Assallya

Friend or Foe?

The dancing girl's mouth opened slightly, jaw dropping in surprise at the revelation of the possible executions. This Vatikar was a monster, but a horribly effective one, taking the actions necessary to preserve his life, the lives of his men and in this particular circumstance her own. Assallya had to admit the large oafish and ogrish man suddenly looked quite attractive. There was no cunning or guile, just brute force. The way he dominated a room with both word and deed was simply intoxicating. While she could have garnered the same results she had to admit that it would have taken significantly longer to do so via carousing.

Turning her attention back to the silvered tray Assallya concentrated, searching the faces of the escaped person's friends or comrades and committed them to memory. At first, when she spied what she thought was a warrior for Octa she almost wept for joy. However then her thoughts went back to the ambush. What were the odds that in the ambush that single warrior might have dropped something personal and more importantly, why wouldn't he have returned for it if it were quite so close.

Friend or Foe?

With a whip of the reigns of the chariot, Vatikar, Assallya, and the Black Hats were on their way to Grayweald.

@gorgenmast

Assallya had to admit she wasn't much for the woods. It took her far too long to realize that this was the location of the ambush of earlier. Then again, she reminded herself, she hadn't really been able to see what was going on here since she'd been locked away inside the prison wagon.

She moved amongst the bodies, bare feet pressing into the snow without care for the cold; such was the benefit of her magical jewelry. Iron links of the chains attached to her manacles clinked as she stepped. Azure eyes examined the remains of the ambush, searching for something, anything that spoke of the rebels. A cast off piece of clothing, a dropped blade, or lost blood from a gushing wound. Such things were very valuable in divination. Unfortunately, there seemed to be little of use here. It had been near a total rout.

While she searched she also considered. This Vatikar seemed to appreciate her abilities. Maybe she really should rethink her original plan of running off at first opportunity. With his lauding there could be a place for her in the Lord's entourage, a position of power. No more slumming it with petty vagabonds, thieves and adventurers but lands of her own to hold in trust for Lord Octa. Personally, she thought that she would make a fine lady.

She had been about to comment on the lack of useful clues when she experienced a forceful grasp on her arm and was drawn back towards the chariot. A town called Grayweald? The dancing girl considered. She wasn't sure if she liked the idea. Any number of townsfolke could be supportive of the rebels' cause and rush away to warn them of the hunting party ruining any chance at surprise.

Friend or Foe?

Canada and as far as I know only in Canada.

Friend or Foe?

I'm thinking Thanksgiving is in people's way.

Heck. I'm eating dinner here at the grocery store in which I'm currently working. The bastards.

Friend or Foe?

Assallya thanked all the gods above that Vatikar and the chamberlain didn't simply run her through when she'd asked to cast a spell in the dungeons but now they were on their way. The silver of the pan had been pure and the crafting had been fine so it held a dweomer well. She'd used it, and her memory of the escaped woman to conjure up an image. Now Vatikar had seen the fugitive's face but there had been nothing in the images of the woman that provided any indication of where she was.

Thankfully, she'd been able to point out the general direction that Rook was by the faint pull of the magic. It was in no way distinct and she'd have to scry again once they were closer but now they were on their way. -and Assallya hated every moment of it. Oh, she was used to driving a wagon across uneven terrain. She might not have been particularly good at it but she was used to it. Travelling by chariot was a new experience and it was grossly uncomfortable standing there and gripping the rim. She had thought riding side saddle had been bad. This was torture and she could feel every bounce through her bare souls.

"We should discuss my role in the capture," she said to Vatikar during an open stretch of road, sounding much more eloquent now that she'd calmed down, "I would not wish to incur your wrath and be spitted on the spot. Would you prefer I stand fast in light of enemies or would you enjoy sorcerous aid? Would you prefer I invoke only upon your express command or would you prefer I use my own judgement?"

Friend or Foe?

The elven girl had followed through the dimly lit fortress, moving beneath the sconces, from one pool of light to the next until they reached their destination. The bowels of the fortress were like a living thing to her, and it was preparing for war. She had never seen so many forges being bellowed, nor heard such a cacophony. It stung her pointed ears but she put aside such petty complaints less her guards see opportunity to cuff her roughly in some direction or another.

When finally the elven girl was brought before her chaperone she washed her gaze over Vatikar's figure and was suitably impressed. He was in possession of a broad set of shoulders and would make for a great protector. However, that face... It looked like the forges had regurgitated molten steel directly upon his face. Perhaps she was exaggerating, but by Sharess' sweet tits nobody was ever going to call the man handsome.

The chamberlain's following words were something of a balm to Assallya and she nodded, fully realizing what the man had said. He needn't have said anything. Assallya had already figured out that if she didn't find this escaped rebel she may as well not return.

"You would not happen to possess a pan of wrought silver?" Assallya asked of the pair, hoping that she might be able to scry out these rebels.

Failing that she was going to need to craft some sort of divining rod.

Friend or Foe?

The elven girl's heart stuck in her throat at Lord Octa's first words and then soared as he completed his next. The thought of not being rendered into dust was a massive relief. Shaking visibly she nodded and curtsied.

"His majesty is...," she whispered, then decided against her own words, figuring it better she simply slip away. Instead she simply added the assurance, "I shall not fail."

Dismissed she followed the Lord's personal guard, slipping quietly away and considered the options. She would have preferred being escourted by the Lord's chamberlain. He seemed more talkative and she could have used whatever information she might glean. Still, at least she hadn't been slain. There was every possibility she might even be able to spin this into a ladyship of her own if she played her cards right. Just as much possibility that she'd only postponed her punishment. It was difficult to say. After all, Lord Octa's minions regularly played against one another. They just did so via cat's paws and thus didn't contest quite so overtly.

Her next question was: Who was this Vatikar? What sort of man or thing was he? Could she win him over? How loyal was he? She certainly hoped he would be amenable.

Friend or Foe?

The elven girl, already scared out of her wits somehow managed to blanch at the question put to her. If her hands hadn't been shackled behind her back and her fingers woven together with leather thong she'd have probably been wringing them. A dozen lies slipped through her mind as she considered any of the near half dozen identities she'd crafted through the years. However, most of those alternates were decidedly less than useful in the current circumstance and would not serve.

"My name is Assallya," she answered, nervously licking dried and cracked lips, "I may have been- involved in the murder of one of your vassals your majesty. It wasn't intentional. I was supposed to distract the man with a slap and tickle, hence my attire, while my fellows robbed his abode but- things went awry. They killed him."

Okay, that was a lie -partially. The whole truth was that she had indeed killed him but nobody told her that the man was a perverse sadist. Her comrades in crime had basically set her up to be brutally murdered to satisfy his lordship's lusts in what would have been a lovely distraction while they raided the villein's tax collections. As a result she'd had no choice but to kill him before he killed her. Then his lordship's guards got involved and everything went downhill from there. There may have been some illusions cast, and some enchantments uttered, and maybe some guards fighting amongst themselves as a result. It had been an ugly affair but as far as she was concerned it was her comrades that had made it necessary that the lord be killed and thus their fault, not hers.

"However!" she added quickly, eager to put a positive spin on that horrible half-truth, "I did scry his lordship's manor and I could do so again for you, only instead for this escaped girl. I am, from what your man says, the only one who has seen the face of this escaped woman and thus I can help find her."

That last little bit sent a small surge of hope bounding through the dancing girl's chest. She might somehow get through this with her hide intact, by the nine hells, she might even be able to luck out and carve a ladyship out of this debacle.

Friend or Foe?

Even after being nearly carried across the grand hall and having her gag removed it took several long moments for the elven woman to speak. Her azure eyes were wide. Her mouth worked with futility, forming shapes but without eliciting words. Images of what transpired above her in the rafters assailed her mind, worked her imagination even without her eyes beholding them. The rustling and occasional moan only enhancing the horrors her mind crafted.

In the back of her mind she realized she needed to hold something back, keep something in reserve to barter with but the thought of what was above goaded her. It was hard to think when the consequences of failure were screaming in her pointed ear. What if they had tried the same thing? Maybe she needed to provide something of value, a service perhaps? The lord was a magician himself. What would he have need of her services for, surely he could scry for himself? Maybe she could offer... companionship? The very thought sickened her and this lord seemed to find solace in unspeakable horrors, pleasures of the flesh indeed, but not those she would willingly offer.

She didn't want to be hung up like a side of beef. By all the gods above, he couldn't afflict her soul could he, shatter it or consume it? Is that what he'd done to the other prisoner or had it just been his mortal shell he'd consumed?

She had been thinking all these things and more, her mind racing, coming up with ways to save herself while at the same time imagining all the horrors that awaited her and realized the entire time she'd had her thoughts racing she'd been babbling, spewing incoherent nonsense involving begging not being flayed alive, not to have her soul shredded and a dozen other things.

She gazed up briefly through the tangled mess of once shimmering golden tresses and regretted it. She didn't want to see him. Didn't want to see what was beyond him or above him. She just wanted to leave. Hell, she almost just wanted to die so long as she didn't end up like the others above or worse...

"-driver took her," she managed, her words finally coalescing, "the driver took her- took her into the woods- I don't know- to get the wagon through or maybe to trick the rebels into following the wagon instead of him. I don't know. I'm so sorry. I don't know. Please don't hurt me."

Friend or Foe?

Hands pulled her roughly from the prison wagon and the blonde elven woman made to offer protest but was rendered mute by the gag in her mouth. Azure eyes glared, promising malice. The guards yanked her, threw her from one guard to another and she almost stumbled, her bare feet scrabbling across the stone of the oppressive fortress as she struggled to maintain her balance. Unlike the other prisoners, this blonde elven girl, was both gagged and had her hands bound, the very fingers laced together with a leather thong. It was a sensible precaution. As a result, the sorceress simply couldn't cast her spells.

As one of the guards held her in a vise-like grip she gazed about the courtyard belonging to Lord Octa. It was an oppressive place. It seemed to her that it had been drenched in pitch and shadow, made as unwelcoming and dreary as was humanly possible. It was the sort of design that screamed out to abandon all hope.

The captive girl was an attractive thing, slender of limb and fair of complexion with smooth unblemished skin and hands that had likely never endured a callous. She was also dressed in the manner of a dancing girl, in sheer silks that did little to obscure her figure and a bustier that hugged her torso and boosted her bosom. If it hadn't been for one of her sorcerous objects, a ring upon her finger, she would have long ago succumbed to the frigid cold of the wagon.