GRIMSTONE, PYRRHUS.
Emmet leans casually against a weathered stone pillar, engaging in a light banter with a cluster of maids whose work is momentarily forgotten.
Their laughter offers a fleeting balm to his troubled spirit, yet he remains acutely aware of the true purpose masked by this convivial facade.
His ears twitch almost imperceptibly as his gaze locks onto Maeve, who remains partially concealed behind a pillar.
Her luminous golden eyes snare his attention, "My apologies, ladies", he murmurs, offering a disarming smile before gracefully excusing himself.
He raises his head but the snake-kin is gone. He walks regardless, feeling a certain urge driving him towards the dormitories. He takes familiar path, leading to his own cell where Maeve appears out of thin air to reveal her cloak covered body.
Emmet quickly takes stance at her appearance, gently calming down upon realisation of who she is.
"I'm not sure I can get used to that", he says, "How do you do that? If you can teleport why remain a slave?" "I cannot teleport Emmet, I simply blend in with my surroundings", she says.
"Oh" "I have words from my master. There will be an assault on Grimstone, that will be your chance" "Good. We will have a carriage at the Northern wing. It is rarely used and the guards there will surely go to the front gates if the attack were to happen from there" "It will".
They get close as they speak, "Come with us", Emmet says to her, earning a nervous gaze from her, "I… I can't" "Why not?", "I'm nobody, I can't be of use to any of you. Besides, my skin is disgusting. Only my master finds joy in my ownership", she says with a low voice.
Emmet cups her chin in his hand, "Don't say that. Your eyes are like gold gems and your skin is one true to nature. You are a snake-kin, if you were disgusting nobody would want you. But that is not the case", he pulls her close.
Her eyes get teary, she removes her face from his hand, "No, you don't know what you are saying", she refuses.
In a swift motion he presses her body against his while his lips find hers. Soft, he suckles on her lips, while his hand strolls down her back and stops at the back of her waist.
Maeve stands, looking speechlessly into his eyes. Hands together as awe paralyses her, "Come with us Maeve".
MEANWHILE
Kane endures a tremor of remembered agony, his flesh recoiling at the phantom sensations of past torment and its instigator.
Speechless, he stares, eyes wide and fixed on the blonde mistress. She stands before him, an imposing figure in her elegant attire, a haze of smoke swirling around her like a malevolent halo.
Her heels elevate her, bringing her gaze level with his. A slow smile curves her crimson lips, "It seems my husband has left you… shaken, slave", she observes, "But fret not. Time, as they say, heals all wounds".
"Time? I won't be here for much longer", he gives himself hope with positive thoughts.
Memnuh emerges from the very room she'd just exited, his countenance shifting abruptly as his gaze falls upon the silver-haired slave.
A spark of manic energy ignites in his eyes, his fist clenching at his side, "Master", Kane greets, a forced deference in his bowed head.
"Get back to your fucking cell", Memnuh orders, doing his best to restrain himself from inflicting pain on Kane.
Kane moves with haste and retracts his steps, "Fuck", he curses under his breath, he would have to investigate the northern wing another time.
But from what he noticed the lord of Grimstone and his wife seem to be leaving for whatever reason, "This is good. If we are doing anything, it has to be now. Tonight, while Memnuh and Frieda are away".
Although, the plan seems solid they will have a problem with The Sith, unlike the guards who are prone to drinking wine The Sith are more disciplined.
He leaves the mansion and the light of day exposes his features, dawning a smile across his face as he sees the wine seller arrive with his carriage of supplies, "Finally", he says as their plans take form.
ROLANDIA
Clarion finishes with morning preparations and exit his tent to find Malice already standing in front, back to tent while her eyes stay trained on the now finished structure by the Grand Sorcerer of Rolandia.
Her black attire hugging her body tightly while her white hair falls backwards. She stands with folded arms as she observes the situation, "Anything new?", the duke asks.
"The altar is ready. I want to see what will happen. You seem to have gained some favour with the wizard, why don't you tell us what his plan is", she says.
"Believe me, we are no friends", Clarion's tone is edged with a chilling certainty, "He isn't easily fooled", he says and with those words he glides toward the long-bearded wizard.
Tall as he is, he spots the approaching duke and rolls his eyes heavenward. "This one", he grunts, a weary shake of his head following.
"What do you want this time?", "Conversation", Clarion replies, a hint of irony lacing his tone.
"So apparently, I've become a fascinating conversationalist overnight" "I want to know what you plan on doing with the altar", Clarion states, cutting to the chase.
"And who says I plan on doing something" "Clearly, you plan on doing something. Do I have to remind you that we are special guests of the King? Emissary of Merdona", Duke Clarion makes his statement with boldness in his eyes.
Moustache tweaked to one side while he succumbs to an itch. Tanix laughs, "Sure. I remember fat man. You should just watch, you may learn a few things duke", Tanix says and walks away.
"Prepare the rune stones", Tanix orders some sorcerers who rush away to do his bidding, "Fucking prick", Clarion mutter under his breath.
PYRRHUS
Upon arrival a camp was set up for himself and his men where they lay, rising a platform within the camp where they advertise their bounty of slaves to be sold.
The harshness of the country's heat is neutralised at the shore by the sea's breeze. It blows through the camp while his men line up their stock of slaves and lead them to the platform for the morning bid.
Anarchy stands in front of his tent, mask clutched to his face, arms together behind his back and red gleaming eyes focused on the slab.
He watches as the goons clad in black attire and white masks, arrange the slaves for auction.
A woman in obsidian attire and a ninja mask, much like the people of his clan, approaches him, "Senior, we are almost done with the sales. Grimstone isn't far, won't you be visiting your sister?", the woman asks.
"Soon", deep, his voice resonates in her ears, "First, business".