There was no dark magic in her voice, and yet Amal could see the jewels of the outer void. Their glimmer in the light of the moon and the mesmerizing glint that begged for his fingers to grasp it. The thief almost reached out as if waking from a dream. He had never been one for histories, but the rise and fall of nations were in her tale, and even the sand beneath their feet seemed to stir as if in awe of the majesty of ages past. Amal was a reaver, slayer, murderer, and thief, but the last was the greatest of his talents. What manner of thief would he be if he did not steal the greatest jewel of the land?

His eyes snapped back to reality and regarded the pythoness, realizing he had almost fallen for her honeyed words. Stygians were ever a danger to those they put into their schemes or portents, and he did not trust her. He considered his options, and realized it would be far wiser to heed his perspicacity and cut her throat here, letting this legend die with her black blood spilled in this loney tower. And yet greed was too great of a seductress to him, and he was hungry for her despite his misgivings. 

"My wont is to enter places I cannot go and and stand in places no man can. I have seen the serpent temples of your country, sorceress, though your kind did not know it. I saw what lay there, though I dare not speak it. I have been to the Scarlet Citadel of Koth, and escaped its clutches unscathed, though it nearly took my life." He looked at the blade of his knife as he spoke, the steel gleaming in the light of the moon. The light illuminated his dread eyes, the orbs as sharp as his whalebone dagger. 

Beneath them, men had come out to bandy and drink, shouting to one another in their differing tongues and laughing with great mirth. Even the most remote places in Xarames had men stumble upon it, when taken to drink. The only dangers in the city were of Amal's ilk. A knife in the dark or poison in your cup. But beneath the Emir's palace, perhaps there were more dangers than those that men could pose. He would find out, he knew. 

"I will play the role of what you say I am. I will take the jewel and more besides, but if you betray me, I will open your belly and leave you to bleed." He warned. Amal knew the Witch-Priestess knew the price for betrayal regardless, but he wished to make it clear. He stood up from his menacing crouch, and with a deft twist imperceptible to the eye his knife was sheathed within his shagreen belt, swathed within a softer sash that no doubt hid further dangers. 

"Does your prophecy tell us of an entrance, or must I find one?"