Death's Construction (closed to Aurelianus)

[Tshael]

Required Listening.

Rated Aure. <3

Frost gathered in her crimson curls by the time she made it. Even in her hermitage, Tshael had heard stories of the brothel in Salvar where pleasures of all kinds were sated. Of course, everyone had. Underneath the whispers of debauchery, though, there were other rumors. It was one story in particular, of a warlock with the power to sculpt flesh and bone, steel and beast, and create something more than what he’d started with. The story had stayed with her, beckoning her from the edges of her mind and in her dreams.

Years in Radasanth had made her comfortable with her uniqueness. She’d been a novelty when she’d emerged from Concordia so many years ago, a woman with equine legs and a tentative sway over the growth of earth. She’d been both worshipped and ridiculed, but soon got to a point where she simply was. Stranger things than herself ran rampant, after all. Yet here she was, dreaming of becoming something more. Tshael supposed, after all, that it was mostly from the loss of her son. A void ached to be filled, where motherhood had slipped from her fingers. She knew just what would fit in the chasm rent by the loss of the child.

So, she’d bought a warhorse. She’d bought winter furs. She’d killed a deer and kept the antlers, selling off the rest. She’d bought her way to Savar and sought out the House of Sin. Her dreams were becoming more vivid with each day she traveled closer. Hands reaching out, a touch that worked at her muscles like clay, pulling her into a form stronger than what she’d been before, and just before she could feel herself coming through anew, the morning would dawn and she’d wake shaking and angry that she could not have just a few more minutes to taste relief.

It was nearly noon when she entered the House, quietly watching the move of people around her. She’d been attended to immediately. When she’d been offered a towel to dry her legs, she noticed no one seemed to think anything of her legs, of the hooves in place of feet. In fact, no one seemed to bat an eye at the tail that swayed behind her, either. Soon she caught glances of figures moving from room to room, some with endless eyes, some with more hands than clothes, and one strange man who hardly had a face. Perhaps the rumors had been true after all, she thought, almost confused as to why that made her feel more at ease.

She was newly dry and warm when she was approached by a curvy woman bedecked in leather and iron filigree. The stranger leaned in, smiled with teeth that were almost too sharp, and asked quietly what the mage was looking for. Tshael leveled her amber gaze at her for a moment, trying to think. It was hard, through the haze of perfume and the background of sensory delights no doubt purposefully filling the waiting rooms.

“I’m looking for the demon that changes people,” she answered, with a voice that hardly shook at all.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Above the main foyer, overlooking everything that went on in his domain, Aurelianus Drak'shal had his office. It perched there, held aloft with chains the width of a man's waist, like a pregnant spider glowering down at the degenerates that crossed the threshold of the building. Within, in a mood as dark as the black-iron that dominated the room's construction, the tiefling pinched the bridge of his nose tightly and suppressed the urge to purge the room with Hellfire.

"Remind me," he started, voice low and soft, "why I keep you all around."

Sitting across from him, legs crossed languidly in a plush leather armchair, an elven woman ran her fingers through sable locks that fell to her tapered waist. Behind her, one of the other veterans of the House slipped inside silently and stalked past her, taking up his post close to the tiefling's right hand. The smell of blood and incense clinging to Gimmel was distracting, but she guided her attention back to her leader.

"Because, Aurelius sweetie, very few people can handle a stable as varied as yours with half the skill I do. And no-one looks as good doing it," her silky voice replied.

Val - her full name, though rarely used within the House, was Valyrmen Senesca - raised a wine glass to her lips and sipped. She wiped an errant drop of ruby red from her lips coquettishly, leaning back in the chair. The Raiaeran was used to Aurelius losing his temper, but she was comfortable in the knowledge he understood her true value. Readjusting the immaculately tailored velvets she wore, the pale-skinned madam spared a look at the two other men standing in the room. Gimmel, unable to return the glance, stood statue-still, hands clasped behind his back and head cocked to listen to everything going on. His body was hidden beneath layers of tight-fitting leather, buckled and strapped in place in a manner akin to his chosen master, but Val could see the tension writ large across his frame. He was not as used to being on the receiving end of Aurelius' anger, and she admitted to herself, there was something vaguely adorable about his kicked-puppy demeanour.

The tiefling mulled over Valyrmen's answer for a moment, a cigarette dangling limply from the corner of his mouth. His inhuman eyes were hard to read, but even Val could see the lack of his usual cheer there. That was itself not uncommon, but when the Master of the House got bored, it tended to bode ill for any within the walls that drew his attention in the wrong way. His serpentine eyes danced to the final, silent occupant of the room.

The wolf-lean Salvaran leaned against the heavy iron door, wearing a simple jerkin and trousers unlike most of the workers of his level within the House, who preferred their finery to reflect their high status. Cadin looked up from cleaning his nails with the tip of his dirk, and froze when he found himself impaled on the end of his employer's gaze. He cleared his throat, starting to look to Gimmel for support before realising the utter futility of that act.

"Don't ask me, chief. I haven't a fuckin' clue," he muttered finally, casting his eyes back down to his nails. Honesty, the gruff looking cut-throat had learned, was the only real policy when dealing with the white-skinned devil before him.

A dark murmur of laughter curled around the room like the icy talons of a fast-approaching winter.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" Val purred, getting up from her chair and moving over to the marble fireplace - her eyes remained firmly away from the swirling emerald miasma contained in the mirror-frame above the hearth.

"I'll tell you what's the pikin' matter," the half-demon snapped, thumping his boots up on the top of his desk and snatching the roll-up from between his lips.

"Runnin' a knockin'-shop shouldn't be this much of a pain in me arse."

Lighting a cosy little blaze, Val turned back to her employer and gestured for him to continue.

"'ave you ever seen a place like this before, Val?" he asked, exhaling a soft stream of smoke.

"A place that caters to every whim and every pikin' depravity ever imagined by the bodies of this backwater little world. You've been in more than a few brothels, from the chant I've 'eard. You tell me - 'as there ever been somewhere quite like my little slice of 'eaven?"

Val genuinely considered the question, to her credit, and Aurelius relaxed slightly. There were few he would normally open up in front of, but Valyrmen's matronly manner eased his temper. A painted fingernail traced the rim of her wine glass before she answered.

"You realise how stupid a question that is, don't you sweetheart?"

Gimmel hissed, soft and low, tensing up at the perceived slight to his master. The raven-haired Raiaeran shushed him with a dismissive gesture, not even turning her violet eyes in the former-human's direction. The pain-artist would not act without Aurelius' permission - not within the walls of the tiefling's own office.

"All I'm saying, Aurelius dear, is that I highly doubt there has ever been another brothel run by a 'fleshcrafter' - Gods, you need to think of a less pretentious name for that - where all of the whores are here by choice, free of charge; where you accept other forms of payment besides hard coin; and where you have eight-legged voyeurs clambering across the ceilings while women with six tits serve the wine."

There was a pregnant silence for a few heartbeats, before the tiefling warlock sprang to his feet and sauntered to the drinks cabinet, roll-up in hand.

"Alright, smart-arse, you 'ave a point," he smirked, finally.

A healthy measure of Salvaran vodka went into a tin mug that contrasted the other opulent decorations in the office. But, that was Aurelianus all over – the best booze in the cheapest vessels; the most basic grub eaten with silver spoons. He had never really settled into the wealth that Lichensith Ulroké had lain at his feet. Once a guttersnipe, always a guttersnipe, eh? he mused, throwing back the drink. Another followed itself down his gullet, spreading warmth through the tiefling's gut and nipping the tips of his forked tongue.

Sensing his dark mood had started to lessen, Val let her wine tease her palette before finally talking again.

“I imagine you had another reason for calling us all together?”

Aurelius looked over his shoulder, tongue lashing back and forth across his teeth, running a hand through the crests of quills adorning his skull. His myriad piercings caught the dancing firelight, sending faint glimmers across the lush carpet and dark wood walls.

“I might be buggerin' off for a wee while, soon,” he started. “The Order's been a little bit lax, an' we got our reputation thoroughly piked after Eiskalt. Figure I'll see what mischief I can get into while Lye's still away,” the warlock informed them, coils of smoke slithering from the corners of his grin.

“That bein' said, you're my best bloods and I need some sods to keep this place up and runnin'.”

Cadin, alone in the group, sighed internally. He had been entrusted with this duty, this responsibility, a few times before and every single time, it had left him a nervous wreck. People generally didn't get to disappoint Aurelianus Drak'shal twice. But, at the very least, this time there were two other stooges he could blame if the unthinkable happened.

“Gimmel, you'll be on point in the pain chambers, and the lower floors. Val, obviously you're the stable-master. You've got access to some of my black book – get yourself updated on which bribes are going where, and who we need to remind of their.. obligations to us.”

Turning and heading to stand by the curved, mirrored windows, the blade-clad half-devil crushed out his cigarette on the top of the sill, watching the people below him. One of his workers moved over to a series of ropes on the wall, tugging on one of the silver rings tied to their ends while she spoke to a new visitor.

“Cadin,” he smiled darkly without turning, taking a moment to savour the human's obvious discomfort, “just do what you usually do, cutter. You 'aven't burned the place down before now, so I figure you can be trusted. Need you to do a supply run while you're at it - Hurc's lads up in Archen need Scyllip leaves, blades.. the usual."

He might have said more to his chosen three companions, but a dark iron bell attached to the wall jumped once, the dull chime ringing out in the dimly lit room. Everyone knew what that sound meant; each of the bells signalled a different event within the House of Sin, and the black-iron was reserved for those seeking the artistry of the fabled fleshcrafter that lurked within.

“And, once again, business calls. Gimmel, be a lamb and bring the nervous wee chit in the foyer up 'ere. I've got time for one more little distraction 'fore I toddle off on me merry way.”

Bowing, the eyeless assassin turned on his heel and left the room. Cadin followed a moment after, offering the barest mockery of a bow with a sardonic grin - he knew how much Aurelius disliked displays of subservience from his closest bloods.

Valyrmen stayed long enough to finish her wine, setting the glass down next to the half-demon as she leaned in close. The half-breed's heightened senses picked out the faint hint of jasmine that always followed the madam.

“Try not to get yourself killed out there, dearheart,” she smiled, kissing him on the cheek.

“After all, where would we ever find a bastard that could replace you?” she added as she padded out of the room.

He was left alone with his thoughts for a few minutes before the heavy door swung open once again, and the girl was ushered in by the nearly-faceless Gimmel.

"Take a seat, luv," Aurelius smiled, turning to lean against the window-sill, ignoring the blades on his armour gouging the wood.

"And tell me 'ow I can 'elp you today."

[Tshael]

In her experience, demons were often winged, but otherwise no different than the humans that lived among her. Aurelius was far different, for sure. Gimmel, the leatherbound minion who had far less face than she was accustomed melted away and left her in the room with the demon. She hesitated only a moment, letting her eyes wander the crown of his head, her gaze caressing the horns that erupted from his skin like thin fingers.

“Thank you,” the Dranak spoke quietly before letting herself sink into the soft chair before his desk. She had never liked human furniture, but this may well be her last chance to use it. Raking her fingers through the crimson tendrils of her tail to drape it to the side, she took a moment to measure her breathing. Shirtless, she was sure he would be able to see her heart beat in her throat, the flush across her collar. Her fear was already on display, and who knew what other senses he commanded beyond his tapered ears and serpentine eyes. Tshael had lived long enough in danger to spot a predator.

“I doubt I’m much different than any who have come before you, Lord Aurelius.” She started, pausing to glance at the rings in his brow. She wondered if his piercings had been done by his own hand, the first taste of augmenting flesh that he’d known. “I have a vision and I have heard stories that you are an artist who helps such visions bloom.”

He shifted, and the wood creaked where it had been punctured and the blades stretched and warped their wounds. Had his blades been forged in house? She would need to ask, because while she was sure the House of Sin would have a smith for its needs, there were specific things she needed done to the Delyn armor she brought with her.

“I have materials that I thought you might need, of course,” she added nervously. “And coin.”

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius fought hard to keep the warring urges to sneer and smirk simultaneously at bay.

He settled for waving his hand dismissively, and pushing up from his perch at the window-sill. The wood squeaked as his bladed attire withdrew, but the tiefling paid it no mind - most of the objects in this office had felt the razored touch of his armour at some point or another.

"You can bar that kind of talk right quick, luv," he warned, casting a glance over his shoulder, slit-pupils narrowing.

"I ain't a pikin' 'Lord'."

He managed to convey his distaste at the notion in that one short syllable.

Strolling across to the drinks cabinet once more, the alabaster-skinned warlock poured himself another measure of vodka and let loose a low whistle. His tin mug was filled once more, and another was poured for the potential client.

There came a soft fluttering of wings, and from the rafters above their heads flapped a true abomination. It landed on the desk before Aurelius' guest, pausing for a brief moment and letting the chit have a good look. Soft, albino-white skin clad the little horror, and as its under-developed nostrils quivered, sutured eye-sockets still perceiving her, Junior let out a low, threatening hiss. Backing away from the woman, scalpel talons scraping along the hard wooden surface of the desk, the familiar wrapped itself awkwardly around an amethyst roughly the size of Aurelianus' fist. It struggled for a moment, before finally finding purchase and taking to the air.

Smirking at his beloved familiar, the warlock stretched out a hand for the sphere of purple-black crystal.

"Thank you, Junior," he smiled, letting the sin-against-nature take up its usual perch on his bladed shoulder.

He spared the equine-legged chit another brief look before consulting the amethyst clutched in his slender fingers.

"Never got your name, luv," he said, turning the orb to the light and watching the reflections being cast across the glossy surface.

"My name is Tshael," she said quietly, looking at the gem-stone in Aurelius' hand.

The artifact in his hand was taken from the top of his so-called symbol of authority in the House - it had been dubbed the Eye of Desire by the crone who had put the magicks into it originally, and the name had stuck since then. Admittedly, it was a little.. flowery for the guttersnipe tiefling, but it described the object's function well enough. Its surface, when it caught the reflection of a body, would show Aurelianus exactly what the person most desired at that particular moment. For a purveyor of all manner of fiendish delights, it aided the brothel-master well.

He didn't deign to explain what he was doing, but after a moment's silent scrutiny, he nodded to himself, satisfied. The amethyst disappeared; quite literally, it was in his hands one moment, then gone the next. Legerdemain had always served the half-breed well in the past, and he always liked to keep his skills sharp.

"What'd you say your name was?" he smiled, finally moving back over to his desk and laying the drink in front of the woman. His own was thrown back in a single swallow. He had heard it, of course - he just liked to wrong-foot people.

"Tshael," she replied again, and the half-demon grinned internally at the timidity he sensed in her.

If he had known her thoughts on him at that moment, that she viewed him as a predator, he would not have disabused her of the notion. He was exactly that, and he was damn good at it too. This woman - Tshael - had one desire at the moment. She wanted him to take her, reshape her. She wanted to become something more than she currently was.

And, as it happened, she had come to exactly the right person to fulfill her wish.

Sadly for her, he mused to himself, she had shown just how eager she was for this to happen.

Aurelianus sat himself down in the mangled leather armchair, resting his tattooed arms behind his head and throwing his boots up on the table-top. The fire in the hearth blazed away happily, casting a warm golden glow over his eyes. He watched her for a few heartbeats, letting her discomfort grow a little. Finally, he reached out his left arm, the pale skin clad in a vambrace festooned with hooks and barbs, taking a heavy looking pouch from the top drawer of his desk.

Junior scrabbled down his arm, scampering across the desk to sniff at the woman.

"As you can see," Aurelius smiled, upending the pouch, "jink ain't somethin' I 'ave much need for 'ere."

A small pile of golden coins - many of them from different nations across the face of the world - glimmered in the dim light. He arched his pierced eyebrow, letting his forked tongue pass over his serrated teeth once more.

"But don't fret, luv," he said, leaning forward in his seat and lowering his voice conspirationally. "We accept all kinds of payment under my roof."

The tiefling sat himself back up, resting his arms on the scarred table-top and cocking his head slightly. His quills scraped together with a sound like snake-skins being drawn over sand.

"I can do what you're wantin' done. Probably the only sod on this backwater world that could," he allowed with a nod.

"All I want for me troubles is a trinket. A triflin' little pittance that I promise you, ain't goin' to be missed in the long run."

He locked eyes with Tshael, still grinning. For the span of a few heartbeats, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the coals in the fire-place and the skritching sound of Junior's talons on the desk.

"I'll bring your vision to life, luv. I'll let you keep your jink, too. All I want in return is your soul."

[Tshael]

“My soul?” she stared at the not-Lord tiefling for a moment before her lips turned upward and a chortle escaped. Thayne be damned, he worked cheap. She felt like a mouse among cats in his castle. Try as he might to deny the lordship, the House of Sin was a fortress of power, and his office was perched as surely as a throne room she’d ever seen.

One of his brows raised, the one with obsidian rings that caught light. She wasn’t sure if it was surprise that lifted it. The rest of his face was a map to a place she’d never been. She was used to drinking with men whose thoughts were written in their eyes, along their bones. The tiefling gave nothing away, just as the viper in the fallen leaves stared the same in rest and tension. The slitted pupils didn’t help. She was sure any smile that showed sharp teeth or split tongue would be just as unhelpful.

Tshael had stalked into Hell before, she’d seen what happened to a soul in the clutches of evil. The time she took to consider the consequences of this deal were quick. If her decision sent her to Hell at the end of her life, she would be with her child. If it simply meant she gave up any afterlife, and was doomed to haunt the world or simply confined to the blackness of nothing, how bad could that be? It sounded almost heavenly. And forever alone in pain and misery? Eternal suffering is only as frightening as an intolerance to suffering.

Was the price he asked worth it? Tshael had expected him to request servitude, to give her gifts to him. Now that was a thought that gave her pause. What would this do to her magic? When she pulled the power from within would it answer? Would it be stained with his influence, dark and malicious? Something inside her told her she wouldn’t like to find out, but the vision she had, the offer to live out her days as an oracle of war and death…. To bring destruction on the conclave that took her peace from her? Let the misery in.

He waited quietly while the minute horror on his shoulder moved among the blades, glistening with wetness that she was sure had never been water. She drank to keep from thinking of what child it might have been, or how it came to service. It was almost enough to turn her stomach, but it did remind her of her extra request.

“Done, on one condition m’l….sir. Take my womb, and that of the horse that I’ve brought. Salt them. Burn them. As long as I am fallow, I’ll have no reason to come looking for what once was mine.” Her smile was less timid, her fear at this place walled away from any source of power for her melting somewhat from the warm embrace of strong vodka and the inviting way Aurelius offered his skill. She’d seen spiderwebs less silky than the voice that beckoned.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Oh, she's an eager one, ain't she?

The tiefling smiled to himself, tracing his finger idly along the scarred top of his desk, lips pursed in thought. He had seen Tshael's type before of course - nothing left to live for besides hatred. Nothing to stir her heart like that bitter draught. There were uncountable reasons for those who found themselves treading those dark paths, but the end result was always the same.

Shifting his weight in his chair, bringing pained squeaks from the torn leather, Aurelius steepled his fingers under his chin - he pointedly refrained from glancing at the missing half of his left ring finger, still more than a little angry about losing it. His eyes never once left Tshael, and with the merest effort, the warlock opened his senses to spectrums beyond mere mortal ken. Instantly the world burst into life around him, bathing him in the ever-shifting hues of souls. The House of Sin was one enormous kaleidoscopic whirlwind, and even without focussing his attention, the half-devil could feel the waves surging against his mind. Lust and pain and anger and fear and relief and... oh, it was a delicious smorgasbord of emotion.

Aurelianus shivered slightly at the stinging sensations pouring through his mind, bathing in them for a few seconds.

Finally, bringing his attention back to the task at hand, the blade-clad demon studied the rainbow of suffering that radiated from the Dranak. His slit pupils widened fractionally as he tore through her soul, reading her darkest secrets and greatest joys like a normal man might read a book. It took no time at all for the inhuman soul-broker to find his measure of his guest. He marked her power; her pain and loss (a valuable bit of leverage, he noted); and her boundless anger at those she perceived as wronging her. Letting his vision return to normal, the flesh-crafter nimbly snatched up one of the gold pieces from the table-top, rolling the coin across his knuckles - one, two, three, tuck under, repeat. Over and over it rolled as Aurelius weighed up his potential gain from this deal.

"That's not a problem, luv," he grinned finally, serrated fangs flashing pearly-white in the fire-light.

"You're 'ardly the first chit to request somethin' along those lines. The chant tells me there's nothin' worse than losin' a bairn - but then, I don't 'ave to tell you that, do I?"

Junior stirred on his shoulder, nipping at his earrings playfully. The foetus-creature could sense the playful mood in its master, and immediately assumed it was directed at the familiar.

Aurelianus cocked his head, waiting for Tshael to rise to the bait.

His keen senses instantly marked her tensing up. The woman's eyes narrowed, her teeth gritting behind lips pulled tight, nostrils flaring...

Looks like you 'it a nerve, cutter, he mused with a dark little smile.

Before Tshael could lose her temper, or even consider it, the tiefling was out of his chair and leaning against the table next to her. He had barely seemed to move, but there he was on her side of the table, every jag-sharp blade and barb glinting in the flickering lights. Junior shrieked from the air, angry at having been dislodged so rudely from its masters cosy shoulder. The half-breed's posture was relaxed - arms folded across his chest, ignoring the pin-pricks of blood welling up across his exposed flesh - yet seemed to be daring the fiery-haired mage to do something she'd regret. Slender fingers tapped a staccato rhythm against his bicep.

The corner of the ashen-skinned bastard's mouth twitched in amusement when she finally mastered herself with a few deep breaths. He was almost a little disappointed, but either way, it seemed she was committed to going through with this.

"Well, seein' as you've come so prepared for this venture, no point wastin' the day away, eh?" he chirped cheerfully, extending one marble-like claw towards the less-than-human woman seated before him.

"All that's left is to shake on it. Seal the deal," he informed her with a wink.

Tshael, as everyone did before the fact, hesitated. Aurelianus would have been more surprised if she hadn't. In his considerable experience, even the most cynical customer with the least value for the concept of an immortal soul found a momentary reluctance at the last minute. The tiefling had wondered about that before; was it simple fear that made them pause? That second of doubt where they thought 'but what if..'? He had once even toyed with the idea it was the Powers themselves, giving every cutter a warning that what they were doing was a mistake.

Whatever the case, they all overcame it. In some cases, they would try to back out, but Aurelianus Drak'shal was nothing if not persuasive.

The devil would have his due.

With one last flicker of her gaze to his slender horns, Tshael shook the warlock's hand. She had a heartbeat to think about how cold his hand was, before she saw his lips peel back in a vicious smile and felt the pin-prick on her palm.

Aurelius, once again complimenting his wisdom to have the enchanted ring crafted, felt an identical prick on his index finger. A tiny bead of black blood swelled around the minuscule wound, mixing with the rich red blood of the Dranak mage--

The room, despite the fire still burning brightly in the hearth, seemed to darken. A chill seeped into the air, tendrils crawling up Tshael's spine, making her shiver. A fierce white noise descended over her ears for the smallest fraction of a second, a vicious hum that made her teeth itch.

-- and the deal was made.

His eyes shining triumphantly, Aurelianus could not hide his delight. There seemed to be the hint of a healthier pallor in his cheeks, the serpentine eyes a little richer in colour. The warlock savoured the sensation for a moment, basking in the now-familiar sensation of having another rube's soul contained within himself, before taking a small, silver tube from one of his belt pouches. It resembled a miniature scroll-case, but had no clear opening. Tiny, intricate cuneiform glyphs were engraved around the object - a thurible, as it was known. A vessel; a lock-box for vim vitae.

Aurelius held the thing lightly between his fingers and if Tshael had the magical aptitude he thought she did, she might have marked the vague heat-haze shimmer surrounding the thurible as Aurelius passed her soul into it.

Without sparing her another look, the half-demon stalked across the room to stand before the marble-fireplace. Muttering a handful of guttural syllables in a language few on this world would ever have heard, the tiefling brought the hand gripping the silver container up to the baroque mirror hanging above the hearth. A swirling maelstrom of emerald and jade hues rose in the smoky glass, and as Tshael watched, Aurelianus passed his hand through the surface. A sepulchral breeze stirred from within the depths of wherever the mirror led, bringing with it the scent of old bone and smoke. When he finally turned back to his customer, the thurible was gone.

"Well Tshael, luv, now that we 'ave ourselves an agreement, no point standin' 'ere like a spare prick in a brothel. Let's go 'ave a look at these materials of your's, eh?"

[Tshael]

Well, at least he didn’t eat it in front of me, she thought as she stood, graciously taking an offered hand that she’d thought had been more warm than it should have been when she’d shaken on the agreement. Her soul was stored in a little dark mirror, and she was being whisked out of the House and back towards the stables. The air outside was easier to breathe, and she relaxed as they came upon the stalls where her horse had been placed.

The warhorse was a rich bay, with black mane and eyes that watched with care. Tshael hadn’t ridden her, and no saddle was hung by the stall. Instead, the dark leather saddlebags that carried her reagents were placed. In Radasanth, Tshael never would have dreamed of leaving bags out by a horse and thought she’d come back to find them still here. She felt some relief, even if she’d expected the House of Sin to be more secure than her home.

Aurelius dipped and moved, walking around the mare and eyeing her. While he looked, the Dranak stayed silent. When he returned to her, she gestured to the bags.

“I have some specific requests, aside from what I said before,” she explained, flipping the leather tops off the satchels. In the first, a tangle of antlers, still bloody at the base, were carefully wrapped. The burnt ivory was scored with runes, made carefully by a dagger during the nights of her long trip.

"A crown," she said, brushing away strands of vibrant red hair from her temple. "Make sure to keep the runes intact."

In the second bag, her armor. She’d bought the Delyn scalemaille so long ago, when she’d first emerged from the forest and found the Citadel at the bazaar when Delyn wasn’t quite so expensive. The polish and shine of the black metal, and the telltale texture of hammerstrikes where dents had been repaired told of the loving care she’d put into the armor.

“I want the armor melted down.” The words were a weight. Her armor had been with her more lovingly, more dependable than any friend she’d ever had. “Use the Delyn to shoe me. Make a mask. I have diagrams for the mask on a scroll in the bag with it. It’s important that it matches exactly. For the rest of it, what’s left, thick chains.”

In the dim stable, dust motes hanging in the air around them as light filtered through the windows and skylights ahead, Tshael pulled the scroll from the bags. She unfurled it with care, her fingers smoothing away the curl as she held it out for the tiefling to see. The mask was an angry face, with furrowed brow and lips pulled back into a snarl. The face vaguely looked like a man, ancient and powerful in his visage. It was a look she’d known well, though she knew better the face that it hid. The original mask had been porcelain, too prone to break.

This would be all she had left of Thoracis. Their child dead, her body transformed. Her mind, she knew somehow, would likely be changed as well. She hadn’t tread lightly into the demon’s den. The mask, however, she couldn’t quite give up, even if it too would not be the same.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelianus let her talk.

They weren't alone in the stables but the children and teenagers tasked with looking after the customers' mounts knew better than to eavesdrop on the boss's conversations. Most of them had felt a barbed lash across the backs of their thighs at some point or another for not attending to their duties - it was true everyone under the House's roof was granted certain freedoms, but they also had work to do. It was up to each person to find the balance between hedonism and doing what Aurelius needed of them. They milled around, heating the water troughs and brushing down the horses, all of them avoiding looking at the tiefling warlock who for all intents and purposes controlled their world. For his part, the plane-touched ignored them.

Aurelianus' eyes moved from the lithe little morsel before him to the horse and back as he started vivisecting both of them in his mind. The tiefling had had some practice with this kind of design back in Concordia and was more than familiar with how problematic it could prove. And that was with all humanoid subjects; he only hoped the apparent similarities in features would mean the bodies would be compatible. As if sensing his thoughts, the horse whinnied and backed away from the half-demon, eyes rolling and hooves starting to lash out gingerly. Hardly a new occurrence, Aurelius had long ago found that horses had a particular dislike for him. He took a few steps further away from the beast - the guttersnipe was in no rush to ever get kicked by a horse again.

His black tongue passed over his fangs thoughtfully as he pondered how much trouble this job was going to provide.

After a moment of consideration, though, the warlock discarded the thoughts as inconsequential. This was an opportunity for him to perfect his Art again and get yet another hapless rube turned to his way of thinking. More to the point, it was going to be a pleasant way to end his holiday period. It was time for serious work, to get the Order back into events on a much larger scale and the murderous Right Hand was eager to get his claws into the game. Crossing his arms again and shifting his weight from boot to boot, the tiefling looked over the other materials Tshael had laid before him. Her requests were a tall order on top of everything else she was demanding for her soul, but it was a price well within Aurelianus' means to cover.

The semi-human mage held out the scroll to him and he snatched it away from her, casting his eyes over the scratchy charcoal rendering on the paper. The designs meant nothing to him but he nodded and clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth anyway.

She definitely 'as somethin' planned, he mused. The war-mask; the powerful beast hobbled in the stall; the request for delyn-shod hooves. Whatever Tshael had in mind, it sounded to the half-breed like a world of pain was descending on some unlucky berk.

And she must be pretty soddin' desperate to come to you of all folks...

One of the stable-hands, a timid little creature of about nine to the Dranak's eyes, moved in to groom the bay she had brought. He kept his eyes on the ground, but made sure Aurelianus was always in his peripheral vision. His entire posture basically begged 'don't notice me' as he dragged a hard-bristled brush down the horse's flanks. Despite the fear in his every movement, the child seemed well-nourished and his clothes were comfortable and warm. Bastard though he was, Aurelianus protected his investments.

Hells, some of the little shits might even make good Anarchists given-- Nah, gettin' ahead of m'self. Focus, cutter.

Aurelius, running a hand through his crests of quills, glanced again at the heavy armour. He took a cigarette from the silver case in one of his belt-pouches, lighting it with a lick of black flame from his thumb. Puffing away on it for a moment to make sure it was lit, the marble-skinned tiefling turned to the boy with the ominous creaking of leather and a flash of pearly-white fangs.

"Edwald," he smiled through a cloud of smoke.

The boy froze, tensing up like a hare about to bolt from the hound. Aurelius hoped he knew better than to try and run.

"Pick up the lady's bags and get your arse over to Tannin Street. Tell the smith there 'e can clear 'alf his marker if 'e does what she wants him to within the week," he stated, gesturing with the glowing tip of his roll-up at the red-head Dranak.

Edwald scratched at his mousy brown hair for a second, still trying to comprehend the politeness he'd just witnessed from the monster that ran the House.

Nice was unusual. Nice was scary.

And then he caught the glint of violence in Aurelianus' inhuman eyes and remembered he'd just been given a task to do.

"You 'eard what Tshael 'ere wants the smith to do?" the warlock asked, sucking another lungful of smoke from the roll-up between his fingers. His pierced eyebrow arched to show it wasn't a rhetorical question.

Wringing his hands together and reaching for the bags, the pale youth nodded quickly.

He didn't see the fist coming until it cracked against the side of his head. Edwald went down in a tangle of spindly limbs and hay. Sitting up, he cradled his head in his hands and groaned weakly. His ears were ringing and as he blinked the dark spots out of his eyes he realised Aurelius was kneeling in front of him, hands clasped together, just.. watching him. The boss didn't like to blink much apparently and the boy suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Other stable-hands stopped to stare before they caught themselves and lowered their heads again.

"What 'ave I told you before, cutter? If anyone asks if you over'eard anythin', pikin' well tell 'em no."

Running a finger up one of the glossy horns emerging from his brow, Aurelianus pushed himself back to his feet with a sneer and the chime of his piercings and charms.

"You two," he snapped at the nearest pair of workers - a teenage girl and a stocky, swarthy boy from somewhere East of Ettermire, "go with 'im and 'elp carry the bags. And remember, if some sod tries to rob you of what you've got there, you better bloody well pray they slit your throat while they're at it. Get it done and don't come back 'ere without good news."

The trio of unfortunate souls quickly hopped to their allocated mission, struggling to lift the heavy satchels as they left the stable.

Watching them go, the half-devil clamped the cigarette between his lips and turned back to his customer.

"C'mon then, luv. Let me show you where all this'll take place," he offered with a somewhat cold smile that didn't seem to reach his eyes. The golden-yellow irises always had a mischievous glint to them but whether it showed hunger, amusement or some less definable, darker emotion was beyond most peoples' ability to guess.

Without waiting for Tshael, the blade-clad deviant set off at a brisk walk back inside the House of Sin. He knew she'd follow because.. well, what kind of addle-coved berk wouldn't? He already had her soul, so only the barmiest of barmies would consider leaving before the deal was completely square on both sides. Passing through the entrance, both of the not-completely-humans were embraced by a wall of balmy heat; their every sense was delighted by the carnal wonders awaiting anyone in the main foyer, but the half-demon didn't pause even once to witness the debauchery.

Revelers in his carnival of flesh called out to him as he stalked through them, raising glasses in his name or demanding he join them in their celebrations.

One of them, an aging elf wearing very little bar a feathered mask, tried to grab the Master of The House's shoulder as he passed. Aurelius twisted in the man's grip, grinning with savage satisfaction as the barbs on his armour tore the elf's palm wide open.

But still he didn't break stride.

Eventually, after following a circuitous route through the hallways and corridors of the ground floor, Tshael was halted in front of a thick, battered metal door. A pair of flesh-crafted sentries on either side of the portal bowed their heads respectfully to Aurelianus, who returned the gesture, albeit barely. One of them, his forearms bulging unnaturally with added musculature, casually lifted a steel bar that must have weighed as much as the Dranak and set it aside while his partner opened the door with a sinuous tail.

Finally glancing back over his shoulder at Tshael, Aurelius allowed himself a smile as he gestured theatrically inside the room.

There was no light.

"In you go, luv," Aurelius smirked.

Her eyes darting nervously between the two guards and their creator, Tshael edged towards the entrance, her hooves ringing out against the stone floor.

She was so focused on the utterly dark room before her that she never marked Aurelius flicking away his cigarette and drawing a syringe from his belt. She might have just managed to spot the glimmer of candle-light against gleaming steel before the fiend was on her. The needle slid into her neck and the last thing she heard before the dark rose to claim her was Aurelianus Drak'shal's grim chuckling.

The closest guard caught Tshael as she fell, carrying her into the room while his compatriot lit the gas-lamps dotted around this one of Aurelius' operating rooms.

Tucking the syringe away again, the tiefling went to check the vitals of his latest canvas - the sedative he'd used had been procured from one of the Hands of the Mind formerly working under Madison Freebird. Unfortunately, the Briarheart's absence lately had reflected in the quality coming out of the labs. He'd received a stimulant that would supposedly counteract an overdose not even a month before and had broken the hands of the Hand who mixed it after it killed one of the tiefling's customers - an aide to an Aleraran burgraf who had been quite forthcoming with information about his employer so long as he had access to the public pain chambers and a handful of hairless teenage boys to burn him with hot metal.

The way he saw it, Madison owed him for her peoples' mistakes. Now if she ever returned from her travels, Aurelius might be able to get something out of her for his troubles.

He checked Tshael's pulse before turning his attention to the tool-kit he would need for the fleshcrafting. Either she would wake up soon, or she wouldn't. He shrugged it off as not worth the worry.

Admittedly, Aurelianus didn't much care if the half-human chit lying on the cold steel table before him was in the dead-book or not. After all, he had only agreed to reshape her flesh in exchange for her soul. No-one had specified that she had to be alive when he did it.

[Tshael]

It was like drowning, sort of in reverse. She’d died like that in the Citadel once. There was a point before her breath gave way, when her lungs were starting to burn and her heart was beating like a drum. She remembered feeling so strangely cold, as if her veins had gone to ice and her body seemed so heavy it had been cast in bronze. Tshael felt like that now, as her eyes blinked blearily open. She could see before she could understand.

Lamplight was flickering, too bright to be a single point. It was all a blur of motion, of skin that was too pale and the glint of metal tools moving and shuffling. She felt vaguely sick but not enough to puke. There was a strange pressure somewhere below her chest. She could hear the sound of flesh being cut and membranes being torn away. It was the sound of slaughter, one any cook who butchered their own meats would know. Somehow she knew it was happening to her, but it didn’t hurt. It just felt strange, as if she were a string being plucked at, maybe just a bit too hard.

A splash of water was at her ear, the sound of something being swished clean. A hand that she vaguely recognized as the one she’d shook earlier appeared in her vision, the only thing she could focus on. Cool, wet fingers pressed down on her eyes and closed them for her. Water clinging to her eyelashes distracted her for but a moment before sleep took her again. Was that a familiar sting at her neck? She couldn’t tell. The darkness had come to lay claim to her.

She woke again covered in cold sweat. It clung to her skin like a gel, sticky and gross. The room was filled with the smell of alcohol, but not the drinking kind. The redhead barely had the presence of mind to be grateful for it, masking the smell of all that sweat, of the bile that rose in her throat, and the copper tang on the back of her tongue. This time when she was awake there was pain, but it didn’t feel like it belonged to her. It was awful, but it was separate from her body. Separate, like the legs that were lain on a table not far from her, caked in gore that shone black in the lamplight.

She knew the auburn hair that covered those legs, the chipped hooves, the tangle of red curls of the tail. Her legs were on the table across the room. Drowsily, she tried to look down. There was a hand reaching up her stomach. Where her hips should be, there was nothing but a table streaked with thick clots and a wash of diluted blood. Clamps here and there, tools and blades. She couldn’t understand any of it. Her legs were on the table across the room. Her eyes traveled up the arm playing in her ribs and across the tattooed shoulder. Serpent’s eyes, as gold as hers but less sunlight and more amber whiskey, were there to meet hers.

Her legs were on the table across the room.

This time there need be no sting in her neck. Tshael’s eyes rolled up into her skull and she fell into darkness again. She slept again, waking here and there when her arms were bound with leather. The dark staps bit into her arms and hoisted her up. Now a horse’s head joined her legs on the table. She thought she remembered hearing the mare scream, but it may have been a dream. Was this all a dream? The pain was gone now, and she felt nothing but the motion of her body swaying on the chain the straps were attached to. She moved to and fro, like light through the trees. Delirious, she watched as Aurelius lined her hips up with the gaping wound where the horse once had a neck. She thought she could understand what he was saying.

“Hurry,” hurryhurryhurry, her mind recited. The heart will stop beatin’ before you lot get it pikin’ right.

What need did she have for a heart? Tshael found herself slipping back into unconsciousness as she mused. No, no, she didn’t need a heart. She needed war drums.

It was pain that woke her again. Her back was on fire, as if the sun itself had fallen upon her skin and was searing into her core. Eyes wide, mouth open in a scream that was too large to escape her throat, she gasped and clawed at the air before her with hands that still felt numb. She couldn’t see Aurelianus before her, only felt some measure of pressure on her… back? But her back was too long. Her back was on fire and wasn’t, and was far far too long.

Finally, horror overcame her and helped to rip her throat apart. The screaming began in earnest.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelianus was an artist.

He may not have seen it that way, but there was no denying the results of his labours. His crafting had begun as something brutal, unrefined. Now? Well, the horrors stalking his domain bore testament to the terrible beauty he could create.

As the tiefling panted and sweated, as he tore and cut and burned away that which was not necessary, something beautiful began to take shape in his theatre. The chit had awoken a few times during the procedure, but a few gentle urgings and a few not so gentle injections in her throat kept her suitably docile for his ministrations. The smell of sterilising alcohol flooded the room but it wasn't enough to dull his preternaturally sharp senses; the reek of blood and split organs delighted his palate, and the scent of inhuman sweat teased at the edges of his senses.

The horse had been simplicity itself to prepare. Gimmel had led the animal inside the building - a few of the patrons evidently thought it was there for one of the more depraved denizens of the House - and led it inside the operating room. It had been a while before Aurelianus had discovered his fleshcrafting affected more than just humanoid creatures, but since that revelation all manner of possibilities had unfurled. He didn't attempt to calm the beast - his infernal heritage put most animals on edge in his presence. The mare's eyes had rolled wildly in her skull and it had taken all three of the House workers to restrain it as the tiefling darted in. His hands had passed through its thick skull with little resistance, Aurelius nimbly side-stepping a flailing hoof as he delved deeper.

Finally, the horse stopped fighting as the warlock withdrew his slender hand, cupping a lump of slick, grey tissue in his palm. He had heard the word 'lobotomy' once, long ago. Back home in Sigil it was used to keep the more extreme barmies tame inside the confines of the monolithic Asylum. To his Anarchist sensibilities it was a disgusting practice, stripping a body of the drive to seek out the Truth of their existence and he had fought against the masters of this innovative new technique as much as he could. With age, however, had come wisdom and the half-devil now recognised the practical applications of such a monstrous act.

After that, he had simply stripped the muscle and bone from around the horse's remaining brain; it was necessary to keep some of it intact for blending with the Dranak's new form. Her scalp had been peeled back with a casual flick of the sadist surgeon's pale hand, exposing a red-smeared skull. At his master's request, the painstakingly carved antlers were brought forward by Gimmel and Aurelius fused them to the Dranak's skull with as much effort as a blacksmith shaping heated steel. Her neck would require additional musculature to support the weight, but that would come later. Before the final details, Aurelianus would take his time doing the messier tasks.

It was never as much fun working on an unconscious patient he had often mused, but for something as demanding as the work Tshael had purchased with her soul, it was a necessity.

He worked with utter focus, occasionally barking orders at Gimmel and the other two guards standing against the walls of the cold, sterile room. The braziers and torches did nothing to strip the chill from the air, but as Aurelius wiped a gore-slick forearm across his brow, he was thankful for it. The removal of Tshael's legs was disappointingly easy, the tiefling parting them from her body with only the wet sound of tearing meat to accompany it. A quick twist of his hands inside the gaping rents in the woman's flesh parted the femurs like soft wax. A few more pounds of flesh stripped away in the same manner, and the joining was almost ready.

Turning to the surgical table next to his operating slab, Aurelius grabbed a few items and clamped the arteries in Tshael's legs. Once before, the warlock had simply used his powers to seal them, but that subject had died when the now dead-ended blood vessels had swollen and burst.

Live and learn, he thought with a smirk.

The mage's golden eyes had flickered open once more near the end, but Aurelianus didn't bother reaching for the syringe at his belt this time. He saw her eyes flick down to the ruin of her torso before alighting on the gory mess of the horse below her. Gimmel and the muscle-bound sentry strained with the hoists keeping her in the air, trying to lower her as and when Aurelius commanded. Horned brows furrowed in concentration, the half-breed clenched his fangs and leaned in close to the areas to be joined. His nimble fingers deftly connected arteries and veins; muscle flowed together and was left as if it had always been in this form; bones fused with sickening malleability. Little by little the two bodies became part of one perfect whole.

Her own heart was now not alone in the woman's chest - nestled alongside it to help pump the much larger quantities of blood needed was the mare's heart, both of them beating in a syncopated rhythm. When Tshael breathed, it filled both her own lungs and the set still inside the torso of her new lower half - the tiefling made a mental note to give the chit a basic run-down of her new body, so she would know the potential injuries and dangers she faced. And then just as quickly discarded the idea - she had bartered for the body to be made; Aurelianus was under no obligation to tell her how to keep it alive longer. Besides, he reasoned, on a whim he had reinforced the tendons in her powerful lower half and made the bones within that much more dense to withstand damage - technically that hadn't been part of the deal, but Aurelius had got carried away making this avatar of war and it was too late to undo it now.

Never before had he been quite as tested in his art as he was now, but Aurelius was nothing if not entirely assured of his own abilities.

He lost count of the hours it took to complete his endeavour, but finally.. finally it was done.

Stepping back from the charnel house that was his operating table, the tiefling cast a critical eye over his latest project. It had been a close call at times, and Aurelius cursed the ineptitude of his would-be surgical assistants. More than once they had almost cost him both the horse and the Dranak subject, but fortunately she didn't have the tiefling's permission to die.

A deal was a deal, and as long as her soul remained safely within the mirror-plane in his office, Aurelianus Drak'shal couldn't let her slip away into peaceful oblivion.

Happy that he had completed his work, Aurelianus laid a hand on the pale-skinned back of the centaur. Closing his eyes, he focused his willpower through his palm and allowed Shahab's Lash to come forth. The faintest thread of Hellfire traced along the design etched within the warlock's mind, branding it permanently into Tshael's flesh. But it went so much deeper than her skin - this was the seal that bound her body to this new shape. With this mark, Aurelius claimed ownership of her form, denying nature the chance to revert it back to what was. There was no going back now.

Satisfied that the glyph had taken, Aurelius started to tie the profusion of charms and talismans back around his wrists; the half-devil always felt naked without them.

Tshael had passed out again at some point, hanging slack against the restraining straps that bound her to the ceiling. Her antlers caught the flickering fire-light from the edges of the room, casting the runes scrimshawed into them in stark relief. Where once the inhuman's hooved legs had sat, now she was borne atop a powerful body. Slab-like muscles covered the equine lower-half, and even as the snake-eyed deviant watched, her hooves scraped and pawed at the tiled floor. Evidently the laborious connecting of two separate brains had been successful, as the girl twitched and squirmed in her no-doubt nightmare-riddled slumber.

The scraps left over sat in a foetid pool atop one of the other tables, Tshael's legs taking pride of place among the various organs and discarded flesh. The mare's womb sat next to them, a fleshy sac that had once held the power to create life. Knowing he had the ability to strip nature of its power was intoxicating, but the half-breed mastered his ego for now. He had work to do and getting cocky was exactly how a body wound up in the dead-book.

Sudden movement drew his attention and a dark smile crept over the half-devil's fanged mouth as he saw Tshael's eyes flicker open.

"Look who's joined us back in the land of the livin', lads," he grinned to his men. Gimmel shared the smile with his lord, but the other two were still working on keeping their stomach contents in place. Not often were they called upon to aid their employer in this manner and it had been an unpleasant night for both of them.

Confusion reigned on Tshael's face as the woman looked down at what Aurelius had done to her. It took a few seconds - the tiefling counted them off silently in his head - before the shock wore off and the indescribable buffet of agony that was her body made itself known. While it wasn't as satisfying as having the patient writhe and scream throughout the entire procedure, a shiver of satisfaction slithered up his spine as Tshael's multiple lungs unleashed a howl utterly dripping with pain.

Savouring it like the first mouthful of whisky after a long journey, Aurelianus Drak'shal lithely stepped in front of his latest artwork.

She barely seemed to notice, fighting against the restraints binding her upper half. Tshael tried to curl up, to find a position that would lessen the assailing waves of torment racking her new body.

It wouldn't do her any good.

Pain was one of the many prices to be paid to the Master of the House.

"'ello luv. Glad you're still with us," he smiled without warmth. "We were worried about you for a bit there. Thought you might've wound up a deader a couple times. But s'all lookin' peachy now."

Her screaming dulled slightly, but that was exactly the signal the gore-spattered fiend had been waiting for.

"We just 'ave one more little thing to sort before the job's done," he stage-whispered, pale-lipped mouth as close to the newborn centaur's ears as he could manage with her new height.

No warning was given, no tell-tale to warn Tshael of the impending cruelty, before Aurelianus struck.

His hands parted the flesh of her torso again, writhing, digging, penetrating deep inside her. No words in the Common tongue could adequately convey the sensation of the tiefling's hands burrowing through her womb and wrenching it free with more than a few violent yanks and jerks. The membranes around it tore, but with a simple application of will, Aurelius didn't allow the heinous wound to bleed. Tshael's body healed around his hands as they came back out, the womb held in hands covered in her blood.

He held the scraggly lump of flesh before her eyes, letting her see the organ that had once gifted her a son, before summoning pure Hellfire in his palms. Coiling black flames wrapped themselves around the womb, the flesh searing and cracking as the ungodly heat turned it to ash before the eyes of everyone present in the room. The smell of cooked meat wafted into Aurelius' and the Dranak girl's nose before he simply clapped his hands together to get rid of the cinders.

He met her eye with his own serpentine gaze and smiled again.

"Deal's done, luv," he purred, lighting a cigarette from his case and inhaling deeply.

He wasn't sure if she was going to vomit or scream again, but he released the straps that kept her dangling from the ceiling. As she started to take her feet, Aurelius rinsed his hands clean with a bottle of alcohol and a relatively clean rag.

"Easy now, take the weight slowly. It'll take some getting used to and you'll be staggerin' like a bubber for a few hours. Your neck's goin' to be a bit stiff with the added weight," he nodded to her antlers.

"But," he gestured to a wall-length mirror near the door, "you can 'ave a look-see for yourself."

He stepped aside, blowing twin streams of smoke from his nostrils, and let Tshael Nito see herself for the first time again.