Emmaline’s relief at seeing Amal alive was immeasurable. A leaden weight which had been lurking unrecognized in the back lifted. How he had found her and how he had gotten here so quickly remained good questions, but they hardly seemed immediately pressing. For a moment she regretted not having him cut Zwili’s throat, just so they could have talked together, but that seemed a rather uncharitable regret. Amal was no fool, and he must have a plan. All she could realistically do was play her part as best she could. She raised her arms and allowed Zwili to continue to anoint her with oil, hoping it didn’t result in her sprouting tentacles or something. It didn’t or it least it hadn’t by the time the dwarf had clothed her in a white and gold garment which Zwili said was called a kimono. Once this was done a white paint was applied to her face, accented with dark eye mascara and cherry red lipstick. The whole effect struck Emmaline as slightly ludicrous, making her look exceedingly pale and washed out with her fine gold hair, but she supposed that an insane chaos warped wizard probably wouldn’t be that interested in her fashion advice. Once again she tried to rouse Asp, but the snake remained stalwartly inked on her arm, unwilling or unable to manifest.

“You are ready,” Zwili announced in a dull listless voice. Her face worked mightily and she managed to add, “I am sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Emmaline responded, “Half the girls I knew growing up got married at the end of a pitchfork with their bellies swelling. I suppose I’m better off than they are.”  It seemed impolitic to remark that at least they weren’t marrying psychotic wizards.

“Not,” she added with a grimace as she plucked at the kimino, “that it is without its challenges.” The garment had clearly been cut for someone with a figure significantly less generous then Emmaline’s. The belt that cinched around her waist pulled the fabric in ways it hadn’t been designed to do and she had to make frequent adjustments in order to prevent her cleavage from making a made dash for freedom. A result she doubted would be looked upon with favor. Asking for a shift seemed unlikely to go over well however.

“Alright, lets get this over with,” she announced finally, figuring she had delayed long enough to give Amal a chance to make whatever preparations he needed, without giving the inhabitants of this strange fortress too much time to stumble over him.

“A… wedding…. gift,” Zwili ground out, reaching into a pocket and producing a small knife. The dwarf was twitching so violent as she handed it to Emmaline that she seemed about to vomit. Emmaline tucked the blade away in a fold of her kimono, greatful for the effort. The dwarf seemed disappointed that she didn’t stab her with it and try to escape, but the dullness stole over her before she could make further comment.

“This way.”

 

***

 

A lot, it seemed, could change in an hour. The throne room, which had been majestic bare stone, was now draped with blue silks of every hue.  Some were bright as the sky, others the dark grey black of a storm tossed sea. Others Emmaline had no name for and made her slightly nauseous to look upon. An eye searing sigil was emblazoned on many of them, perhaps some kind of coat of arms of Zar Tan Zhou, or perhaps a sign of his blasphemous patron. The wizard himself was also transformed. Gone were his simple robe, replaced by armor that seemed to be wrought of dark blue ice and edged with gold. It had an improbable number of hooks and points that seemed to limit its practicality, though he showed no signs that it hindered him.

“Step forward my dear, let us speak the words of dedication before mighty Tzeentch,” he grinned, showing his pointed teeth and beckoning her. As sthe stepped forward the ground began to glow as it was lit by strange sigils on the floor. There was an odd smell, like sandal wood and old pine tar. Emmaline swallowed, hoping that Amal knew what he was doing. Against the unarmored wizard, Zwili’s knife might have been some use, but against this armored warrior of chaos she didn’t much like her chances.