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memurfevur-archive · 11 months ago

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Hide and Seek Part 3: A Promise

Character(s): Athena Uyilst, The Hidelord (@mageofspacemultiverse), NPC

About: The Hidelord worms himself into Athena's mind, playing on her weaknesses and strengths while they skin a traitor alive.

CW: blood, light graphic depictions of torture, human zoo

Words: 3,736

Plot Page

Song and Dance (part 1)

The Bronze Girl (part 2)

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Hidelord sniffed the air, glancing to the left in the direction of a long tapering stack of smog climbing the night sky. I stood beside him in a half-cower, knowing what lies ahead and undecided whether or not I could brave it. The Zoo was not like any other place in Hidelord’s domain, and what he had planned beyond here I would not know would break or save me.

"When we're alone with the bastard, then we'll talk about accountability. We can spin our turning knife, see who it lands on. Now, hunch forward a bit, and move."

He led the way through the field of reedy grass that flicked at our forearms and jostled noisily across our legs. It took us less than ten minutes to walk the full length and for the wide metal shed to come into sight: the Zoo had everything, not just holding cells for all of Hidelord's prizes, but a surgeon's bay, a kitchen, some bathrooms, and even a trading post inside for the exchange of skins and the occasional auction.

A guard was poised outside one of the rear doors. He leaned in to whisper something in the Hidelord's ear, and after a moment the Hidelord whispered back. The code words were not audible to the ear in case a slave tried to remember one as a means to escape, but it didn’t stop me from angling my ears listening for a shred of hope. For a brief moment I questioned whether this was what I truly wanted-- an escape; with rainbow drinker senses as sharp as a knife, I could easily hear soft murmurs and whispers as loud as a crowd’s roar. And yet, I heard nothing, and reminded myself that I am too weak to leave on my own volition. With a quick key jingle, the door was unlocked and the Hidelord grabbed me with a convincing tug and pulled me inside.

I had learned to be a good actor, playing my part to give people what they want. Looking sad and pathetic was too easy, though really the depression was the true star. I followed Hidelord with my head down and ears closed, but I didn’t need to act. The dread I felt was real.

Leading the way into the makeshift warehouse, the formerly tranquil air was instantly aplomb with screams, pleads, moans, weeping, and the noise of metal being shaken and scratched. Stacked in aisles at least twenty feet high and a hundred feet long were industrial cages, partially covered with numbered tarps. Empty or broken boxes were stacked against the wall for future use. Plastic tubes for dispensing water fed from each cage up toward the ceiling where one great cooler sat, like rodent sipper bottles, collecting from pipes buried in the ground outside. Flayed skins of past pets hung on the wall, a fatal reminder that despair was all anyone here had in store.

The place smelled of bile and sweat and dirt, but most of all, misery.

We passed the barrage of noise and doomed souls to the rear end, making it to an entryway made of thin plastic curtains. "Wanna wait here?" Hidelord put forth with a rhetoric chime to his voice, then stalked through the entryway to speak with his other minions. There were the faint sounds of beeping machinery through the cooler entrance, but it was mostly drowned out by the wails of the creatures behind me.

I was sure to keep my head down, though this time more for my health than out of obedience. I couldn't quite remember the path there, everything had been a blur, and I had been outside of my body for most of the journey through the Zoo, past the twists and turns filled with hollowed faces caked in blood and dirt and worse. I tried to keep myself together, gritting my teeth just to have that pressure as an anchor. The vile scene was almost too familiar to me. Underground slaver rings were only the scratches of the surface compared to this, though.

I wondered briefly if I was meant to be here, if this was my punishment for last night’s foolery. Or had he grown bored of me after all and decided to lock me away in the Zoo? I'd die, I decided; I'd rather die than go through this again. Hidelord had plenty of knives on his person. I could easily take one when he isn’t prepared, and slit my own throat right in front of him....

I began to hum to myself softly to try to drown out the screaming and crying, a short lullaby my brother would sing to me as kids. The memory of my brother brought forth its own guilt and regrets, but it was better to feel those than face the smothering atmosphere around me.

It was, to the relief of the surrounding universe, that Hidelord’s abandonment wouldn't come just yet. He soon returned as the squeaks of rubber against metal began to fade from the other room. He did not speak, only urgently waved to join him within the suite.

Beyond was much of the same, though some fabric curtains were fastened to the ceiling, and the room only held one or two cages, currently empty. All was covered in caked blood, none having bothered to clean the proof of their gruesome activity. Violet, blue, and brown alike were splattered across the room, as well as two of the otherwise shining metal tables that lay dormant before them. The room was cooler here, and the sound of the beeping grew closer.

Hidelord slunk past one of the curtains, gesturing to one table that was, in stark contrast, very much occupied. The traitorous warlord from before, Jembra, was a mass of tubes and cables hooked up to odd, archaic contraptions. A jar of leeches was set on the ground next to him, bright gold and swollen in their putrid swill. An accordion-like object sank up and down to the rhythm of his breathing, and bags of olive-hue blood surrounded his tired, unconscious face.

"The blood'll poison him before too long." Hidelord remarked, snorting. "He's no drinker, so if you want to bask in this for a second, don't fuck around. Let me know when we should get started, and how we'll decide this."

I looked at him, eyes wide. What more could this man go through? What were… we...going to put him through? I glanced back at the barely-conscious corpse on the table. Try as I might, I could not hold much sympathy for him. He knew the rules of the land better than I, and he had been willing to throw away what kept him safe for greed and power. He had been willing to betray what kept me safe. I can’t afford this man any sympathy, so my response was short and dry, “Anytime.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” my master grinned wickedly, reaching under the table and grabbing a small satchel, then sticking it under the lord’s nose.

It took a few moments to kick in, but the corpse lurched forward slightly with a sharp inhale, eyes pulsing from the aftermath of shock.

“Wakey wakey…” Hidelord’s smile faded into a mask of concentration, as he went to the far side of the room and took hold of one knife and a worn whetstone. A long, tapering sound of metal meeting plastic began to repeat through the small bay, and Jembra’s head swung back and forth weakly between the two of us, the reality quickly sinking in. With every haunting shing, his pupils looked smaller and smaller, and his breathing hitched and hiccuped with dread.

I could smell it, his fear, a sweet acidic taste on my tongue and fragrance to my nose. It made my fangs ache and the shudder that ran through my body could clue anyone in that the promise of what was to come seemed... enjoyable. Exciting. Much to my shame and guilt, I felt excited.

No… no it must be because I’m hungry, my blood thirst waking the undead monster within me. But even with this reasoning, I knew I wasn’t strong enough to help myself.

I approached Jembra, wanting him to see me, wanting more of that fear scent. Did he recognize me? Did he recognize me as the reaper who brought him to his knees? If there was recognition, it seemed Jembra’s mind was too far gone to rationalize or vocalize it. He didn’t scream or writhe about, but the puffs of his breath came out desperate, as though his lungs had holes he was desperate to fill.

It did not take long for the knife to be sharpened, and for Hidelord’s heavy boots to lumbar back. He held the blade between his thumb and two fingers. “I don’t think we need to decide. I can see the urge practically erupting from your skin. Shall the knife turn once more, Athena?” It felt like an oddly intimate moment.

Jembra’s legs started to shake pathetically against the gurney, tearing a bit at the medieval stitching that kept his dissected carcass together. He must’ve been on painkillers to even stay conscious with the damage…not that it would matter soon.

Despite the shame and guilt that I could feel building up, it was much easier to fall into these temptations. There was a part of me that missed being the hunter instead of the prey, a part of me that yearned for the days of blood lust and money. I could go back, step into the past, relive the days when I felt most powerful....

Jembra's struggle really sold it. As he moved and tore at his stitching, I could smell the blood welling in his wounds. Hidelord's offer danced in my mind; what would Jembra look like without his skin? With the smell of blood covering his whole body? I shuddered at the thought, and the words of an old story about a fur trader came to my head; one who had been so greedy that he had killed all the animals, and had begun to feel sorrow only then for the victims as he found himself alone. I hummed a bit giddily as words broke past a ghosting smile, "So long it has felt since I have brushed with the soft fur of a pelt."

My mind somehow made up, I looked to the Hidelord then, "If you could guide me…"

The hunter hummed, leaving the knife on the table by the troll's foot, then coming to the side of the table to press the recoiling cadaver's arm tight to the steel, gesturing over with his eyebrows. "I'd normally soak the skin in some salt water to help loosen it from the muscle, but...you get the point. Bastard's weak but he's still gonna shake so I'll hold him for you."

Jembra's moans, barely audible, became weak pleads that warbled through the streaks of tears that bubbled along his eyelids and nose.

"We'll start here." He dug the tip of his elbow against the wrist to keep it secured, then gestured to the secured area of skin just below said wrist. "I'd normally flip him onto his stomach and start from the back, but with his injuries that'd just kill him. Don't expect to be perfect on your first time skinning, it took me a few tries to get the right method." Ugh, dreadful to think about. Almost as dreadful as the excitement that was bouncing in his voice. It irritated me how much we mirrored each other. "You've peeled fruit with a paring knife, right? Same idea. Stick just the tip under, then angle upwards so you're only getting under his skin, then press on a slight angle. The knife isn't a tool, it's a friend; let it do the work."

I readied myself just as Hidelord instructed. My breath became shaky not from nervousness but from the sight of the knife entering Jembra's body and how smooth the movement was. I angled the knife once it was in, and began to peel down. "Is there a pattern you do this in?" I tossed him a glance and ignored Jembra's cries. "Patches? Strips? Is any of this salvageable to you? Or should I have fun with this blood orange?"

The biting remark caused a shift in Jembra's face; the smallest hint of prideful fury at the demeaning tease. Apparently the only thing stronger than fear to the Lords was their pride. But it wouldn't last, and the machines began to beep louder as a deep, dark goo ebbed along the edge of the knife. Groans rose in pitch and the man fought to free his arm with what little fight remained in his form.

"To flay and filet a troll is an art form. Part of the appeal is the different styles. This product is just for a trophy, not for a special sale, but do try to make it recognizable." He pointed along the lines of veins bulging with each dig and pull of the blade. "Try to keep the veins intact if you can, don't slice and dice them for the sake of our turf war. Pyritebloods have thin, mutant veins, but they're almost as much of a trademark as how much of swindlers they are. Never met one that wasn't itching to try and fuck you over for advancement, isn't that right Jembra?" Hidelord chuckled. "Keep doing what you're doing. Maybe cut that first side of the forearm off, and then we'll give him a break so the shock doesn't take him. He's gonna have to keep from croaking too quick for his fucking stupidity, hmm?"

Listening to Hidelord's advice I worked the seconds away. I was careful and attentive as I could be, admiring the way the blood pooled around the knife and the texture of peeled skin. A part of me hated it. It felt as if a lost memory was threatening to play in my mind, something I pushed so far back so long ago. I feared I would uncover it again if I continued. But I wanted to keep going out of spite of my master. And yet there’s a part of me that was hungry and eager to please. I’m a complete mess with torn wills.

I stopped peeling when this half of the forearm was exposed. I held the patch of skin in my hands, my eyes wide. I had once been renowned as the Huntress, playing with my prey before eating it, before shedding their heads from their bodies. These weren’t forbidden thoughts or memories, no more as they were reflections.

I held the patch up for the Hidelord to see, seeking his approval and showing off the catch. I both hated myself and yet was impressed at the same time. I wanted to scream and cry at the Hidelord, fearful of the memory that threatened to come. There was a reason why I’m not up close and personal with my kills, usually. This is up close. This is personal. This is...

I glared at him, burning hatred onto his face. Look what you made of me! This isn’t punishment, but entertainment, and I feel I have become a jester. Yet, this might as well become of me: the very same monster I revere. Despite it all I couldn’t help but wish this to end, and for him to hold me and praise me; did I put on a good show? The proof is in my hands.

Wading in the stench and promise of blood, the night swam into morning in the vigorous agony of the broken man and Hidelord's uncontainable satisfaction. It was early during the start of his chest being worked that the shock and pain finally took hold and Jembra lost consciousness. As long as he was dead, I could numb myself.

"Weak man," the Hidelord huffed, wiping his palms with a dirty cloth. "There was a lot more fun in store if he wasn't such a pansy-fuck. At best, it makes carving him easier, especially for hands and feet, and when we remove the eyes." His index finger went under my chin and pointed my gaze towards him. "Tell me, what do you feel, Athena? A rush? A pride? Honor?"

There was an uncomfortable silence between us as he waited for my answer. I glanced back and forth between the cadaver and Hidelord, studying my handiwork while battling with emotions I couldn’t fathom.

My lip curled slightly as I relented, “Satisfaction.” My voice had cracked, and I could not maintain it. My words grew breathless and soundless, almost like a sob. "Eagerness. Regret. But pride, yes, there's certainly pride." There was a growl rising in my throat, barely audible. He pressed me to him and we rested our foreheads against the other’s. "I hate the person I am when I’m with you.”

His fingers coaxed between strands of my matted hair. "You're lucky to have the luxury to hate what you're doing,” he hummed, "in the Safari, everyone surrenders to me; it's best to surrender with the part of you that's truest. Uncaged, untamed...an exotic nemesis to all that would disrespect you, and disrespect me. “A knife is made to cut, Athena. You may want to keep it sheathed, use it to pin your letters to the wall, make it something it isn't, but it'll never be as good or as happy as when it's cuttin'. You're a knife-" He pointed down at his pants. "You're on my belt, heh. You're sharp, dangerous, beautiful. I'll keep you clean, polished - as a prized possession deserves." His lips brushed across my blood-stained knuckles, his other hand encircling the middle of my neck with two fingers. His breath was warm, rank with the smell of alcohol and spittle. "Now...I've paid you two more favors than I'd pay any other troll in this fucking madhouse of mine. Is that enough to trade for a prophecy, my little bird?"

He was making a promise to me. My chest and throat tightened as tears stung the back of my eyes. This. This was the best my life was going to get. Someone who would protect me, cherish me, want me. I meant something to him, even though I was just a slave-- no. If I had been just a slave, I would have been treated like everyone else. I wouldn’t have the privilege of his protection or praise, of his bed or his knife. He knew me. He knows what’s best for me, can see me for what I am, for what I can’t fight.

And in that moment, I found myself content for the first time in three sweeps. Why should I fight something that seemed too good? I could be here, by his side, on his lap or on the floor, and he would protect me. Clean. Polished. He wouldn't let anyone else have me. I wouldn't move from place to place, hand to hand, whip to whip. I’m his. I have a place. A purpose. His. This was the best I was going to get, and so I’ll have it as long as he'll have me.

Well, there was a problem with that, though. I hesitated. I’ve seen this coming for a long time now, and had always accepted that it would just be Fate. To move around and shift from hand to hand forever. But something was coming. While before I had refused to tell Hidelord this, now that I was convinced of how close Hidelord would hold his knife to his belt I reconsidered. "There will be a hound of metal," I said softly. "Fiercer than your knives. You will lose one of them." The Hidelord’s a smart and clever man, and though sometimes he struggled with figuring out my cryptic words –as per our song and dance-- he knew instantly that this was about me. "How long?" He queried, blinking slowly. "How near is this hound to its scent?"

I reached up and cupped his cheek, running the side of my thumb along his cheek bone and part of the scar that ran over his eye. "You're the most cunning trapper I've had the displeasure to meet," I brought my lips to his skin and traced his uneven stubble on his jaw, then did the same to his throat. I felt him stiffen and radiate with confusion, but soon his shoulders relaxed. I let my fangs graze lightly, then looked up at him. The hesitance was still there, but now I allowed my voice to be distant. Reserved. As always, I knew more than he did, and I knew Fate cannot be fought with. I accepted that a long time ago, after the death of my matesprit. So what am I to do now? And him? "You figure it out."

Predictably, flattering the great lord earned enough favor to distract. The smirk that sprouted was torn between grabbing me by one shoulder blade and pressing me deep into the space between his pectorals and letting me lead, just as he had a moment ago. In the end though, the moment was fleeting, and as we stood at the window, he put the cool metal of his rings against the trail that my teeth had left. “If I ever killed a troll for every time you talked smart to me, the mountain would be higher than the one we took to get here,” he jested dangerously, the words ringing in their usual dynamic.

I nodded, falling silent, but not for him. A small glimpse of time rolled behind my eyes, showing a glimmer of metal and splashes of blood. How topical; I knew the hound was coming, but I hadn’t thought it would be today. Which meant we didn’t have time to stand around. If I don’t distract him, he’ll be dead like the rest of them. What a cruel irony, when I had just chosen to believe in his promise.

"If you do not mind, Aktaio, I would like to confess."

With the use of his real name, the coy game stopped. A vein bulged in the side of his neck as he tried to figure out what that meant. Heat rushed to his face. His jaw set, a suspicion ghosting his expression, though I knew he didn’t want to believe it. “…What have you done? Talk. Now.”

#Hide and Seek #fevur writing #Athena Uyilst #The Foreseer #The Hidelord #Trapper and Trader

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memurfevur-archive · 11 months ago

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Hide and Seek Part 2: The Bronze Girl

Character(s): Athena Uyilst, The Hidelord (@mageofspacemultiverse)

About: As Hidelord hosts an auction, a few visions of the future weigh on Athena's mind: a traitor, and a slave girl. Things don't exactly go to plan, though, and Athena finds herself with blood on her hands.

CW: graphic NPC death, blood, ask to tag

Hide and Seek Part 1: Song and Dance

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I stepped through the threshold as someone I was not, dragged by a leash fastened in the Hidelord’s hand. I kept my eyes on his back and my mouth closed. Anxiety threatened to grip my heart the closer we got to the merry-making that would welcome us below. I am not a stranger to parties, but I abhorred the ones Hidelord hosted.

A crowd had slowly filtered in: his close friends and fellow hunters with their best slaves, drinking from brown bottles and legs propped up on 'foot-rests'. They hollered and howled when we had walked in, a party effectively declared. Clove and holly dried in the window. Ribbons attached to the ankles and wrists of dancers waved to the music, loud to mark the festivities. Faces twisted in unappealing smiles, and the guests’ laughter almost sounded like an execution. I tried not to show my disgust as their spittle flew; a few rare droplets landed on my shoulder. It was worse than a circus here.

Beyond the thin, cramped opening that we walked through was a set of stairs leading to an old beech tree chair lavishly coated in layers and layers of high quality lusii fur. A gavel made from some poor troll’s horn perched precariously beside it. Hidelord guided me over, then gave a kiss to my knuckles before taking a seat. After waiting a moment so that his kiss could feel like the burning of bleach on my skin, he motioned for me to make a new perch on his lap.

"What...a...night. Welcome, you freaky fuckheads." The Hidelord welcomed, to another round of cheers and smirks from monsters just like him. "Yesterday we hunted; today, we feast on our spoils. Until then, see to it that you keep things entertaining."

Around us was a drunken revelry, one of the not-so-few occasions that this chalet would host a gathering. An auction, rather; a celebration of spoils and some chance to make wealth. I cast my eyes away from the guests manhandling available slaves, favoring to pretend it wasn’t happening at all. There’s no room for compassion here in this land, not unless there were strings attached, and I no longer had the power to intervene like I used to on the Mainland. In this existence as a bystander, I could only be thankful it wasn’t me, though I was not blind to the other warlords’ hungry looks. It was because of them, actually, that I had requested to sit upon my lord’s lap before our arrival.

My legs draped over the side of his throne as his hands rested beneath the thin cloth that hung very loosely over me, a protective but perverted claim to my body. I suppose it should’ve been obvious that I was his favorite asset, not that anyone else needed to know. The illusion of social politics is what makes the difference between life and death here in the Safari. The more someone is feared, the safer they are; if there’s ever a glimpse of weakness-- say, having a lover-- then the respect someone has for their fearsome leader would be gone. Leaders here must show a lonesome and gruesome independence to the likes of nothing that I could compare. Lovers, friends, children, anyone below a warlords rank: they’re all dangerous liabilities that could burn entire chalets down. There were not often exceptions.

Now you have someone like me: a dying breed, and with a gift for seeing the threads of time. A dangerous woman helping the stronghold stay strong, while playing the role of a fragile pet. A slave that could whisper suggestions into their crude warlord’s ear. It would be enough to set his throne ablaze. So we hide our song and dance from public eyes, and I kept my vow vigilance that he so greedily craves.

While looking away from the chaos of the party, my eyes landed on a particular warlord. The world around me had begun to drop away, and I was no longer myself. It was like I had been pulled underwater; the world shimmered and quivered around me, dusted in red. I knew what this meant, but whether I stood in the shoes of myself or someone else was always hard to tell-- but this man now before me became covered in blood. There was eagerness in his eyes, sparks of betrayal and a cruel smirk. Green stained the ground around him. I could feel my heart fall to my stomach. A slave stood by, trembling and crying. Bronze.

Then, I blinked, and a new scene played out before me. The same man, covered in blood but yellow instead of green. His body torn open, patches of skin missing from his body, and his face twisted in pain as agonized tears streamed down his face. A horn was broken. I could feel my pulse racing, and my hands began to twitch as if it could feel the texture of the horn that was once there. Anger. I felt so much anger….

I gasped and quickly sat forward, waking myself from these living dreams. We’d been in concert long enough for Hidelord to know my little signals, the lurch of my visions, the loyalty of my scent-tracking. He beckoned a servant to bring him drinks, playing the at-ease ruler without brains, but he surveyed the room with a cool intensity, looking to spot the piece of the puzzle that didn't fit quite right. There were a few that caught his attention, I could tell, but which one of them plotted was not too certain to him. As the drinks were brought over, he murmured to the troll: a sea-dweller dressed in wool rags with a bone piercing in his eyelid. This servant oversaw both gossip and the keys to the Hidelord’s personal zoo. The Hidelord knew how to play strengths, and before long he shooed them away. "Well?" His brows were expectant even as his words said little.

"You're the trapper, my dear turning knife. I will tell you when it is time. Preemptiveness does more harm than good, I have learned." I lowered my voice more, reaching back to trace a finger lightly across his throat. His eyes narrowed. "There are two possibilities. You're negotiating an asset, sharing her, and in your ecstasy you wouldn't even notice your throat cut. Or, you open theirs, covering her in their blood. Though I suppose this would give them away, once you begin to discuss your wares during this time of celebration, hm? Once someone touches it, is willing to give their life for it, you will know."

I felt a haze then, as if another vision was threatening to take me under again. A third possibility, but one I cannot see. Or, perhaps I had read my visions wrong? My lips pressed into a fine line as I turned back to glance at the crowd. The man was no longer where he should have been. I settled back into the lap and chest of my master. A few fingers parted through the locks of my hair, and Hidelord paid for my counsel with an unseen kiss to my temple. "A golden opportunity. Leeches must be cut out before they sink their teeth in too deep,” he murmured, "We'll show them our own form of ecstasy, won't we? Steal the smiles from their faces, the vigor from their bones?"

He held the glass of blood-red wine out to me, taunting me with a smirk. I did not refuse the wine, instead letting it wash over my parched lips as I drank from the glass in his hand. It was welcoming; a cool refreshment in a stale and warm atmosphere. Instead of licking the traces of wine off my lips when I was done, I brought my lips to his so he could sample, and when I pulled away he scraped his teeth against my bottom lip. I could feel his eyes linger on me as I turned away to look back at the crowd. He settled back more, letting the rhapsody spill out around us as we waited for the opportunity that I’d spoken of, his hand on my thigh just above the knee. Our song and dance, unknown to drunken eyes.

An hour and half seemed to pass at a lurid gait, until the heavy front doors jittered open and in sauntered a train of more slaves from the Hidelord's zoo. The zoo was its own form of hell: a great maze of cages just out back upon the sun-burnt cliffs. His eyes passed over each of his prizes, his potential products in turn, the fourth one drawing his-- no, both, of our gazes magnetically for a moment. Her outfit was beyond modest, and though her shoulder sank with accepted sadness, there was a glow about her. His chin tilted up in acknowledgment, and he took the horn next to the chair and gave it a quick bang across the top of the wooden chest, witnessing the whole of the party-goers go hush in preparation for his announcement.

"Well, well, well." He taunted the line of product, clutching me gently to him as he absorbed the fear they emitted and waved the guards that carried her over. "That umber would make a great deep color, don't you think, Athena? The tanning beneath the skin stiffen with heat, turning it a deep caramel. I could make you a handbag." I quietly scoffed with a scowl and said nothing, disgusted and with now prying eyes I am without the right to truthfully speak out against his taunts.

Instead, I studied the Bronzeblood within the cage. Her skin took on a soft hue of orange in the dull cascade of the sunset behind her. Her hair was long, matted, but the way it fell down on either side of her head framed her slender face well. She was beautiful, and everything about her matched my vision. I steeled myself for the trauma that was to come. I was to not care about her, just as I was to not care about any other servant in this building. No one survived being selfless in the Safari.

"You're privy to my domicile, you bastards and lepers, and you will be again!" Hidelord greeted to a harmony of snickers, "Now, as is typical, we have some lovely treats for you to occupy, if your wallet can take it. Eight prizes to do with as you please. To have a look, however, I offer free of charge." He scanned the row of patrons, splitting a grin and sipping at his cocktail. "Are there any takers? .......Nnnnooo? Well, perhaps-"

"I 'ant da one on yur lap 'ere, Hidelord!" A man with half his teeth missing cawed with a laugh, gesturing at me with his cane and licking his chops. My blood immediately ran cold and my stomach twisted in knots; I pressed myself tighter against my master-- my protection. The Hidelord rolled his eyes, cheek slouching against his wrist.

"Has there been a day that's gone by where you haven't asked for your piece, Haumme?"

"Ol take care 'er like you 'uldn't belief!"

"Shut your fuckin' trap. You're a groundskeeper. For the amount she's worth you'd have to take the teeth of everyone in this room, and then times that by four thousand, and lick the Grand Highblood's taint, and only then would you be halfway there." The dissenter's face soured and he grumbled into silence, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

Others with genuine offers soon stood and pressed their claim. The to-be-culprit caught my gaze when he stepped forward, venom evident in his eyes as he leered as though to say 'the hell are you looking at', before standing to make a claim of his own. "So much excitement!” Hidelord laughed and shook me, as if to get me to laugh along with him. Few transactions were made as time passed by slowly. I kept my gaze down to avoid the hungry eyes of strangers. I tried spacing out, thinking of anything but being here, so I wouldn’t have to listen to the survivor’s guilt that clawed at my stomach. I would be rattled to the present everytime Hidelord howled his laughter. I could not remember what time it was by the time the auction went on hold.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, we'll discuss these purchases upstairs after the feast, no need to disrupt the celebration. I'll settle bidding wars, and let you tour your treats more properly." He chuckled, and the others bowed slightly in acknowledgment before the music fired up again.

In through the door after the cages came spits of roasted bone-in meat, dripping gobs of fat glistening from the flames, and great wood platters of hacked onions and vegetables. Patrons drew forward with their knives and carved their bits, some fighting to get the pieces they wanted. They ate with their hands, chewing into gristle and flesh and organ meat, wiping the blood and grease on their clothes. A servant brought the Hidelord a plate of his own, but he ignored it for now.

"There’s game to catch first,” Hidelord growled, “what do I seek, Athena?" His hand toyed with one of the knives on his belt, eager to let it feed on traitor blood.

I didn’t answer him. Fate was not mine to decide, not anymore. I learned long ago that no one could fight what was to come, to deny the inevitable. I tried not to think about that night and all the ones that followed. I tried not to think about the night I lost her. It can’t be helped; someone will be dying tonight. I scanned the crowd and once more my gaze landed on the warlord from my vision, brows furrowing and body tensing as he came closer to Hidelord’s throne. This was enough to quench Hidelord’s curiosity.

He picked up on the signal, looking sidelong for a moment before quickly turning his attention back. Hidelord spoke with his tone light; friendly, but shadowed by threats. "Jembra, you bitch, the party would've been better with you not around, pestering me for more than what you can fucking chew.” The troll who had approached the middle of the room, standing before the remnants of the roast, wore a symbol: though it was imprinted in a brand on his shoulder and embroidered on the ascot around his neck - like two swords crossing paths. The sunglasses over his eyes hid a pale amber-gold caste, and his stomach was fully obscured by pale-white dressings that may have even extended further down his legging-adorned lower half. A large C-shaped scar, long healed, drew from his upper chest to the side of his neck, and a pinky finger was missing at the joint. "And I’ll ask again. Somebody needed to see to our defenses," Jembra lightly deflected, a reedy and political color to his voice. "You mean, see to my assets?" "It's not against the code to chase yours, old friend." "Don't lecture me on the code, okay? I made the fucking code." Jembra glanced at me for a second, hands in his pockets, likely taking hold of some weapon. I could feel bile rising in the back of my throat, my fangs lengthening as my lips threatened to curl in a feral hiss. I bit my tongue to hold myself back.

"Point taken." His head cut upwards, breaking contact with me, "speaking of chasing, care to tell me about her? You know which kind I like."

The Hidelord swallowed his tongue, but his muscles tensed as he took a glance at the brown-blooded troll. Hidelord shooed me away off his lap, then gestured for the girl to be uncuffed and brought over to kneel at the foot of the steps. Jembra took a step forward and the Hidelord cracked the fingers on one hand, ready to vanquish the would-be-usurper...but not without patience.

My eyes lingered over the slave in question, cowering with tears streaming down her face. I learned long ago that this was the art of war. Once upon a time, that had been me cowering in a barricade as people laughed and touched, as if I was nothing but cattle. I felt pity for her, but I would sooner dissociate than feel the willpower to cause a change. That power wasn’t mine anymore. I turned to take a seat on the cushions at the foot of Hidelord's throne which were often reserved for his most prized slave, usually. It was rare that I wouldn’t be the one to warm them. As Jembra and Hidelord neared her, the Bronze whimpered and barked out a word that by now was almost foreign to me. My insides felt colder than the fear the other warlords put in me. "Akabri!" Akabri. A Vaelari word for something akin to mercy. A plea. A prayer. It felt as if all my breath had been taken from me. Vaelari. My birth people, long since wiped out by the Empire’s need for control. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I could not control the words that came from my mouth, and in my desperation I foolishly ignored the curious stares from the other warlords. These sounds, sounds that I have not spoken in sweeps, tore my throat raw: "Ebuto shiua! To ebu shiua!” You are heard.The Bronze girl began to tremble and sob out more Vaelari, matching my intensity. I had not even noticed the hot globs of tears that fell off my cheeks until I received a look of agitation from Hidelord. I immediately closed my mouth, fear making bile rise in my throat. I’d messed up.

All the background chatter and ambient noise faded to the chorus of a well-dead syntax filling the lodge. I could feel Jembra’s eyes on me, taking a glance as if it suddenly dawned on him that my presence was worthwhile.

"Well isn't that something? Them two know one another, do they?"

"I wouldn't know. Don't remember giving her permission to speak, though. Damn nuisance. She'll be lucky if I don't-"

"That isn't just speaking, that's understanding. I could use an interpreter." Jembra's rotten teeth almost glowed. "Name your price."

"Not for sale."

"Really now? I wouldn't say I agree." He scuffed his boot at the foot of the stairs, sending the Bronze shuddering. "You're a reasonable business-troll, great Hidelord, and everyone has a price. And to me, there's something...sweetly exotic about it. Your little bird could help me learn." He lightly, yet overtly commented. The Hidelord was not amused. "Didn't you hear the last bat-shit vagabond who asked me? Whatever price you want to match-"

"I'll give you my Lime. You remember Saphic? You're not going to turn that down, are you? For an endangered line you'd be insane, she's 500 teeth."

As the Umbre continued babbling, Hidelord's eyelid twitched, and he motioned to his guards. "For the love of the seven hells, someone shut this bitch up. Heat the brand, gag her, fuck if I care, but she's harshing the vibes in here."

"We're in the middle of an acquisition here! Leave her to speak, chum." Jembra quipped as two larger trolls approached but immediately wavered at Jembra’s gesture. "Besides, that was a poorly veiled distraction. You know, I don't think we've ever gotten to see this slave's blood first-hand.” Jembra gestured at me, and my eyes widened. “What is she? Based on your defense I'm guessing… Rareblood? No, maybe someone pretty damn important. Why don't we all find out...?" I fell silent at Jembra’s foolish threats. I tried to hush the Bronze girl to try to dissuade the others from harming her, but my attempts were fruitless. With a sigh, the Hidelord grabbed the Bronze by the hair and threw her into Jembra with a roar. If it was one thing I knew, it was that no one should feel comfortable with threatening anything of his.

The swaggering traitor caught her, stumbling backward, and Hidelord threw a dagger into the troll's foot, catching the slave's side as it flew through the air. Both shouted, but the Hidelord didn't relent, and he quickly hoisted Jembra up the stairs on his back.

I lurched forward and caught the Bronze and held her, comforting her, quieting her cries as we spoke our tongue. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was not what I saw in my vision. I cast a look over my shoulder as Hidelord grappled with Jembra. As I watched them I whispered to the Bronze, telling her to hide if she could. This had turned personal.

I turned and saw Jembra reach for the knife, and Hidelord not having a clue, thinking himself won.

I hesitated, between letting it be and intervening. I shouldn't intervene! I should have learned by now that I couldn't change fate. I couldn’t do it to protect my brother, I couldn’t fight it to protect my matesprit, what chance would that change now for someone who claimed me as nothing but property? Hidelord's future was his... but did I have a future without him? What would happen to me here without Hidelord's protection? I thought to all the hungry warlords that undressed me with their eyes. Fates be damned, what use was a lie if it was dead?

With a deep breath, I readied myself and sprung. I landed on a table, then immediately propelled off of it and onto the wall where I ran just above the crowds’ heads. Jumping from that point, I pounced, not unlike a cat. A predator. A monster. My hands wrapped around Jembra's throat, snatching him from Hidelord's grasp. I could feel eyes fall on me in disbelief, but I could not care. I lifted Jembra high enough above the ground so his feet weren't touching, my nails digging into his flesh. I took the knife from his foot and threw it aside, leaving him with no spare weapon to scramble for. For me? I didn’t need one. I grabbed one of his horns and, effortlessly, ripped one of them off. I felt the chitin and sinew of nerves snap in my hands, and when I dislodged his horn I immediately rammed it into his gut.

While he shrieked in pain I grappled the man so that he was over my shoulder, my hands still clasped around the horn. As I threw him over my head the horn sliced through his skin, ripping him open and causing blood to spray everywhere. The body crashed against the wall with a sick, wet thud. I heaved in every breath, drinking it like water, growls and snarls escaping me like a feral beast. I will keep my protection. Hidelord will not die today. I spat at Jembra’s body, cursing at him in Vaelari.

The sound in the cabin was mute, as all the onlookers’ stares landed on me. All the guards and the lords and the slaves. Hidelord included, too. I looked up at him, looking for something: acknowledgment, approval.

But instead what I was met with was the back of his hand meeting my cheek, holding nothing back. His chest heaved as he stashed the knife and retreated back to his chair, taking the glass of wine from earlier and taking a few long swigs. I stared after him as the sting caused unwanted tears to well up in my eyes. His back was turned to me when he spoke again. "Guards, two of you. Take her upstairs. I don't want to hear that awful gibberish again, and if she keeps talking help her forget it. I'll deal with her later. Two more, take all these back to the zoo. Sales are closed for tonight. One had to ruin the fucking party for everybody. The rest of you can finish your meals and ales and fuck yourselves home." He turned to one scuttling assistant with glasses too big for his face and a long gray apron. Hidelord gestured to the strewn corpse. "I doubt he's salvageable, but see what you can do. If you get some life back in him, I'll make him wish he were dead later. If not, slop for the boars, they'll be happy for a fresh meal. And if you all have any questions, shove it." He cast one look back at me before taking his seat again. I shouldn’t have felt hurt. This was the song and dance, but a well of bitterness churned in my stomach, as two guards came and picked me up by the arms. A cast a glare at Hidelord, but that quickly lost its flame and I lowered my eyes to the ground. They dragged me up the stairs and dumped me in Hidelord’s study, buried me in fists and kicks, blood and bruises. Then, they were just as quick to abandon me to their posts right outside the door.

I settled myself against his desk, pressing my back against it and pulling my knees to my chest. I could feel the bruise forming on my cheek, no doubt a ring on his had made a haunting impression. Frustration built up in me, and I lashed out at the ground with my fist-- leaving that aching now, too.

I had been face-to-face with my past, and I could do nothing to save her. I had acted out of line and saved Hidelord’s pathetic ass, but I was to be punished for it. And above all, my visions failed me.

The music picked up again with far less vigor, and it was not ten minutes before he came storming up the stairs, near-snarling for the guards to watch downstairs for any dissenters. The door slammed open as the sound of footsteps landed outside.

The great Oliveblood shook his head with a grimace, pulling out a bag of ice and tossing it on the ground in front of me. "That's for your face, bitch. If I didn't punish you in some way right away, it would've turned into a fiasco down there: owners calling for my head or dragging you out into the Safari with the others. What happened, Athena? What in the Gog fuck happened? You said to wait for a signal and then start spewing nonsense out of your good-for-nothing government beak!"

There was frustration in his eyes. Power-hungry fury, yes. His voice was deep and bellowed with guttural anger. But there was a hint of something else that was unfamiliar and out of place. Fear? Since when was the mighty Hidelord afraid?

I didn't pick up the bag of ice, basking in the pain for a moment longer, but then surmised that I might be punished more if I didn't accept his help. I reached for the bag and pressed it to the bruise.

"...She was my kin," I said, wincing at my voice cracking. "We came from the same lands. The same people. The same family that the Empire you all so gleefully ignore wiped out. We were the Vaelari, or Fae as they call it. I thought my brother and I were the only survivors." I slumped back with a grunt, tilting my head back to lessen the pain. "I shouldn't tell you any of this. You'll just see it as another fucking dollar on a price tag. Or tooth. Or whatever the hells you fuckers use. Art of war or whatever. I wish I could be so ignorant."

He crumpled into his chair by the window again, hunched over and brain working. There was a stretch of silence before he spoke again. "......I'm not gonna pretend I understand what you're feeling. Doesn't serve either of our interests for me to, either. But okay. That, that at least, doesn't make what you did entirely ass-backwards.” My brow quivered at this sudden show of sympathy. Right. Songs and dances can feign emotion, too.

“Don't underestimate the power of a price tag, though. If what you're saying is true and she's endangered, that makes her an asset. Not a troll to just throw away to anyone with a few funds." He met my gaze for a moment. "Someone I can keep in the chalet. You understand?" The Hidelord shook his head and in a surprising move, shed himself of the long jacket that was his calling card. "...I've never told you how I made this coat, or at least not the specifics. It really isn't yours or anyone's fucking business, but after tonight's little display, I don't exactly have a choice in the matter. "I've been with bitches before, and I know you know it. I grew up in the Chalet, it was built on Atalis soil by Atalis hands. Labored in and out for a commune, a place of trade without chucklefucks breathing down our necks. My ancestor had it stolen by another lord when I wasn't even pupated, and I took it from another cuck some time later, but the place has never changed, and neither has the code." He didn't meet my eyes anymore as he ran his hands along the sleeves. "My first mate was named Imniks. She was everything to me. The body, the spirit. She was a soft thing though, plucked from a pillowcase. Squishy, overt. Tried to stand up to a rival lord once. Well, he left and gathered the others and waged war on us, vowed to take my Imniks, have their way with her, and make her watch as they killed me. Burn this place to the ground. She was weak… so I gave her up to save everything that meant something to me or the others.

"But you," his pupils seared into the wall, "you aren't weak. You're made of stronger stuff. I'm not looking to give up another and I don't think you're the kind to make me, but I've been here my whole life. You haven't... They'll want you thrown in the Safari for this, and I'll do my damndest to keep you out of a real cage, but if you think your bitch ass is going to get both of us killed because of the life that kicked you to the curb, you better right reconsider your perspective."

His voice was even and scarily calm despite his clear anger, as though romanticizing his past struggles with these trolls took the energy out of him.

I glanced at him briefly, taking in his story and his words and studying him without the coat. I wanted to argue, to say that they couldn't have any influence in what he did with me because I was his, but he was right. He knew this place better, and I should know better than anyone that politics is one hell of a field to traverse in.

But, his praise surprised me. Strong? How, when I had given up on life so long ago? His words made me reconsider; if I was weaker than what he claimed, I wouldn't be able to survive here. I wouldn't have been able to match him blow for blow my first day here, prompting him to spare me. Maybe there really was a fire still in me? How long would it be until those embers would go out, too?

Despite the sting of blood that dribbled into my eyes, I ignored my body's screams as I shuffled to the Hidelord and kneeled. Humility was a powerful thing to offer, sometimes greater than a life. "You are right. I was foolish, reckless. Do what you will to punish me, and make it believable, so what respect I robbed of you will be returned."

His hair hung wild across his shoulders, which shook along with his head. A thin sickle split his cheeks, armed with teeth. "You're a crazy bird. They heard enough to be calmed for tonight. I can't promise tomorrow won't sting, though. Jembra's people will want blood on their hands. I'll see what kind of middle ground we can find." When the Hidelord spoke of middle ground, it usually meant killing a few more trolls to supplement the losses. "Lilac's hard to bullshit, though. Then again, I'm sure you can foresee what I'm gonna do, so don't get all defiant on me. It's just business."

I pressed my lips together, not liking the sound of that, but I nodded along. There was a knock on the door, and the Hidelord quickly strode over and peaked around to see a servant carrying his food from downstairs. Keeping the door mostly-shut, he took the plate with a snarl, taking a fistful of meat before putting it down on the ground for me. His teeth worked and ground flesh into pulp as he nursed the idea of what he was going to do with his prize. From outside came drunken moans and howls and screeches that I wasn’t sure were lusii or troll in nature. "But I'll keep your Fae-shmae bitch around here for now, since you ended up saving my life. Frankly killed two wingbeasts with one bloody fuckin' stone; Jembra’s always been a damn rat, but he knew better to consider a play like that. And, if they can put blood in ‘im and make him squawk again,” there was a glint in his eyes, strange and eerie and wanting. "Maybe I'll show you how to skin the bastard.”

Silence filled the block for a while. There wasn't much worth talking about anymore. No bravado, no tug-of-war for dominance; not tonight. Guards didn't care to enter, nor were there demands for explanation. He never pressed for details about my life in these moments, when things were calm and there was no face to put on. Sometimes if the silence got unbearable, he'd ask what I wanted. Tonight though, there was none of that. He only polished his knives, eventually lighting a cigar for himself to smoke. The sounds of the howls and hoots would emerge from the Safari, somewhere far away from the small shred of troll-manity they were encased inside, though even those faded as the darkness began to lighten.

When he'd gotten through his whole belt, he stood and flicked his ashy blunt into an ashtray, then stretched and cracked his back. Hidelord’s eyes lingered on me for a few heartbeats, face even and giving away nothing. "If you want to sleep, sleep in the chair. Not sure if you're risking a hunt today, but either way...good morning." Briskly, the warlord left to his bed and pulled a curtain closed behind him, leaving me alone with my bruises and thoughts.

"Good morning, dear turning-knife.”

I glanced briefly at the chair, then greedily took to it knowing that it was better than nothing. As I curled up in the chair, I brought my knees to my chest and hugged myself tightly. I missed the warm arms of a loved one around me and the feeling of safety without the need of keeping one eye open. I missed friendly company with no strings attached; I missed the sounds of everyday life outside my door. But then I wondered if this was really any different than what my life had been on the Mainland. The Hidelord was just another Grand Highblood, but with green in his veins instead of purple, and having the cruelty of pretending that he cared.

And once again, not for the first and certainly not the last time, loneliness lulled me to sleep.

#Hide and Seek #Trapper and Trader #Athena Uyilst #The Hidelord #fevur writing #character death #blood #violence #ask to tag

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