eclecticwitch

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Location: Sharon, Shalador

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How they managed to get out of that town she would never know. The winds of fate blew luck beneath their feet, that was for sure. As Fatima approached the encampment she removed the veiled hat from her head and vanished it. She then materialized a handkerchief which she used to wipe the make-up from her face. Mostly it smeared the paint around giving her an odd, painted on canvas sort of appearance. She looked guiltily at the group. She had fucked up. And she was afraid. And now she had to tell them about it.

It seemed things were fairly normal. The only sense of ire she received was from the sound of chopping wood punctuating the silence of the waning light. She was afraid to look at Xandar's direction - whether she could see him or not. She was afraid of what he might say. She was afraid of what Faeril might say too. So, Fatima did the only thing she could think of. She sat down in front of the fire and looked appropriately solemn. She'd let someone else do the talking. She didn't trust her voice not to run off without her body.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Location: Eldra, Shalador

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There was something about waiting that always made her stomach feel watery. Like she might throw up. Like she might be able to run a marathon without losing breath. Her hands shook as she held them clasped against her stomach. She watched the window as the day turn slowly darker to night. It was awful, waiting.

She couldn't eat. She had given the girl a kind smile and had even tried to take afew bites but the stew turned to grit and sand in her mouth. Fatima spent her time in silence, thinking, and watching the window. Her thoughts were on her mistakes. And on the man who caused a quiver of terror and excitement to wrack her spine. She would occasionally sigh and shake her head as if in an attempt to cut him loose from her mind. But he stuck. Like a tumor. Or like a missing piece of a puzzle. A dangerous piece of the puzzle. Covered in razor blades and arsenic.

When the two guardsmen made their racket and abused the door, Fatima stopped breathing. She waited in complete stillness and silence. She wanted to knock them upside the head for their idiocracy. How she could have given them a stern talking to. Their shadows danced across the walls and books. Their light moved hither and thither. It dragged on. Far too long. She bid them so many times to leave. She shouted it at them in her mind. Finally they moved on and she let out the breath she had been holding. After a while the shopkeep came to tell them it was the safest it was ever going to get. Jandar offered him money. This was something they would have little chance of restoring on their travels.

Fatima materialized an old book on herbalism and anatomy. It was a little hard worn for the amount of times she had read over it. It had been old too when it came into her possession. But it was valuable in what knowledge it could give and to the right person who needed it. The book was worth something. She pushed the book into the shopkeeper's hands with a whispered, "Thank you," before she made her way out of the door and into the heartless night.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Location: Eldra, Shalador

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She was dazed and damn mad at herself. How selfish and foolish could she be. She had put everyone in danger because she had wanted a taste of freedom. Because she had wanted to know what was at the end of that pull. It had turned out to be awful. And full of awe. She didn't want it, want him. She shuddered as she remembered the electric jolt that had run through her body when she touched him. It was... disgusting? She couldn't place it and she didn't want to.

Fatima slowly lowered her veil as Jandar exited the bookshop. She stood in silence a moment as Mikhail also left the store. "It would seem I ruin the day yet again." Her laugh was dry and cold. She approached the counter of the bookstore, searching for the man who ran the shop. Perhaps they could take haven if paid enough. She didn't have a lot. And once the night fell, as the black jeweled man had suggested, they would slip away.

How dare he take away her disguise. She had needed that. And now her face was what... Normal? She scrubbed her hands over her face, thinking hard for a minute before she finally thought to do it herself. She had never relied on the jewels before to give her what she needed. She had her own wit and ways. She had survived out here in the wilds by herself and by the gods she would do it again. She would get everyone out of here even if it killed her. Though that was not the desired outcome, of course. She summoned her box of tricks and produced a mirror in an attempt to work her hand at the fine magic of deception.

It took some work with the hand mirror but she eventually got the look right. Not nearly as perfect as the Black Widow woven disguise had been but she did look a thing of utter disgust. Blotchy skin, a lump on her cheek, moles with hair growing from them - it was all rather unsightly. Easily spotted beneath the truth of broad daylight but the veil would at least keep the illusion alive a while longer. She vanished the box and mirror once satisfied before exiting the bookstore to join the group. "We should at least wait until dusk, when the light will be kinder to my horrors. It would seem the harsh day has done a number on my humors and ailments." She said softly. "Perhaps the shop keep would be kind enough to let us stay a while."

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Location: Ambrose and Sons: Books and Basics

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Jandar observed the darkest jeweled living person of all the Realms, very carefully observing his most minute expressions and actions. The Warlord’s breathing was mechanically slow and careful. The Warlord Prince, on the other hand, moved with ease and habitual grace. He was disgustingly smarmy, and Jandar couldn’t help but frown in distaste. Was this the man that he had admired and verbally defended for so long? Jandar truly hoped there was more to him than this...this superficial charm which barely concealed the thrum of danger underneath. Was it just the power that was misleading him or had SaDiablo truly appeared murderous? Was the Warlord Prince simply attempting to investigate an unknown Queen for Dorothea’s sake? However, if he was working for Dorothea, what in the Darkness’s name was he doing here?

Whatever SaDiablo’s motives, he couldn’t let him endanger Fatima. Jandar situated himself firmly at Fatima’s side, glaring up at the blatantly more powerful man. He did not address the other male’s poor flirtation game, though he dearly wanted to - for Mother Night’s sake, Fatima was currently under the guise of an ugly hag, who in their sane minds would believe the words SaDiablo was spouting?! However, he had a more pressing matter to discuss. “I will not be dismissed,” he stated, his feet firmly planted where he stood, shoulders squared and spine almost painfully straight. “And we are certainly not here to cater to your amusement,” Jandar hissed in offence, baring his teeth in a scowl.

Fatima was understandably dazed as the man manifested from the black and took her hand. She stared up at him through the veil as she shuddered. Sweet death. A night's last kiss brushed the back of her neck. He was perdition wrapped in honey. Predator barely contained beneath a sheep's soft wool.

Jandar's words brought her out of the stupidity she had found herself dwelling. She pursed her lips with a wry smile and responded, "Does it shock you all the much to have not seen this withered flower, left with no water beneath the shade of bushes? A well hidden, ugly thing that would make a wee babe cry? No, you will not have seen me… and believe that you still do not see." She withdrew her hand from his grasp with the realization that he was hers.

But she did not want such a dangerous beast.

The deadly man smiled a thing of seductive malice, his eyes glancing towards Jandar before turning back to the withered Queen. ”I see more than you would suspect.” Saetan hissed softly, ”Like those spells you have used to bind your cousin to you. Those spells that are curled about you in a Craft that should have never been twisted to Dorothea’s ambition.” Moving with an easy step, the taller man put himself between the pair and their exit. ”You play a dangerous game, Lady, and one that has been attempted before.” The malice in the room was palpable. If there was one thing that Saetan hated most of all it was a Black Widow spinning her spells over him as though he was so vulnerable to their Craft! ”Lady Laska was not expecting any visitors… Perhaps that would be all the better that she receives none? Unless you’d rather give my questions answers.” It was not the Black, but the birthright Red that leaned on Fatima. Pressing against the illusion and threatening to shatter it.

“She didn’t bind me, you dolt,” Jandar growled at the implication, bristling. Was that how the Warlord Prince perceived their natural connection, as some artificially created binding thing? If so, he was making quite the assumption. The Warlord narrowed his eyes as SaDiablo uttered the phrase ‘twisted to Dorothea’s ambition’. He wasn’t entirely clear what Craft he was referring to, though he could make a guess or two. “If you are truly against things being in Dorothea’s favour, than what are you doing serving her interests?” Jandar hissed lowly, a clear undertone of contempt to his words. Since they were clearly already in danger, especially with how the Warlord Prince had blocked their exit, there was nothing to it but direct confrontation. “You are the only one playing games here, Prince,” he accused in a murmur.

She could feel Jandar bristling, was certain that one wrong move would result in his death. She was afraid. The intoxicating man had them pinned and she was not strong enough to push him out. The violent caress of his Red against her visual protections made her stiffen. She pushed lightly back, not in threat or warning but imploring. Asking. Don’t do this.

Fatima took Jandar’s hand in her own as she stepped slightly forward but also in front of him. The back of her heel now rested at the front of his foot, beside the toe of his shoe. She held his hand tightly behind her back. If this came down to it, she was not about to let this man hurt Jandar. She would not allow him to mistake any of his movements as a threat.

Smiling politely, attempting to calm the rapid beats of her heart, she said “I do not know how to play many games. They are group activities and no one likes to be reminded of what is ugly in this world. But, I will answer whatever questions I can. A girl likes to keep some secrets you know.” Her tone was playful but she knew the quiver of her fear peppered the notes of it.

He wanted to hate this woman, to not find her amusing as she smiled at his ire. As she shoved back against his the power of his birthright. Snarling softly at Jandar, the room dipped into an icy chill. Even Mikhail outside would feel the bitter bite of a Warlord Prince’s temper. “Oh, I serve her interests do I? She would find that so delightful. That I was actually compliant for once!” Yet, even as he wanted to push the little ugly witchling aside and throttle the Warlord who challenged him, Saetan held himself back. Too desperate to unravel the puzzle that was this alluring spell and scent that wrapped about this woman. Moving forward, he drew slowly close to Fatima til he was but a breath away. ”Why don’t you retire for the time?” It was a question but not directed towards the Hyallians. The shopkeeper needed no urging as he slipped through the back. Wisely leaving his shop to the mercy of the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince. “Now that we don’t have any visitors…” He tilted Fatima’s head up with a finger. His voice becoming soft and seductive. “Why has a Hyallian Queen come to Shalador?” He whispered, using the little Queen as a buffer against Jandar. The Warlord was pricking his temper even as the Queen did with avoiding his questions. It would kill Saetan but he was a bit miffed she wasn’t fawning over him. Perhaps his time at Dorothea’s court had made him conceited.

Jandar blinked as Fatima took his hand in hers and frowned when she stepped in front of him, shielding him from the pissed of Warlord Prince. Really, he should be protecting her, not the other way around. Yet, he couldn’t help but acknowledge that he was still unharmed mostly due to SaDiablo’s interest in Fatima rather than any inherent tolerance on the other male’s part. Sensing the sharp, temperamental spark of the Warlord Prince’s power, Jandar paled, teeth clenching against a shiver that was attempting to set in. His fear did not cause him to miss the man’s words and tone, however, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. SaDiablo had openly expressed contempt at the idea that he would willingly work for Dorothea. That could only mean whatever he did was unwilling. And yet, Fatima had called him a beast and a queen killer when Jandar had asked her after him the day they’d met. Even now, the Warlord Prince was acting in a frankly disturbing predatory manner towards Fatima.

Jandar stared at SaDiablo, who’d moved to stand directly in front of his Lady, who, in turn, was standing directly in front of him. It was beyond awkward, in more ways than one. One of Jandar’s palms was still held within the Fatima’s, and he shifted the grip, so he held her more firmly across the whole forearm. Very slowly and very carefully, he raised his other arm into the air, palm facing outwards in the general sign of ‘wait, please’. He remained observing SaDiablo. Now that he was so close, Jandar recognized what had before seemed no more than an odd glint as a band of compliance. His cheek muscles twitched in realization, whole body tensing even further. A collar like that was used only on the worst of criminals, and yet, if someone like Dorothea had put it on someone like Saetan SaDiablo...It was beyond suspicious, but did not make matters any clearer.

“Perhaps we should exchange information indeed,” he hissed, and lay the palm of his free arm that he’d raised on Fatima’s shoulder protectively. He was now securely holding onto her arm with both of his, and if it came to it, he could at least attempt to twist her out of the way of the other male. Such a precaution may ultimately be not needed (or what would be worse, turn out useless), but Jandar figured it was better than nothing. “Our motives and goals in exchange for yours, perhaps,” he suggested, laying a thin veil of politeness over his outrage. Though whether he should be outraged at Dorothea, SaDiablo, or both, he himself did not know yet.

He had to cut right to the quick of things didn’t he? Asking for information she was not ready to divulge. She sighed softly as Jandar’s hand migrated up her arm. The Queen Killer was getting far too close for her liking and she had positioned herself in such a way that she could not easily escape from him. Trapped by her desire to protect one of her own. She twisted as the second hand rested on her shoulder, turning slightly into Jandar. Glancing up at him just to gauge his feeling on things, as if his tone of voice did not speak volumes, she swept back the veil to reveal the beautifully ugly face Faeril had created for her.

She turned her unhidden features toward the man. She watched to see if he recoiled. She wanted him to step back as if she were burning flame. Nothing could keep their countenance around so ugly a wench, right? Fatima flashed him one of her dazzling crooked smiles, something it seemed the charm over her could not hide, and said, “I honestly don’t know why we are here.” She hadn’t been paying attention when they had been speaking earlier. Just that they were going into town and she did not want to be left behind AGAIN. “Something called and I followed.” This was also true. “I needed to be here and so… here I am. I think it had something to do with getting supplies maybe?” She twirled some frizzy hair in her fingers as she looked back toward Jandar. Oh boy was she going to get it later. That is… if they lived.

Having spent the majority of these later years around people who were far more ugly than this queen, Saetan didn’t flinch back as Fatima revealed her hideous face. The personalities of the queens he was forced to amuse were far worse than any physical deformity. His lips, however, twitched as he studied the queen. ”So you followed so naively into a town on a feeling for supplies.” He stated slowly, his golden eyes narrowing and losing a great deal of their chill. ”How curious that a visiting queen would need supplies.” Moving his gaze to Jandar he frowned slightly. ”I will remain quiet as to your being here, so long as you do not bring trouble to the people of this town.” There was no room for argument in his voice.

Jandar quirked a brow, who’d suddenly seemed to lose a great deal of aggressiveness. Was it a ploy? Or a genuine reaction to Fatima? The Warlord burned with curiosity as his gaze drilled into the powerful male. He tugged Fatima to the side and back gently, wishing to remove her from between SaDiablo and himself. “Trouble?” Jandar questioned, slowly and carefully rolling the word on his tongue as if tasting something of dubious quality. He chuckled, and it was a bitter, sardonic expression devoid of any mirth.

“I do wonder what you would find troubling if not the already existent state of oppression and fear-mongering,” he continued mockingly, his smile a decidedly ugly, jagged thing. “Oh, but I am sure your protection is more than adequate, keeping it all under control,” his tone was dripping sarcasm, and at his last word, Jandar’s gaze pointedly fell to SaDiablo’s band of compliance. “No matter, no matter,” he sighed, obviously facetious in his sudden pleasant nonchalance. “We shall not escalate the situation,” he stated truthfully, but couldn’t help adding one last dig: “You can keep your peace and stability.” He inclined his head politely, though his expression was nothing if not derisive. Jandar was acutely aware on a distant, rational level that now that the Warlord Prince’s ire had cooled, he should absolutely not be still provoking SaDiablo, but seeing this man that he had once so admired - and of whom he still had the highest expectations - reduced to such a pathetic, pitiful position was infuriating. And it was this fury that overwhelmed his better senses and drove him to lash out instead of hold his tongue.

Fatima looked at Jandar in disbelief as she was tugged back from between the two men. He seemed to be egging the man on, trying to start a fight. Now was most certainly not the time. Fatima lifted her foot and brought her heel down, pressing onto Jandar's toes. She doubted her weight would cause the man any harm but she did hope to remind him of their perilous situation. "I think what my companion means to say is that we desire to bring no trouble to this place. Just to get what we need and get out. If anything it might be a help to infuse some coin into the economy here… though it may be short lived among the people." As she spoke, upon coming to the end of her sentence she could not keep the bitter sadness at the state of this world from her tone.

In a desperate hope to be more distracting and to bring attention away from Jandar, she moved away from the two men and toward the bookshelves. Her eyes lit over the tomes and dust as she brushed a gnarled hand over the spine of one of the novels. "I have shared a bit of information with you. May I ask, what brings the Queen's Dog out to sniff about some old bound papers? Surely there are much finer items to be had than these."

Saetan’s gaze became flinty again as he fixed it on Jandar, Fatima’s intervention saving the man from a taste of what the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince could do. As the Queen went about to look at the books, the room thawed slightly. ”Get what you need and get out…” Repeated the Warlord Prince with interest as he gave Jandar a warning look as he considered snapping the fool’s neck. Bristling under the insult of being called the Queen’s Dog the man glared at Fatima. ”A queen wrapped in illusions.” He answered coldly.

His attention turning to Jandar. ”You sound like you quite hate the Queens and their ways. Yet you prance about them just as I do.” Using the fact that Fatima was out of the way, Saetan struck. His power lashing out as he slammed the younger man into the wall behind them. ”And I think I have had enough of your games.” It would be a risk to himself, let alone the shop, as Laska would surely sense the use of his power in more than he was permitted to do. Still, Jandar had pushed him too far. Ripping away the spell that bound about the two, he smirked slightly. ”Your Black Widow is skilled, Queen. But her power is no match for the Black. Especially when she did nothing to safeguard it.”

Jandar yelped as Fatima stepped on him, head whipping to stare at her incredulously. However, he swiftly realized how very inappropriate his own words and attitude had been. He inclined his head to his Lady, grateful for the intervention. “I am around this one Queen only, and she is not a part of-” he began to answer, now definitely calmer, and genuinely cooly polite. However, before he could finish his vague statement, the Warlord Prince threw him into the wall across the room. Jandar had the time to consider that his power truly was dense, then his whole body met the wall - forcefully. The Warlord grunted, air wheezing out of him, a burning pain engulfing his back. At least his neck hadn’t snapped, and he had not fallen unconscious, though he was dizzy.

Jandar blinked his eyes open, not knowing when he’d closed them. “A-apologies,” he gasped out, still out of breath. “I deserved that,” he inhaled bracingly. “At the very least.” He stepped away from the wall carefully, assessing the damage caused to his body. He was trembling, but he could stand. “Forgive me…” the words once again fell still upon his lips as he registered SaDiablo’s intent, and his gaze snapped to the scene unfolding before him.

“Wait!” he couldn’t help but shout, but of course, it did not prevent anything. The Warlord Prince ripped apart Faeril’s illusion, destroying it, and revealing the beauty underneath the hag image she’d taken upon. Jandar stumbled forward, paler than ever, mind whirring. Fatima could not go outside like this, she’d draw even more attention. And what would SaDiablo do, now? He’d only discovered more mysteries that would surely pique his curiosity. Horrified, he slowly shambled closer, his flaring pain shoved to a corner of his mind. “Prince, please,” his voice was rough, imploring. “Don’t hurt her,” he begged.

She whipped around as Jandar was flung against the wall. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she swallowed heavily. Fatima gazed at the monster, her fear churning her insides to mush. The illusions fell away and the ugly farce she had been playing melted away leaving her naked - in a sense - before the man.

She lifted a hand to Jandar as he edged closer and made a motion bidding him to stop. "You've won but surely you knew that would happen upon the start of this encounter. You've used your brute strength to hurt those weaker than yourself." She gestured to herself and Jandar. "Congratulations. I'm so happy for you." Her words and face were stony cold. "A big man indeed." She stepped away from the bookshelf and forced herself to walk confidently toward him. Every fiber of her being screamed that she should run, get away, don't go into the drooling jaws of the wolf. But she went.

"It may mean little to you, and of course I would have no way to keep you to your word. However, all I can ask is that you let my man go peacefully and the shopkeep live. Especially him, he has no part in this. In return I will give you everything I have. My money, my possessions, my life. I will go peacefully. You can keep me as a pet, feed me to the Queens. Whatever you like. But leave these men be." She clasped her hands together beneath her breasts and gave him her bravest, Queenly face. She did not feel brave though. She was facing a childhood nightmare, the monster who lived under her bed, the boogey man who would eat little girls who didn't behave. Well, perhaps this was the way it should be, all the misbehaving she'd done in her life. That thought made her want to laugh as she was sure she would be facing her death.

Jandar stuttered to a stop at Fatima’s gesture, petrified with disbelief at her words. “No, not her,” he rasped. “Whatever you are doing with the other Queens, leave this one alone,” he clenched his teeth, staring at the Warlord Prince. Now that Fatima had offered herself to SaDiablo, how could he possibly convince him not to take her offer? Quite simply, he couldn’t.

Saetan stared in startled shock at Fatima as the illusion was torn away to reveal the woman beneath. A woman who was startling beautiful. A woman who was berating him for attacking the offending fool who had insulted him one too many times. Yet even as she stood before him offering herself for the exchange of the shopkeeper and her man, he could sense her fear. Saetan had spent thousands of years reading people. But it was he who was terrified. Now as Fatima stood before him without any illusion to shelter her, Saetan began to piece together the puzzle of this mysterious Queen. Of how the man had claimed she was not like the others. How he now pleaded for him to let her go.

Covering his mouth with a shaking hand, he grimaced at the obvious weakness. He wanted this Queen in ways he had not wanted another before. He wanted to serve her. To protect her from the wickedness in the world. Hell’s fire, he wanted this to be part of the spell. A clever ploy by some Queen’s Black Widow, but it was no such thing. He spoke softly then. Unsure if he was asking for forgiveness for his actions or defending himself form an image he never asked for. ”And do what to the shopkeep? If you haven’t noticed, Lady, I was here first looking for a book. I wished to keep you away from the shopkeeper lest you decide to amuse yourself with him as Hyallian Queens are wont to do.” Bristling the man turned away and slammed his fist into a nearby shelf. The wood splintering and sticking in his skin as he pulled his hand away, rubbing the sore knuckles. How in the name of Hell was he supposed to deal with this?! With a Queen he was bound to in his heart being a Hyallian bitch? And if she really was different… How could he be sure? Hunching his shoulders slightly, Saetan snarled in a few languages some selective words that were not fit for polite company. ”And I would not ‘feed you to the Queens’. I do not dance to their pleasure more than I must for that bitch’s knife-point bargain. Even then I make sure they dance to my tune.”

She frowned. He wasn't going to hurt the shopkeep? "I just assumed… as you assumed." She winced when he punched the bookshelf. "I'm sorry. Will you take my offer then? Let my man go?" She was hesitant, unsure. There was an air of confusion here she could not dispel. "If I do as you ask?" She paused looking toward the ground. "Will you kill me?" She whispered.

”Just go. I am not a thoughtless monster as you may think.” Snarled the Warlord Prince, stalking towards the door. Stiff with pain as Laska sent her power coursing through the band at his throat. A call for him to return and a promise of punishment for using his Jewels. A slave, after all, could not use a jewel.

"I… wait!" Just go? She hurried after him, placing a hand on his arm before she recoiled as if she'd touched hot metal. She hadn't meant to touch and to feel him beneath her hand had thrown her heart into wild disarray. After a moment of shock she said, "You've taken my disguise from me. If you do not kill me here I will die out there."

”And you will die if I stay.” Saetan growled in annoyance, even as his heart hammered from her touch and he desired more than that brief caress. ”Laska is calling me back you foolish girl. Ignoring it, ignoring her. You aren’t worth the pain that brings.”

She took steps backwards, away from him. He was a beast, just as she'd always been told. She turned from him and instead went to Jandar. "Are you alright? Can you walk if I support you?" She touched his arm and looked up into his face, worried. She should find the shopkeep, perhaps if she paid him well he could direct them out of the town discreetly.

Saetan stumbled to the door, cursing as he paused. ”Wait till night. The guards will be drunk and… entertained by then.” With that Saetan stumbled out the door and down the alley, forcing himself to walk as if nothing was wrong. As if nothing was strangling him.

“I can walk on my own, I should think,” Jandar answered Fatima distractedly. He’d been watching her conversation with SaDiablo and was still deep in thought. “If we can get him to trust us,” he murmured, considering. “If we remove his band of compliance, as debilitating as it would be…” he trailed off, not sure if he should have suggested doing so knowing the pain it would bring. However, there would also be significant benefits to the action, and he could not ignore them. “He would no longer be forced to serve those undeserving. He is not an enemy,” he stated, entirely confident in his assertion that the Warlord Prince they’d met was not at all what he’d first appeared to be. The man was playing a role, and he’d revealed much to them. There was hope. First, though, they had to make it safely out of here. “We should go back to the camp,” he said, tone brooking no argument.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

She turned lazily from the shelf as the proprietor of the store approached her. She smiled though that would be hard to see through her lace veil. "Do you know what sort of books would interest a woman such as myself?" She inquired, knowing full well the poor man would likely not know the answer. The intoxicating psychic scent which had drawn her here filled the room and made her feel dizzy. Silly. Drunk.

The interaction was cut short when Jandar appeared. She watched him approach, something like guilt cutting through the giddiness that fizzed like champagne through her veins. She frowned and tilted her chin up toward Jandar. "Cousin," she responded and pulled her arms around herself. Her initial reaction was to reprimand Jandar but she caught herself. "He was only trying to be helpful. Poor soul," she spoke in the lazy drawl that she'd heard other Queens use to relay their boredom. The walls had ears. There was definitely someone else here. Her eyes strayed around the shop but could see nothing. Yet.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Location: Outside of Ambrose and Sons: Books and Basics

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She stood before the bookstore, hardly aware of the uproar she had caused in her companions. Her mind - her entire being - was focused on the enticing and terrifying psychic scent which had drawn her here. She clasped her hands together at her stomach and stared at the faded letters upon the dirty window. An all too familiar scene somehow made spectacular by all of the things she was feeling. Her breath came in quick, short bursts as she just stood completely engulfed in this odd web.

If she had to describe it, this scent that had a complete hold upon the young Grey Queen, it would be like candy. Sweet and bitter. Caramel dipped in salted dark chocolate. Followed by a shot of rum. Intoxicating. Heady. Exhilarating. Jumping off a cliff into deep, warm water and letting it cover her in complete darkness. Warm. Velvety. It was consuming.

"Cousin."

The word broke her from her trance. With a start she turned to Jandar and her eyes then traveled to Dareen. She saw more than she heard the words that come from the warrior woman's mouth. Fatima had to consider her actions a moment. What would a Queen do? One who lived beneath Dorothea's thumb? Well, she wouldn't have followed this disgusting slum path. She wouldn't be standing outside of a decrepit book store. She wouldn't be about to enter. But... Jandar could feel it too... So could Dareen... With a sly smile, partially hidden by the lace veil, she said, "I want a book." She realized she was putting everyone in danger by doing this. There was selfishness in this action. She could not deny that. However, it felt so completely right. As if she were falling into her warm, downy bed after a long day.

Before she could be stopped she hobbled to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

Fatima's first impression was of how age showed in all corners of the establishment. Dust, decay, and the sweet scent of old paper. She breathed deeply, enjoying the way it washed over her in conjunction with the power of the enticing jewel. She stood a moment at the entrance, the last sounds of the jingling bell dying amongst the dust particles. The books and the thing that drew her battled for her attention. So many fine, delicate novels. She was perusing a shelf before she knew it, her eyes scouring the shelves for anything of interest while her subconscious drew her closer to the thing which called to her.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Location: Town

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Fatima straightened the wide brimmed black gardening hat she wore. From it hung a veil which covered her disfigured face. Faeril had done a bang up job! She'd had to do very little in order to lend the right amount of disgusting to the image. She has chosen a simple black dress the spoke of her highbred status without being flashy. She wore nothing in the way of adornments beyond the veiled hat.

As she walked she discovered that the limp she had opted for was a little difficult to keep up and in the end made it easier, though painful, to limp. She kept behind Jandar and Dareen, being a bit slower due to her manufactured impairment. She paid no mind to staring eyes or the whispers of the folk. A Queen would not.

As they walked through the town they came closer and closer to something… It coiled and uncoiled around her stomach. It sent her heart into rapid palpitations. She felt like she could hardly catch her breath, like she were falling from a very great height. The closer the wound along that psychic scent the stronger it pulled.

Unnerving, that would be how she would describe it. Utterly unnerving. Did the others feel it too? Just her? Something screamed she stay away. A small, logical portion of her brain. She paused her shambling walk at the entrance to a side street. Innocuous in all but that dark, slithering scent which beckoned her. "There's something…" she started saying but her voice trailed away as she walked down the side street. She would follow it to it's conclusion at the bookstore.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Aw thanks! Simple and elegant!

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

It seemed the pair were in their normal state of contention, which lead to the reason for the energy that had surrounded them. Fatima was relieved as Xandar patted the top of her head. How silly she had been, getting worked up over nothing. She let out a small laugh as she watched Xandar’s back before turning to Faeril. “Thank you so very much. I am thrilled to see what we can do.” She reached out to squeeze the woman’s hand before she trotted off back to see Dareen and Jandar.

She approached with a broad smile upon her face. “Faeril is going to help make me the ugliest of women. I figure that, if I look truly horrifying the Queens will feel less threatened by my presence and perhaps understand why I have not shown myself until now. What thoughts had you?”

Jandar patted down his front, removing imaginary lint from his clothes. He looked at Fatima, raising an amused brow. “Sounds feasible to me. As for me, I’m going for the rich, noble Hayllian merchant. I’ll need your help with the makeup and hairstyle, Fatima,” he stated. Smiling slightly, he added, “I do hope my clothing and overall appearance is acceptable, at least.” He then gazed at Dareen thoughtfully. “As Gennar pointed out, I suppose it would be more controversial if she acted as a female pretending to be a male warrior than if she simply presented as a female warrior. In that case, the safer option might still be if she acted as my demure, quiet, shy wife. Or perhaps a servant-girl,” the Warlord shrugged.

Dareen rubbed her chin. It seemed, she thought with mock direness, that her fate was sealed. It would be the safest option to dress up as a non-warrior. Everywhere she went she made waves, and while normally she didn’t mind the accusatory glances cast her way they simply couldn’t afford to draw attention. Not so long ago the idea of even pretending to be someone’s servant or housewife would have been worth unsheathing a hidden blade. But if anyone needed to be knocked down a peg, Dareen thought, it was herself. Besides, she was only alive by the grace of this Black Widow so the least she could do was put on a silly dress.

”I guess so. Like Jandar, I’ll also need just a little bit of help. Just a little. If you don’t mind.” She said, biting her lower lip and smirking. It was one of those situations where it was embarrassing for her, but not humiliating enough for her to not see the humor in the situation. Moreover, it was probably only this funny to Dareen. The Pruulish mercenary was sharing an inside joke with herself, and the joke was at her own expense.

"And a little help with the clothes," she said in a light and teasing tone. "Mostly correct but I suppose some style differences between here and where you are from. Easy enough to fix!" What confused Fatima was their discussion of Dareen being a female warrior as standing out far too much. It wasn't as if a female warrior was all that unusual. Not exactly common but not so rare either. But perhaps it could be a cause for concern to the Queens. She furrowed her brows as she thought.

After a few moments, she lifted her eyes to Dareen. "I will not make you do something that makes you uncomfortable. Also, if you are not used to certain things that will become an obvious fault in our farce. I can attempt to teach you to hold yourself with the grace and pomp beaten into me since I was a little girl. But it takes time." Her face showed her concern. "And I would have to untrain your warrior walk. Do you think you could play the part of a witch who cannot defend herself?"

Dareen shrugged, dismissively waving off the well-placed concern. Even though she knew it was well-placed, the last thing Dareen wanted to do was be a burden, or be useless. But as Fatima went on the ex-mercenary once again deflated. Warrior walk? What was that supposed to mean? Dareen unknowingly crossed her arms and stood up straight as she considered this, proving Fatima’s point even further.

”How hard could it be?” She asked. With that, she awkwardly shuffled into a position she thought was aristocratic. Placing a hand on her hip she leaned her weight onto one leg and cocked her head to the side. Then she made eye contact with Fatima with a look that said ‘You probably have your work cut out for you.’

Fatima giggled and placed her fingers against her lips as she watched the young woman. "Alright, I am absolutely happy to work with you on this. Just an edit to your current disciplined stance. So, are we in agreement? Ugly Queen," she gestured to herself, "The effortlessly handsome aristo… Cousin to the Ugly Queen." She gestured to Jandar, and finally "and his beautiful, brand new wife!" She gestured to Dareen.

“That will be some very distant blood-relation indeed if you will go as someone ugly and I as my handsome self,” Jandar snarked, though half-heartedly; more-so to join the banter than due to any real opposition. “As for the style differences in clothing...well, if you have any way of altering that, it would be perfect,” he added. He did not expressly point out that it was unlikely they would find something better here, but the sentiment was implied in his previous statement.

The Warlord tapped his foot against the floor twice, once again turning to observe Dareen thoughtfully. “Why does our plan gradually grow worse the more we discuss it?” he bemoaned, sighing. It was a serious concern for him; he couldn’t be as easy-going or playful as the two females surrounding him. He rolled both shoulders, grimacing. “Nothing about this is simple or easy,” he muttered, staring at the duo. “Difficult or not,” he began, “we are just going to have to do it.” He paused, letting that obvious statement sink into their brains.

“Worst case scenario, we take them by surprise, and slaughter through as many of them as we can,” he hissed, snarling. Soon after, he chuckled a morbid, dark sound. “Just keep in mind that that would surely be a suicidal attack,” he drawled, tone still savage. It was partly an attempt at dark humor, partly a show of his frustration - and also, a warning to Fatima or Dareen that there was real danger where they were planning to tread; just in case they’ve truly forgotten.

Dareen looked at Fatima and wobbled her head from side to side, silently mocking Jandar’s grim attitude. ”He used to be so light-hearted. Sometimes I wonder what happened to the man I married.” She said, shaking her head sadly. Dareen then smiled cheekily. ”I, for one, think our terrible plan is going to work flawlessly. Fatima the Ugly, first of her line, if you think you can turn us, poor vagrants, into nobility, then I trust you.” The Pruulish woman said with faux grandiosity. Cracking her neck and rolling her wrists, Dareen was eager to get started. Anything was better than standing around and waiting for something to happen. If she was going to do this, might as well get it over with.

”I mean, I’m ready to start.”

As Jandar spoke her stomach rolled with nerves. He spoke of slaughtering a town - perhaps as a joke but it told of his state of mind. She frowned and worry for him creased her brow. She reached out a hand and touched the cloth of his shirt before she became distracted with the Pruulish woman's antics.

She laughed with real mirth at Dareen. "Of course, we'll start right away. There is an awful lot to do." She looked up at Jandar, a gentle smile on her face, but the worry had not left her entirely. "Everything is what we make it. I believe in us, we can do this. I know you're worried, but if you let it eat at you, the more you invite doubt, the more likely it manifests." She took his hand in hers and pressed a kiss to the back of it before releasing him. "Be brave and believe in us too."

Jandar exhaled harshly, looking down at Fatima. His frown receded, replaced by a jagged smile. “I won’t show hesitation or worry, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I am certain I will hate those people. But it’s irrelevant,” he replied. He was about to tell her not to concern herself with him, but cut his reply short as he realized how very hypocritical uttering that would be. Instead, he squared his shoulders and braced himself, so that his smile didn’t look all that strained anymore.

“I believe we can prepare well enough,” he added, but left it at that. He couldn’t completely banish his negative emotions, but when it came to it, he could control them and channel them into his act. though he didn’t show it, the Queen holding his hand - and kissing it, of all things - felt more on the side of awkward rather than comforting for him, but Jandar knew the intention behind it, so he could more easily accept it.

Fatima turned her attention back to Dareen and asked, "Can you sew?"

Dareen thought Fatima probably had a better method of soothing the fears of Jandar. She was tactful and socially intelligent. At the question, Dareen was expecting to once again expecting to profess her utter incompetence, but the Pruulish woman was pleasantly surprised at what she was asked. ”Yes, actually.” She said.

”I’m technically a professional tailor, since my- uh, well, the people I traveled with couldn’t. So they paid me.” She stammered a bit. Neither Jandar nor Fatima knew anything of Dareen’s past so she wanted to keep as much of it hidden as possible. For now. It was clear Dareen was about to make another joke but it had sputtered mid-sentence.

”Why do you ask?” Dareen asked quickly.

"Oh that is amazing! We'll need to fix up some of my dresses so that they may fit you." Fatima was aglow with the prospect of proper help on this end. "It will save us time to do it together. More time to teach you high-class lady things." She laughed genially before producing three dresses that she was willing to sacrifice for the cause. "Shall we begin?"

Dareen gave a small shrug. ”Sure- I’m pretty sure I know my measurements.” It had been a little while since she had summoned her sewing kit. ”Thanks for help, again. What about you, Jandar? You sew?” She kneeled down and picked up one of the dresses, holding it up to her neck. It was of course preposterously undersized.

Jandar scrunched his nose. “I do not sew,” he said, the tone of his voice lofty with disdain, though he kept a curious eye on the women as they worked. Dareen looked back at Fatima and frowned haughtily. He observed silently for a few minutes, then suddenly proclaimed, “I will go as Johan Rentrick. You will temporarily share that last name, so get familiarized with it, wife,” he tasted the word as if getting used with it - which he was. The Warlord wondered if he should think of some affectionate terms to call Dareen by. Though, she and the Queen both needed their own aliases first. “Think of a first name that’s similar to your current one, so you won’t get mixed up. Fatima, you too. We need to disguise every possible aspect of our identity.”

”Easy enough,” Dareen commented, sitting on a stone and working her calloused fingers quite dexterously. Fatima chose to sit upon the ground, skirts spread around her as she took scissors to fabric. ”Ranina’s my fake name. Ranina Rentrick. She likes wearing...blue. That’s the one we’re going with, right Fatima?” She asked, holding up the piece of fabric between the needle. With a swoop, she stitched together the seam they had needed to adjust to get it around her shoulders that were much bulkier than the person they were made for.

"Ranina is gorgeous! I love it. And it can be whatever you like! If not is her favorite, perhaps she wears it for her husband." Her tone took on a teasing quality and her eyes glittered with mischief that had lain dormant the last day or so. "I think Helena will be my stage name for this act. Lovely and simple for an ugly girl child."

Dareen smirked and shook her head lightly at Fatima. She’d never done anything for a husband in her life. The Pruulish witch lived the life of a bachelorette. They were making fast progress on the blue dress. Dareen clicked her tongue against her teeth. ”Man- if we go to the tavern I won’t be able to drink any ale. I haven’t had a mug in weeks, either.” She frowned, setting her hands in her lap for a moment.

”Well, fuck it. I don’t need beer. Maybe when all this is over. Well wait, I mean, am I going to have to go out in public like this forever now? How long do we have to keep these disguises up?” After a moment she shook her head, chastising herself a little. Fatima set aside her scissors to pick up needle and thread. Her face barely registered her surprise at the sudden outburst from Dareen. She was used to swearing, it was not as if it offended her ‘delicate sensibilities.’ She had not expected the suddenness of it.

”Guess it doesn’t really matter. We’re enemies of the fuckin’ state.” Now a little more at ease the woman apparently began to slip back into her old swearing habits. While she wasn’t looking forward to the days ahead this was the first time in a long time she had felt comfortable in someone else’s company, if only temporarily.

Jandar rolled his eyes, exasperated and impatient. “We will most likely use these particular guises just for this town, though if they prove effective and are ever needed again, we may as well use them,” he said. With a twist of his lips, he added a growling admonishment, “And for Mother Darkness’s sake, cease your swearing and alcoholic tendencies. The more you resist now, the more likely you are to slip up later. I suggest you practice by seriously adopting your role as soon as possible,” the Warlord directed, cooly watching the witch. He personally didn’t have a problem with her personality, but right now, he saw her as the one least likely able to conform to the role she was supposed to play.

Fatima looked between the two as she felt the tension in the air coil tightly. She chewed her lower lip, wondering if she would need to defuse the situation. Going undercover like this could be very stressful. Lies were difficult to keep up.

Dareen nodded, but then pointed a needle at Jandar only using her fingers. ”Hey,” she began, ”I’m not an alcoholic. I just enjoy a good drink now and then, like anyone. Ranina, on the other hand, she’s a high functioning alcoholic. She keeps it from Johan, though, only drinking when she is alone. It’s eating her up on the inside, but such is the life of a noblewoman.” She stuck her tongue into one of her cheeks and then glanced back down at her dress, making sure everything was going alright. Jandar was right, but he was also starting to get annoying with all his cynicism.

Was that how Dareen saw noblewomen? Despondent alcoholics who pined away their days? Alright... so she wasn't completely wrong and Fatima had to bite her cheek from giggling out loud. A mirthful sound might not be welcomed at this juncture. Taking his advice, though, with a grain of salt, Dareen straightened her back and put her lower lip into a pout. Fatima had to bow her head low over her sewing and her whole body trembling as she fought the urge for laughter.

Jandar raised a doubtful brow, smirking slightly. “And whyever would poor, fragile, beloved Ranina need to resort to her drinks?” he queried, curious if Dareen had put thought in the story or if she was improvising - either could be good, depending on her storytelling and acting ability.

Dareen briefly held a piece of string in her teeth as she maneuvered her needles. Taking it out, she replied, ” The same reason she has enough time to drink it in the first place. Johan is never home. How tragic,” She remarked with faux-glibness. She wasn’t sure if she was actually going to use any of this stuff but it was fun to make things up. Especially to get a reaction out of Jandar, whatever it may be.

The corners of Jandar’s lips twitched, eyes glimmering with humor. “And perhaps I was more observant than my wife has given me credit, which is precisely the reason I decided on this extravagant honeymoon,” he concluded. He lifted both eyebrows and slightly spread out his hands in a mock ‘see, aren’t I so great’ gesture, then cocked his head to the side as he gazed straight into Dareen’s eyes. “We will need to appear casually intimate and used to each other’s presence - nothing scandalous, not to worry. Aristocrats prefer to appear controlled. Nonetheless, it may not be amiss for us to practice walking and sitting next to each other, at the very least,” he suggested. Gazing pointedly at the duo’s dress-up activities, he pointedly added, “Whenever the ladies are finished, of course,” with a drawl.

Dareen raised her eyebrows at Jandar and put a hand to her chest in shock at his thoughtfulness. Then she listened as he made more suggestions. Right. Dareen just had to slip in the role. Who knows how stuck up these nobles were? With even a little bit of failed acting rumors may start to spread like wildfire. Or worse, just straight up seeing through their disguise.

”Very well, my love,” She responded casually, her voice losing some of its inherent roughness. Then she looked between the two people next to her as if to say ‘how was that?’ Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. Though as this dress grew closer and closer to completion the idea of actually putting it on in public became less appealing. Thank Mother Darkness her old comrades couldn’t see her now.

Jandar simply nodded in response, and as he continued to observe her, worked to soften his gaze. For a while, this would be someone he loved. Not just a lover, but a wife. Presumably, also a dear friend. Someone worthy of his attention, and moreover, his protection. Yes, there was also the obvious business benefits, but why not some earnest emotion as well? Mutual loyalty could be quite beneficial after all...The Warlord nodded once again, mostly to himself. Yes, this could work.

Their discourse had turned playful and Fatima relaxed. She was pleased to see them finding humor in the situation. "I'll leave you to finish up the sewing. Jandar, let me fix up your hair and what have you. I'll need you to come down." Standing she brushed the back of her dress to remove any bits of dirt or nature that might have taken purchase there. She approached the man, manifesting a comb in her hand. "Dareen, when you speak your tone should be of unaffected coolness. And soften and quiet your words. Speak as if your words are a cloud. A gift to any who would hear them." As she spoke she demonstrated what she meant. Each word was carefully and lovingly pronounced as if she lined them in gold foil and pearls while they floated delicate and feathery from her mouth.

Dareen shook her head, chuckling a little. ”Yes, of course. Indubitably. You should be lucky to even hear me speak,” She waved her hand dramatically in the air as she talked before bringing it back down to the knitting. Almost done- just the last part before the dress would fit the mercenary. It didn’t look half bad as far as dresses went. Even though the category of clothing known as dresses were a farce to begin with. As far as her voice went, Dareen put on a little bit too much smarminess. Realizing this, she said the same sentence again mimicking Fatima as much as possible. Ranina’s voice was starting to come to life.

Jandar hummed in agreement, and relocated into the carriage, choosing to sit on one of the benches. He really didn’t want to ruin his trousers, after all. He sat patiently, waiting for Fatima to join him and work her magic. She came around to him and began to pull the comb through his locks. Her fingers helped gently release any tangles and her fingernails lightly brushing over his scalp. She manifested a bottle of oil, masculine and earthy in scent. She rubbed some onto her palms before dragging her hands through his hair again. She let the oil sit for a bit in his hair as she began work on editing minor bits to his clothing and began the process of light make-up to his face. She finished off the look by adding some thin braids subtly woven into his hair.

Jandar was still but pliant under Fatima’s touch, letting the Queen turn his head this way and that as she worked. The brief scalp massage was rather pleasant, and it relieved him of some of the tension that had been a near-constant presence since they had begun to plan their venture. Having make-up applied was unpleasant, but it was not nearly the first time he had it done. Fatima was rather proficient with it, he noted. The speed was one thing, and, when he observed himself in a summoned hand-mirror, the quality was excellent. If someone had met him only once before, it was unlikely they would recognize him. The Warlord waited some more for his clothes to be adjusted; it was nothing major the Queen did, but the small details somehow managed to give him an entirely different look. So this is the fashion here, he thought curiously.

Once done, he stood up, admiringly brushing a hand over his apparel. “Thank you,” he acknowledged Fatima’s efforts sincerely. He didn’t just mean the craftsmanship either, but rather her support in general.

”You are most welcome!” The Warlord then stepped back outside, and approached Dareen. Fatima was not far behind him.

Upon seeing Jandar return, nodded her head slowly and elegantly. ”Nonetheless, the plan is I speak as little as possible,” she said, still in her new noble voice. It was pretty hard to talk this way. How did people do this for all their lives?

He gave her a light, graceful bow. “Your new husband, Johan Rentrick, my lady,” he introduced, all smoothly honeyed words, a carelessly light tone. “Yes, you are a reticent one,” he continued, as dignified as he’d begun. He supported the idea that she’d speak as little as possible; as he had when they’d first decided on it. “If finding that desired level of detachment is difficult to do consistently, try and imagine being in an altered state of mind, shall we say,” he winked at Dareen, certain she’d understand - though less sure she would be entirely unoffended by the implication. “Without the pesky speech-slurring and ridiculousness, of course,” he chuckled lightly.

Dareen furrowed her eyebrows, tilted her head to the side and gave Jandar a curious and bemused smile. Then she feigned offense and looked away, down at the dress in front of her. ”I don’t know what you could mean,” She said with a shake of her head. Rising to her feet, she held out the newly modified dress in front of her. With an embarrassed smirk, she glanced over at Fatima. ”So...we gonna do this?” She asked.

"Of course my lady, this way." Fatima gave her best, graceful bow as she made a sweeping gesture toward the carriage.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Fatima shook her head as if to dash away the argument that had just taken place. She was relieved it had come to a resolution, though perhaps not quite what Jandar had hoped for. She pratically skipped as she closed the few paces between herself and Dareen. "I'm afraid I've been neglectful of you, I am so sorry. I had no intention of pushing you out like that." A frown pulled down the corners of her lips as she reached out he hands to grasp Dareen's. "But I am thrilled to be able to take this trip with you, I do very much want you along with Jandar and I. I can't wait to get you all dressed up in something lovely. Though why you cover so much of yourself...." She paused, considering what she was saying and thinking it could be rude. Her lips pursed and her brows furrowed before she brightened. "Ah, well... Are you more comfortable with some coverings? Are you open to showing a bit of skin? Are there colors you like better than others?"

A her mind swirled with the familiar, silly things - clothes and make-up she had a sudden thought. She opened her mouth as she gasped suddenly and audibly. Her eyes went wide and then a look of mischevious joy fell over her. "I have the most wonderful and grand of ideas. I must speak with Faeril... Oh, how delightful it will be. You and Jandar discuss what you are thinking for your roles. Don't stray too far from your specific thruths. Simplify them, bundle them down to their smallest parts until you can say them in a sentence. From there we begin to build the lies. We have to build a base before applying an illusion." She wiggled her fingers at them before running off in the direction of Faeril and Xandar.

It did not take her too terribly long before she was at Faeril's side. She reached out to grasp the woman's hand. Her cheeks were flushed with her excitement and her eyes sparkled with her self satisfaction. "Faeril, Faeril," she puffed. She looked back toward Xandar a moment and offered him a wide, breathless grin before turning her attention back to Faeril. "Do you think you can make me the ugliest, most foul, and unattractive woman in all of Terrielle?!" It was only now she began to see and read the mood. She took a careful step back and looked toward Xandar again. A spark of fright bringing down the joy she had held moments ago. Her hands fluttered to her stomach and she felt herself inching close to Xandar, her body more than her mind understanding that he was safe. "What is wrong," she whispered, looking between the pair.