#augustday62022

Deagra caught on early, it helped that dwarves didn't often frequent areas this far south, stereotypes were accurate at times, and the humid jungles and sea air didn't agree with many of her peoples. Perhaps her choice to settle in the mountain clearing near Booty Bay had something to do with how different it was to Shadowforge, without being uncomfortably cold, of course.

Then again, stepping out onto a balcony to take in a few of vibrant waves beating on a pristine beach while drinking a cold lime cocktail was a fairly nice perk, a little gift from her to her for escaping her society before it became popular, she mused.

But yes, the dark iron trailing knew how to move without being noticed, knew how to dress without drawing attention, knew how to blend in a crowd. But she grew up leaning how to watch for assassins, he moved like them.

She kept calm, from all the unsavory lessons that came from her upbringing, she was grateful for this. She made her rounds to the shops, bargained, talked to her business associates, all the while subtly forming the magics she'd learned, drawing just a bit of energy from those she passed in the busy docks, channeling it all into her focus.

Once she left, 100 feet or so up the road out of town, she sprung her trap, a quick incantation, her would-be assassin jumped back in surprise as a fiery glyph appeared just behind him, a handsome, devilish figure emerging through the ground, Rhyalin must have been feeling particularly male today, Deagra mused, as her Sayaad emerged, working their magic quickly, the dwarf quickly lost the tension in his muscles, caught in a particularly alluring illusion.

"Mmm... he's ripe, will you be letting us have a little fun today, mistress?" They spoke in a rather singsong voice, a bit interesting as it was in their native infernal language.

Hers was more curt, her pacts may have been bound to her permanently in her childhood, the sacrifices long since made on her behalf, sins that were mercifully attributed to her parents, she'd discovered.

Putting on a seductive tone to her voice, she mewled to the captive assassin. "Hey there... what's a lovely lil' thing like you doin out 'ere?"

A cocky response. "To kill a traitor. If I come back with her head, the sons of Ragnaros will give me more power."

She puts a hand on his shoulder, tracing a finger down the muscles of his right arm, "Ohh, they sound important, who are they, how do they know about this traitor?"

"I used to work for the Stonehelms, saw how their child betrayed them, knew how she murdered her own mother after the massacre of the Senate. They were loyal to the Fire Lord, they would have been able to lead us through the death of the emporer, but she... she took it all!" He looked over at her and gave her a wink, "We'll make all those who abandoned our lord to treat with the damned Bronzebeards pay, and our slumbering lord will reward us when we being him upon the world again!"

She could feel his muscles flex, the magics were working, his look more amorous and obsessive.

A zealot. Given the choice of freedom, he chose to remain bound. to kill, to take slaves, to continue the cycle of suffering.

"Rhylian?" She coolly walked up the road toward as she spoke.

"Yes Mistress?" They responded, a hope of satisfaction in their voice.

"Have your fun. Just with this one."

She heard the sound of a whip crack, and she heard his scream.

No guilt for this one. He made his choice.

A letter arrives on what appears to be scrap paper (client-copy of a work order to repair armor?), and the message is simple. The script, however, is exquisite.

Andy,

The rotters are acting up again. Feel like a job in Plaguelands? Some of the zealous want to make some big pushes. Light and cleansing up toward the homeland, yada yada.

Could use your help. Pays’ pretty good.

And I miss you. Don’t make it a thing. Just show up.

Phae

@daily-writing-challenge

{Music}

They arrived and were received like a delegation, a group of thirteen dressed in their finest and armed to the teeth, the victim of questioning riding in front, his many wounds tended to before they set off.

Pleasantries were exchanged between Valanthriell and the staff and guards, this family was not at fault for their guest's sins, Valanthriell was clear in her distinction to the crew as they planned this meeting.

The brunt of the Conspiracy was left to wait in the dining hall, offered food and libations that were refused as the group chatted among themselves, ready to charge into the adjacent room at a moment's notice, and Valanthriell who waited in the more private and intimate room.

She had walked into a trap, Valanthriell knew this. There would never be a time that Valanthriell would be sitting at a table with her mother Fealia that was not, in fact, a trap. It wouldn't be outright and open, something underhanded, something that looked lovely but laced with poison.

First was the waiting game, Fealia was known for making the discontents wait...for hours. Five, in this case, leaving Valanthriell time to look around, pace, and then sit and stare at the door with her hand on the comm's trigger to signal an attack; a tactic as old as time, to lull the trapped into complacency, something Valanthirell would never be, there was no comfort within a thousand clicks of Fealia.

After what seemed like ages, the doors finally opened and Fealia entered with the company of two guards who stood by the door. Fealia was quite unlike Valanthriell, skin of alabaster and platinum hair curled into an elegant bun atop her head, her genetics lost in the sea of Shadowfel excellence. That was the lie, but now Valanthriell knew better, she knew the truth.

"My my, Dearest Valanthriell, you have grown more beautiful in your time away," Fealia spoke words considered complementary with the tonality of condescension. "Imprisonment does you well." Spoke with high amusement in regards to her Daughter's suffering.

"I am sure you would have me thank you for that, yes? As if I owe what I am to you." Valanthriell refused to let Fealia get a rise out of her, losing her composure would be to her detriment.

"If you had not gone through those things, the Training House, the Rift, do you truly think you would be here, challenging me? Of course, you owe me, you would be nothing without my direction in your path."

"You may have sent me to those situations but what I gained from it was my own, who I have become, the power I claim. They are all due to my own actions, and my choices and nothing about you shines within me. Face it, I do not even have your eyes, let alone anything else." Valanthriell dug at the hidden truth, the fact her Father Avandth had explained in the Shadowlands; Fealia was not her Mother, that her mother had in fact died in the effort of bringing Valanthriell to the world, that Avandth remarried quickly and the children of his first wife were raised as if they were of his second. The defining feature that separated the older three children from the youngest, they were not Fealia's and so were subject to her wrath.

"You speak as if I am not the only Mother you have ever known," Fealia replied, prodding at the wording to see just how much Valanthriell knew. "Now tell you Mother Dear, what is it you are seeking in this sudden and unannounced visit, after so long?"

"No one would believe you to be ignorant of my reasons." Valanthriell snapped in return, already annoyed but doing her best to contain the emotions, deadpanning instead of raging.

"Oh, Dearest, you misunderstand. I know you have come for a specific purpose, but I wonder which fuels you. Your child, or your lover?" Fealia all but snarled, dropping a bomb of information in that she not only held Valanthriell's child but also information on Ash, the absent father.

Valanthriell was struck, frozen in this singular moment between her child and her love. "I should have known you'd find yet another way to try to tear me down, your envy was always your defining feature. The corruption at core of this family."

"As if you know anything about what happened, what I went through..." Fealia's words were cut short by the building anger of her supposed Daughter.

Valanthriell stood, slamming her fist on the desk. "What I know is that you took the place a woman that gave her life for her child, that you were subtly cruel, until my Father's unfortunate accident. Oh yes, that freak accident that broke him mentally so you could live on as the Lady of the house while he was out of the way. Only he didn't survive, did he Fealia?"

Fealia's smug mask began to slip as things became rapidly clear, that one of the children she tormented now knew the truth.

"I have all the proof I need to tear you down to marrow!" Valanthriell slammed a file onto the table, photographs and reports detailing various crimes against nature. "You killed Avandth and propped up an imposter so you could torment us and raise your daughter above all else! You have stolen more than just our inheritance but our lives, and so much more." Valanthriell continued, moving closer to Fealia until she leaned into her face. "You will return my Daughter to me and give me all the information you have on my Husband, or I will tear you down with legal action and see you rot until your dying day, for I will visit often."

Fealia had no ability to fight back, the Shadowlands and its wealth of information was not something she had planned for or expected, there was no way to cover the truth of dead men. "Very well, she will be returned to you, say tomorrow morning, by aid of the Matron Shadowfel, the old bat has been harping to stay alongside the child. Should have killed her first." Fealia spoke of her Husband's Mother with spite, ever since her first crimes the Matron had been watching her closely.

"In the morning, fine." Valanthriell could not let the emotions she was feeling show, it was too soon, and her child was not yet in her arms. Valanthriell made her way to the door, reaching for the handle before her steps were stopped.

"I wonder how she will react, having never truly known you, after believing you were dead and losing the only parental figure she had ever known...Just a thought." Fealia stuck her final word in like a pin, meant to push that trigger and cause Valanthriell to strike, to no avail.

"I am her Mother, we will manage."

(( tw: blood (minor), injuries))

"Once I fix your hand, you will be the perfect vessel... and I will have my vengeance on Ulfar and every fool to take his side!"

Brigitte jolted awake with a cry, the cakcling, evil laughter still echoing in her mind. Once she managed to get her breathing under control, the thornspeaker snarled a curse.

Word Count: 1000 Summary: Neatnick Iranji stops dirty work, only to head off to more dirty work. Warnings: Blood, Iranji

@daily-writing-challenge

Iranji had brought the Glittering Prize into Bilgewater Harbor, taking advantage of his new working relationship with the Frostbite Contingent to get her into drydock for cleaning and repairs. As she was winched out of the water, he frowned at the barnacles and other sealife that had taken up residence on her hull. There was going to be a lot of scraping in the future of the drydock workers assigned to the ship.

The rest of the crew began the process of preparing for shore leave, leaving the deck and common areas loud and rowdy, but Iranji moved for his quarters, quietly changing into the most worn pants he had. That done, he found the person in charge of the crew doing work on the Prize, and told them he would be assisting.

“You’re payin’ us ta do th’ work, pal.”

“She’s my ship,” he said, squaring his shoulders and staring down at the goblin.

A few minutes later he was hanging off her side by a rope, scraping away all the sealife that had accumulated over the past few months she’d been in the water. The work was smelly, and filthy, and damp, and a large part of him was internally screaming about this fact, but… He took care of the Prize. He had been doing so for years. The work was worth the discomfort, if it kept her from rotting. 

He had just fallen into a rhythm and begun humming an old favorite song of his when the radio he’d been keeping at his belt for the past week hissed to life. He stopped working and went quiet, hanging still on the side of the ship as his new associates discussed needing to send personnel to the Deadmines. 

He didn’t recognize most of the voices involved in the conversation, but when the call came in that they ideally needed one more person, he keyed up and spoke for the first time: “I’m free.”

He was on the right continent, at least. Once they confirmed they needed him, he climbed back up the rope onto the deck of the Prize. He cleaned himself up, strapped into his armor, and then tracked down the ship’s mage to get a portal as close to Westfall as possible. As she conjured up the portal, he whistled sharply, and Port and Starboard flew down from where they’d been perched on the mast, settling on each of his forearms.

They knew the drill; their talons gripped his wrapped arms firmly as he entered the portal, and the three of them passed through without issue.

****

Iranji spent most of the job watching the others interact, logging away their strengths, dynamics, and the like. He quickly decided that he liked them, though quirks abounded. It was unclear to him why Zimble, who couldn’t safely go into water, had chosen to assist in this particular venture given that it was a pirate cave full of saltwater. But, the mages clearly didn’t mind accommodating him: they decided to create an ice bridge to approach the ship they needed to scout. The ice proved difficult for the augmented goblin regardless, but Iranji didn’t mind carrying Zimble on his back when it was needed. He’d been in situations where it was necessary before. His captain often joked she kept him around for the heavy lifting.

That changed a bit closer to their goal. He wasn’t quite sure how Zimble ended up covered in blood– well, he knew the how, but didn’t understand the why–but he immediately told the goblin that he would no longer be getting carried if needed. The thought of touching blood made Iranji’s skin crawl, and he full-body shivered.

But, of course, the day had other plans for him. Once they found the people who appeared to be his new employer’s enemies, everything went sideways very quickly. Mako ended up frozen in ice when her own spell was blasted back at her. Zokkine grabbed a very nasty-looking totem and started vibrating like a tuning fork, and then Zimble grabbed it from him and completely shut down. And naturally, the ship ended up on fire, which meant they all needed to move very quickly while all of this was happening.  

Not the worst crisis he’d been in aboard a ship. Iranji scouted a way out, smashed the ice gluing Mako to the deck with the butt of his gun, then moved for the other two goblins. They got the totem out of everyone’s hands and smashed to pieces as the fire crept closer. Zokkine was scrambling to pick up shattered bits of totem. Once Iranji realized Zimble was still out of it, he gritted his teeth and picked him up, blood and all.

Iranji tried to keep it from bothering him. He really did. But even though they were in very real danger, knowing that blood was transferring to his bare skin distracted him far more than it should have. He wasn’t holding on to his cargo well, and as a result he tripped, sending Zimble over the edge of the ship.

Thankfully, the mages slowed everyone’s fall. Iranji landed on his ass, pride hurt more than anything. They booked it out of the cave to the sounds of screaming and explosions. That, too, wasn’t unusual for Iranji.

He stuck around afterward to get more of a sense of why they’d gone in and what they had accomplished, mostly listening to the conversation as he checked over Port and Starboard and surreptitiously tried to get some of the blood off his chest. Eventually, though, it became too much to handle without making an ass of himself. He excused himself so that he could go get clean and changed.

A few hours later, he was freshly-scrubbed and in fresh clothes… but hanging over the side of the Glittering Prize, scraping at her hull. No matter what he’d just dealt with, she still needed work done.

August 26 - Day 6 Zealous/Rot

( Companion Piece to Aerden's Day 6 )

Pyraelia glanced over at her communicator as it chimed the piano etude she’d recorded to play specifically for Aerden’s contact record; it had been, perhaps, a little zealous of her to figure out a particular piece for the people in her life she was closest to and then sit for hours at her baby grand until she felt it was just right, but it was perfect and personal. Was it so wrong to have something that immediately made you smile? 

Then again, it might’ve been the specific person in this instance. But what was so wrong with that, either? 

‘Hey! Wanna smoke some thistle & mess around? Daj is gone, so we got the apt to ourselves all night ;)’

He’d probably blushed when he sent that, the same way the forwardness made her own cheeks go flush — but she did appreciate it, especially with them both trying to re-settle into his being home after all the time away. They were both adults, and knowing what he wanted definitely felt good. Partially because it was her, partially because he could trust her enough to ask so directly. 

She tapped away at a message, her teeth set into the corner of her lower lip as she tried to not be so pleased.

‘That sounds like a lovely way to spend the evening, give me 30min? Going to stop by the new cookie cart + get some dumplings for later.’ 

Besides, she had to clean up a little, and slip into something a little more sexy under her hoodie and pajama shorts. That probably didn’t matter so much, but she certainly liked her lingerie. 

It struck her immediately when she finally made it to his apartment door that there was something a bit… off. Not in a dangerous way. Not even in a way she recognized fully, even though in the waning dark hours she felt like she might’ve brushed close enough to understand some part? After all — hadn’t she fallen into a similar state of strange decay after going from doing so much with the Magistry and her family’s noble business to absolutely nothing?

Rudderless, but limitless. 

Wildly different circumstances, not at all comparable. 

She was thinking too much at a time when she should be thinking not at all. The drag of his mouth across her neck as his fingers remembered the right notes to press in the most brilliant way slingshot her focus right back where it was meant to be. 

If he wanted a distraction, she would certainly be a damned wonderful one.

Chapter 3: Third Wheel Characters: Keith Summers, Carter Summers, Hayzel Baker Rating: Teen Notes: Daily Writing Challenge Prompt: Rot - First Chapter - -Previous Chapter- -Next Chapter-

Zealous / Rot ( @daily-writing-challenge @serararku )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Warning: Blood and Violence

Theme: Wardruna - Skugge

The desert tribes of the Seeker of the Sun Miqo’te live in a harsh and unforgiving land. It rains only three or four months of the year, and only a few days in each month at that. Water is scarce and therefore precious, both to the animals that viciously fight each other over it, and to the people that hunt them. Bravery alone isn’t an impressive feat out here; you are either brave, insane, or dead. Heroic deeds are the norm here in Thanalan, with dying for your people being the most a common warrior can accomplish. That is why being called a coward or craven sits among the highest of insults; you aren’t just disrespecting them, you are disrespecting all their past deeds and efforts to look out for their own. A coward cannot defend their own people. They cannot be relied upon. They are worse than useless– a detriment to everyone around them. S’era, Firstborn Daughter of Rarku the Red knows this, as does E’zohl the Howler. He never took his eyes off her while his hateful glare only worsened. He was furious, not because she called him a coward, but because she was partially right; dying at her hand would only throw his whole tribe into disarray until another Tia took his place and his breeding rights– unearned and undeserved. To call upon his champion would make him look weak in the eyes of every tribe in Thanalan. But it was an urru’shun… he had no choice but to answer the call to a duel.

“Name the terms.” He snarled, red in the face and eager to spill her blood.

S’era was quick to answer. “Victory takes all! Name your champion!” S’vahli clenched his jaw as he watched in silence, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. The Zu Tribe wasn’t the strongest or fiercest in the land but they were certainly up there… and should S’era fail this urru’thun, then not only would he lose her, but all his tribewives. His only son would be in terrible danger as well; he was barely two months old but in all likelihood E’zohl would kill him, either by his own hand or by wilderness itself when he would force the mother to abandon him in the desert. S’vahli would lose his breeding rights, and would be unable to claim his title again. A lot was riding on her victory from her outburst… too much. She turned to give him a reassuring half-smile, and in return he nodded in agreement. It was already far too late to protest.

“I name E’magmi the Storm’s Chorus!”

The crowd fell silent before splitting like the Red Sea. A woman twice S’era’s age and three films taller lumbered forward; she looked like she had been chewed on by a dragon and spit out on several different occasions, her skin marred with deep scars and she was missing many fingers, but the cold and calculative glow in her dull green eyes is what made S’era’s ears pin against her head. She was a legendary warrior, serving her tribe for over thirty summers, and has a higher body count than most could even imagine. The spear in her grasp was almost as twisted and gnarled as she was, covered in tiny serrated thorns and stained with the blood and sinew of her victims; even a scratch by something like that would certainly lead to a slow and agonizing death. E’magmi walked with the grace of a killer, her gaze fixed on the woman that dared challenge her tribe, her family. “You may have the blood of Rarku the Red in your veins,” She started, stopping just ahead of her nunh. “But you are still a child. Speaking with an outsider’s accent. Wielding an outsider’s weapon. Tonight you face the fury of the Eft Tribe.” S’era remained, her hand gripping the hilt of her uchigatana tightly while everyone gave them more than enough room. S’vahli and a handful of others stepped in front of Miraan the Eldest to ensure she wouldn’t be harmed in this duel to the death.

“Suddenly you know when to keep your mouth shut!” E’zohl taunted her, with a laugh almost befitting his nickname. He turned to glare at S’vahli before sneering. “I look forward to filling your wives with my seed, giant!”

“Name your… weapons.” Miraan declared, her voice barely heard over E’zohl’s excited cackling.

E’magmi lifted her unnerving spear. “Vrrenshka.” She huffed, before lifting the nub that used to be her hand to raise a spiked iron shield. “Orruuth.”

S’era was quick to act, tilting up her blade but keeping it in its sheath. “Mashetani.” The foreign name brought snickers and whispers alike from all directions. Ignoring them, she lifted a curved dagger from her belt. “Blerruk.” Then she raised a hand toward the sky before bringing it down to point at her own warpaint. “Azeyma.” S’vahli couldn’t help but smile at his First Wife declaring their goddess was among her weapons. E’magmi wasn’t nearly as amused.

“May the… Warden… favor the… victor.” Slowly Miraan the Eldest closed her eyes and fell silent for a moment, as if she was communing with the goddess right now. “Begin.”

S’era was fast but E’magmi was faster. She lunged forward from an idle standing position into a full thrust of her spear with startling speed, trying to finish this fight before it even began! SHWIISH! Her quarry bent all the way back, barely missing the thorns from biting through her furs and tearing open her chest and stomach! S’era stayed low, keeping three points of contact on the dirt as much as possible while her hand never left her hilt! E’magmi swung the spear like a club, clearly trying to stick her with those disease-addled hooks since she was too nimble to simply eviscerate! The tribesmen eager for violence burst into an uproar as they danced around each other in this deadly game of cobra and mongoose. The shadows danced and jittered about from the seething flames, both opponents glaring at each other with nothing but contempt. “Draw your blade and fight me!” E’magmi snarled, sweeping at her legs; but she went even lower, her chest pressing against the ground while the barbed spear caught on her ponytail and ripped her hair band loose! A thrust at her body forced S’era to leap into the air, exposing herself for a sweeping strike to bury those thorns into her side, until-!

SHWIIING! 

She tightened her grip on her uchigatana and ripped it from its sheath, the sleek and slender blade glistening in the darkening sky on her descent toward her foe! The bonfire flames bent toward the blade and touched its razor edge, igniting it with a searing burst of light! E’magmi closed her eyes against a flash as bright as a strike of lightning, causing her to stumble back! Now was her chance! Now was her chance to kill the Storm’s Chorus!

KLANK!

As hot and bright as her blade was, it couldn’t get past that accursed shield! She landed on E’magmi and tried to plunge the blade through her defenses, but the edge of the sword bounced off the metal hull and ricocheted off! She was thrown down into the dirt with a heavy thud and only had just enough time to roll away as the spear struck the ground she was laying on just half a moment before!

Tha-thump! Tha-thump! Tha-thump! Tha-thump!

Her heart was slamming against her chest after every parry! E’magmi had the height advantage and far better reach, swinging and thrusting that blasted spear like it weighed nothing! And even if she managed to get under or around that disgusting weapon, her mighty shield kept a killing strike from connecting! The Eft Tribe shouted encouragement to their champion while the Zu Tribe did the same to theirs, with the children’s lives and nunh’s wives hanging in the balance! 

She had to focus– there had to be a way around this woman’s shield, there had to be a way to get there before the spear came back to brush against her skin! E’magmi stayed in the same position, more or less; she kept herself facing S’era as the samurai darted around, searching desperately for an opening! Every now and then she hurled a wave of flame from her blade to distract her, but it never amounted to a kill, or even an injury… every time she thought she had her, that shield came right up into her face and it was back to square one!

“What’s the matter…? Hahh… hahhh…” E’magmi sneered, watching S’era almost stumble from exhaustion. “You’re getting… hahh… slower and slower… soon… hahh… it will be over…!”

If Azeyma’s flame wasn’t the answer, perhaps Menphina’s frost was. S’era gripped at her weapon and the clean-burning flame flickering off the blade vanished, only to be replaced with a hissing mist. It slowed her down even more by making her uchigatana heavier. She raised her frosted sword up and charged at E’magmi again, showering the ground around them with ice every time their weapons clashed together! But now ice was starting to form on the tip of the spear, throwing off its perfect balance and causing the older woman to spit out obscenities amidst their duel!

S’era changed to wind to make up for lost time, launching herself high above her foe with a burst of aether that sent her skybound. Exhausted and almost too weak to continue, she switched again back to fire and poured the last of her aether into igniting her sword! Gazing upon the blinding blade was akin to staring directly into the sun, blinding E’magmi and forcing her to protect herself again by raising her shield to block any strike S’era would attempt… but in the middle of the burning flash, she vanished into thin air! Only an unmanned sword came down to bounce against the shield, twirling through the air before driving itself into the dirt. E’magmi took half a heartbeat to look around for her foe before she found her, kneeling on all fours in the corner of her vision!

SLUUNK!

“Hhhuuugh…?!” Her gasp was weak and frail, the wind in her lungs slipping out of both her throat and the hole in her back from the serrated blade buried there by her opponent! S’era wasted no time in twisting the machete before yanking it free, squirting blood across her neck and face! The Eft Tribe screamed out in despair to watch their legendary champion collapse onto her knees, dropping her spear into the dirt! It was over.

“MAGICK!” They shouted in protest, while E’zohl simply stared in a panicked shock. “CHEATER!”

Blood oozed from E’magmi’s mouth as she slumped to the side and gurgled on her failure. The intense light took everyone by surprise– even S’vahli and his warriors; none saw S’era use a shadowdancing technique to warp behind her foe, none but Miraan the Eldest. Slowly she slipped her knife back into its respective sheath and walked around to look down at E’magmi, almost too exhausted to stand for much longer herself.

“Th… tuughh…” She gargled, spitting up more but refusing to simply fall over and expire. So S’era, Firstborn Daughter of Rarku the Red, Slayer of a Hundred Shelled Men, Taabu’uuk the Lesser’s Vanquisher, and Final Pupil of the Bending Reed, plucked her sword from the sand and swiped it across the air, taking the head of the Storm’s Chorus. A proper warrior’s death.

S’vahli stepped down from Miraan the Eldest and placed her hand on S’era’s shoulder. He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead before turning to look at E’zohl the Howler, who collapsed to his knees not unlike his champion, his face pale and his eyes wide. “Zohl.” He huffed out, refusing to link his tribe with his name, as was tradition. He walked forward with his massive axe resting on his shoulder, causing his warriors and tribewives to back away to give them some room. E’zohl was trembling, his eyes closing tightly as he lowered his head, waiting for his demise and silently praying for his passing to at the very least be a quick one. But then he felt a giant hand rest upon the top of his head. “The Eft Tribe will now pay tribute to us.” S’vahli declared, his gaze sweeping across them. “As proof of your loyalty… you will surrender many wives to me– but not all. And any Tia they bring into this world as well. A boy should learn what it takes to be a proper nunh.” He released his grip on E’zohl and left him there in his shame, knowing no Tia would go after his breeding rights now that he was a lapdog for another tribe, but he was also denied an honorable death. He had nothing to say as S’vahli and S’era hugged out their victory. Nothing left to say at all.

"Cremate the Storm's Chorus." S'era commanded, pulling his attention away from the ground. "If she rots, you will too."