“Say… guard. Is it such a righteous duty to oversee so little prisoners? Are you serving your dear Son Of The Golden Hawk well in such a dreary place? Is that all you’ve amounted to? A guard for Ordinaries?” Osias said coldly, sharing and passing around what little rotten and sloppy meals were with the other prisoners.
The guard was beginning to leave after handing out the little food for the haggard Red Feather prisoners.
“Not a word? I knew a man who didn’t speak much like that… Though, I don’t know where he’s gone.” Osias said whimsically.
“Maybe he’s lost… are you as well? Come, come! Take revenge. Perhaps one of these… valiant soldiers of the Red Feather ravaged someone you knew outside your gates. You can strike us down like the other guards, quell your rage.” Osias continued, mockingly waving a hand over the dozens of prisoners eating their foul meals.
Noticing the First Ordeal guard’s lip quiver ever so slightly at his remarks, Osias sneered maniacally.
“Visalros, the warden’s called for you. Thank that whore you call mistress.” The nameless guard hissed out, anger edged his words.
The bars opened and Osias allowed himself to be dragged out, feigning his weakness.
“That whore you call is someone who could have your head lopped off in a second. Does that remind you of what we Red Feathers done outsi—”
“Audacious cell-rat!”
Suddenly Osias was fiercely hauled onto the ground, and the lone guard began to kick and stomp on him. Slyly shaking his head away from sight, Osias rolled and hunched with each crunch of the grimy boot against his skin to maintain his guise of weakness.
It was just a single First Ordeal guard, and Osias felt as though he could simply crush the armored neck of this guard and take his weapon, but he decided against it.
He needed to get past the behemoth of the gate at least to reach the Second Ordeal warden and then the many other guards standing in his way… It was too early for such a ploy.
It’s been a week since Ousal passed away — the body being overridden in maggots, flies, and the odd rodent. By now, Osias and the others have grown disturbingly accustomed to such things.
Today was the day of the month Osias could be escorted outside. It was a small ‘privilege’ of sorts he obtained over years of proving himself as the strongest among the prisoners.
The nameless guard led him through the same series of stairs and through a familiar corridor before opening into a dreary courtyard — the same one all the prisoners trudged through three years ago.
Osias sighed heavily as he followed the guard.
“Say, can’t you release me from these shackles? You’ve already beaten me.” Osias asked.
But the guard didn’t respond… it seemed that a few kicks were enough to satisfy the quick outburst, as he returned to silence.
Eventually, they reached the pristine white walls outside the main gate, but their destination wasn’t inside, rather it was one of the higher-class buildings that surrounded it.
It was a grand pavilion — a word and name that Osias had come to learn as he spent his time here. He was sure that such things likely existed in the many mountain cities of the Tailed Brothers in their Heartlands, but he has yet to travel there.
Entering the vast, but empty stone courtyard, Osias’s eyes changed as they narrowed dearly at the many signs of battle. Upturned bricks, slashes of immense depth against stone, aged blood…
‘Still early, huh.’ Osias thought inwardly.
This place was called the Autumn Wreath Pavillion. It was one of the two jewels of the House of Silk — the most distinguished Union of courtesans.
Every Autumn, a grand tourney was hosted for all the renowned families under the Golden Hawk. They’d be matches between Ordinaries and all the way to the Third Ordeal.
However, with the war ongoing, there were fewer of the most powerful families present other than the wastrels who couldn’t contribute to both their families or the war effort.
If anything, Osias was surprised such a thing could continue despite an attack, no matter how quickly was quelled, reaching their walls.
…The nameless guard brought him to the steps of the luxurious wooden pavilion before stopping.
“You know this, kneel.” The guard said coldly.
Osias stared blankly at the guard for a second before obliging, lowering himself to both knees atop the steps before uttering mockingly:
“You should heed your own commands.”
Before tucking his chin tightly as he bowed, Osias caught a small irking on the face of the guard and faintly smiled.
“Mistress of Rolling Silk… I’ve brought your prisoner.”
The tone of the guard was cold and dismissive, and from behind the thin regal panels that closed the entrance, Osias’s ears perked up as he heard some shuffling.
Soft steps, leisurely and elegant as a gentle dragging of fabric traced the movements.
The thin panel was pulled and revealed from within the pavilion was a lone woman covered in thin sheets of white silk. All of her face was hidden behind a soft veil and so was much of her body, yet Osias didn’t think any number of clothing could hide her figure.
“You may leave… send my dearest regards to the Black Warden.”
Without another word, the guard hurriedly disembarked, leaving Osias alone in the presence of this gorgeous woman.
“Visalros, come inside.” She said softly, yawning lightly as she headed inside once more.
“Yes, Mistress Seol.” He replied subserviently, raising himself off the steps.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Osias closed the thin panel behind him as he entered the luxurious interior. The tower was quiet, almost eerily so. The interior was dimly lit and had extravagant furnishings. Colorful clothes of the most flagrant designs hung enmass along the walls stretching to a large white bed. Odd ornaments made by some of the finest craftsmen in Qussai lay scattered messily alongside a drawer with a great mirror mounted atop.
There he found his Mistress undressing the silk veil that covered her face, exposing more of her beautiful features and snow-white skin. But the most striking feature was her eyes.
Mistress Seol had eyes unusually white, even making Osias intrigued at how strange they looked when he first caught her attention.
He has heard from her before — that countless men fell infatuated when she simply unmasked herself, yet none has shared her bed despite being the most ravishing courtesan.
But Osias didn’t see her as such.
“Visalros… you spoke well. But you mustn’t offend the guards, even I cannot protect you inside the Black Warden’s keep.” She said, seating herself atop a humble high stool that didn’t fit her appearance.
“It’s thanks to your lessons,” He said curtly.
Mistress Seol laughed lightly, before responding:
“I don’t get you…. Do you withhold or do you not feel? Even after we spent a little more than a year seeing each other.” She paused and puckered her lips into a pout, “Even more than seeing.”
Osias brought himself towards her dangling legs draped in the fine silk as he returned to his usual routine whenever he was called into her presence.
She responded casually and extended her supple and bare leg, pulling up her dress as Osias clasped them with both hands.
He began to massage her feet with a delicate grace in the dimly lit quarters of this lone high courtesan.
“Your hands are rough as always.” She commented with a chuckle, “Visalros, do tell… are you ready for the tourney? I’ve heard you haven’t been chosen as much as you have in the last few months by the Black Warden.”
Osias grimaced ever so faintly but responded calmly:
“I fear he doesn’t want to anger you, and your matron if I am in danger.”
“Danger? What danger? You’re a prisoner! Besides… you know four or five of your fellow prisoners aren’t able to kill someone like you.” She said before adding with a smile, “After all… you’re fighting for me.”
In the next moment, a soft whimper sounded below her breath as Osias continued onto the other foot.
As for why Osias was so obedient…
It was because she was a Second Ordeal, and far from a weak one. Though, most importantly is because Mistress Seon’s matron was said to be the Son of The Golden Hawk’s wife.
The mysterious wife of the being that slayed a Fourth Ordeal being and almost another in a single attack.
…He continued to massage her until she finally waved him aside. Osias took a long step behind and waited patiently for her to fix her dress. As she lifted her pearly eyes at him, her face twisted to an almost lofty smile.
“Why the frown, Visalros? Do you want to continue?”
Osias paused pensively before responding lowly:
“The tourney will come soon. If I win the Ordinary line for the House of Silk… will you hold your promise?”
She stepped off her high stool, and she came closer to Osias endearingly with gentle steps, not even the boards below their feet creaked. Mistress Seol was quite tall, reaching Osias’s neck… but only if Osias didn’t lower his head.
Bringing a pale smooth hand to his chin, Mistress Seol caressed his jaw and cheek as she lifted his gaze to meet her pearly eyes.
“I keep my promises… my warrior. I’ll tell you all you wish to know of my matron that none knows as well as all else you wish to know.” She paused and pursed her lips before whispering to him, “And if you kill all those who challenge you, I’ll even grant another wish of yours if it's not too grand.”
She dropped her hand to his chest and caressed it as she danced and circled around him slowly as he stood motionless.
“Such an obedient man you are… strong as well. Gifted with such a powerful Innate Ability. A foreigner no less.”
Her hands began to strip Osias of the tattered rags that reeked of prison waste, blood, and sweat. It was… an odd sight. Upon Osias’s first impression of her, he didn’t think someone like him would garner her attention.
It was nothing more than her passing by the outer courtyard of the dreary prison as he fought four other prisoners almost a year ago.
Four soldiers-turned-prisoners attacked him as they always did. He was their teacher for so long, and they all knew they weren’t a match for him. Osias didn’t reprimand them either… it was part of his teachings to use everything they could to gain an advantage after all.
But regardless of that… his great saber did not fail to reach their hearts.
Mistress Seol saw the barbaric display, but before she left, she caught a glimpse of his face after slaying four of his fellow prisoners… and she mentioned later that his face was what made her claim him for her own.
Barechested, Osias was only barely covered below the waist as she waved around him frivolously.
“And these peculiar tattoos… truly, do you not wish to speak of your true name? I know that Visalros is not it.” She said teasingly.
Osias’s gaze remained locked on where his head sat, as he responded:
“Why do you never force me to tell you?”
She laughed once again, turning around, and came right against his nose once more with provocative eyes.
“I want to see those flinty eyes of yours tell me the truth out of your own will. The best men aren’t so easily enticed.” She said ever so closely to his face before adding, “Tell me Visalros… did these tattoos hurt you?”
He slowly brought a hand to his right temple where the centipede’s body sat menacingly before wrapping around his eye.
“They did.”
“Ah! So timid. Are you beginning to desire me?”
He didn’t respond as she put just a finger to his chest and in a blink, he was against the edge of her oversized and lavish bed.
“Say… you mentioned you loved someone in your home. You never said how she looked.”
Osias winced as he knew where she was beginning to lead him to once again. A small knot formed in his throat before he forced it down and responded meekly — something befitting his appearance.
“She was pretty, like a lone little flower atop a snowcapped mountain. Color in plains of black. Her hair was a fawn’s brown. Her eyes weren’t round, but rather sharp like an arrow. Her eyebrows only added to them like feather fletchings. She was someone who would scold me because she would care. We would share every meal together — so much so I didn’t know if it was I who was lonely or it was her… She was kind.”
“Ho… you finally speak of her.” Mistress Seol said in an unusual tone. She was still by her dresser in front of the mirror, and Osias noticed a small frown forming on the ends of her supple lips.
“Do you see me as such a precious flower?” She asked, her voice tinged with something a little frightening.
Osias felt his chest twist and tighten before he responded scornfully:
“No. I don’t. She was so much more than gorgeous.”
With that, her gaze lifted resolutely in an odd smile.
Osias blinked once more and she was suddenly in front of him with her face pressed against his bare chest in a flutter of fabric.
But despite such a gorgeous face being so close to him… he didn’t feel anything but pain. A sort of pain that felt dirty to touch, unable to wash like the prison waste he made home for three years.
His breathing turned slightly ragged, and Mistress Seol noticed it and her slight turn curled into a wry smile.
“My warrior…” She hushedly whispered, and in another blink, Osias was lying atop the center of her pale bed.
His back graced the immeasurably soft and lavish coverings, but it couldn’t get rid of the impossibly rigid and rough feeling in his throat.
Pulling his head upwards to look down his feet… he found Mistress Seol suddenly climbing coquettish atop the bed to his feet. The scattered candles illuminated her smooth, white, and undressed body.
“Come, Visalros. My warrior.” She whispered.
…Until the night ended and the bright of the morning came piercing through the long bygone ashes of a war that clouded the skies, only then was Osias escorted back to his cell’s filthy holdings.
Yet nothing inside his cell chamber felt more hideous and filthy than what filled his heart once again.