Circle of Violence

[grim137]

Closed. Mature Content.

Present day...

Her stomach slithered sensually like desert sidewinder as the muscles in her tight, sun tanned torso clenched and quivered. Sweaty and out of breath, the girl with the golden and eyes laid down on the drunken creature that laid on the red bed spread beneath her. She looked over at him and smiled as her fingers ran down his hairy chest. He smiled back as his glazed, blood shot eyes met hers and his rock hard manhood quivered and exploded inside her luscious, lubricated, lower lips. She moaned with false ecstasy as her lips touched his skin starting at the stitches around the base of his neck and moving up to his earlobe.

"That was good...” she whispered.

“You're a terrible actor,” he teased.

His lips touched hers and his hands moved towards the curves of her smooth and supple butt. His breathing was slow and deep and with each breath he seemed to savor the spicy smell of her exotic perfume. It mixed well with the salty smell of her sweat and the bitter, flowery smell of the opium that hung like fog in the lavish, smokey room. Driven only by desire, he tried to push her down onto the soft bed for round two only to have her push back.

“If you want to go again it's going to cost you darling,” she said seductively.

It might have just been the alcohol and opium but something about her accent drove him wild. With a smile Xanbata Grim pointed to the ground where his weapons, armor and clothing had been hastily tossed onto the lacquered wooden floor.

“Check the pockets.”

She smiled and hopped off the bed and bent down to rummage through his gear. While she was bent over she shook her butt playfully and winked at him. He laughed and turned to the other side of the bed where an ornate, opium filled, glass hookah sat on an end table. Xanbata reached over and grabbed the brass lighter that had been carelessly discarded nearby. With senses and dexterity dulled as they were by the copious amounts of chemicals that ran rampant through his bloodstream it took him a few attempts but eventually the vampire was able to get it to light. He touched the bright orange flame to the cold black coals and in an instant they came to life. The sizzling sound they made as they slowly burned was soothing to his ears.

Unfortunately he wouldn't get a chance to take another drag and chase the dragon some more nor would he ever get to go another round with the exotic young woman who'd been so kind to keep him company on that cold autumn night. He never saw what happened next. All the inebriated swordsman felt was a sharp and sudden pain in the back of his head at the soft spot where his skull met his neck. This was accompanied by the disturbingly familiar sound of metal tearing through bone and cartilage. He had just enough to time to reach and feel warm blood on his finger tips before his whole world went black.

[Philomel]

Present Day.

Clearly this girl was traumatised. She had already used up the entire wooden box of freshly-laundered handkerchiefs that Philomel had ordered for her favoured clients. They were paisley patterned and mostly silk, soft to the nose and used as tokens of affection if such a thing was ever needed. The whole idea of post-traumatic stress disorder was something of a phenomenon as far as the rudimentary Radasanthian psychology went, but it was generally accepted that people could feel sad for a long time after a tragedy.

Once again, the Nightingale tried to talk to her. She leaned across the desk, hands clasped in front of her, looking at the form of the sniffing prostitute across from her. They were in a small room in the Sultry Satyr - Philomel's land-based offices. From this place she could begin to establish a place where abused whores could come in times of need and find solace in the arms of another like them. She could hold them, whisper to them, encourage them, then teach them. They would become strong, independent women - and men - either going out to Radasanth as new private whores, or going to take their word back to their own old brothels. There had already been word of two brothels, recently, who had overthrown their head pimps and established themselves as new and proud. One was even in the red light district. Word of the Gilded Lily was only mumured at the moment in the backwater streets of this city, but through time Philomel hoped it would become a household name across the whole of Althanas. After all, this girl was back again, after only being gone a month or so.

This time Philomel tried a firm, but patient, tone, with her.

"Elliani," the faun-whore said. "I understand your pain, but you have to learn to trust me."

"But he was there, and he - he was gone and he - it was painful and frightening and - and - pain and - fire and - death."

"Yes dear," Philomel fought back a despairing sigh. "Yes, I understand that you are still in pain over it, and I hope your time out and independent has helped get back your courage. And more time out will bring that back even more. But you need to trust me. Tell me what I need to know."

Elliani, a pale-skinned half-elf girl, with long blonde hair and blue eyes, looked shakily up to the Matriarch and stared at her for a moment. Her lips trembled, as did her hands also, holding the latest sodden handkerchief in them. It looked for a moment as if she was about to say something but then she slumped again, bending forwards and began to sob some more.

"He was so ... aahhhhh!"

She was not going to get anything more from this girl. Philomel slumped back into her seat, still keeping that sigh in her lungs. Her eyes wandered over the blonde hair, and the shaking form of the young whore, her heart torn between pity and annoyance. Naturally, she could still remember the day Elliani had been brought to her by Felix, the half-imp boy who had dramatic telepathic ability. He had scuttled in, dragging the sorry lump behind him, and it had taken hours for Philomel to even get a word from those quivering lips. Now Elliani was much better - clearly for she had left of her own accord and was apparently, according to Philomel's sources, making a nice little stash of coin. Yet, the nightmares still continued. Those of a demon, Elliani had said, who had killed all the girls but her. Philomel had barely believed the idea, until, just he other day, when another prostitute had come in, claiming to have seen the same individual, back in Radasanth.

"Look, we are trying to bring this man to justice, Elliani," Philomel said, calmly, "In fact, it may have already been done. But what we need from you, dear, is your final say on if we have the right man. It will only be a tiny peek, at his face and I will be there with you. Once you have identified the body properly, well then you can live in peace and all will be well, I promise."

She looked at the half-elf sincerely, though the look was somewhat spoilt by the fact she was leaning back, idely, now. However, Elliani was not looking up, so it did not really matter. She might have not even been listening, but Philomel still went on.

"I will be with you, and so will half the crew of my ship if you so wish. Anything will be yours, you can even stay here with Felix and Elias, or go to work with a good friend of mine. All I need from you is one look, Elliani, and this will all be over."

"How ... how did that - that girl know it is hi-him ..."

The Nightingale just shook her head, smiling, "No need to know that for now. We just think we have him. Hence why I called you back. Now, will you help me?" she asked, earnestly. "I cannot do this without you Elliani."

[grim137]

Clop. Clop. Clop.

“Ugh...the fuck? Why are there so many flies?” groaned Xanbata weakly.

Clop. Clop. Clop.

The battered blood drinker groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. His head throbbed violently and his stomach churned like the seas during a hurricane. His body rumbled and jolted unevenly and the first smells that greeted him were those of a sick corpses and dirty horses. At least the fresh air felt good.

The monster sat up and cringed. He in the back of a horse drawn cart of some sort, surrounded by corpses. He could hear the wooden wheels clunking against the hard, uneven ground and the maggots and flies that crawled onto him from the cold cadavers made his skin itch. His hand instinctively reached up and touched the spot where he'd been stabbed not long ago. When he didn't feel any thing a smile creased his lips and he thanked the thaynes that he was such a quick healer.

He looked down at himself, noting that while he still had his clothes his weapons and armor were missing. The swordsman sighed softly. At the front of the cart was the driver, an old man with no who seemed completely oblivious to the fact that one of his passengers had just woken up. Xanbata decided it was as good a time as any to change that.

Xanbata Grim leaned his head over the wooden divider that separated the driver from the cargo and casually tapped the old man on the shoulder. The look of shock on the poor old coot's eyes and the way the old timer nearly jumped out of his seat was almost comical. There was a sudden jolt as as frightened fellow pulled back on the reigns of the horse that pulled the wagon.

He jumped off the wagon, and drew the short sword was holstered at his side. His pale, wrinkly hands shook as he pointed the tip of the blade at Xanbata. This was all accompanied by mumbled prayer about the dead rising being protected. Xanbata just sighed. As much as he normally liked that game, he was way too hungover to play it.

“Do we really need to do this? I just want to talk.” sighed the exacerbated vampire.

Xanbata took a step forward and the man lunged responded by lunging at him. He in turn responded by simply stepping to the side kicking the geezer's slightly wobbly legs out from under him. The results were...predictable. The old man hit the rocky ground with an audible thud and before he could get up Xanbata stomped down on his sword hand. There was the usually satisfying crunch, followed by a scream followed by another fruitless fight to pull free.

“You nobody's going to hear you right?” said the vampire as he squatted low and wrenched the blade from him and tossed it into the brush along the side the road. The heel of his boot never left the hand. “So question one, how long have long have I been dead?”

“I don't know...”

There was a soft crunch as Xanbata ground his heel into whimpering old man's hand. “Now, now,” chided the hungover horror “You don't need to lie to me.”

“Please,” said the old man. His voice shook with pain and fear. “I just put the bodies in the holes. I have a family.”

“And the sooner you answer my questions the sooner you can go home and see them.” Xanbata's eyes narrowed and his voice lost it's previously playful tone. “Now how long have I been dead?”

“I don't know. I just picked up your body this morning. They said you were killed last night?”

“They? Who's they?”

“The people who found you.”

“Be more specific.”

“The guards and the lady that owned the inn.”

It was all coming back to him. He remembered The North Star Inn and how he'd been assigned to provide security for it due to recent rumors. He remembered how the new owner had turned out to be an old friend and how he'd lied about being one of famous captains to get VIP treatment from the staff and patron. He remembered how he'd tried to charge his considerable bar tab to the Ixian Knight vault. He didn't remember if he'd been successful. Most of all, he remembered getting the attention of a certain exotic escort.

It was all hazy but he remembered.

“Now what about my weapons?” continued Xanbata.

“W-What weapons?” stuttered the frightened old grave digger.

Xanbata sighed with frustration and ground his heel into the man's hand once again. The predator leaned down and caressed the man's Adam’s apple with one of his calloused fingers. “Lie to me again,” he said, making sure the guy got a good long look at the fangs vampires were so famous for, “and I'll show you a fate worse than death.”

“I don't know I swear. I saw the owner give a sword and armor to some a woman wearing some sort of uniform.”

“A woman? What did she look like?”

“She was young, had brown hair. There was a strange symbol on her uniform.”

“What'd it look like?”

“What did what look like?”

“The symbol!”

“It was like an 'I' and an 'X'. They were joined at the top.”

A smile formed on Xanbata's lips. He didn't know who the woman was (if he had to guess he would have said Emma Orlouge) but the symbol the old man spoke of was definitely the emblem of the Ixian Knights. If they thought he was dead that meant he was free until they found out otherwise. He lifted his boot off his victim's hand and looked around. They were out in the country side but not far from city which meant the occasional patrol probably came by. That meant that if the cart and the bodies weren't moved somebody would eventually find them and word would likely get back to whoever had ordered hired the assassin.

“There's an Ixian medical station about 2 miles east of here. They should be able to fix your hand. If you tell anybody I'm still alive I will find you and I will kill you and your family. Understood?”

The old man simply nodded and ran back to his cart, eager to get as far away from the dead man known as Xanbata Grim was quickly as possible. Xanbata himself simply shook and his head and began walking back toward the city. He had a long trip ahead of him and he was worried that the Ixian Knights were making him soft.

[Philomel]

Then.

Bent over her desk, reading the latest gossip.

"Oh ye, oh ye!" the poster read, annoucing itself proudly, "Big chested woman seen with The High Baron. No comment from him. Large wolf thought to have terrorised hamlet inhabitants. No comment from them. Disease caught at edge of city. No comment from it. Oh ye, oh ye!"

Into her hand Philomel took a large quill pen and dipped it into the ink. Beside the story about The High Baron she drew a charicature of the man along with the big-chested female, one that she knew very well. Her name was Breget, a busty aging whore who claimed to be more of a courtesan, and she was on the faun Matriarch's books as having a wealth of influence and information. Getting into any member of The Assembly's bed was hard enough for any man (indeed Philomel had snared only two of them in all her years of prostitution) so it was not surprising that such an issue would have caught the attention of the paper town crier.

Her lips wrinkled into a smile, finishing off the doodle with a final flourish. Just as she did a loud rattling came at the door. A soft knock, far too gentle for one of her secretaries or an informant.

Looking up, she responded. "Come in!"

The handle depressed and then the door was pushed open. First in was Veridian, scuttling on his small paws, a mouse in his jaws. He was the primary subject that held Philomel's attention in that moment, alighting a great smile on her face. She ignored the person who had actually knocked and opened the door, presuming that it had just been to let her fox-form companion in. The Earth-Spirit, like some ordinary dog, ran over to her, around the desk and jumped up straight to her lap.

She did not look up as she waved a hand, informing the opener to close it again. "Thank you."

Gently her hands began to fuss over the fox, showing her affection for all his worth.

"Um ..."

Looking up Philomel saw Felix standing there, his heterochromia obvious in the intense light of the summer sun. Behind him, still skulking in the doorway was a half-elf, her brow covered in sweat, twisting a blonde lock of hair around her finger again and again. Further behind her stood the much larger form of Maverik, Philomel's devoted self-styled 'bodyguard,' who worshipped Philomel as soem form of demi-goddess and was clearly there because she believed there was some sort of threat.

After a brief glimpse around the room, Philomel turned back to the small boy. He was a half-imp, and a friend of her friend, Mister Draak's. Aside from being incredibly adorable and a little devil, he had the strongest telepathic ability the faun Matriarch had ever seen. Her eyebrow raised at his presence, and his new quarry of the girl Philomel had never seen before.

"Yes, Felix?" she asked, her hands stopping stroking Veridian's fine, fluffy ears.

The half-imp nibbled his lip, then grinned. He pointed over to the blonde-haired frightened maiden.

"This is Elliani, Phi-Phi. She has seen horrid stuff."

Philomel blinked, clasped her hands on her desk and leant there. But she did not say anything, waiting for him to continue.

The little boy nodded. "Kay, fiiinnneee, she saw a man all destructive and stuff. He destroyed an entire place. An entire brothel! Kap-Rawr, blood and gunge and lots of rarrr and-"

Immediately she stood up. Veridian let out a strangled growl as he was forced to the ground with his dead mouse. Landing at Philomel's hooves he let out a hiss before she realised what she had done.

"Oh, sorry dearest," she said, suddenly distracted from the matter of the weeping girl for a moment. Deftly, she swept down to pick up Veridian, and set him on the desk. Then she looked up, panic and concern once more coming to her face. "Yes, please. Felix, bring her in!"

Felix nodded, and gestured for Elliani to enter. The poor girl, dripping with tears, refused point blank, shaking her head. "No, no, no, no ..."

"I know you do not want to remember, dear, but I need you to talk to me. Now come in, you can trust me."

Philomel said this in the kindest voice she could muster. Despite her reputation as a tough killer type, she could have the most gentle, kind heart when the time arose. And she could see that this girl - Elliani - clearly needed some motherly love. And what better mother was a Matriarch. When Elliani refused to come in a second time, Philomel stepped in to keep Maverik from forcing the girl into the office. Coming around from behind the desk, she reached out, and pulled the half-elf into her arms.

"Shhhh," she said, as the girl's sobbing increased, "Shhhhhh ..."