Fable - Ask A Few Devils

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Nemeska smiled. Delighted.

"Neither of us will regret a thing."

* * * * *​

They talked for hours.

Nemeska, even while not being near a window, knew that it had to be dark outside now, despite her having had her conversation with Boesarius in the Refectory around lunchtime. She was waiting patiently outside the Chamber of the Pontifex, sitting on the cushioned couch across the floor from the massive doors. The usual guards who stood by the doors had been dismissed—not that there was anything too special or unorthodox about that—but it did leave Nemeska all alone as she waited. Sometimes, ugh, she wasn't so good at the game of patience. She could only guess at the reason why it took her father and Boesarius so long, and could only guess at which one of them was doing more of the talking. Oh, to have been a fly on that wall...

But, at last, the doors finally gave some sound, and they started to open, stirring Nemeska from the, admittedly, bit of a snooze she had drifted into during her wait. Boesarius emerged, shutting the doors behind himself. Nemeska stood from the couch as he crossed the antechamber floor to her.

"Do you understand now?" she asked simply.

Do you understand, lovely Boesarius, what it is we few devils must do to see the ascension of Gild into its rightful destiny?
 
How could one man drive her so crazy? There had been a few sturdily built and pristine looking Praetor students at the War College before who had rejected her advances—several times, sticking to their dissent—and those instances drove her crazy, but this was...always so deliciously different.

"And what did you want?"

What did her father use to seal the deal with him?
 
"You."

Boesarius was well-trained to see it: the fear, however hidden, however fleeting, flashing in a person's eyes. And as soon as he said that singular word did he see such fear alight in Nemeska's eyes. This genuine fear was quickly replaced, either sincerely or as a deceptive attempt to mask it, by a kind of lustful delight. Such was Nemeska's wont to think that.

He reminded her, with a low and malevolent cheer, precisely what he meant.

"You may be leading this, and we may be the 'demons who bring terror by night', but if you do something that I don't like..."

His smirk split open into a baleful, almost hungry, almost anticipatory, grin.

"...you're mine."
 
Nemeska thought nothing of her own father using her as the leverage to get Boesarius on board.

She thought nothing of her own fear, renewed afresh by Boesarius's explanation, nor of her heart pounding terribly in her chest.

She thought nothing of the possibility that she could be killed not just out in the field, but perhaps by one of her own comrades, and this with her father's secret blessing upon it.

She smiled back, even as her lips quivered slightly—oh, that heady mixture of fear and excitement, a painful and exhilarating thrill—and said, "So be it."
 
Recruiting Akiza
  • Index
    • RECRUITING AKIZA​


    Where Castulo had been sure and reliable, and Boesarius something of a wild and uncertain success, Nemeska ran into a string of failures after that. Names on her father's list of potentials, names from Nemeska's own personal collection, even a couple contacts from Castulo, proved to be unsuitable for one reason or another. Notably, Irene Savashal was particularly hardheaded in this regard, being more of a "Regulator's Regulator" than Boesarius had been, completely inflexible. Boesarius had said not to bother with her, and, well, he was right: Irene dubiously entertained Nemeska's conversations, and Castulo's attempt scarcely went anywhere thanks to his reputation. Suffice to say, it didn't get past the trust/leverage stage in Irene's case, nothing more than roundabout talks, "feeling" her out; such gave all the proof necessary that she not only would have declined to join their merry band, but would have saw the whole affair undone. She had everything she wanted in her present station, if save for aspirations to rise even higher in the ranks of the Regulators. The typically simple and narrow thinking one would expect from a girl who chased around sheep for a good portion of her life.

    What they needed was someone they could really, as the expression went, sink their claws into. Someone who's self-interest could be leveraged so powerfully that, why, how could they refuse?

    And, as Nemeska, Castulo, and Boesarius were all sitting in the shade of Castulo's favorite tree in the Temple's grand courtyard, discussing this very topic, it was the newest addition among them who came up with an...interesting gambit.
     
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  • Index
    • "Irene was never going to work," he said. No one but Saint Sofia herself could have convinced her of the pragmatic usefulness of Pontifex Elissal's Devils. Nemeska and Castulo found this out firsthand, trying anyway—and maybe this would encourage them to listen to him when he spoke from expertise in the future.

    "But I have someone who just might."

    Did he know everything about this individual? No. He hadn't had enough time with her yet, and time was the one thing which could wear down hope and resistance...bit by bit...and pry a person completely open. But, Boesarius had sufficient time with this individual to know that she could be made forcibly compliant with their will. For she had something to gain, as it happened.

    And if she declined, no loss at all, no change in anything. He could simply kill her.
     
    "And who's that?"

    Now, Castulo had entertained the thought of making a bet with Boesarius about which one of them would be able to recruit a new Devil to the team first. A fun thought, especially so because of the prospect of having Boesarius's silver jingling around in his pockets, buuuuuut...Castulo ultimately hadn't done it. One, because Boesarius didn't have any notion of fun that didn't involve scalpels, hooks, and nails; two, because Boesarius probably didn't have anybody whom he could have possibly tapped to try to recruit to the Devils anyway.

    So color Castulo surprised when Boe spoke up, saying he might have someone. Who in the hell could he possibly be talking about? The kind of people Boe rubbed shoulders with were all Irenes in one way or another.
     
    Boesarius smiled.

    "You'll know. If she makes the right choice. If not, you'll never see her."

    Castulo's indignation at that was none of Boesarius's concern. He turned his attention onto Nemeska. He'd be able to have her attend him, but not Castulo—his scoundrel's reputation precluded it.

    "You, Nemeska, may follow me into the Sanctum. In my presence, no one will question you."

    Boesarius stood, and concluded his point.

    "You may be able to assist in persuading my subject."
     
    Into the Sanctum they went.

    And down into the Sanctum's dungeons. So, this was where the Regulators took all the naughty boys and girls, hmm? What pleasant environs, what with the uncaring stone and walls drenched in the hostile light of the lanterns. Serves those rubes, those Curites, those kujars, those jins, and all the rest of them right. Disgusting people and creatures ought to be locked up down here, if only so Nemeska didn't have to see them: mayhap she could make a few suggestions to Boesarius? Mayhap there was room for, oh she didn't know...Priest Madrissal, perhaps. My, would she enjoy covering him in Aurum and shattering him whole.

    But fantasies usually amounted to nothing more than that—fantasies. And there were tangible things to do in the present. They stood outside a particular cell door, the two of them. The door was thick enough, and their voices low enough, that the wretched soul within would hear nothing.

    "Is there any specific strategy you had in mind for this subject of yours, Boesarius?"
     
    "There is. And your sex will be of benefit to it."

    Nemeska turned a quizzical gaze upon him, and he elaborated further.

    "My subject hails from Sonshan." He smirked a little as Nemeska's quizzical gaze only deepened, and he admitted, "I had to research it myself. It's a distant land, far to the north, not even on Epressa. But that's not important. Here is what is:

    "First, the people of Sonshan are accustomed to matriarchal rule. The mere fact of your being a woman will give a persuasive edge, even if slight. Use it well.

    "Second, and most pivotal, is that my subject is on the run from something. Something she fears greatly."
     
    Was that right? Well, if Nemeska ever felt like taking a late Gezi, she ought to head north then; why not see if this Sonshan was the paradise her mind's eye crafted the moment Boesarius mentioned matriarchal rule. Slim chance she would ever be elected consul here in the Gild, even if she wasn't a Second Penitent.

    "How intriguing. She didn't, by chance, say what it is that she is running from? Let slip a hint or two?"
     
    Boesarius shook his head.

    "Whatever it is, it was enough to make her think that she could find sanctuary in Gild."

    And now the corners of his mouth lifted in a small and derisive smile.

    "Can you imagine?"
     
    Akiza hung from the wall, her arms stretched out to her sides, wrists shackled to the wall. Such was her lack of height that her feet dangled just above the cell floor. An anti-magic collar was fastened about her neck, completely robbing her of her magic. Her pale, naked body was covered in burns—some from holy symbols of Regel, others from the prolonged touch of silver. A single, bloody bandage was wrapped about her left arm.

    Was it painful? Of course it was painful. But pain she could manage. She could even boast that she felt pain from one end of the world to the other, tasting its bitter variety of flavors wherever she had hid in the past. In Bhathairk she had an orc impale her through the chest with a spear...and that was a shame, he was handsome. In Dornoch she had been lit on fire...briefly, and the saving grace of water nearby ensured her immortality wasn't cut short. In Oban she had been savaged by a griffin...what foul-smelling beasts. In Maraan a dervish shoved his sword down her throat...her fault, for trusting him. In Annuakat on a bright moonlit night she had both of her hands sliced off...but she needed only her fangs and her Blood Magic to remedy the problem. In Cortos she had been caught in a counter-ambush, shot full of arrows, along with everyone else of the small mercenary band she had been taken into...a pity, they were among the few who had actually accepted her. In Vel Anir a Dreadlord stood over her icicle-impaled body, his foot on her chest, smugly declaring that she had needed to watch her step...famous last words. In Alliria she fought with another vampire for territory, his claws tearing her flesh into ribbons...you simply cannot reason with the unreasonable. In Valentennia a woman, blinded with misplaced rage and jealousy, thrust a knife into her eye...funny, for all the things Akiza did do, she got stabbed for one thing she did not. And now, here in Gild, she found herself in this dungeon, being tortured by a man who must have came from his mother's womb with a scalpel in his grasp.

    What was the common thread in all these stories? She survived. And, more importantly, she had never been caught—not by them. She had always stayed one step ahead. And she needed to. Because they would never quit, not until they had her.

    As the cell door opened, Akiza just reminded herself: you will escape this. You may not know how, but when the opportunity comes, take it. Don't think twice. No matter what it costs you, take it.

    In came the torturer, the "Regulator" as he was known to be. But also, behind him, came a woman. Perhaps this was his superior? It would mean the nature of this particular visitation would have heightened significance.

    "Just in time," Akiza said, her voice raspy and hoarse, for it had been some time since last she fed. "I was getting lonely."

    She had to maintain an air of unbroken resolve, of fearlessness, even if it wasn't true. She did loathe pain, and she did fear death...just not as much as being caught by them. But showing weakness would be the greatest of follies.

    And if she was going to survive this, she could not afford any mistakes.
     
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