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Under the Thumb of a Tyrant (Valanaer x Swagbeast)



  • By the time Cain visited Ammon's quarters the entire chamber was bare, even her bed of pelts and gifted throw pillows were absent. With the moot at an end and her comrades departing to address their respective assignments, Ammon was left to breathe a sigh of relief. She was anticipating the venture to Yemen - it was an exotic port bearded by mossy bluffs and willows whose tendrils wept over the cliff sides. The waters were so clear that it appeared as freshly pressed glass on calm summer days. Ammon recalled visiting Yemen with the Mind, a third of the Palan triumvirate. It was her job to oversee trade and barter among Palans and, if possible, fortify economical foundations whereas Ammon supervised religious practices.

    She found herself doing something she hadn't done in years: yearn. But, she convinced herself that Yemen was not to be a vacation nor should complacency have reign over duty. She thought of mentioning Yemen's many pleasures to Cain, but it appeared his mind was well trained on the task at hand. "You needn't ask me," Ammon replied curtly, with somewhat of a fleeting smile, "We will depart come noon. York has already saddled our mounts. Aside from that ..." She reached into the satchel strapped on her backside and tossed Cain what appeared to be a deed. It was a sheaf of parchment dyed pomegranate in color, stampeded with a midnight blue wad of wax with Lady Nefertiri's house sigil.

    "It appears Nefertiri fancies you. A queer thought, though ... she has a penchant for women, not men, but I saw her eyes on you." Ammon gave him a misplaced smirk. "It's a deed to a Mimosan bred destrier. The rarest and most virulent breed of horse ... and she's giving it to you. Hell, if she'll give you a horse for being present at a moot, maybe you should fuck her." She shrugged. "It wouldn't be all too bad. She's an attractive woman for a whore from the Stone Kingdoms, and I'm sure her paramour would join in on the fun. You look like a man who can handle two women." Her jibes were disarticulated, however, she was known to make them from time to time when high spirits possessed her.


 
Cain found Ammon in a pleasant mood and it made him wary, her attitude much different than its usual. Noon was plenty of time for him to prepare though and he did his best to focus on the task, which meant he would need to not only ready his own gear but get a few men to go with them, perhaps twenty or thirty soldiers from his new unit. Not to mention he had to make sure they took the safest path, perhaps go a bit off the road and take some trails, whatever kept Ammon safe, as it seemed that was a concern. That was hard to do when Ammon tossed him a parchment, apparently a deed of some sort for a horse, a very prized horse at that. It was confusing as it seemed Nefertiri didn't fancy men, or at least not often. Worse than that he didn't know how to turn down such a gift when it wasn't given in person, perhaps we would simply give it away or use it in negotiation when they arrived at Yemen, yes that would be the best option. It would be a good prize if more coercion was needed and he could always play it off as if he believed that was its purpose.

Ammon seemed to have fun with Nefertiri's attraction to him, cracking a rather direct joke and telling him to go for it, to fuck the stone kingdom whore, as she so eloquently stated. Not that the idea wasn't tempting, the woman was indeed beautiful and her paramour was attractive as well but he didn't really find it irresistible. He could have women if he wanted them and beauty was not as rare a thing as it sometimes seemed. Besides, he would not make a move on a woman whom he did not find appealing in more than looks, at least in some way, and Nefertiri was not shaping up to be that kind of woman, her complaints like some lazy aristocrat reminded him of the girls he grew up around and they annoyed him. Not to mention she didn't even deliver the deed herself, a task that would not have been hard. All in all he would find a use for the horse and leave it be at that.

"I am sure I will find some use for the deed..." He kept it in his hand but there was little excitement on his face and instead he looked at Ammon again, "I will have some men to accompany us and all will be ready by Noon. If you need me before then I will be inside or nearby my tent. Also, if you have any requirements for the trip such as a caravan I leave that to you, I am simply going to ready the men and get a route planned out." With that he gave a small bow and turned, walking out of the room almost as quickly as entered it, managing to keep himself professional in her presence, which was still hard as he had yet to forget the horrible experience she had caused him. He was sure it would be hard to keep the duty driven thing going the entire trip but for now it helped him keep cool and keep himself on track. That and his job as he went back to his campground and rounded up a group of twenty men to accompany them, telling them to gear up as he got himself ready.

The men he had picked out were all trustworthy, men whom he had seen refuse to commit the crimes and injustices many of their fellow soldiers had before he had come along. Most of them were veteran soldiers, middle-aged men who had more than likely served in previous fights and had a code of honor in place unlike many of the younger combatants who had joined up for glory and wealth. They would all be prepared though and with the veterans with him the rest would fall in line like any other army. Cain went into his tent after that and began to get his own affairs in order. He wasn't packing everything but keeping to the essentials and a few luxuries. Mainly he had some clothing for multiple situations, some dried meats, an extra dagger slipped into his bag, a few coins, and tucking the deed into his pack as well. When he finished packing he grabbed his sword as well, pulling it out from under the bed and unsheathing it from the shining silver sheath. The sword was double-edged and sharpened after every use, training or combat, and a perfectly balanced hilt. It wasn't showy but as far as durability and use it was the perfect weapon and he had it for some time, not to mention like his armor it was of a very exquisite make, proof that he was not of common birth.

All that was left after that was to determine the route, to figure out which way to lead Ammon to get her to safety, so with the easy part done he unfolded the map on a table inside the tent and sat down, looking it over and going as far as to call a man who knew the area in to help. He was going to be prepared though, no ambush would get them and if it did he would know where to make a stand. He just hoped it went off without an occurring like that, an ambush would cost lives and even if Ammon was safe he would prefer this mission to go off without a single casualty or hitch.
 

  • "I'm not sure if General Isooba will all too fond of our presence," High Ranger York complained, "The Morass is notorious for racism. The lighter your skin, the more hated you are. As it's plain to see, the Morassi aren't going to like me much." York's skin was as pallid as milk, dusted with a few arrant freckles every hair and there. With his silky black mane and altogether sharp features, he'd be a ripe target for the Morassi. Commonly known as the Ebons, the Morassi were all dark skinned men who once were indigenous to the desert, but when war left their numbers decimated, they relocated to the swamps where they'd lived ever since. "Perhaps I should go to Yemen, with you and-"

    "General Isooba needs capable rangers. The mires are difficult to traverse in skiffs let alone enganging in melee battle. Isooba and his men will benefit, heavily, from your rangers. You know this." York grumbled darkly to himself as he finished saddling his horse. Edmure, mounted upon his monstrous black destrier with its fiery mane, reigned the beast aside his commander while inspecting York with a distasteful frown. "Milady," the old knight greeted with his usual obsequious nod, "High Ranger York." York paid him no mind and instead spurred his horse and barked at his rangers to finish dismounting their tents. "Milady, I am honoured. I will represent you will with the utmost professionalism during our stay in the Morass."

    "Edmure," Ammon replied softly, "As I told Nefertiri this morning, the Stone Kingdoms are two seas away. Such terms do not exist here."

    Edmure's neck reddened. "As you say, Milad- ... Ammon." He bowed his head and followed behind York, bidding that his men do the same as his fellow general's. Meanwhile, a young man a few years shy of his mid twenties appeared with the reigns to a magnificent beast in his calloused palms. Its mighty roar could be heard throughout the bailey from the early hours in the morning until well after dusk when twilight choked the sky. A lion as ferocious as its master with a mane so golden it earned even the sun's jealous. The young man nearly trembled as the beast loped into the courtyard. "Alamut," Ammon purred, stroking the lion's mane, "I hope you've been fed well. I cannot afford for you to be mauling Edmure's destriers."
 
Cain exited his tent as everything was getting underway, all the soldiers were getting ready and it seemed he was the one running late. It would be well worth it once they got underway, the route he had picked out would take a tad longer but it ensured a very low chance of trouble and quite a nice ride through the Yemen territory. Cain had other things to see to before the departure, he went to the men he had requested accompany himself and Ammon, all of them were ready to go and had procured their horses already as well. Then he made sure he had everything he needed, going over his pack once more and checking to ensure nothing was missing, including the map he had shoved inside just in case the route he chose wasn't embedded into his memory as well as he believed it was. All that was left after that was to get his horse, the gift and bargaining chip. When he laid eyes on the horse he had to keep himself from getting excited, the beast being as grand as any he had ever seen and worthy of its lineage.

He managed to keep his calm, mounting the horse knowing full well that he would be getting rid of it one way or another eventually. He couldn't however stop himself from enjoying it for a moment, looking down at the beast beneath him. Yet no matter how exquisite a beast the horse was, there was one creature in the camp still greater, Ammon's mount, a large lion that put even the best horse to shame. Cain sighed as he rode over in her direction, stopping a bit away as not to panic his horse, "Ammon, everything is prepared, I will be waiting with a few men near my camp." With that Cain rode back to his men, giving them last minute instructions on how to handle a surprise attack and then getting everyone into formation as they awaited Ammon's arrival, one that didn't go so well with a few of the horses.

Their hiccup at the start, when a few of the horse panicked, didn't dictate the rest of the trip. In fact it went over quite smoothly, not a single person was seen on Cain's modified route until they were on the final stretch of road heading towards Yemen, a grand and beautiful city to say the least, as was the land they had traversed to arrive. It was only once inside the city that Cain was surprised and thrown off a little, as Ammon told him where they would be staying within the city. It seemed they were going to be the guests of a Brothel, a location that his men seemed all too happy with even though Cain didn't find it so comforting.

The Gilded Rose was not the usual whorehouse, unlike most it was inside a mansion of sorts, a large magnificent building with a multitude of rooms and services. Upon entering they were greeted by a rather queer fellow who gave them a grand entrance, his rather sharp voice hitting high octaves as he explained just how thrilled he was to have them at his humble little brothel. The man, whose name had still not been mentioned, was dressed in a fashion unknown to Cain and most likely the entirety of Yemen, as he was wearing some very colorful attire, almost like an aristocrat combined with a jester, expensive silken clothing the color of purple and yellow, shining silver buttons, curly pointed shoes, and while none of it worked it somehow came together as an odd but presentable ensemble.

Cain was quite confused from the beginning, the man and brothel both striking him as odd, but it wasn't until the end that his confusion peaked. As the introductions winded down, still without the owners name being mentioned, and the girls began to show their 'wares' to the men, apparently free of charge for the duration of their stay, they were informed of their private rooms and keys began to be handed out. It wasn't until the man arrived at Cain that it once again baffled him, somehow only one key was given out between him and Ammon, and while he wasn't sure if it were a mistake, he had a feeling it was not as the overly excited smile on the hosts face.

Cain held back his dislike of the rooming situation, although at the same time it did make sense for him to be in the same room in case something happened, besides he wasn't going to be sampling the services of the brothel anyways, it didn't take anything away from him. It did mean he would have to spend more time with Ammon but as long as she didn't throw him in some godforsaken sewer again he would manage. He turned his head over to Ammon, his face as blank a slate as he could manage, although some evidence of his dislike for the situation could most likely be seen. "We can get everything settled in and then decided what to do. I assume you have some sort of a plan, who to talk to or at least which group to try and persuade. If not we can figure it out." Who knew, perhaps they would do nothing, the trip had taken some hours and it was already beginning to darken outside but getting settled in was the first order of business. He turned to the men, "Forget the women, take your things and go get settled in!" he barked, his voice demanding.
 


  • The very moment Cain barked, his men nearly froze in their boots. One had already been in his cups with a whore; her ass was planted firm in his lap while his sword hand unlaced her bustier and began hungrily fondling a bare breast. His brothers gawked at him, ashamed, and he then struggled to hide the bulge rising in his breeches. "Come now, general, surely you can have some leniency. To lead a man who a harem of women and not touch even one is to lead him to water, only to drown him in it," their host hummed melodically. He was a flamboyant Yemenese fellow with hair so black it was nearly blue and a neat, trimmed goatee. Everything about him was welcoming, yet, he nearly flaunted almost too much hospitality.

    "Salaador," Ammon interrupted, "Cain is not Yemenese. He entreats his men with discipline. A warrior is no warrior if he cannot resist temptation." Salaador grinned. "Ah, yes. Wise and beautiful words from a wise and beautiful woman. Tell me, dearest Ammon, why have you not yet come to join my pleasure house? I would let you lay with only the worthiest of men. They would pay a high price to have made love with the fabled Palan goddess." Salaador clasped Ammon's hand and smiled his nefarious wicked smile. "You would sup on the richest of cuisines and wear the only the rarest jewels. A life fit for a woman with your cheekbones." Ammon was uninterested in Salaador's proposal, yet, she entertained him nonetheless. "I fear you have confused me with a common slattern, Salaador. I have heard you broach a similar proposition to many a woman before. Do you think me a fool?"

    "N-N... No! Certainly not, my dear!" A blush crept upon his cheeks. "I simply wish to have you here, with me. If it please you, you could be my wife instead." He hissed her hand with the utmost audacity which would have spurred Edmure to strike him if he'd been present. Instead, Ammon allowed Salaador to anoint her with his charm before he withdrew, defeated. "Your silence is like a blade, Ammon," he whimpered sullenly, "But I will allow you some time to contemplate my proposal. In the mean time ... the hour grows late. Perhaps you and your general should rest? If you hunger, I can have Emmanuelle bring bread and wine." Emannuelle was a striking young woman from the Morass. Her skin was polished ebony spotted with decorative beading and her hair was teased and brushed and crowned with a circlet of gold and emerald. "Unnecessary Salaadoor, though I thank you for your courtesy."

    Saladoor personally escorted the duo to their quarters. Though his manse seemed more a palace, Ammon and Cain's room was certainly no different. It was spacious although quaint; a window opened the far end of the room and swallowed an entire wall, giving a magnificent view of Yemen. Outside of the panes Ammon observed moss and lichen weeping over the balustrade. The bed looked to be almost too soft for Ammon's taste, but Salaador was a queer man with even queerer tastes. When he begged his leave Ammon cantered to the bed and tested its malleability with her hand outspread on its blanket. She made a face that heralded her dislike.

    "Perhaps it is best to leave formalities for the morning, when we are well rested and have broken our fast," Ammon suggested. She laid her satchel about the foot of the bed began unfastening her travel garb. It made her look shapeless under so many layers - and likely insane due to the Yelapago's humid climate - but as she shed each layer, her curvaceous figure began taking form article by article. Her tunic was the tightest raiment and she seemed all to relieved to have it gone. Cain had seen her with simply her bandeau and breeches on several instances before, this one would likely be no different. "If only tonight ... I would like to abandon my duties and sleep a dreamless sleep."

    On the decorative side tablet sat a decanter of hippocras steeped with cinnamon and nutmeg. Her addiction to the spirits developed when she befriended Salaador. She claimed that no man would ever warm her bed as long as she had obligations so Salaador rebuked by suggesting that hippocras may take a man's place if she so desired. Once she planted the decanter's mouth to hers, she closed her eyes and sighed as the hot tendrils begin snaking through her chest.
 
The host was quite a talkative fellow, pushing his women on Cain's men even when had stood nothing to gain, save perhaps customer loyalty if the men ever revisited Yemen. Then he began to speak to Ammon about joining his 'pleasure house' and when he was denied he brazenly shifted to a marriage proposal. It was ridiculous but it seemed Ammon was having a bit of fun by playing along and actually answering him instead of silencing him with an icy glare. Cain was simply glad when the game was over, their host Saladoor offering food and suggesting rest. The idea of rest was not an unpleasant one but the simple fact that he was sharing a room with Ammon made him a tad nervous. He would have to remain on guard, not only because she was a bit of a mystery as far as he was concerned, but also because it was his job to keep lookout and ensure her safety. Besides, as he looked at his men he knew that as soon as he was tucked away in the room with Ammon that they would be bringing girls into theirs and would be no help in protecting anyone.

Saladoor escorted Cain and Ammon to their shared room and it was quite fitting to the rest of the palace like building. It took Cain back to his younger years when he lived and stayed in rooms and places of similar quality and while most would look back on such things fondly Cain did not. He had never really liked being an aristocrat, the wealth and power not as tempting to him as it had been in many of his old friends or family. It was why he became a soldier, a person whose deeds and skill spoke more than lineage. It seemed Ammon had some similar dislike of the room, although her problem seemed more with the bed than the room itself.

"Of course, one night will not make much difference in the scheme of things." Cain responded, unable to keep his eyes away as Ammon removed her clothing, the beautiful figure underneath slowly revealing itself. It was impossible not to think Ammon was beautiful, her figure alone enough to drive any man wild, even someone trying not to let it do so such as Cain. What made it even worse was how every part of her had the same level of beauty, from her skin to her hair, a natural beauty. It drove him a bit mad, having to feel those sort of things towards the woman he was not only supposed to protect but the woman who essentially left him to die.

Cain turned his head away from the seductress, allowing her to do whatever she pleased and focusing on what it was he had to do, only saying a few words to reassure her. "Feel free to sleep well tonight, I will keep close watch and ensure your slumber goes uninterrupted..." Cain didn't shed his armor or even take off his sword, in fact the only thing he did to make himself more comfortable was to sit in one of the chairs within the room and face it towards the door, reclining in the chair and getting comfortable, he wouldn't stay up all night but he would be sure to be ready in case something happened before morning, as he had to make sure no harm came to Ammon. Not that he didn't long for a bed, he just assumed the reason he was put in the same room as her was so she could sleep knowing someone was watching over her.
 


  • "Though I always invoke caution," Ammon acknowledged, "Salaador is no fool; do not let his garish mien fool you. He has a dozen mercenaries patrolling the brothel dusk through dawn. Your leal is admirable, Cain, but take advantage of this time and rest. Saladoor would never risk a patron touching his whores without proper payment ... and many have tried." As she spoke, Ammon's fingers began tracing the perimeter of her wound. It healed unusually fast for a laceration inflicted nearly seven days passed, but her subordinates never deigned to ask.

    In fact, Ammon was so sure of her recovery that she undressed the gash and disdained the bandages, gently swathing her fingers about. Tendrils of steam rose from her fingertips; she closed her eyes, drew in a sharp breath and grimaced. She was well aware that Cain was unwise to the runes on her hands and their ritualistic properties, but he'd come to learn soon enough. To swallow the momentary lapse of agony took the last drawl of her hippocras and shovelled a heel of bread down her throat.

    "Come Cain, sleep." She plucked one of the pillows from a divan nearby and added it to the adjacent side of the bed in preparation for Cain, if he chose to sleep there. To entreat him she poured him a glass of summerwine - one of the many spirits Salaador had stored around the pleasure house to entice potential patrons - and gently thrust it into Cain's hand. "Clear your mind, labi," she proposed rather melodically, "Let sleep take you so you may approach tomorrow refreshed. And if you're concerned about sharing a bed with a woman ..." she smiled one of her nefarious wicked smiles, one seldom worn upon her lips as of late, "Well, Saladoor's hospitality extends quite far. And his slatterns aren't entirely female."

    She laid the wine bottle down and returned to the bed, welcoming the covers as she welcomed her hippocras. "Jokes aside, Cain. Sleep."
 
Cain was both glad and disappointed to hear they would be safe inside the brothel, on one hand it meant he didn't have to worry about some sudden attack, on the other it meant he had no reason to keep his distance and watch the door as he had planned. He turned to look at the woman, remaining seated but still unsure about sharing a bed with her. At first he caught glimpse of something odd coming from her hands, though it didn't last long as she invited him to the bed, laying a pillow for him and going as far as to bring him a glass of wine. The man took the glass and held it, not drinking it immediately and instead just keeping his gaze on the woman, her voice more intoxicating than the scent of the wine as she mixed her language with the usual common tongue. It was a word he had heard before, he knew not the specific meaning behind it but his knowledge of its general usage gave him some surprise that she would say such a thing to him.

Cain soon found that she was teasing him though, her mood just as pleasant now as it had been when they were with Saladoor. Her jest did not quite get a laugh from Cain, instead he raised an eyebrow at her flippant accusation and sighed. "I understand, I am not so stubborn as to stay in a chair when a bed awaits me... Especially not because I have to share it with a woman... No matter how beautiful she is..." The last bit was whispered to where no normal person would hear, but it was the truth so even if she heard it he had no problems admitting to it. He stood from the chair, deciding if he were not going to be up watching that there was no point in his remaining fully geared and thus uncomfortable for the entire night.

With comfort now on the mind instead of duty Cain downed the glass of wine which had been offered to him and sat the glass down on one of the tables in the room. He proceeded to sit his sword down beside it, followed by removing his armor piece by piece and laying it next to the very same table. As he removed the armor his body felt light again, the loss of weight always welcomed after a long day and allowing his spirits to lift at last. With only his under clothes on his form could once again be seen and admired, not that Ammon hadn't seen him in such a way before with her 'trial' bringing him back to her in little but rags. With all of his extra clothing off Cain walked over to the bed and slipped under the covers, being careful not to disturb Ammon or take up too much room, which wasn't a problem as the bed was size-able enough for three most likely.

It took him a minute to get comfortable, his body warmed by the covers and his head rested gently on the pillow but it wasn't quite enough. He was still a bit nervous about being in the same bed as Ammon, not only his superior but an unpredictable woman at best. So he kept his back turned to her and shut his eyes, not saying a word and removing all temptation by simply refusing to face her or engage, hoping she would do the same and let sleep overtake her. It wasn't lost of him how many men would literally kill to be in the same situation as he was in, even as he lay there with his eyes closed and trying to clear his mind that thought was still there. How many men, and most likely women, wanted to lay next to Ammon and would act upon such an opportunity. Cain didn't lie to himself, the idea was enticing but the risk was too high and his duty came first, so he tried to clear his mind and let the comfort of the luxurious bed suck him in, knowing eventually he would fall asleep, no matter who was next to him.
 


  • Despite being bordered by the ocean, Yemen was unceremoniously humid. Come dawn the markets were bustling; even the brothel's thick walls couldn't muffle the calamity. Although the tumult was as loud as the cry of the gulls, Ammon awoke on her own terms. She broke her fast on boiled eggs, an august, sharp cheese and saltwater bass, all compliments of Salaadoor. The two exchanged conversation during their meal, Salaadoor weaving more words than Ammon. He reminsced on events which transpired during her absence and, when even his mercenaries weren't looking, he informed her of Pala's standing. "My sources tell me Hespith has been inquiring of Pala's whereabouts," he edified, "No map in the Yelapagos or Stone Kingdoms possesses Pala's location, not even the Cartographers' Guild ."

    As per the tales, only Palans knew of Pala's location. It was an exotic series of archipelagos at the far end of the continent protected by what Palans called Yezeq, the Graveyard. Its seas were so treacherous that galleys were skewered on great, pale rocks jutting up from the depths. "There are few men of non-Palan lineage that know how to brave the Graveyard, this is true ... but Hespith will find them; he will entreat them with gold and whores and blessings from his god, or he will force it from them. I only hope they keep their vows and take Pala's location with them to their graves."

    The notion put Ammon at unease. She'd been from her home for so many years, having left it unprotected and the triumvirate broken, but she would return. When Hespith was dead she'd bring his corpse to Pala so her people could worship their respective gods, absent fear. Even as she walked to the bazaar, Ammon fantasized about his demise, how she would torture his body and soul for the treasons he brought about. A kingslayer, charged for regicide, genocide, and several other sins. Though Ammon believed no man should be judged by another man, fate would beseech her and absolve her of such an immorality.

    "Jewels for the lady?" a merchant chimed, shattering her thoughts, "A woman as beautiful as you should be festooned in the greatest of jewels. Not diamond or gold, no, mundane gems of high value but little aesthetic worth. Tourmaline, perhaps? Botswana agate, hessonite, or perhaps Palan opals?" When he mentioned Pala, Ammon's eyes momentarily widened. Opaliq. Our opals ... rare even among Palans , she thought. "Palan opals? A rare gem to be sold by merchants who do not belong to Coterie. How did you happen upon it?"

    The merchant smiled, as if he were some proud child. "Why, a ship docked this morn overflowing with the gems and other Palan rarities! It is a bartering galley called Zircon, one of the five owned by the Coterie. As you know, these ships travel randomly between mercantile cities to replenish wares." Ammon seemed immediately displeased to hear that someone was abusing the Coterie's bartering writ to likely smuggle Palan rarities inland. Instead of airing her vehemence, she merely remained vigilant; complaisant. "Zircon. Who, praytell, is the captain?" she asked.

    "A man of little note to a commoner."

    "I am a merchant from the Sandsea," she lied, "I would have words with him before his ship looses its anchor."

    "Oh! The Sandsea! A marvellous place. Your jasper is to die for. If ever you seek a trading partner, visit Old Yek, he will gladly accept. But, I'm rambling. Zircon is moored by the tailor's terrace, near the inn. Its captain, Deacon Frost, is likely drowning himself in our sours, as he's oft to do. If you see him, tell him Old Yek thanks him for his opals."
 
Cain woke to a startling realization, that he had wandered closer to Ammon and was nearly touching the woman. Luckily it had seemed he had woken first, being stirred by the noise coming from the outside world. At that point he slipped out of the bed, being silent and letting Ammon wake at her own pace as he sat in one of the chairs and just relaxed for a bit, something he rarely had the chance to do. It wasn't until she awoke that he had breakfast, requesting a bit of bread and salted ham. Saladoor and Ammon spoke as well, though Cain only listened on and off, choosing to keep himself vigilant but leave the odd host to Ammon. The news the man had to offer did catch his ear though, at one point he spoke about Hespith's inquiries into Pala's location, which on one hand was a good thing as he hadn't found his way yet but on the other meant he was intent on finding it, confirming their suspicions, no doubt something Ammon already knew.

While it was concerning Cain had other things on his mind, he was curious about his men, all of which had seemed to stay in the rooms longer than they should. So while Ammon spoke with the host he had gone to give them a little awakening. It had not been pretty, sure he went in some of the rooms to see men ready to go but most of them were laying with a whore or still fast asleep. Cain made sure they each awoke to a kick or booming voice depending on the situation. Even if he didn't need them to walk around the town with them he wasn't about to let them sleep in and enjoy the brothel when they should have been ready for anything that came their way. So in order to ensure none of them had an easy day, even the ones who had been ready to go, he had a few things he requested they do. Mostly it was just a bit of scouting.

While he gave them their jobs he did his, going back to Ammon and heading out with her when she left. The trend continued as they went out, Ammon's beauty making her stand out even in the bustling streets of Yemen. It led them to more information and Cain was beginning to think that fortune favored her as at every turn she received seemingly vital intel. He kept to himself once again, letting her speak with the loose lipped merchant and get what she needed from him, catching wind of a captain with knowledge of how to arrive to and from Pala safely. By Ammon's look the captain Deacon Frost the merchant spoke of would be their next stop. That was what he was for, her armored bodyguard.

Cain waited for the mouth merchant to finish and looked to Ammon, "Shall we go see this captain about his wares?" There was a playful grin on his face as he asked the question, ready to go see about this mysterious captain before they spoke to their original contacts. Fate was leading them to the man Deacon Frost and he was sure she would agree. Of course she was still in charge in the end and his job was to protect her not go off on his own but he was ready to go and the look on his face showed that. He quickly hid his eagerness from the woman next to him, his stoic expression returning as he waited for her decision, as being so open around her made him nervous.
 


  • "That we shall, Cain."

    It was surprisingly simple to maneuver around the bustling Yemenese merchants and indigenous after spending a day in the bazaar. Ammon had spent many years among them; they virtually parted around her, or so she believed, but she wasn't quite certain they'd do the same for Cain. A fair-skinned man of his stature and strength would be a queer sight among the Yemense. Though they weren't nearly as illiberal as the Morassi, their prejudice was equally as nefarious.

    During their trek to the tailor's terrace, the duo were confronted by several merchants, each spieling a myriad of different pitches in their choppy Yemenese accents. Overhead whores sold their services upon the balustrades, singing to entice potential clients. Many were topless, shimmying and twirling as their breasts bounced and swung. Bakers, jewellers, smiths and shipwrights, butchers and fishmongers and even scantily clad slatterns mosied about making respective attempts to sell their wares.

    At one given moment, two Morassi whores danced alongside Cain. They each stole his biceps, pressing their full, ebony breasts into his ribs. "M'lord," they chimed in synchronous song, "You look wary. Come to our chambers ... we can revitalize you." Ammon was quick to shoo them away, claiming the Cain was her husband and they were simply exploring the bazaar. That did not deterr them until Ammon was forced to give them each a terrorizing glare. They yelped and peeled off, eventually finding another man to sink their claws into.

    It hadn't taken long for the duo to arrive at the foot of the tailor's terrace. It was a grand road cobbled with red earth and loam with highborn merchants bartering various articles of clothing. Ammon was tempted by one particular robe, but drew her eyes away when two pirates whirled passed and into a nearby building. Before following, she took Cain aside. "Deacon likely has his entire crew holed up in the inn," she began, "We may approach this situation one of two ways: cajole our way past the pirates, or, cut our way through. The earlier option proves more efficient - and wise - but either or will suffice."
 
As much as admitting it pissed Cain off, Ammon was an impressive woman, strong in both character and combat from what he remembered and very driven. Even as they made their way through Yemen she showed that nothing intimidated her and just went through the giant crowds with ease, more ease than Cain despite the small berth most people seemed to give him. Of course there were people who gave him no room, specifically a pair of beautiful Morassi women whom, while being slightly tempting, were more irritating than anything. Luckily for him Ammon decided to help him with his plight, first claiming to be his wife, a fact that almost seemed to encourage the women, and then when that didn't work shooting such a glare that both of them dispersed immediately. Cain simply smirked and shook his head wondering just where she practiced that look to get so good at it.

That was not important though, not as they neared their destination. He did notice Ammon's eyes on the merchants wares but he figured he would allow her such a simple pleasure and keep himself on the lookout. That was not hard for him to do, finding it easy to ignore most of the merchandise, although the whores were at times distracting as they would be to most any man. Once again fate gave them direction though, two pirates darted past them and into a nearby building which gave an idea of where this Captain was. Ammon pulled him aside giving two options, the first to blend and just work their way inside and trying to avoid confrontation, no doubt the better method especially in a situation in which they would be so outnumbered. Of course he had a feeling it would come down to fighting in the end but there was no point in attacking them head on.

"We can try and do this without fighting but be ready for anything, if we get discovered or if your fame precedes you then we will probably end up in a fight anyways." With that Cain turned and walked towards the building, pondering whether or not his armor would cause him to stick out. The inn was a rather nice place, not what one would expect for pirates, the two story building constructed better than most of the buildings in the city and being composed of treated woods and sturdy stones cut to perfection. Cain opened the large wooden door and immediately noise poured out much louder than he had anticipated. Men were singing and bar maids were running around with huge cups of alcohol, several sorts being tossed from table to table in a seemingly endless manner.

Cain didn't hesitate to walk inside, waiting for Ammon before doing anything but letting his eyes soak in everything before him. There were indeed a good deal of men, all of them armed with weapons of some sort but most of them so drunk it would be easy to eliminate them if it came down to it, he knew that due to their unsteady movement and red faces. What he didn't see was any sort of Captain in the main hall, perhaps the man was upstairs or in a back room, but he wasn't in plain sight. Cain turned to Ammon, whom he assumed had a plan, and just waited for her lead. Of course if he had been alone he would already have moved to one of the many tables in the large room and ordered a drink but her style of doing things was always a bit different and he had no desire to disrupt whatever idea she had.
 


  • Being a Palan, Ammon possessed a particular affinity for spices and incense. However, there was such a thick perfume of scents wafting about the inn that even her eyes began to water. She gently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and blinked hard just as a bar wench danced to her side. "Afternoon, lass!" she chirped. The girl couldn't have been any older than twenty with big, chocolate doe's eyes and each hand skilfully balancing trays of ale. "A word of advice: sailors pulled in port this mornin', might be best you and your friend leave 'fore they set their eyes on ya."

    Before Ammon could retort, the bar wench darted away to serve her thirsty patrons. As she looked to her left, Ammon noted a group of pirates with whores seated in their laps; she glimpsed to her right and several others were at the bar drinking heavily from their flagons. She honed in their conversation, listening for them to mention the name Deacon Frost, but they never once did. Eventually Ammon's aspiration to practice subtlety began to wane. She pulled aside a barmaid near the edge of the bar, behind a veil of orange and purple silk. "Deacon Frost," she said without hesitation, "He's here, I have reason to believe. Where?" The barmaid squirmed from Ammon's grasp, wincing; she edged away but Ammon closed the gap as quick as she blinked.

    "Might be he is," she whispered, wary, "Might be he isn't."

    Ammon reached into her satchel and produced a thick, silver coin, minted with Palan regalia. Her eyes went wide and she pocketed as quick as a miser. "Him and his boys are in the back; he rented a private room with a bag 'a opals. But whatever quarrel you two got with 'em, take it outside. We don't want no disputes with the Coterie." With that she nodded and shimmied off, leaving Cain and Ammon to their lonesome. "I have an idea," she whispered to him, "I need you to go in and talk to him and his men, though. Most are drunk, so it won't be difficult. Cajole them into believing you're friendly, however, if they attack, retort. I'll return shortly."
 
The warning didn't shake either his nor Ammon's resolve and they both stayed put inside the bar. Cain more or less just stood there waiting for Ammon to make her move, as he still assumed she had some sort of plan that bested his strategy of bashing in skulls. His assumption was proven right as she pulled a barmaid off to the side and began to inquire about Deacon Frost, in the end using a silver coin to get exactly the information they needed. Cain smirked, it was interesting to see Ammon in action, in his previous position he had barely spoken to the woman and even when he had it was strictly military business, this sort of environment was new and quite interesting. Her instruction caused him to focus once again, quickly snapping his mind from her to the task at hand once again, where it should have been all along.

Cain gave her a quick nod to acknowledge the plan before walking his way over to door in the back of the room and going through it casually without attracting more than a passing glance from the preoccupied pirates in the main room. The door simply led to a hallway though, not a long hallway but there were three doors, two at the side and one at the very end. The one to his right was no doubt the kitchen so he only had two options. As he went down the hall he stopped at the door on the left, slowly pushing it open only to see a pirate having his way with a whore in what he assumed was a private room. He remained unnoticed as he shut the door, the two being so busy, and he headed down the hall to the door at the end.

He took a moment to gather himself before he opened it, making sure he was ready for a fight immediately if need be. Upon opening the door though it was about the same as the main room, a few barmaids who seemed to be serving them from large kegs of ale and pirates with several whores saddled on their laps. A few were unburdened by such weight though, one man in the back in particular was barely even drinking, instead he was talking to one of his men and smoking some sort of pipe looking instrument. Of course all of that changed when he walked in the room, sure some of the men were so into the women that they didn't move but the rest looked over at him as soon as he walked in, including the man he assumed was Deacon Frost.

Cain didn't buckled under the stares though, instead he simply walked towards the center of the room without hesitation and gave one of the most mischievousness smiles imaginable. "Hello there Captain Frost, the name is Cain and I just had to make your acquaintance." Of all the men in the room the only person nearly as sober as Cain was the Captain and it showed in his face as he leaned back even further in his seat and looked at Cain. He was not smiling or smirking at the introduction though, instead he responded in a calm hard voice, "Why would you risk life and limb to meet me?" His voice was threatening but after Ammon nobody was quite as effective at sending a chill down his spine. "Why else, to make my case for why I should be on your crew." Apparently this was nothing new to Frost, his face was unchanging as he waved his hand, causing two men to rise from their seats and draw their weapons.

Now as unsteady as the two men were from the alcohol they seemed unaffected by it, perhaps their 'sea legs' helping with the current state. He knew he had to impress Frost though, in order for more men not to come after these two, so he didn't draw a weapon and instead just stood in place, not taking stance and having his arms crossed as he waited. The two pirates didn't wait and instead the charged in recklessly, swinging their weapons like barbarians which while intimidating and effective against a majority of people did nothing against Cain. Instead he ducked the first swing, grabbing the second mans hand to stop his swords movement and send a strong palm under the mans chin, a loud snapping sound echoing as his teeth snapped together and he flew back onto the floor. He turned and avoided another swipe by the remaining pirate before moving in quickly and sending his knee into the mans defenseless stomach causing him to double over out of breath. Cain didn't stop there, he sent his armored elbow into the back of the mans skull, knocking him out before he even hit the ground.

Cain turned after that to see every pirate in the room looking at him now, even the ones with whores straddled on their lap were watching. Frost however had a smirk on his face now and began to clap in a slow dramatic fashion. "So, you said you wanted to make my acquaintance, come, have a seat." The man motioned to one of the now empty seats beside him and Cain took it quickly. He got comfortable, his personality nothing like it was in front of Ammon or the soldiers and reached over for a mug of ale as one of the barmaids passed by. Cain seemed to fit in quite easily with the crowd, despite not being interested in any of the cheap whores offered to him he was drinking and he managed to hold the alcohol by using the conversation with Frost to provide gaps between sips. The conversation dragged on, Cain lying through his teeth by using partial truths to let it flow and he simply waited for Ammon. There were a few who still seemed suspicious of him but Frost seemed to eat up his tales, perhaps clouded by the interesting way his men had been disposed of earlier. It was all up to Ammon now, if she didn't make it back soon he would have to take care of things himself as it was only a matter of time before he slipped up or the opportunity was lost all together.
 


  • Shortly after Cain's bold display, the room fell to its usual chatty ambience. The majority of Deacon's men hatefully eyed Cain while others presumed molesting their whores and barmaids. Even Deacon appeared smug as he sat upon an extravagant divan riddled in cushions and lace. It was a piece of furniture far too elegant for such a murderous pirate, but with the opals he smuggled, both Deacon and his crew could afford to live luxuriously. "What are ya? A knight?" Deacon slapped his knee which summoned a youthful looking whore to sit herself there. Deacon cupped her naked breast and began kneading it until her tortured pink nipple was as hard as the cock growing in his breeches.

    "'Aye ... it's not often knights seek to abandon their knighthood for a life on the sea. Might be that you're not a knight at all!" He boomed with laughter inspiring his crew to do the same, even as the girl in his lap was nearly sobbing under his hurtful touch. "Unfortunately, you'll have to visit the Coterie's hold to join a bartering galley. A knight has no use as a merchant. But, you could certainly be a sellsword. Hows'about that?" He laughed again, this time unlacing his breeches with his thick, calloused hands. Deacon Frost was not a homely man; he was rather handsome with his olive complexion, striking blue eyes and hairless head etched with ornate tattoos and markings. Though his rampant facial hair left much to be desired, most of the whores fancied him well over his brothers.

    "Fancy that," he purred, "A whore with lips are ripe as yours should be perfect. Mmm ..." He grabbed a fistful of her locks and thrust her head down to into his lap, forcing her buttocks upward. He gave one cheek a slap and howled with insidious laughter. "Pleasure me," he cooed.

    Just as the girl began unfastening his belt, she shrieked, nearly falling from his lap as Deacon suddenly flailed. He felt hands on his neck, none that herladed death, but their owner did quite the opposite. His men each stood, brandishing their weapons, gazing at the woman careening over Deacon's divan. Ammon, having again purchased the barmaid's knowledge, crept in through a window grown over with ivy and lichen. She took a dirk to Deacon's neck, threatening to carve out his Adam's apple if any of the pirates so much as flinched. "Frost," she whispered in his ear. It was like a death song to him; a dirge foretelling his bloody demise. He trembled, clenching his teeth as his crew began advancing. "Tell your men to return to your Zircon. My friend and I would have words with you. Privately."

    She could smell the defiance on him. As he barked at his men to attack, she clipped a clean strip of skin from his neck. It twirled to the floor in a pink, bloody ribbon, urging Deacon to yelp. "Tell them," she commanded. "'Aye ... you ... you lot heard her. Back to the ship ... ! I'll send for ya when I'm done." They each exchanged worrisome glances, sheathed their weapons and filed out, the whores following frightened behind them. When the chamber was empty Ammon decided not to relieve him of her dirk. "The Coterie possesses six flag ships that traverse the Sandsea, each marked with a sigil and given a name. Zircon is not of them, and judging by the sigil on your overcoat ..."

    "'Aye, lass!" he pleaded, "I'm in no mood for yer' head games. Take the knife from my throat. I'll tell you what you wanna know."
 
Cain couldn't stand Deacon, the man was a cesspool of everything he hated and the way he was treating the young girl on his knee didn't gain him any favor. He continued to smile though laughing with the disgusting creature to keep himself from suspicion and merely letting him rattle on, not even bothering to speak. If it was a normal situation he would be ramming the mans head through a wall but it was not a normal situation and instead he took a backseat as he caught Ammon sneaking up behind the man. Nothing showed on his face to give it away and it wouldn't have mattered if it did because she was on the man quickly and without a sound. Of course her appearance brought the pirates to their feet but it was too late, she had a dirk at his neck and he was in no position to do anything but comply to her order. Not that he liked doing as he was told and it was obvious but Ammon's show of power got him in line quickly.

Cain knew how it felt to be at Ammon's mercy but he felt no pity for the man and instead a smirk rose on his face, satisfied that the pig was getting a bit of punishment. "It was wise of you to do as she said, trust me she does not joke around." Deacon looked over at him with hatred in his eyes and his voice was a mix of nervousness and anger, "Aye, seems you are no knight..." He muttered, not daring to move an inch while the blade was at his throat, not desiring to lose more skin than he already had. Cain on the other hand was in a wonderful state and he made himself comfortable as he waited for the man to go on and tell Ammon what she wanted to hear.

Deacon continued to look straight ahead and upon realizing the woman behind him didn't plan on removing the blade from his neck he began to speak. "Alright listen, I am no Coterie associate and I ain't even part of a guild, I am simply a pirate. I have been slipping into Pala and smuggling back the precious opals people pay so very well for, that is it." Cain sighed, "Oh you better do better than that lest you want Ammon there to cut a little deeper and spill your blood." Upon hearing the name of the woman behind him Frost's eyes shot open and his face turned pale. As a traveler to Pala he knew the name and the power it held.

Fear was an excellent motivator for Deacon and he really began to spill it, "Okay okay, Hespith provided me with the in and I have been taking advantage of it to smuggle the opals. I swear I haven't done anything else." Cain looked to Ammon and even he wasn't quite comfortable, the mention of Hespith no doubt going to infuriate her. He looked back to Deacon and shook his head, "Perhaps being honest wasn't good for you, that name doesn't make my friend happy. Of course I may be able to convince her not to slice you open if you agree to do a little something for us..." Cain paused to see his reaction and it was easy to read, once again fear causing him to lose all poise. "What would that be?" Cain kept control of the situation, Ammon was keeping his tongue loose and Cain was keeping the conversation going. "Well actually we are in need of your particular talents and knowledge, two things that keep her from killing you. What we want from you are your men and your ships to get us to Pala immediately."

Despite being in fear for his life Deacon was a greedy bastard and it came even before his own life, "What would be in this for me and my boys? Sure my life is a good start but I am can't simply convince my boys to behave without some kind of bonus." Cain grit his teeth, running a hand through his hair and acting as if he was making some hard decision. "Well I cannot speak definitively on the matter but we could possibly allow you to stay under the Coterie's radar and let you keep all your ill-gotten treasure, although those things are entirely up to Ammon..." Cain left it up to her, not really caring too much what happened, they could figure out another way but this was the easiest and he had faith Ammon would see that as well.
 


  • "I vote we cut his throat and commandeer his ships," Ammon said, disgruntled, "However far from diplomatic that may be. Yet, Cain has a valid argument ... and I am not entirely unreasonable." She slid the dirk into her cummerbund, circling around him where she seated herself on a nearby bench. "You're ... too kind," Deacon grumbled as he tested the immensity of his wound. Although wet and pink, it wasn't all too deep. He breathed a sigh of relief and eased into his chair.

    "Anything you've smuggled from Pala, you may keep ... after we've safely disembarked. Until then, we'll be more than willing to expose you to the Coterie." Deacon watched, lustily almost, as Ammon plucked a pomegranate from the table and bit into it. He was momentarily entranced by her dubious nature and the fluidity in her movement. Even as the fruit's juice sluiced down her wrists he began to chew his lips. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he chuckled.

    "You are nothing like the rumors I've heard ... people claim that this Ammon is homely and unbecoming ... but you. You are a goddess." He stood and dusted himself off, gently probing his whiskers as he ogled her. "And kind, as the gods would have it. 'Aye. A deal, then. I'll take you where you need to go ... on the condition that we keep what we've taken, and the Coterie doesn't learn about our graft." Ammon nodded. "Where is it that you're looking to go, lass?"

    "The Barrens," Ammon replied, exchanging a glance with Cain, "Pala can wait. Hespith has found a host, a powerful one at that. When Edmure and York have finished aiding the Morassi, General Isooba has agreed to host us. We'll rendezvous with them in the Barrens." Deacon shook his head. "The Barrens? 'Aye, lass, that's too far ... well out of the Sandsea's reach." Ammon stole a glare through him. "But you will take us there. Have your ships ready to set sail in two days, while my men rest. If I learn you've fled ..."

    She drew her dirk from her cummerbund and launched it at Deacon's head. Fortunately it missed by a fraction of an inch and became embedded within the wall behind him. "I will hunt you. And I will kill you."
 
Cain quickly took a back seat and let Ammon do the rest of the talking, her presence inspiring more authority than his own and no doubt with her reputation she would get more favorable results than he ever could. It seemed her threats were not enough to suppress her natural allure and even as she made her demands Deacon seemed to be unable to contain his lust, like some sort of shameless pig who didn't think with his mind. Ammon of course didn't seem to reciprocate his carnal urges and made sure to keep him in line to the point of convincing him of the new plan, which was a surprise to Cain as well. He didn't show it though and simply stayed put in his chair, although he did find himself eyeing her nearly as much as Deacon was.

Going to the Barren's changed everything though, it meant they would be meeting Hespith and his associates in battle much sooner than originally planned. That didn't bother Cain, he was prepared for combat even if he still needed a bit of time to train his men on particular battle strategies he employed. The news that they had several days before departure made him shiver in discomfort though, the idea of spending more time at the brothel annoying. It meant he would have to try and keep his men in line while at the same time trying to endure the constant company of Ammon, not that it had been unpleasant the night before but it was certainly hard to focus around her as she seemed to become more and more alluring as time went.

He was focused until Ammon made quite a sudden movement, throwing her dirk into the wall right above his head to the point that if he had hair it would have been cut by the blade. Deacon seemed to take that as the end of their conversation and he gave a quick nod, "Understood, I suppose I can get ya too The Barrens as long as you remain discreet and we are allowed to keep our opals." He didn't wait for her to repeat herself and instead he took a deep breath and stood up, walking over to the door and opening it, "Now if you would be so kind as to leave me be, I have much to plan..." His voice was not exactly happy but at the same time he made sure to keep a certain amount of respect obvious as not to offend Ammon.

With that Cain stood from the seat, first grabbing a small piece of cheese from one of the plates and popping it into his mouth before heading towards the door. He stopped a step outside though, turning and looking to Ammon to see if she was done talking, as he knew she was the final say on anything that went down. Deacon of course had his eyes focused on the woman as well but still in his same lustful way and he made no effort to hide it, in fact if Cain had to say it seemed the man was more inviting her to stay if she liked. She would not be staying, Cain knew that, it was just ridiculous that he believed he had even a slight chance of seducing Ammon but he was a man use to getting his way.
 


  • By the time Cain and Ammon had finished their business with Deacon Frost, his entire crew had since filed out of the inn to return to the ship or find a less prominent haunt. In fact, the hovel was prominently quiet and seemed to host much more civil patrons. When Ammon exited Deacon's lair, the inn's foyer appeared expansive and altogether sheltered. Yemen's sailors and merchants were likely beginning to tie up any loose ends in their kiosks before they settled down and returned to their families for the night. Ammon, too, was tired from the day's tribulations, particularly her run in with the nefarious Deacon Frost and his crew of lusty sailors.

    "I apologize," Ammon said suddenly as they wove through a throng of patrons, "For not sharing my thoughts with you. The triumvirate needs to learn of Hespith's treason, yes, but ... if rumours are true and Hespith has in fact adopted a host, then I'm afraid this war has become more severe. He cannot be permitted to have allies. But what strikes me as odd is ... what manner of ally has he found in the Barrens?" She drew in her bottom lip, inadvertently gnashing on it as she stepped outside into the cool evening air.

    The cricket's were cheerfully chirping and the dusty air fell to a cool breeze. Ammon's bare skin prickled at the sensation; she welcomed it, in fact. Though she was Palan, baking in the Yelapago's unnaturally hot sun from dawn to dusk wasn't necessarily a favourable past time. "Do what you will with your men these next two days, just insure they're prepared for the journey. I'll see to it that Frost's other galleys are equipped for travel." Ammon was heavily tempted to call another moot, but it would be a vacant one without York, Edmure and the others to join her. "Cain ..." She paused. With the slew of thoughts choking her skull, she felt that some semblance of freedom was key.

    "I'm going to return to Salaador's. I think ... I think I need a drink."
 
As they left the building Ammon apologized to him for changing up the plans but it was not necessary, she didn't have to discuss anything with him. It seemed like a tough decision for her anyways, the body language showing just how distraught she was over his 'allies'. Discussing the next course of action could come later though, the streets were growing barren and she wanted a drink so he wouldn't try to get in the way of her and a bit of liquid comfort. He wouldn't mind a drink himself anyways and if he had to go back to Salaador's he wouldn't deny himself such a comfort either. "Alright, let's return to Salaador's, we can discuss business tomorrow and take it easy tonight." Cain didn't hesitate to move after that, weaving his way through the streets and heading towards the brothel, granted it was much easier now, less people to bump in to and most of the kiosks were closed or closing. Of course the whores were more plentiful than ever but his uninterested aura seemed to keep them away.

The entire way he was still vigilant, having to make sure he didn't leave Ammon behind, his job to protect her still his main objective, although he had seen she was more than capable of doing that herself. When he arrived at the brothel he entered into the front door, being greeted by Salaador himself. "Welcome back, I knew you would return." He only acknowledged Cain for a second, moving on to Ammon, his voice raising to a higher octave as he spoke to her, "Ah my dear, welcome back, I have fresh linens in the room, your favorite drink, and I can arrange for whatever you hunger for to be brought to the room immediately!" He practically squealed the last bit.

Cain shrugged and continued on to where one of his men was sitting, chatting up one of the younger women. He turned upon seeing Cain and stood up from his seat, "Sir." Cain looked at the girl he was speaking to and then back to him with a sigh, "Anything to report?" He wasn't going to chastise the man it would do no good, free whores in such a fancy brothel would make most every man become defiant. The soldier shook his head, "No sir, we found nothing around town, most of the men are in their rooms, I can send for them if you like." Cain had a feeling that most of the men were already doing what this particular soldier was trying to do and he would not call them all away yet. "No, I will meet with you all tomorrow to discuss the next course of action, just tell the men we will be remaining here for a couple of days."

With that Cain walked away and the man went back to his discussion. The general made his way towards the room, choosing not to go back and speak with Salaador and instead go back and relax in the shared suite. The room was the same as the first time he entered it, fresh linens, though some fresh smell seemed to be in the room, perhaps an incense. The only thing different was a much larger amount of alcohol than before sitting directly on the table beside the bed. He went and sat on the edge of the bed, running through the day in his head, waiting for Ammon to see what she planned to do, whether they would be remaining in the brothel for the rest of the night or if some adventure was planned.
 


  • When the two were amongst the silence of their sleeping quarters, Ammon began to relieve herself of her satchel. Her cinches and cummerbund were next to fall and lastly, her overcoat. Underneath the Palan vagabond was honeycombed in ritual runes and sigils, each as intricate as the next. The only articles of clothing that hid her unmentionables from her subordinates were her bandeau and cinched cotton breaches. Underneath her battle attire she had quite a feminine form, soft and curved and pleasantly nubile, but the two Palan daggers clipped to her backside lessened her feminity if only a smidgen.

    From virtually two storeys below Ammon could hear Cain's men and their boisterous celebration, some dabbling in drink, others in women. Try as they might to practice discretion, their jubilation thundered on like war drums. Ammon, having been an enormous displenary, usually didn't condone such unorthodox behavior, but having soldiers stationed in Yemen - one of the Yelapagos' capitals - without being able to partake in local customs was similar to dangling a raw flank of gazelle in front of an emaciated lion. Needless to say, Ammon disdained her inhibations for the night and decided to partake. From the rumors circulating around the brothel, Salaador was entertaining some of his nefarious fustian guests, so the food and drink were of the highest quality.

    "We may as well take advantage of Salaador's guests," Ammon suggested as she unlaced her sandals, "They're likely drunk by now, with an entire table of untouched meals." Her stomach growled on queue; she gave it a pat and cocked her head to the side as if to question Cain. "It seems you're not very well equipped to handle your men," she japed, listening as they cheered with laughter below, "But, it's best to let them revel. For the night, at least ... taking a van to the Barrens will be treacherous, and this may likely be last celebration any of them partake in." However eerie her observation may of been, she backed it with a smile and cantered towards the door, flitting down the stair well to meet Salaador in the foyer.

    He looked panicked, his femine features dotted in sweat and what appeared to be cosmetics. "Ah, Ammon ... apologies," he began, exasperated, "I'm short serving girls and my guests are demanding ... more so when drunk, I'm afraid." He could hear one of the men - a rich, but handsome man - holler from across the room as he slapped the ass of a passing whore. "Duty calls," Salaador grunted, "Please help yourself to wine and food. There's a cellar full of hipporcas and the scullions are bringing out freshly steeped pomegranates and possets, shortly." With that he vanished into the kitchen, leaving Ammon to enter one of the atriums on the brothel's middle level. It was a gorgeous room draped in velvet and vair and silk of rich and noble colors, festooned with ivory stuettes carved into its niches and a sea of cushions and divans.

    As Ammon entered, the men cheered, beckoning her to drink, and she did just that. While Salaador's guests supped on the whores at the other end of the atrium, Ammon cut a slab of honey-basted turkey and nearly shovelled it into her mouth, chasing it with a long, hard swallow of hipprocas drank immediately from its ornate decanter. "Milady!" some of the men greeted, while others called her by her name, 'commander' and the most respectful, 'Ariqun', the Palan term for her title 'the Soul'. It was a queer sight to see a near topless woman surrounded by a table of drunk and comely men, but she appeared no less uncomfortable than the whores. Come her second decanter, Ammon could feel the alcohol's fiery tendrils burn her throat with a pleasant sensation then sending her heart a flutter. She smiled, and when one of the soldiers cried "Cheers!", nearly spilling over a cask of wine, she rose with the rest of her men and clashed their cups with a sound only describe as a chime.
 
Ammon came in to the room shortly after Cain but her approach to things was slightly more loose than his own. In fact the first thing she did was strip several articles of clothing off and once again reveal her immaculate body to him, a form he would no doubt be envisioning as he slept. It was quite intoxicating, especially to a man whom rarely partook in such carnal pleasure such as Cain. What she did next confused him a bit, she made a small joke at his expense, although it could have been an insult but he chose to see it as a joke. Then it got even more odd, her serious rather uptight attitude seemed to instantly dissipate and she made haste out of the room and down below to where a large party with alcohol and feasting was no doubt occurring. It seemed that Ammon had decided to join in on the festivities and loosen up a bit, even keeping her revealing form.

Cain would not be left behind in the room, as much as he enjoyed the silence he didn't like the idea of leaving Ammon alone, no matter how protected Salaador kept his brothel. He preferred to go down and keep an eye out for her himself, make sure she was kept safe. He wasn't so stiff as to wear him armor down to a party though, he could protect her without the armor and so he began to strip it off, stacking the pieces on the chair he had formerly been sitting on. he kept his sword attached at his waist but other than that he was in his casual clothing, the many toned muscles usually hidden beneath his armor.

He didn't bother to change into something more impressive or grand and instead left the room and descend down to the party after Ammon. When the entered the room all the men lifted their glasses in toast and he only nodded and walked over to the table, spotting Ammon drinking her favorite hippocras and enjoying the plethora of fine food scattered about. Cain didn't speak with her, he figured she would enjoy herself more without the feeling of him restricting her every movement by being overprotective. So he began to drink and eat, speaking on occasion but more just watching others as they went about their business and had their fun. It was merely men getting drunk and feeling up the naked whores provided by Salaador.

Cain stayed for awhile, though soon he tired of watching the ridiculous displays of his men on their night without discipline and he rose from his seat, provided a tad tipsy. He left the room soon after that, giving passing word to Salaador to make sure Ammon stayed safe and made it to her room safe, and then went back up to the room, letting out a long sigh of relief as the close of the door lessened the noise from down below. After a quick removal of his sword he walked over to one of the tables and poured himself a bit more drink in order to lull him to sleep, or at least dull his senses a bit more so he could sleep well despite being side by side with the beautiful woman when she came back up to the room. He sipped on the wine and slipped off his shoes and walking over towards the window, looking out over the city as he drank. Yemen was an interesting place, not exactly his style but there would be something he could find to entertain himself.
 


  • As the night progressed, Salaador's patrons grew increasingly raucous. A vanguard of nomads passed by and paid good Qu'aran gold for two whores each. While they holed themselves away, fucking each of their prizes, Cain's men shouted baudy japes from outside their chambers. Half were inebriated beyond cognizance while others passed out on divans and in their chairs. An elite few remained - two roguishly handsome siblings, likely twins of some nature, a middle-aged ex-sailor with a salty tongue, a bandy-legged Yemense man and a Morassi. The group were in their cups since Ammon took her seat, but that was some hours ago when the moon hadn't even approached its zenith.

    "To bed with ye," the ex-sailor mumbled, "All of ye lil' pups, 'aye. The lot of ye." Despite his pallet for rum and ale, his constitution was failing him as he aged. He gazed into his stein as if a dead slug was floating in the froth and gave it a firm shake. "Ye 'all can't keep up with this salty ol' dog, nay, ye can't! Bring another flagon!" He reached out and slapped a passing barmaid's backside, enough to irk her. She opened her palm and gave him a firm slap across his cheek that nearly split his skin. The twins howled with laughter, the Yemenese man chuckled and the Morassi sat as idle as a gargoyle. Among their banter Ammon heaved a yawn, gently disguising it with her hand.

    There was no greater feeling than a belly full of meat and a spirit's tendrils still licking at the inside of her chest cavity. She eased into her chair, regarding her company with the usual complaisant glance, then stood. At first all was well, but her knees near buckled and the entire room tilted. If only for a blink the concourse noted Ammon's maladroitness. The twins, each, smiled wickedly. "I do believe she's drunk," one chimed, but his brother jabbed him in the rib mid sentence. He groaned and returned the gesture; before long the two were in a fist fight that escalated into a clumsy brawl.

    Ammon took advantage and skulked away unnoticed as the Morassi and the Yemenese merchant peeled the siblings apart. It was a struggle to climb Salaador's ridiculously grand stairwell, and the mahogany floors felt cold as marble under her soles. As she approached her quarters at the head of the highest stair, Salaador appeared. His face was gaunt from fatigue but he still oozed that very same flamboyance he had when they first met. "Are you drunk?" he teased, "I haven't seen you inebriated in quite some years." Ammon grumbled darkly to herself and made an attempt to pass him but Salaador stopped her, gently clutching her forearm. "My love," he began, his voice was smooth as butter, "Even drink does not relax you, you still appear wound tight like a maid. May I offer to you one of my finest whores? He'll fuck you senseless and do as you bid, absent tumult."

    "No," she growled, jerking her hand back. "I have no interest in fucking your painted whores, Salaador." As she strode away Salaador appeared wounded, but Ammon paid him no mind. She eased open the door to her chamber and was quick to note Cain near the window gazing, intrigued, to the streets below. "I admit, I'm upset," Ammon began. She did her best to retain whatever grace remained, though it was only present in sobriety. She sat on the sill next to him, gesturing to the viranda where the view was seven times grander. "You didn't share a drink with me, all of your men did ... Edmure and York would have ... and you did not."
 
Cain was lost in thought as he stared out the window, contemplating things which he would rather not have to deal with, which was why he was simply thinking. Of course he knew he would eventually be in a position where doing the very things he dreaded would come because life was that way, but it didn't matter in the end, it seemed fate had already taken over, proof by his return to Ammon's side. It was strange how that had happened, how she had seemed to know it would, though stranger still was his reaction, how easily he had accepted it and while it still hurt his pride he didn't feel as angry over it as he had, not happy but almost complacent in what had become of the situation. At the very least he had been awarded compensation for his hardship, a general position which gave him enough power to do something about the injustice he had observed in Ammon's army. In the end it was a fair trade, some of his pride for enough power to keep the forces in line. Then again he still had the bruises and some cuts to remember the event, reminders that would not go away for some time, those didn't make it much easier.

Cain was still gazing out over the city when Ammon entered the room, though her presence brought his mind back to reality. He turned his head to look at her and while he noticed her drunkenness he said nothing and only listened. He found it rather interesting that she was upset at his actions, the mans initial thoughts being that she would preferred not to have him bother her as she drank. Apparently he was incorrect in assuming that. As she sat beside him he turned his head back to the view in front of him, speaking calmly, "I am not the type to socialize with my fellow soldiers or anyone else, and quite honestly my constitution for drinking isn't very high so staying away from such situations is ideal." Cain released a low sigh and turned to look at Ammon, unable to stop his eyes from inspecting her form as he seemed to do every time he gave her even the slightest glance. It was hard to ignore her though, no matter what she believed or what she did there was no denying her beauty and any man would stare, Cain was not alone.

He quickly removed his eyes from her as not to make it so obvious and moved from his position at the window over to the table where more of the hippocras was sitting. He picked up the jug and slowly poured two cups of it, only filling them each a small amount as Ammon seemed plenty drunk already and he was not looking to go over his tolerance. He picked up a cup in each hand and walked back to the woman's side, handing her one cup, "Let us share a drink, it's not much but it counts." He didn't see the purpose behind sharing a drink but she brought it up and if there was anything he knew it was to try and go along with what intoxicated people wanted, and he figured sharing a drink wasn't a terrible price to pay in order to satisfy his superior. To Cain though their earlier task had built more trust and understanding than a drink would, but it didn't matter. What did matter was making her happy and then getting some sleep, the morning would start with a hangover for Ammon and only get busy as the day progressed.
 


  • As Cain fetched their drinks, Ammon ambled out onto the balcony. She gently parted two wine hued curtains that sacheed in the salty air and leaned on the ivory balustrade and its neatly carved spindles. Outside stars dotted the heavens like freckles and the big, black sky yawned for miles over the sea. From her perch she surveyed the ocean - near black as the sky - and the intricate alleyways below that reminded her of a nest of snakes all twisting and winding and writhing in the earth. It may have been the sea air that sobered her up, or perhaps the sudden cold, but her nose wriggled and she smacked her lips.

    "A storm is coming," she declared as she accepted Cain's token of apology. From the north she glimpsed a throng of heavy gray clouds that hugged the horizon and spread like tufts of black cotton. The scent of rain rode in on an occasional breeze and even the crickets were bashful. "Have you been on a galley during a storm? I have." She took a long drawl of her hipporcras and inhaled the crisp evening air. It tasted of salt and nutmeg and sex, but she deigned not to care. "Might be that we'll be doing traversing the Maelstrom during a hurricane ... a treacherous journey, that." The alcohol had honeyed her tone and made her words slightly delayed. If at all she was much less intimidating, pacified, almost.

    "You know, Cain," she began, "You are an exceptionally handsome man. I was half inclined to let Nefertiri have you ... the way she was leering at you ... there's not a doubt in my mind that she would of had you and her paramour share her bed. Perhaps she'd be more amicable at our next moot." Ammon chuckled and took another sip of her drink. The cold prickled her bare skin with goosebumps, but she welcomed the sensation nonetheless. "Given ... incentive, would you have bedded her?"
 
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