Amal cleaned the blood from his knife, idly wiping out the imperfections on the Nemedian steel. The bright moon glinted off its polish, brightening the darkness of his shemic eyes. Truthfully he had not wished to kill the temple-servant, a boy no older than eleven. But the youth had spotted him among the spires and Amal had been younger than he when he had killed his first. Had he the right mind, he would have run and told someone of the thief's whereabouts. Now he but basked upon the temple roof, perched upon the battlements as he gazed into the structure from above. 

The temple girls were supple of limb and gifted in ways men only dreamed, so he contented himself with watching them lounge and titter. A few gave prayers and litanies to Ishtar, which seemed fitting with all the death in Xarame surrounding their pretty little temple. He had heard the northerners of Cimmeria worshipped no Gods, and only paid the barest of homage to one. Grom, that was his name. A barbarian god who gave no shits to who spoke of him was amusing. Perhaps he would go there one day. 

Amal's musings were interrupted when someone else entered the temple. Briefly he wondered if they were guards having discovered the body of the boy, but no. This was a Stygian; a woman at that. She made the other women look like silly girls in comparison. There was sly maliciousness in her eyes that enchanted him as much as the Jewel of Khemi. There was an air of gravity to her presence. Something he couldn't pinpoint but it intrigued him. He watched with bated breath as she dismissed the others from the grounds, opening up a portal to underneath the superstructure of the temple. He watched her saunter within, hips swaying like the head of a cobra.

Like a panther he sprung from the heights, landing on the ground in a roll. Some of the women had yet to even exit the door, but their backs were turned. None saw the theif silently pad into the maw of the stone behind the Stygian woman, following her to see what treasures she may seek within...