--- Alasse POV
My servant flees towards me, cheeks blowing hard and her scales deepening in colour. I maintain by demeanour and await her calamitous announcement.
“My Matriarch approaches …”
I slap my servant across her cheek scales to silence her prattle.
“Straighten, return to your post and with impeccable deportment usher my approaching guest into my presence.”
Her jaw drops, neither hand attempting to soothe my lesson tap, instead, reaching for her womb. I control my elation, for I am impressed by her strong maternal instinct; barely two days since fertilisation. My servant lifts and squares her shoulders, eyes sending an apology before a quick smart turn. My tent flap snaps open, a brief ray of sunshine and then shade returns.
I receive my guest while at rest, reclined upon a raised curving platform, my back supported by a severe curve, while my tail undulates along a lower gentle curve closer to the ground. Four tiny stout legs, exquisite carvings on each support the entire platform.
My guest’s entire head radiates a deep green, scales glowing. An impulse confrontation then. I lay where I am, being lower to the ground I infer she is superior. Then again not rising to meet her with a contrite greeting could be interpreted as disrespectful given her status as a Matriarch albeit of a subservient Lesser House. The wait for which she acknowledges part of the fun.
“She is barely a hatchling!”
Angry hissing, some minor spraying of venom, none of which strikes my body or platform, fortunately for her. I maintain an attentive attitude.
“Do you know if his seed has taken? Tongues tasted his lust downwind! Why don’t you answer my questions?”
Her expanding and contracting chest continues long after her accusations.
“A wine perhaps?” My arm stretches out in an honest attempt, full wine glass in hand.
Face priceless, poor thing. Thin, drawn jawline, tiny nostrils flaring, quite the effort for a Snake Kin and yet the Matriarch reaches forward accepting my token. Thinking to throw the contents down like water, she shortly gasps. The quality beyond previous experience in my assessment.
I immediately alight from my repose and with delicate arm-waving usher her into the comfortable embrace of my platform while securing her wine in my free hand until settled. I of course take a sip of my wine while she does. The green glow returns to her scales, although as I hand off her wine to her, and she sips, I believe her natural colour begins to show as she relaxes. Difficult to tell since I have solely witnessed the brighter shades to date.
“Impetuous youth?” I offer.
Her head twigs to one side for a moment, and then reason springs from behind her dark eyes. She shakes her head. Well, you never know what Lessor Houses will accept for truth in these troubling times. Maybe I should have spoken the words as a statement and not a question, oh well lesson learnt.
“I made the Captain an offer, a bit naughty of me and yet purposeful …”
Her upper torso separates from the upright curve of the platform, I suspect her interest is piqued.
“As you know he doesn’t take his orders from me … and well, I am planning on a visit and require his command’s protection …”
“What visit would require protection? Are your servants to accompany you?”
As I thought, the mere hatchling is now forgotten. The danger and protection of her House the more important at this moment.
“I have a profitable business venture to conclude and servants would be privy to … erm … too much shall we say and leave it at that.”
“As Matriarch," she hisses. "I declare what is and isn’t a danger to my House and with the Captain and his command present surely the danger is diminished? The company of your servants would prove your importance and as Matriarch, while deferring to you, I would stand behind you.”
I sip my wine, a delay or a pretence of one as I endeavour to catch this one into my schemes.
“I am uncertain if you truly understand your commitment though and to reveal this would place the profit at risk … no … apologies I don’t believe I can take the risk.” I place my empty wine glass firmly down upon my table of boxes. The rap on wood sound declares the finality nicely.
Her hands claw at the sides of the platform and I fear she will snap the delicate piece of furniture and then a glorious devouring smile erupts before me. The entire length of her two long fangs is accompanied by an involuntary swallow down the dark depths of her throat. “I swear on my House and for my House, we will undertake our duty regardless of the commitment.”
A flick at a fang and she offers a bloody finger to me. I control my beating heart, steady, now is not the time for an easy tell. Still, I delay and then a curt nod and my bloody finger joins with hers. I witness the triumph in her eyes, now is the perfect time to lower her with the truth.
--- Aphrodite POV
While unleashing violence upon the village my first thought, a hollowness echoes within my gut replacing the warm inner affirmation of approved proposed actions in days past; a drastic sobering. I ease and then retire my strong wing thrusts and instead of the envisioned dramatic entrance, most likely upon a cottage roof I glide to land behind one of the rolling hills. Athena’s wisdom, an innate part of my decision making, going without mention or opposition since my existence now extinguished, what now? The fight, flight or freeze of my Sentient Dominate is not a viable substitute before a choice and is typically an uncontrollable action after a wrong choice and therefore not a substitute for wisdom. I am undecided about its use, in fact, something to dwell upon another time.
What is wisdom then? I humbly attempt to answer my question, not able to leverage a childhood of learning, only the memories of my brief existence while under the carefree influence of a Goddess of Wisdom … Wait! What of those I have consumed, yes, their livers I have relished, their recollections even though not equivalent to a Goddess still better than nothing and yet so many ... realisation of that fact an unexpected weight. I shake my head refusing to tear, damming this rise of emotion with curses. I return to the task with an uncompromising stone resolve. The morning slides by.
Shifting, sorting, and applying my intelligence, what do I end up with …?
Taking the best option including retreat when given a choice for any given situation.
Not certain Athena would agree, it is the best I have; therefore, the next step would require an assessment of each choice I reason … simple. How to assess? SHE knew of course, in a flash of thought, by how for anyone else? Gather all the knowledge and information available for each choice and compare the risk against the promise of reward and/or chance of success … an epiphany of sorts and again, simple. How to gather? Every answer seems to end with another question and the bloody ripping into my flesh due to my clenching hands a sign I need to find an inner calm and patience.
None of the masters would be willing to divulge any information, would the slaves? I have no others to ask, or do I? Alba?
“Should I march in and demand the surrender of the chest of Sorcery Books?”
“It is an option. They could hand them over or with some bloodshed you could take ownership. Do you believe you would win? Aren’t you forgetting Arsu and didn’t you promise your Prophet a quick return?”
Of course, I need to determine my goals first. Lure all or most of the village towards Arsu. I doubt I could force them to her Dungeon Door without incentive; she will need to fetch them and given her monsters can now exit her Dungeon, a real possibility and perhaps they follow now. Secure the Sorcery Books and quickly return to my Prophet and perform the Temple consecration. I don’t know where the Sorcery Books are held though.
“Gar can lay in wait under the sediment for days before striking, perhaps time to be Gar, although you don’t have days …”
“No, not days, although I can wander invisibly amongst them …”
In my mind a tiny smirk from Alba. “Purely investigation and observation Goddess?”
“How could you doubt my intent …” What if I need to reveal myself or somehow, they pierce my invisibility, my wings will immediately mark my difference. I could revert to my original form and then [Assume Sentient Form] as a human from my Lamia abilities, I do have a choice of two.
--- Alasse POV
“Something perhaps not to your liking.” I pause to sip my wine; her smile remains in place. “Your House service duties will extend to include all present.”
Her smile doesn’t fade, perhaps my meaning is not clear.
“Others present will include other Kin and Stone Giants.”
She instantly drops her smile and then the wine glass. Are yes, she now comprehends the full extent of her oath.
Chunks of ground liberate themselves from the floor of my tent, in a masterful display of elemental control. I allow her venting to continue while I fetch another two glasses of wine. After my first sip, she returns my floor to a level surface.
“You tricked me.” Her finger stabs towards me, the green glow returning to her scales.
“Your command over the soil is impressive, why stay a Matriarch in a minor subservient House instead of seeking greater heights in another?”
Her head flicks mouth opening and then closing. I offer her a new wineglass, and she accepts.
“Dominant snake of a small nest instead of a small snake being ordered about in a large nest,” she utters triumphantly.
I nod and take another sip of my wine. She grabs at the bottle and then pauses, recovering her dignity in an instant and with professional flair fills her glass and nurses the bottle back to my table of wooden boxes.
Raising her glass, she says, “Does your Matriarch know she suckles a viper at her teat?”
“You are a Matriarch, you tell me,” I counter.
A polite smile as she returns to the platform. “What of the hatchling?”
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Before I can answer, my tent floor writhes and reforms before my eyes. A replica platform of compact soil forms, which I immediately lounge upon, nodding and smiling like a fool as I do. I realise the invocation is a distraction and I don’t care to lie.
“She is mine. I broke her therefore I am now responsible for her.”
A confusion flickers behind her eyes and then disappears. “When her brood is delivered, she can easily be disappeared within her House, no need for you to concern yourself. Consider this a benefit of our newfound relationship.”
Judging her value to me are you Matriarch since in terms of profit only the brood counts, especially if one or more are male to exert leverage over the Captain of the Guards for example.
“Once you inadvertently overhear the opportunity while performing your duty, the future of one hatchling will be irrelevant.” I shrug my shoulders for effect.
She sips her wine, smiles real delicate like and nods. I judge my acting as a complete failure.
“Can you explain the anticipated profit?”
“No.” I don’t snap the response, although the lingering distaste of paying full price for the hatchling is a factor. “What I mean to say.” I smooth out my words. “The deal doesn’t directly offer profit.” I hold up a hand calming her immediate reaction. “Depending upon your belief and conviction an untold level of power will be yours to command and with such power the certain promise of profit.”
Her lower snake body slides from the platform, torso immediately after sitting up finishing with a hand stretching out to place the unfinished glass of wine on my table. Deep black beady eyes lock onto mine. “What if I use this newfound power to usurp your position and rise above you.”
What a brazen she serpent this Matriarch is. “All power tapers to the point of a pyramid, a construct well obeyed by Snake Kin, yet this pyramid of power allows many to exist just below the point so there is no need for rivalry.” I break out a sly smile. “Friendly competition perhaps, although always with an obligation to assist.”
Her head averts, breaking our moment, a hand scratching the scales of her neck. “What of the one?”
The Matriarch is trying to fit the new power structure into countless centuries of how it has always been. The unguided self-study erupts into doubt, which is why enlightenment is best uncovered during evangelisation. How to answer now? Avoidance is impossible, she won’t leave until satisfied, of that I am certain.
“The one in power needs to distribute the power only by doing this does the one increase in power.”
She glances at me and then her head retreats shaking.
Silence and not the thoughtful kind.
She stands and slithers to the tent flap, pausing to look over her shoulder. “I am not sure what you have secured my oath for, and yet secured it is including my silence. I expect two of her brood as payment, given our new business relationship.”
I study the tent flap fluttering after her departure, the evening sunlight flaring alternatively. Once at rest, my servant draws the canvas back peering inside. I am certain she overheard, the Matriarch too deliberate.
“Stay out!” I don’t conceal the venom in my voice and the sunlight retreats as fast as my servant. Two hatchlings I muse, a normal brood so variable in number given the eggs need tending to survive until hatching and this mother is young and so birthing will be traumatic for her and the eggs. I will consider four a satisfactory yield, heartened by the fact they are promised to be strong and healthy and I allow a light smile, the magic allowing a small discretion. All to hatch as female. The Captain will have to try again, once he recovers his good sense. Mmm, my servant will probably require protection until they entangle again that is.
--- Aphrodite POV
Alba laughs freely and I can’t chastise her as the moment isn’t lost upon me. From my waist down I am naked, with no skirt or pants, my human feet also bare. With the innate Magic-User skill, I cast [Invisibility], another taken for granted gift I need to research and with time teach.
The first discovery upon approaching the village, each cottage is constructed with curved wooden walls, several decorated with dried barnacles. The remnants of the sailing ship belly for certain, the rooves constructed from gangplank timbers, which meant the wreck made landfall. The number of cottages constructed indicates a good portion if not most of the ship.
Their language is familiar and yet I struggle with some words. Given the Griffin consumed the livers I am grateful for the spell casting acquired and forgive the cursory knowledge of their language I have inherited. Perhaps a discrete disappearance is required? No. None have spoken of the chest in any conversation and why would they? I will need to enter each cottage, no danger there I jest to myself, one doorway, small interior, room for two maybe three.
I soon learn my calculations are incorrect. Based on their numbers divided by the number of cottages I didn’t factor in the master and slave relationship. Two masters per cottage for a total of ten and eight slaves per cottage for a grand total of forty. One cottage though stands apart, the abode of the master of the masters I correctly conclude.
First things first, I must determine when the chief master leaves and returns from his residence, perhaps if I am quick enough, one of his absences will allow enough time and yet as the afternoon deepens, masters and some slaves visit all staying a variable amount of time. He never leaves. Despondent I ponder my next move, the plan of charging through the village rising in appeal.
Towards the centre of the village, several slaves start to pile wood, of different thicknesses, and lengths, with one taking charge and building a round pyramid-like construct feeding twigs and dry leaves underneath. He then holds a clear round object up to the fading sunlight, as still as a statue. In reasonable time a wisp of smoke begins to trail skywards. Other slaves gather around and blow on the fledging flame until true ignition and the fire consumes the twigs and leaves growing rapidly until large enough to consume the pyramid. Once aflame the slaves add wood from the nearby pile. A huge pot I remember from the ship is framed over the blaze and a water-filled bucket at a time is poured in. The masters gather to direct and advise in the preparation of a shared meal, for what I don’t yet discern.
To my relief the chief master is drawn out of his cottage, standing proud, hands-on-hips surveying all under his command. A large man, overweight not muscular, bald, a winged moustache his pride and joy, a hand leaving a hip often to tend to it. The ship’s cook! In some ways making sense, the other masters are sailors, none ever holding command over others, while the cook needed to ensure enough stores loaded, meals doled out according to rank and rationing and perhaps once on land with finite supplies valuable skills to ensure survival.
As he takes several heavy steps towards the village centre, I rush to his cottage. The dusk provides enough shadow under weak sunlight. To my dismay under direct strong sunlight, my invisible form casts an extremely feeble shadow. To counter, my bare feet permitted a casual silence, therefore I lurked in the afternoon shade of the cottages while eavesdropping.
The cottage door is a slung piece of canvas, perhaps sail, which I sweep aside and quickly pass by before the mystery of how is noticed. I pause a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness with minimal success, my humanity entirely successful in this regard at least. I snap my fingers and invoke [Dancing Lights], summoning one, which I quickly cup in my hand glancing behind me to check how well the canvas blocks the doorway. A foolish couple of actions in hindsight, firstly I would need to be outside to judge at all and secondly casting the spell cancelled my invisibility.
The rasping of a weapon leaving its sheath draws my attention back to the interior of the cottage. I allow the Dancing Light to shine. My attacker, an arm extending high above her head ready to strike pauses, eyes blinking. I grab the extended arm and squeeze and with my free hand, I make a fist and smack her on the chin. Her deadweight swings from my grip upon her extended arm, which I release, stepping over her crumpled body. My haste is in part due to spotting a large chest at the back of the cottage. I rush forward, take a deep breath, and push open the lid. Shining a Dancing Light in and … and nothing. I rest back on my haunches, shoulders down. Trinkets of gold and silver, coins of many metals, no books.
I accept fate and smile as I believe at least one of my objectives can be accomplished in quick time. I drag the chest from its position. A combination of [Push Soil] and digging with my assailants’ dagger and a hole of sufficient size grows into being. I empty the chest contents into it and smooth over the top with the freshly dug soil. Next, I fetch one of the many furs to cover the fresh digging and then carefully lay the chest over, the lid fully open. I grab the corners of the dirt fur into a bag, no point in leaving the obvious evidence behind. One last examination under a fresh [Dancing Light] and I am done.
At the canvas door, I listen. A bawdy song under full voice a sign I can leave. Then she wakes. Her mouth opens and quick as a snake my fingers lock around her throat.
“Silence or death your choice,” I hiss.
Her head nods, hands dropping away from my wrist. I fulfil my side of the agreement and release my grip enough to allow her to breathe as another part of my plan surfaces. One last check at the doorway and none are paying the cottage any particular attention. I slip through the doorway half dragging, half leading my captive hopefully to the chief master’s treasure. Once secure on the outbound track from the village I prepare for the next part of the pantomime. An interesting form of entertainment scrapped from a memory of my human, enjoyed by him.
“Bitch!” I scream, maintaining a half-running stance while staring back at the bonfire attempting a look of dismay.
The singing stops and then the Cook roars, “He has our treasure, chase him, gut him!”
“I overestimated your worth, perhaps I should break your neck.”
A sniff and warm tears roll over my wrist.
“No, I beseech you, I promise to run like my life depends upon it.” Her eyes fill with moisture reflecting the light from the bonfire somehow convincing me.
I did plan to drop the soil as soon as possible and throw the fur, unfortunately, they will be required a little longer. Fur bag over my shoulder held by one hand, the other busy grabbing a generous number of her braids and we flee. I reason she will need the entire volume of her windpipe to keep up if that is what she truly intends. I cast [Dancing Lights] sending one light left of the trail, another right, leaving one in place and positioning the last close to the ground skipping before us. I know the three will dissolve once we are out of range, my hope is they prove a diversion. I need a disorganised, piecemeal, and hasty pursuit.
By false dawn, the forest looms ahead and she is spent. I release her braids and her body collapses upon the ground, curling up into the vulnerable birth position which tugs at my heartstrings. Always that one position ... why? My free hand instinctively caressing my womb perhaps an obvious clue. I shake my head and study my captive.
True to her word her efforts life worthy. Her dress fraying at the edges, the dirt of the trail clinging with a mix of blood. I sweep back the dirty lengths to reveal lacerations and blood decorating her bare feet. I cast the Sorcerer Spell [Mend Flesh] without hesitation, somehow, I need to care for her, mother her perhaps. I stomp off cursing my emotions.
I deliberately kept pace with the following torches, invoking a liberal use of [Dancing Lights] if the lead group strayed. I briefly wonder if I can dump the soil and replace the burden with her body and quickly dismiss the change. The pursuers have an image of their quarry in their minds, he hauls a weight of gold and silver and drags along an unwilling female captive. They expect both handicaps. Any variation and they may stop to think.
The fools hoot and howl upon sighting us, the girl’s body an obvious lump upon a carefully selected rise of the trail and me staring back trying to cast my most exhausting and surrendering look, hands upon knees, shaking my head. The Faith Magic [Far Sight] prepares me well in advance of their appearance. The slaves are ordered to charge, while the masters stroll after them yelling encouragement. Arsu's animated dead capture the masters first and then under the obvious threat of death, they order their slaves to surrender.
Three groups are captured and marched off, roughly two masters and eight slaves each, probably their usual assignments. Arsu suffers the loss of the occasional animated dead, although the surprise is typically complete. The masters are set on the prize and not their safety every time. Fortunately, the animated dead abides by strict orders not to attack me as I needed to manhandle, erm skeleton handle them into useful ambush positions at each reset. The last escort, not all skeletons, now including former slaves turned contracted Intruders of Arsu I suspect. They stare as they pass me by. I want to steal a pair of pants, yet my condition is only temporary, so I shrug it off.
A final group from Arsu marches off in search of the remaining masters and slaves I suspect, the sun high and my captive finally stirs.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Should I turn around or not? At the moment my bottom is bare, to turn around means the other view. Why do I care? I hear the rustle of her skirt and so my decision is made for me. She falls into my arms as I swivel around to face her. A red glow upon her skin and a warm flush over her body, which I feel upon touching her skin.
“So beautiful …” she utters and then swoons, a dead weight into my arms.
Human to human, my male form an attraction to her female existence. I would have preferred female and yet the Human Magic-User and Healer were both males and the sole images available to me. Perhaps my beauty shone through the façade, the real distraction as the masters and slaves trooped off to captivity, not as I presumed the exposure of my genitals. I admit I didn't follow their eyes, so certain of their focus.
As Athena is the Goddess of Wisdom, Aphrodite was the Goddess of Beauty and my Creator did cast me in her image, his skill crafting a masterpiece or perhaps I have usurped her image as an absolute on this planet. If true, would all humans of the opposite sex to my current image swoon at my feet?
Regardless I am done with this human image, returning quickly to my Lamia form and yet an ache remains. I blame my Sentient Dominate and internally round upon it.
“Talking to yourself is not healthy Goddess.”
“Where have you been?”
“Unless you call for me Goddess, I am deep in study, preparing for the promised new knowledge …”
“I am working on it …”
A delightful laugh echoes in my mind. She teases, most unkind and I resolve to reward her with silence, refraining on the cusp of adding solace, toying with the ring, not removing it. In truth, my frustration should be directed at the prone female lump at my feet. I should abandon her and yet my budding humanity now grips me and whereas Griffin would eat her I cannot. That is the pure fact of the matter, I am unable to slaughter a helpless female human. Notably, the usual silent vestiges of Lamia stir uncomfortably within me calling for blood.