Kester awoke to a boot slamming into his stomach. Involuntary retches escaped the back of his throat. He was exhausted, pained, but most of all; confused. He recognized his surroundings- all was the exact same way as when they had left the cellar, after all... He locked eyes with the long-lashed eyes of the camel and swallowed nervously at the sight of it.
“Get up. Grind every piece of metallic cutlery you have- I need fine, metallic dust.” Asrael ordered from behind the camel. The unnerving necromancer had a girl with him- a teenager, clad in one of their patched-up drapes in the shape of a toga. The girl looked to the tavernmaster with pity before returning her fearful gaze to Asrael.
“W-what... how did we get back here? M-my head... I’m so tired...” Asrael looked over his shoulder and commanded his freshest associate to; “Kick him. He has been sleeping for a full day and still he complains of exhaustion.” She hesitated, but eventually obeyed the order and kicked the tavernkeeper’s side- gently, barely more than a touch. Kester struggled to get to his feet and grunted and groaned while rubbing his temples.
“She will be living here with us. Fix another room- preferably one that can house both this child and the harlot.” Asrael spoke as he firmly grabbed her by the shoulder and sat her down at a respectable distance from himself. Next; he reached into his tall stack of papers to grab two papers- one blank; the other with unmistakable, familiar runes written across its face. He pushed the ink-and-quill before her and commanded; “Copy this on the paper. Do well and I will find a use for you- if you do not do well... then I have yet another useless companion to care for.” Thus; the girl swallowed the contents of her dry mouth and looked down at the two papers- hesitating not for a second before finally, beginning her careful work.
“I told you to get grinding, tavernkeeper!” Asrael shouted- springing Kester into action in a wild escape up the stairs, where he would find Bartholomew- barechested in the midst of a frantic, finger-splitting effort to reduce every piece of cutlery to dust with paper and sand in a frenzy. The Sargerrei outshoot looked up at the tavernkeeper briefly- his mind aflame with fury as he set his mind back on the task at hand.
“Come, Kessie. Quickly- we must do as Kerras demands.” Bartholomew spoke as he further intensified his efforts of grinding the sanded paper against the knife in his hand- uncaring for the table beneath it. Still in his stupor; Kester sat down, grabbed a fork from the tall pile of cutlery and set his hands into motion to join his associate in his efforts.
“W-what are we doing? Why are we doing this!?” Kester asked as Bartholomew cleared yet another palmful of metallic dust into the pouch held off of the table’s side. The wayward Sargerrei never paused to think- he could not... his mind would only go to her and the torments he had wrought upon her. No... for now; he needed to focus on the goal and put his trust in his insistent companion and his mad plan.
"I do not know, but Kerras has told us to grind and therefore, we must."
As the shrieking of metal against sand continued to sound from upstairs, Asrael sat down at the bench and unfurled a leather pack of small, clear vials- each of which were laden with a most potent toxin. He scoffed sideways at the girl and muttered: "Ferromancy... of all the foolish things I have heard, Ferromancy-..." He shook his head. He might've tricked the girl and the rest of the idiots that he could somehow control a material element, but he would show them- he would show them all that this handsome, wealthy man was as much a charlatan as he had made him out to be the first time he had met him.
"C-can you really... do something, Sir?" The girl asked. He threw her a deathly glare and rounded on her: "Of course I can, you unlearned peasant! To tell you the truth, I had briefly considered sparing him for hosting my driver... but I cannot forgive this treason. Can you believe this beast's nerve? To threaten me?" She dawdled to look at his vials, only to have his sturdy hand sternly turn her head.
"I told you to copy!"
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Neda’s feet were as light as her head as she danced about the training-hall and swung the dagger around. She had spent most of the evening in a stupor- thrilled with Asrael’s compliment and... She stopped to consider the absurdity of his supposed confession. She had wanted his approval- to be deemed worthy of fighting alongside him, but now that she had it-… She grimaced as she thought of taking this budding relationship any further. How did it even work? She had the basic idea, but everything aside from the act of sex was alien to her and even that remained a mystery. Thankfully; Gerathar’s warm laugh from across the room stopped her mind in its tracks and brought with it a lightened mood to banish the dark cloud of thought that had taken hold of her over the last few seconds.
She slapped her palm against her face as she remembered why he had come. “Shit! I’m so sorry- I completely forgot! Amy usually comes to get me, but-” Gerathar raised his hands and chuckled warmly.
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“All is well that ends well, dear Neda. It is good to see you so light-hearted, may I ask why-” She holstered the dagger at her back and clapped her hands excitedly to proclaim; “He said I was doing good- that I’d gotten better! You heard it, right!?” As much as he tried to conceal his disapproval, he let slip a flash of a frown before he successfully forced his smile.
“Of course. Why would he not be impressed with you? Your magic defies all logic and is impressive in its own right, but your dedication to bettering yourself is the more commendable aspect of your development, by far.” He smiled. Neda took the compliment with grace, but found it meant precious little coming from a man all-too-familiar with giving praise.
She cautiously nodded and suggested; “W-well... things weren’t weird between us today. And I didn’t like that he didn’t have Kester with him, so if it’s all right by you; I think I’ll stay over at the tavern tonight. Just to watch over him and see that Kester’s not slacking off in case that white-haired whore shows up.” Gerathar smiled and nodded his agreement with a; “That sounds like a good plan. Before you leave, though, I would like to show you something- if I may.” He extended his hand towards her and waited for the curious wildling to approach. Grabbing her hand, he led her onwards- through the library, where he used his magic to move aside a heavy bookcase with naught but a flick of his wrist and a pair of touched fingers.
It was a strange room- covered in matted, white tiles far from as fine as in the rest of the house. The ones on the floor and walls were filthy, but as she scanned the room; what caught her eye was what was going on in the corner. She had to step closer to see what was hiding there in the darkness, but as she came close enough to see, she took not a step further. She froze- petrified in her step at the sight of Bess and Maribelle- freezing cold on the tiles while battling numerous chains keeping them in place. Maribelle was the first to see Neda and lunged forwards to warn her with a scream, only to be stopped by the chain holding her to the wall.
“It seems that, sadly, we’ve a problem. Titus has promised his men a show, but seeing as my previous pleasure-pet escaped his captivity, I’ve had to accelerate things on our end.” Gerathar sighed behind Neda’s back. The desert-dweller could not bring herself to look away from the mother and her child, both contorting against the chain in teary panic... she knew what this was. She had seen this before- she had lived through this before.
“The girl shows promise. She can be a Purged with the right... manipulations... I intend to start on her soon. The mother is, however, useless to me. The Inquisition trusts my word and I may well claim that she is a magus- I can send her to Titus without issue.” Gerathar calmly explained. There was an unnatural apathy to his voice- not like when Asrael’s would get whenever he did his cruel deeds- this one... seemed to conceal a tremendous amount of joy.
“T-t-this I-isn't f-funny...” Neda swallowed. Behind her; Gerathar nodded.
“No, it is not. You were there for the Pyre- you watched them burn that woman... can you imagine the pain?” She turned around to see Gerathar glare at her with a wide, malicious grin and ravenously hungry eyes. Raising her hands to her defense; she took a step back to distance herself in hopes it would buy her another second to understand what was going on.
“Naturally; I offer a trade. I like you, Neda- more than the rest. Now; if you were to dedicate yourself to me, I could trade madame Maribelle over in stead of you-” Neda reached behind her back and retrieved the dagger and held it before her face threateningly.
“Y-you’re gonna... hand them over?” He rolled his eyes and raised his right hand to form the circle between his thumb and index finger. The dagger in her hands began to tremor and a moment later; an unseen, unnaturally powerful force dragged the weapon from her fingers and sent it rattling across the floor.
“Asrael was smart enough to deduce it for himself. This sort of wealth does not befit a miner... of course I am going to sell them. The girl needs some training, but I assume that, by long, she will be more than willing to serve the Inquisition. Together; we can assure it.” It struck her what had soured her mouth before... he had used his name- the name she had been forbidden from using. The name she was certain she had not used in front of him.
“Surprised I knew? Of course I did. He is every bit as arrogant as he ever was- the fool. To hink, the 'high magus of the school of forgotten disciplines' swallowed it all- as you did... But not to worry... As soon as we conclude our lovemaking; I will find him in that filthy tavern and deal with him next.” Neda knew it to be useless, but still she took a deep breath and pursed her lips- exhaling an astounding gust of wind that did little but ruffle the sturdy man’s hair. He held his hands to his stomach and scoffed loudly at her;
“You are every bit as useless as you were the moment you walked into my house, despite what the great Asrael claims. He was right in one aspect, however... you are as dumb as you desert wildlings can get. You really believed the Inquisition did not know?" He paused to gleefully enjoy the tremor to her lips, before sighing and offering: "I will give you one last chance to lay down on the floor and-” She could no longer muster the breath to fuel her magic, but for once; she did not drop to her knee. She had sworn not to be a burden- not to be as weakly as she had been the last time someone had needed her to be strong... when Rallo had needed her to be. She lunged forward with her hands raised towards Bartholomew’s neck, but before she could touch his skin... she felt the chains wrap around her supple form. With a flick of his left hand, the chains shot outwards- slamming her into the wall with a helpless thud... back into imprisonment. Back into slavery.