User blog comment:The Reptile King/Reptile Kingdom What Do's/@comment-27950421-20180304015805/@comment-30014014-20180320182409

Bells toll on the needle ascending toward the heavens...

Countless silver thuribles mounted on each story of a building possessing about five, all spreading their warding ashes. They all drift in their sacred ashes in the four cardinal directions, slight inscription briefly unveiled by their presence.

Statues of hooded men built across the main stairs, eahc of them holding a thurible with might?and pride, the content gently seeping down the silver tool, often to drift to those walking nearby, mainly men dressed in gray and silver. The ash briefly molds itself to the passenger, a sign of protection. Many can be seen walking up the stairs, they themselves hooded and masked. They walk nonchalantly, hands shafted on their backs, assuming some don't tally their way up with a staff.

Many come to bring tales of their success. Some others, spread the news of another possible place needing of assistance. To think I once rejected their plead to provide...

I stand before a batch of trainees, my hands folded on my back, a hood hindering my?eyes to the others. These novices, with their small thurible manifest in silver light, they stride to perfect the first lesson I carry to them in the act of self-defence and possible neutralization: Condemn.

With a momentum of will, they swing their incense fuming within their silvery pendulums, the mix of their mana and ash shaped into an after-image of themselves, running through anything and everything while spinning their thurible around them in a cacophony of broken chains and waking tide. Anything caught within would be frozen in their own momentum, bound by the ash thightening around their bodies and the shackles rising to their limbs, like a flash freeze.

I watch them sling their shades forward, the revelation of the happening dotting in their eyes. This is the basis of the covenant and they know it. I can see the flames of excitement growling in their eyes...

...but the lesson is over for now. I clap my silver-clad hands together "Alright, we're done for today".?

They stop, looking slightly unnerved "Boss, we just got the trick down! Can't we continue a bit more?"

"Yea!" agrees another one "It's kind of anticlimatic to just halt the moment we finally figured it out!"

My slight laughter comes a bit muffled with the mask I bear "True, but at the same time, I can tell just by glacing at each of you that you don't have much strength left for more, right?"

The men look at their hands, only now noticing the shaky disposition they have been left in "It's good to stride for more, but not at the cost of health. It's be ironic for you all to collapse?in the training of our covenant. Usually, we're the last ones to sit for rest".

They two protesters look at each other, nodding slightly "Yea, I suppose healers falling down first is?a bit silly".

"Sure, but we're continuing tomorrow!" declared the latter, his fist clenched.

I rise a hand in his direction "Calm down, Zack, of course we are. With their increased attempts to breach this realm, many in their wakes will seek shelter and treatment".

The students start walking out of the training grounds, their thuribles fading from reality as they went. I can see Zack's hand still close as a fist with my muttering of my last sentence. They, clad in white have left quite an impression as they slang flames in his district. Much like those under my training and my commands, men with no inherent ability, they pleaded for a way to shelter their own. Amazingly, I managed to provide, though while under-estimating the amount of men wanting to do more than to watch whoever fought in their defence. I understand that.

Thanks to a selected few at my side, running this monastery has become easier with time, leaving me to clean-up after this batch of students. I understand some whould question my close involvement with those walking the same path as I do, but, like those selected, I like a more 'hands on' teaching, between reports of my returned wardens, with tales of what they have seen. So many attacks...

"I see you are done, my lord" a voice booms from the entrace to the grounds. A voice I pick up on much before turning my head to the speaker. A splendid tail is acoasted on the doorframe. The woman is?dressed in a more casual attire, adress lingering between battled-oriented and typical. Perhaps the only one in a color different of the ashen I and my wardens wear, instead going for red, with a tint of blue on her tail.

Ignoring her dress for a moment, my hooded eyes spring to cross her own. A faint blush bleemishes her cheeks, not unlike the scales adorning her limbs and tail, her hands sheepishly sheltered behind her. A smile invades my face despite my mask, something she is quite to feel as she walks forward.

"Indeed, I am done for the day" I speak while assembling the ash and shackles with with my own thurible,?the thing acting as vaccum for the arcane-attuned remains. It disappears from my hand the moment it is done, at that point Zafiah had made her way before me.

"If so, then..." she still tries to spurn her feelings into words, despite me being aware of her intentions "I humbly request to have your time for the rest of the day...". The last words were almost inaudible, even as I knew them. She still regrets that time, it would seem. No?matter.

Being done for the day and the monastery soon going to a close for the night, I turn to face her completely, stretching out my hands to reach her own behind her. Of course, this causes me to approach her in a chest distance, her face turned away in a concord of blush. A subtle act of her part to entice close contact. Amazing how she acts when not in battle, really.

"Of course you have it. And Zafiah, no need to call me lord, we kind of crossed that gap a while ago" I speak as I grab her hands over my palms. Well, one?of my hands. Her other goes for her chin, still looking away. A second passes before I remember that gesture. Zafiah isn't the most direct woman around, which is a surprise, again, considering her battle prowless and assertiveness in such situations.

"You know, if the hood and mask are that incomfortable, you can tell me", I utter, my free hand pulling my hood behind. The mask itself dissassembles on the surrounding of my neck, a function I managed to have going as a semi-sentient robe and armor. The moment that is done, Zafiah 'suddenly' turns to face me, a very bright smile on her face.

"I know, my lord, but I don't like to input my prefered manners" she responds, her tail coiling around us two in yet again a subtle manner.

"I'd be hard-pressed to find a man who wouldn't want input from his wife", I retort as place myself besides her to put my hand around her waist. Her own hand comes to affectionately?land on my own, the two of?us slowly going out of the monastery through the main steps, after a minute in the restroom.

In a day within the halls, our time to the night would end in a nightly stroll across the plains, or mountains, where the monastery is situated. Today, it would seem Zafiah was in some sort of family reunion. And, that family apparently included those they married, so it came to no surprise that my affectionate triple-sworded bodyguard wanted me to accompany her in this reunion. Well, I had to pry that information out of her.

Since today is a special day for her, I leave my position to my surbordinates until my return. They all jumped in the occasion for me to get some off time, separating the management. My mind is pried from all of it, the attention tethered to Zafiah. Much like she has given her everything to me, even through the disaster that was our first contact...

...

...

My recollections of this place dubbed the 'reptile kingdom' began with attacks. Attacks sprouting from the from, in jagged shapes. Claw and tooth, aimed for the flesh of the soldiers. This was why I presented myself as the apothecary. When a bite finds someone to sink, I'd burn it away and sing it anew. My expectations were to a welcome like that among a realm of savagery.

Unfortunately, my mind immdiately rended itself asunder under doubt as this crusade inevitably ran into more 'humane' monsters. Mothers, daughters, men who shared their lives with them, secluded in a sanctuary away from the more volatile beasts. While they presented a few extra appendages, nothing justified any attack on them. Already, my faith towards them was tested as they assaulted the defenseless.?

They continued their debacle throughout the road, going so far as to cost us weeks, should the leaders decide to turn back. This crusade was an ongoing success, with several of the natives caged in the back, scheduled for executions, mostly the men who melded with the monsters.

When I had joined in the apothecary segments, I was faced with raiders, pillagers, rival kingdoms seeking to expand their wealth, basically, anyone with a reason to strike against. I wanted to safeguard those willing to put their lives on the line for their fellow.

Here, I saw none of that. Nothing close to those so-called nobles I glimsped at. Where I'd spot a knight stand over an injured comrade, my eyes are burned with several surrounding a mother, cuddling her youngs. Where once I heard of them going against the odds, now my ears are disgraced with one overpowering a feeble man. This disgusted me, but...

...I couldn't just quit. Shame as it was to admit, I was no mage. Merely an apothecary. If I were to flee, I could do no much to save myself. And, were I to die, no one would go back for the?dying they left in their wake.

I stood with them, in shame, my previous attire tethered to me as a second skin, my refusal to stand anywhere near them made manifest, coming only to heal one of them whenever the need. But at night, I'd run backward. My thurible in hand, in the darkness of the jungles, forest, plains, I'd mend, sow, bind and discard the grevious injuries of the dying. They'd widen their glares to me, asking the same thing: why?

I couldn't seek to know whether they were asking my reasoning to mend to them or the reason for our careless march. I didn't answer, not even a word. What could I say to them? I was part of the unit spreading unwarranted misery and destruction wherever it went...

In the morning, I'd come back to my secluded section, undetected. No, they didn't care. Well, both. I was careful in my tracks, not seeking anyone to be visited by death overnight. AT the same time, however, an apothecary was not held in high regard due to the fact that I had no offensive magic. None. Meaning I could not contribuate in the 'purification' crusade. A purge would be more accurate...

Regardless, this lack of attention meant I had relative freedom to do as I wished, provided I cattered to my duty as the apothecary. An task made easy by the selective 'targets' we'd come across. Caravan after caravan, the only people with any ability to fight were overnumbered by the knights and most of their weapons had no effect on the thick armors they bore. Some of them spoke?about an easy campaign in the heart of this realm, laughing, cheering in their nauseatous voices. By that time, I was at the back, undoing what they did at the most of my capabilities...

In the last of the cages, all linked by shackles, I discreetly sow the wounds of those taken, again to their surprise. The man in particular I was tending to spoke to me, perhaps to my surprise "Why are you here?".?None of the rest even said a word to me, slapping me to the rest of the group. They were no wrong, with the pristine white I bore on my shoulders.

"I...I don't know. I came in the presemption of going against horrors and horrid beasts".

"Well..." the man lifts his hands toward me, shaking the in their restrained state "...do I look like a horror? Did the woman I unwillingly left behind look like a monstrocity?"

I looked at him, reminiscent of the woman who sought to defend the downed man with a plank. Her feet, if I could call it like that, was more of a elongated tail like a snake. Her desperate struggle?only earned her a pummel slap across her face. I rememebr her face as I sew her wounds in the darkness. Distressed, lost, perhaps because he was taken.

"No..." I utter, diving in the man's eyes to see no hate, at least not to me. His stare was hollow. We had walked for a week, and nothing was given to the prisoners, considered less than human because of their companions.

"I see...". He returns to his catatonic state, like the rest of them. They all know what awaits them. I know it too. I curse my bystander's state, bound by the lack of any offensive. Nothing I could attempt.

However, she on the other hand, was the opposite. The stream of soldiers had suddenly stopped with abrupt force, rattling the prisoners around their cages. A tunnel of whisper relaying one word to the last cage: hellblade.

A hellblade? I know not what one with such a name is, but can only assume there's a reason a dub like that. I hear shouts. A woman shout. Her words are brazen with crackling, almost as if fire seeped out with each letter "None of you shall pass!"

I pick up my thurible or rather, summong it from thin air, but a hand placades on my golden braces. The same man who moments before, looking at me with a solemn glare "No..."

"No?"

"If a hellblade is truly present, then you must not venture forth! You hear me?!" he speak with warning in his voice.

"What?!"

You're not one of them, I can tell. But she won't!" he continues, thightening his grip on my arm "It won't matter how different you are to the rest of them if your white mantle is identical to the rest".

"Wait, wait, wait...what are you--

With extra tightness, he approaches his visage toward my mask "If you go out here, you're dead like the rest of them".

He keeps his hold on me, nothing I can't break out, but with the grip he's giving despite his feeble state, I can only measure the degree severity of his warning. That, and the yells of men enticed in combat with someone or something. Their yells are bloodied. Silenced, one after the other.

They're losing...

I see more and more running forward, waiting to join on the action. They mistake their companions' yell for roars. I let them go forth. The man holding my arm shakes his head "They're doomed..."

I know not what to make of this, but something definitely is out there, dispatching them rather easily if I am to believe the amount of cries seeping out.

My face returns to the man, those encaged with him and the row stretching forward. I take no chance and start unfastening the locks. Whatever is out there might potentially decide to bring its ire to the caged ones. And the knights certainly have their hands full. Flinging the door open, I hop in and start swirling my thurible all around me, sending an aroma of perfumed fumes, more than enough to sow their wounds, being relatively unharmed save for their empty stomachs.

My next action then turns to carrying them out of the chariot cage, one by one, trying at my best to make white noise out of the cacophony of screams I hear in the front, now mixed with the charred smell of melting iron coming in. Obviously, the escapees start running back from where they came from. Including the man who spoke to me. A glance in my?direction, he briefly smiles, only for it to fade under the cautionary gaze. But at this point, I don't particulary care anymore.

I fade into the oncoming smoke, losing sight of the man as I wander to the next cage. And the next. Every time, the smell of charred metal getting more pungent. With each cage open, I get closer to this 'hellblade' the prisoners?keep telling me about.

But I go forth, walk aside the injurid bodies of the knights, each wedged with a searing burn in their armors. As well as first degree burns. Their moans and lament is visceral in the air, a few clashing blades ahead. Must be the squad leader. As shameful as they were, I can't help but pull my thurible out, spreading the same aroma to bind their wounds over time, passing like a ghastly figure. The severity of their pain disallows a quick recovery, unless I persist on them, but the fate of the caged preceeds their own.

Finally reaching the first chariot, I am presented with the spectacle of the lst man standing. A man in gilded armor pressing blades with a woman sporting twin swords. The edge of her arms are flaming red, chipping away the squad leader's own weapon, spelling inevitable doom. Her tail as well, flickering with shining bits of blue, cobalt blue. Her armor is intriguing, to say the least. A balance in the razor's edge between allure to catch a man's eye in her bossom and praticality hence, the vital spots covered.

"Foul cur!" she spat "You shall join your miserable unit for your wanton destruction of the innocent!" Fire steams out of her mouth.

"They were already dead by the time we came about! All we did was grant them a merciful death to avoid the hell of their captors!" he retorts.

"Captors?! They live together! Share their lives?with their children! All I saw were men and women at peace! Peace away from the kinds of you!"

"I don't expect someone like you to understand. Know only that this is but the beginning--

HIs sentence barely done, his speech turned him from their clashing blades, seeing all too late that his weapon, like the rest of his men, had succumbed to the weight of her armstring, as well as the heat. It broke in half, allowing her to embbed her blades deep?into his shoulders, making little of his golden armor. A scream of agony crawls outof the man, the very pain siphoning his constitution, resulting in his collapse.

Smoke creeps out of them from the lingering burns. Smoke that slowly makes its way toward me, as I've just unlocked the last chariot. A stream of men easily come out, some, thanking the woman for their rescue. Others, to throw a glance at me. What they think of me matters no longer. This band is done and I am the last. With none of them currently up and running, people will tag me with them, and I don't blame any. I just seek to undo what they have wrought, having lost faith weeks ago.

I stand on the smoke of the injured, alone with this 'hellblade' who just sent the last escapee toward a direction before her eyes pick up my presence among the shifting tide of ash. I have a bit of difficulty seeing her precise movement, but a scorched blade pointed at my direction is not an easy thing to miss "And whom are you supposed to be? One of 'them'?"

"Not anymore" I speak back in a low pitch.

"You think those words to be enough?"

"No"

"Be as it may, you still bear their mantle" she points out, my clothing pristine white and glowing under the sun.

"I know", my only retort.

"Then what? What act will you follow?" she ask, a stern alignment in her voice. Understandable.

"Follow me, and you shall see yourself".

The woman looks intently at me up and down. I can feel her gaze scrutinzing my movements. Nay, my words. Her gaze soften slightly, allowing a bit of 'laissez-aller' "How will you do so? Your comrades here have much to answer for, but seeing you being the only one standing will bring all of that judgement squarely on you".

"Exactly why I wish to walk back. If your distrust of me is so high, then?keep me under watch. I am an apothecary, tasked with mending the injured. Like the prisoners, I shall mend to the wounded and dying that stacked in our ill-wrought campaign".

"And you think the people will accept your services..." she says. Dressed as I am, its likely that the people will fear me. I know that.

"Which is why I want you to accompany me. Keep me under your watch" I ask, spreading my hands across the smoke "Should I make one movement, intentional or not, that would in anyway displease any victim that I may have come across, cut me down and be done with it. You wouldn't be wrong, I know that. You know that. They know that. So really, you got nothing to lose".

The flaming woman winces at her eyes, trying to find a hint of deceit in my voice, my tone. But nothing is to be found "You're not serious, are you? It's unlikely they'll---

"Then so be it. As you've said, I bear the faults. Might as well start somewhere".

With that said, I turn around and start walking, still feeling her gaze pouring into me. Then...footsteps. She's following me. Looks like she wants to see this through as much as I do...

...

Weeks have passed since that encounter with the 'hellblade'. Returning to the re-building people still staggering from the crusade went as well as I'd expected, with everyone either scared stiff of me or shouting dire threats. As expected, I didn't rebut any of them. They were angry, that I understood. Their composure did inflate as the 'hellblade' walked behind me, making sure to visual convey that she did have everything under control.

Surely enough, however, things slowly changed. Be it by word of mouth spreading across the plains by those through those I've either mende to or those comforted by the sight of the 'helblade'.?Or the decoloration of my garb as the monuments of my squad's transgressions literally depleted their ash and dust all over it, permanently shading its luster and thereby disbanding me with those that once have tried to seed misery.

Taking a step into those further villages, lines of people stepping up for treatment against order-related injuries. The woman who followed me, with a blade swinging over my head had quite quickly removed it. Her demeanor changed, I could see it. Her stance shelled out of her hostility towards me...

"I thought you were supposed to be my jailer" I speak out as we rest on a rocky hill, away from civilization. Our positionning lingers between two cities, the east one already cleansed of order-related incident. The rate of those have quite substainly increased, allowing me no rest. As a result, I was quite tired.

"What good would it do to hold a blade on my lord's throat?" she retorts, a rather numerous cluster of rocks in her hand. Treating them like small pieces of bread, she starts munching on them, one by one, the sound of her teeth grinding through them pretty rough.

"I'm not your lord, remember?" I protest softly, my head lowered under the hood, a sturdy staff held at my side. Nothing more than a stick, as to help me walk. Tiredness prompts me to rest as such "I have no propriety under my name here".

"Your worth is enough. Wherever you go, I follow" she says, a booming voice under the presence of fire.

"There is no worth.?Nothing?but a ragged man trying to plug the leaks so to speak".

"Which is fine enough for me" she again retorts, no disminished resolve in her voice, her eyes gazing to the nearby stone "In fact..."

With no warning, Zafiah, as she made herself known to me, had, in a quick display of dexterity, thrown one of her cobalt blades straight at the rock. It spirals art the top, the reaction of heat slicing through the middle to the bottom like a knife through butter, effectively cleaving the rock in half. The rough fall induces dust around the area, though it fades out quickly.

"...He seems to think so too" she adds as out of the dust, appears a crouched man. Nooking my head slightly to the vague direction where her blade went, I see what looks like one of the?men encaged.

His eyes are wide with terror at the presemption of intrusion. Of course, Zafiah is quick on her feet, scooping him up with a fair amount of dust off his simple attire whilst also picking up her weapon.

"Why would anyone follow us all the way here?" I ask, the timber of my voice directed at our guest.

He threw himself at my feet, pleading me to 'teach' him. Witnessed to the ravage, he wanted to muster the will to do something. I couldn't drag him into this penance path I walked ever since. So I refused. But he wouldn't let up. Of course not.

He continued as I walked from village to village, following us without relent. The pressure of nearing to anywhere suffering from a debilitating attack grinded my resistance, mixed with his pleads, until one day, I ended up initiating him. Walking alongside I and Zafiah, this man observed every action I made. Learning medecine, as well as carrying a basic catalyst to project his mending tide, he ended up assimilating my teachings quicker than anticipated.

We diverged in our path, Zafiah wishing fortune to this man, who said he'd spread the word to those who wished to act, men in particular. I didn't believe him although my guard did. She was right...

Returning to my landscape where I live in penance, I was welcomed to a dozen more men, looking like they walked across countries just to seek my teachings. Their visages, polluted by dirt and dust illuminated as they came across my gray hood, akin to this land. Of course, Zafiah made sure to 'suggest' integrating them to my apothecary ways.

So I did, mostly out of guilt. Sending these men, who made a marathon out of the entire section of this realm to come in a barren rock land, back to their homes would be an insult to their determination. That and the fact that most of them had lost weight in their bones, this place devoid of nutriments likely responsible.

A small home crafted from stone, I brought them in, feeding and teaching them my ways. The enthusiast in their gaze rather uplifting in spite of this desolated place. A will of steel for people to discard what they had, assuming they hah anything to begin with, just to come here. Speaking with a few, I heard most of their beloning was lost, either to the wild fauna or Order. Of course...

They, as the first one, eventually integrated my teachings, the ability to spring a thurible as their catlyst now within reality. Dressed in the gray shades and hidden behind hoods, they stand before me, a knee down, asking for a sense of direction. They want me to lead, so I send them to face the crisis, the wounds my mending tides can alter.?

Across weeks, I see more and more coming here, pleading for a redirection. Newcomers to this realm, husbands taken to a combative spouse, fathers with the wish to shelter their newborns, those without a way to bring offense to internal and external threats. I give them naught but a way to contain and dilute, yet they?grab hold of my words and make it their wills. Acts making their ways back to my secluded patch of land with yet another cohort of yearning students. This, I admit, was not the intended result of my penance walk. However, the feat of quelling the needless casualties inflicted by all source and especially the Order is a very strong argument.

So?I start working, ever with larger group each season. Between them, a fashion out of stone and silver mined from the wastes, a way to craft a small establishment for the next convoy of people shambled and seeking a new start. I mine, always welcomed to the sight of Zafiah in a short, doing the same as I do.

"You know, your obligation to me has long since withered. Nothing holds you here" I speak, once again to repeat the tireless charade that has spawned between us.

"I know, my lord" she looks back at me, her hand deep in a fracture stone "But I follow anyway. Your goals are kindered with the path I chose".

I halt my pickaxe midway "There isn't much to protect here in this desolation".

"No, but one who teaches and sends people to cauterize the plight wrought by invaders is providing more than even I could muster. People who had nothing, no less. People in which you instilled resolve where there was none".

"Only because I neede to give something back..." I end, knowing I won't get anywhere with that discussion. For a while, I've been trying to have her wander once more on her own, Being where I am, I doubt any Order expedition would make it here to begin with, even less want to, considering the barren scape of these lands. In a spec of free time, I have asked around about her kind, the Glav. I know what is her intent here. Yet there is no wandering to be done for her. No feeble to protect, no wicked to punish and I am no lord. I hold no title, save for The Stranger of the wastes. Alas, I see no way to show her the futility of her overstaying welcome.

In fact, with each attempt at dissuading her, Zafiah seemed more invigorated at proving herself, smashing more than ever just to bring it to me. Burning more of the silver that I use to manufacture pieces of the coats as well as monuments or statue-sized tools as guidance for those lost in the wastes. Crafting the stone, outer and inner, escorting incoming?supplies from the overwhelming numbers of those who sought to throw a bone in my direction via my acolytes' acts or even bringing a would-be trainee secluded or injured in the land, she did it all.?

All in a mere attempt to prove herself to me. She had done that already. Her worth could span beyond this little project of mine, which was nothing more than to make apothecaries out of men with no combat capabilities. She was wasting her time here, yet I couldn't find the words to dislodge her to greater tasks...

...

Days pass,?weeks, then months, this dusty establishment of mine seeing growth, from a small building spanning but the size of military quarters to a mountain-size cathedral. Wells of springs deeply underneath the building's bowels as well as our supplies of ever discovered ores and minerals. Silos stocked with wholesome culinary supplies for the great droughts that this land suffers each winter. A smaller facility to equip and repair everything those serving under me could ever need. Personal quarters for my underlings to make their own, each to a specific name and style of customization. Rest roooms for any lost guests, visitors or should they feel the need to, families of my wardens seeking to make proof of their words about the Cathedral of Ash.

Gazing from the peak of the isolated tower of smoke, I watch as several walk in and out of the entrance halls, my hands collected on my back, a humble room mostly built from wood and stone. My hood permanently placaded over my head, my ears are rumbling with the familiar steps coming from the stairs behind the door.

"The door's open" I speak to the incoming visitor, hearing the silver frame pushed aside. Turning around, I am welcomed to Zafiah?brushed from her usual armor. Instead, a silky dressed in crimson tides diluted in white stands between the frame of the door, her weapons typically nestled at her hips. She raises a hand in salutation "Good morning, my lord".

"Still naming me like that?" I respond in a light voice, amused "You know I don't like people putting rank between me and then. My wardens are already picking up on this habit".

She returns the smile I've given behind my mask "Well, they don't do so without reason, my lord".

"Perhaps not, but this isn't some military or corporate settling here. Fame is not my primary objective".

"All the more why they convey their appreciation with name titling" she retorts, reminded of the line of wardens continuously bowing in a slight manner in my presence. I admit, it does feel nice for people to look upon you with favor.

"Anyway, have you found where you wish to settle? I feel like this sedentary lifestyle we've been running here has left you wanting for more travel".

"Well...no". she asnwers, a hint of meek tone under her stoic composure. As she utters those words, I can see her stare divert from my to the left, a faint blush on her cheeks. She has been acting differently recently. Often walking in a restless way, almost bouncing to action everytime we cross gazes.?

Being somewhat informed of her kind and what they do, I could only summarize that she was devoid of purpose here and took upon myself to offer her the necessary supply to allow her travel back to the more densely populated locations where she could thrive once more.

But,?yet again, she makes an explicit refusal to that proposition. I can sense her restless nature where before, she used to keep it bottled down in her psyche. I know not why she persistently refuses to make a breakway, nor what will bring an end to this frustration she's mired by. I do have a way of calming her down, however.

Raising a hand, my finger clapse into the fold of my palm, a thurible sprung to life from nothingness. I approach her unresting nature "Well, alright then. We'll speak about it another time, but right now, I'll ease your tension".

Her azur eyes return to me, a bit watery. "All right then, my lord" she sighs, sitting on one of the chairs placed in twins before my desk. I start shaking my incense around her, the aroma of a gentle orchid seemingly calming her down. I see the chip on her metaphorical shoulder, yet I can't seem to pull it out despite my efforts. Even with a most intense session of mend, it still remains.

Regardless, the sight of Zafiah relaxing at the end of those is enough for me to consider it a success. A thing I noticed with her earlier in our times converged in one path was her tail. Despite using it as a weapon, she's tethered to it's well being as much as mother to a newborn. Spraying it with the orchid aroma of my ash espeically knitted her composure at an accelerated rate.

She sighs once more while getting up "Thank you, my lord. I appreciate it".

"Of course" I answer, my hands once more recollected on my back, still worried about this chip on her shoulder. I don't know what to do with this. My mind speaks of seeking another Glav, perhaps an older one to ask for a solution.

Gazing upon Zafiah, I see her eyes replying with gratitude. But between them, I see something else, something I can't quite decypher. They span between the gleams of gratitude for a few seconds before slumbering back in her irises. She eventually marches out, no doubt to guard the stairs leading to this room, even when I didn't giver her this explicit order...

...

Night falls with haste, eading most of the inhabitants of the Cathedral of Ash to their personal rooms. Of course, the doors are always open to a lost soul, with a few standing guard on the entrances. But, I, as many, have the freedom to slumber. Closing the door to my quarters, I make my way to yet another flight of stairs leading to the very peak of the building, my love of high views leading to this decision.

A small housing welcomes me upon arrival, equiped with what one could expect to see in a house. Living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, anything. A few seconds in, my robes are removed, leaving me with the casual attire. A quick pace to my room, my mind is already swelling in the yearn to sleep.

Quickly, it retracts the sleep haze as my sight is filled with Zafiah. Zafiah sitting in a...well, the dress she was wearing is still clad on her scales, but the armored legging she bore were lump?on the side of the bed, leaving her smooth-looking thighs completely exposed. And while that would not be a bad thing, what with her dress usually reaching down to her ankles, here, she had it pulled all the way to her waist, again, leaving them visible for all to see. Or rather, me to see.

Part of my mind wanted, in spite of my respect for her, to gaze longly at them, get lost in the slight pink-ish pigment of her muscular, yet inviting thighs. Forcing my eyes away from them, I further get lost, this time on her chest. Zafiah had always prided herself in decent protection, even in casual wearings. This meant a small suit of protection on her chest, overlapping the dress that sported open cleavage. This small suit was also laying on the bed, leaving her chest's size to disallow one's mind for imagination. Her portions were...generous, to say the least.

She sat at the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for the door to open. The way she sat made her look so vulnerable. Another contrast to her usual behavior, which would leave no hope for the seasoned warrior to try and find an opening. Here, she was basically waiting for someone to push her on the bed and...why did that roll out of my mind?

Forcing my gaze away from her figure, my ears are welcomed to her voice "My lord...". An entirely different pitch in her tone. The deep marrow of confidnce was nowhere to be found. No,?this was the voice of a woman awaiting a man, presumably one she yearned for to, again, capitalize on that stroke of vulnerability to plunge into her lips and tas--my mind isn't right right now. Why am I thinking like this?!

Focusing my thoughts on the regrets of of even thinking of my bodyguard as such, I speak back, as neutral as possible "Zafiah, did you want to discuss something with me?" A straining task to avoid the physical assault of her enticing body as well as the flanking strife of my mind.

"Well, yes..." her voice, still chimed with the bell of a woman is hindering such task "I wanted to tell you..."

She gets up, standing before me. But, not in the way of a warrior. No, her stance is inviting. Her scaled hands are joined at the middle, directly underneath her cleavage. No firm positioning is to be found.

"I wanted to tell you...I will not be filling a departure.anytime soon..."

She's starting to approach me, still in a vulnerable state where even a non-fighter like me could...I'm not finishing that thought.

"I know what thoughts plague you, my lord..." she continues, filling my eardrums with the feminity in her voice. Had I a taste for that, it would be a sweet chilli in the morning "...but the chip protusing on my shoulder is not from this domain in which we span in".

"But I thought--"

"It's not!" she cuts away, gently but firmly, a hint of her strong voice bashing down my doubt without remose "This isn't what has been unnerving me for so long, my lord..."

She stops, facing me at mere centimeters. All of my senses are assulted by?her very presence. My eyes are garnished by the beauty of her hair, unkept yet cared for. The blue in her eyes swelling with emotions once bottled up. My nose swelled with the scent of strawberry, likely a lotion she oils on herself every once in a while. My ears are enticed by the honey-liced voice she sports. My sense of touch, teased with the proximity and anticipated smoothness of her skin. And taste...perhaps the worst offender of them all.

"Living alongside you. Watching as you build this settlement, the reputation your groupling has garnered throughout the years, the letters sent with warm gratitude, all of this made me glad to be here. But, from it was born the desire to be closer to you. Both physically and emotionally..."

She...she couldn't be serious. The way she spoke and acted looked much like she was working herself to a confession. But, I was nothing for someone like her. Warriors sought like-minded souls. So do intellectual individuals, dwelling in libraries. Or manual-oriented beings, in mines or anywhere with a penchant for strength.

Me? My disposition didn't allow someone like her to be entangled with someone like her. Strong, confident, calm. She was a traveler trapped in a settlement, that is how I saw the entire thing. But, right now, she was speaking with opposition to these thoughts.

"...I've...I've wanted to serve you, no longer as a bodyguard, but...as a woman too" she continues, placing a hand on her open cleavage just to put attention to it. "But, I couldn't in my right mind just act upon it. So I waited, for years. Every year, the task of keeping my composure became more harrowing for me. But, I see you have not been left indifferent to it either, my lord..."

Between my mind pressing me further with ill-adviced thoughts and Zafiah continuing her assault of senses, I could feel that whatever she had to say, I would likely at wits' end. Then again, so did she, her body placading my own against her and the wall. Her breathing became short and quick. Her eyes, watery with time "...so I implore you my lord! Allow me to serve you as a woman! Take me! I plead of you, my lord, take me! It's my only wish...!"

That last stroke of words came in a stutter as tears started falling across her cheeks. My goodness...she held back for this long?! I'bve heard stories, among my subordinates about how easily monsters were at letting loose their desires upon their cherished mates. So, hearing Zafiah making a confession doubling under a seal of strained restraint...

I did not think this admiration I've had for her was reciprocated so strongly. A feeling I've for long kept away, convinced her stoicism was setting up apart. No, her entire disposition, as a warrior, especially at the beginning of our convergence. And now, she was begging me to accept her as a mate, displaying that plead physically as well as vocally. I see now.

No sane man with a heart for a woman would refuse a plead from his sweetheart. Unless this man happened to be a fool. I am no fool. And so, I make use of my left hand to cradle her closer to me, closing the gap between our respective bodies. With my other, I start brushing this warrior's cheek of tears, earning a gasp of surprise from her.?

I convey no words, none finding the way to my mind, yet she understands. Her disposition halts the teary plead she continuously throwing at me, yet the so vulnerable state she voluntarily put herself in was all the more present. A welcomed gesture to showcase the desire to be mine, I make use of it as I continue to rub her cheek clean of tears. Her breathing slows down, calm once more. Her hand joins my own, simply in hopes of keeping it on her cheek for as long as possible.

A bright smile melds in with the resurfacing sentiment of stoicism "I'm glad...". Her face goes for the black coat I've had under my apothecary robes, sighing with relief.

With most of the tension down, I speak up in a snide tone "You know, I was expecting you to be going for the brawning disposition".

Her head quickly rises to cross our gazes again. While normally this would be insuniating her low standards toward a partner, the all too layback tone I make use of simply prompts her to respond in a similar fashion "Honestly, my lord, I doubt they'd accept my skill overshadowing them to begin with..."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not a fighter, huh?"

"Indeed, not much of an ego to wear down with this" she winks enthusiatically, all in good thoughts.

"I don't know, you're still at my beck and call from what I see" I remark, to which she smirks in retort. "Only because you ask so politely, my lord".

We share a small laugh, shadow of Zafiah towering over my supposed combat abilities inexistant over the fact that I was not a combatant to begin with. Whatever issue I would have over a woman handling the blade better than I pretty irrevelant. A thing I suppose I should have picked up about the Glav being the fact that combat abilities were no factor for their selection of whom to serve...and 'serve'.

Laughter concedes to silence. With a gesture of a hand, I pull her closer to the bed as I walk, inviting her to sit next to me. Doing so, Zafiah places her head over my shoulder, really highlighting the fact that despite her warrior's disposition, I was at least a head taller than her. Weird.

Regardless, we stand in silence for a moment, our dual stares counting the stars presented throught the window of my bedroom. But Zafiah gets other ideas?in mind. With a quick gesture, she overlaps one of her legs around me, resulting in her literally sitting on my lap, our eyes crossed in between. Her hands latch to the back of my jet black attire as to avoid falling over, though I feel my hands clapsed on her hips should be enough.

"My lord... she?whispers "...I don't know what I would have done, had you not..."

"Zafiah..." I place a finger on her unbearably smooth crimson lips, all?too aware of what she wanted to word "...I would have accepted it as well. The fact that you waited this long, on the edge of my bed is enough for me to have accepted it".

Once again, she smiles with no hold to it. A blemish red rises to life on her cheeks, accompanied by parted lips, shining against the star lights. Well it for me to gaze at them, her reptilian eye quickly catches on where my sight lingers. "Waiting on you, my lord..." she whispers.

The invitation blatanly given to me, I waste no time leaning on her, our lips joined at the middle. The appearance of smoothness paled in comparison to how they felt. I could feel heat rising at the base of her throat mixed with her burning breath. Lost in the sensation, my body starts atcing on its own, hands pressing on her waist to further emulate what she made me feel. Judging by how tightly she hugged back, the feeling must be mutual.

Our kiss does end in separation, though neither of us can accept letting the other go. Whatever restraints I've held for myself were loose with that kiss. Unfortunately for me, that translated as uncontrollable anticipation for what comes next, my attempt at stopping my member from standing up for attention' a futile and hopeless endeavor. Perhaps with her armor on, Zafiah could have misjudged what was happening underneath her hind quarters, which she did not.

Processing what her body seemed to have awaited, her eyes widen at a poking sensation directly under her. A different kind of smile portraits on Zafiah, who slowly dislodges from my hip, a puff of air rushed to my side. There she was, laying on her back, a large amount of scales she had as armor receded to their limit. Her body pratically begging to be warmly embraced, cajoled, caressed.

~Come pluck my chip, my lord~, she whispers, showering me with affectionate eyes.

My hands move in the same way she did previously, as to station myself directly over her. I can see and feel her hands once again going for the nape of my neck. They gradually weight down as to close the gap between us. Right now, she's the only thing I am focused on, the span of the night becoming irrevelant to me...

...

The weight of the sunrise presses down all across the room, just outside my shut eyes. Though indirect, the beam shower slightly beyond my eyelids, not enough to pull me from my slumber. No, Zafiah's gentle snoring slowly erodes the inceasingly thinning veil between dreamland and the awake world.

Brushing my eyes open, I lift the cover, presented with a sweetening sight of Zafiah still dozzing away. Her face conveys the peace of mind I don't remember seeing in a while. Her presence over me does little to ruin this picture ingrated in my mind, the work churned out to build this foundation of mine allowing me to endure hefy charges. That and her incredible lightness even with her tail bearing much metallic aliments.

Of course, her warrior instincts kicking back in, she wakes up under the sensation of my own gaze towering on her sleeping frame. She returns the gesture with a smile ~Good morning, my lord~

"Good morning to you, my endearing bodyguard. I take it you had a good sleep".

I feel her stretching under the covers, her face somewhat strained by the effort surmounted before it returns to a everlasting bliss "Good is an understatement. Hadn't had sleep like that ever since we settled here".

"Ohh? because of your accumulated angst or because of last night?" I ask, fairly certain of the answer.

"Well, one is only present because of the other, therefore, I'd go with both".

"Alright then, glad I could 'help' with that" I end with a small grin, accepting her approach for a quick kiss.

"No one else, could, my lord" she speaks, eyes still washing affection.

We do step out the bed, albeit slowly, most of the time spent preparing ourselves for the day to come. A bathroom rest, breakfast, clothing...well, clothing for me, armor for her. We descend the tower, Zafiah acting a bit differently as usual. Our lives converged with each other has become the perfect excuse for her for restrict the circle of protection she provided me ever since our arrival. Rather than walking behind me, we walk side-to-side, linked by our hands held together.

Though this set of changes isn't exclusive to between the two of us. Hostiles had all the displeasure of tasting this change of behavior in Zafiah. Untamed reptilians, of all size and numbers, seeking to finish and perhaps drag their wounded preys in a far-fetched settlement after an initial hit-and-run, crippling any nearby workers. Word had come from far and I wanted to tend to this matter personally, as to avoid my wardens wandering by themselves.

First thing I was met with a step inside was what they'd qualify as a raptors, only without the anthromorphic changes as beings seeking one to share their lives with. Turns out, they were overwhelming the village, the people within without escape. At least until I came around, their attention turned to the lonely warden.

One lunges, maw and claw with the sole intent of feasting upon my flesh, only to be jagged by blades, their serrated edge burning it from inside. It's screeches of agony pulling the rest of the pack before death became the reality for it. Zafiah was ever by my side, warped in a shroud of protection from my thurible. Her eyes woere razor slit, gazing daggers at anything even daring to come in sight.

I start walking, completely unhindered by the roars of primal raptors, to the villa, well intent on nullifying any casualties. Raptors come in view, cut down and burned by my bodyguard like one would churn out butter with a knife. Their smoky remains starting to play as a dissuative argument in part to try to make me their dinner. Some dare devils make the attempt, only to join their fellow in a burnt end. By the reach of the villa, those still alive had fled, tormented by the scorched stench of their dead, leaving me to purge the wounds.

...

Events like this, where the unsuspecting reckessly make an attempt at my life only to regret it, are numerous. In days like this, having someone like Zafiah at my side really brightens my day, be it on the field amidst the sickly, surrounded by hostiles, among the stream of trainees or cuddled under the sheets. If my path has driven her to walk alongside me, then her persistant endeavor toward me is what really set up the foundation of what we've become. I just wish we had met under more preferable circumstances. Going to be hard to explain to her family that we've essentially met as opposite...