[center][img]http://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/253784f7-b755-41ef-b248-616664056bb6.png[/img][/center] From sleeping on her feet to flying in her dreams, Tauga found that her grip on her own consciousness was improving. Just as her flexible black mask slowly repaired its cuts and scratches, subtly reinforcing what had been damaged, her own brain and body were cautiously self-adjusting without her volition. It let her dull the edge of impatience as she stood listening to the on-paper councillor justify his reluctance. At some interval that appealed to her intuition, Tauga tuned back into the mood of the hall and cut in: [color=antiquewhite]"Convene the council."[/color] A stark pause in the flow of words. The troll's own frustration momentarily evaporated, driven out by the shock of her audacity. When it returned, he was too aghast to hold it in with condescending diplomacy. "Council, council, council! Always you mention the [i]council[/i] as though you are the Énas himself, gods-rest-his-name, and the wise men of Xerxes toil to execute your singular will! [i]We are powerful men, Tauga![/i] And it is not by coincidence that this is so!" The troll's hands made sharply measured gesticulations before him, and as he spoke the sunlight flowing through the grand entrance-hall of Cipher glinted from a thin wire of [i]alyum nayam[/i] wrapped on his tusk, expensive import from the mountains where such things were now made. "We're men of ambition! Of great pride and intellect, of ferocious rivalry! The old council would never yield before an upstart like you, no matter how violent, and neither will we! You can't just create order by obliterating the City's infrastructure, and you never will! Only the unified hearts of the wise in loyalty to a king, [i]an office which no longer exists,[/i] can deliver you your idiotic fantasy, and no amount of threats and murder can win them over! It is crude and childish! I myself hav-" [i]Boom,[/i] reverberated the stunning tremor as it jolted the councillor's eyes wide open. Small ornaments crashed and clanged their way down elsewhere. His guards recovered quickly and levelled a ready gaze at Tauga. [colour=antiquewhite]"Convene the council."[/colour] He raised his palms slowly, held them up low. Considered for a moment and found his words, holding them level with the trained care of a leader. "Tauga, please. Take a moment. Let that rage of yours cool long enough to consider the consequences of what you're doing. I know, I [i]confess[/i] that the City is hurt, it's not what it should be. No- more than that. It's a deep wound, and I know how that must hurt you. I was young too, once." "But more blood will not heal us. Making ashes won't see our buildings rebuilt. The council must work as one, if it is to work at all. You have a great gift, Tauga, but the ones in power cannot be lifted up on the edge of an axe, only broken on it. For the sake of what is still precious in Xerxes, you must not-" This time the impact knocked his balance, and he saved himself from falling to his knees only to have the second strike force him to brace himself with a hand on the floor. Another deafening metallic clang, another, another, from left and right, becoming one continuous clamour as the Bludgeons shook the Cipher Pyramid. Its divine architecture held firm even as its foundations quaked. With low stances, advancing when they could safely take a step, the guards lowered their spears and advanced on Tauga, the only one still upright. With a final [i]crack[/i] of moon-forged metal on pavestone, a sphere slammed over the huge doors of the palace, severing the sun. Only the bleak white of its orbiting plumes was left to glint on the heads of their spears as the tremors faded. Tauga slipped her scabbard from her shoulder and unsheathed Help's scalpel. Surrounded by private soldiers at five points, she held the weapon lightly in one hand, point down, with a voice as casual as it had always been. [color=antiquewhite]"Keep talking."[/color] In the pause forced by her calm and the spreading silence, the councillor stood on his feet and tried to see what lay behind the insectile gaze of the mask. And, looking, as invisible snakes seethed horribly around his face and neck, as his guards one by one felt their confidence crack before the demon, he saw nothing but the same flat stare she had held at the beginning. Heard nothing but the apathetic ease with which he knew in his heart this hain had slaughtered Usgalo and all his cronies and his family with them, and crushed his barracks for good measure. "I'll do what I can," he whispered, and the barricade vanished, the reaping Bludgeon returning to the skies. Tauga sheathed her weapon and shoved past a bodyguard on her way out. [center]* * * * *[/center] Certain things were stirring, late and pitiful, shuffling pieces within the City's ever-flowing body. Markets were filtering open, ruins counted and unbought imports claimed. Bodies buried. It did nothing to fill the empty hearts and bellies of the many, or hold the broken hands of the generation that had built Xerxes. And still, for all the lost promises and cast-aside people, a faint spark of hope was visible. Hope not for themselves, but maybe, just maybe, their children would see the City whole again. Winds were blowing, and as they strummed the cords of the Bludgeons, they hummed with the sound of Change. Tauga's gait was relaxed and brisk, and Pumps the sweetheart bobbed eagerly above her shoulders, the tube bouncing at its neck. Alert, she spotted the streetwalkers that spotted her first, recognised several of them as people that had seen her before. It wasn't unusual to see her on the streets, the strong and unknown among the innumerable weak. That was how she lived now. Sleeping lightly at midnight, on the move before dawn. One huddled cluster of wide-eyed watchers in particular drew her attention and Tauga changed course slightly to meet them at the end of the street. They did their watching piecemeal in fearful glances, longer and longer as she approached until Tauga was receiving two frightened stares. The moment before she was within speaking range, she heard the sidelong whisper- [i]"It's the blowfly."[/i] Then she was in earshot of ordinary folk, and the three hain were quiet. Without talking, Tauga pulled back her mask roughly, shedding the face of the monster, and loosened her rucksack, holding it awkwardly on her knee. Her homeless hosts smelled the contents before they saw, and even the hatchling with the unchanging downcast gaze looked up. Small and trembling hands rose to receive the wrapped bundle of rice. Her eyes held only wonder. The sack was still nearly full. One of the fathers' beak clicked a few times as his dry tongue worked to find words. [color=antiquewhite]"Free,"[/color] interjected Tauga, choosing to spare him the further humiliation of thanks, no matter how honest. The streets of the City were Death's door. To beg in a place built on the back of greed denied reality. Better to starve quietly. Stay out of everybody's way. Hain had the worst lot of all. Rovaick could eat masonry until scurvy took over. Female humans could survive if they were young enough, though the risk was terrible. Soft-skinned, hairy, promiscuous animals were the race of Men, just like the apes and the dogs, out for blood with no family but themselves. No room in their heart for stray beakies. [color=antiquewhite]"There's more. Come with me. I can keep you safe."[/color] She let one of the parents hold the bag and waited as they stood on shaky joints. The other father picked up the child. Tauga felt like it was an appropriate moment to stroke her head, but instead they only shared an indecisive look. Pumps came to her rescue and hooted happy sounds at the hatchling, who screamed at its squishy pinkness and then laughed and then screamed again when she saw it. Her carrier crooned softly. [color=antiquewhite]"It's not far. Down well street."[/color] "Wherever you want," assured the other hain hurriedly. It wasn't far, by Tauga's measure. Tauga, who was tall, and blessed with divine stamina, and had spent much of the last few weeks flying. After a while she saw that the hain with the sack looked weak, offered to carry it. He declined. Of course. A faint set of notes was wandering out from a distant street as they neared, the wooden clatter of a marimba. Street music, wavering and unpracticed and present all the same. When they finally slowed, it was clear where Tauga was leading them. Fire had blackened everything, every stone and shard of pottery in the burned district around the House of Jvan. And the soot rose from those ruins in faint clouds as it stained even the skin and clothes of the labourers working there, obscuring the crossed tattoo they all shared. Working, for no clear purpose, to clear the rubble and salvage whatever was worth the time- Who was feeding them? Who had the resources, or the desire? Everything of real value had been stripped long ago. A glance was shared between the hain. Hauling stone was preferable to famine, no matter the reason, or the benefactor. But their eerie guide didn't stop. Past the line of workers, to a space already cleared. Here, it seemed, their journey ended. Four men stood armed and ready, wearing no uniform but mercenary armour, their faces hidden behind black scarves and bandannas and still plainly recognisable as soldiers. Between them was a stained pot, several bags of rice, an open strongbox and a line of people much like the ones Tauga had caught on the brink of death. Stragglers. Families. Mostly hain. Tauga motioned them to join the queue. At its head, a frail woman with hands stained finger to wrist with ink was pulling dead faeries from the pot, using them to inscribe a simple X-shaped tattoo into the left shoulder of each new worker. All but the hain- They, too, received a small spot in the only place where ink would not be shed with the moult, on the tip of the tongue. Several such newcomers were recovering to the side, sipping vinegar to soothe the irritated spot. One of the armsmen approached Tauga as she drew near. A human, only his eyes visible. She recognised him all the same. Sen, the soldier she had knocked down on the day of her return. Neither of them had the faintest trace of affection for one another, but Sen was good at his job when he had to be. And he had seen, in person, how coldly she could choose to end lives. [colour=antiquewhite]"How many so far?"[/colour] "Five score and sixteen today. More than a thousand on the whole." A small nod without words. It made Sen uneasy. Tauga looked so soulless, if you stared long enough. "If we keep this rate going, we might run out of coins." [color=antiquewhite]"Coins,"[/color] she repeated dumbly, looking at him. Sen saw that he'd slipped and moved to recover. "It's what the men have been calling the tokens, sir. We found a coat, sir, salvaged, sir, and decided to bet it on what name the workers would use for them, only, after a few days of banter about [i]coining[/i] the name, they started to think that 'coining' [i]was[/i] the name. Of the ration system. So now everyone calls them 'coins'. ...No one won the bet." [colour=antiquewhite]"Sounds stupid,"[/colour] said Tauga without interest. Sen was again left in the quiet. "Some of them have started swapping the coins for other things, sir, without exchanging them for food or clothes first. Should we stop them?" She thought about it a moment, then shrugged. [color=antiquewhite]"I don't care. It'll happen anyway. Let them get what they want if they can."[/color] The three hain she'd reeled in from the street were still standing there, perhaps scared to leave her side. A whistle and a gesture, and Pumps jetted to the strongbox, came back with two tokens. Small triangles in gleaming bronze, stamped with an eye. [colour=antiquewhite]"Here,"[/colour] Tauga said simply as she handed them over. [colour=antiquewhite]"For you and your kid. My men are guarding the granaries, so you can swap them for more food or clothes. Go let Erjang mark you. It means you're mine. Like a tool. You'll work for me and no one else, and I'll keep you safe, as long as you live. You won't get dumped on the street any more. I need you too much."[/colour] Life was cheap in the City. Property had value. Tauga wondered why she found the idea of slavery so familiar. The fathers glanced at one another and whispered unsteady thanks, their child asleep on the taller one's back. Sen pointed, and they shuffled into the queue. It was mostly hain. "You sure don't like seeing beakies starve, do you?" Tauga shrugged. [colour=antiquewhite]"I've been there."[/colour] Sen said nothing. [colour=antiquewhite]"It annoys me."[/colour] "Ah." A marimba melody drifted on the air. Tauga knew why the musicians were playing again. She owned them. [center]* * * * *[/center] On her feet in a ruined house was how Tauga normally slept. She wasn't sleeping now, though, and this house was only empty because it had no roof. Other than that it was quite serviceable. A night mouse scuttled in from the room's uncovered doorway. It didn't know that the eyes behind the black goggles were open and watching it idly, the brain behind them focused elsewhere. On a stool, a bundle of blankets was softly breathing as Pumps slept its way through gentle dreams. She could hear the assassin coming from this distance, pad-footed, like the mouse. Taste him, too, with a single tentacle that rested lightly on his shoulder, as if reeling him in. Step, step, step. The anticipation grew. Tauga didn't hold her breath as the critical moment neared. He was maybe two steps outside the doorway now. Split the air- A long scream- Sudden [i]fwoomph[/i]- Bones hitting masonry- A seething hiss- Gagging- Hissing- Hissing- Hissing- Tauga calmly stepped out of the room and into the darkness that filled the unfinished hall, the shadow under no roof. Brushed away the outer layers of the fiberling with her hand; The hairs writhed away at her touch. The tendrils she was holding its incorporeal cell-form with twisted their grip, forcing it to bend its catch towards her, bringing him to face level with the hain. His eyes were twitching in primal horror and she could smell urine. When he realised who was staring him down in the darkness, he tried to sob through his gag. She remembered when Help had first showed her a fiberling; She, too, had screamed, even as the Sculptor demonstrated how safely playful the monstrosity was in her presence. Then she'd screamed some more. This fiberling, on the other hand, had been forced into the City, unable to fight the tentacled creature that could wrestle its invisible puppeteer form into submission. It seethed with feral rage, tightening its grip on the assassin with a sound of grinding carpets. Still no real empathy, though. [color=antiquewhite][i]Damn. I guess.[/i][/color] The fiberling reluctantly let go of his mouth and the man vomited. [colour=antiquewhite]"So who paid you?"[/colour] It took a while before he could speak again. "Don't-know," mumbled. "G-g-gobbo in a hood." Hired by proxy, of course. [color=antiquewhite]"Where?"[/color] "S-south wall gate... Please. Please." South wall gate. That could mean Yio Hu, or that mine-owning councillor with the forgettable name. A fairly useful hint. Not that it would matter, at this point. A chained fiberling sent a more powerful message than a thousand inept flailings of her scalpel ever would. There would be no more assassins. "Please. Please! Family- I, I-" [colour=antiquewhite]"Yeah, I know,"[/colour] said Tauga softly, and he quietened down, lost to despair. A low, concerned whistle. [i]Toooo, oo?[/i] [color=antiquewhite]"Pumps, go back to sleep,"[/color] warned the hain, and her sweetheart obligingly tucked itself back in. [i]Hooo-o-oo.[/i] A few seconds, then back to the assassin. [color=antiquewhite]"Any last words?"[/color] Tauga very slowly counted to three, with no response but mumbling lips, then reached into the mass of hair, pressing the man's windpipe with her fingertips until she found the jugular veins. She wrapped her hands around the man's neck and used her wrists to apply pressure to the sides until she couldn't feel a pulse any more, and then some. [i]The throat carries air, but only to the lungs,[/i] Help had once taught her, in the child's voice that knew so much. [i]We breathe with our blood. When we bleed out, we are asphyxiating.[/i] She blinked away the memory. [color=antiquewhite]"Okay. [i]Now[/i] you can have him."[/color] Tauga turned and walked back to her room, releasing the fiberling as she did. It fled immediately, revealing the mousehole it had been hiding in. Tauga nodded her head and fell asleep to the distant sound of ripping clothes and scalp. [i][color=antiquewhite]I need to do something with these deaths.[/color][/i] was her last thought. The tube of arksynth was visible in Pumps' blankets and she avoided looking in its direction. Next morning. Next morning she could deal with it. [color=antiquewhite][i]The people are scared. I need to let them know that they don't... Have to be...[/i][/color] [center]* * * * *[/center] Two armsmen stood aside, relaxed, attentive, as four slaves waited for instruction. Their presence was unnecessary, at least to the end of supervision. Everyone with Tauga's mark was well aware that the cloth-masked militia guarded their food stores and beat the thieves who came at night. Those and the unruly, but few were unruly. Better not to make trouble. No, the soldiers were here for another. Besides, a far more dangerous player was on the field today. At a brisk knock, the door opened. A woman looked, mouth open in greeting, then was silent. It took her a second too long to try and pick up the words again. Tauga jabbed her under the ribs so she buckled, then decked her with a blow to the face. [colour=antiquewhite]"Sareh, tie her up."[/colour] Tauga hopped over the fallen human and into the back of the house. One of her soldiers followed, the other preoccupied with rope. On the surface, everything was in line. Pots, chairs, a loom. Meagre bowls of rice. No suspicious crates or bundles under heavy cloth. The soldier glanced at Tauga. The hain was standing still. When the soldier moved closer to comment on what she saw, something brushed past her, as if by accident. [color=antiquewhite]"There's a false floor under the bed,"[/color] said Tauga abruptly, then turned and stepped off. [color=antiquewhite]"It's in here."[/color] Together they lifted the simple wooden structure and set it aside; Under her bandanna, the soldier raised her eyebrows slightly at Tauga's strength. The hain was at least as strong as she was. Tauga scraped away the concealing layer of chalk they found below, revealing slats of wood on a floor that was mostly pale earth. Beneath this was a pit, and in that pit were hefty sacks of rice and lentils. A nod. The soldier called in the slaves and they set about dragging out the contraband. Tauga stepped outside, where the second armsman was watching a fully conscious and defiantly quiet perpetrator. Quiet, at least, until Tauga showed her masked face. "Fuck you," said the woman, and spat in it. The soldier clipped her forehead but Tauga didn't flinch. "Énas Amartia wouldn't have done this." Tauga shrugged. [color=antiquewhite]"I'm not the Énas."[/color] "What's fucking wrong with making sure I can eat for a few months then?" A subtle shake of Tauga's head as the armsman raised his hand again. [color=antiquewhite]"In a few months we'll be harvesting gram and the famine will have broke,"[/color] she explained, maybe just to herself. [color=antiquewhite]"Just have to keep people from starving until then."[/color] The slaves stepped out of the house, carrying two sacks each on bare peasant muscle. Tauga nodded, the soldier flung the woman over his shoulders and seven figures set off into the street. By now the recognition was open. [i]"It's the blowfly." "Hey, look." "Fuckin' hoarders." "Is that- Tauga?" "Blowfly." "Watch out." "Who got caught this time?" "The rotflies are here."[/i] As they walked, they passed street-sweepers and murals. Fresh murals, joyful murals. Etchings of a single Bludgeon flying like a comet, trailing a splendid plume over the skies of a shining City. Paintings of harvest-time, flowers and fruit and dances, and a Bludgeon in the distance. Xerxes, whole again, was whispered from ear to ear. Fear not the Bludgeons. Fight not the Bludgeons. The Bludgeons protect us. The Bludgeons purge the traitors. The City will rise. Tauga knew those whispers. Thespians, poets, minstrels- those who trade words can only find food when food is plentiful. Now she owned the finest whisperers in Amestris. Of course, some of the whispers had started on their own. Tauga. Blowfly with the dark gloved suit and black-eyed mask. The Jaanite hain. A cultist without faeries. Help's assistant, come back to heal the City in her absence. Peasant girl who pulled out her own heart and all her soul and happiness with it, leaving an empty being. Whose heart could still be seen flying around her head some days as a phylactery. So that she could wear Jaan as a skin and remain uncorrupted. Demon princess who summoned fiberlings and Bludgeons. The carrot and the stick, the bludgeon and the blowfly. [colour=antiquewhite][i]Or maybe,[/i][/colour] thought she, [colour=antiquewhite][i]it's the other way around.[/i][/colour] They came to the burned district. Rubble was heaped into a low hill in the roofless skeleton of the House of Jaan. At least two hundred people stood by. Crows were gathering. Burned beams held up hanged bodies. Sen was waiting, with some twenty other members of Tauga's militia. Ex-soldiers now claimed back into the fold of a leader, youths that had taken clubs and tried to defend themselves in the anarchy. Tauga was choosy about who she fed and trusted with a sword. Only those she could rely on. Here they stood, masked, marked each one by a wirework badge of precious copper, scrubbed in salt and vinegar to form a brown-green patina. The shape and colour of a blowfly. Atop the mound was death row. Looters and lockpicks, pimps and pushers. Yio Hu the councillor, who paid an assassin. The gathering crowd parted for Tauga and her slaves, and the soldier dumped the hoarder in the row next to a Chipper who had raised her voice against bond labour and led the slaves to riot, even though they were well fed. Now she was muzzled. Tauga didn't take risks like that. The sacks of food were packed, one by one, at the feet of the hoarder- Evidence of the crime. Similar artefacts were aligned with each of the other convicts. Food. An ingot of giant's bone. A bloody knife. A ragged woman with a clear view of her revenge. Sen's badge glinted. The slave artist who made it had been told to include garnet chips for eyes. He was in charge. The mask emboldened him. "Criminals. Anarchists. Profiteers. Look at these men who led you to believe they were your brothers!" The crowd rustled to his shout. "Traitors to Xerxes! Do you not remember the days of Usgalo? Would you see this famine come again for the greed of the few? Is the City so weak as to let these leeches go? Parasites!" A rising murmur. Tauga extended her hand to a slave, who passed her the long haft of a stone hammer. Humans were soft, and bled easily- Her khopesh scalpel was enough for them, poor swordsmanship or no. To execute a hain required a different kind of weapon. "We stamp on the head of the worm and rise again! Under the light of the Bludgeons, [i]we will rise again![/i] See the true Amestrians separated from the chaff! Every tree that does not bear fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire!" Sen saw Tauga rising to the top of the hill, bearing the sledgehammer. She nodded. He muscled the Chipper to the fore and stepped back. She looked over the people. Some of them knew her, even before she had moved to the quarries and returned without a soul. All of them had seen her since. All had seen the destruction of the army and of the line of Usgalo. Many were slaves. Resting from a day tending derelict fields. They had seen her working, day night day, always in person, to keep the City stable. Her presence alone silenced them with more awe than Sen could ever stir. Something unseen flowed around her like a hurricane. [color=antiquewhite]"For the betrayed."[/color] Tauga raised the hammer and the people roared.