It had been a human town once, but many of those details had been lost under the patina of the Cambion's uncivilized lifestyle. The most blatant indications of the disparities could be found in the spring-fed fountains scattered through intersections. A mixture of crumbling founts idealizing lost heroes of humanity versus spartan, unadorned pools built only for necessity.
The permanent source of water allowed the city to be one of their largest, the other reason being its ideal location just a day’s ride to the wall that separated the realm of men from their bastard, demonic offspring. Claimed by a warring tribe with an eye for commerce, it had become a thriving metropolis for slave and trade caravans. Tariffs were paid to the tribe who’s military arm had extended all the way to the wall, defending the local territories by constantly playing offense.
Units were sent out to harry the humans guarding the wall; exercises for the young unblooded warriors and decoys for the slave-harvest bands. Those groups continuously ran to and from the secret tunnels that were constantly being mined by the cambions, and destroyed by the humans.
It was a game of war and survival, one played in earnest by both sides.
The cobblestones of the market streets were hidden beneath a layer of compacted dirt and various animal shit, the press and movement of bodies and beasts pounding it into a fine powder that rose and singed the nostrils and lungs of all. Shops had set up raised platforms in front of single-story adobe buildings to sell from. The cooler interiors used as either warehouses, dwellings, a combination of both, or in some cases lounges for affluent clients if their business had that luxury.
Apoch tucked his head further below the black leather cowl as he caught yet another individual's attention stutter and remain on him, tracking the cloaked figure as if trying to place him from memory.
They had all sacrificed, some longer than others.
There was little else he could do to try to stay anonymous; moving at night would draw even more attention of the wrong kind. Gangs had posted more sentries than normal to watch their territories zealously, given from the rumors he had picked up a cutthroat had recently named himself Boss. He knew the ambitious fool wouldn't survive very long, but it was causing enough of a stir Apoch opted for daylight to complete his tasks in.
A youth stumbled into his path, and he shifted his weight, letting his shoulder drop back to knife-edge seamlessly through the narrowed gap and avoid the thieving hand that had snaked out. In earlier years, he might've made the gutter-rat pay dearly for the attempt, but it was no longer necessary to take it personally. Sensing he was out of his league, the boy vanished as swiftly as he had appeared into the bartering throngs. He continued with the flow of traffic, following the scuffling of feet while he used his peripheral vision and other senses to take in his surroundings.
The main street was well known to him, but The Favored he was looking for changed based on whomever was the most fortunate— or just plain luckiest— at the moment to know of the current tunnel yet to be discovered by the humans.
And it was easy to tell.
Two women chained by the wrists on short leashes above their heads marked either side of the entrance to an alleyway. Bedecked in garlands and crowns of white flowers and nothing else, one was currently being rutted from behind at a lively pace. A brute of a halfling kept a watchful eye while chatting with another patron leisurely.
The male's attention snapped from his charges to Apoch as he approached, arms crossed over his chest falling loosely by the ironwood batons at his sides as he pushed off the wall to give himself space to fight.
“Easy,” Apoch murmured, lifting his empty palms before reaching up to pull his cowl back. A flicker of recognition before the guard’s eyes widened, glancing at the unoccupied slave.
“Not interested,” he answered, dropping his hands as the other male visibly relaxed. “Is Dek the current Favored?”
“Aye. Head servant will take your weapons at the entrance.”
Nodding in thanks he passed by the two offerings without sparing either a single glance.
A man adorned in a torque of pure gold greeted him in the small lobby decorated with antiques procured from the human lands. An entire wall a fresco of nubile maidens lounging with animals that predated when the demons had been released in the world drawing his attention. Gaze flicking over the now-extinct creatures, he removed all his weapons and set them on the brass tray the slave held steadily before pushing through the chains of tiny bells and into the main room.
Inside the ostentatious human comforts continued, none more-so than the actual humans. Women and a few men were on display, most chained to the walls or resting on tall padded benches, waiting for their fates with glazed eyes. Drugged to make them more complacent and aroused, the scent of sex magnified by the cloying sweetness of incense.
A few of them had already been bought and were being bred in alcoves, the transparent silk curtains hiding very little in the low light as moans of pleasure and torment filtered through the live music being played. Every detail, conscious or subconscious, meant to spur customers into purchasing the wares.
Dek had a reputation of doting on his merchandise, leaving their future owners to build or break that tenuous hope of a decent life. It was one of the reasons he rotated often with just a few others at the top.
As if the thought drew Apoch's attention to the male, he found him seated in a corner engrossed in the game of Kingdom. Few human entertainments had made it over the wall, but Kingdom had been one. Zidaii had often stressed the importance of the game, how it gave insight on their continuously changing strategies for fighting the Archfiends and humans.
Like Apoch, the slave master had more human characteristics than demonic. But where he did nothing to hide his eyes, canines and pointed ears, Dek had pulled out his tusks and fangs, and hidden a filed-down spike on his chin in a beard cinched by a solid gold bead.
He tugged at that peppered ducktail now, knee bouncing tersely as his partner eyed a beautiful girl with a halo of red curls tethered on a raised circular dais; the obvious prize for his adversary should he win.
Dek glanced up, waving him over impatiently in a way that set Apoch's teeth on edge at the audacity. Still he obeyed the summons, taking his time as he made his way over at an intentionally delayed pace.
"Well?" Dek demanded by way of greeting his newest patron.
Apoch stilled, contemplating physical retaliation for the disrespect. It wouldn't bode well for getting the information he wanted without a bloodbath ensuing, and possibly being banished from ever stepping foot in the city again for murdering a highly successful slaver.
Besides, there were other ways to get even.
His attention dropped to the board, eyes flicking over the placement of the pieces as Dek's foot continued its' furious tapping. There were only a few options left, all of them risky and sacrificing, but a more astute player would've seen it rather than just the overwhelming loss currently plaguing black.
"If you're asking me, then you already know you're fucked," Apoch drawled.
Dek hissed at the confirmation of his own thoughts, slapping his knee in frustration.
His adversary turned, sizing him up as if he too, knew Dek had had a chance. Apoch met it flatly, not caring if he had earned favor or disapproval from the customer. All he cared was that it was his turn with the business owner. The male snorted a laugh, shaking Dek's hand and accepting the begrudged "congratulations" before moving to collect his award and lead the whimpering girl to an empty divan.
Apoch slouched into the vacated seat as Dek glared at the board. “I thought I had him this time. I thought—“
With irritated sigh through his nose, he reached over and played out the sequence. Dek stilled, watching the moves, staring at the white king as he flicked it over. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the tables edge, strumming his fingers against the wood once. At this mercenaries that had been lounging paused as all eyes turned to the two, the string trio playing from behind a paper screen tapering off into silence at the sudden tension.
"Zidaii loved this game," Apoch replied casually as if nothing was amiss, taking his time to reset the ebony and ivory pieces.
"So many Chiefs brought him boards as gifts; masterpieces in their own right. Some of precious metals, priceless gems, and rare wood. Even a set supposedly carved from the bones of the humans first King, Janius."
He smiled nostalgically, recalling that memory and its bloody end at his own hands. “The Chief had forgotten Zidaii had fought alongside Janius when he crowed about the origins of the bone, or perhaps didn't think he'd remember the King's scent.”
“Yet even though he was always grateful for each of them, the one he played most was the one Isenius had given him when he had been nothing more than a slave; white pine, the black paint worn away yet it mattered not.”
Picking up the ivory queen he turned it in his fingers, admiring the artists skill at carving every notch and symmetric curve perfectly. “He knew every single piece more intimately than any lover.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The final piece to the board, he set her in place before giving Dek the full weight of his blood-red irises.
The slaver's skin had paled, having finally realized who sat across from him.
“I've found Salas.”
A dropped pin could've been heard in the silence. Even the slaves seemed to understand the magnitude of the conversation between the two, and as a whole the entire room held their breath. Dek's lips slackened, the rest of his body following suit as he exhaled sharply.
“You're certain of this?”
Apoch dipped his head, mouth compressing into a tight line. “The bastard is in collusion with the human magic wielders and no longer wears his old skin. I intend to find out how, and pay back an old, old debt.”
Dek leaned back in his chair, tugging at his beard again with a nod. To be a part of avenging what had been an irreplaceable loss of their beloved Warchief wouldn't just bring fortune, it would also bring fame.
“Of course, I'll call in favors and put together a team for you.”
“No need,” he purred back, his smile a lethal warning against argument. “I just need access to the other side and the future exit points.”
“It would be my honor. Your supplies will be covered as well.”
Dek stood, and bowed until his gaze was at the floor; his neck fully exposed for the prior disrespect in apology, and offering.
“Warlord.”
Blue Moon [https://i.postimg.cc/ht3bqpkV/blue-moon.jpg]
Apoch stepped out of the slavers dwelling well after dark. Dek had become a most magnanimous host, his kitchens providing an unending stream of exotic-spiced food and quaint drinks as they chatted and planned in a private room. The servants had even packed saddlebags made out of soft, durable hide full of the finest food and artisan-crafted supplies ranging from survival gear to a blanket woven of plush alpaca.
Testaments to Dek's close relationship with the humans.
There had even been an offering of a woman despite Apoch's reputation, but he had politely declined to the Slavemaster's visible relief.
It had been harder than he expected to hear the title of Warlord again. That was a closed chapter in his life, one he had no plans to return to. Decades of shouldering the responsibility of ordering youths and tested warriors to their deaths, slaughtered by titans hellbent on pressing forward while trailing a cloak of destruction in their wake. When reality had become worse than the nightmares, he finally withdrew from the front line to try to find some peace with his consort at the deserts eastern edge.
All the good that did; here you are chasing after the newest nightmare. It's no wonder he reverted to calling you Warlord.
Cracking his head to the side and rolling the stress out of his shoulder he hefted the bulging packs back into balance and stepped back into the flow of foot traffic. Even under the full mantle of a night sky, commerce continued. Torches and lamps lit venues and illuminated the smoke drifting from food stalls where sweaty cooks sang clever rhymes to advertise their dishes.
With his cowl up he avoided most of the hopeful gazes of sellers trying to make one last profit, turning off the crowded street where hands would be less inclined to pick pockets.
The road was darker than the market lane had been, a few cambions that were less human and more demon noting his presence but instinctively knowing he was not prey. Very few of them were, all of them hardened by their environment and struggles. Every so often one weakened by sickness or wandering off alone and too drunk to fight off the packs of wilder beings would get attacked, only the cracked bones left scattered and ignored by the rest. Their survival was cruel like that. The only time they ever faced true retribution by the city was if a human was killed, but the retaliation for such an act was so brutal they had learned quickly that type of prey meant a death sentence.
The tap of a staff had him slowing as an older male hobbled directly into his path, his right foot bent inwards and gnarled as if it had been mangled at some point and healed without being set. A scraggly mane of unwashed grey and white hair, one tusk chipped rising out of his stretched mouth and dark eyes glittering with sharp hope.
“A copper for your fortune, Dreamwalker?”
His steps faltered at the title, too surprised to reply. The elder took the opportunity, forging ahead.
“You’re searching for a treasure, but refuse to believe in its value.”
“Enough,” he breathed out, his upper lip peeling back. “I'll give you a silver for silence instead, you crank.”
He pulled a silver coin tucked beneath his bracer, tossing it towards the wall to get the mad loon out of his way, but those fevered eyes didn't leave his to track its projection as he shuffled closer.
Apoch snarled when he grabbed his forearm, surprised at the strength of that grip when he tried to shake him off. He took a step back and the vagabond followed the movement, close enough now that his breath reeking of decay filled the space between them.
“You believe destruction is the answer— but you're wrong,” he slurred, words tripping over each other in haste as Apoch twisted, grabbing his collar to throw him off-balance. “The threads have entwined!”
He shoved him against the same wall the coin had been tossed to and the male crumpled, coughing a laugh at Apoch's back.
Shaken by foreboding, apprehension slicked his thoughts and raised his hackles. He exited the cramped alleyway, tossing a single glance backwards to confirm what he already knew to be true- the elder was gone. Blowing out a breath through his nose to rid himself of the stench of the encounter he continued towards the outskirts of the city for one final errand before trespassing into the human lands.
The stables Apoch had chosen were finer than most of the inns in the city. Its owner had double the amount of apprentices and employees than any other competitor, the bedding always fresh and provisions never in question. Despite the fact she treated the beasts with more respect than their handlers, her business was always at max capacity.
Apoch found her in the largest stall where his mount had been staying while he had attended his business in the crowded streets.
When the rift had been opened, the demons had not only bred with humans. Creatures from nightmare had risen from the unholy unions, some so monstrous they had been hunted to extinction. Others, however, had been tamed, succeeding in a symbiotic relationship to ensure their continued survival.
Those crossbreeds had been named Denimals, and like the half-breed label Cambion, the title covered a massive, varying range of new creatures.
Bu'u was rare enough that he would've drawn attention he hadn't wanted to deal with. His beautifully mixed species of avian and reptile had been one of those true monsters nearly culled, and because of that the skull-sized egg had originally been a gift for the Warchief. Apoch had been tasked with its upkeep, so when it had broken through its shell the hatchling had imprinted on him, much to Zidaii's amusement. Through the years the two had learned not to just be rider and beast of burden, but a fighting team of talons and blade, and mutual respect.
He leaned against the door, watching as Giss ran an expert hand down the bird-like neck thick with muscle and across his spine, checking the grey and brown mottled skin that faded into cream on his undersides for parasites or wounds. She worked her way to the tip of his rigid tail layered with fat that was a counterbalance to a two-legged stance.
Bu'u stood compliantly, following her with a golden eye that held more intelligence than Apoch even knew the limit of. Backtracking to his hindquarters, she traced the powerful muscles built for sprints and ambushes, down elongated ankle bones that ended in three toes, the shorter inner one sporting a wicked sickle claw that could rend flesh and bone. He let her take his shorter arm in her hands, checking over the elegant fingers ending in black talons before patting his shoulder in approval.
“How is he?”
“Well,” she replied, her smile for the denimal only as he turned his muzzle and bumped her fondly.
“A few of his teeth are broken off,” she added, gently prying open his narrow maw to expose the neat, continuous row of serrated, recurved teeth. Apoch stepped into the stall, peering at the stubs and empty sockets where sharp tips were already poking through the gum line.
“It looks like they drop out at some point and new ones replace them. This Theropod is truly amazing.”
Apoch frowned at the strange word, but didn't press. Giss had a habit of giving all the denimals that had come into her care strange names. He knew better than to ask, for she would launch into a scientific or historic explanation that would lead to more confusion, if not a pounding headache at trying to keep up with her theories.
Or maybe that was from the alcohol that was usually involved in the discussions.
She let his mouth go, scratching behind a long rigid ear that was currently swiveled back and relaxed. Bu'u's lower eyelids rose in pleasure as he leaned into her hand.
“Don't let her flattery affect you, that probably means ‘bald chicken’ in ancient human tongue.”
Both denimal and female snorted at him, and he gave a wry smile. Giss paused, turning that scrutinizing gaze at him. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he responded too quickly, rubbing at the nape of his neck in an attempt to release the last vestiges of his anxiety. “I never realized this city had raving lunatics plaguing the darker parts.”
“That's because we don't. You know how it is; the packs or gangs clean up the trash.”
Apoch just grunted back, disliking what that could mean about his encounter. She eyed him, but knew better than to try to press the Warlord. Fetching a chunk of dried meat from her pocket she offered it to Bu'u who licked it up daintily before tossing his head back to swallow it whole.
“We cleaned and conditioned your tack and saddle, the straps looked worn but reliable so would recommend not switching out to the new one Dek had brought in.”
“Didn't want it anyway,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively as he approached Bu'u and scratched beneath the denimals jaw. “Consider it a tip for all the help with my friend.”
Giss gave another impolite snort, crossing her arms over a rawhide-clad chest. “That thing could buy boarding for a year, and you want to call it a tip?”
She tossed him a genuine smile, so easy-going he found himself partially returning it. Tilting her head to the side she let her attention drift over his body, voice lowering. “How about we call it pre-payment for your next visit, if you’ll stay longer?”
Apoch's smile turned razor sharp, and Giss felt her lower stomach flutter under the weight of his full attention before he turned away, dismissing the offer without a word.
He gathered the bridle off a hook inside the door, sliding the softened leather bit into Bu'u's mouth to rest in the crevice where his teeth ended and jaw muscles began. Giss tossed a fresh shearling across his back, helping Apoch connect the bags either side of the simple saddle so that they were balanced and did not impede Bu'u's stride.
“Rumors are already flying about why you're here,” she finally hedged, watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye as they walked together towards the exit. “Did you really find Salas?”
Apoch gave a noncommittal shrug, and Giss nodded as if that were answer enough.
“I was young back then, but I remember him. He was always kind and could read the denimals almost as well as I could. Almost.” Theat endearing, lopsided smile returned, stopping at the entrance while Apoch mounted.
“When you put that blade into Salas,” she added, voice and eyes turning cold. “Sink it in again for me.”