As Kester’s tavern had been largely converted to a Garrison of its own, Asrael had few chairs on which he could sit in silence and make his plans- meaning, he would have to do with what he could find. As Barrel had largely moved out to the Village, Asrael had taken the cot, turned it upside-down and used the bed for the seat in which he could calmly study the city’s hastily scribbled map. A hundred men still manned the wall surrounding the city and an equal amount wandered the walls around the Garrison and up until two days past, he had cared little about these archers. But as he sat in his room and scratched his chin ponderously, he found that he had no choice but to begin making plans to ascend the walls.
The Duke’s men had retracted back beyond the walls and it seemed that they remained determined to starve, rather than brave running escorts on the streets. He had expected the possibility, of course- Titus was stark, raving mad, but he had hoped for the former option. If he could help it, he would rather not add any more starved husks to his army, fore much still remained unexplored in regards to their capabilities. Their muscles aside, the starving Turned had other weaknesses that his better-fed, better-off men had. For one; reaching into them was difficult- nearly impossible, as their minds were so warped with the lingering, unending hunger that had been forever etched into their central nervous systems, that their words, emotions and thoughts rarely ever strayed from the topics of food.
Secondly, they had proven to be a smidgen more difficult to control. A sneaky, misfortunate soul in the tunnel had proven as much, when they unwillingly found themselves in an ocean of a hundred, starving corpses. Time and time again, Asrael had sent word down the ranks for Kerras to ensure the misfortunate woman survived for long enough to be turned, but when she arrived, she was covered in profusely bleeding wounds- bitten to death by his starved soldiers. Cannon fodder. He thought and tapped the bridge leading over towards the Garrison.
The Banshees had found several entry-points to get into the sturdy facility, but most- if not all- were well defended. The bridge was flanked by the Garrison wall on either side- leaving a relatively narrow, deathly corridor in its midst, where the archers on either side would surely rain their arrows down upon them from the sides. As confident as he was that his men could take a beating, all it took to end one of them was an arrow to the core or a lucky shot through their cerebrum or spine.
Therefore, his plan was to send the weakest, most starved over the bridge, where they would assault the door- mostly as a distraction, but with a goal in mind. Simultaneously, Asrael would have his more agile, stronger men assault the door below the bridge. Naturally, the ones still lurking around beneath the surface would be the best for the job, but he imagined that would be where most of his forces would enter.
Lastly, he along with his trio of Banshees would enter through the cellar and make their way up to Titus’ chamber, where he would be promptly subdued and summarily turned to his cause. Before he could do so, however, he imagined he would have to deal with the white-haired one.
Lita had haunted his dreams ever since he had last met her. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel her embrace- the warmth of her fingertips as she caressed his skin and breathed on his neck. What was this ploy of hers? Why would she- like the Blightlander, wish to explore his flesh? Had he, through his death, been cursed with some sexual potency he remained unaware of, or had the girl planned something far more sinister? She had spoken of a magical affinity- the void affinity and mentioned something about bearing a child to inherit it from him. It all seemed far too convoluted to be anything more or less than a trick, but if it was all truly hogwash, why on Earth would anyone wish to bed him? He might’ve asked her, had he expected to get an answer and not more cryptic babble, but the prospect of learning anything about his affinity was tempting. If she claimed to know it, why should he not ask? If all it cost him was pleasure... why did he hesitate?
Neda sat on her side of the bed. her knees supported one of the books Barrel had given her, but her attention was firmly locked on Asrael. He sat with his right hand wrapped around his chin- musing over the map, but with that horrid, detestable expression- meaning... he was thinking about her again.
Asrael was brought out of his deep musings by something oddly solid to his left temple.
“Oops, sorry... I slipped...” Turning over, he could see Neda forcing a grimace. He narrowed his eyes and reminded her: “This is quiet-time. It is but one of few hours when I am allowed to be free from your questions and your advances.” He grabbed hold of the red book by its corner and held it up before his face, where he continued to contort his thin lips into a frown- signaling his disgust with ‘Mendel’s mistress’- smut, gifted to her by Barrel.
“I’m sorry- I said I slipped, all right?” She folded her arms atop her chest and scoffed a ‘hmph’ as he tossed the book back over towards her to resume his dark musings.
“A book does not slip across the barrier- a book does not slip with that amount of force and certainly not with a trajectory towards my face. Now, stay on your side and be silent until further notice.” He motioned for the rolled-up duvet separating their bed’s two sides, before turning back to study the map, only to groan as he felt weight shifting on the bed. He took a deep, steadying breath before turning back over his shoulder to see her staring down at the improvised map- her eyes still narrow with suspicion.
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“You have made it clear that you have words for me, but I am not interested in hearing it- certainly not when you are being this...” He shuddered. “Emotional. Now, sit down and wait for sundown- then I will allow you to talk to me, again. Yes?” Again, she scoffed through her nose and sat down on the bed to cross her arms. He felt the relief of having solved this discomfort and resumed making his plans. Finding out what the mirror represented was of the utmost importance- how did it tie in with this talk of the ‘void’? As he attempted to remember the girl and the illusion’s words verbatim, it struck him that he felt... uncomfortable. Something in his stomach had shifted.
It was not at all unlike when his Master had confronted him about stealing an arm from the fleshmender fools when he was little more than a child. The old man had forced him to confess- not only to his crime, but to spill his lackluster designs of old. But what did it signify now? And why did this discomfort seem to be directed towards the girl? He sat down and rubbed his temples, only for her to scoff again. Naturally, he would have to deal with this.
Neda was shocked to see Asrael turn over towards the barrier, grab it, unroll it and cover her in the duvet. It did little to still his discomfort, which continued to grow more profound with every second- as if he had done something criminal to her, when in fact, she was being the unreasonable party. He needed to investigate this uninteresting venture and did so by grabbing hold of the duvet to bare a lowered brow and a strict grimace. He questioned her:
“I sense you are offended. Why?” Neda had been raised in a pit- she could count on two hands how many people in the village and in the camp how many had spoken to her, which was why it surprised both of them to find that Neda was the wiser in regards to both understanding her emotional state and the social interactions to influence them.
“I told you I’d handle her, but you keep thinking about her... can’t you think about me instead?” He grimaced, hoping she would understand that what she had said made little sense to him, but to no avail. Her silence forced him to question:
“Why on earth would I-…" She did it again, that scoff- further irking him. “Well, if you had any insights into the Void- as she claims to- I would be thrilled to hear them. If you do not, I ask that you respect our deal and release me from this-… whatever this is!” Next, she employed another trick to further torment him- staring at him in complete silence with heavy breaths. He could see them in the setting sun’s sliver of light- the disturbed streams of dust that floated about the air between them danced in her deep exhalation.
“Fine. Tell me what the Void is, then. I’m sure I know more than she does about it.” He put the barrier down between them again and considered her suggestion. Perhaps focusing on her academics would serve to calm her and, in turn, allow him some space to think.
“Fine.” He could already feel her soften as her frown seemed a smidgen more... forced... as she clapped the bed next to her. Asrael remained where he was and informed:
“The Void is said to be a theoretical space- beyond the world beyond the Rifts.” He reached into the pocket of his coat to produce a golden coin with its stamped hole. Next, he pointed for its surface and calmly explained:
“We are here. Let us call our side of the coin... existence. We exist by happenstance because magic leaks from the world beyond the Rifts.” He pointed to the hole in the coin, before turning it over in his hand.
“The Void is, theoretically, a realm like ours, but academics have always imagined it as the terminal end of magics... not at all unlike ours, but whereas the magics support life on our end, it supports something else on the other.” Finally, she instantaneously and enthusiastically broke from her sour frowning to sit down on her knees and eagerly question:
“And what’s that? What’s on the other side?” There was something oddly endearing about that wide grin of hers and the glint to her red eyes. Naturally, he looked away as he shrugged.
“No one knows, which is why it would be pointless to dwell on it. We’ve only recounts of old- passed down verbally due to the First Emperor’s purging of our history. This Azazeel supposedly spends his accrued souls to stare into this Void, but it is anyone’s guess what he is searching for.” Neda nodded as if she could understand half of it, but she was enjoying their conversation...
“So... why d’ya think he does it? What’s your guess?” He hadn’t expected a good question for once and rewarded her focus by answering: “They say that the Demons stole their alphabet from the Void... If this plane exists, as has been suggested, I suppose I would not be surprised to learn that it is where runic magic was born.” It would explain the mark... which was, in essence, what had bothered him about Lita’s mention of the Void. If the Satyr had, against all odds, not been an illusion, would he be a fool to imagine that the centerpiece of his Magnum Opus was of the Void?
Asrael flicked the coin over the bed, where it thumped on the mattress before the girl. “Now, go to Eleanor and present what I have just taught you. You may return after you’ve done so, but I would rather you did not. I’ve plans to make and an army to organize- both of which are difficult when I have you... doing that to me.” Their brief talk had seemingly improved her mood, but she still seemed hesitant to leave.
After a moment’s hesitation, she seemed to heed his order and tapped her left breast as she had seen the men of the Inquisition do as they obeyed their ranks. “I will. See? When you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.” He scowled up at her from the bed as she smiled her most benign grin and skipped towards the door, only to pause before grabbing the rusted handle. She turned over her shoulder to glare at him and command: “But no thinking about her. All right?” He knew that, by long, they would have to talk about jealousy and her unwelcomed infatuation with him, alas... not now. He waved her off with a nod and finally watched her shapely posterior disappear out the door- leaving him to his planning once more.