playmates and allies lived under the dirt of Eirdred.
"And it is during this time of crisis for House Archne, my dear lords and ladies, esteemed guests, it shall be these experiences that guide my hands now. Blood for blood, as the greater Keeper's host compels, I strike out for justice for the slain and dishonored. It has been the trials of a precarious childhood that has left me bare of the softness of woman, that I might serve the memory of my husband the way he deserves.
"House Archne is under a sickness, during these times. This sickness has deprived me of a husband, deprived our district of just and prosperous governance, and deprived you all of a colleague, ally and friend." Lady Genvieve bellowed to the attentive, packed ballroom hall, knowing fully that far more nobles present felt nothing less than serendipitous joy at the news of Lord Archne's untimely demise. He had made too many enemies in such a short time as a young lord, many were surprised it took so long.
"It was my eyes in places treason cannot hide, that brought the coward murderers, the conspirators, to the ever judging eyes of the great Thal'Rel, and his vengeful host.
"Furthermore, I will not pretend that Rel's hand upon the fiends was not great. What befits their crime is no less that sheer destruction and torment. Lord Henri Archne's death is not lightly taken. The retribution deserving the slayers of my lord husband has not been lightly delivered. I gave them no less than their crime deserved. But for you gentle folk, the work of Rel is best done in the dark. The path of his host leaves no room for sympathy and mercy.
The Lady Archne looked upon her captive audience like a cat to fish in a bowl. "The wrath of House Archne is tremendous, and those who do harm to even the least of us shall be punished! To those who would do harm to our House most dear would be caught in the very maelstrom of Thal'Rel 's terrible host!
"Witness the consequences that await fools who do not respect House Archne!"
As if on queue, for it was, the dining hall's twin oak doors creaked open and two teenaged servant boys tugged on a wallless wagon with visible effort. Upon the oak slab on iron and wood wheels layed the desecrated corpses of a diminuitive Outer Crestan girl and a pale, flax haired Eirdren male. The wagon was wheeled to the center of the ballroom, in clear view of every noble, lady and lord, as they sat at table.
Both bodies boasted an uncountable number of bruises and lacerations while the flesh had already begun to bloat in a stink of post-mortem decay. Melting pinkish purple innards hung loosely from the side of the wagon while rope burns on their wrists and ankles gave tribute to the evidence disjointed bones and torn muscle of the bodies.
Gasps and groans of disgust reverberated throughout the hall, but none turned away. A violent dance is art in and of itself, and though breakfast now sat poorly in many of Lady Archne's guests, she had done them no wrong in her actions. Sounds of vomitting and frail ladies' fainting spells, contrived or genuine, told Ruby that her presentation had gone smoothly and the dance had been done well. The abject horror on her guests' faces were the bow at the end of a symphony well orchestrated and Ruby could not help but allow herself a sip of the draught called success.
She had initially been taken back, having to discard the elegant mask of a wife besought by evil unjustly inflicted in exchange for the twisted helm of a tyrant. But her words had been effective.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part X
As Onion breathed softly while the fire coals became crusted with a fine grey ash, Gregor pondered what to do with the information about the girl's "talents". He had hoped to keep her out of the world of the bei'thal, but when Vaughn received Anita's report the Nü would not be safe from the pnum bei'thal and it was far too likely that the Silent Scholar would also take an interest. He did not want to see this girl become the plaything of his superiors, and yet his choice had been made. Even given the circumstances, he was not entirely sure he would have chosen differently. His fingers worried at his straw hair. Regardless of whether or not his choice saved her life, he did not want to see this girl become Yiren.
No doubt the gegleth would be at the rendezvous point as well. The mere thought made Gregor feel the onset of vomit.
Damn them to the very center of the core. May the hosts of all keepers run that forsaken race into the fires of the center of the earth. His heart flew to his throat. I must find some way to protect her from the creatures. I doubt this girl is wise to the ways of such filth. Yiren wasn't.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was another half hour before Onion finally came to her senses, and another hour she lay sill, as if asleep, meditating, completing the final touches of her web from this side of consciousness. Lately, this mental reconstruction was becoming far too common an occurrence, but never had she experienced such devastation as she did over this night.
Onion was aware of Gregor's presence while she worked, sitting in silent watch of her every breath. He had long since abandoned the fire which was now merely a pile of sifting grey ash. His head rested awkwardly against the back of the chair, tired in his vigil, but he still maintained a semblance of consciousness.
"You have been here long?" she finally ventured, startling the half-asleep Lithenese man. Gregor wiped his obstinately heavy eyes with a forceful swipe of his middle finger.
"You are up. Excellent. We must depart as soon as you are able." he commanded, focused on his duty under Vaughn bei'thal. He caught himself in a moment of self-consciousness, suddenly ashamed of his callousness. He quickly attempted to amend his words. "That is, if you are well enough. Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
"I am well. You have freed me as promised, not by death, but by life. I am grateful. Direct me where you will."
Gregor handed Onion the satchel Vaughn had brought in hours ago. Glad to be free of the scratching twine of the prison clothed, Onion excused herself to change behind the thick paper and wood room dividers. As she appraised her new Eirdred garb, Gregor spoke from the other side.
"I never asked you before," he started, silent and twinged with a hint of remorse, "because names can be dangerous. There was too much risk at the time, and too little reward in simple pleasantries." he cleared his throat and injected a measure of confidence into his speech. "Let me recover this rudeness, my mother gave me the name Gregor, under the auspices of the joyous shepherd. Will you do me the pleasure of telling me the name by which you are known?"
She smiled, but it went unnoticed to Gregor. "Of course, my brother gave me my birth name and to all now I am known as Vren..."
"Hah!" Gregor chuckled, the name was nothing more than a common, culinary Eirdren noun, "Nice to meet you Miss Onion. So you know, my true name is Tomato."
Onion stopped dead in her tracks, shirt sleeves half on, her bottom still exposed to the stale inn air. She froze as long as her lungs would allow before bursting into laughter. Deep in her core she laughed the entire contents of her lungs pushed up from her belly. Eyes misting pure mirth, she realized for the first time since seeing the forsaken eyes of Rejnev on the field of battle for the last time, that she in fact was not dead. She had not shared his fate. She might even still be alive.
"I am glad to see your sense of humor intact in spite of all that you have been through." he remarked from his wicker chair.
"But you must know I am serious. It is the name my brother chose for me during my third grixi flood season, and I am known by no other name. My parents had already gone to the Master of the Mountain, so by then the choice was his, as the eldest of us all." she told her story to Gregor and the wall.
"Do you know what the word vren means? It is a word of the tongues of my people. It is speech of the continent."
"Rejnev once told me. It is some kind of plant is it not? He told me that after that cold white stuff-"
"snow"
"Yes, that. Like the cap of the mountain. After it disappears it is one of the first plants to burst from the earth with life. That is why he named me so. After the winter of our parents leaving us, I yet sprouted."
"Yes, there is that, but an onion is something we eat here too. Have you ever tasted an one? It makes you cry when you cut it."
"You cry? Why would you want to eat such a thing? No I haven't." she looked confused and a little robbed about her namesake. An onion sounds a much finer thing struggling against the elements than garnishing a dinner plate. As she she stepped our from the dividers, she gauged herself helplessly. What a strange contraption, this continental garb. she thought, this dress. "How do you walk around in this without tripping all over your self?" she asked to no one in particular.
Gregor laughed, "You will learn, as I did in robes. If it makes you feel any better, it suits you. You look quite good in it."
Onion tried to push the comment past her, but offered a smirk. Preferring the language of action and escape, she insisted, "Let's go."
No doubt the gegleth would be at the rendezvous point as well. The mere thought made Gregor feel the onset of vomit.
Damn them to the very center of the core. May the hosts of all keepers run that forsaken race into the fires of the center of the earth. His heart flew to his throat. I must find some way to protect her from the creatures. I doubt this girl is wise to the ways of such filth. Yiren wasn't.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was another half hour before Onion finally came to her senses, and another hour she lay sill, as if asleep, meditating, completing the final touches of her web from this side of consciousness. Lately, this mental reconstruction was becoming far too common an occurrence, but never had she experienced such devastation as she did over this night.
Onion was aware of Gregor's presence while she worked, sitting in silent watch of her every breath. He had long since abandoned the fire which was now merely a pile of sifting grey ash. His head rested awkwardly against the back of the chair, tired in his vigil, but he still maintained a semblance of consciousness.
"You have been here long?" she finally ventured, startling the half-asleep Lithenese man. Gregor wiped his obstinately heavy eyes with a forceful swipe of his middle finger.
"You are up. Excellent. We must depart as soon as you are able." he commanded, focused on his duty under Vaughn bei'thal. He caught himself in a moment of self-consciousness, suddenly ashamed of his callousness. He quickly attempted to amend his words. "That is, if you are well enough. Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
"I am well. You have freed me as promised, not by death, but by life. I am grateful. Direct me where you will."
Gregor handed Onion the satchel Vaughn had brought in hours ago. Glad to be free of the scratching twine of the prison clothed, Onion excused herself to change behind the thick paper and wood room dividers. As she appraised her new Eirdred garb, Gregor spoke from the other side.
"I never asked you before," he started, silent and twinged with a hint of remorse, "because names can be dangerous. There was too much risk at the time, and too little reward in simple pleasantries." he cleared his throat and injected a measure of confidence into his speech. "Let me recover this rudeness, my mother gave me the name Gregor, under the auspices of the joyous shepherd. Will you do me the pleasure of telling me the name by which you are known?"
She smiled, but it went unnoticed to Gregor. "Of course, my brother gave me my birth name and to all now I am known as Vren..."
"Hah!" Gregor chuckled, the name was nothing more than a common, culinary Eirdren noun, "Nice to meet you Miss Onion. So you know, my true name is Tomato."
Onion stopped dead in her tracks, shirt sleeves half on, her bottom still exposed to the stale inn air. She froze as long as her lungs would allow before bursting into laughter. Deep in her core she laughed the entire contents of her lungs pushed up from her belly. Eyes misting pure mirth, she realized for the first time since seeing the forsaken eyes of Rejnev on the field of battle for the last time, that she in fact was not dead. She had not shared his fate. She might even still be alive.
"I am glad to see your sense of humor intact in spite of all that you have been through." he remarked from his wicker chair.
"But you must know I am serious. It is the name my brother chose for me during my third grixi flood season, and I am known by no other name. My parents had already gone to the Master of the Mountain, so by then the choice was his, as the eldest of us all." she told her story to Gregor and the wall.
"Do you know what the word vren means? It is a word of the tongues of my people. It is speech of the continent."
"Rejnev once told me. It is some kind of plant is it not? He told me that after that cold white stuff-"
"snow"
"Yes, that. Like the cap of the mountain. After it disappears it is one of the first plants to burst from the earth with life. That is why he named me so. After the winter of our parents leaving us, I yet sprouted."
"Yes, there is that, but an onion is something we eat here too. Have you ever tasted an one? It makes you cry when you cut it."
"You cry? Why would you want to eat such a thing? No I haven't." she looked confused and a little robbed about her namesake. An onion sounds a much finer thing struggling against the elements than garnishing a dinner plate. As she she stepped our from the dividers, she gauged herself helplessly. What a strange contraption, this continental garb. she thought, this dress. "How do you walk around in this without tripping all over your self?" she asked to no one in particular.
Gregor laughed, "You will learn, as I did in robes. If it makes you feel any better, it suits you. You look quite good in it."
Onion tried to push the comment past her, but offered a smirk. Preferring the language of action and escape, she insisted, "Let's go."
Monday, August 8, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part IX
"The task is done, Davin and I were successful. The ritual was performed without error, and the little I could derive from my surroundings in the dungeon while I molded the dead flesh to the souls of the prisoners suggests that the Lady suspects nothing. She saw them in those bodies, not the bodies of her slain guardsmen.
"As it is that her thoughts are that the two have perished, no doubt she will change her strategy, but as to what that move shall be, we are uncertain at this time. We would be wise to keep other bei close at hand." Anita sat on the floor and began to stretch; her limber arm easily grasping the flats of her soles. With her other hand she mindlessly touched the bridge of her nose, still covered in its entirety by the blindfold.
Gregor wondered about what lay underneath the thin, exotic looking fabric. Her eyes were rumored to have been beautiful once. Tales from beyond the Teeth lived in Heilithian legend that claimed her people were a folk constructed of porcelain, sapphire and obsidian, but to him she had never seemed more than cut of broken glass. He wondered if she ever considered herself beautiful. He wondered what she saw when she looked into the mirror of her mind.
The young Lithenese bei'thal however kept all such wandering notions caged in the recesses of abstract thought. He beckoned her to continue.
"A far stretch though it may have been, it was worth it, Gregor." she offered, almost contrite, as if a bei could ever feel humbled. "She will be useful for the Empress, and the pnum bei'thal, first in that order." The bei's words were projected from lips now loosely covered by elongated gloved fingers. In the glow of the fire, the angle of Anita's jawline cut cruelly against the smoothness of her neck. This was the weapon Gregor was here to command.
"That one guides her own dreams and turns thoughts into fortresses. She is the master of her domain and even for a true pnum bei, I do not think infiltrating her mind at full strength would be possible. More likely it would be lethal."
"Yet you managed the deed though you are not a compromised of the spirit? How?" Gregor knew little of the process of the compromising ritual, or how it formed different bei, but he did know Anita and Davin had given up their sight for ears more sensitive than those of dogs. Their's was not a sacrifice of the mind.
"All bei lose a portion of their souls, it is the cost of our sacrifice." she answered emotionlessly. So it is true, Gregor mused. He wondered just how true she was. "It makes us who we are." she continued.
"The ritual was easy. The girl is battered and malleable. I suspect she is still in a numb shock that she is likely not aware of herself. Pushing her soul into the carcass at the Archne Estate was simply a matter of good sheep herding. And sculpting the flesh around her spirit was pure art. Her force of will made the flesh no more than yak butter." A small smile curled in the corner of her mouth as she related the memories of her labors. Her pride in her work was perhaps all that remained in her shell.
"So you said. And the Lady was taken in by your craft. But why does she slumber still?" Impatient, the bei'thal tapped his left toe against the oaken wood floor.
"I thought to herd her into her own body, much as Davin had done for Cedric, but when I returned to her, she was nowhere to be found. You must understand this. Were I to force the blood burn ritual on you at this instant, I would come upon the cluttered mess of your every thought. I would walk the roads of Lithentown and Honeyport to arrive at the color of chivalry. The taste of the air of your mind would boast the bittersweet tinge of a brother here, but lost. I would see the face of your mother on the walls of University on High, I would feel your last erection and know if your belly had been filled recently. Humans imprint their stamp on every action, every thought they commit in a day, but most of what they do in a day they try to hide in the hidden strongbox of their minds.
"But when I got to the girl, there was nothing. No lampposts, no memories of indigestion. There were no fathers or brothers, no sky, no smell; nothing!" The memories of frustrations she had, searching, getting lost in the big empty blackness of the mind of another poured into her voice thickly. "Only the dead have nothing! If... were she not to have been found I would have been as trapped as she, and this body," she pointed to the sleeping Nü, "would have decayed in front of your eyes even as it yet drew breath."
"At first I thought her dead, that I had failed and her soul lost, but slowly I could hear the crescendo of thoughts, desires and experiences, hidden and obvious, rush past me, constructing a wall, a web to repel and forget the injuries done. It was nearly undetectable at first. Even as it became more obvious, I could never tell where anything was headed. I never found the corner of her mind where she had crawled.
"But I didn't need to. Whatever she has been through, it had maimed her before we got to her. She has been weak and in reaction her mind gave her a fever to kill the sickness she bore from her injury. It was along the conduit of fever dreams that her memories traveled to her.
"In a fever dream, the mind beckons and traps powerful memories and ideas which can no longer escape. This is the nature of humans I suppose. To dwell on the intense passions and obsessions of the past is your way sometimes. A fever is particularly adept at destroying any other distractions of lesser emotions and daily life. It was the seeds of a fever dream, the call to strong passions, where I found my escape. Her memories knew to whom they belonged. I need but ride them to her."
"You followed a memory?" he asked, not sure he understood how one might accomplish such a feat.
"Yes, a particularly strong one. And when I reached the walls she had begun building, or rebuilding, I had no choice but to become one with the memory. To speak through it. I would not have been able to permeate her defenses otherwise.
"Now she slumbers because she is rebuilding her defenses, she has risen from her shock. She will not hide again, but nor will she suffer another invasion."
"So you say that through her memory you could finally communicate, even lure her out of her shell. But do you not know what the memory was?"
"I can't be sure. It was simply the vessel of my message. Most likely it was the memory of a person. To her, my words probably came from kin. Perhaps her mother's lips delivered echoed my will. Though more likely it was a lover. The memory was quite strong."
Gregor was certain that this final information was not likely to help his cause, and now he simply felt intrusive. He blushed, a fact that was thankfully concealed by the light of the fire coals. Anita may have been blind and thus could not see the cool pink pigment splash upon his cheeks, but he did not want even the hint of weakness in front of her. As Anita prepared herself to leave, Gregor took a moment to absorb what she had told him, but his thoughts could not help but to delve into curiosity. "Before you go, Anita, tell me one thing."
"Yes my keeper?"
"What would I find if I performed the blood burn on you?"
"Two rows of five empty, granite houses." With that she exited the room.
"As it is that her thoughts are that the two have perished, no doubt she will change her strategy, but as to what that move shall be, we are uncertain at this time. We would be wise to keep other bei close at hand." Anita sat on the floor and began to stretch; her limber arm easily grasping the flats of her soles. With her other hand she mindlessly touched the bridge of her nose, still covered in its entirety by the blindfold.
Gregor wondered about what lay underneath the thin, exotic looking fabric. Her eyes were rumored to have been beautiful once. Tales from beyond the Teeth lived in Heilithian legend that claimed her people were a folk constructed of porcelain, sapphire and obsidian, but to him she had never seemed more than cut of broken glass. He wondered if she ever considered herself beautiful. He wondered what she saw when she looked into the mirror of her mind.
The young Lithenese bei'thal however kept all such wandering notions caged in the recesses of abstract thought. He beckoned her to continue.
"A far stretch though it may have been, it was worth it, Gregor." she offered, almost contrite, as if a bei could ever feel humbled. "She will be useful for the Empress, and the pnum bei'thal, first in that order." The bei's words were projected from lips now loosely covered by elongated gloved fingers. In the glow of the fire, the angle of Anita's jawline cut cruelly against the smoothness of her neck. This was the weapon Gregor was here to command.
"That one guides her own dreams and turns thoughts into fortresses. She is the master of her domain and even for a true pnum bei, I do not think infiltrating her mind at full strength would be possible. More likely it would be lethal."
"Yet you managed the deed though you are not a compromised of the spirit? How?" Gregor knew little of the process of the compromising ritual, or how it formed different bei, but he did know Anita and Davin had given up their sight for ears more sensitive than those of dogs. Their's was not a sacrifice of the mind.
"All bei lose a portion of their souls, it is the cost of our sacrifice." she answered emotionlessly. So it is true, Gregor mused. He wondered just how true she was. "It makes us who we are." she continued.
"The ritual was easy. The girl is battered and malleable. I suspect she is still in a numb shock that she is likely not aware of herself. Pushing her soul into the carcass at the Archne Estate was simply a matter of good sheep herding. And sculpting the flesh around her spirit was pure art. Her force of will made the flesh no more than yak butter." A small smile curled in the corner of her mouth as she related the memories of her labors. Her pride in her work was perhaps all that remained in her shell.
"So you said. And the Lady was taken in by your craft. But why does she slumber still?" Impatient, the bei'thal tapped his left toe against the oaken wood floor.
"I thought to herd her into her own body, much as Davin had done for Cedric, but when I returned to her, she was nowhere to be found. You must understand this. Were I to force the blood burn ritual on you at this instant, I would come upon the cluttered mess of your every thought. I would walk the roads of Lithentown and Honeyport to arrive at the color of chivalry. The taste of the air of your mind would boast the bittersweet tinge of a brother here, but lost. I would see the face of your mother on the walls of University on High, I would feel your last erection and know if your belly had been filled recently. Humans imprint their stamp on every action, every thought they commit in a day, but most of what they do in a day they try to hide in the hidden strongbox of their minds.
"But when I got to the girl, there was nothing. No lampposts, no memories of indigestion. There were no fathers or brothers, no sky, no smell; nothing!" The memories of frustrations she had, searching, getting lost in the big empty blackness of the mind of another poured into her voice thickly. "Only the dead have nothing! If... were she not to have been found I would have been as trapped as she, and this body," she pointed to the sleeping Nü, "would have decayed in front of your eyes even as it yet drew breath."
"At first I thought her dead, that I had failed and her soul lost, but slowly I could hear the crescendo of thoughts, desires and experiences, hidden and obvious, rush past me, constructing a wall, a web to repel and forget the injuries done. It was nearly undetectable at first. Even as it became more obvious, I could never tell where anything was headed. I never found the corner of her mind where she had crawled.
"But I didn't need to. Whatever she has been through, it had maimed her before we got to her. She has been weak and in reaction her mind gave her a fever to kill the sickness she bore from her injury. It was along the conduit of fever dreams that her memories traveled to her.
"In a fever dream, the mind beckons and traps powerful memories and ideas which can no longer escape. This is the nature of humans I suppose. To dwell on the intense passions and obsessions of the past is your way sometimes. A fever is particularly adept at destroying any other distractions of lesser emotions and daily life. It was the seeds of a fever dream, the call to strong passions, where I found my escape. Her memories knew to whom they belonged. I need but ride them to her."
"You followed a memory?" he asked, not sure he understood how one might accomplish such a feat.
"Yes, a particularly strong one. And when I reached the walls she had begun building, or rebuilding, I had no choice but to become one with the memory. To speak through it. I would not have been able to permeate her defenses otherwise.
"Now she slumbers because she is rebuilding her defenses, she has risen from her shock. She will not hide again, but nor will she suffer another invasion."
"So you say that through her memory you could finally communicate, even lure her out of her shell. But do you not know what the memory was?"
"I can't be sure. It was simply the vessel of my message. Most likely it was the memory of a person. To her, my words probably came from kin. Perhaps her mother's lips delivered echoed my will. Though more likely it was a lover. The memory was quite strong."
Gregor was certain that this final information was not likely to help his cause, and now he simply felt intrusive. He blushed, a fact that was thankfully concealed by the light of the fire coals. Anita may have been blind and thus could not see the cool pink pigment splash upon his cheeks, but he did not want even the hint of weakness in front of her. As Anita prepared herself to leave, Gregor took a moment to absorb what she had told him, but his thoughts could not help but to delve into curiosity. "Before you go, Anita, tell me one thing."
"Yes my keeper?"
"What would I find if I performed the blood burn on you?"
"Two rows of five empty, granite houses." With that she exited the room.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part VIII
~~~~~~~~
Even after the heaviest of rains, a rose will open up once again to greet the surviving sun. Nought but the jewels of dew drops on her petals will indicate her troubles in the storm.
With the uncertainty of dawn at an end, Anita opened her burned out eyes and saw nothing. She heard the creaking of the floor boards from several rooms away. Over the conversations of two barmaids, dutifully cleaning the floors downstairs, he heard with perfect vividness the barkeep's backhand upon the kitchen keep. She had finally surfaced from Onion's mind, and while the loss of her vision was always a somber reminder to her life, compromised, the acute power of her ears was life. She had sorely missed the ability to see beyond any walls, of the mind or of stone.
Visibly drained from her exploits in the perilous backalleys of that convoluted Nüish mind, she nonetheless fared better than her charge. By pure stubbornness, or perhaps weakness, Onion remained motionless, sprawled as much as she could be on one third of the pallet. Thin, red blankets cascaded from her belly and upon her groin before twisting around her mahogany legs.
Gregor watched from a distance as Anita straightened herself out and resumed her stoic form. Before both feet even lay flat upon the ground, Gregor felt the curiosity of her experiences well up from within him. He was the master, he was the bei'thal and yet, there was still much he could not possibly know about the inner workings of a bei and such naivety he wore as a tunic amongst his peers; plain for all to see. He could suppress his queries no longer.
"What news ser'bei Anita?" he invoked the quality of her compromise, compromise of the senses. Fully erect now, Anita snatched the sheet from the pallet and utilized it to rid herself of the sweat coalescing upon her brow; the evidence of her labors.
"Bei'thal", she responded, using Gregor's formal title in kind, "You are a man wise beyond expectation." From under her blindfold, thin lips curled tightly and her jawline tightened, "You have found us a great source of new understanding. Skinny Selmont will have a dear time with this one. Oh and yes, Dagleth yes," she continued, squealing with glee, "much more to learn from this one than that monkey whelp Yiren."
Gregor felt the fires of rage kindle inside his heart but he used every muscle fiber to suppress it. He was bei'thal and she was bei. In any other organization she would be expected to keep her foul taunting mouth shut in front of her superior, Gregor reflected, but he knew any attempt at discipline would be fruitless. The bei he had heard by a friend in what seemed to be eons ago, lost the larger part of their soul when they became compromised. What remained was a one dimensional shell of their former self. Their personalities trudged on, copying the behavioral patterns of their former life with vigor, though it was questionable as to if they truly understood what they did.
Certainly nothing he said to cut her down or command her respect would make the slightest ripple on her future actions, so he knew he must bear her japes. While he had never met the woman before she became bei, it was well known that Anita had been a caustic woodswalker from the Teeth of the Benge wastelands. He doubted it was possible for the woman to even play at kindness.
To that end, a bei'thal was to be the leash on the bei. The only way to break the bei of the habits of their past life was to keep them in constant motion. To compel them to task was to turn the wolf into a dog. To set them upon prey was the only way to gain their respect. It was the duty of Gregor and Vaughn to unleash the power and skills of the bei when needed, and to muzzle them during the rare times of respite.
"Report your findings," Gregor enunciated once his palatable distaste for the bei's disrespect had subsided.
If the rumors of leeched souls serving as the fuel in the ritual of the compromise were true, Anita was a shining example of evidence to such. Her sneer quickly subsided as a monotone formality crept into her speech.
Even after the heaviest of rains, a rose will open up once again to greet the surviving sun. Nought but the jewels of dew drops on her petals will indicate her troubles in the storm.
With the uncertainty of dawn at an end, Anita opened her burned out eyes and saw nothing. She heard the creaking of the floor boards from several rooms away. Over the conversations of two barmaids, dutifully cleaning the floors downstairs, he heard with perfect vividness the barkeep's backhand upon the kitchen keep. She had finally surfaced from Onion's mind, and while the loss of her vision was always a somber reminder to her life, compromised, the acute power of her ears was life. She had sorely missed the ability to see beyond any walls, of the mind or of stone.
Visibly drained from her exploits in the perilous backalleys of that convoluted Nüish mind, she nonetheless fared better than her charge. By pure stubbornness, or perhaps weakness, Onion remained motionless, sprawled as much as she could be on one third of the pallet. Thin, red blankets cascaded from her belly and upon her groin before twisting around her mahogany legs.
Gregor watched from a distance as Anita straightened herself out and resumed her stoic form. Before both feet even lay flat upon the ground, Gregor felt the curiosity of her experiences well up from within him. He was the master, he was the bei'thal and yet, there was still much he could not possibly know about the inner workings of a bei and such naivety he wore as a tunic amongst his peers; plain for all to see. He could suppress his queries no longer.
"What news ser'bei Anita?" he invoked the quality of her compromise, compromise of the senses. Fully erect now, Anita snatched the sheet from the pallet and utilized it to rid herself of the sweat coalescing upon her brow; the evidence of her labors.
"Bei'thal", she responded, using Gregor's formal title in kind, "You are a man wise beyond expectation." From under her blindfold, thin lips curled tightly and her jawline tightened, "You have found us a great source of new understanding. Skinny Selmont will have a dear time with this one. Oh and yes, Dagleth yes," she continued, squealing with glee, "much more to learn from this one than that monkey whelp Yiren."
Gregor felt the fires of rage kindle inside his heart but he used every muscle fiber to suppress it. He was bei'thal and she was bei. In any other organization she would be expected to keep her foul taunting mouth shut in front of her superior, Gregor reflected, but he knew any attempt at discipline would be fruitless. The bei he had heard by a friend in what seemed to be eons ago, lost the larger part of their soul when they became compromised. What remained was a one dimensional shell of their former self. Their personalities trudged on, copying the behavioral patterns of their former life with vigor, though it was questionable as to if they truly understood what they did.
Certainly nothing he said to cut her down or command her respect would make the slightest ripple on her future actions, so he knew he must bear her japes. While he had never met the woman before she became bei, it was well known that Anita had been a caustic woodswalker from the Teeth of the Benge wastelands. He doubted it was possible for the woman to even play at kindness.
To that end, a bei'thal was to be the leash on the bei. The only way to break the bei of the habits of their past life was to keep them in constant motion. To compel them to task was to turn the wolf into a dog. To set them upon prey was the only way to gain their respect. It was the duty of Gregor and Vaughn to unleash the power and skills of the bei when needed, and to muzzle them during the rare times of respite.
"Report your findings," Gregor enunciated once his palatable distaste for the bei's disrespect had subsided.
If the rumors of leeched souls serving as the fuel in the ritual of the compromise were true, Anita was a shining example of evidence to such. Her sneer quickly subsided as a monotone formality crept into her speech.
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