Then Pleasure you with Pain

[Dark Temptress]

Closed to the demon of the night...

Light filtered into the parlour. Slow and lazy, as the orange globe of the sun broke the horizon. The sky had begun to change an hour ago, the dark sin it had become turning a grey and then slowly even that melancholic colour was drained out to produce a slash of pink and orange, with the bright shine of azure behind it. A'rai watched it all with tired eyes. The normal glimmer and dance of the emerald was gone, replaced by weariness and worry. She'd slept not a wink the entire night, and imagined she looked quite like it too.

A book on demon summonings, possessions and fusions lay before her to a page describing the dangers of allowing a demon to enter one's body. She'd read it about twenty times, but her brain had refused to absorb the information within. All night she had stared at that book, flipped through the different passages contained within, but the calculations of her brain refused to work. For once, she was not five steps ahead, but two behind. For once, she was left the puppet on someone elses strings and she liked the feeling not. The only place A'rai enjoyed being controlled and dominated was in the bedroom, and even then she rarely allowed anyone to do so. That required a certain amount of trust, something she could ill afford to give any man.

With the rising of the sun, the house slowly came alive. She could hear the servants waking from their slumber to prepare for their daily chores, only an uncertainty settled over the whole of the household, as news of the night spread from mouth to ear.

"Lady A'rai."

She blinked, trying to clear the fog from her mind, but in doing so felt a desert of sand move across her eyelids. She grimaced and rubbed them, trying to pull some kind of energy from what little stores she had left. Turning towards the source of the voice, she saw her maid Valeriya heading towards her in sure strides.

"The house is waking, my Lady, and the servants are unsure of what to do. They already gossip." The young girl informed her.

With sure hands she grabbed the tome from the table and closed it, hiding the cover behind a dust rag she pulled from one of the many pockets lining the drab grey servants dress.

"Of course, summon the servants to the kitchens and I will make the formal announcement." A'rai mumbled, her tongue felt thick and her mouth dry. When she looked for something to parch it, all she saw was an empty brandy glass sitting on the side table next to her. The spectacles her father used to read the morning paper were next to it. Her lips pulled down in a frown as she tried to remember how much of the amber liquid she had consumed. In the end, she supposed, it did not matter.

Pulling herself from the large, over stuffed chair, A'rai turned from the now cold fireplace, the blaze having burned out hours ago, and headed towards the door.

"My-my Lady, you would see them like that?" The question hung in the air between them.

Befuddled, the noble looked down upon her dress and realized she still wore the house coat from last night. Drak'shal's ink black blood covered it, and her skin, though much had flaked off during the eve. Still, she imagined she looked a right mess at the moment and addressing the servants as such would not help the situation.

"Valeriya, gather the servants in the kitchen," A'rai told her, a hint of authority finally returning to her weary voice, "and tell them to enjoy a long breakfast. I shall be down when I am decent."

Valeriya bowed her head, mousy brown hair cascading across the thin frame of her shoulders, before she turned and left the parlour. The girl had been of quite some use during the eve and was beginning to show A'rai her backbone and intelligence. She hoped it would only continue. Turning, the noble headed to the servant stairs in an effort to avoid her own staff.

*~*

"I'm sure most of you have heard the rumours by now." A'rai began as she looked across the expanse of the hot kitchens. The large space was filled with the household staff, all 23 of them, and she could still smell the remains of their breakfast. The fatty grease of the bacon and the aroma of freshly baked bread seemed to permeate the place, or perhaps it seeped out of the wooden cupboards hanging over top the large stove, blackened by years of use. Two pots of boiling liquid remained on the burners, merrily bubbling away.

The servants stared at her with a mixture of uncertainty, mistrust, open worry and confusion. She knew many of them could care less about the news she was about to impart, aside from how it would affect their daily lives and livelihood. And frankly, as long as they didn't spread rumours unnecessarily about her, she could care less for them.

She took a deep breath and attempted to meet all their eyes as she stepped towards the large wooden table that separated her from them. "I'm sad to inform you, that they are true."

Murmurs spread through the lot of them. Mouths flapping open and closed as the soft cadence of their words filled the space. A'rai waited, adjusting the drab, dark grey skirt of her mourning dress and clasping her hands in front of her. After a moment, quiet returned and the eyes once again found her.

"He was murdered last eve, during his return home." This time, when the collective voices tried to rise once more, she silenced them with a gentle raising of her hand. She had not the time to deal with these idiots and very little patience after her sleepless night. "An investigator is already looking into the matter and will hopefully punish those responsible. But now, I find myself in an awkward position as the head of this house."

Tears welled in her eyes and she choked them back.

"I will keep you all, if you wish to stay in the household, if you do not, I will not hold it against you. Today, you may have the day off with pay. I have some matters to attend and then I wish to be alone." She could see the sympathetic looks upon their faces and the eyes filled with pity. Under normal circumstances she hated receiving pity, but this was the reaction she had hoped for. "Thank you for the loyalty you showed my father. I can only hope you will give me the same. You are dismissed."

Turning sharply, A'rai left the servants to their own devices. The smell of cooking food made her sick anyway. She couldn't think about eating when all she wondered was whether Drak'shal had spilled his guts (and perhaps his head) to the investigators and what that could potentially mean to her.

Heading back to the parlour, feeling slightly more revived after forcing herself to deal with something, A'rai threw open the doors and strode towards the bar. She grabbed a fresh brandy glass and the crystal decanter from the table, ignoring the inner voice that warned against this. She didn't care if Drokof was supposed to be coming here. She needed her brain working and a bit of alcohol should help grease the wheels. At least, that's what she told herself. She ignored the flutter of nervousness in her stomach, logically explaining it away as hunger pains, or perhaps she was just close to her moon blood.

Pouring a hefty amount into the glass, A'rai took it and the bottle to the fireplace. She flopped down into her father's favourite chair--it still smelled of him--the cushions enveloping her body and begging her to let all those tight muscles relax. Raising the crystal glass to her lips, she took a long sip. The burn and tingle of the alcohol warmed her straight to her stomach. By the third drink, she could feel it in her arms and legs, that wonderful heat and relaxation that seeped into her.

When she tipped the glass towards the ceiling and drained the last of the brandy, the gears inside her mind finally began to turn. A new plan formed, and with it, a wicked grin spread from ear to ear.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Sunlight filtered weakly into the cell, thin beams drifting lazily along the rough walls as the burning orb rose higher into the sky. It banished the freezing mists of the Salvaran night as the city of Knife's Edge slowly awoke.

Aurelianus Drak'shal was slow to awaken with it, opening his eyes blearily and squinting against even the faint light that made it in through the high, narrow windows on the East wall. He tried to sit up, for a moment not recalling where he was, but the events of last night returned in a flash along with every pulsing point of agony on his abused body. With a grunt and more than a few muttered profanities, the half-demon dragged himself up to sit on the cold, stone "bed" - in actual fact, just a slightly raised lump of stone with a thin covering of straw - and tried to shake off the chill in the air. With the amount of blood he'd lost last night, the cold was getting to him more and the tiefling rubbed his hands across his arms to try and get some heat back in his skin. The warlock was careful to avoid the myriad wounds marring his alabaster flesh, but he let his eyes dance over the stitches and bandages covering the worst of them. With his armour and weapons taken away during his capture, he was left with only his leather trousers, and hobnailed boots to cover his frame - the bastards had even confiscated the dozens of talismans, amulets and other assorted charms he'd kept tied round his neck and wrists. The uncovered body did not paint a pretty picture, decorated as it was with too many fresh new cuts and bruises over the warlock's intricate tattoos and old scars.

After his summary arrest the moment A'rai had been escorted out of the room, the guards had been true to their word and brought medical attention to his cell; the doctor, after his initial shock at the state of Aurelius, had fixed most of his injuries despite the man's obvious discomfort at being around a suspected murderer, and a half-demon to boot. But he had performed his tasks and not raised questions about the various fractures and bruises that had obviously not been part of his patient's fight with the swordsman, Galvar. The guards had been less than gentle escorting him to the cells.

Aurelianus smiled darkly to himself at the memory of the crude beatings that had accompanied his questioning throughout the night, as well as the unnecessary force they'd used when taking him in to begin with - his injuries alone made it near impossible for him to have fought back, even if he'd wanted to. But, as he had mused during the interrogation, it was far from the first time he had taken a beating from law-dogs, and it wouldn't be the last. 'ell, they're rank bloody amateurs compared to the Harmonium, he chuckled, reminiscing over the hard-headed bastards who had policed his home-city. Now they knew how to extract the truth from an antagonistic prisoner.

Luckily, the Anarchist had managed to maintain consciousness long enough to hear the cover story A'rai had made up on the spot, so the natural liar had had no trouble sticking to the story. Eventually, they had been forced to admit defeat, and accept the "facts" they were being provided. Even so, they had thrown him arse over elbow into the dank little cell to await his so-called employer coming to collect him. A vicious snarl crossed his features at the mere thought of A'rai Salaturn, pulling the stitches tight along the gash bisecting his mouth. He hissed as the taste of fresh blood tantalised the tip of his forked tongue, his hands curling into fists. The bandages around his forearms slowly darkened as his blood seeped out of the lacerations, staining the clean white cloth with their blackness.

With time to kill before the Salaturn bitch got him out, he turned his attention to the cell, examining it with the practiced-eye of one who had seen the inside of countless such rooms. It seemed fairly basic; high, narrow windows, still covered with iron bars; rough stone walls etched with various scrawls and slurs against the city watch scraped into the rock; a bucket in the corner that, judging by the foul stains and odours, was the toilet; and finally, the heavy iron bars that made up the door. After killing some time memorising every detail in the room, the half-breed strained his sharp senses to try and listen to the soft murmur of conversation from the guards at the end of the hall or even the other prisoners. After a few minutes, however, the migraine that had been building behind his eyes for hours made itself known and he stopped parking his ears as his vision got blurry.

Another short while drifted past and the battered tiefling dragged himself to his feet, swaying slightly for a moment before steadying himself with a hand. That proved to be a mistake and Aurelius drew back his hand with a loud curse as he jarred the severed end of his left ring finger against the rough surface. Grinding his fangs to keep from mouthing every profanity he could imagine, the caged Anarchist limped his way over to the bucket and clumsily unlaced his trousers with his uninjured hand. He hissed under his breath as he released his dick, muttering about 'Winter's grip', and pissed into the foul bucket in the corner. Steam rose from the stream, further illustrating how cold it was. Like I need a pikin' reminder, he growled to himself, tucking his manhood away after a final obligatory shake and sitting back on the edge of the cot. Every movement brought a fresh stab of dulled agony, but with a supreme effort of will, Aurelianus shut out the worst of it, turning the only real problem facing him at the moment over and over in his brain-box.

A'rai Salaturn.

A sneer of distaste started to curl his lip before he felt the sharp tug of stitches and forced his temper under control. The smarmy noble thought she was so much smarter than the half-demon - whether or not she was right was irrelevant, because right now she held all the cards and Aurelius loathed the idea of someone yanking his leash. If the devious chit so chose, she could leave him to rot here and in no time his obvious inhuman heritage would require the city watch to contact the Church of The Ethereal Sway. It didn't matter that he could tell them how she hired him to murder her father. One look at his demonic features and he would be dismissed as a liar. The irony of that was not lost on him. His brain-box thumped in time with his pulse, but he kept turning things over, figuring the most likely outcomes and trying to glean some way out of this that wouldn't see him indebted to the emerald-eyed schemer, or swinging from the gallows. He could already guess how A'rai would play this, and the worst part was the con-artist knew he couldn't avoid it; if she was half as smart as Aurelianus figured her to be she would call in her debt to him in return for having him freed.

It was smart, it was cunning, it was devious.. it was exactly what he would do in her position.

Added to this potential thorn in his already thoroughly pricked side, she had not only his name, but she had his blood. If there were any who understood even a fraction of the havoc someone could wreak with those, it was the half-demon warlock. The sheer number of possibilities alone made it impossible to predict which she would use, and therefore impossible to defend against. The black, forked tongue ran over his fangs again and again, filling the silence of the room with the wet, repetitive sound.

A glance at the smear of sunlight on the wall told him barely an hour had passed and he sighed in irritation, running his hand through the crest of bloody-red quills down the centre of his scalp. The planewalker could handle almost anything, but boredom.. He got up off the stone pallet again and walked the length and breadth of the room with his arms crossed over his goose-pimpled chest. He did a few circuits of the room before once more resting himself slowly down on the hard surface of the bed, touching his back against the freezing stone with a sharp shiver. It helped wake him up from his fugue, and with a few deep breaths he cleared all unnecessary background noise from his head, leaving only a single resounding thought.

I'd kill for a pikin' smoke, he thought sourly, resting his head back against the wall and closing his serpentine eyes.

[Dark Temptress]

"Miss Salaturn."

A'rai blinked several times, clearing the blur from her eyes and the fog from her brain. Glancing to her left, the noble spotted Drokof in his immaculate military uniform standing less than two feet from her. Not a single crease marred the crisp, blue material, and though she bet he'd been up late interrogating Drak'shal, his face showed no signs of fatigue. His eyes were bright and cold, calculating in their depths as they stared down at her, while a slight frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. If anyone could call the thin line of his lips a mouth, it was more like a slash across the hard planes of a rather handsome face, even with the odd set to his nose.

"Drokof?" The word came out slightly slurred, surprising the both of them. She cleared her throat and gave her head a light shake, but all that did was set the room spinning about her in a maelstrom of colour. "What--how did you get in here?"

"Your front door is still damaged from last night, remember?" The dark slashes of his brow raised slightly as his eyes took her in and glanced at the table beside her. "When no servants answered, I merely let myself in. Are you drunk?" He asked incredulously.

She looked at the empty decanter and cursed in her head. It had been half full when she'd started and the seductress could not recall when that had been, or even the exact time of day it was now.

"Of course not." She said indignantly.

When she moved to stand, the whole world tilted slightly and she had to catch herself on the arms of the chair. Drokof snorted and grabbed her arm, not so gently righting her. She brushed him off the moment she felt more stable, telling herself she'd played into that more than necessary in hopes the man would gain some sympathy towards her. At this point, she didn't even know if that were true or not.

I need to clear my head. This isn't good.

Composing herself, A'rai took a step or two away from the soldier. The frown on his face seemed to be having a hard time fighting off a subtle jerking at the corners, as if he found this somehow amusing.

"Of course not," he restated, "I'm sure everyone stumbles when they are completely sober."

She stiffened and tried to sort out her thoughts, the first question forming on the tip of her tongue pertaining to why exactly the man was in her home, but even her addled wits answered that for her. She'd asked to see her father's body. Drokof had come to escort her, personally, to him. Most likely so he could watch her every move as she stood aside his corpse and gauge the very twitch of her body and subtle nuance of her face. She'd play into the good girl act though, the alcohol may even help. While she was clearly not sober, A'rai had not consumed so much as to completely destroy her mental faculties.

"And I'm sure every man out there makes it a habit to enter a lady's house without permission." She bit back at him.

The frown returned to his face. A'rai preferred it to the subtle smirking. It made it easier to remind herself the man thought her a murderer, even if he was right in that assumption, he just couldn't prove it.

"Well, since you are standing and obviously not drunk," he said coldly to her, "we should be on our way."

A'rai nodded and straightened out her drab skirts, brushing her hands down the front of them to remove any wrinkles. "If you will excuse me for but a moment while I prepare myself."

Drokof inclined his head. "I'll be waiting at the door."

*~*

A'rai stared down at the black sheet, draped over a waist high stone table, watching the misty heat of her breath get devoured by the frigid air. Under that sheet, her father's body lay. She could just see the outline of it. His brow, the sharp point of his aristocratic nose, and the subtle contours of his chest, hips and legs. She'd known the man all her life. He'd raised her. His seed had created her. Yet as she stared down upon the shadow of his lifeless form, it took much of her willpower just to keep the exuberant gleam from her emerald eyes and the wicked grin she wanted so much to break out across her lips from doing so. With Drokof standing only a few feet from her, his glacial eyes watching her with the precision of a snow cat, A'rai knew this had to be played just right, or his suspicions would only rise further.
"Are you sure you wish to see him?" Came something so nasally and grating it could hardly be called proper Common.

She looked up at the intrusive voice and stared at the attendant. He wore all black from head to toe, his skin had a grossly pale aspect to it, not the natural alabaster of hers, but one that looked born of sickness. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes ringed, desperately screaming out for sleep. Working among the dead must be taking a toll on him.

"Yes." She said firmly.

The man looked from her to Drokof, as if her words were not enough. From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. The attendant sighed and grabbed the edge of the sheet. With one quick flourish, the black cloud was drawn away from his face and folded neatly just below his shoulders.

She stared.

He looked so similar and yet so different in death. His skin was devoid of much colour and hung off his bones as if nothing supported it any more. His eyes appeared to have sunk into a sallow looking face ringed around the cheeks with a subtle stubble. His chest did not so much as rise and the utter stillness was just so...beautiful to her.

Taking a small step forward, A'rai reached out with a shaky hand and lightly trailed her fingers across his brow, brushing back that salt and pepper hair, before tracing the outline of his cheek and jaw, feeling the coarse hair prick at her sensitive skin.

Her hand fell to her side. She took three steps back, nodded her head, and turned her back to the corpse. Her eyes trailing along the smooth, stone walls. They glistened in the candle light, the permanent sheen of frost and ice giving them an almost magical or ethereal quality. Several other stone slab tables littered the room, three of them were occupied, while the rest lay in silence, waiting. She'd never been in the mortuary before. Built deep under the street of Knife's Edge, so that it remained cold even in the warm summer months, the place was not exactly high on her list of establishments to partake in. The still, frigid air was beginning to get to even her. The noble could feel a slight tremor brewing in her muscles, an attempt to keep the heat within her body. Goose flesh broke out across her skin, though it remained hidden under the skirts and sleeves and the high neck of her mourning gown.

Drokof came up to her left. "You're trembling." He remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Merely the cold." And for once, she wasn't lying to him.

"Let us rid ourselves of this place then."

A'rai nodded and allowed Drokof to escort her from depths of the mortuary. They exited out a small, wooden door into a narrow hall. Lanterns hung from hooks, blackened and grime covered from years of oil residue. They were spaced far apart, allowing pockets of darkness to collect between them. He took her to the right, she'd no idea what lay further down on the left, and walked beside her. The small space forced them close together and occasionally they would bump against one another. He made no move to allow her to go ahead and she wondered if he was trying to throw her off balance.

"Are you well?" He ventured.

She let the question hang in the air for a minute or two, not entirely sure how to respond properly. Splendid, exuberant, jubilant, ecstatic, these words all popped into her head, though she doubted they were the proper answer.

"I just saw my father's body, what do you think?" The words came out a little on the harsh side.

The rest of the walk down the hall and up the long, stone staircase was silent. The higher up they went, the warmer the air became, until A'rai emerged into a large, square chamber. Windows set high into the brick walls allowed in the light of a hazy morning, turning the room dreary and grey, much like her mood. A few people bustled to and fro, many wearing the customary black clothes of those who dealt with the dead. They came and went from the chamber, which appeared to be the main hive to anywhere else in the building, through several doors and another staircase across the way and in front of her, which led up instead of down.

She made her way to the front door, a plane wooden thing, and paused on the threshold.

"I'm going to see, Iharkav."

Drokof stopped, his face hardening slightly. "Why?"

"I wish to speak to him and discover the truth of what happened that night."

"My men will discover it."

"Perhaps," she said, "but I'm still going to speak with him. I'm only telling you because you suspect I killed my own father and seeing Iharkav behind your back would raise your suspicions."

He didn't appear to like that answer, but before he could say anymore, she politely inclined her head and walked out into the grey light of day.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius wasn't sure how long he had been dozing, his quilled head resting against the rough stone. Minutes slid by, the weak sun climbing gently down the walls to alight on his abused flesh. The blinding light turned the inside of his eyelids a pulsing red, making his temples throb as the migraine continued unabated.

For a while he simply sat motionless, trying to turn his considerable will to ignoring the pain he was in, and watching the insides of his eyelids as the black blood pulsed through tiny veins. He occasionally tensed and untensed his muscles; a trick he had picked up to ward off cramp. It wouldn't do if a chance arose to escape, and he was betrayed by his own muscles. Almost every different muscle tensed brought another sharp sting as stitches pulled tight, smaller cuts opening up and bruises pulsing like drumbeats in his battered frame.

It took a few moments to draw himself out of the semi-trance. Something in the room had changed. He was slow, his senses addled after the pitiful sleep, but eventually he realised there were black shapes moving across his field of vision, blocking the light from his face.

His eyes snapped open.

The tiefling didn't move a muscle, turning his cold eyes to the other three men in the cell with him, regarding them casually as they towered over him. Two were guards, their attention solely on him, short spears gripped tightly in their white-knuckled fists - they were uneasy about being so close to the half-breed, and Aurelius didn't blame them. Were his circumstances any different, and his injuries not so numerous, he would gladly have gutted them like fish.

Time for that later, cutter, he reassured himself, staring at the pair until they eventually broke eye contact.

Finally, still keeping his back against the icy stone wall, the warlock flicked his gaze to the third person, now kneeling before him with a friendly grin on his blotchy, too-round face. It was the doctor from the previous night. The human kept a distance between himself and his.. patient, but he was slowly easing forward, a medical bag at his feet. Hiding a small smirk, Aurelianus whipped his hand up.. to scratch the side of his shaven head, chuckling softly as the three men jumped.

The two guards, regaining their composure and fighting off embarrassment, lowered their spears to point at their captive.

"Keep laughing, smart-arse, and I'll nail your hands to the wall. Think you'll be laughing then?" It was the shorter of the pair, young, obviously of Salvaran stock. What little facial hair he had was wispy and blonde - almost white.

Aaaah, the confidence of youth, eh? Adorable, ain't it? Aurelianus mused, running his forked tongue over his fangs to unsettle the smarmy little sod. It took considerably more effort to repress the shivers threatening to wrack his body. The sun was bright, but it was far from warm.

Rising to his feet slowly, ignoring the crouching, rotund doctor as he scampered back, the fiend-blooded miscreant's eyes narrowed at the man, slit pupils thinning until they were barely visible against the lambent yellow.

"You got guts, cutter," he smiled, fangs flashing in a wet grin. "Keep rattlin' your bone-box at me, might be I'll find out what they look like."

His smile was colder than the frigid air drifting in from the small, barred window at the top of the wall.

The guard made to move forward but a restraining hand was placed on his chest by the still nervously smiling doctor, rising from the floor finally.

"Please, sir, I have to see to this patient. Would you kindly take yourself outside the room and let me work?"

The guards glanced between each other, sneering visibly - but whether at the doctor, or the tiefling, it was unclear.

"Or would you prefer I let the captain know about your unprofessional behaviour?"

The guard looked like he was ready to hit the doctor, but his friend laid a placating hand on the younger guard's shoulder and led him back towards the exit.

With a few muttered warnings to Aurelius that they would be right outside, they stepped out, slamming and locking the barred door behind them. The only response they received was the half-demon's middle finger. He waited until they had left the room before he slumped back down onto the stone bed, breathing heavier as the pain from his wounds throbbed through his body in burning waves. Even standing up had wearied him, and forcing himself not to let on to the guards just how weakened he was had taken a lot out of his already low reserves of energy.

The doctor knelt again on the floor, closer to Aurelius this time, and started fiddling with the various implements in the bag.

"Ignore them, friend. They like to let their authority go to their heads."

"Aye, them and all their kind," the malcontent spat, snake-eyes glaring at the doorway.

"Don't take it personally. They're like that with everyone, but you'll have it worse, what with your--"

He swallowed whatever words were to follow, his nervous eyes averting their gaze from Aurelianus as he brought out various salves, bandages and other tools of his trade, laying them on a soft leather sheet on the damp, bumpy floor.

"What, the 'orns? The eyes, cutter? Maybe me gnashers?" Aurelius snapped, muscles bunched under his alabaster skin as his temper flared. His tattoos seemed to writhe as he moved. He knew it was all of these things - indeed, he was more than used to narrow-minded prejudice. So much so that it rarely even registered to him anymore. But to have to sit there and take whatever they threw at him? The half-fiend's ego didn't take kindly to wounding, but if he wanted to walk out of these cells, he had to swallow it all and wait for Salaturn to bail him out.

"I'm sorry, I meant no offense," the doctor said quietly, an apologetic smile on his flushed features, stirring Drak'shal from his bitter internal fuming.

"Shove 'em up your arse, mate."

The rest of the next few hours passed in silence, the human warily removing the already stained bandages, examining wounds, redoing stitches and smearing the wounds in medicinal salves before applying new bandages. He might have done it quicker, but the man had to admit he was still nervous being close to.. whatever the other person was. Truly, he had never laid eyes on someone with such unique features. He had the appearance of a murderer, the indefinable air of one, even if they had no proof to keep him. But, that didn't excuse the guards' treatment of the prisoner.

Finally, the wounds were all treated, and the doctor rocked back on his heels, licking his lips and darting his eyes to the door.

"I'm.. I'm not supposed to do this, but.. here," he whispered, sliding a few pouches over to the relaxed half-breed as he packed up everything else. A raised eyebrow met the gesture.

"Healing herbs. I thought it might make up some for your.. ill treatment," the chubby man said, his eyes still fixed on the heavy iron gate, watching for any sign of the guards outside. "They will help take the edge off your pain. Just be careful with them.. they can be quite potent in large doses."

Even if Aurelianus had been planning to thank him, which he most likely wouldn't have bothered his arse doing, he heard the approaching footsteps from the other end of the hall and the guards outside snapping to attention. He strained his ears, exacerbating the dull pounding in his brow, but couldn't make out the details of the hushed conversation outside. The three pouches vanished from the tiefling's hands - a minor display of legerdemain - and he readjusted his position perched on the edge of the bed, tense as a coiled serpent while he awaited whatever new pain in the arse the day had decided to throw at him. The doctor got to his feet, bag clutched to his chest like a mewling infant as the cell was opened again.

Another guard marched inside, eyes like glacial ice sizing up the doctor before dismissing him with a curt nod.

"Captain Rycke," nodded the doctor, on his way out of the room.

And now we 'ave a name, the tiefling thought with a vicious stab of hatred.

The Salvaran law-dog turned his icy eyes to the prisoner before him, a barely concealed sneer curling his lip under the stubble lining his strong jaw. His fist was wrapped tightly around the hilt of his rapier as he tried to stare down the bastard murderer. It was Rycke who had led the interrogation of the night before, and Aurelius remembered his eyes as he had watched his men beat the half-devil. He could feel the Hellfire start to smoulder at the back of his throat.

It would be so very easy..

But with iron bands of will, he swallowed it back, not going to give them the excuse to hand him over to the Sway hunters. They thought he was a murderer, but there was no reason to suspect him of witchcraft. He had to keep a tight leash on his temper, and bide his time.

"Iharkav, come with me," Rycke snapped, his voice that of a man used to having his every order obeyed on the spot.

"Is this more of your hospitality, mate? If so, kindly ram it up your arse," Aurelius replied in his most pleasant voice. "Sideways."

On any other day, if he was in any sort of fit state, he might have avoided the fist. But, today, it hammered into his mouth, bursting some of the stitches in his lip and staggered him to a knee. The follow up boot took him in the gut, knocking the half-breed flat on his back, coughing harshly as the cracked ribs grated together under the bandages.

He tasted blood.

Aurelius couldn't hold back the laughter that gurgled up from his throat. This must be what it's like to be soddin' 'uman, he thought with a wry grin.

"Sorry, mate, but d'you 'ave any idea 'ow rude that was?" Aurelius couldn't keep the smug grin from his pale, bloodied face.

Dragging himself back to his feet, he made sure to spit the mouthful of black blood across Rycke's finely polished boots. The man glanced down, keeping calm as he lifted his gaze back to the insurrectionist.

"Know this, snake; the only reason I do not have you in a noose already is the lack of evidence on your involvement in this little debacle. But you will slip up. Wretches like you always do."

Drak'shal continued to smirk, showing his thoughts on the likelihood of that.

"Bring him," Rycke snapped at the two guards just outside, both grinning hugely at watching their superior giving the gloating little bastard what for.

They stormed in, grabbing the unresisting devil by the arms and dragging him after Captain Rycke as he marched smartly out of the cell block.

They hauled Aurelianus through several other corridors, his heels dragging behind him, before finally he was dumped unceremoniously in a small room near the entrance, most of the space taken up by two wooden chairs and a small table. He looked around, seeing Rycke standing next to the door, his face blank but his dislike of the creature palpable in the air.

"Your.. employer is here to see you," he snapped through almost gritted teeth.

An' it's about pikin' time.