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Post by Moonlight on Apr 21, 2011 15:54:04 GMT -5
Seymour waited as Solomon toyed with his bow, shifting while he waited. Bits of the highly-receptive silver fluid finding its way beneath the thief's skin as moments dragged by, before the nobleman saw fit to respond when the ranger approached. "Telepathy, naturally ... Perhaps an advanced form," he mused, what was said out loud merely for Solomon's benefit. Letting him assume that his control would be to the same extent, for now. "If the task at hand is completed successfully, of which you will be watching - and guiding, if necessary - this one, you will receive acknowledgment of your efforts. Title and lands, respectively," the nobleman added, his offer a rich one.
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Zorayda
Guardian
Ride the Storm
Posts: 1,298
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Post by Zorayda on Apr 22, 2011 15:57:04 GMT -5
Solomon watched with a mixture of awe and disgust as the silvery fluid worked its way under the woman's pale skin, beautiful, powerful, and terrifying all at the same time. He wondered how the mage had learned to do such things, who else she'd done this to before... She was obviously a healer of sorts, so why would she want to both hurt and heal people? The blonde subconsciously shifted away from the mage woman, feeling uncomfortable with the knowledge that she had this ability.
His bright eyes flicked over to look at Seymour as he spoke, a casual comment in answer to his question. Both brows raised up into his hairline in surprise. The Marquee truly expected him to allow him to connect their minds? Absolutely ludicrous... his thoughts were his own, the only free place he could escape to, his only comfort--but then Seymour spoke again, offering everything he'd ever wanted on a silver platter--respect.
A title and lands? Not that riches meant much to the nature-loving ranger, but title and lands meant that people would look up to him, that he'd gain respect... that he wouldn't be looked down upon anymore by petty nobles who called him the 'illegitimate child'. He reluctantly scooted closer to the unconscious girl on the table, watching her relaxed, unknowing face... could he really do such a thing to a stranger and to himself? Take away her freedom and--temporarily, if Seymour's promise was sound--his own?
He pressed his mouth into a thin line, worrying at his leather arm bracer. Finally reaching his decision...
"I'll do it," he said reluctantly, quietly. He watched the girl upon the table again, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath...
A stranger. Nothing more, he thought... but it didn't stop him from hating himself a little more than he already did.
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Post by Moonlight on Apr 22, 2011 16:22:40 GMT -5
At Solomon's agreement, Marquee Seymour offered the specialized mage at work a small nod. Gesturing for her to include the ranger in the mind link now.
Hours crept by. The almost glowing glyphs steadily appearing across her arms and shoulders, swirling around them. The sarashi was also removed when she reached the young woman's back, as to not have the bloodied bindings in the way. Larger designs, yet just as delicate in pattern, taking place. Eventually wrapping around the thief's muscular stomach, becoming smaller again. A loose "V" design added underneath her collarbones, before reaching the final set.
The circular glyphs across the girl's cheek being precisely even, similar in design. About to add one final design. But Roshan jumped as the Marquee's hand suddenly rested on her own, having been too engrossed in accuracy of her work to pay attention to him. "Milord?"
"Leave the final glyph off."
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Zorayda
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Post by Zorayda on Apr 24, 2011 16:41:57 GMT -5
The words of the ranger’s consent had barely left his mouth when he felt a strange sensation about him, like… floating, even though he was still standing on the ground. He felt himself being tied to things—grounded to other consciousnesses, feeling alien thoughts and emotions that he wasn’t quite able to comprehend yet because of the process of being linked to other minds. He stared as if in a trance, unused to such sensations, even if the Marquee seemed unfazed by the magic.
It only seemed minutes—even though hours had passed—when finally, Seymour broke the trance, speaking the first words aloud after so long.
His mind still a bit unused to going from one state to another, it took a moment for the words to break through his consciousness.
“Milord… why would you leave the last one off?” He asked in almost a dreamlike voice.
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Post by Moonlight on Apr 24, 2011 17:48:43 GMT -5
The Marquee smiled slightly, shaking his head. "The final glyph merely seals the date, and the contract itself. Without it ... It is free to change. This allows me the flexibility I wish. Her lifespan is mine alone," Seymour offered by way of explanation, his voice almost conversational. Despite that he was discussing the thief's potential death, and her almost confirmed slavery.
Nodding to Roshan after a moment. "My thanks for your services. You may go. However, I've one more request before you retire for the evening - Send a servant with a clean tunic and restraints. She will not be fit to move properly when she wakes, true enough ... But there is no need to take risks. And I do not want this room to smell of blood," he added, noting the thief's near threadbare garments were stained with old marks and fresh blood.
The dark haired mage nodded after a moment, collecting her supplies into the padded leather bag again. A light 'clink' was audible as the crystal stopper returned to the all but glowing flask, it's contents shimmering when Roshan picked it up. Turning, and offering the nobleman a brief bow. "Very well, Milord ... I shall take my leave," the specialized magus returned softly, before picking up her belongings and slipping out the door.
Seymour's gaze idly drifting to the prone thief as they waited, his mind wandering. Quite literally.
Yet the sand in the hourglass had barely layered again when a plainly clad servant entered, a long white tunic draped over one arm. Heavy black iron manacles in the same hand. The girl wordlessly bowed to her superior and his ascended servant, before moving forward.
Within the quarter hour, one corner of the room seemed nigh transformed. Lacking the fine furnishings and decor, either pushed aside or pulled down, to make place for their new guest. The thief was now propped against the more bare corner, arms held behind her back with unyielding iron. Unmoving, her head hanging on her chest and legs underneath her. He barely cast the bloodstained pile of cloth a glance that was next to the now white clad thief, before issuing his next order. "Burn them."
He again took a seat after a moment, watching the brunette. The thieving vixen was clearly clever, as well as light on her feet, in order to get in so easily. He could indeed put her to use. But she could hardly be expected to assassinate royalty the first day after the glyphs were in place. In truth, he was expecting three days of recuperation. Plenty of time to enforce things face to face.
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Zorayda
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Post by Zorayda on Apr 24, 2011 18:08:22 GMT -5
Solomon recoiled in disgust at the answer he got from the Marquee at his question. Control of a person’s lifespan? It was… unnatural, evil, horrible—but then, Solomon remembered that he’d agreed to go along with this… this plan, a terrible thing to do to a human being, even if he hadn’t had a hand directly in it. Was making this woman suffer worth being respected? Was it worth having a name in the world? The ranger backed slowly away from the girl, refusing to look at her anymore for the remainder of the time—not even when the Marquee had her tied up, hanging helplessly from strong shackles. Though she was quick, stealthy, and obviously clever and strong, the girl looked so frail as she hung there, like a fluttering moth caught in the maw of a cat.
Solomon dropped all of his thoughts suddenly, remembering that Seymour could read them, focusing instead on something else… he’d rather not have Seymour prey upon his guilt. Solomon was known as a sarcastic, unfeeling assassin, especially since he’d killed that woman—but he couldn’t think of that either. Instead he began to think of how to make a proper bow out of yew…
Choose your sapling, make sure it’s bendy enough to string a bow but strong enough to make a good snap…
He continued on like this, probably looking dull and unfocused to the nearest passersby, but not particularly caring. Anything would be better than feeling the guilt of helping Seymour sentence the young thief to a terrible fate, worse than death…
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Post by Moonlight on Apr 24, 2011 18:34:41 GMT -5
A sharp hiss of pain escaped the brunette's lips as she came to, instinctively jerking against the restraints. Fire danced across her body, taunting. It ached to even move. Yet, even as she sought the energy to open her eyes, pushing herself into a full sitting position, an quiet chuckle caused the young woman to flinch. Realizing what had happened.
"Quite the hardy one, aren't you ...?" a soft, masculine voice queried. Thinly veiled amusement lacing the man's tone, footsteps audible.
The young woman's pale eyes snapping open at the question, glancing up. Aware of the cold metal biting into her wrists, hearing the restrictive chains clinking as she shifted. The oddity of the molten silver glyphs matching her eyes only seemed to amuse the Marquee, however, getting a good look at them for the first time.
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Zorayda
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Post by Zorayda on Apr 24, 2011 19:14:01 GMT -5
Solomon’s thoughts were broken when he heard a feminine hiss from the girl. He looked at her for a moment just as she opened her eyes and he found himself staring into twin pools of silver—confusion and anger emanating from them and piercing him straight through. Instinctively, the ranger withdrew, backing farther into the corner of the room. He detached himself from the emotions he felt, letting the words of the Marquee wash over him. It wouldn’t do to show kindness right now… not when Seymour was busy taunting his prey. It seemed to be his favorite sport… Perhaps later, Solomon could comfort her, when they weren’t busy being ‘broken in’ by the Marquee.
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Post by Moonlight on Apr 24, 2011 20:13:11 GMT -5
A small smile curved his lips as he noticed her pale eyes taking in the room, as well as it's occupants. Sharp. Strategic. Eventually settling on the blonde Marquee once more, odd silver eyes reproachful. Her dislike at her vulnerability clear - Detesting being at another's mercy, stripped of her weaponry. Yet still holding the titled man's gaze, refusing to back down.
Surprisingly independent, considering her situation. Yet as she held steadfast, his mind was already concocting a plan of action. It would be quite interesting, guiding her effectively. Especially if she was as willful as this guise she was offering.
"Tsk-tsking" as he stepped forward, one knee touching the floor as he knelt to eye level. His gesture calm, even if surprising. As if one of such rank would lower himself to a petty thief's level. Yet his ice blue eyes met the brunette's without pause, as if challenging her. "Such a pity you do not have long to live, isn't it?" Seymour queried softly, watching her. Tracking her reaction.
However, the thief's eyes simply narrowed at the presumed threat. "Unless I am mistaken, death was not the penalty of thievery," she returned, her voice cool. Slowly shifting, drawing her legs entirely underneath her.
"You are not in the position to be arguing, I believe ..." he murmured, his words a mere whisper. His facade emotionless as her eyes suddenly dilated in pain, runes glowing as he activated the glyphs. The defiant thief visibly trembling by the time the glow faded, head bowed. "Not when I hold your life in the palm of my hand ..." he added quietly, slipping a hand underneath her pale jawline. Tilting her head back up as she fought to regain her breath. His gaze boring straight through her molten gray eyes. "Do I make myself clear ...?"
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Zorayda
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Post by Zorayda on Apr 24, 2011 20:31:06 GMT -5
Solomon smiled a little at the thief's cool answer to Seymour's threat, silently rooting for her sanity. He stopped himself short, remembering yet again the link he shared with Seymour now... it was going to get quite irritating, having to guard his thoughts. He could only imagine how the strong-willed girl would act...
He flinched when the Marquee used the glyphs, and, though he truly did not want to know the girl's pain, half of his mind forced him to watch her face contort with agony because of his guilt in the matter. Helping Seymour control her life... the glyphs glowed unnaturally, evilly, across her pale skin, dying down and granting her temporary relief.
Just do as he says, Solomon pleaded silently to himself, hoping that she didn't have to endure more pain.
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