Palace of Iracot

Shien had kept a small, warm place in his body, the moment he'd experienced moments before entering Shiabiann's office; despite the awkward terror he'd felt, it had been admittedly pleasant.

At Shiabiann's words against him, that warmth was replaced by a cold stone. He barely even registered the Succubi next to him. He opened his mouth, briefly, to protest. He could have told her that the Skyborne needed to watch the borders, that they saw no reason to hasten the message when a Runner was available. He was only one of many sent, from the various border forts around Iracot, but he was the only one that he knew of to have arrived as of yet, even so.

But he was smarter than that. Even if he had been completely valid, and could have borne no blame, she would see him killed. Some of the younger, newer Knights had whispered as such when he told Gabriel what news he brought. Even Gabriel had looked upon him with a somewhat pitying expression, he realized.

At that thought, a fire burned in his chest. Gabriel. If he had seen what was going to happen, why did he not come himself? Did he fear the Magistrate would have him killed? If not, then why sacrifice him like this? It was unfair.

Breaking from his thoughts, he bows stiffly to Shiabiann. "As you command, Magistrate," he says. It was the most firm, dutiful tone he had ever used, he found.

If the Succubi allowed him, he would turn and leave, trying not to make eye contact with any of the women. He had to get out of the Palace. He didn't know what he would do; he didn't know what he should do. He felt like a completely different person, walking out of Shiabiann's chambers.

If the women tried to bar his passage with their touching again, he would have none of it. Save, perhaps, from the woman who had given him the feather.

Nyvereth was waiting at the very corner to Shiabiann's chambers. The door had been left opened and the Drak-Sen had heard every word. While she could not speak the humans' language very well, she could understand them very clearly. The sweet man was going to be killed. Nyvereth felt as if she had to do something to save his life.

When Shein walked past her, Nyvereth tugged on his arm to grab his attention. The expression on her face was grave and sad for the man. The sadness was so overwhelming there were tears that glittered in her eyes. Her mouth worked in an attempt to speak to Shein.

"I... s-sorry," Nyvereth managed. She heard footsteps coming down the hall from Shiabiann's office. The Drak-Sen tugged on his arm in an attempt to lead him down another hall that led to the ladies' rooms.

"I... help," she said with a hopeful smile.

Shien still burned with a growing rage at his treatment, fighting with his sense of duty. He almost didn't notice when Nyvereth took his arm. His first instinct was the thrust her away, but when he looked on her face, the anger at everything he felt was quickly twisted into a hurt knot in his belly.

He'd thought the woman to be no more than a pleasure girl, really. That she cared as much for him as any would-be client. His naivety didn't let the thought that she simply wanted what money he had left enter his mind.

She had apologized to him. Thinking she meant for forcing herself on him, he shakes his head sadly. "I- Don't fret yourself," he begins to say, before she's tugging his arm to bring him deeper into the harem.

"I... help," she said. Shien frowns briefly, wondering if she sought to entrap him, bring his end sooner... or maybe she meant to make his final hours enjoyable. Softening his expression, he relents and follows her.

His mind was still reeling from the news of his impending death, but at that moment his thoughts lingered on the woman. What was her game? Shien had never known a thing of political intrigue. Was this part of that? Or did she genuinely have some sort of interest in him? The kiss... he thought, at least, felt meaningful.

Before he knew what was going on, he had been led into the ladies' rooms.

Nyvereth led them both into a small room. There was nothing more than a narrow bed, an wooden table and chair, and a small bookcase with no books. A wardrobe took most of the space in the small room. It was overflowing with colorful frocks and clothes. Other than the clothes, everything else seemed barren and bare. It looked more like the room of a slave than an employed free woman.

Nyvereth closed the door behind them both without a sound. She pressed her ear up against the door and continued to listen for a minute or two. When she was satisfied with whatever she was listening for the Drak-Sen nodded and pulled away from the door. Nyvereth then used a small talent of her species.

Wedging her finger between the door and the frame, the stone lit up like melting steel. She was welding the door shut for good. If Shein attempted to stop her, he would find out quick that Nyvereth was far stronger than he realized and she would be immovable.

When it was done and complete, Nyvereth then turned to face Shein and studied him. The Drak-Sen shook her head is disapproval. She went to him with a gentle smile, placed her hands on his face, and gave him a soft kiss to reassure him that she meant no harm.

The creature's fingers then turned to loosening and removing his armor. Nyvereth took just as much care in removing it from him as she had previously. She treated him like a fragile child.

"Off," she said, gesturing to his clothes. Without another word, Nyvereth went to her wardrobe and began to dig deeply in it.

Shien was resigned for whatever fate had in store for him, by this point. Whether she intended to have her way with him, allow vice-versa, or kill him, it didn't seem to matter much at that particular moment.

He did think of trying to appeal to the Knight-Commander, but he felt that would likely not work in his favor. Rather, he would be seen as a Dissenter.

Taking stock of his surroundings, he pauses. He had expected something more... lavish, given the quality of the woman he was with. At least, he assumed she was of high quality. He was inexperienced, obviously, and hadn't taken time with women. She was beautiful, if strange and exotic, and her touch was... well, unbelievable, to him.

He is pulled out of his reverie by the sounds of the door being sealed. Of all the fates laid out before him, that was something he did not expect. Perhaps she planned to lock him in and eat him? In the bad way.

When she had done with the door, she returned to him, shaking her head for some reason before walking up and kissing him. That rather forced the tough image he had placed on himself to melt away, just as surely as his knees did.

"I don't understand," he says, after finding his voice. Maybe this was just foreplay. His cheeks were already flushed, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do if... if anything, really. He was just lost, a leaf in the breeze.

Despite his lack of personal fortitude to pull on, he follows the woman's order and begins removing his clothing, sheepishly, nervously. "My.. my name is Shein," he says then, "Shein Clovin."

"Wux tepoha vi versvesh ominak," Nyvereth said in her native language. "Shein Clovin." The Drak-Sen looked over her shoulder at the man and the corners of her eyes lifted in a smile.

"Nyvereth," she offered before the creature returned to digging through her wardrobe. Eventually she turned back to Shein and held out an assortment of men's clothes. There was a white shirt and dark brown pants, even the necessary undergarments. Nyvereth placed them on the bed and then took out a long black cloak from the wardrobe. She placed that too along with the clothes.

"Si charis batobot si mi yscik ekess houpe wux vur batobot jaciv geou clax wux kiri," Nyvereth said to herself with a frown on her face.

"We... go. Leave. Soon," the Drak-Sen said to Shein. She then held up a finger as if telling him to hold his thoughts. Nyvereth took Shein's hand and ran her smooth fingers along his forearm. A look of deep thought and concentration came over the creature's lovely face. A song hummed between her lips, a low and sad but sweet song.

"I... sorry," Nyvereth whispered before she leaned forward and placed a tender kiss against his forearm. Her hands then moved quickly to cover the sensitive skin of his forearm. A burning like molten lava would be felt by Shein but if he did not let the pain blind him, the man would see that there was no harm being done to him.

In fact, the shape of a feather was forming underneath his skin, glowing like the fire that he felt.

A Dragoon's Mark.

Shien looks at her intently as she speaks, having absolutely no clue what she was actually telling him. It made him feel a little uneasy. She could be saying he was the most attractive man she'd ever seen, or mocking his sheepishness. When she said his name, he was further disconcerted, though when she began placing clothing on the bed, her intentions became clear.

"Oh," he says, turning incredibly red. He was ashamed at the thoughts he had, pertaining to what she might've been planning. That she wanted to help him escape hadn't even crossed his mind. "I... I appreciate it, but..." he pauses when she belts out another tirade of speech he didn't understand.

His cheeks were burning. She was so... sensual. Beautiful, too, which made it worse. Her touching and kissing and closeness and... well, how they'd met had planted a seed in his mind that wasn't going away any time soon. She was humming a sweet something or other as she stroked his arm, as if teasing him.

When she apologized and kissed his arm, he really wasn't sure what to think until his arm started burning. "What did you do," he asks, with sudden alarm, trying to free himself- but her grip was strong, and he was more concerned about the fact his arm seemed to be melting than with freeing himself. Clenching his teeth, he looks at her in bewilderment, completely lost once more.

The pain receded and Shein's skin was undamaged. The Mark, however, remained.

"You understand me now," Nyvereth said. It was not that she was speaking his common language but that he could now understand hers.

"I am a dragon, Shein. There is someone that is freeing me from my slavery. I do not want you to die," Nyvereth said to Shein. "I Marked you and now you are my Rider. Come," she said to him. "Put on the cloak. There is not much time left. You may ask me questions while we leave."

Nyvereth stripped from her own clothes and donned something less lavish. Her outfit resembled Shein's new one. Although, where the man had been shy to show his body Nyvereth had not been. Her body was sleek and toned to perfection. Her scales glittered in the low light. There was no a single mark on her body, nor blemish, nor imperfection.

"Come," Nyvereth said as she pressed a secreted switch inside the wardrobe. She climbed into it and disappeared.

When the pain left, all that remained was a very bewildered Shein. Staring at Nyvereth, it took him a few moments to realize he was understanding her dragon-speak. "You... I..." he gapes at her, then looks down at his arm. He was still standing there, stark naked, he realized. Still furiously red, he hurries to the bed and starts to dress himself.

"I'm.. Er. Thank you," he finally blurts out, exhaling his shock. "I... I don't... I can't even..." Looking over his shoulder at her, he turns away quickly, seeing that she too was changing. When he had dressed himself, he waited a few moments, twining his fingers together. He had so many questions, and yet, he almost didn't want to know the answers; a man like him, being a Dragon Rider...

He had heard the rumors, of course, that Dragons could take a human form, but it had always been said to be complete- not like this. And he didn't believe them, anyway. And now, here he was, living the dream... not even a Skyborne, he was now a... well, Almost a Dragoon.

He shakes his head, snapping out of it, and follows her through the wardrobe. The only articles he had kept from his past life were his twin Flintlocks, and their various amenities.

Shein had been led into a tunnel between the walls of the palace. The Drak-Sen waited for the man to appear. Nyvereth checked over Shein, her fingers ran over him and made sure his cloak was closed properly. As she pulled up his hood to cover his face, Nyvereth leaned forward and placed a kiss to his cheek.

That strange swell of emotion for Shein had come back; the same one that had arisen when she had first laid eyes on the man. Now that Shein was almost a physical and mental part of her, he too would be able to feel that overwhelming emotion... if he tried. The man was untrained however and Nyvereth fully intended to train him herself just as the first dragon had done to his rider.

In the semi-dark Nyvereth could see just fine but she knew that limitations that Shein had. His sight would not fare so well and the path was dangerous at spots. Seeing through her eyes would not be any good to him. Instead, a flame erupted from her clawed hand and she held it out for Shein.

"Take it. It will not burn you. No more can fire hurt you," Nyvereth said as she gently took his hand and placed the ball of flame in it. "But beware the cold. It will harm you, and perhaps kill you if great enough." And true to her word, the flame did not hurt Shein.

"Come. There is not much ti-" Nyvereth's words were cut off at the sound of a heavy thump coming from inside her room. She turned to look through the hidden passage. She neared it and on the other side the sound of rocks hitting the stone floor was heard. Nyvereth backed up quickly and grabbed Shein.

"Run! That way! Go!" she urged him in a whisper. Nyvereth pushed him forward, letting him lead while she watched their tail.

It wasn't so much a sudden swell of emotion as it was that he had been riding a wave of emotion ever since the door to Shiabiann's chambers first opened. The shifts had been extreme, from mild fear, to extreme arousal, to nervousness, resignation, adoration, mild worry, back to arousal, and now... well, he wouldn't admit to being aroused, but he was certainly feeling... affection. He wouldn't admit to anything more than that, not aloud. As much as he could sense Nyvereths' emotions, however, surely she would be able to sense his, as well.

He didn't realize that yet, however, in either way. He simply followed, half like a lost puppy following a new owner, and half trying desperately to retain some of his Knightly training and compose himself.

When she handed him the flame, it took him a moment to register that he was physically holding fire. That was something new. He was about to comment, until the sound of the door behind them being beaten in cut him off. Grabbing one of his Flintlocks, he prepared to run back, with gun in one hand and fire in the other, but Nyvereth's words brought him back to reality.

If they had broken that door down, it was probably Shiabiann's Succubi... or something worse. Magistrates had immense power, after all. He, trained only in basic fighting techniques, and in close quarters- with only his pistols and whatever new abilities he didn't know of- wouldn't stand much of a chance.

As much as it pained him to look a coward in front of Nyvereth, he does the more intelligent thing and follows her instructions, bolting down the passage.

And bolt he did, swift as if he knew them by heart. Part of that may have been an influence from Nyvereth, but he was a naturally good runner, and while tight corridors and underground passages weren't his forte, he was skilled at it nonetheless.

There was only the sound of Shein's feet running. Nyvereth had not followed him. She stood by the wall where they had entered into the tunnel. Her back was pressed as far back against it as it could go. The sounds of the succubi climbing through the wardrobe were easily heard.

And then a long pale leg entered into the tunnel, followed by the rest of the succubi. Her golden eyes instantly trained onto Nyvereth and darkened. But Nyvereth did not give Ariadne any chance. In a move quick as lightning, Nyvereth forced her hand into the woman's chest and wrenched out the heart of the succubi.

Ariadne gasped, took a few wobbly steps, and then collapsed like a pile of rags to the stone floor. Blood pooled beneath the woman and Nyvereth looked down at her for a split second. That was how Endaria was able to wrap her hands around Nyvereth's throat.

"You kill her!" Endaria shouted down the tunnel as she lifted Nyvereth up off the floor. The Drak-Sen's feet dangled helplessly as she struggled to find her breath. Nyvereth was strong but succubi were just as strong. It was the element of surprise that had allowed Nyvereth to kill Ariadne.

"Shiabiann wants you alive but I think I will kill you anyway!" Endaria spat at Nyvereth with utter vehemence in her voice. The grip on the Drak-Sen's throat tightened. The color of Nyvereth's face when from a light blush to a dark blue. Her struggles were becoming weaker.

Shein. Help!, a voice called to his mind. Turn around. Shoot! Shoot her!

Endaria's tail lifted behind the succubus, the point aimed at Nyvereth like a weapon.

"I will pluck your eyes from your skull!" Endaria shouted.

Please... please...

Grinding to a halt, the former-Knight twisted and turned around as if he was made of liquid, in one swift motion. Charging back down the passage, he unclips the guards on the two holsters on his belt; Nyvereth's pleading in his mind scared him, but filled him with a fervor that he'd seldom felt among the Knights. The last time he felt it, in fact, was on the long, brutal ride from the Borders to the Capital to deliver news of the wards...

Just as quickly as he had arrived, he was back. He still had the one flintlock in his hand, and he could see Nyvereth was in danger. One of the Succubi lie dead, while the other had her by the neck. It was a nearly impossible shot, with Nyvereth being held in front of the Succubus.

It was a matter of fact that Shein was a young, inexperienced man. Terrible with women, terrible with politics, never picked up a skilled trade. He wasn't even particularly handsome, nor did he have the most engaging personality.

But his skill with his pistols were practically unmatched, for he put all of his effort into training himself to fire them; while on the move, running, on horseback, standing still- long range, close range, repeated fire... it was his one true skill, and he was damned proud of it.

As soon as he had his target marked, he raises the first pistol and fires. Its two shots spent, he tosses it in the air, grabs his second, and fires that as well; then, he slings the flame he held at both of the women. If Nyvereth's words of flame were true, she would be unharmed. The Succubus he didn't know about, but it freed his hands, and he could perform his next trick even in complete darkness.

Grabbing the first flintlock out of the air, he slams it into one holster in time to grab the second as it fell; with the skill of an expert marksman, he reloads the weapon, filling it with the perfect amount of powder, loading the rounds, and giving each barrel a quick three-strike ram. In less than fifteen seconds from first firing, his gun was reloaded.

And he had not been idle. Even as he fired, he was advancing on the Succubus. If she wasn't down or dead from his first barrage, a near point-blank blast to the head usually killed most anything.

There was always a point in time where a person's life slowed down before their eyes. It was always at a moment where life hung in the balance, whether it was their own or another's.

Endaria's life ended but not before she took another.

The Succubus heard the man's footsteps traveling toward them. In those few seconds it took for everything to begin and then end, Nyvereth died. The first two rounds that Shein shot ended up between the ribs of Endaria and his third took her right in the throat. The succubus's tail had lanced Nyvereth straight into her throat then up into her skull.

Nyvereth had only time to make a face of surprise before the light left her eyes and her body went limp. It was dropped to the ground unceremoniously as Endaria staggered back, clutching at her bleeding throat. She gurgled on the blood and looked at Shein in sheer horror.

The succubus fell onto her knees, no longer able to stand on her own.

"P-Ple..." Endaria choked on the blood.

And then her world went black as soon as Shein arrived with one last bullet.

He alone was the sole survivor.

"Nyvereth," Shein cries out in dismay. The two women had fallen to the floor just as the light went out, but Shein still knew exactly where Endaria's head was. Standing over the two of them, he glares down at the silhouette of her body. "I will see you in hell, bitch."

He fires twice into her head. The silence that followed was deafening to him. He stood there for an indeterminable amount of time, still aiming at the dead Succubus. The other had been felled by Nyvereth moments before her own demise.

As he allows his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he slowly reloads his two weapons, keeping his ears open, and his eyes down to the woman who he had only so recently begun to know. "I had loved you," he laments to her, knowing that she was beyond him now. It was naivete and loss that powered his words, but he had felt something for her, undeniably.

Now he was truly alone. He had killed one of a Magistrate's personal... retainers. He was on the run, in the city. He wouldn't be able to reach his horse unnoticed, he imagined. Holstering his weapons, he stoops down and lifts Nyvereth over his shoulder. A shudder wracks his body as her hot blood seeps down his back. So much for the hope of subtlety.

Drawing one of his pistols, he makes his way carefully through the dark. His eyes had adjusted as much as they were going to, he felt.

Lorraine slapped Cyrus across the face as a parting gift. It was half a punishment for flying so recklessly and asking so bluntly if she would sleep with him. Of course, Lorraine has suggested as much on the airship but that was just a way to convince the man to take her to the ground.

After she walked away a few paces, Lorraine turned around and blew a kiss to Cyrus. The poor man was just another confused soul left in the wake of Lorraine. He was not the first and would not be the last. The red-headed and fiery woman turned around a corner and disappeared.

The thick haired wolf placed its snout against the stone of the tunnels running beneath the Palace of Iracot. It was a massive creature with paws as large as a man's face. Its fur was an outstanding shade of red with gold eyes peering through the darkness of the tunnels. A growl rumbled low in its throat as the trace scents of blood filled its nostrils.

The red wolf bolted down the tunnels, taking turns that led it directly to where Nyvereth was suppose to be picked up. The smell of blood grew stronger and more distinct as the wolf bounded through the underground passages. There were different smells too; different scents intermingling.

The wolf picked up speed.


At the end of the tunnel Shein was walking down, there was a fork. He could either go left or right, or turn around. It was still several paces before he had to choose.

A shadow emerged from the right passage; a giant wolf with blood red fur. A growl echoed down the earthen hall. Those golden eyes peered at the man holding Nyvereth's body in his hands. Pearl white teeth showed as the wolf's maw pulled back in a gruesome grimace. The hair on its hackles rose and the wolf poised to attack.

Shein had been walking at a quick pace, and for quite a long time. When he had reached the cross-roads, he was preparing to turn down the way he felt led out. A faint scent of the outside, the barest amount of light. Signs that few unused to pathfinding would notice.

The biggest sign that he was approaching an exit was the giant wolf blocking his way. Skidding to a halt, he stares at the beast. His heart skips a beat. He would die in these halls, he was certain, but he would not go down without a fight.

It was a simple enough matter to aim downrange, with the limited movement possibilities. Shein does so, firing both barrels of the pistol he bore in his hand. Just as he had done when fighting the Succubus, he throws the first pistol into the air, loosing the second and firing both of those barrels.

Against a creature of the size he was fighting, he didn't expect his simple ball-shot to do any damage. He had special explosive rounds for dealing with heavily armored or particularly large foes, but he hadn't brought any with him. Reaching up, he catches the first of the guns. He was backpedaling though; he knew that if those four shots didn't do anything, he had nothing that would.

"I'm sorry, Nyvereth," he mutters to the drained body on his shoulder.

There came several loud yelps from Lorraine as she was shot by Shein. The wolf was slowed but not deterred. A fury shown in its golden eyes that seared into Shein. The wolf's ears perked forward when it caught the murmuring of Shein. It hesitated, looking from Shein to Nyvereth's body.

A growl rumbled deep in the wolf's body. It lifted itself from the ground where it had collapsed and it approached Shein. It limped toward him. Blood matted on its fur, darkening the already red hair. It took one step, then two. It chest heaved in the effort it took to simply walk. The wolf bared its teeth at Shein.

It golden eyes landed on the body of Nyvereth and then swooped down over Shein. The growl in the wolf's throat died to a high pitched whine. Its ears drooped. The mark on Shein's arm was noticed by the wolf and it seemed to tame her. It was no longer the bright glow it had been, but a pale image of the feather.

The fur melted away from the wolf as it collapsed back down onto the ground. A woman was left, naked and bleeding from where Shein had shot her.

"She ... marked ... you?" A tear slid from Lorraine's eye and she moaned in pain. Her hand covered a wound in her ribs. Lorraine's eyes rolled in her skull. The woman's body jerked in mild spasms of sheer agony. The shots would not kill her, but it was not a pleasant experience for Lorraine.

Just as he had done before, Shein holsters the first gun and begins loading the second, though with one hand it was significantly more difficult. He hadn't even finished ramming the powder before the wolf before him transformed into a woman.

He goes rigid. A Werewolf. He'd heard that they prowled the dark places of the city, but that couldn't have been more than a rumor... and yet, here before him was one, and he had shot-wounded it. "She... marked... you?" It asks, before moaning in pain and collapsing.

The other gun falls to the ground. It was the first time since he'd left training that he ever let one of his guns fall. He stares for a moment longer at Lorraine, before he holsters his half-loaded pistol and stoops to pick up and do the same to his other one. "She did," he responds simply. He didn't even really register that she was naked. He was half blinded by the bright flash of his guns in the darkness, and was letting himself adjust. He could see the dimly glowing lights of the woman's eyes, however.

Stoic as any good Knight, he walks over to her and picks her up by the waist, grunting as he lifts her up over his shoulder. The two women were almost too much for him to carry, but with one dead and the other possibly dying, he had to trudge on. And so he does, back down the passage Lorraine had come from.