[i]Sjakal. The City of Blue Chains. How it groans beneath its misrule. By Day, it may seem serene, as things continue as they should, as ships berth at its grand harbor, as the affairs of the Faithful are attended to by master and slave alike. What of war in the north, one may say in the heat of the afternoon, drinking tea and enjoying the pleasures of the greatest city on earth. But by Night, the city throws off its cloak and shows its raging heart. Its taxes are ruinous, the people go hungry, and unlike her beloved grandmother, Grace-of-Heaven does not issue forth from the Adamant to soothe the hearts of the people, nor does she accept their audience within the palace's grand walls. Her barbarian mercenaries rage through the city unchecked, and the common citizens (who can barely afford to feed their households) turn to the Stewards of the Faith for guidance. Soon, there will be turmoil. Soon, there will be chaos. Soon, the city will reach its grand climax, and maybe it will be that the Vulenid will not remain masters of the empire. But for now, it is still the heat of the DAY, and life continues in its leisurely way in the palace, and all strife and discord is smothered by the rule of the Grand Vizier, illustrious Ruz...[/i] *** [b]Nahla![/b] "Will it be tonight?" Grace-of-Heaven leans in closer, the pretense of a private bath for the moment forgotten. Beside you are the buckets of ice-cooled water and the perfumed soaps, and in your hands the sponge you have been using on her bare back. The young sultan is many things, but the prospect of escape would be a heady brew for anyone, let alone someone as comparatively inexperienced as she. To her, you do not just represent security, but a chance at escape from the walls of her harem unaccompanied by the vizier's mercenaries. She is placing her trust in your cunning, your discretion and your loyalty. After all, if you turned around and informed Ruz that her caged bird was trying to stretch her wings, you would be richly rewarded. And yet, you still haven't gone to her. Why is this young woman's smile worth protecting, even at risk to yourself? Because if you are caught, both of you will be punished terribly by the Fire Wheels. Ruz's fury will make punishments in your past look like mere slaps on the wrist. Grace-of-Heaven has assured you that tales of criminals being thrown into snake pits are historical relics, nothing more, but can you really trust someone who's been cloistered for half of her life? After all, you've seen what Ruz is willing to do (or rather, to order the Fire Wheels to do) to the girl who legitimizes her control of Sjakal. How much worse would she treat you, a mere heathen concubine? *** [b]Silsila Om![/b] [i]"du Vas! du Vel! du Shan!"[/i] Honored Rosethal slams into you, hard. She catches you by the wrist, leans her shoulder into your collarbone, and uses the strength of her armor to lift your feet off of the ground and slam you down onto the mosaic floor, sending precious tiles splintering into the air. From the sidelines, raucous cheers and yelled bets fill the air. Who's going to win? The vizier's terrifying daughter, or the Khan's pet Host? Rosethal kicks you in the side and sends you sprawling, then turns and poses for the Fire Wheels gathered to watch. Merov Ekh hisses from her seat, and your bindings throb in your muscles, your spine, the backs of your eyes. Your mistress is willing you to win, so that she can not only profit from the bets placed on your victory, but so that she looks all the better for having mastered you in the scrublands, o most ferocious of spirits. This wouldn't be a fair fight for Rosethal if she wasn't using her own Hosts. But instead of commanding them to fight in her stead, she has wrapped one around her to serve as armor. When you grapple with her, you grapple with both the sorceress and her slave. Your one advantage is that she is showboating, using a second Host as a bladed whip which she spins around her body, turning this into a showcase of her sorcerous talents. Well, Host? You have been commanded. Fight. Win. Prove that your mistress is the strongest in the palace. *** [b]Soot![/b] "[i]Nnnngh.[/i]" The Draconic templar gives you a glare that suggests he's willing your bones to tear out of your body and throttle you. Not that he can do anything about it, because he's your model for today. This would normally be a relaxing process, a chance to let your mind wander as your body translates his vulnerability to the canvas, but today your Patron is hovering over your shoulder, carefully watching the piece, and she's ready to make Recommendations. Ruz has given you conflicting orders for this piece: the Dragon Kingdoms must look threatening, but vulnerable. We must demonstrate the active danger they represent to the Faith, but naturally they must be shown to have a weakness that our [i]brave[/i] soldiers will use to overcome them. It should not be too dark, but you need to avoid too many colors, we will have copies made by scribes. And while you're at it, work in the iconography of both the Army of the Faithful and the Fire Wheels, to represent that they work in unison against the perfidious foe. How are you approaching this piece, then? What aspects of the costuming, the pose, have you arranged just so? And what about Ruz looming over you is making your heart beat a little faster-- her perfume, her gold-trimmed robe, her air of experience and effortless command? *** [b]Birsi![/b] [i]"as vren mej ra thor duv ha kha..."[/i] The Room of the Manifold Stars is sacred. It is used by the Sultans of Sjakal to read the stars, the signs and omens and portents of the Almighty, her commands for her loyal slaves below. No one is permitted to enter the room save those mystics and astrologers, those sorcerers and holy women who the Sultan entrusts. Even stepping into the room, one is struck by the golden sigils on the black walls, the narrow windows tilted upwards towards Heaven, the way the walls drink in any sound. This is a holy place. Which makes it all the more insufferable that three Fire Wheels are being very drunk in the Room of the Manifold Stars, having forced the lock in search of more entertainment. One is staring, dazed, at the sigils, while another guzzles from a bottle of wine and the third sings some discordant barbarian hymn. All three are half-naked, built lean and strong, and are rather drunk, which would make one against three fair, right? Behind the door, a serving-girl quivers, sneaking looks inside. She's fulfilled her role in life, not daring to challenge free warriors, even barbarian ones. It's your role to protect not only her, but the sanctity of the Faith and the traditions of the Adamant palace. What sort of guard are you? One who loudly admonishes them, one who tries to put on a severe face and use quiet words, or one who beats sense into them with her sword still in its scabbard?