• Mature • Looks Can Be Deceiving

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Night, 7 Ymiden A720
Nashaki, Eastern Plains

The night proved no quieter than the breaks of brutal sunlight. Muffled in the distance, Llyr could hear what sounded like drums along with a continual murmur of conversations exchanged. Of all the cities he’d visited, Nashaki struck him as the liveliest. Trade occurred in every bit of every break. Not for a trill did it seem to stop and rather than a set time to rest, the population seemed to cycle so that all possible opportunities were covered. It was an odd thing for the Quacian to witness: a city as active during the night as most other cities during the day. Even odder to consider that this was the place of his Immortal parentage. Llyr didn’t know if he’d ever quite get used to that information, but he couldn’t deny the truth of it any longer. No matter the logic, he still felt that something about his mortalborn blood was more akin to a clerical error than an actual possibility. The biqaj could perceive and experience all manner of surreal occurrences within the realm of Emea, but the idea that the mortal who’d raised him wasn’t actually his father but rather, the Immortal High Merchant… Llyr struggled with the full realization of what that meant.

As it was, however, no one else knew of his connection to the founding patron of the desert city. He had not run around, proclaiming his heritage, nor had he even visited the Temple of Chamadarst. It was not his father who he had come to the city for. Though a certain curiosity did bring him to explore more than he might have, otherwise. In fact, no one knew who he was. The people of Nashaki knew none of his names, not Llyr, not West. Nor did they know his face because Llyr had not arrived at the city in his natural-born form.

At the docks along the neighboring city of Yaralon, the mage had transformed into the body of Llyr’s mortal sister, Kiara. A new name for such travel, she took the name of Ezili upon transformation.

A simple ring adorned her pinkie finger, a band of silver, and though it looked plain and worthless – it was, perhaps, the most important item that the mage wore. For it rid her of every magical mutation that would otherwise appear. No halo above her head, no gossamer wings at her back, no excessive ether that gathered in her color-changing eyes. The Ring of Paradigm kept her mundane in view. For the one exception, she wore opaque silken gloves (in the same midnight blue as her halter dress). Underneath the silk, the fractures on her fingertips hid from sight. While Nashaki outlawed magic, Ezili would have chosen the same disguise regardless. Sharp cheekbones, painted lips of pearl pink, and drowsy bedroom eyes with irises that remained in the blue, green, and gray shades of apathy like a slow drift of pond scum. The female biqaj’s blond hair appeared pale, drawn off her face into a high ponytail, the long strands swayed from side to side while she walked through the market.

The towers held tall in the distance, and she planned to visit a one tonight. Of course, her guide led out of the market in the direction of a tower. The path turned dark, shadowed by the sandstone walls, and far from the glow of lantern lights. Quieter, though… or it would have been, if the guide didn’t keep talking. Or, at the very least, if the guide could talk about something worthwhile. Instead, it was mostly nonsense small talk and she watched the adjacent buildings. Could she blame the human man who’d she chose as her guide from her arrival to the city? He had been suspicious then, and he remained suspicious now. While she hid her magic, she did little to hide that she had a certain degree of wealth with a fine circlet and earrings, bracelets and anklets that matched in crystalline metals that reflected the moonlight.

“-and when you are looking for a bargain, you’ve got to try and get there are the last breaks because that’s when the merchants will look to sell whatever they were unable to-”

“You take a long time to get to the point,” mentioned Ezili, the seafarer’s accent light on her smooth singer’s voice. She pointed with a sharp polished fingernail to one of the taller buildings that lay at the corner of an intersection between darkened side streets. “When will your friends join us? Soon? I have business to attend to, so if we could hurry up?”

The dark-haired man adjusted his canvas shawl and looked at her with confusion. He said, “Don’t know whatcha talki-”

“Please,” she replied with a hand raised in a simple signal for him to stop talking. “You do intend to take me to the Tower of Flesh, yes?”

The resulting guffaw from the man finally broke through the thin veneer of politeness. Ezili nodded, unsurprised when he waved at the building she’d just pointed at. The shadows in the hollowed-out windows shifted, and a couple more thugs appeared. Even at night, it was hot, but the locals wore canvas cloaks and layers. To protect from sandstorms, perhaps? From what parts of their bodies that she could see, she caught overlaps of faded tattoos. The other two seemed much the same by glance: human, nothing remarkable in height or weight, though one had a beard and the other had matted dreadlocks with leaves stuck here and there.

“Only three,” she murmured, then pointed at the one with the matted hair. “I’ll be calling you… Leaf, and you… hm… Blackbeard, and you… I already forgot your name, so how about… Tim.”

“Told you she was a little off,” mentioned Tim to the other thugs.

“All the better for us,” groused Leaf and the pitch gave her away as female. The tone gave her away as a potential leader when she added, “Don’t fuck up her face. She’ll sell for less if it’s all messed up. Same with the limbs, don’t break anything.”

“Oh, considerate slavers…” mused the biqaj, irises turning a warm gray color. She pointed past Leaf and said, “Is he also with your lot?”

Leaf nudged Blackbeard in gesture for him to keep an eye on their assumed-easy mark. The dreadlocked woman turned to look around at the other person who had happened to walk along this street at the wrong moment. She brushed aside her cloak and drew a saber sword. The curved edge glinted in the moonlight.

[Saza Moshe]

Night, 7 Ymiden, 720 ‣ Nashaki, Eastern Plains

An intake of breath, sharp and sudden, jerked his head up from where it’d fallen forward. Dirty blond curls bounced without a care, thrown into motion with his quick reawakening. As if they’d never closed at all, his eyes scanned over the interior of the shop, over the cluttered shelves and makeshift aisles and dirty countertops that he’d told Leo to clean three times already and everything else and it was… fine. The baskets and bundles of dried fruits were in order, the candles still burned all around, the warm stone walls were still walls. Everything looked fine. Not that he had expected any differently, of course. He was perfectly capable of tending to things himself when Leo was away. He’d even went so far as to–

“Hey, get out of there!”

–forget to lock the door. And now that little urchin in a canvas-bag-of-a-dress that he’d seen staring in the window earlier was reaching her grubby hands into the box nearest to the door. It was almost full to the brim with little cloth pouches, filled with spices imported only the trial before. He knew this because he’d already taken stock of each and every one, and he sure didn’t have the patience to rewrite his inventory list because of some poor thief. She jumped a few good inches into the air, startled by the sound of his voice. He’d been hoping for the opposite, really, but she only clung tighter to the pouch she’d grabbed. Dark hair dried out and frazzled, it fell over her grimy face so that only her eyes were revealed, wide and afraid.

“Just one–”

“No, no, no,” he knew what she was going to say and he didn’t want to hear a word of it. Just one please, just one sir, just one stolen spice pouch, for coin enough to feed me and my mother and father and brother and sister and dog and the bugs outside the shop, one lie after another. He didn’t care if it happened to be true, either. The urchin could pay for it like everyone else - and then the exhausted biqaj could make a proper record of that purchase and not ruin everything he’d already written down. The plight of hungry children was one he understood well, but this was a business. It might have been a rather poor excuse for one, thanks in part to the owner’s lack of care, but the young blond had enough sense for both of them. Or so he thought.

The urchin girl was frozen where she stood, holding tightly to the pouch as if a stronger grip would make it hers, but it wouldn’t. A stern expression settled over his face and made that particular sentiment obvious. Mouth a natural-poised pout, his half-lidded, red-tinted eyes could’ve glared straight through her. Shadows congregated beneath them, evidence of the exhaustion he’d let stray, but now was not the time for rest. If he had only been more vigilant in his efforts to stay awake, he would not have found himself in this annoying little predicament at all. Contrary to what his tired body wished of him, he stepped down from his stool behind the counter.

This, too, spooked the child. She took a step back, inching closer to the door. A moment passed, too quickly, in which the urchin and the shopkeep both moved, and only one of them successfully left the small, stone building with the pouch.

“Oh, come on, that’s alright. One little bag isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

Leo threw a half-smile across the empty shelf, standing at about eye-level on the other side of the hastily-constructed aisle. Made of old, warped wood that had clearly already lived as many different items in the past, three free-standing shelving units filled the center of the shop, barely taller than the young owner and his even younger employee. Some of the shelves were occupied, displaying baskets of whatever old food Leo found to sell and various other items he’d collected. The dark-haired human held open a bag at his side and pulled his newest treasures from within, setting them out while the biqaj took note of each.

He frowned - partly because of the weak answer, but mostly because of the look Leo gave him after he’d spoken of the incident with the urchin. Leo could say that it wouldn’t hurt anyone, and the girl could say that she’d only wanted the one pouch, but it wasn’t true. It was never just one. He cleared his throat and continued from where he’d left off, but it was not long before he was interrupted again by Leo’s deep voice, telling him to head home.

“Saza,” he insisted when they’d retreated back to the counter, “please, get some rest.”

“I am not tired,” Saza had tried… but within a few trills, he corrected, “I’m busy.”

“And I’m handling it now. You don’t want to fall asleep again and let more of those kids take from the shop, do you?”

That had been more than enough to convince him. His things were collected, journals and books tossed into the lightweight bag slung over his arm, and then Saza Moshe left Leo’s shop with the intention to, eventually, sleep. He just didn’t know when (or where) yet.

Guided by the ebb and flow of the nightly crowds, he walked at a casual pace through the city streets. It was warm outside, and dark blond curls stuck to the very back of his neck and frizzed wildly in the humid air. His shirt, dark red and loose, was buttoned only at the bottom where it’d been hastily tucked into his dark pants. It left visible the freckles and moles and scars of a weather-worn youth, covering tanned, rose-dusted skin. Loose-fitting trousers cut off just above his ankles to reveal anklets wrapped around both, three beaded and three citrine. He was otherwise unadorned, as even his pierced ears were free of gold or silver or whatever else people stuck in their ears.

Saza gave little attention to the world around him, even as he strayed farther from the markets and the relative safety they provided. Without goal or direction, he simply wandered, as he often did when he was made to leave his work. He didn’t have anything else to do, which meant… he could find a good spot to sit down and rewrite his list. He would’ve done it in the shop, but Leo’s insistence was grating, and the human wouldn’t have let him work in peace. So he’d do it out in the warm night air instead, if he had to. Anything just to fix it.

But the markets themselves were far too crowded and loud for the focus he required, and all the streets connecting were dotted with too many familiar faces. He kept on, and though the world around him darkened, it also proved itself a more hospitable place to think as he got farther and farther from the hustle and bustle of the main markets. Less noise, fewer faces, no interruptions. Saza readjusted the wide strap of his bag where it laid across his chest, and a set of stormy, dark blue eyes slipped briefly shut as he walked. Surrounding noises were tuned out, already deemed unimportant in the face of his work, so that only the loudest of sounds could pierce through.

“...with the limbs, don’t break anything.”

“Oh, considerate slavers…

...Is he also with your lot?”

Until he heard that.

Inwardly cursing himself for his foolish mistake, Saza opened his eyes. He knew better than to walk blindly through this part of the city. The damned urchin kid had really thrown him off - or, more accurately, the numbers made incorrect in his journal by the damned urchin kid were the true culprits, but he blamed it on her and her grubby, grimy hands.

His gaze set upon the scene of the shadowed street, brilliant and vividly yellow, nearly glowing for its momentary intensity against a backdrop of sandstone and darkness. Four figures, one clearly armed, the others less obvious in their brandishing. Three of them didn’t look all that out of the ordinary to him, especially not where they were, but the other… a darker, deeper golden hue toiled within his yellow irises. It was easy, after looking at the pale-haired woman in her fine halter dress, to figure out what was going on. Whether she was a free woman or an escapee (she could’ve been from Harem Hall, he figured, expensive-looking as she was), it wasn’t clear, but there was no question about where she would be by the end of the night. And now, thanks to her pointing, the group had taken notice of him as well. His eyes caught the glint of a curved blade, and he took a step back.

“Turn around,” warned the woman as she brandished her saber, “unless you want to end up like her.”

Saza answered quickly, “turning now!”

And he did turn, swivelling on his heels to walk away from the scene. He might not have liked it himself, but slavery was… a trade, like everything else. It was just a part of life, and his home city was not about to do away with the practice, so it hardly benefited him to involve himself. The woman was probably just an escapee, after all, and would just be returned to whatever she’d been doing before. He could hardly find a reason to feel guilty about something he had no control over - he didn’t have the ability to stop them if he wanted to. Yet, before he’d made it ten feet away, Saza’s steps slowed to a grinding halt.

Why he felt compelled then to help, he’d never know. Maybe it was a nasty look from the dreadlocked woman, or the fact that the pale-haired beauty shared the pointed ears hidden amidst his curls, or the utter disorientation that clouded his judgement in every moment that passed without his inventory list being corrected. Whatever it was, it turned him back around, and pulled his pouted lips into another frown.

The woman with the saber had only just turned back to her group’s target when Saza captured her attention again. More than irritated this time around, her grip tightened on the handle of the curved blade. Without a care for conversation, she moved forward immediately. So quickly she moved that it surprised the biqaj, who stepped to the side just in time to escape the swing of her blade… and just carelessly enough to stumble as he did so. His right leg, sore like it was every trial, buckled beneath his weight and sent him to the ground. A cloud of dust was disturbed with the impact, and Saza coughed, but moved again when the dreadlocked woman went in for another swing. This time he merely scooted out of the way, and the momentum of the little move was enough to pull himself back to his knees.

“Maybe you should - run?” he called to the thugs’ target, with a quick glance to see how she and her would-be-attackers fared.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The passerby – in his wine-red shirt (mostly open to reveal a youthful tanned chest) and otherwise simple clothing with exception to the citrine anklets – didn’t serve as enough of a distraction. Not that Llyr Ezili had planned for such happenstance, but this wasn’t her first time in a street conflict. It wasn’t her first, or her second, or her third, and truly, she’d had more conflicts in city streets than she cared to keep track of. Passersby were common in such situations, as if magnetized by poor timing and some unspoken law of fates that drew accidental witnesses to streets like these. This wasn’t even Ezili’s first time with slavers. Quacia also had a slave industry and where there was a legal market, there were people looking to make quick and good nel through humanoid products. Even in cities without slavery, it wasn’t impossible to find such industry lying underneath the polite surface.

Ezili hadn’t noticed the pointed ears, but she did notice the yellow of eyes that seemed to grow vibrant and had they not been blue before? A biqaj? Mixed, perhaps? Difficult to tell with only the glance that she got in the night’s darkness.

While Leaf cowed the stranger away, Ezili glanced over the other two men. One had a club, rather than a blade, that hung low on a belt. Tim didn’t have anything visible, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a weapon somewhere in there. She took a couple steps backward. Ezili stretched her arms behind her, chest forward and the silken fabric pressed tight against her perky bosom. She moved her arms to stretch upward. Tim didn’t seem to care much but Blackbeard sure did with the way his gaze lingered over the shape of her body.

By the time that the stranger had turned around, Ezili had lowered her hands to the skirt of her dress. She gathered the silken fabric in her gloved fists, slowly raising the hem over her silvery pale limbs. The biqaj’s skin almost seemed to glow under the moonlight, the silver prominent under the lunar glow. Ezili paused. Her eyes churned in different colors before the blue of ice crystals filled the large irises. She smiled thinly, while Leaf turned back around with instant recognition of the refusal of her threatening suggestion.

That was enough distraction.

Ezili slid forward. The gritty sand-coated stones of the street scraped underneath the flat of her sandals. She gathered her skirt higher… higher… thighs fully exposed as slits in the silken fabric fell open around her slender legs. Blackbeard stared at the exposed smooth skin of the inner thighs while Ezili’s darkly gloved fingers traced upward. Meanwhile, in the trills which she took advantage of the quick exchange of saber through dust, Tim seemed more concerned to watch the dangerous swing of their leader’s blade against the potential witness.

“Yes?” she asked Blackbeard in a breathy whisper, just as her fingers reached the thick band of leather strapped to her upper thighs. Ezili traced the band to the outer edge of her legs, where her blades resided. She unsheathed a couple throwing knives. The bearded man’s eyes widened, and he scrambled – thoughts scattered due to his surprise – to move away and grab at his club.

“Maybe you should – run?”

The call from the kneeling man caught her attention briefly. Ezili smiled but didn’t answer. She had work to do, after all. Business to attend to. Certainly, she didn’t have all night to waste with lowlife slavers.

She threw the knives – one at Tim, the other at Leaf – and rushed in a sprint directly at Blackbeard. The largest of the three, still scrambled by his surprise, down went the bearded man in an accidental trip caused by the momentum of the slender biqaj’s entire weight thrown against his front. She went along with him, straddling his chest, and withdrew two proper daggers from thin slits in opposite sides of her dress where underneath a body strap kept the blades from view along the back of her ribcage.

The knives hadn’t hit their mark. Neither Tim nor Leaf. The thin blades wildly flew and hit stones with clattered failure, but then… that would be in the assumption that Ezili cared if they hit the slavers. She didn’t. It was only to gain the attention and distract it from the rather helpful stranger who didn’t deserve to get caught up in the conflict. Already Tim had revealed his own sword – a short gladius – and held it even to approach in defense of his fellow thug.

Blackbeard abandoned his clumsy attempt to get the club and realized he had hands meaty enough to handle a slip of a girl like the biqaj on top of him. He grabbed at her, only to find himself grabbing onto thin air…

…and he shouted from the pain as both daggers sunk deep into his shoulders. Ezili used the momentum of the dual stabs to lift her entire body up into a handstand (or technically, a daggerstand). She flipped over the bearded man’s head. Daggers came along with her, tearing out of his body in two great arcs of scarlet blood. The display was enough to halt Tim’s approach.

“What’re you waiting for?” shouted Leaf to the man. “Fucking useless!”

Ezili danced over the sandstone, light on her sandaled feet, while she spun back around to face the slavers. Skirt flared out; midnight blue silk twisted around her hips with the quick motion in gentle sway. Her pale blond ponytail swished about, and somehow her circlet remained perfectly poised around her head.

“Please, I don’t want to hurt you,” said Ezili and she said it in such a demure voice that it sounded perfectly sincere. “Set down your weapons and no more blood will be shed.”

Tim lowered his gladius some, glancing at Blackbeard who was trying to hold onto the two bleeding wounds and blubbering about some tendon being torn out. He said, “I dunno… maybe she isn’t worth it. There’ll be others…”

“You coward,” snarled Leaf. She lowered her stance, flipped the saber as she pointed the blade at Saza and warned the other biqaj, “Don’t move or I’ll take your head off, saltlicker.”

“Like you could,” giggled Ezili with a glance over the dreadlocked woman. She smiled in a snidely smug expression.

That did it.

Leaf broke away from the stranger, angered by the taunt, and not caring (or recognizing) that her brute was neutralized and the other too intimidated to make a difference.

Ezili moved when the other woman did. Forward, to the side, forward, to the side, they circled and advanced in rapid succession until they compromised with Leaf on the attack. Saber against crossed daggers, sparks flew up from the metals grinding violently against each other. Leaf had a lot of strength behind her, but it wasn’t like Ezili wasn’t used to handling strong opponents. Her grip remained stubbornly until she pushed the other woman’s balance off.

Rather than take the obvious strike that she’d created opportunity for, Ezili backed off instead. She circled around Leaf in dancerly skips. A smile slowly graced her elegant features. Any trill… any trill… any- and Leaf threw her sword (and body) forward again in an forceful attack. Ezili dodged with a swift lean backward. The saber thrust past her midriff and nearly nicked her. She threw up her elbow, the bony point slammed directly into Leaf’s face –

-the thug recoiled from the impact. Her grip on the saber loosened. Ezili hooked an arm around, twisted the human’s wrist, and the saber fell to the ground. She kicked the weapon away and called to the stranger, “Pick that up, would you please, mister?”

Ezili didn’t pause beyond that. As soon as she’d disarmed the saber, she kept her daggers held against her fingers, but used the underside of her palm to slam into Leaf’s throat. Hit after hit, she landed them easier and easier while Leaf became more and more disoriented. Until finally, the dreadlocked woman collapsed to the ground, pitifully marked with bruises and blood from blunt shallow scrapes.

The biqaj woman stood over the human, dual daggers held loosely beside her thighs, and she gasped for breath from the quick action of the fight. Though much had happened, it all started and was over within mere bits. Sweat barely beaded on her silvery skin, though. She stared down at Leaf and for a moment, she didn’t notice that Tim had regained his confidence – or perhaps, he simply saw a possible opportunity to strike and become the hero for his fellow thugs. Whatever the case, he held the gladius tight and started toward the backside of Ezili.

[Saza Moshe]

Night, 7 Ymiden, 720 ‣ Nashaki, Eastern Plains

He’d expected for the moonlit biqaj to heed his words of warning. Whatever game this girl thought to play, Saza thought it more important to find expedient escape from the potential of injury, or slavery, or death, or whatever else the group of tattooed thugs thought to do. Instead of doing any of that though - instead of trying to avoid the bladed conflicts of slavers and brutes - the woman made no attempt to run. She smiled at him, as if he’d offered something contrary to what he’d really said. It confused him more than the state of her navy blue dress, hiked up her pale, slender legs like it was, but he was given little time to consider any of it before his attention was called back to his own attacker. Yellow eyes widened with a sudden jerk of his head, backwards and away from the swinging blade. It could’ve missed him, but for the slice along the highest point of his cheekbone. Shallow, and it stung as silver blood welled to the surface, but failed to bother him.

Thrown off balance by his dodge, Saza fell back, arms flailing at his sides in a weak attempt to catch himself. It proved useless. He landed on his back with another disturbance of the dusty ground. The angered woman above was already swinging again, throwing her weight forward to close what distance remained between them, and Saza was quick work for the curved saber - or he would’ve been, if an errant dagger had not sailed past his opponent’s face and distracted her. She jerked back, narrowly missed, and spared not a glance for the offending blade. It clattered to the ground nearby, just within reach, once it deflected off the stone wall of the neighboring building. From where she stood directly over him, the woman held tight to her weapon, tight enough that he considered smacking an arm against it to disarm her in her distraction… but her focus shifted again, as soon as she realized it’d strayed, so that dark eyes glared down at the pesky adolescent –

– who had already wormed his way out from between her legs. Pushing himself to his feet behind her, he took note of the dust that smudged his loose red sleeves but did not brush it away, not now, not when the woman was already whipping around to face him, not when – Saza shook his arms at his sides in a frustrated effort to knock loose the dirt. First the urchin girl ruining his list, now the saber-wielding-woman dirtying his favorite shirt. When would his torment end?

He was saved from deeper injury when his latest tormentor was, once again, distracted by the actions of the pale-haired biqaj. Saza, too, was unable to devote the attention to anything but her, as she flipped herself over the big bearded man using nothing but the daggers she’d plunged into his flesh. Blood followed quickly behind them, bright red and ushered forth by their removal. The sight of it was enough to turn his stomach, and devour all but the tops of his bright yellow irises in similar scarlet hue. If she could - do that, then why was he here at all! She didn’t need his help!

The man that’d been quickly approaching her, gladius in hand, came to sudden stop. He didn’t blame him. Whatever coin they could get from capturing the mysterious girl (and he knew, unfortunately, that it was quite a lot), it wasn’t worth much worse than the injuries their bearded friend had already sustained. That, and Saza knew their kind to be little more than cowards when things didn’t go as planned, and a beautiful, clearly wealthy young woman like that wasn’t supposed to fight back. He barely heard the dreadlocked woman as she scolded her wary companion, too thrown off again by the other biqaj’s mention of not wanting to hurt them. She said it all as if she hadn’t just thrown herself so expertly at the bearded thug below, as if she held the sentiment to be true within her heart, as if… she really didn’t want to see that bright red blood at all, despite how easily she’d procured it.

The saber was flipped back to him, slicing through the air with an audible swoosh. Saza could do little more than stare, crimson eyes wide, as the precious connection between his head and shoulders was threatened. The barked order rested uneasily in his sickened, anxious stomach, but he didn’t defy it. Not until she’d turned around and rushed forward to meet her uncertain fate. Far enough from the gladius-bearer not to worry about immediate attack, he readjusted the wide, tangled strap of his bag and took a step backwards. Then another. And though his half-lidded gaze was transfixed on the scene before him, following the swift motions of graceful limbs and swaying fabrics and blades against blades, he did not once consider stepping forward. His assistance was no longer required, was it? He was not of the mind to help those who didn’t need it - or to help those who did, without a better reason to do so.

Another step backward, another step away from the pale beauty’s onslaught of unarmed attacks. Her efficient takedown of the saber-wielding woman only proved to him that he was justified in his departure… which, trills later, was paused by a request called out to him. Saza’s lips parted as if he meant to respond. She wanted him to grab the saber? Kicked out until it rested only a few feet away from him, the curved blade would’ve been of better use in anyone else’s hands but his. So how he wound up with it in his hand, held loosely at his side, he’d never know. The greater mystery, in all of it, was how the curly-haired youth forced himself into action when the remaining thug started towards his fellow biqaj.

It happened too quickly. The shuffle of his feet, the tightening of the other man’s grip on his blade, the swing that brought the saber’s pointed tip across the bony edge of the thug’s wrist. He might have forgotten the better half of his (already quite poor) training, but Saza knew how to hold a blade - even if he dreaded the use of it. Shocked by the biqaj’s sudden bravery, the thug sidestepped, angling his weapon in a swift swipe at the blond. His other arm reached for the moonlit woman in the halter dress, as if she didn’t hold daggers at her sides. Saza flicked his wrist, without pause, narrowly missing the other man’s nose before swinging more abruptly downward.

The arm that’d reached for the girl was jerked back, but not before receiving a slash down the center of it. The innermost section of his forearm, just below his wrist, dripped in a steady red flow. A pained hiss escaped the man’s throat. He jumped back with a harsh jab of his gladius, but the weapon missed its mark before being dropped to the ground. It fell beside the prone leader of the three, so that the man’s hand could clasp his injured arm instead.

Disturbed as he was by the sight, Saza watched the man as he cursed and bled and cursed some more, turning away from them all to make his expletive-laden exit. A scarred hand held tighter to the blood-flecked saber, and after a brief survey of the other two thugs, a dark red gaze darted back to the ethereal blonde beside him. The faintest silvery shimmer dusted his cheekbones, one injured and slowly seeping the same, like a smear of finely-crushed crystalline powder. Breathless, he dusted himself off. She didn’t appear to be injured anywhere… and he had not seen any attacks successfully land on her pale skin. Regardless, he asked, “you okay?”

If he really cared about the answer or not, he wasn’t sure. He supposed he probably did, if he had felt motivated enough to help at all, but there wasn’t any reason for it, and he didn’t like that. It made as much sense to care about strangers as it did to leave his records inaccurate, or his clothes dusty and worn. Still… if it at least helped prevent the Tower of Flesh from gaining one more slave, or the Harem Hall from recapturing some lost girl… Saza cared about that.

Whatever the response, he stepped forward, and continued past the other biqaj with a brief touch to her elbow. “We should move,” he warned, “you’re never too far away from more of them.”

Who was this strangely dangerous woman, anyway? And what was she doing out here? So near to the Tower of Flesh, the shadowed streets were hardly the place for a pretty girl and her expensive adornments. Saber pointed downward at his side, Saza kept walking whether she followed after him or not. It had not been his intention to wind up here, when he had set out on his walk, and it was not his intention now to stay.

“What are you doing out here? Are you lost?” and Saza glanced back to check her whereabouts, his crimson gaze glinting in the pale light from above.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Ezili had set the daggers ready to stab backward but found it unnecessary when the last remaining thug got distracted by the passerby. She turned around, quick, to watch the clumsy swings of the commandeered saber. Tim proved confused by this, which suggested to the foreigner that such antics weren’t common for locals wandering past such incidents. After all, the stranger didn’t know who she was, or what she was, and it was only an assumption that she was someone who deserved to be free. She didn’t move when the thug reached to grab at her, for the saber awkwardly slashed down and managed a thin slice through the canvas layers and into Tim’s arm – followed by a dissolve of the thug’s moment of confidence and abandonment of his weapon.

When Tim turned, mouth full of curses, to leave – Ezili skipped around the side of him to block his path. She raised one of her daggers, razor-sharp tip pointed at his face while it dripped with the drying blood of Blackbeard. Ezili clicked her tongue in a tsked chide and shook her head no, ponytail swaying back and forth with the motion.

“P-please,” the thug pivoted to the expert technique of pleading.

“Sit do-” she didn’t even finish the request as Tim made a break for it. Ezili swiftly grabbed onto the shoulder of his cloak and yanked him down. His feet slipped out from under him and he crashed onto his back. The slender biqaj spun once to build momentum and kicked her foot across the man’s face and knocked him unconscious with the impact. She glanced over to see that – yes, the stranger was certainly biqaj. Eyes of deep red now, in matched shade to his shirt, and she noticed the silver blood that shimmered under the moonlight. She answered his inquiry as to whether she was okay, her voice almost as silvery as their shared species blood, with her mild seafarer’s accent, “Yes, but you are injured.”

Ezili returned her daggers to the sheaths hidden under her dress. She glanced at the slight touch to her elbow, then looked at the other biqaj. Was he planning to sell her instead? It’d be a clever way to poach another gang’s profits, especially with someone so unassuming and seemingly inept in fighting like the other man. Or maybe they were even working together, but she doubted that. Tim had no idea who he’d picked up at the docks. More likely, the curly-haired stranger was a lone agent or had his own thugs nearby to assure that the transfer from procurer to auctioneer went smoothly.

“Wait, please. We can’t leave them like this,” she answered to the stranger’s warning that they should keep moving. She took a couple steps as if to follow but then turned and walked over to the heavily breathing Blackbeard. The man hadn’t gone unconscious, but he was in a state of trying to keep both his hands over the torn wounds in his shoulders so he wouldn’t bleed out anymore than he already had. While the stranger kept walking, Ezili knelt beside the man and gently pushed Blackbeard onto his side. She hushed him in a quiet shush and ran her hand in a comforting caress on the brawny thug’s arm. Placing her foot against his lower back, she kept him in the spot and freed her hands. Ezili removed one of the throwing knives from her garter-strap and cut away at the canvas cloak.

Nevermind that she’d been the one who’d caused most of the injuries on the thugs. Ezili wrapped the cloak tightly around Blackbeard’s shoulders to create pressure so the bleeding would stop. As she fastened them secure, she looked over as she heard the faint voice of the farther away biqaj. A soft smile and she tugged the impromptu bandage tight, then guided Blackbeard to sit up beside her. The human, dizzy and ashen with blood loss, stared at her with no small amount of confusion.

“I am new to this city,” she answered the inquiry. She waved in a small gesture toward the still-unconscious Tim. “That mister there, he was to be my guide. It seemed he wanted to show me a part of the city that perhaps the locals, such as yourself, know well?”

Ezili waved again, in a beckoning gesture toward the curly-haired youth. With closer looks now, he didn’t appear much older than herself. While the paranoia of his own intentions lingered, she also wondered why else he’d be wandering the streets alone. It brought a sense of slight nostalgia, despite the vast differences of the Nashaki streets – sandy, hot, and of pale sandstone – from the Quacian streets – rainy, cold, and of dark slate stone. Otherwise, though, the people still seemed just as dangerous, with locals as callous and predatory on foreign visitors.

“Please, will you help me again?” she asked him in sincere request. Ezili paused, then she added, “I can pay you for it. Not much, but if you help me, I can offer more after.”

She gave a smile, pretty and polite and friendly, then easily tore an upper layer of her skirt from the waist hem. It left the semi-transparent underlayers to barely cover her thighs. Without pause, she wrapped the length of silk around Blackbeard’s eyes, crossed behind his head, over the ears and then knotted to rest in his mouth. Too dazed by everything, and motion constricted by the tight straps around his shoulders, the man didn’t even try to resist. Ezili tapped the tip of his nose with her gloved finger, then she unclipped one of her anklets. She guided his arms behind him, then repurposed the crystalline accessory to make use of its alloyed component of iron that kept its shape. Ezili handcuffed Blackbeard with the jewelry, not meant to be shackles but enough to mentally encourage the thug to be docile – a trick that Ezili had learned early in her arcs.

“Up we go,” she gently coaxed Blackbeard to his feet. “Stay here, will you, handsome?”

Ezili turned to look at wherever Saza had gotten to, even if he had continued on, and she said, “You do know these streets, don’t you? I am still in need of a guide. Tell me, how much would you like to be paid?”

With that, she moved to Leaf as the woman coughed and stirred from her battered coma. No bleeding injuries to take care of, she repeated the same tie of a silken blindfold and gag in one strip of fabric. The pale biqaj tore off the cloak and quickly repurposed it into a noose. The feisty leader of the three thugs would need more than just shackles to keep her contained, that much was obvious. So, Ezili tightened the noose around the human woman’s neck to use as a leash. She used another wrap of anklets to also handcuff the roused thug, then she brought her to also stand up. Ezili kept hold of the makeshift noose and guided the woman to blindly follow.

“Could you hold onto this for me, please?” she asked Saza and held out the leashed noose for the man to take. The irises of her eyes split in petaled colors of light blue and topaz yellow. “You do have laws in this city of Nashaki, do you not? If we were to simply leave them here, they would only want revenge and rally more of their kind. They could even aim to take it out on some poor soul who has nothing to do with their defeat. The last thing I want is for an innocent, such as yourself, to get pounced upon to soothe the ego of brutes. We can’t merely leave them here, don’t you agree?”

[Saza Moshe]

Night, 7 Ymiden, 720 ‣ Nashaki, Eastern Plains

Wait, the strange woman said, but Saza did no such thing. What did she want him to wait for? Of course they could leave the battered thugs there - what else were they meant to do with them? Any options would only prove themselves more sinister than he was of the mind or heart to bear. He would not feel the weight of their uncertain fates if he left them behind, that much he knew, as he would simply be leaving them to whatever the world wished upon them. Whether they bled through the night, or picked themselves up, or were perhaps picked up instead by other predatory groups, it was not up to him. If he waited, though, if he turned around and helped the pale, near-luminescent lady with whatever sort of plans she had for them, then he would have to think about it. He didn’t want to think about it. He had enough to think about. The yet-to-be-corrected list tucked away in his dusty bag, for example.

So he didn’t pause, slowly though he walked away from her. It was almost as if he was waiting for her to change her mind instead, as if he expected some better sense of self-preservation, but the pace at which he walked away changed nothing. She still didn’t move to follow, and he still didn’t want to turn around. His bag felt heavy where it slung across his chest, and the lightest of blues marked his skin where the strap had scratched against it. Saza felt terribly out of sorts after his tumbling around, not having expected that he might come across such a situation… and perhaps an arc or two ago, he wouldn’t have been bothered at all by the physical activity, but he hadn’t needed to move around like that in a good while. On trials like these, it felt like it’d been forever since his stint as a soldier.

Before he travelled too far from her, though, he called out in question, and forced himself to come to a stop. The curly-haired biqaj turned, albeit only slightly, to look back at the pale blonde - who was… what was she doing. Thick, dark brows were drawn together, as orange flecks speckled his crimson gaze and focused on the girl and her handiwork. The bearded brute had his injured shoulders tied off, bleeding for the moment suppressed. The girl began to speak, her voice smooth and accented in a way he didn’t recognize, while he let his eyes drift over the other thugs. The one he’d so uncharacteristically attacked (he was regretting it the more he thought about it) laid unconscious, knocked to the ground by the other biqaj’s forceful pull, while the leader of the trio remained where she’d fallen.

“...that perhaps the locals, such as yourself, know well?”

“Excuse me?” his attention snapped straight back to her then, as a tumultuous crash of violet cooled his gaze of warmer tones. Saza said nothing else of it; his interjection had been little more than just that. It’d surprised him, to hear the subtle accusation so casually thrown his way, and he wondered if the girl, new to the city as she was, knew the implications of her words. Upon consideration of the encounter, though, he knew that it was nothing but some misplaced hopefulness that led him to ponder such things. Of course she knew - and in spite of whatever assumptions she’d already made of him, she waved him over like she didn’t care either way. And that, like so many other things, just confused him.

Reluctant though he was to do so, Saza started back towards her. He moved slow, stepping closer with all the trust of a wounded animal, and his expression stayed true to its wary suspicion when he heard the woman speak again. Sour though his face might’ve made him look, with his half-lidded, violet gaze and his unintentional pout, he was not entirely opposed to helping her - not after she made mention of compensating him for it, anyway. She couldn’t pay him much, she said, but the amount didn’t matter. It would still mean earning something as opposed to nothing at all, and Saza was certainly not one to pass up the chance.

“Alright,” he gave, though his uncertainty was clear. Saber kept low and pointed to the ground, he returned to the path crowded with waking and unconscious humans alike. Saza’s gaze flitted over the girl’s smile, returned to its deep red hue, and he did not bother saying anything else. Not that he had all that many thoughts in his head regardless, once she started tearing at her navy skirt to create bindings for the bearded man’s eyes and mouth. He couldn’t help the parting of his lips, the slack-jawed glance of surprise - how could she ruin such an expensive-looking garment so easily? Without a second thought, she’d torn strips from the fabric, and even went so far as to remove her anklets for use as cuffs around the thugs’ wrists.

He looked on in thinly-veiled horror before he thought to contain himself. Mouth closed, he inhaled deeply through his nose, and forced his gaze away from the other biqaj. Such displays of skin, marred though it was through the veil of near-translucent material, were hardly strange or new to him. While most of the locals knew well that a good cover provided better respite than bare skin, it did not stop anyone from taking advantage of the hot, desert climate either. And for Saza, well - it was all he knew. He did not look away from her out of some care for her modesty - she wouldn’t have done it if that mattered, and he didn’t think to consider it - but out of an abundance of caution, as he watched the neutralized men while she tended to the woman.

She, like her companions, was blindfolded and gagged on dark silken fabric. He’d admit that it confused him a little, but not enough to question it. However… when the cape was torn off and fashioned into what appeared to be a noose, he couldn’t help but feel a little concerned. It was only then that he bothered to answer her latest inquiry, as he tore his eyes from the strange scene and frowned.

“Yeah. I can help,” was all he said at first, sounding more than a little distracted. Had she asked him how much he wanted to be paid? After just telling him that she couldn’t offer much? Saza shook his head with the hopes that it would somehow clear it, but he hadn’t fixed his list yet. He wouldn’t stop thinking about it until he did. So, he added, “just - whatever. I just want to get moving.”

He didn’t know what she wanted him to say - or if, maybe, she expected him to dismiss the offer for payment entirely. Such was not the case. He just didn’t have an answer for it now, not when he didn’t even know what exactly she wanted him to do. His fellow biqaj brought the bound leader of the thugs to stand, holding to the end of the noose like it was some sort of leash. Saza watched as she moved closer, and his frown only deepened as the makeshift leash was held out to him. He blinked, red eyes scanning over the gloved hand that offered it.

Saza dropped the saber. It fell to the ground with a quiet clatter of metal against stone. He did not reach for the end of the leash, not yet, but stood still as he listened to the pale blonde speak. He wanted to shake his head again; he wanted to turn around and pretend like he’d never stumbled upon this mess; he wanted to go back to Leo’s shop and be useful rather than wander the dark streets by himself. But he couldn’t. Leo would not let him return, not until enough time had passed for Saza to have reasonably slept, and he couldn’t just block out the memory of the beautiful biqaj and her daggers ripped from flesh. Not when the evidence of the encounter buried itself in the silver slice across his tan, shimmering cheeks.

With a small sigh, he reached for the noose. Saza didn’t quite know whether to trust the woman’s words or not, but if she needed a guide, then at least he could make himself useful. He held it in a firm grasp, wrapped once around his hand and then held in a fist to ensure that it did not slip from his grip.

“Who are you?” questioned the youth, his accented voice quieter now, and an obvious indication of a man that’d never spent a trial outside of the desert city. His eyes flicked back to the woman in question, and he began to turn.

“And - come on, I’m not sticking around here.” If she needed more assistance with the brutes, he would assist - but he was already convinced that they’d stayed too long, and if she was of the mind to keep him there longer, then he would simply dismiss the promise of payment and leave on his own. Saza tugged against the noose in a test of the canvas fabric, and the woman with the dreadlocks stumbled forward.

“Yes, I know my way around,” Saza confirmed again, a little more sure of himself, “and so does every other brute like them. What are you trying to get to? You’re… new to Nashaki?”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The other biqaj did not seem to want to help much, not with that expression and the cooled color of a violet gaze, and yet… he had returned to her. He listened to her. And he agreed to her request for further aid. Of course, his disgruntle expression didn’t remain for long as through the dimly-lit street she could see him get shocked – but whether the surprise came from bandaging the thug, or tearing apart her skirt, or something else, she didn’t know. Whatever the case, he looked away when she went to take care of the thuggish leader, and she wondered which of what she’d done had offended him so. Perhaps it was merely that they were remaining still in the open spot. She could understand that wariness. It was why she was tying things up as quickly as she could. The stranger soon confirmed that to be the case, as he didn’t even care to negotiate a payment but just wanted to get walking. She nodded in simple acknowledgment of his comment.

It was rather nice, thought the mage while she noticed the other’s irises change colors again, to witness another of her species that had such similarity. So many biqaj that she came across seemed to be watered down with tints of human blood in them, with ordinary eye colors that sluggishly changed, or even with red or violet tints to their blushes and bruises – as if they were nothing more than humans with pointy ears! So, it was nice because for Ezili (who’d been wrenched away from the ordinary biqaj upbringing at an early age) to see another of her rare kind in such an unexpected way. It felt like a happy discovery.

With a quiet but noticeable sigh, the stranger finally took the noose. She nodded, then moved on to the last thug to make sure his bleeding cut was similarly bandaged up and then tied him as she had with Blackbeard. While her hands worked deftly, she glanced around the buildings and then surveyed the street.

Who are you?

“Hmm?” she smiled again, as her previous expression had since faded into a neutral look of analysis. She tightened the handcuffed bracelet (as she had used up her anklets on the other two) on Tim’s wrists. Her eyes glittered in topaz yellow color, while he insisted that he wasn’t sticking around. He certainly was a nervous sort, but she supposed there was good reason for it. She guided Tim – who’d woken up by now – to his feet.

“…My name is Ezili.”

The blonde moved quick then. She picked up the gladius, then the saber, and the two fallen knives from before. She glanced over Saza but didn’t see that he had anywhere easy to hold such things. So, she made do with doubling them up, wrapping the blades in torn canvas from Tim’s cloak, then tied the excess fabric around her narrow hips for safe-keeping. Ezili took hold of Tim’s elbow with one hand, then Blackbeard’s elbow with the other and guided the blindfolded men to walk alongside her. She encouraged them, “That’s it. One foot in front of the other, and please, don’t cause any more trouble.”

Ezili nodded, in gesture for Saza, while she allowed him to start on their path – as antsy as he was to get away from the spot where the incident had occurred. She glanced over him in an obvious survey from head to toe. Little flecks of violet broke through the yellow irises.

“Yes, new to the city... mister...?” she said in her silvery voice, pausing in an attempt to acquire a name for him. “I arrived early this evening from Yaralon before here. I apologize, I am afraid I do not believe you. Brutes might have their ways, but I prefer a man with a far gentler touch… to guide me.”

“Ah, sorry, I’m terribly tired from traveling and…” she glanced up at the two thugs that walked alongside her without the slightest struggle. Her smile returned, friendly and polite – not too eager but not too forced. “Haven’t gotten to eat or rest yet. There are some things I must attend to, first. I believe we are close to where I need to go… You do know the way to the Tower of Flesh, yes?”

[Saza Moshe]

Night, 7 Ymiden, 720 ‣ Nashaki, Eastern Plains

The woman in the torn halter dress sure did smile a lot. It made him wonder what sort of person had it in themselves to smile that much, and if the upturned curve of her pearly lips signalled something that he wasn’t quite seeing. Saza didn’t figure he’d done all that much to warrant such a friendly demeanor, and though he’d come across the type in the Tower of Arms that derived some sick pleasure from violence, it didn’t seem like she cared for it in excess. Not with the way she’d bandaged up the wounds she’d left behind. So if the smiles weren’t for the forceful methods with which they’d ended the sudden conflict, and they couldn’t be for anything specific that he’d said or done, then what were they for? Was he supposed to take them at face value, and assume them the signs of genuine politeness? It struck him as odd, and his eyes lingered on the other biqaj’s expression while he awaited her response.

“Ezili. Ezili,” repeated Saza, testing the name out on his tongue. It was slightly off in pronunciation the first time around, and he repeated it again to correct it. Ezili went to procure the gladius and knives and the saber he’d let tumble to the ground. He could’ve kept his hold on the weapon if he’d known that she wanted it, but he hadn’t assumed anything of the sort. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be holding it, and he didn’t have a reason to hold it, so… he dropped it. Upon realizing Ezili’s intentions with the blades, as she wrapped them in canvas fabric and doubled them up, Saza’s free hand shot out to take them. He might not have wanted to carry them for his own sake, but he wouldn’t make the lady carry everything herself, if she was determined to bring the weapons along anyway. Besides, he was only carrying the end of a makeshift rope. He could carry two blades just as well.

Once Ezili had gathered the blinded, silenced men and held to their elbows in guidance, the curly-haired blond stepped forward to continue. He certainly didn’t need to be told twice. Saza held the bundled blades beneath his arm, just above the canvas bag he still wore. Leash wrapped tightly about his hand, the ferocious leader of the other thugs walked close behind him. A quick glance to the side caught Ezili’s blatant inspection, just for his scarlet gaze to snap forward again, as if he’d not expected her attention to have returned to him. He focused on the path ahead, and the words of encouragement given to the injured thugs in their care.

One foot in front of the other. No more trouble. He only hoped that the others took her words to heart as he did.

Yes, new to the city… mister…?

“...Saza,” offered the biqaj, a trill or two after the unspoken request was registered. Saza supposed that he could’ve given a fake name, but he didn’t see the need for it here. Whoever the newcomer was, he did not presume to know that he would ever see her again. A name was but a bird’s song drifting in the wind - some of them were pretty, and some of them sounded nothing like a birdsong at all, but in the end, one had to hear them time and time again before they became nothing but background noise. He listened as Ezili continued, with mention of Yaralon and brutes and a gentler touch… and he paid more attention to the lilt of her smooth voice than the words, but he caught them all the same.

The pouted frown never left his face, at home alongside the silver smear of blood from the shallow cut to his cheek. A hint of blue, too, sprinkled lightly over his features, but he couldn’t have said what for. Like the polite smiles flaunted over pearly painted lips, the comment mostly confused him. Saza readjusted his hold on the covered blades. Ezili was offered another glance, one that lingered long enough to display the golden shift of his red-tempered gaze. One that caught the smile tossed in his direction, too, and considered it in close inspection. Just like all the others (save for the one she’d shown the woman he currently led by leash), it looked real. Certainly, Saza didn’t have any reason to think that it wasn’t real. But he didn’t have any reason to believe that it was, either, and he preferred to err on the side of… not trusting someone that could potentially sell you out. Which, in his native city, felt like anyone and everyone all at once.

Weary, hungry, busy - Ezili had plenty of excuses for an error in behavior that Saza hadn’t noticed in the first place. For all he tried to notice about other people, and for all he thought he understood… those not native to the city were always a mystery to him. He didn’t care about whatever she’d done - she could’ve insulted him to his face (and, he supposed she already did) and he wouldn’t have cared. Calloused to the opinions and treatment of others towards himself, Saza was unbothered, and he shook his head in slight dismissal. He would not mind helping the other biqaj find proper places to eat and rest, but in the meantime, he cared not about however the woman chose to act.

Her voice faded into the briefest of silences, occupied only by the shuffling of shoes against dust and stone. He tugged against the fabric wrapped around his hand, and pulled the woman - who had begun to lag behind - back to his side.

...You do know the way to the Tower of Flesh, yes?

The weapons at his side were nearly dropped. They were saved only by his quick return to rational thought, though it wobbled and wavered with the pale blonde’s words. Again, she inquired of the matter so casually. Most of the outsiders he’d met had been nothing like her - too modest and shy to speak of the Tower, or on occasion, outraged and disgusted by its presence. She wanted to be taken there? Even knowing what she surely must’ve known about it?

It occurred to him then that Ezili was not concerned with herself, and the canvas in his hand felt heavy and hot. He wanted to let go of it. He considered it.

Had he helped save one soul from slavery, only to send three more in her place? Was that what this was? Did she expect him to help her hand them over, just because he was a native of the city? Even Athart must’ve had its disbelieving locals, who opposed the prominent legal (but oftentimes devious) trade, or so he thought. Saza couldn’t say that he had ever done much to go against it, and he was aware of its legality, but he did not exactly want to deliver three unfortunate souls himself. It was different. Wasn’t it? Saza’s steps slowed. Eyes a vivid blend of reddened orange, he looked to Ezili with a raise of one dark brow.

“It’s close,” Saza confirmed, without need to answer the question about if he knew the way there. Another trill, and then the wary blond’s pace picked up again. Through the winding streets, he led them through the shadows of the district, passing by sturdy stone houses and shops. As mentioned, the Tower was close - shorter than the other seven, but the spire reached heights above the sandstone constructions all around them, and he pointed with his leash-holding hand up to a nearby point in the darkness.

The blindfolded woman that walked beside him grumbled something inaudible, her words muffled through the silken fabric in her mouth. Saza paid her no mind, and let his hand drop back to his side once he’d given, “that’s the top there.”

He’d not been to the Tower of Flesh in… how many arcs? Too many to bother with, too few to plan another visit. He would’ve been quite happy to have never even thought of the place again. With no small amount of suspicion bleeding through his accented voice, Saza asked, “and… what’s your business there? You did not come to Nashaki only for this, did you?”

Was he really willing to go back there with this strange, moonlit woman? Was he comfortable involving himself in the trade of slavery and service, by helping her? Was he going to be pleasantly surprised by her answer? He doubted it. Heavily. But he kept on walking while he waited to find out.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Ezili. Ezili, the other biqaj repeated the name. If asked about it, the mage wouldn’t claim that it was a fake name. Quite the opposite. This totem finally had a name of its own rather than adopting the name of sisterly origin of the singer, Kiara. It wasn’t fair of the Quacian to use sibling names for their actual forms when someone might think them to be the same person. Llyr didn’t want to cause trouble for Kiara or Tyara like that, nor Lucretia either. It was one of the many reasons why the mage found new names to fit each totem.

Her eyes widened, in actual surprise, when the stranger took the wrapped blades to hold. She hadn’t expected that and hadn’t thought to ask. It would have been awkward, but she would have managed fine. Of course, if the stranger had left her to tend to the three thugs on her own; her strategy would have proved different. As it was, she didn’t want to leave the weapons lying about. Plus, she assumed they had potential use. Ezili surveyed the other biqaj’s form. They moved on to walk through the streets.

“Mister Saza,” she said once the name was given. She smiled again, polite, and repeated with especial care to how she pronounced each part in the shapely form of her pink-painted lips around each sound. “Saza…”

She continued to talk and glanced on occasion to see if she might catch any changes to the pouty frown on the other’s features. However, Saza seemed to have a calm demeanor… or neutral… or perhaps, he simply wasn’t listening to her. Her gaze lingered on the shallow cut along his cheek, and it was then that he glanced at her. If not for the golden shift in the red irises, she might not have thought him interested at all in what she said. Instead, for the first time in her life, Ezili wondered what another biqaj’s eye color might mean.

The blonde quickly broke away from her survey then, to look forward. She lifted her chin slightly, posture straightened tall. Weary, hungry, busy: each excuse a lie, yet truth in the same breath. For Ezili hadn’t slept, but she wasn’t weary; Ezili hadn’t eaten, but she wasn’t hungry; and Ezili had business ahead of her, but she could arrive whenever she desired.

Admiring the way that the torch lights bounced off sandstone walls and brought the sharp geometric silhouettes of buildings into a horizon line, she didn’t directly notice the stalled surprise of Saza in response to her answer of where she intended to go. Not until she found herself a few steps ahead of the other biqaj. She slowed, with a glance past Tim to look back at Saza. Reddened orange? Barely a change from the gold-tinted red, but then Ezili understood subtle shades and tints of color in ways incomprehensible for most people. If it weren’t for the ring on her pinkie finger, she might have explored those colors a little more intimately… but as it was, she had no access to her magic.

Their pace picked up, soon after his confirmation, and she returned to admiring the various buildings while she got her bearings in the new city. She looked toward the top of the tower that was pointed out. A small upturn on the corners of her mouth continued to hold her lips in a gentle smile. “Excellent, shouldn’t take us long then.”

“and… what’s your business there? You did not come to Nashaki only for this, did you?”

Ezili looked over with a raise of her dark eyebrows due to the suspicious tone that bled into his voice. The light blues and yellows of her irises vanished under a wash of dark purple-blue shades. Her smile vanished, as if it’d never been there in the first place.

“My, my… Mister Saza, is this an interrogation?” she responded with a flutter of her eyelashes. She allowed a few trills to let the comment sink in. Then she stopped walking. Ezili let go of the elbows of the two thugs and stepped in front of Saza. She looked at him with a steady indigo gaze. “If you do not care for slavery, you need not come inside. I would very much appreciate if you would continue to be my guide…”

Her gaze flitted down to Saza’s feet, then slid gradually upward while she appraised him and all that he wore, up to his face and then the curly hair that frizzed slightly in the heat. Ezili fixed some of her own loose hair to tuck the white-blond strands behind her pointed ear. She fluttered her eyelashes again. Her mouth opened, as if to say more…

…only for her head to swiftly turn. Tim had made a run for it. A blind, pointless run into a nearby corner of a building, but a run all the same. Ezili sighed and lifted her feet in feather-light motion as she sprinted after him. He had taken to awkwardly shuffle against the building, stuck in the inset of a door to a closed tailor’s shop. The blonde biqaj gently slapped him and then yanked on his elbow to guide him back to the group.

“I won’t keep you, if you wish to depart,” mentioned Ezili while she started to lead the thugs on their walk in the presumed direction of the tower. She could see it in the near distance, now that it’d been pointed out (though the streets seemed more winding than one might suspect). “Tell me, though, what else does Nashaki have to offer?”

[Saza Moshe]

Night, 7 Ymiden, 720 ‣ Nashaki, Eastern Plains

Saza was no stranger to the subtle, shifting shades in someone else’s gaze. It was something that he hardly took the time to consider, after growing up alongside others of his kind (of which there were not many, but those he knew stuck together), but he had not met many from outside of Nashaki. He certainly hadn’t spent any considerable amount of time with any that passed through, or enough to discover the differences in hue that oftentimes only seemed to mystify those outside of their shared race. So while the ever-shifting colors in old, familiar gazes failed to catch his conscious notice, he was left to wonder the meanings of those in the moonlit woman’s eyes, a stranger to the nuances in shade. With that said, the shift in Ezili’s demeanor that accompanied the darkening of indigo irises told him quite enough. Pretty though it was, it was not something that Saza wished to see again.

Obviously displeased with his inquiry, Ezili’s response went largely ignored. He made note of it, though. Some sense of sudden moral obligation had compelled him to ask, as they neared the shortest of the Towers, and yet he did not request any further explanation after that. Saza was still on the fence about the whole matter… and had already decided, long ago, that he disapproved of the trade perpetuated by the Tower of Flesh and the citizens of his home city. But no one paid him to have morals, least of all the strange, ethereal Ezili, and coin in his leash-bearing hand was better than an empty, clean palm. Or so he told himself. Truthfully, Saza cared more to maintain a sense of neutrality than he cared to stick up for whatever beliefs he held. It was easier, and if it meant that he didn’t have to wander the darkened streets bored and without use, then moral purity could be pushed to the side for a bit.

All went unsaid, however, as Ezili’s steps came to a stop beside him. Before the curly-haired biqaj could think to question her pause, she stepped in front of him, and he came to a sudden stop himself right before her. So close, he took a small step back. Saza let the bundle of covered swords rest against his bag at his side. Ezili’s gaze, dark and steady in its indigo coloration, surveyed him again. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he did nothing - he wasn’t used to such obvious inspection from anyone, but especially not from a girl. If she was sizing him up, it was of little use. He had no intentions of fighting her. But if her intention was, instead, to get under his tanned skin and plant the seed of odd discomfort, then she succeeded. Saza watched her with half-lidded irises, painted a blend of swirled reds and pinks and blues. By the time Ezili’s head turned, they’d settled properly back into the familiarity of deep crimson.

As one of her blindfolded brutes made a break for it, and Ezili sprinted after him, Saza took a deep breath and steadied himself. She had not attempted to force the matter, and in fact had offered him the chance to wait outside while she sorted her business with the Tower, but that didn’t matter to him. He’d already made up his mind about it, and though the little display before him had confused him, he wasn’t going to change his decision now. Ezili still wanted a guide, and so long as she meant what she’d said about payment, Saza would do what he could to help her.

The straying human was caught and brought back to their place on the street. It had been a pathetic excuse for an escape, and it was almost pitiful how easily the man gave up again, once Ezili had reached him. The pale blonde wasted no time in continuing towards her destination, and Saza caught up quickly, venturing slightly ahead to lead her. Without bothering to address his previous hesitations, he shook his head and said, “I’ll go in with you.”

He did not explain why, as he thought it obvious. Ezili was a beautiful woman, and while she might have been going to the Tower of Flesh of her own volition, Saza would not be surprised if they wished to keep her, along with her acquired thugs. He knew that he couldn’t really stop them, if it came down to it… but perhaps his presence beside her would discourage them.

Unless she took the opportunity to hand him over, too. A quick glance down to her ankles, and her wrists, before Saza looked forward again. He would just have to keep an eye out, he supposed, and make sure she did not tear any more strips from her skirt, or pull any more bracelets from her wrists to use as bindings. Besides - he was not as concerned with that in the first place. Given the choice of Ezili or himself, surely those at the tower would consider the pale biqaj more profitable.

At the question concerning Nashaki’s other offerings, Saza took a moment to consider. They passed another stretch of stone buildings, taller now as they neared the tower. The shadowed streets were not entirely unoccupied - scattered here and there with peddlers and other shady silhouettes, Saza took a step to the side, to walk a little closer to Ezili and her silenced thugs. The dreadlocked woman still grumbled and groaned now and then, but her tugs against the noose were light, and Saza held steady in his grip.

“It depends on what you’re looking for,” said the youth, “plenty of taverns and inns, for one. The markets. The Tower of Chamadarst - and the oasis, of course. The cliffs north of the city… and the sky caves, to the east.”

Fortresses, monuments, temples, halls - places to climb, places to eat, places to rest, places to find whatever one could possibly need all existed in Nashaki. Saza had never been any farther from his home than when he had stayed in one of the forts to the north, but he thought it to be a perfect place for anyone. Sure, it was dangerous, and it was hot, and it had its flaws within the stone city walls, but it was home. And when he could not stand the crowded market streets, he found quiet places to sit and write amidst the cliffs and caves and grounded monuments outside. Those who strayed from the city to climb and seek shelter from the sun did not bother him like greedy urchin hands.

Saza wasn’t sure what Ezili had come for, though, and if she intended to find permanent residence within Nashaki or if she had merely visited for… the services provided by the Tower of Flesh. There was plenty to see, and plenty to do, and Saza figured himself as fine a guide as anyone else. Without any proper place to call his own, the entirety of the city was a home to him, and one he knew well.

They came upon the tower with another turn to the left. Looming above, torches illuminated the exterior of the sturdy, stone structure, and Saza shifted on his feet. With a glance to Ezili, he said, “here it is. I’ll follow you, if you're ready.”

He could lead on, if she wished... but somehow the thought of following someone else made the idea of entering the tower more bearable. As if he was any less involved.