Fantasy Faith and Fealty [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

“Prince Benedict!”

“Benedict the Bastard!”

“Have you heard of Benedict, come seeking his noble father…?”

“Have you heard of the King’s bastard?”

“Have you heard…?”​

Whispers followed the entertainer, stirred by Ishara who had easily found her way into the kingdom of Staunton where King Edwin had but a single daughter acknowledged as his child, and a kingdom restless with the thought of a neighboring prince taking the reins when she married. Coincidentally, a wandering entertainer ended up in town, seeking his noble father. It was too perfect.

It was too easy to start a rumor, and too easily believed. Benedict shared traits with the King, but then again, human traits didn’t vary much. People mostly looked to eye color and hair color, after all, and there were only so many shades.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, for Benedict his traits were unusual enough that the rumor did, well and truly, stick. Light hair, and such curious eyes – he looked more the heir than the princess did.

So, this time, Ishara decided she would not be satisfied with a simple rumor.

This time, she decided to help with a change in management, for no other reason than it would be something new to start a coup on this level, but to do that, she would need more. The world remained firmly in the hands of men – sadly for the poor princess who was little more than a brood mare. The power that Ishara had meant little when men only cared if you had a cock swinging between your legs, and while she could shift appearance to be that of a man, she did derive a twisted sense of pleasure from fucking them over (and not in the way they liked) in the guise of a woman.

That meant she needed an escort of sorts, and while she could likely steal away any noble she wanted with a bat of her eyelashes, she wanted something more. Something that she could truly offer to aid the effort, and without the tedious games of seduction.

So, after a bit of shopping for male finery, mostly hues of green to match her own dress she intended to wear to the revelry, Ishara returned to the inn she had been staying at and took off the bracelet that always rested against her pulse. There was a clear quartz, although if one looked closely, one might notice that there was color within it – there was something within it, crystallized, shrunk.

She set it on the bed.

“Cicledu, ad esbma bnubucedis.”

Enochian still grated on her ears, even when her own voice brought it to life. It was not the same as the voice that used to speak it. It did not contain the same notes, the pitch was wrong, the intonation lacking – but, nonetheless, it worked, despite all that.

The right words had power.

The right names had power, and she had known them all, once upon a time. Tatters of that former knowledge remained to the former Cherubim, but enough.

Enough for the crystal to melt as if it had been ice and the words to pulse life into the sleeping knight, allowing his former size and glory to return to him.

He hadn’t aged a day since she froze him, still that young man with such an innocent face and dark hair. He likely looked younger than he was, but Ishara had stopped trying to guess human ages a long time ago.

She would like the same, despite the years, she had not taken on a different form than that of the wisp of a woman with copper hair, and a constantly amused quirk to her lips, which she couldn’t help but wear even then as thoughts played through her head of how dear Edric was going to take his new situation.

The demoness approached him once he had returned to form and leaned over his prone form to stretch out a hand to touch his cheek, “Wake up, dear knight,” she cooed, keeping the laughter out of the gentle tone, even if she couldn’t hide it from her expression, “Wake up, it’s time you repaid me at last,” not that he’d have any idea of how long it had been.

Another fun surprise for him.

She was quite excited to introduce him to this world, even if it seemed so little had changed.

It was at least better than Hell.

It did change.

 

[Ulyee]

A dull darkness was all he felt. For months, perhaps years, a dull darkness that occasionally was shone a few shades brighter or darker. A light pulse, a wave of sorts that ebbed and flowed. He could sense some emotions there in, a quickened pulse or short calm, but he had little thoughts of his own. Simply a lasting warmth in knowing his peoples were saved, and a dutiful calm that kept him satiated. If he had a thought there in, he might have believed it to be heaven.

But a few words, and the whim of his would be suzerain, threw him from his prismatic pen and to the floor there after. Set to purpose once more.
He heaved a heavy breath, gasping out with a hand pulling to his neck. His eyes lay winced shut, his innocent face twisted to a confused sneer. His buckled armor, still pristine, shifted and scraped together, the weight of it all adding to the frustration. It was not so much pain that threw him into hysterics, but a lack of understanding. So much time had passed in that unmoving crystal, it took his memory time to remember to breathe, to think. His eyes shot open, as his ears had detected something above him. And at once he calmed, and settled.

As his eyes fell on the demon's, the thing that trapped him- likely pulled him from salvation all together- he calmed. His breath hitched down, his grasping hand unclenched from his neck, "Ishara?" It was a level of trust, some odd form of duty. A calm, care, and duty no human should have for such a beast.

Like a clock in reverse, he realized what she had said, and strain again came to the armor as he attempted to stand. "At once, my lady." He said, while still stuck on the ground. He attempted to stand, getting to a single knee before finding his breath abandoning him. All the while his eyes lingered to her own, as if in pleasant disbelief. "What-" He muttered before dragging his leg forward stomping it to the ground to leverage his body up. "What task may I have the honor of completing for you?"


He did not know whether he sat in hell, nor when in time he was at all. Nor did he know of his peoples or how they fared. Gods bellow, he didn't even know how to walk again. But the first and only thing on his mind was his duty.


------


On the edge of the vast palace city, within a large meeting hall usually reserved for the city's merchants, hundreds of hands went to work. The lot of them set up various tables, ensuring fixtures and tapestries were aligned and right. All the while, just beside the grand room, a dozen or more fires were set ablaze and twice as many cooks set to their tasks. It was a grand operation anyone would be proud of. Benedict Bailey, a bastard, estranged from his family entire, and good for nothing since birth, had found himself a life, a job, and a home.

For a bastard to achieve half of this work in a lifetime, to be rubbing elbows with nobles and garnering their respect- it was a monumental achievement. And he was revered for that, all the more to his benefit and pride.

He stalked the kitchens and the ballroom, ever quick to chastise and lambast his workers and servants. Fairly, if not bombastically.

"GODS! LOOK AT THIS!" He exclaimed, yanking off a table cloth, "Stained, and right in the middle-'' he threw it to the floor, swiftly solving the problem, "Take a few satin cloths from the front and vary the patterns here. Swiftly."

He found his way to the open floor to the front of the venue, gazing over all the various moving parts. Taking a moment to admire all he had done and accomplished. And a month ago he might have lived his life happy with it. No doubt as of now he would marry some lesser noble, perhaps retire in a keep and father a dozen or more children. He had disproved everyone wrong, had found a place to live and thrive- without father or mother or family entire. He coveted that new name of Bailey, and thought on it in these hours leading to the feast.

But all too quickly those rumors took hold of his thoughts. And more than rumor, his own thoughts had led him to that conclusion in these last years. He had in him pride and ego and all the makings of a would-be-noble. The whispers of worry from his patrons over the princess marrying some foreign king, the lust for power that lead him this far in his life, and the real possibility of his parentage. It all dangerously swirled in his mind.

But he had no proof, and had such a beautiful life as of yet. Why risk life and limb and the kingdom that had so kindly accepted him? Surely ambition has its limits? And it was then he decided, there stalking the ballroom for imperfections, that he would abandon the idea. He made up his mind as he so rarely did. He instead would look for a lesser house to befriend, perhaps begin courting some fine noblewoman. Or perhaps he would take some time away from his labors and sponsor a traveling caravan, much like the one that brought him here.

All such hope, though he didn't know it, would be dashed that night in that ballroom. For all of his ambition and ego and lust lay contained by a simple obstacle. No one had any proof. very likely there would be none.
Unfortunately for all, a sort of woman would bring to him a sort of truth.
And plunge the kingdom into chaos untold.

 

[Lucyfer]

The young knight was at a loss, but that was no surprise. Ishara had never done something like this to another, but who would not be out of sorts when returning to the real world? She did not think the crystalline life had been torturous. It had not been the intent, at any rate, to send Edric to a hell of her own making. That would not endear him to her when he returned to life, even if she could have played at ‘rescuing’ him from that hell.

If he wanted to return to it, such a desire did not show when his eyes rested on hers, and he calmed. It was almost laughable; the one who ought to fear her most was suddenly at peace as soon as he saw her.

It was enough to soften the sharpness of her amusement, and she sat back upon the floor, leaning away from him, withdrawing her touch, so he could try to regroup and kneel properly. “Shh, take your time, dear heart,” she said, unable to help the chuckle, “you have been without true sensation for a while, and we are not in a rush.”

A bit of one, but certainly by evening he’d have his bearings.

Her eyes followed Edric as he continued his rise, staying on the ground and wondering how long it might take him to consider the impropriety of his height. For that reason alone, she stayed. “We are going to a feast, my sweet, to meet the man I want you to protect until he has ascended to the throne of this kingdom – Staunton,” she introduced the duty to him, “Once he has the throne, you will be released from your duty to me.”

The simple favor, completed.

It could last days, it could last years.

Only time would tell.

“I’ve purchased clothing better suited to our environment for you, I think I’ve recalled your size, but it has been some time since I’ve seen you,” she placed her hands on the ground and leaned back into her palms, starting to think she might have purchased them a bit too large.

Well, that was better than too small, at any rate. “Mmm…perhaps I did misremember. You were such a large presence in my mind for so long,” she sighed, the lie of longing mingling too well with the truth of longing – although it was that constant, ambiguous longing with no known answer.

 

[Ulyee]

As fast as he seemed to push himself, she furthered his world a great deal on her own. At once he knew himself to be of use to the thing that saved his home, and to be sent to be of use to another- some would be king in waiting. His struggles and pain subsided with her cooing and calming, each word of her's seeming to enact some physical response from him. As if one could see the strings attached to his limbs.


The knight, so filled with newness and strange sensation, had yet to realize his improper position- had he yet still been in the time of his birth he might have taken ten paces back or more from his liege. Instead he towered over gracefully bent frame, gazing down with a blank, soft face.


He dared not speak, or ask of his suzerain, but a few bodily tells shone over him as she spoke of being released from duty. His ears shifted lightly, his jaw clutched ever so slightly tighter, and his eyes widened. Fear was the emotion if she could remember his signs well enough.
In their dealings, during that final battle, and there after in the crystal he believed to be at the very end of his life. He truly had expected to die, and that was accepted hundreds of years ago. And now, in a moment, that was proven to be false- and further still that purpose that had warmed him in that crystal broke. It was more of a shock then any other, and it weakened him in a way he had never known possible.

And all of that went unsaid and scarfed back down, as he had always done. Fear or question or anything else was eschewed for the sake of his duty. And a few hundred years made no difference there. He only spoke there in, after a long moment's silence.

"I shall endeavor to serve you as ever I can." an empty platitude by any other knight, but his tone and his eyes proved just how genuine it was. And then they swiftly broke and fled, as he only just then realized the proximity of his would be suzerain, and his cod piece.

As she reclined back, he sunk back down onto his knee, his movements refined if not still a tiny bit shaky. "I thank you, my lady-" Using that title for the first time in so many years felt..right. Reaffirming against those odd feelings of fear, "Your estimation of my person and presence is gratifying. I shall mend the garments to suit my stature at once." He waited there though, his gaze shifting to the ground as custom would dictate. Waited for her word and command, a position he was trained nearly from birth to relish most of all.

 

[Lucyfer]

Edric asked no questions. Indeed, he simply accepted his role for what it was – his role. Just as he’d accepted his sacrifice, because it was what a good knight did – they put their life at stake for their cities. Ishara had forgotten what that was like. The people she interacted with were unfailingly selfish. She wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Despite having known him to be this way, she still expected that selfishness to show.

She still expected questions.

Doubts.

Terms.

Negotiations.

Instead, he agreed and he knelt, realizing his position. His eyes lowered, and he promised to mend the clothing, as if he had such talent. As if they had such time. Maybe he did have the talent – in truth, she didn’t know, but she reached out lightning quick, intent to grab his jaw and lift his head so he was looking at her.

“There is no time for mending, so adjust the garments how you must. If you cannot, tell me. It is not difficult to acquire new ones,” she would relax her grip, but not release, as a pitying smile touched her lips, “I’ll give you the room to change.” Perhaps it would have been amusing to stay, and see how he tried to hide.

Another day.

There would be plenty enough to torment him with such easy things as simply existing around his vulnerabilities. “I will be downstairs. Join me when you are ready, or if there are any issues. We are at an inn.” That should clear up some things about their situation.

With that, she would let him go and rise, extending her hand to bring him up if he thought to accept it.

 

[Ulyee]

It was her touch that again melted him past another point. All tells and worries were dulled into a single focus. Whatever his fears for the future might be, he had something he would have wished for all this long while. Purpose and a sovereign. Whatever they may be, it mattered so very little in such a moment.

Though his own sense of decorum and his relations with all prior ladys and nobles since then, had caused a heat to find his neck. Her forceful pull at his chin, those demanding, steadily softening eyes. It was something he not only couldn't protest do to his station, but something he wouldn't know how to process through any other terms. Steel turned to jelly there in.


And if all such things were not enough to unhorse the knight from every sense of direct, emotion, and comfort, the first hint of a clue as to their whereabouts was thrown out haphazardly. The poor, kind, knight was left with barely enough wit to respond at all.

"I understand, my lady." he returned his eyes to the floor, not noticing the offering hand. Only able to think to ask as she reached for the door, "Have you need of me, armed?"

 

[Lucyfer]

As soon as she let him go, he went to looking down again. ‘Well, this has to end.’ It wasn’t that Edric disregarded Ishara’s hand, it was simply that, well, there were several things he’d miss. Cues in expression and gestures, like he was missing right then. “My sweet, when have I ever had need of you armed?”

If anything, he had far more need of her with all her powers at her disposal.

“I do need you to learn to pay attention, though,” she couldn’t help the impish grin, “how are you going to see if I do need you, if you insist on looking at the ground and not me, hmm?” she put her hand to the door, “I’m sure that wood is very interesting, but you’re not going to learn anything by looking at it.”

She pulled the door open, “You’ll have food soon – we’ll be going to a feast, so I’m not going to spoil your appetite by bringing you any. If you are famished, simply dress quick,” she advised him, before she would leave him to the task of dressing and go to the lobby of the inn, where food and drink were being served, though entertainment had yet to truly set itself up.

Of course, the entertainment of the inn would pale in comparison to the entertainment not terribly far from its walls. Ishara would be amused if any was actually hired for that night, no matter how shoddy or cheap it was to buy it.

There’d be plenty enough when people began to circle back from the festivities.

 

[Ulyee]

And finally, set back all those years, their relationship continued properly. The single constant of his very brief service to her before his freezing were things of this nature. Catching up to the whims and needs of a demon.

Despite the ting of pain he felt at each noted infraction, it was the sort of thing that enthralled him- set his mind alight in a myriad of ways both during their talks and his service. He had only just begun to anticipate her, and now relished to opportunity to prove his ability to do so again.

His eyes adjusted to her own, locking quickly to her gaze after that rebuke. He withstood, with a nod and light bow aside to acknowledge his failings. Murmuring, "My Sovereign" as she left in quiet grace. And with a shut door, like the eye of a storm surging over, all went very still.

He set to his task with this strange dull feeling over him, unbuckling and laying by his armor there in. He realized, as he stripped down to his cloth undershirt and trousers, that his eyes had been drawn and stuck on the window. On doors and floorboards, he was trying to make sense of where he was. Guess at the origin of this cloth or that pattern.

He of course gained nothing more then faint sense or idea, eschewing thought for his task there in.

Heavy, slow, steps found their way into the lobby of the lightly bustling inn. And there, presented back to society, stood the becoming Edric. Black tights drew up from leather boots over heavy thighs. Hidden there under by an ill fitting but aptly dark blue colored tunic that shone more of his neckline and a hint of the scars of his chest. It might seem endearing to some nobles, a horrible breach of sumptuary laws to others.
His short brown hair, showing his service as a swordsman, hidden under a black short cap. He lacked adornment, no necklace or fineries- there in looking like a noble's squire, just returned from some far off war to greet his family. And the look in his eyes carried the same such feeling.

He seemed a species of fish exploring the various dips and dunes of a cloud. His eyes followed every corner with suspicion and curiosity, as if searching for creatures of a different sort. But humans, soft chatter in tones he could well enough understand, and smiles greeted him. He looked, truly, like a lost dog. Excited, if not overwhelmed.

 

[Lucyfer]

Ishara had easily found herself in conversation with the innkeeper. Given how long she had been present in the area, she’d gotten to know the family operation quite well, “…start needing more food in the future, my friend has finally arrived,” she hadn’t mentioned a friend, of course, hadn’t been certain she’d ever bring one, but now it was clear.

“Oh, I’ll look forward to meeting her!”

Ah. Her, of course, it wouldn’t be a male friend in a room with a single bed. Not that she used the bed, but the mortals didn’t need to know that. Well, she didn’t mind a little more scandal. The fact they didn’t consider what two women could get up to in a bed together as scandalous was really on them, anyways. “Him, actually. We’ve been friends quite a while, the poor dear has such high hopes, so I’ve come to help him meet people here,” she said.

There was the brief stir of an arrival, “And there he is – Edric! I thought I told him to wear green, though.” No, she thought she’d picked green out to match the dress, not blue. Had she picked too quickly? Likely, the place hadn’t been well-lit and she hadn’t spared it another glance to make sure. Pre-made clothes wasn’t the easiest thing to come by, anyways. “Come here, sweetling. This is Alan, the owner of the inn we’re staying at. Alan, this is Edric.”

Alan did seem a bit wary, a bit scandalized already, but all the same, he nodded in greeting, “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here, however long it is,” he noted.

“Thank you,” Ishara answered for him, “If you’ll excuse us, we do need to head to the party,” it was a bit early, but all the more reason. Edric was likely to be confused and keep looking like a lost puppy.

Best to get rid of as much of that as she could so he could actually seem a competent bodyguard to Benedict.

 

[Ulyee]

Those heavy steps continued on to the counter, a bit easier now that a 'friend' lay in sight. Thrown again into another unsuited task, he tried to follow tone and meaning to see what his liege might want said. She referred to him by friend, and Edric, no knightly title to speak of- perhaps he was to act a commoner?

"Yes, my great friend Ishara has told me good things of this inn." His best attempted, with words flowing out like the blunt edges of a golem. He held onto the kind 'sweetling' as some hidden double messaged praise, looking far too deeply into everything as he so often did in such social situations. He had little understanding enough as it is- in truth he was elated to hear his own tongue being spoken, as not to add further worry and confusion to the mix.

He, as in the room, slowly took hold of himself. Adjusting posture and eyes to some sort of focus. Though anyone looking for scandal might think it was not a century's sleep that distracted him, rather a lack of it over last nightfall.

He took his liege's leave, following close behind and shortly aside. He offered a few words, being told he should back in their room, "I believe the tunic to be ill fitted for my frame, kind liege. I apologize at my own inadequacies. I humbly ask to be allowed to seek out the local bizarre and seek remedy." Of course letting such a lost dog off leash so soon would simply lead to his being lost- not to mention the fact he had no coin or understanding of price to barter. And yet he happily would have jumped to spare his liege annoyance or effort of her own.

 

[Lucyfer]

Ought she to allow him to continue such pithy titles? To Ishara, the words meant little. Liege, sovereign – she was none of these things, but then, she did so enjoy pet names and terms of endearment, sprinkling them wherever she could with the ease of a practiced snake oil salesman. However, humans cared about these terms.

They had specific meaning.

And the ill-fitting tunic….

She gave him a sidelong look, wondering if it would be so terrible to have him go in that blue thing which was clearly made for a larger man. They had time, of course, but she still wanted to be there plenty early. “It is, I truly did forget how slight you were, there’s no need for you to apologize.”

He was quick to take blame and fault, wasn’t he?

“I doubt you’d find the market on your own without being late to meeting your true liege,” she offered that emphasis, “I rule no kingdoms, Edric, such a term is inappropriate. Benedict shall be your liege, but you will meet soon and understand. You can call me Ishara. Have we not been through enough to eschew the formalities, my dear?”

She touched his arm as she turned towards the market, “Come, I’ll let you find something else, but don’t dawdle. We don’t want to keep a king waiting.”

 

[Ulyee]

How quickly his direction shifted in her presence. At times with his other sovereigns and nobles, he could go a month or more without a further word or new order. But under her, he found himself endlessly correcting and shifting. Not unpleasant, for each new failure hinted at some victory and praise once fixed. That was what she had lacked most obviously of all, thus far to him. She refused to smack or strike when displeased. Though of course, he hardly knew of her practices.

"I-" he tried to keep up and powered through his confusion without betraying his clear need for questions, "I understand, Ishara. I will address my new liege as such, while retaining, secretly, my true allegiance to you." Still unable to fathom why the woman above him might ask formalities to be dropped- thus assuming it was some trick she had meant to play on this incumbent lord. Regardless he would stop addressing her as his noble owner. There was progress.

"Until such a time as he comes to power. Where in I shall owe my allegiance.." And there again that sweet look of confusion found his face, and he finally admitted defeat. Of course, outright asking the question would break some social tradition, and instead he simply let the note hang there.
Awaiting the right, to ask, to understand, what might follow next.

 

[Lucyfer]

Ishara. There it was! Edric changed quick. Ishara had liked that about him, in that brief time she’d known him. He adapted to whatever was desired. It was how she knew he’d adapt to these times, and these people. He would do anything to please her current whims. Was that what she had missed? ‘No, I have plenty of sycophants.’ Not many who could actually adapt well, though.

Though, Edric had yet to face a real test.

“Better,” she purred, not at all displeased he felt the need to add in where his allegiance would truly lay. She knew that. The contract wouldn’t allow him to break that, and she could just go and raze his homeland to the ground. Not that he would recognize it anymore, but all the same, it would still mean something to him.

“You’ll owe allegiance to yourself at that point, love,” she said, “you’ll be free to honor your own wishes and whims for once, for the rest of your life, however long or short you make it,” the spell binding them would be done with. He’d be free to age and grow as he saw fit at that point. “Won’t that be a novel thing? And you could even ask dear Benedict for favors to set yourself up to whatever life you desire.”

Whether it was granted would be another story, but he could dream.

Could he dream? That might actually be a question to ask him someday – whatever did he dream of? What life did he imagine?

Did freedom terrify him?

The market front became obvious, people mingling around stalls, the scent of food and perfume mixing in the air in a way that made Ishara want to gag, though of course, that thought was never betrayed on her face. She simply stopped breathing.

Air was only necessary to talk, and she could say enough by gesturing out wide for him to go forth and find what he desired.

 

[Ulyee]

The lightest hint of praise lifted his tone and appearance, not that he had reason to usher it. But so quickly that gratification faded, as talk again arose of his own freedom. That was a pit he had only scratched the surface of. And instead of addressing it, he set out quickly there after into the marketplace.

The scents, and sights and smells all overwhelmed but in a way that he adored. There was a sort of haze that it set in, perhaps there were simply too many things to understand any one thing properly. But it was the sort of thing he knew well since he was a child- a market, with products abounding. Quickly he thought of the first deep sea journey his father allowed him on, and the strange markets he found at each stop. He had been given his purpose the moment he awoke from that crystal, but this site gave him a touch of 'life' he had not known he missed.

And so the frame of the tall knight disappeared unto the crowd, easily seen popping from one tent to the next. Set out on his task and happily there in- though as usual a smile was beyond him. Soon enough, lightly sooner then expected, he had reappeared at the edge of the market nodding for Ishara to follow behind.

He lead her to a stall, adorned in fanciful tunics and jewelry. He had the vender, a squat man with curl hair, set aside two green tunics. One more plane with a deep embroidered red line across its belt, then other a fanciful green dotted with an assortment of flowers. Either fit a noble, but clearly defined 'Lesser' and 'Higher' between them.

The seller smiled, happy to see what he believed to be a wealthier patron, "Ah, the kind Lady, I had figured such a handsome rogue belonged to you. Now, flowers, surely you agree fit him better- but this one has no cloak, no necklace. tsk tsk tsk. Your servants need to be beautiful- like your horse no doubt is!" he exclaimed, setting out a box of cloak pins, "One of these, those flowers, and a cloak to match. A few pieces of gold, and he could stand aside a princess! Well worth it."

 

[Lucyfer]

Ishara never lost sight of Edric through the market. He was tall enough to follow, for one, but mostly, she just didn’t intend to lose him. So, she was never far behind, even if she didn’t venture as close to some of the stalls as he did. She was near enough when he seemed to have found one that he liked, and she ventured to meet the merchant who was obviously trying to swindle her with praise and talk of how grand his wares were.

Talk of how Edric could stand besides princesses in one.

Ishara knew well enough which was more fitting for a man of rank and nobility, but there was something to be said of simplicity. The question was, which suited her meeting more? Benedict was extravagant, but would he appreciate extravagance in kind, or want to stand out?

Ishara didn’t let the internal thoughts plague her expression as she chuckled at the commentary of rogue, and let her eyes dance over the cloak pin and other finery set out. A cloak! She almost laughed more at the thought of it, but refrained, the amusement simply sparkling in her eyes as she considered whoever could think this lamb a rogue.

Still, what was money to her?

“You’re quite right,” she agreed with the merchant, “and quite the eye for good accessories,” well, it did all match together, but that was his job, wasn’t it? “So long as it all fits, I do believe you have yourself a deal. As you can see, I quite failed to estimate what would be good for him on my own,” playing up ineptness wasn’t bad here; he’d think he had all the more advantage.

And he’d continue to see what he wanted to see, as she took her small purse from her side. The purse itself was normal, the contents within not so much. Enchanted sand, it melded together into whatever she needed, which in this case, would be the illusion of golden coins, “How much would it all be?” Obviously, the bag didn’t even look dented by what she drew out.

 

[Ulyee]

Comfortable in his place, sitting by while more enfranchised souls talked of him, Edric looked over the various fineries. A fleeting curiosity he had never fully realized, fashion and the like. Something highborn nobles obsessed over- while he quietly dotted over it.

"Ahhh, it is my business!" the merchant cooed and schmoozed, himself content with the thought he was swindling some lesser noble, "We all have eyes for our own things, my father gave me the eyes for this- And his father!" the round fella pulled the cloak and a lamb fashioned cloak pin from the lot, handing it to the young knight, "As she says, boy. In the back, see how it fits."

Swiftly grabbing up all the cloths, nodding to both the merchant and his mistress, Edric made for the hidden back of the tent, quietly elated that the flowery tunic was the one that was chosen.

The merchant, finally getting around to the question of money exclaimed, "The price? Normally, three gold pieces, and some silver. For you, for that kind boy? I say, two gold pieces and five copper. I can go down further, if you had another servant who needs some tights- maybe this one needs a necklace or something more, showey? Tell me this-" he followed up swiftly, trying to keep the momentum for the sake of the deal, "You're taking that one to the ball tonight? Maybe a scent for him- perfume? Though, with how that Benedict Bailey is, eh- maybe forget the tunic ah? hah!"

 

[Lucyfer]

As if the merchant had read her mind, he procured a lamb pin to fashion the cloak on with. Ishara let the smile grow a bit at that. Perhaps he did recognize his so-called rogue, after all. Much as he seemed to recognize some details about her – but then, who wasn’t going to Benedict’s party? If they were anyone, they were going to be there, with all the rumors flying about him.

Edric was dismissed rather curtly. The smile faded, just a touch, but she wouldn’t correct the merchant’s manners in addressing an extension of herself. No, she’d focus on what he knew. What he could offer, beyond these frivolous trinkets.

“Ah, no, no perfumes,” the market bothered her enough. The party was going to be full of its own scents, and of course, others wearing perfumes. It would make for an atrocious mix, “You are right that I am taking him to the ball, and have every intent of introducing him to Benedict,” Benedict’s proclivities were yet another rumor.

Would Edric have the same?

Well, that mattered little, unless it could be useful. Hopefully Benedict wasn’t that pathetic to be led by his dick.

“Do you know much of what Benedict likes, though? Or what is being said?” he gave a price, but she took five gold coins into hand and casually set them atop some of the nearby fabric. Obviously, nothing was worth what he was charging if he was willing to go so low for what Edric was charging, so five gold would be quite the advance.

 

[Ulyee]

The merchant, while clearly perceptive, shone himself plainly as five pieces of gold were placed down. His tone shifted to a less bubbly, more concise sort, "I know much of him, and most of what is being said- I work in the bizarre after all."

He set aside the cloak and the pin, sitting back to his chair, "He over indulges in wine, prefers the company of commoners to highborns, and-" he pauses for a moment, looking off to recollect, "Blues and purples are his color, I believe. What is being said however- That would take a day or more to say in full."

he began to fiddle with the various displays, as he continued, "The rumor is that he is a bastard of the king. Though this Benedict hails from lands far afield, and the king himself has never been known to partake in such flights of fancy. But-" The merchant shrugged, "What do you expect when the queen gives him no sons? The question is what Benedict himself knows. This is his first event since the rumors took hold, and no one has gotten a real answer from him-"

The merchant chuckles, "All else I know is a slave boy, who belonged to my late master's wife, said he preferred his bedfellows bearded. Not my guess, but eh, who can say with those types?"

He was cut off by a ruffle of cloth, and the reemergence of Edric. Dressed, at least, in something befitting him. The deep green shone well against his soft skin, the fanciful embroidery and light skirt of the tunic all displayed him well. Even his tights clung just that bit better to his bolstered thighs. His hair likewise was wetted and placed in such a way to conjure up the image of a nobleman- a young one but still a nobleman. It seems, at least when fashion was concerned , he had yet talent to spare and call back upon.

"Is this adequate, my- Ishara?" His stumbling shift between 'my lady' and 'Ishara' ending in a sort of half flirt as he stood there looking like an offered suitor.

 

[Lucyfer]

Ishara had suspected the commoners thing. Yet, it was not something she could do in such a public environment. The dress code itself forbade it, but she would have to hope Benedict would still be receptive.

Even if they eschewed his colors for those she preferred. Green went too well with her chosen looks, after all.

‘What he knows, and what he does, are separate matters.’ Ones Ishara knew too well. She had to push him to take a step that would lead to catastrophe, and ascend to the throne. Yet, it was that doubt, and the fact he had yet to make any moves, that did give her pause to wonder how much of a lost cause this was. If it was a lost cause.

Doubt was the constant plague of all demons, though.

She had learned to pushed through it and seek answers, not to let doubt destroy her in silence.

She did chuckle a bit at the comment of preferring beards, and while it could mean men generally, she knew poor Edric lacked one. By choice, or by genetics, in truth she did not know. Her knowing of him had not lasted long enough to be certain of his hygienic practices. Although, he did seem quite fine with the fashion choices made for him.

He was a pretty little doll to dress up, at least.

And had his words come from anyone else, Ishara would have indeed taken it for a flirt. Alas, they were from Edric – and she knew it was just his stumbling over new orders. Still, she couldn’t help the tease, “My Ishara is quite acceptable, as well,” she wondered if he would turn scarlet, before she moved on to give him no room to actually answer the statement, “It is more than adequate,” said more for the merchant, “We’ll take the attire.” She would need more normal clothes for Edric, but later, when they had time to dally for casual things. “I thank you for your assistance, good sir,” she inclined her head a bit to the merchant, to give Edric time to return to her side so they could leave together.

 

[Ulyee]

From the tent to pair went, Edric fastening his cloak as they entered the thoroughfare, predictably distracted by those prior words. Resolving, though worrying at the noted intimacy, to test out the phrase again. As he had devised it was either a joke she meant to play on him, or a true wish of her's.

With conviction he began, "My Ishara, I will be forever grateful for these many acts of kindness." The words themselves again causing him some sort of strange discomfort, but the kind knight carried through, "I will endeavor to repay every kindness and honor you have given me." as they brush through the slowly gathering crowds, he honestly and slightly sorrowfully exclaimed, "I pray I might begin to do so."

He would never say it outright, but the lasting fear he carried from their first meeting to their last, was that of a lack of ability. He had thought, at first, to simply be devoured by the thing. Sense enough to a knight, as demons are always depicted as hungry monster in need of fresh souls. But she had spared him, and taken him here to this strange place. She did seem to enjoy toying with him, but was that worth the effort it surely took to save a city? Sense could hardly find him on such matters. He held out hope for this would be king- that he might truly need a knight. And subtly within his own thoughts, lay a hope to impress. If he could not provide her a service, perhaps he could offer her pride, entertainment, something to look at?


"May you prefer to dine, before we reach the event?" He asked, uncharacteristically forward for such a usually tight lipped knight. It seemed to him that speaking allayed the mind's wandering. If not the eyes- who still continued to search the bizarre with that hushed wonderment and fear.

 

[Lucyfer]

Edric dove in head first with using the term, which did make her wonder at the way he thought of her. How could it be so positive? Or was he simply that stupidly devout? ‘Likely the latter.’ He’d been willing to offer everything to save his town, after all. It would be…interesting to see if he ever grew out of that, or if he’d simply find someone new to devote himself to when he was freed.

“It’s not a kindness, Edric,” Ishara found herself saying, some part of her wanting to be cruel – needing it, perhaps, as she fought not to question why Edric did things. “I simply cannot have you entering the party looking atrocious. My goals would not go far if you did. Plus, I paid the man in fake coins, there’s no real loss,” not that money was ever a real loss for her.

It was a form of power amongst humanity and so she used that, but it meant little to her.

The tone shifted, as if it had never been present. Sharpness returned to sweetness at the additional question, “Did you already forget I told you not to spoil your own appetite, sweetling?” she chuckled, “we’re going to a feast, there will be plenty for you to eat. Not so much for me,” she ate mortal food. It had a taste that she sometimes craved, but it didn’t actually satiate her, “but I am quite certain you wouldn’t wish to see me feast.”

It was playfully said, as much as it was terribly true.

There was something profane about eating a soul, even by her standards – but she had little choice in the matter, as a lion had little choice in eating a gazelle. Rent from heaven, but still heavenly made, she had to take the scraps of it by force from the soul.

Ishara intended to put the bazaar behind them, “You will eat soon, darling. The food may be a bit different, but I do not think you will find it terrible.”

 

[Ulyee]

Dutifully quiet, Edric walks along side, letting Ishara guide their steps. Finally his eyes had found some peace, now set to the road and peoples ahead. He assumed she had no need of his reply, as no noble lady would. But his stiffening neck at the yet new name of sweetling at least offered a response of a kind. He was trained to consider himself mute unless his sovereign demanded otherwise. A habit that usually had him receive praise and allure- and one that he didn't know to break.

Her mention of eating though, filled him with an all too quickly forgotten fear. Every step during their first encounter had been a terrifying one. Indeed, until the contract was struck and her powers turned to good, he had trembled in her shadow. But of course that painful and horrific ritual to summon her had primed him for such things. How hardly he could remember that day...

But as she walked, and talked, and helped, he found his service to her entirely wash that fear from his mind. And swiftly he forgot his curiosity, his preconceived notions of what she was. Not out of morals or reverence, but out of servitude. It became against his station to think on those things. But that short little joke... What did she look like when she dinned? What was it she did eat- if human then why was he yet alive? If not, then what could sate a demon?

And then a pivotal question that would last far longer then the first. 'What did she look like, truly?'

Regardless of it all, the knight resolved to avail himself of these things, as best as he could. For his eyes found a target, her form, and returned there anytime his mind would begin to wander.

------------


Now the ballroom was in full bloom. Music played throughout, setting the rhythm for a gaggle of lesser nobles to swirl and dance to. More lay to the side, awaiting their turn with their hopeful pairing. Gossiping and scheming and flirting as each may or prefer. All of the truly notable nobles waited some distance out still, each preparing a grand entrance or feigning disinterest, dancing their own dances regardless. A great deal more peoples lay outside the hall, commoners the lot of them, dancing off of the lost notes of the ballroom. Some being the very cooks and workers not being used inside.

Finally, after a day's long and hard work, Benedict swifted to a wagon just outside of the event. There he would shed the sweat soaked and dirt stained drabs of an event planner- and dawn the dress of an event itself. His silken tunic, black tights, and flurries of trinkets all shone brightly for themselves. But it was his complexation, his smile and eyes that all shone brighter. These lone moments were some of the proudest to date. And they should be.

Setting off with a matched silk cape, he made for the ballroom once more, this time entering through the front. Garnering some attention from the few commoners in the know. There he lost himself in the music, the peoples, and the intrigue. For the first time since the rumors had begun, he couldn't hear them in the whispers and double speak of conversation. He hadn't cared to notice it. Instead his mind was on his pleasant future. Perhaps some noble would offer him a wife today? Perhaps he would find another event to plan, or another new notable to impress? Maybe he would dance on the stage today?

Maybe it would all fall unto ash.

 

[Lucyfer]

Edric remained relatively quiet, though Ishara was not unaware of his glances to her. They were a touch more inquiring as he beheld her, but he gave no voice to what he sought, and she took no guesses. She let herself focus on the arrival and talking through the guards posted to keep out the riff-raff.

Not that she was riff-raff, of course. Without a formal invitation, but nothing a few words and coins didn’t solve. After all, anyone rich enough to bribe guards, had a place within, and so Ishara made her way into the obscenely garish home, and on her way to the ballroom which was only improved by the tact used by Benedict’s decorating team, and of course, all the people standing around in their various outfits, hiding some of the parts that couldn’t be fixed simply by crowding in front of it.

The music was airy, and the people were being cowards along the wall.

They were early enough, then.

Benedict was well in sight, and though Ishara had no problem being forward, Benedict had little reason to humor a bold approach for long. She knew plenty of people in the room, and could have walked right to Lord Cuthing for a dance if she wanted, and eyes would have been drawn to her simply for dancing with the man of the evening…but that wasn’t her style.

So of course, she held a hand out to Edric, “Let me teach you how people dance today,” she could steal the show with a partner no one knew, and by leading him through far more extravagant turns than these playing, swirling nobles were daring to do just yet.

And then she could release him so he could eat, and assess the attentions she had.

~***~

Blissfully unaware of one man’s attentions, one of those not dancing, though he sipped the wine and listened to the conversations around him. He was present alongside Lord and Lady Betten, twins who couldn’t resist coming and dragging along their wizard on the off-chance they’d get a chance to show him off to others.

He’d seen the woman calling herself Ishara around, and watched her cozy into many noble homes.

Rimmon was not with him, but Rimmon had already told him what the woman was.

The man with her was unrecognizable, though, but he could make out the lamb fastening even from here. He knew enough about a demon’s sense of humor to think that wasn’t a fluke. That was her feast – some day, at least. The poor fool made a deal. ‘Well, he may not be a fool. He may not even be worthy of sympathy.’

Morwyn was determined to know, though, “Excuse me,” he spoke softly to the twins, “I see an old friend,” he wouldn’t move to interrupt just yet, but he would find a moment.

Thankfully, the twins were already lost in chatter with another, so Lord Betten waved him on, allowing him to take his leave of their company.

 

[Ulyee]

Stepping into the grand hall, Edric began to settle into his 'normal behavior'. A cordial smile dawned over his face, with expertly hidden glances tossed between all at the event. His movements were soft and gracious. He made sure to nod in submission to certain, obviously noble born, attendees. He was still out of the pond, but he was able to mask it almost entirely. His actions would be considered overt, entirely flattering, and to some they would seem far too practiced and perfected to be lowborn. In his time they would have been seen as servile if not subtle.

Now he could, as he so desperately wanted, feel as though he was working at the behest of his lady. Scanning the crowd for decenters, listening quietly to the passing gossip for news or leverage he might bring to her. Protecting her, even if she did not ask for or need it, was his preoccupation.

He had changed, in look and posture and movement, so much to the point that even the gazes he sat on his Ishara seemed tense and purposeful. And they were- he began to exaggerate his expressions and softened his words further with submission and servitude.

But, as it now seemed routine, she managed to pull him from all of that. The comfort and warmth of stepping back into his trained position left him as she pulled him towards the center of the event. He hadn't time to note the mention of 'today', as his entire preoccupation shifted to her. Sure he had been pulled from his attentions in the past during such events, but never physically so dance with his betters. And he had so little experience had he at proper dancing, much less dancing in wherever he might be. It was unnerving, and rather scary. So when he was offered that help to understand dance and rhythm of this land, he muttered softly, "I will take it with the uttermost gladness. Thank you, my gracious Ishara." Without a hint of sarcasm, rather with a trembling sigh.
She managed to unman him yet again, showing his wool and soft underside again.

-----


An now, Benedict found himself in his own state of comfort. Staging the event was all he truly felt was work. Effort yet still was expended in the party itself, surely twice that its planning, but it was all so easy to take on. He was naturally charismatic, and had a way with people that made it all so enjoyable and fulfilling. And it was an innate fascination with people that kept him going from hour to hour, oddity to oddity.

That fascination lent itself in one particular way- to fantasy. Each time he would spy someone from across the ballroom, or hear of them before their coming to it, Benedict would fantasize about the engagement. In truth he did this for most things in his life- a fantasy lead him to invest in this business to begin with. He would gauge how he thought someone might act, and in turn what might entice or otherwise interest them. Sometimes for the sake of preparedness, as with a host or important patron. Others out of curiosity as with random dotting courtiers. And yet still other times he simply did not know. It was simply a gut instinct to prepare and seek out proper adequate with random people. It almost always lent him to fortune, or at least to a warm bed.

But when he looked across the floor, after some minor conversation with an odd noble, he found the sight of Ishara, and was left blank. She was some wealthy and well connected none entity in his estimation. Likely not someone he would aim for in either gossip or bedding. Too well connected to share her secrets, and likewise too powerful to romance subtly. And further, a third factor he only barely could put a pin in, she seemed somewhat dangerous. Certainly as she danced with some poor lesser noble, smiling so deeply and intently at the thing. As if ready to eat him whole.
He understood, if nothing else, she was dangerous.

 

[Lucyfer]

The lack of skill or knowledge on Edric’s part was no issue for Ishara. After all, it simply made him easier to guide, and he was always willing to be guided by her. So, she turned him through the moves, and took silent note of who observed. She did see when the eyes of Benedict fell upon him, and understood that he saw the danger.

His curiosity might not be enough to lure him directly to her – he was smart enough to keep his head down so far, on anything that mattered, after all. Yet, that was why she had the lamb; even if the lamb was seen in her care, a lamb was still a lamb.

Edric could take people off guard.

Besides, she had another to deal with. She saw his eyes on her, and knew him well enough through his usual, constant companion.
The cat did not stand with him at this place, though.

When the dance concluded, Ishara did release Edric and dropped into a curtsy, as so many other ladies did, for the gratitude of the dance. “Thank you for humoring me,” she said as she straightened up, “I’ve kept you long enough from what I know you need,” she touched his face, brushed her fingers over some strands of dark hair. “Go find some food for yourself,” and though there were many areas to find things, she gestured him generally in the direction Benedict lied in.

Not directly, “The man in silk with all the trinkets is your future liege. He may yet know what is good to eat,” and more, it seemed he needed an invitation to her. A sacrificial lamb. “Speak with him. Persuade him to join me when he’s ready.”

And then she’d step back, to separate from him – and cut off Morwyn as he tried to make a subtle move to follow Edric, touching his arm and turning him towards her. “Good morrow, Morwyn.”

His grin was tight. “Lady Ishara. I’m afraid I am not looking for a dance, lovely as you are.”

She managed not to roll her eyes, though just barely, “That is good, I was hoping to talk with you. Join me.”

Not a request. Morwyn understood, and kept that tight smile on his lips as he nodded, “But of course,” there was no way out without making a scene, and now wasn’t the time for that. So long as she stayed in the open, anyways, which she did, “What is the name of your new friend? I’m not familiar with that noble lord.”

“He’s no noble,” she said, “not here, anyways. His name is Edric, he’s…a friend of mine, I suppose,” she took a glass of wine into her hand, but didn’t bother to drink it.

Appearances, only. “Don’t bother speaking with him, Morwyn. He doesn’t need whatever knowledge you have to impart.”

Morwyn snorted, “I’d rather talk to him and find out for myself.”

“And I’d rather pull your throat out through your ears,” feral grin, “but we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Morwyn was clearly taken aback by the blunt statement, and glanced around, but if anyone heard, they weren’t paying it any attention. He let his gaze fall back on her, “My lady, I—”

“I know what you are. I know who accompanies you. Much as you know what I am. I don’t know what arrangement you have, but there’s no need to meddle in other affairs, unless you want to find out how much I don’t care about your pet. He doesn’t really scare me if that’s all he can manifest in this realm.”

A pleasant smile, “Am I understood?”

She was, but likely not in the way she hoped to be. That she held Edric so dear as to threaten him overtly in public over an approach meant quite a bit, and Morwyn held that knowledge close. That, and the fact she'd paid enough attention to his existence to know who he was, and what he held. Paid enough attention to be wary of his approach in the first place, when he thought he'd gone under her radar.

Little point in caution anymore, then. ‘What is Edric to you besides a meal?’ Perhaps nothing. Some demons were just that way. She made the mistake of assuming he hid behind his own demon, though.

However, he nodded. He did understand. It just wasn’t going to stop him.