Open Chronicles A Treasure Fleet Arrives in Alliria

[Amalric Urahil]

“Well, Kishou,” the foreign word comes off his lips mangled and limping, but beautiful in its own butchered way, “maybe that’s for the best. Then you don’t have to deal with annoying neighbors trying to conquer you every ten years, eh?”

He laughed in the way soldiers do, a grim chuckle, hoarsened by memories of smoke and screams.

“Now come on, Vasco and Pedro are getting away from us, those rascals.”

The odd pair entered the tavern, which appeared to be the most respectable one on this side of the docks, a painted sign swung from the entrance, the Lustrous something or other. The name does not truly matter, does it? And anyway, Diego was not paying attention, more focused on accomplishing his immediate goal of becoming raucously drunk and bedded than on taking in the fine work of the Allirian Painters Guild.

The door was already open and entering it was like entering another world. Laughter rose and fell like the waves of the ocean. All types crowded the tables on a floor that was quite large by Cortosi standard, from merchants and sailors, to some rarer sights, like the three orcs in the corner nursing their horns of fermented goat’s milk, because apparently they served that here too (Alliria has everything), and the austere and slender elf from Falwood attempting to place an order, but who was continuously jostled by the crowd, which only worsened his semi-permanent expression of contempt for the lesser-lived races that surrounded him.

“Diego!”

The man turned at the sound of his name and saw that Pedro and Vasco had already secured a table with some Allirian sailors and burdened it with several large flagons.

“Bless you both,” Diego smiled, “You work wonders.” He slid onto a wooden bench at the table and patted the space beside him, “Come Kishou, what will you be having? I’m in the mood for wine.”

 

[Ermengarde]

Nagai? A cortos fleet heading to Nagai? Now if isn't this intriguing. Ermengarde shifted her weight from one leg to another as her eyes traced the path of his.

»Here? Financing and recruting, in a month? Hopefully out in the sea sailing to uncharted lands south-east from here.«

»Tell me though, you're planning to civilize... the naga?« Her tone was lofty, perhaps slightly jesty.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou lowered his head with a grateful expression to Diego as he sat. "Excuse me." He said as a courtesy as he took his place. Kishou didn't drink much, at least not enough to become intoxicated. He saw alcohol take many men, and he did not fancy the idea of not being in full control of himself. However, he knew tonight he'd have to concede and drink alongside Diego and his men. "Wine, eh? I like the sound of that, and would have some myself."

The bairmaid, quite young and pretty, had just finished passing drinks to the Allirian sailors who occupied the table already. His hand slid into the opening of his shirt. As he removed his hand, a single silver coin was pinched between his forefinger and thumb. With some dexterity, he flicked the coin with his thumb. It twirled, and landed with a clatter on the barmaid's tray.

"For my Cortosi friends! And for us two here," He gestured between himself and Diego, "Your best wine!"

 

[Fennec]

Those moony eyes were upon the man before he knew he was walking through the door, counting down the seconds he would realize his folly. Somewhere at the back of Ziri's mind she wondered if he counted down the seconds of his day still.

"Mwee-rin," said the woman in reply, the bite of her satisfaction as sweet as lemon juice on a fresh cut, heavy lashes fluttering in bedeviled flattery, "ohhh, but ye noh, tyme is good to meh."

"Oh, din't know yeh two knew each other," a heavy hand clapped atop Muirin's shoulder again, Hasaar gave him an encouraging push forward toward the table, "Ziri's a good customer o' mine. Always pays her fee on time."

"Yeh good to meh as well, Hasaar," Ziri shifted on her seat and raised her glass to her lips, eyeing Muirin over the rim, "don' nobody lyk a debt 'pon dem."

"Have a seat, have a seat," Hasaar inched off to a cabinet and bar, fetching a wooden cup for his new company, "get yeh a cuppa here. So, how do yeh two match up?" And now Muirin found himself served curiosity-flavored rum.

 

[Muirin]

The mercenary was unwilling to move from his rooted spot as Maziri and Hasaar had their brief back and forth, and the faint yet distinct scent of ozone began to filter through the room as a static tension built within Muirin's muscles. Some primal part of his brain prepared to either flee or stand his ground, but when the Shaman who'd damned his life not four years past simply fluttered her lashes at him and spoke pointedly of time, the scoundrel finally let himself start to relax.

He only slightly flinched as the ship's captain clapped him on the shoulder, pushing encouragingly in the table's direction. Realizing he was damned whether he fled or not, Muirin simply grit his teeth upon the realization that, no matter what comes next, he'd rather have another drink before destiny came knocking.

"Y'could say we're old bus'ness partners, I s'pose." The scoundrel spoke as he crossed to the table, pulling out a chair across from Maziri without ever taking his eyes off her. He sat, blinking once in her direction as lunar silver clashed against verdant green. "Wouldn't'cha, Ziri? How long's't bin, anyhow?"

Muirin knew exactly how long it had been since they'd last crossed paths, though he didn't exactly count the days. Instead, he used the best timepiece arcana could buy, counting off the inches of tail that disappeared along his forearm, counting his tattoo's scales until, eventually, every last one has been consumed.

When a wooden cup was finally at hand, the scoundrel was quick to down a good portion of it in a single long draw, staring daggers at Maziri over his vessel's rim.

 

[Fennec]

Ziri made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a giggle, "Noh."

Business would imply someone had been paid their due.

"An I tink it been some years," if honey were poisonous that would be the exact state of the smile she drizzled upon him, "four ... come five."

Hasaar looked between the two, a hairy brow arched in intrigue, and gave his head a shake, "Well," he slapped the table with his hand for lack of a shoulder, "sounds like a good reason teh celebrate, eh? Five years is a long time. Been married teh Martha damn near five years, I swear ... where did the time go." He chortled.

Ziri's smile persisted.

 

[Muirin]

Muirin let a long breath out of his nose, propping an elbow on his end of the table and rubbing at the stubbly scruff of his chin-- He couldn't help but think he'd be debt free and unbound if someone had requested a less impossible task from him.

"Oh, no, not five yet, is't?" Muirin's eyes narrowed at Ziri, darkening just slightly; If five years had come to pass, he'd undoubtedly be a leper, or blind, or better yet, dead. The scoundrel was pulled from his musings as Hasaar interrupted once again, slapping at the table like an old friend. Yet Muirin's gaze still lingered on Ziri's eyes, betraying her cruel intent that the captain somehow missed.

"Send Martha m' love, lad. She's kept y'on the straight n' narrow." The scoundrel couldn't help but wonder how different his life would be if he'd managed to negotiate a better deal. After all, it wasn't the payback that bothered him so, but the 'interest' if he failed to follow through. Life would have been so much easier if he'd offered to be her betrothed should he fail to repay his debt, or some other supernatural faff like that. As it stood, it was the not knowing that kept him rattled.

Well, that and the way she smiled so acridly at him. Even the white of her teeth was growing unsettling.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

The sailors and soldiers all thumped the table vigorously by way of thanks, causing beer to slosh. Some of the tavern's more respectable patrons shot irritating looks their way. Poor people, if only they knew what was to come.

Vasco ran a hair through hair that shone like muddied gold, "These two brawny Allirians are brothers, Diego. Like you and Hernan minus a decade or two, eh? Meet Eusebius and Simocatta, they're looking for work and we could use a few extra hands, you know."

The hidalgo eyed the two sailors, sizing them up for what they were worth. Both had olive skin and curly dark hair, but neither could've been over twenty.

"Have they seen combat?"

"Lost their father in that Naga raid. Looking for payback. And both are excellent slingers."

Diego wasn't sure what good a lead sling bullet would do against one of these giant snakemen, but they did need a few more hands who knew these waters, especially as they'd have to sail past the pirate infested bayou.

"Fine, fine. Welcome both of you. Pedro, get them contracted, then talk to Hernan. Tonight, though, tonight is for drinking."

The wine arrived and they all quaffed a few gulps before taking time to breathe and wiping their mouths appreciatively. Vasco nodded to himself, absently playing with his mustache. "This is excellent wine, thank you Kishou. What business brings you to Alliria?"

 

[childish brandino]

When the wine arrived, Kishou took two large gulps from the cup. He listened to Diego's interaction with Vasco.

He almost choked on the wine when the two young men were quickly accepted.

That easy? Am I a fool for using this method? That was my last silver. If I knew it would be that easy maybe I would've drawn my sword and waved it like a brainless son of a who-

"-brings you to Alliria?"

Kishou turned his head to Diego. He gave him a friendly smile, "It is the least I could do, I hold the Cortosi in high regard. Alliria is just where I ended up. I have no particular business here, but it was where my last contract expired. I was employed under the Allirian trade council as they expanded their trade route through the Taagi Baara Steppes to Bhathairk." He paused to take a drink, much smaller than his first two, "The job was simple. I simply made sure that all the proper people made it to their destination and back to Alliria alive. The contract was fulfilled in this city, so this is where I settled. I pick up odd jobs within the city here and there, just to avoid becoming to idle and complacent."

Kishou nodded to himself before turning his attention back to Diego, "I could the ask the same of you? I heard something about the Naga?"

Kishou began to put the pieces together. The start of a campaign east, to the fabled Naga gold? The potential fortune has crossed Kishou's mind many times, but he never had the means to venture that far east.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

"Oh? Then you are a soldier of a fortune, no? We share the same profession," Diego grinned and clapped Pedro on the back.

Pedro nodded, "Veritable and verifiable brigandage."

"Rodeleros routiers," added Vasco.

More laughter.

Diego held a hand up and his men quieted, though all still grinned. "But you asked of our purpose." He leaned close, conspiratorial. "Torleon has funded an expedition to the isle of Nagai. A place infested with savage snake men, but Kishou, they say there are cities there made of gold."

"And a fountain of sorcery that will keep you forever in your youth, like an elf," added Pedro.

"Jewels the size of apples," Diego's dark eyes were wide and gleaming in the tavern's candlelight.

Vasco raised his cup of wine. "Beaches made of crushed pearl."

"All new, undiscovered land. Ours for the taking," Diego's fervor faded, quickly as it came. "Ah but first the snake men will have to be dealt with, eh?"

"No," Vasco contradicted, reaching out to encircle the waist of a passing barmaid, "first we conquer familiar lands."

She slapped his hand away.

"Vasco the conqueror," Diego chuckled.

 

[childish brandino]

Rodeleros...

Kishou couldn't even begin to pronounce that. The descriptions which Diego and his men voiced, however, was language even Kishou could understand.

Kishou couldn't help but laugh along with Diego, "Golden cities certainly does distract one from the considerable danger such a journey holds, no? As far as I'm aware, there is just about no knowledge of these snake men.."

Kishou couldn't help but hide excitement at the thought of delving deep into unknown land, facing unknown danger with his sword. Kishou had attempted to mask his innate ferocity, but simply imagining the adventure that awaits temporarily removed that mask. A devilish grin stretched on Kishou's face. It was a stark contrast to the jolly impression that he first gave to the Cortosi men. He did well to compose himself following the brief moment of excitement.

He leaned in to Diego, ever so slightly. He spoke lower, out of earshot of the two young Allirian brothers, "Pardon me if asking this is presumptuous, but those two.. Do you think that their presence would be beneficial in facing such unknown dangers?"

He hoped that such a question didn't sour the mood, and he asked quietly to avoid damaging the honor and integrity of the two young men.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Diego shrugged and whispered back, “On the waves? Yes, Allirian sailors are very fine. On land? Eh, who can say. But they want revenge for their father and who am I to deny them such a right under the Sun?”

He swirled his wine and looked into the dark depths, lost in some memory, then came back, “What of you? A warrior like you would be a great asset, and there are riches to be earned, my friend.”

 

[Azmelqar]

"The uncharted South-East?" Hernan echoed, somewhat surprised. "You are a braver commander than I, then."

At least Hernan had an idea of the trouble he was getting into. The South-East was completely unknown. A mystery that likely did not have the proportionate amount of gold to make it worth solving. Nagai, on the other hand...

Hernan shrugged to Ermengarde 's question, but never lost his grin. "Civilize, yes. We will teach them the error of their ways. Then they will voluntarily stop their raiding in the Reach - and reward us with gold as thanks for their enlightenment."

He was clearly joking. And yet, part of Hernan did wish it would turn out that way. But a larger part did not want Diego to grow bored, or for all the steel packed into the ships be for nothing. What a dull story that would be; bereft of glory and valor.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou nodded to Diego’s inquiry, “I would only shame myself if I were to flee from such an opportunity.”

Kishou finished off his cup in three large gulps. He let out a happy sigh, “If you would have me, I’d be honored! But before we get to that, I believe we have other matters at hand!”

The silver coin would last a few more rounds, enough to thoroughly drunken the patrons that Kishou shared a table with. He may as well get the most out of his last silver. Kishou still felt somewhat foolish, seeing that his roundabout method was unnecessary. However, in the end he fulfilled his goal. Kishou happened to take quite a liking to Diego as well, so he did not count it as a major loss.

Kishou stood and waved to get the attention of the same young barmaid from before. He hollered to her, his voice echoing off the walls of the inn.

“More drinks for my friends!”

He was met by thumbing and cheering.

 

[Ermengarde]

»Oh don't flatter me, though a known foe is better than an unknown one. There's little information on what lies beyond, hopefully an estabilished port town will change that...- Though no scholar knows much of what lies deep within Nagai.« Ermengarde watched Hernan Alcantara, how his expression changed, yet remained at the grin.

»Gold, heh? It always boils down to that, doesen't it.« The woman rose a brow, smirking.

 

[Fennec]

"She kept me pockets empty, what she kept- hehf," Hasaar took a swig of his own drink, brows dancing at his receding hairline, "she's'a, mm, what do yeh say..." the man rubbed his fingers on his left hand together, the same sign for costly.

"En-tah-pryze-in?" Ziri filled in, using the word she'd only just learned from the man shortly before Muirin showed up.

Enterprising.

Hasaar snorted, "Yeh might say that."

"Cap'n," a deckhand stuck his neck in through the door, scrawny fellow with a nose too big for his face, "we 'ave Miz'ziri's shipment ready. Y'wan'it up top?"

"No, no," Hasaar quickly waved him off, "keep it below. We be out in a mo'. How's bout a look at that box, m'lady?"

"Im tah prallaa..." Ziri drawled, leaning forward to pinch at the man's arm in a strangely affectionate way, "ha."

"Awright then. Let me just top'ya off, we'll make an event o'it. Yeh comin, Mohin?" that hairy eyebrow flapped Muirin's way as the Captain and his company stood from their seats.

"Kohm," a dark hand reached out towards the scoundrel, beckoning in a way that was less an invitation and more a command. Her tone was flat, strong, and persuasive.

 

[Muirin]

Muirin only half listened to Hasaar's whinging. This wasn't the first time he had lady-troubles, and it certainly couldn't be the last. One eyebrow rose on the scoundrel's part as Maziri used a word in excess of three syllables-- Now that, he knew, was a rarity quite unlike the captain's weddings.

"Feckin' exto'tionate, mo' like..." Muirin muttered into his cup, taking another long draw of rum and finally breaking off from Ziri's game of eye contact; He didn't know whether or not a witch could steal his soul through his gaze alone, but there was a saying about windows and he didn't want to find out.

Luckily, some young lad or another poked his head in and called for the captain's attention. Muirin didn't recognize the lad, but that came as no surprise. For some reason or another, Hasaar ran through deckhands as readily as Martha ran through coinage.

The captain and she-devil went back and forth for a few moments, and the scoundrel used the time to down the rest of his meager drink. He'd walked back into the fire, and Hasaar hadn't even bother to top of the glass? Typical luck, that is. Muirin did cock an eyebrow yet again as Ziri tugged at the cap'n's sleeve, though, as if that was the only part of their discussion to garner his attention.

When asked if he'd be tagging along for whatever this 'celebration' was, he simply raised a hand and took a quick, fully imaginary drink from his cup. "Nah, no, y'two run along, Oi'll be heya--" His excuse was cut off, though, by a strong, dark hand being offered in his direction. Blast. His one chance to get out of there, and it was blown.

Muirin pressed a fist to the table, pushing himself up onto his feet and giving his broad shoulders a languid roll. The grin he turned to Ziri was dripping with malice. "All means, 'en, lead th'way."

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Amidst the cheers, a new group entered the tavern. These men wore chain mail beneath tabards. Arming swords bounced at their hips. They had fair skin and fine, yet grim features.

The cheering died out suddenly.

"Anirians," Diego hissed.

Pedro and Vasco glared openly.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou was quick to notice the change in atmosphere.

"Anirians, you said?"

He was about to verbalize his confusion, but his gaze followed his new Cortosi allies. He observed the men and immediately concluded that they were Anirians- he had spent years in Vel Anir. He thought for a moment, and remembered the Quatreville Wars. That would explain the sharp glares. Kishou personally did not take part, but he heard many stories from his old Cortosi friend who did fight. He recalled the bitter tone his old ally spoke with when describing the conflict. Kishou looked between his new friends, and was thankful that they had only been through the first round of drinks.

One of the Anirians, the one at the front, caught the vicious looks from Pedro and Vasco. Kishou counted six of them. He wouldn't count on Eusebius and Simocatta to be of any help in a potential fight, for they were unarmed. Diego and Kishou sat the closest to the entrance of the spacious tavern, with Kishou sitting at the end of the table.

Kishou noticed the leading Anirian say something to the rest of his group. It could not be heard, but the group visibly laughed at the comment. They approached the table.

"Cortosi warships... Cortosi dogs... No wonder there was such a vile stench lingering on the docks tonight!" The lead Anirian howled with laughter, which was met by the five behind him. He leaned in closer, with a smug grin on his face. "Ah! I know what the smell is! It's like the smell that you Cortosi filth-" Spittle flew from his mouth, with most of it showering the side of Kishou's face and the rest of it landing on the table, "left behind as we razed Valladolid!"

The Anirian puffed out his chest, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply through his nose in a reminiscent manner, "What a good memory to have.. and- Ha! I recalled us toppling.. Oh, what was it now.. The San Miguel Cathedral! That hideous building made to worship your silly Sun God." He waved his hand dismissively at the mentioning of the Cortosi's religious idol, and he had a pompous tone as he recalled the sacking of Vallodolid.

Kishou certainly wasn't feeling fortunate about his current seat between Diego and the Anirian, but all rational thought left his head as Anirian saliva misted the side of his face. Thoughts concerning his new Cortosi friends were replaced by muddled and incoherent thoughts of anger and frustration.

 

[Azmelqar]

Hopefully those intrepid pioneers would find something worthwhile on reaching their destination. A port town with no trade to sustain it would quickly be abandoned. Hernan knew of very few people who would make such a journey only for the opportunity to be a subsistence farmer. That is, if that land would even support crops...

Oh, look at him, now. Fussing over someone else's expedition, when there was still work to be done for his own.

"What can be said? Gold is gold. I am more looking forward to meeting Naga than the riches, I must admit," he said. "Wealth without excitement is the domain of moneylenders."

Someone shouted in Cortosi far behind him, and Hernan turned to see an altercation farther down the docks. One of the quartermasters yelling at a fallen crate. Or more accurately, the poor sailors who had let it drop. Hernan grimaced. There was always a scene, somewhere. Couldn't people just behave?

"I am afraid I must beg my leave for now, Lady Ermengarde . May you find favorable winds."

He bowed delicately, and saw himself off.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

The seat flew backward as Diego shoved away from the table and got to his feet. A dark glee shone in his eyes, almost as if he had been waiting for an excuse to let loose.

"Typical Anirian. All bark and no bite, unless you've got your pet mages with you." Diego peered past the group, "And I don't see any of them."

Vasco and Pedro stood. The Allirian brothers looked at each other, then they joined the Cortosi.

"You'll be happy to hear we solved a problem for you, though. Caught your wandering knight exile, Godfrey Urahil, south of the Sister." Diego smirked, "His bleached skull now bedecks the gate of Torleon."

The Anirian speaker's eyes widened, then the tension snapped like a taught rope, both groups exploding into action. The mail clad Anirian swung a fist that caught Diego in the face, twisting his head to the side and crushing his lips, sending blood and spit into the air.

Diego came back with a red smile and sick, delighted laughter. "So you can bite!"

The Anirian swung again, but Diego stepped backward and let him catch air. The others were embroiled, fists flying, kicking, fingers gouging. Diego reached over, seized the flagon he'd been using, and smashed it over the Anirian's head. Once. Twice.

The man stumbled backward, head sopping wet and cursing. Diego followed him. Their fists flew in a wild series of exchanges, both men fighting as if they were half-drunk from the blows to their heads. The Anirian seized him by the lapels and swung him onto the bar, dragging him along the wood surface and through the drinks. Diego's head lolled and he found himself being carried bodily, he struggled briefly, then the Anirian hurled him through the tavern's window with a great shattering. Diego rolled out onto the street, bits of glass crunching beneath him. He lay there groaning, trying to catch his breath.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou swiftly rose to his feet only a moment after Pedro and Vasco. He heard two more stools behind him scrape the wood floor, which Kishou assumed were the Allirian brothers. They were the burliest out of the mixed group.

The islander’s thoughts were abruptly halted as Diego’s face was struck by the Anirian. Pedro and Vasco were crimson-colored blurs as they rushed past Kishou and each engaged an Anirian. The two groups mashed together into a torrent of pure thoughtless violence.

An Anirian rushed Kishou. Instinctively, Kishou’s leg lashed out like a viper striking its’ prey. The sole of Kishou’s boot met the oncoming soldier’s jaw. The momentum of the rushing soldier clashed against the strength of Kishou’s kick, which caused the man to crumple to the floor for a moment before unsteadily rising to his feet.

Kishou then delivered quick strikes to the man while avoiding telegraphed, but powerful punches. Kishou was rather tall himself, yet the Anirian looked down on him. Also, it felt as if fists were clashing against a wall. His knuckles screamed each time his fists cleanly connected to the soldier’s face. The sturdy chainmail prevented Kishou from striking the man’s midsection.

His attention was averted for a moment as he heard a great shout followed by an even greater shattering sound.

“Diego!” Kishou called to the man who was just feebly launched out of the tavern. The moment of distraction gave the Anirian a moment to tackle Kishou into the ground. His back hit the hard floor first, and then his head snapped back and made contact next. The man felt like an immovable weight, and he bombarded Kishou with tightly balled fists. All he could do was cover his face and reduce the damage.

Suddenly the Anirian was knocked off by one of the Allirian brothers. Kishou couldn’t put a name to the young man’s face.

I apologize for thinking you were useless, whichever one you are.

Kishou felt grateful as he rose to his feet. His face felt sore, and would no doubt be swollen and bruised in the morning.

“Help Diego!” Kishou heard either Pedro or Vasco call out, though he couldn’t exactly discern who spoke.

He rushed out of the tavern, and saw the back of the Anirian soldier approaching Diego. The man’s arming sword was out of its sheath, and Diego was still struggling to rise off the dirt.

Kishou’s left hand wrapped around the mouth of his scabbard, and he rushed to help his friend.

“Diego, to your feet!” Kishou desperately shouted. He was too far to jump between the Anirian and Diego.

 

[Fennec]

Ziri and her orchestra of gently clattering bone and shell ornaments followed Hasaar from his cabin and out onto the open deck of the Salty Maiden. Stride slowed while the Captain took a moment to order a few men to clear other crates, Muirin soon found his left arm claimed by those same dark fingers.

"Mwe-reen," said the woman, the gentle nature of her hands looped at his arm as if he were escorting her to a magnificent gala deceiving in ways only he knew and could feel - like the burning sensation currently overtaking the mark hidden on his flesh under his sleeve, "tyme iz prey-shus. Dis snek on ya arm - I tink it wan' mohr. Wud ya lyk ta giv' it mohr?"

 

[Muirin]

The scoundrel's arm went to snap back to his side, but the strangest burning sensation held his limb in Ziri's grasp like the fangs of some great cobra. He turned to the woman at his side, moving slowly to hide just how painful her touch had become. A grimace spread across Muirin's face as he gimbled through the suffering, head half cocked to the right.

"Oi think tha' snake's taken quite 'nough already, don'chu?" His teeth where nearly clenched as he spoke, spittle flying from between his lips as malice dripped from his very words. That same scent of ozone seemed to permeate the deck, and a growing thrum of power looped down into Muirin's forearm. Before his anger could build to a proper discharge, though, the burning in his arm seemed to rob him of his gathered power, sending a shocking pain back up his arm.

The scoundrel nearly went to the floor, but he managed to catch himself after pain buckled his knees by a few inches. "Now how's about y'take yer damned hand off'a me?" His voice was more growl than words, and his eyes gleamed with barely withheld aggression. Still, despite the man's best efforts, Maziri could tell he was entirely at her mercy.

 

[Fennec]

That gentle grip remained, like a maelstrom gently rocking a ship to its doom at sea.

"It tek wat be owed," a honeyed snarl in time with the jolting rebound that made the man's knees buckle. Powerful he might be, but she feared not what she created. Gentle lapsed briefly for a stinging reminder, subsiding to a dull burn deep down into the very bones of his arm.

Her hands did not release from their escorted position, all strength in what modicum of mercy she had for him.

"Six monts mohr," said the woman, tone calm, eyes leveled like molten moonlight upon him, "in retarn, ye do sumting for me."