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Journeys of a Demon's Daughter // Nobody x Cherubian //

RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

A hesitant smile appeared on Dillen's face, relief evident in his eyes even as she slowly and sensuously moved to lie back. "Yes, miss," he murmured softly, slowly becoming more comfortable by the moment. He had done horribly wrong, but she had forgiven him, even wanted to continue now that he had calmed down. It was the first time in a long time that anyone not bound by the collar had shown him anything but contempt and cruelty, and he had to prove to her how much it meant.

Slowly he followed her, hands falling upon her thighs as his head descended down towards her legs. His lips fell upon her, slowly kissing his way up first one thigh and then the other, hands beginning to firmly massage her sides as his warm mouth ascended. With a faint, barely audible sound of enjoyment he began to kiss and lick her mound, circling around her lips without ever touching the sensitive skin, his hot breath playing against her cunt with every motion. At last he extended his tongue, slowly drawing it up her lips until at last it flicked against her clit, taking in every drop of her arousal. The next lick came a bit quicker, a bit deeper, until he slipped his tongue into her wet cunt. It writhed and twisted within her, the hot, soft flesh exploring every bit of her as his lip brushed her clit.

The oral assault continued for some time, his tongue expertly searching for just the right spot, seeking to drive her lust forward and thank her for the kindness she had shown. It wasn't until she was thoroughly wet and moaning beneath him that at last he moved, hands rising from her thighs to fall upon her heavy breasts, his mouth falling to tenderly kiss her throat as his thick cock spread her lips and slid into her steaming cunt. Quickly he shifted until his cock could strike the places his tongue had already found, firmly massaging her tits and gently pinching her nipples as he began to fuck her deep and hard.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

She knew not whether it was long years of strict training or natural talent, but Dillen certainly knew how to use his tongue. Maybe he was not the greatest orator, but what he had performed between her legs was flawless, and she was soaking wet by the time he finally graced her with his rod of wonder, sliding into her without even a trace of effort or resistance. And almost immediately her salacious sighs and purrs transformed into audible moans. Now that was a royal treatment.

"Oh yes!" she exclaimed, as her arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him close, their left ears touching each other as his chin got to rest on her left shoulder and her breasts were smashed against his muscular chest. She lifted her legs, wrapped them around his hip and crossed her calves behind him, her heels digging into his muscular buttocks every time he pushed forward and she amplified his thrust with a strong pull of her thighs. "Oh yes ... take me ... fuck me ... fill me!"
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

She held him so tightly that it was nearly impossible for him to kiss her or massage her breasts, his hands quickly falling upon either side of her for support. And so Dillen turned his entire focus towards the dripping cunt around his cock, his every thrust becoming harder. Within only a few strokes she was taking his entire prick to the hilt, his heavy balls falling against her taut ass as he fucked her. The slave's breaths became rougher, his quiet grunts and groans forming a lewd harmony with her hungry demands.

Briefly he paused, his hands shifting until they had a firm grip upon the mattress and sheets beneath them, only to suddenly slam into her with all of his strength behind it. Her cries spurred him forward, gave him the courage to move faster and harder. The strong legs wrapped around him made him move even faster, until it seemed as though a lesser woman might shatter beneath the steel flesh of his cock. His head finally twisted enough for his mouth to fall upon her ear, licking and nibbling at the sensitive skin.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

The frantic primal drilling Verialyn received was too much, the staccato rate at which Dillen’s swollen manhood stretched her to the limit and retreated again, only to return with a vengeance inexorably driving her closer to her climax as she held him in her tight embrace, enjoying the intense feeling of his skim rubbing against hers, the heat of his body radiating out in such intimate proximity. And so she neither wanted to nor could hold back any longer, exploding into a kaleidoscope of passion.

Her head shot back, her back arching to the limit, lifting both of them an inch off the mattress as the muscles in her thighs flexed even stronger, following the pressing urge to have him continue filling her, each of his thrusts, amplified by the strength of her legs, allowing her to ride those wonderful waves of pleasure for a bit longer, drawing out those moments of bliss before they would eventually fade. And despite her best attempts fade they did eventually, leaving a satisfied warm glow in her stomach as her whole body relaxed, her back sinking back into the soft embrace of the sheets, and her legs no longer forced her own will onto the movements of her lover. A happy smile replaced the contorted expression of pleasure on her face as she observed Dillen’s progress.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

By the time awareness returned to her Dillen's rapid, unceasing violation of her hungry body had somehow become even more brutal, the purest and basest of urges driving him forward to claim every inch of her body. It was no more then a few moments after she had fallen back against the bed that his entire weight was suddenly upon her, her heavy breasts squeezed tightly against his thick chest as his entire body shook. A deep groan echoed through the room as his entire length was buried inside her, his hips still pressing forward as though trying to force even more of himself into her, heat filling her core as his seed exploded into her. Seemingly endless jets of sperm flooded her tight passage, small amounts slipping out of her to stain their intertwined thighs.

There was a moment of silence before Dillen lifted himself off of her, shifting himself until he could look into her eyes with a dazed, lustful expression. Yet there was still awareness in his eyes as he silently questioned her, the thick meat buried within her only slowly softening.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

What Dillen saw when he looked down into Verialyn's face was a satisfied smile beaming back at him. "That was very nice of you" she finally spoke, the muscles lining her intimate tunnel contracting around his manhood still embedded inside it for emphasis. "Please stay in me for a moment longer, that feels good."

Verialyn was completely relaxed now, arms loosely draped next to her while her legs had given up their firm grip on the man's hips and dropped apart into a medium spread position pointing away from Dillen's lower body who still pinned her so deliciously to the ground.

After another moment of silence she added "I hope I have not been too demanding and you found some pleasure in this as well." It was more a way of expressing her concern than anything, if she judged the glowing eyes that stared down into her correctly the answer was obvious. Still, in the aftermath of the act some minor doubts began to nag. He had expressed feelings for that other slave, did he enjoy to lie with other women than the one he loved?
 
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The slave nodded silently above her, briefly unable to speak or do anything beyond draw in shuddering breaths. After a few moments his breathing slowed, returned to normal, and he finally managed to answer her. "It was my pleasure, miss," he said quietly, his eyes briefly closing as he shifted slightly, just enough to take some of his weight onto his arms to avoid crushing her beneath him. She could sense some hesitation in the words, a bit of obligation as he said what he needed to, and yet there was something genuine in his eyes. Not love, but certainly something far closer to it then he had given any of the other noble women he'd been made to lie with.

His meat moved slightly inside her as he shifted, the stiffness buried in her cunt slowly beginning to wilt. Yet he opened his eyes and looked down at her, the question in his eyes. "Is there anything else I can do for-" His words were interrupted by a quiet chiming that echoed through the house, his body instinctively stiffening before it slowly relaxed again. "That is the early dinner bell," he explained. "It sounds fifteen minutes before the meal itself, to give guests the time they need to prepare."
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

"Preparing as in extracting themselves from the gorgeous and skilled bedmates they are entangled with?" Verialyn replied with a grin as she waited for Dillen's withdrawal, although not particularly eagerly so. "Yes, I fear that is what I'll have to do next. And oh ..." her expression became more serious as her hands reached up behind her neck to undo the clasp of the slave collar she still wore, causing her ample breasts to rise in the process. Finallly done one hand lifted the neckpiece, dangling from between her thumb and index finger. "You better take that back, or you might get into trouble if you are seen wiithout."

Still her concerns were nagging her, and she had to voice them, on the danger of ruining ... what exactly she knew not. Looking up into his eyes earnestly she finally molded them into words "You don't particularly like to lie with other women than that one girl you told me about, do you?"
 
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The faint sound of the collar being removed seemed to startle Dillen, the last remnants of the sexual fog in his mind rapidly vanishing. Moving slowly he finally rose, his softening cock pulling free of her covered in both of their lust. Carefully he rose up to his knees, taking the collar from her hand and quickly replacing it upon his own throat, hiding once more the paler ring of skin where it had sat for so long, before climbing entirely off of her and onto the floor, hands automatically falling to his sides as he awaited either an order or a dismissal.

When her question came he lowered his eyes from hers, his gaze falling to the floor and remaining there for some time. "We...we are not," he began, fell silent, plainly uncomfortable as the conversation began to enter apparently forbidden territory. Verialyn knew that different cultures had different opinions on love or marriage among the slaves, some ignoring it while others made sure it came to an end as soon as possible. From the rapid shift in Dillen's mood, it seemed that the city of Ael Morish, or at least Xorien ro Quaric, leaned towards the latter. But eventually he spoke, even if he was hesitant to do so. "It is...a task I would prefer not to perform, miss," he said slowly. "We are...very fond of each other, and it is...difficult. But we are slaves, and so we must do as our master wishes."

He was silent for a moment before quickly moving to the side, recovering the dress that she had chosen earlier. "Do you require any assistance in getting changed, miss?" he asked politely, obviously trying to change the subject.
 
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"That would be nice, but give me a moment" Verialyn had left the bed as well and was standing next to the small cabinet at the wall, atop which some other servant had placed a flat bowl, a canteen with water and a few pieces of washcloth to allow the rooms resident some quick acts of bodily hygiene without the long trek to the sumptuous bath. Already she had dipped one of the cloths into the water and lifted her right leg, planting the food on the edge of the cabinet's surface to allow her left hand easy access when cleaning out her spread folds.

In the silence that followed, only interrupted from the slight sounds of wet skin, she mustered Dillen and considered the discomfort her questions had caused. Once again images of Merea flashed through her mind, mingling with the memory of the most recent events, and a helpless sadness began to take hold of her. But this time she did not allow it to consume her, to the contrary, in these seconds she reached a decision.

She would not be able to abolish slavery, not even in Ael Morish. But she would not look away and do nothing. One of the worst slave keepers, it seemed, was Xorien ro Quaric, and she had been given an opening. The best way to beat your enemy is to become his friend. That old wisdom from the long forgotten writings of the great strategist Hugaril held as true as ever, and fortunately she had not blown that chance yet. Had this idea already lingered inside her when she accepted his invitation to dinner despite planning to leave his employ? It did not matter, she would stay. She would watch and learn, do her best to become his most trusted servant. And hopefully the right moment would come to strike. To replace the cruel Xorien as head of his trade empire. And make life better for at least some in the process. While also benefitting herself, which made the prospect all the sweeter.

Clean now she discarded the wet cloth and lowered her foot back to the ground, turning to face Dillen. "Now I am ready" she finally spoke, the double meaning of that sentence only known to her.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

Dillen was silent as she cleaned herself, respectfully bowing his head to avoid watching her even if the act seemed ridiculous after what they had just done. Waiting patiently by the bed it wasn't until she spoke that he looked up and nodded, quickly approaching her with the dress neatly hanging over one arm. The slave seemed to have performed this task before as well; despite her unfamiliarity with the particulars of the gown, he was quickly able to get her laced in. The chest was indeed tight around her, but he was able to loosen the laces slightly so that it was comfortable enough, even if too vigorous a movement would threaten to reveal her assets. On one side the skirt came to only a few inches below her waist, modesty protected by a pair of small, silken smallclothes, while the skirt descended down her other leg until it was just above her ankle. The shoes were a pair of high heeled sandals, with thin ribbons tied up to her knee.

When everything was tied and ready Dillen took a step back, opening up a closet door to reveal the mirror upon the back for her inspection. Unfortunately there wasn't much time left; the dinner bell was likely to ring within the next few minutes, if she intended to show up to the meal on time. "Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?"

Even within the room, she could hear movement within and outside the manor. Through the window the sounds of carriages and horses could be heard, other people arriving for dinner. Male and female voices greeted each other and laughed, though she could make out few details about any of the voices or words.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

Verialyn soon realized that with such an intricate gown her best course of action was to assist the experienced Dillen where necessary, and otherwise just stand still and watch as he went about his business, his practices hands traversing her body, tying or loosening laces, until finally the exquisite blue affair hugged her like a second skin. In some parts it felt quite tight, but in particular the constant threat of having her mammaries slip from their confines was both frightening and thrilling. Mostly thrilling in her case, actually. The only aspect that really did disturbed her was that she had to wear underwear, something she usually skipped as such had the tendency to show through tight fitting clothes. She trusted Dillen’s judgment, though, at least for tonight.

“Maybe you could show me the way to the diner hall, unless you think it is not appropriate for you to do so.” Verialyn replied just as the sound of the arriving carriages carried into the room through the window. Likely she would make some acquaintances tonight. Ideally some that might prove helpful in the future if she could lure them just the right way. She began to slowly stride towards the door, careful not to use a quicker pace until she was more accustomed with her new dress. As her hand reached for the door handle she halted for a moment, and considered Dillen for a few silent moments before she inquired “If you want to you could give me the name and a description of that one woman you are fond of. Maybe that can be helpful.” Verialyn was vague as she herself did not know yet how to aid the pair, but her serious expression made it apparent that she had no ill intentions.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

The underwear had been designed carefully; looking at herself in the mirror she could see no trace of it beneath the dress, save for a flash of it if she accidentally opened her legs too wide or took too broad a step. A bit of practice, and a few words of quiet advice, soon made such incidents a thing of the past.

It seemed that Dillen was growing to trust her, far more than he ever trusted any of his master's other guests. "Her name is Syl, Mistress. She is of the Nores tribes, the nomads who travel the desert far east of the city; dark of hair and skin, and a head shorter then most others," he explained, a faintly far away look appearing in his eyes. It was plain he wanted to say more, wanted to further describe the girl he was so stricken with, but a faint shake of the head brought him back to reality. "If you would follow me, mistress," he said with a polite bow as the door opened, once more the embodiment of obedience and courtesy now that they were no longer in private.


They hadn't been walking long before the slave stopped before a set of double doors, opening them for her and then stepping aside to let her pass, his head bowed submissively towards her. Verialyn had been able to hear the growing buzz of conversation as they passed through the halls, but unable to make out any of the words until the doors finally opened. The dining room was a truly massive room; if her bedroom could have purchased a peasant's house, this room would have bought an entire village. The room was dominated by an enormous table running down the length of the room, though only one end of it was prepared for what looked like eight diners. Huge chandeliers lit the room with hundreds of candles, large windows letting in the light of the slowly setting sun. The light glinted off of the numerous statues and sculptures scattered around the room, the bronze polished to a deep shine.

The conversation briefly died as the doors opened and heads turned towards her but Xorien, the massively fat man dressed in elaborate, golden robes, smiled broadly and motioned for her to approach. "Ah, come in Miss Kallidis. This is the young woman I was telling you about, who managed to take care of that unpleasant business with the Azdak's for me." The introductions were quick, Verialyn able to exchange no more than a few words with each of the other guests before being shown off to the next one.

The first of the guests was Magistrate Josef Mirade; the man seemed to be in his seventies or so, neatly dressed in what appeared to be a stripped down version of ceremonial robes and looking at the world through a pair of tiny spectacles perched upon his nose. There was a bit of a faraway look in his eyes, a distance that suggested his mind wasn't entirely present at the gathering.

Erveth ro Storec and his wife Penni were fellow merchants and business partners, both of them looking to be in their forties. Erveth shared the olive skin of their host, though there was much less of it, while his wife had a much paler, lighter complexion that spoke of high mountains and frigid climes. Erveth did little more then nod politely while Penni immediately began complimenting Verialyn on her dress, and how lovely it was to meet newcomers to the city, and wherever did she get her hair done, and how she would be ever so interested to hear all about her travels, and everything else that leaped into the woman's head.

Madame Leille Torona was far more reserved, smiling slightly and nodding politely when she was introduced. Xorien described her as the owner of several inns across the city, but Verialyn knew of only one profession that made a habit of using 'Madame' as an honorific.

The final guest was a young man, looking to be just out of his twenties, who wore a simple white tunic and trousers that made him look out of place among the richly dressed guests. Yet the introduction, the simple title of Prophet of the East Quarter instead of a name, revealed him to be a religious leader, as did the large golden medallion about his neck, the only ornament he wore. The design upon the medal was that of a sword piercing the chest of some sort of creature, flame and smoke obscuring its features.
 
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Verialyn was fully alert the moment she stepped into the large dining hall. The room was massive and impressive in its splendor, but maybe it was because she was by now used to the lavish way Xorien lived and decorated his home that she could keep the wandering of her eyes over the exquisite ornamentation and art on exhibit to a minimum, and instead focus on the guests present.

An illustrious group it was indeed, covering a broader spectrum of the cities population, and of higher individual significance than she had expected even knowing her employer’s wealth. Consequently she did her best to be at her most charming and pleasant behavior, avoiding any cheap sensual innuendos for now. If any of the guests would want more than conversation from her, it was upon them to initiate such. That would give her a better bargaining position, and a good bargaining position with any of these could be very valuable in the future.

The most interesting, certainly, was the magistrate, because of the legal power he represented. From what little impressions she had gathered about the cities political system the leading governmental body was under the sway of the rich and powerful, but maybe she could pave the way to do her own swaying in the future. If only she could better interpret his absent mindedness. Was it mere boredom, or an age induced decline of his mental capacities.

The ro Storec’s, and mostly the ever chatty Penni, likely were the most demanding test of her good manners. How did that woman even manage to breathe between the flood of words gushing from her mouth. Add to that that she could offer little in the way of satisfying answers. A Well, one of Xorien’s slaves picked the dress after he fucked me, and that haircut is just coincidence just would not do it, so she politely tried to skirt the issue.

Madame Torona was a far more pleasant conversationalist, even in the view brief sentences they exchanged. The only disturbing item was how she was mustered by the madam, almost as if she was evaluated as a future employee. After that Verialyn would not be surprised if just such an offer – discreet of course - came before the end of the day.

And lastly the prophet. Here she was at a complete loss. She knew nothing of his religion, its tenets and importance, and the young man’s relevance for her plans. Like with Magistrate Mirade she would have to try and learn as much about him as possible during the meal.

Speaking of which, she would have little choice but to run with the flow of the ceremony, but given any choice she would try to get a seat close to those two men – and as far away from Penni ro Storec as possible.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

The simple conversation and meaningless pleasantries continued for a few more moments before a hidden bell began to ring, soft and melodious. "Well then, shall we?" Xorien asked with a smile, motioning for his guests to sit down at one end of the table, already set for the diners. If there was a logic to the seating arrangements it seemed instinctual to the others and completely meaningless to Verialyn. The eight available seats were set with four on either side of the table. One one side Erveth ro Storec sat at the end of the table with his wife next to him, followed by their voluminous host and the mysterious Prophet. On the other side the seat closest to the end was left empty despite the full table setting laid out. Madame Torona took the next seat across from Penni with Magistrate Mirade next to her, Verialyn taking the final seat beside the Magistrate and across from the Prophet.

Almost as soon as they were all seated a group of slaves emerged from a side door, alternating male and female, each of them in nothing but the loincloth and thick leather collar. They moved quickly and quietly, the other diners seeming to completely ignore their presence; perhaps they were so used to the slaves being there that they no longer even noticed their existence. Certainly none of them offered thanks as two glasses were set in front of each of them, one of ice water and one of a red wine with a rich, robust aroma. Strangely a pair of glasses were also set down at the empty seat, though none of the others seemed to find it unusual.

Already Penni was chattering incessantly about the wine and the absolutely perfect decorations, was that a genuine Stilbond, it looked genuine but there were so many fakes running around- Xorien seemed more then happy to indulge her questions, while at the other end Erveth and Torona had begun a conversation of their own. Mirade seemed to be enthralled by something within his own head, but the Prophet was watching Verialyn with a bit of curiosity, smiling softly as he studied her. "Xorien does not typically grace his employees with an invitation to dinner," he said in a calm, gentle voice. "He must have taken quiet a shine to you."
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

The term ‘dining defensively’ likely was coined that very evening, at least in Verialyn’s mind. Completely unfamiliar with the customs of Ael Morish she began by observation and imitation, listening as much as possible without forcing her speech onto anyone. She copied the slow, deliberate gestures with which the others ate, as well as the complete ignorance of the servants scurrying around them and serving them throughout the evening. Of the food she only partook modest amounts, as it instinctively seemed like the proper thing to do, matching the other females at the table. And she held back with overly revealing questions, like any referring to the mysterious eighth seat. She would get her answer to those later if she wanted. The one thing she was wracking her brain about all this time was how to involve the magistrate, who by a stroke of luck had been seated right next to her, into any form of engaging conversation.

Her musings were cut short by the prophet’s question, though, and she returned his gentle smile, mixing a small dose of abashment into it like someone would react who got an unexpected compliment and did not know how to cope with the sudden honor. It took her only a second to formulate a reply, though.

“I fear I can not answer that conclusively, as do not claim to know his motivations. You will have to ask him to get an answer to that” and with that she slightly inclined her chin towards Xorien, who was indeed sitting right next to the prophet. That was a good time to sneak in a question of herself, she hoped “But maybe you could tell me a bit about yourself and your faith instead. You have to excuse my ignorance as I am not in the city for too long, and your presence at this table indicates that you have a favorable relationship to Xorien.”
 
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Manners and etiquette seemed to be comparable to what she'd experienced before; knife, fork, and napkins were all used while tiny bowls of water sat beside each seat, evidently meant to clean off one's fingers if they became too sticky. The food was much what she expected; flavorful, rich dishes that varied from a light chicken and vegetable soup to a finely roasted duck, the skin perfectly crisped and covered in exquisite gravy.

Dinner in Ael Morish seemed to be a purely social affair. From the pieces of the others' conversations she could hear, the talk was focused upon gossip, the arts, intellectual pursuits; anything except business and trade seemed to be on the table. The only sort of business she heard was Penni, whose attention span could be unfavorably compared to that of a five year old, asking Xorien where he had obtained some of the finer paintings upon his walls.

As for the magistrate, the majority of the topics seemed to bore him. The only flashes of interest came whenever the conversation turned to a more intellectual topic, such as the library being constructed beside the Academy, or the rumors of a new discovery having been made by a few local alchemists; something about capturing some lightning in a jar.

The Prophet smiled softly at her words, raising a placating hand. "It is no trouble at all; even within the city there are many who do not or choose not to understand our ways." He removed the golden medallion from around his neck, offering it to her for a better look. The engraved sword was highly stylized, curving, twisting sigils written into the hilt and blade. If one looked at it a certain way, the sigils seemed to form a face, eyes staring balefully at the strange creature the blade was striking. The creature itself was far more obscured, nothing but a dim outline of some twisted, vaguely humanoid monster being struck down through the smoke and flame. Once it was in her hands she could feel something on the back, and turned it over to reveal a word carved into the back of the medallion. The language was unfamiliar, but the text was just like the scroll she had found in her room.

"I am of the Church of the Living Blade. The full story is quite lengthy, and I would not wish to bore you, but the short version is that the creator was severely weakened after forming the world, too weak to protect his world from the darkness that invaded it. It gave humanity a sword filled with the last of its strength, and for thousands of years humanity was untroubled by war or darkness. But the great evil, an entity we know only as Xidrun, invaded our world. Humanity was able to drive him back, but the battle shattered the Creator's sword. We believe that its fragments have been embedded in the souls of all mankind, and that the world shall only be saved from darkness when humanity as a whole is united in purpose and harmony, allowing the sword to be reforged once more."
 
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“A commendable goal” Indeed it was, and the smile she returned was sincere. Humans – or humanoids more generally - no longer struggling against each other, but cooperating for the better of everyone. An utopian ideal, certainly one worth strifing for, but not one likely to be realized any time soon. The humans themselves would have to change fundamentally before that would ever happen. She voiced that very thought “But you have a long way ahead of you …”

What cast a slight shadow of doubt on the sincere aspirations of the prophet, though, was his presence at this very table. For all she knew about him Verialyn sincerely doubted that Xorien was as keen on harmony and equality.

She wordlessly let her slender fingers trace over the vivid ornamentations of the amulet, feeling the slight rising wherever a sigil was placed, before flipping it over to have another look at the back. That mysterious language once again. Maybe this was an opportunity to learn more about it. “But what is written here?” she therefore inquired “And what language is it formulated in? I have never encountered it before.” She made sure the amulet was held such that not only the prophet but also the magistrate could see what she was referring to. Maybe this language was one of the topics that did interest him?
 
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There was a flicker of interest in the magistrate's eyes as he turned slightly, his eyes immediately falling upon the medallion, but the interest seemed to die when he saw the marks she was speaking of. The Prophet smiled slightly and extended a hand towards her, his finger tracing out the unfamiliar letters as he spoke. "Only together can one find strength," he recited slowly, slowly enough that she noticed the pair of dots that seemed to take the place of a blank space in the writing. "It is one of the most common sayings in our faith. As for the language, it is Melidan, a very old language that is mostly only used by scholars or priests today."

"It is lesser Melidan," the magistrate suddenly said, his voice quiet and almost dusty. "The butchered and bastardized version that came about when priests decided that the original grammatical constructions must have been lost." His gaze didn't even flicker over to the Prophet, yet Verialyn could see the faint annoyance and exasperation suddenly coming from the young man. It felt like an old argument, an old enmity that had burned too long for it to have any real heat anymore. "Had they bothered to read their Bivilaqua they might have realized what fools they were being.

The Prophet was quiet for a moment before he smiled again, very slightly. "Well, there is always room for debate. But as it is long past, let us move on to something more current. May I ask what religion you follow, Miss Verialyn, if you will forgive my curiosity."
 
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Ahh great. On the plus side she had gotten the Magistrate to join the conversation. But that was all the plus to it. No matter what she said now she would likely offend at least one of them. And should she stay silent on the matter and try to smile the quarrels away the Magistrate would likely just categorize her as yet another of Xorien’s dumb playthings.

And the tricky questions kept coming. “I have to admit I am not an overly religious person.” In fact she was very wary whenever religion entered the picture. Seeing organized religion abused as a tool to control and incite the ignorant and easily impressed masses once too often could do that to a person. But that likely was not a suitable topic for dinner conversation. So instead she took the gamble and steered the conversation back to the previous topic, in the hope the prophet would not mind too much.

“What the two of you described has happened with Melidan seems to be a common theme among the languages of old. Hardly any of them are able to keep their rigid structure over centuries of use. It is the same with Rydial.”

Memories came back of a life long gone, that of the sheltered daughter of a wealthy merchant who thought the study of Ancient Rydiallian Runes was a cornerstone of every smart girls education, more so that her beloved sword fighting lessons. How she had hated it. It had taken some time for her to appreciate the benefits that the study of that highly complex but near dead language brought her. For one there was the subtle training of her intellect, but the pivotal event had been on the day the expedition she was with had been stuck in that buried ancient temple, and they likely would not have found the way out and perished miserably if not for those runic symbols etched into one of the walls that looked strangely familiar. Knowledge truly is power, that was the lesson she had learned that day.

Back to the present she watched with a good dose of anxiety how her reply was received.
 
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The Prophet's small smile remained, his face and manner calm despite the faint signs of annoyance she could see in his face. While Mirade seemed to have a bit of animosity towards the Prophet, either professional or personal wasn't completely clear, the Prophet himself appeared more irritated then angry at the senior judge. He nodded slightly at her avoidance of the subject of her own religion, a touch of curiosity in his eyes, but whatever he was about to say was quickly cut off.

"Naturally there is evolution of form and structure," Mirade began, his voice starting to take on something of a lecturing tone. "But these changes take place over, as you said, centuries of use. It was an intellectual travesty to completely rewrite a language that had not been spoken for nearly a millenia but had been so thoroughly studied that translating it had become a triviality."

The Prophet appeared ready to say something, but it was clear that Mirade did not intend to stop so easily. Finally the young man sighed slightly and simply returned to his meal as the magistrate continued. "As for Rydial, many of the runic structures were unfortunately subjective in translation and meaning; dog and wolf use the same symbol, for example. Though I did not expect to find anyone who had made a study of Rydial to be found here tonight," the man continued, his old, tired eyes examining her with a new interest. The gaze briefly flicked down to her body as well, but more in the way one would examine a beautiful sculpture then a woman one intended to bed.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

"Ah the Dog Wolf Synonymity" Verialyn was trying her best to appear calm and unfazed as she frantically tried to dig up what she could out of the deepest recesses of her memory about that long dead language. Fortunately that one had been a pet peeve of her teacher back then as well. "As far as I know the scholars believe that was no shortcoming of the language but due to the fact that the ancient Rydiallians, advanced as they may have been, never tried to domesticate any wolves. Some even argue that this linguistic ambiguity can be considered proof of that very same fact."

Observing the Magistrate's reaction she seemed to have reached her goal of catching his attention, even if not with those of her attributes that usually did the trick. To safeguard against a potential future failure to delve deeper into the subject she followed that statement with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders, only to continue "But I fear I have not delved much deeper into this topic." This whole little debate was turning into one delicate balancing act of her trying not to offend either man.

"Coming back to Melidan though, if you will forgive my curious ignorance" With a smile and a nod to Mirade Verialyn once again turned to the prophet "I would like to hear the prophets thought on why that language's grammar has been so thoroughly reworked. That surely was no trivial task, and there must have been some reason to it..."
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

"Melidan, excuse me, higher Melidan," the prophet began with an almost placating, almost condescending glance towards the magistrate, "was a language of warriors and conquerors. It was the dominant language of the time, but not at all suitable for religious or artistic writings. Religion has far more important messages then the visceral examination of every slain man. It required a complete restructuring of the way the language-"

"It required no such thing," Mirade snapped, glaring at the priest. "Merely another example of the priesthood destroying every bit of knowledge they come across in the name of their 'god,'" the last word dripping with undisguised contempt.

The prophet did his best to ignore the provocation, but Verialyn could see the faint twitch in his eye as he continued. "The language was too crude for the church's purposes, and so it was altered. Most of it was merely the repurposing of certain grammatical structures-" As he spoke Verialyn noticed Xorien's brief, vaguely annoyed glance at the two men. She could almost read his face, the I knew this would happen hanging upon his features. He rose a hand and gestured briefly at a pair of the slaves who were standing by the wall, waiting for any of the guests to request something. The two young girls nodded slightly and quickly approached the table.

The argument was briefly halted by the slave's arrival, the prophet and Mirade both pausing as the girls whispered quietly in their ears. Mirade seemed confused for a moment as his elderly mind caught up, but finally he nodded slightly while the prophet, a faint look of irritation flashing across his face, waved his girl away. The dismissed slave quickly returned to the wall while the other fell down upon her knees to crawl beneath the table, vanishing under the tablecloth. The slightly far-away expression on Mirade's face left little doubt what was occurring, but none of the other diners seemed to either notice or care. Already Xorien had returned to his casual flirting with Penni, a faint smile on his face.

"Well," the prophet said after a moment, "it really isn't the best topic for the dinner table." He was the only one who seemed to have any reaction to Mirade's acceptance of the offer, studiously avoiding looking at the old man.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

It took Verialyn some effort to refrain from raising an eyebrow at the most recent developments. The Magistrate's casual acceptance of the girl's lips under the table had surprised her, but it was also valuable information, as was the whole scene and the guest's reaction to it. So Mirande's libido was still active, if not as dominant. Maybe an avenue for a future approach, and definitely something to keep in mind.

"No, it seems it really is not" she replied to the only conversation partner left, dropping the topic. "It seems I got carried away by my curiosity." Her smile indicated that she did not truly regret that detour. It may have ended in controversy, but it still was more interesting than meaningless small talk, and she was not afraid to show that.

"But maybe you could satiate my curiosity in another aspect?" finally Verialyn continued. "Would you mind telling me how you got to know our host?" As she asked that question she closely observed Xorien himself, who sat right next to the prophet. Had he listened in on their conversation, and if yes, how would he react.
 
RE: Journeys of a Demon's Daughter

Whatever Mirade might have to say about the priest's presence at the dinner table was completely lost; he was almost motionless, occasionally rising a bit of food mechanically to his mouth while his eyes stared glassily at something a million miles away. Occasionally a faint grunt could be heard from him, but the rest of the guests seemed content to completely ignore what was happening.

The prophet seemed a bit relieved that the argument had ended, even if the action beneath the table was making him uncomfortable, and he managed a small smile as she asked about him and Xorien. "Master ro Quaric is a great contributor to our faith. Many of his employees within the city itself come from my parish, and we have often had occasion to discuss ways that he may tend to his employee's spiritual needs."

Xorien himself did appear to have noticed the conversational turn; he was still nodding politely as Penni chattered away about whether yellow or dark yellow would be in fashion this year, but there was a slight tension in his shoulders as the prophet gave his answer. It wasn't until the prophet finished that Xorien relaxed, suggesting that perhaps green would make a reappearance.

"It would be an honor if you were to join us one evening," the prophet continued, smiling warmly at her. "Our next service is tomorrow evening, if you have an interest."
 
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