Alkor
02-02-15, 10:13 PM
Ruby light cascaded over the flowing dunes, blood from the dying daylight. In the eastern sky, the crescent moon hung like an ornament. Over the years, the people of Fallien had adopted different phases of the moon for a wide array of purposes and fixed them with obscure meaning. Where the celestial body loomed overhead, Alkor watched with mild curiosity to see if it offered him any deeper meaning.
It never did.
"Kiljak," the soft, sultry voice caught his attention, though he only responded with a grunt. "It's late." His dusky blue gaze moved to her thoughtfully. "You shouldn't linger outside the tents after dark." Grains shifted beneath her swaying steps; each movement swayed her hips closer to him until the young woman stood before the Swordsman, her tanned tone deeper in the sunset.
After dark, sandstorms often stole the land. Fallien was a desert in every respect; the days boiled and nights chilled a man to the bone. Danger was inevitable regardless of the time. In instants like this, just before the sun slipped away, the world was perfect. "I've lived in this desert all my life, Aaliyah," he reminded her. "I am no stranger to her perils."
Her rich, rosy lips set in a tight line, though her features remained gentle. "A man who becomes content-" she began, but Alkor hushed her with a finger and raised the clay jug he held to his lips. Amber fluid cascaded down his throat. Aaliyah narrowed her eyes.
He took a quick breath after he had gulped down the ale. "Don't heckle me with words,"the man beseeched her, "I've heard enough words to last a lifetime."
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment before he begrudgingly turned to follow her. Their clothes were starkly contrasted; the lithe, petite woman wore a striking gold and red shawl, and her companion was draped with ratty black and gray threads fit for a beggar. "The Seneschal paid handsomely for you to come to court," the girl said sweetly, "and it would not do me well to let the land kill you."
"He intends to make me fight his royal guard for sport," the man scoffed, "I fail to see a difference."
Aaliyah clicked her tongue disdainfully. "Not sport," she corrected, "he intends to test their skills against a notorious sellsword." His fame was local and diminutive, but Alkor knew if word had reached the leader of a neighboring kingdom, his luck was improving. The wry smirk he wore broke into a full smile.
"Ah, well," he replied simply, "then my purse just stands to get fatter."
Her brown eyes flickered with some sentiment, and her lips twisted in a sneer. "Typical," she muttered. Her slender arm parted the canvas and revealed the innards of the tent. Intricately woven tapestries and carpets lined the walls and floor, which gave it the effect of a proper establishment. Servants labored to prepare a meal of fruits and wine. In either of the far corners, a stick of incense burned slowly, and the room reeked of lavender and vanilla.
"Your quarters remind me of a whorehouse," he snorted. "And they smell the part."
"I am a courtesan in service to the Seneschal, "Aaliyah told him, "to please my master is my duty. It pleases him for me to bring you, so that is what I do." She spoke endearingly of the man, though her words betrayed a life not unlike servitude. Alkor scowled. "This displeases you?"
"Most things displease me," he stated flatly. "Your Seneschal has paid me, so I am at his service. Let's not make this personal."
"Fine," she consented. "Then you will not be accompanying me to bed tonight, I take it?" His skeptical gaze moved over her, then she added, "my master bid me take you into my bed if it pleased you."
"It does not," he spat with a scowl. "Leave me," he told her, and she bowed without another word. He watched her as she disappeared behind a lavishly decorated curtain and sighed aloud.
He had ridden for two days to meet Aaliyah at her lord's command. Though the precise terms of his contract had not been discussed, he knew it entailed his skill with a blade, and the whore had hinted that it dealt with his guard, which confirmed half of what the young man already knew. The rich paid so much for their own amusement, the poor found it pathetic.
"A drink, my lord?" asked one of the male servants, but Alkor declined with a shake of his head. The thought of bottle service from a slave disagreed with him. The man nodded stiffly, then turned away.
Alkor found himself a prime spot on the floor and settled in.
It never did.
"Kiljak," the soft, sultry voice caught his attention, though he only responded with a grunt. "It's late." His dusky blue gaze moved to her thoughtfully. "You shouldn't linger outside the tents after dark." Grains shifted beneath her swaying steps; each movement swayed her hips closer to him until the young woman stood before the Swordsman, her tanned tone deeper in the sunset.
After dark, sandstorms often stole the land. Fallien was a desert in every respect; the days boiled and nights chilled a man to the bone. Danger was inevitable regardless of the time. In instants like this, just before the sun slipped away, the world was perfect. "I've lived in this desert all my life, Aaliyah," he reminded her. "I am no stranger to her perils."
Her rich, rosy lips set in a tight line, though her features remained gentle. "A man who becomes content-" she began, but Alkor hushed her with a finger and raised the clay jug he held to his lips. Amber fluid cascaded down his throat. Aaliyah narrowed her eyes.
He took a quick breath after he had gulped down the ale. "Don't heckle me with words,"the man beseeched her, "I've heard enough words to last a lifetime."
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment before he begrudgingly turned to follow her. Their clothes were starkly contrasted; the lithe, petite woman wore a striking gold and red shawl, and her companion was draped with ratty black and gray threads fit for a beggar. "The Seneschal paid handsomely for you to come to court," the girl said sweetly, "and it would not do me well to let the land kill you."
"He intends to make me fight his royal guard for sport," the man scoffed, "I fail to see a difference."
Aaliyah clicked her tongue disdainfully. "Not sport," she corrected, "he intends to test their skills against a notorious sellsword." His fame was local and diminutive, but Alkor knew if word had reached the leader of a neighboring kingdom, his luck was improving. The wry smirk he wore broke into a full smile.
"Ah, well," he replied simply, "then my purse just stands to get fatter."
Her brown eyes flickered with some sentiment, and her lips twisted in a sneer. "Typical," she muttered. Her slender arm parted the canvas and revealed the innards of the tent. Intricately woven tapestries and carpets lined the walls and floor, which gave it the effect of a proper establishment. Servants labored to prepare a meal of fruits and wine. In either of the far corners, a stick of incense burned slowly, and the room reeked of lavender and vanilla.
"Your quarters remind me of a whorehouse," he snorted. "And they smell the part."
"I am a courtesan in service to the Seneschal, "Aaliyah told him, "to please my master is my duty. It pleases him for me to bring you, so that is what I do." She spoke endearingly of the man, though her words betrayed a life not unlike servitude. Alkor scowled. "This displeases you?"
"Most things displease me," he stated flatly. "Your Seneschal has paid me, so I am at his service. Let's not make this personal."
"Fine," she consented. "Then you will not be accompanying me to bed tonight, I take it?" His skeptical gaze moved over her, then she added, "my master bid me take you into my bed if it pleased you."
"It does not," he spat with a scowl. "Leave me," he told her, and she bowed without another word. He watched her as she disappeared behind a lavishly decorated curtain and sighed aloud.
He had ridden for two days to meet Aaliyah at her lord's command. Though the precise terms of his contract had not been discussed, he knew it entailed his skill with a blade, and the whore had hinted that it dealt with his guard, which confirmed half of what the young man already knew. The rich paid so much for their own amusement, the poor found it pathetic.
"A drink, my lord?" asked one of the male servants, but Alkor declined with a shake of his head. The thought of bottle service from a slave disagreed with him. The man nodded stiffly, then turned away.
Alkor found himself a prime spot on the floor and settled in.