The Path of Invasion

[Ryothan]

The sun was a merciless bastard. Surely it was nothing more than some malevolent prank by the powers that be. Of course he knew better than to entertain such a wild belief, but it served as a harbinger of discomfort in this scenario. Its warm rays washed over the laying pair, it shallowed his level of sleep and caused him to stir. There was an instant invasion of crossed emotions and sensations. Pain, pleasure. A grimace, but a smile. The sharp mind of Ryothan put two and two together relatively quickly and he knew the pain the handiwork of his ravaged arm, the pleasure the gentle morning rituals of his wife and queen. He refused to wake fully, the pillows were much more pleasant than the sunny beach jungles of Xexoria.

Perhaps there were a few soft edges to the rough exterior? No, it was just for her.

He was well aware when she slipped from bed, and well aware when she held meeting with the senior witch of her coven. He didn't eavesdrop however, there was a few more winks of sleep to squeeze from the situation and he intended to have them all. Child? What? Wait, no. Sleep. His dreams were rather chaotic. Best he could figure it was some sort of crazy replay of the day before, annoying but he wouldn't offend the Sandman by making light of his gift. It could have been ten minutes, perhaps thirty, he wasn't aware exactly when the melody of Phaedra's words finished what the sun had not and brought him to a fully awake state. There was a small plate of food, fruits and other refreshing pleasantries, and best of all there was her. The moment would have been picture perfect if it wasn't for the indignity of the words she had used to wake him.

"Let's get the embarrassment over quickly," his voice was gruff from dry throat and lips, his eyes in pursuit of some fashion of liquid.

With Phaedra's help, and Ryothan's dignity in shambles, the duo got his pants on and he refused to be helped with the rest. His left arm was out of commission for awhile, his fingers and grip were still responsive but he could not push it and delay the healing, but not even logic softened the blow. An arrow to the shoulder, his ring and pinky fingers broken over the skull of some errant peasant, and his forearm mauled by the foul spittle of a demon in a temper tantrum. Fuck the gods, Ryothan mumbled under his breath as he slipped his boots on and pulled taut the strap fittings. In his good hand he grabbed up the scarab, sword, and waist binding he favored for business casual and slung them over the corresponding shoulder. Husband and wife parted with a kiss and a glance as his council now strode up the hill on horses. News of the final Rivenfelde culling through the night fresh on their tongues.

"My lord," three men of impressive stature took knees in the warm sands at his feet. His generals were a very competent lot, fierce, almost unparalleled in combat if it wasn't for their liege's prowess. Even in the day the fiery lake cast ghostly reflections off the metals of their armor.

"Rise and report," to the point and out with it were his thoughts, his mood was not a generous one.

"Resistance within the city has been stilled, my lord. We officially control and occupy Rivenfelde. We expect future attempts at liberation to be unlikely. We have broken their backs, so to speak, and we've rounded up what nobles we could locate, they should be without leaders. If they find the sacks to refute our claims of leadership again, it will not be soon." The one who spoke was Khorun, an old bear of a man who served as Ryothan's eldest soldier and officer. Though his hair was grey with time, he still remained a potent butcher on the field. He was one of the few men who had sat to drink with Ryothan and chat, but not even that honor afforded him immunity from the counter measures of men's greedy hearts in the form of the Coven's magics.

"Oh, my lord," Khorun began, "We finished rounding up those with children as you commanded. If our swords are not enough to inspire obedience, I am sure we can open the people's eyes..."

"Good," his mood did improve with that although he expected nothing less, would tolerate nothing less. "Have patrols stationed throughout the city. Until we can locate this mystery queen you will be acting chair of Rivenfelde, Khorun. I trust you are more than capable of the weight I place on your shoulders. Do not fail me in this."

The veteran knew that not even their candid nature with one another would spare him Ryothan's wrath, if anything it would only compound it and prolong the agonies.

"Until the world drowns in blood, Blight King." A quote of servitude. Khorun and the other two acting generals saluted by pressing their closed right fists to their hearts with a low bow. Quickly they mounted up and rode off at a fast clip, their work was never done. Their lord's will was absolute.

Ryothan decided to humor his appetite with a few bites of breakfast, he'd need the energy no doubt, but more so he filled his belly with long pulls from a water skin. The fluid was chilled, smooth, it expelled weariness and brought new life to sore limbs. Perhaps he spoiled himself a bit as he basked in the near solitude, but he was not one to dally long. Whistling sharp for an attendant to bring him his horse he prepared for the short trek back to camp -- where a change of clothes and a cleaning basin awaited his arrival. With a warrior's agility he climbed ontop of the mount and took hold of the reins, kicking in his heels they were off.

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Camp was alive. It was like watching ants, a peerless ebb and flow. Everyone knew their roles, knew them to a tee, every tiny specific detail was seared into their memory. Those handy with a forge and a hammer tended to armor and weapons, the slave crew were preparing meals and gearing horses, the men of the army drilled as their commanders gave them the day's orders. Perfection. Not even the squawking advisers with their constant nagging and questions had decided to be a bother, to buzz around him. Perhaps news of his fury in dealing with the demon had spread? Whatever the cause, it was most definitely welcomed. He rode hard until the reached the tent, a formality at this point really, that was shared by him and Phaedra. Hopping off he burst through the flaps and set to work.

First he offloaded the burden off his shoulder, secondly he dived his face entirely within the washing bowl. A process to be repeated four times in following. Hair cleaned, skin cooled. In haste he prepared for a second encounter with that ill behaved wretch...

With an indifferent snap of his fingers one of his more capable servants jumped to serve. He showed favor to the girl not for her cunt, but because she was a mute. Conversation or speaking out of turn were never issues with this one, it was something a man of little patience could appreciate. She immediately set to the task of binding the length of his hair in one long braid, his beard was let loose and remained free. Sophisticated. From his plethora of weapons he pulled four knives, their effectiveness on the demon had drawn a fondness out of him, two sets of twins. He wore one from each pair on his thighs, hung firmly from tactical housing attuned to the job. He'd remain in the pants and boots of the day passed, but there would be an additional piece to today's gear. A leather fitting that covered his left pectoral, shoulder and shoulder blade, and encased the top of his matching arm in a series of interlocking 'plates' to the wrist. It was held firmly in place by straps that cut across his broad chest and found buckles tightened on his right flank.

There really could only be one finishing touch. Fashioned crudely over a brief period of time, a servant had managed to rig a necklace featuring Vylrath's severed ears as the centerpiece. Fitting, very fitting. Even with a demon's gift of regeneration and rapid healing he severely doubted the fiend would have enough vision restored to witness it, but when the sight returned he was positive the message would be clear. With a quick jerk he peeled that infamous spear of his, still sporting the tattered flag of red, and secured it with the confines of his right hand. Pausing briefly outside his quarters he took a moment to just relax, to get his head on straight, to loosen the resistance of tense muscles. Phaedra would be only one place, that was his destination. He locked on and refused to be wavered from course. Long, powerful legs devoured the distance to the medic station rapidly. He was met and greeted be a stalwart guard on duty, one who had a particularly interesting report to share. A point would need to be made, an example set.

Ryothan reigned as the alpha, Vylrath would have to accept his less fortunate standings. Plots better reserved for when the demon could bear witness. There was still fun to be had...

Coming through the entryway he loomed behind his wife. She would sense him immediately, he wasn't a presence that tended to go unnoticed. Discarding the spear by burying the tip in the sandy floor he freed his good arm, he used it to wrap around the structure of her slender waist and pull her back pinning her to him. Sliding loose a section of the bear pelt fingers pulled free one of her breasts, exposing it to the morning air, kneading it slow and catching the nipple with a pull. Hungry kisses tasted the warmth of her flesh from ear to shoulder. All of it to draw whimpers and moans, to fill the room with her throws of lust that desired only him. He knew Vylrath would want it, knew it would send his twisted mind into overdrive, but he did not care. That was whole point. He had everything, the demon had nothing. The beast would learn his place, Ryo had told him as much.

"You came so hard on my cock last night I am surprised you found the strength to walk," his words yet another jab, but they were the unbridled truth.

Snapping up the spear in hand by the shaft's rear he shot the barbed tip to within an inch of the demon's throat and held it steady, insurance against the demon's future insubordination.

"Now tell me, what news of our friend," Ryo spit that last word before finishing,"here?"

[Vylrath]

Vylrath smiled. Oh, the pleasantries of war and politics. At least Ryothan brought out his weapon, instead of his cock, or he might have been worried for a moment. These humans still didn't understand what they had gotten themselves into and that broadened his smile. King Pendaran would have a field day with Ryothan. While the man was cool and collected, he wouldn't survive a day in that realm, but these humans still had a fire in their chest and dark determination- something King Pendaran would never understand.

His eyesight had returned, the aura's still haunting his vision. Ryothan's aura out shined Phaedra, which amused the demon. Vylrath didn't understand the purpose of the aura's, only that the mixture of Holy Water was responsible for the cursed sight. He looked to Ryothan's neck, noting the crude adornment. Chuckling, he shook his head. “You are not the first man to make jewelry out of me, but you are the first one to correctly match it with your outfit.” Vylrath smirked, understanding exactly why Ryothan choose such a visual statement. He got the message, but that didn't mean that he would take it to heart.

Vylrath's severed ears had regenerated, the tips jutting into a rugged point. Raynalios had been the first man to actually torture him, but Vylrath had quickly seized the opportunity, to take advantage of his ego. Raynalios learned the hard way, that Vylrath wasn't a man easily put into submission- Ryothan might as well have been carving the same path.

While Phaedra was beautiful and desirable, his lust for human women had faded long ago. “Don't worry kid, my lust for human women died with my wife's kingdom.” Vylrath waited for their looks to turn into confusion, his cue for explaining the obvious. “Isabella Rivenfelde reigned over this cesspool...I was her husband. We had a daughter, Caela Xanathi, who also ruled over these lands. I don't know how long she held the title of Queen. I wasn't exactly around much after the war.” Truth be told, he had been in hiding. Something the demon didn't want to admit, in front of two beings who held his thread of fate.

Vylrath ignored Ryothan and his bravado gesture with his weapon. Phaedra was the one he answered too and he talked in her direction. “I caused these ruins. The Kingdom's fall was my doing and I caused its neglect. Its people are pathetic, gutless warriors, who are easily overrun.”

Glaring toward Ryothan, he wondered if these two really thought that they had conquered something worthwhile. “I guess you could thank me, for making your victory so effortless.” Shrugging, he didn't consider his behavior or choice of words, but when had he ever? “This is a wasteland, or are you so desperate to conquer, that you will even take this festering shit hole?”

At least when he had come to Xexoria, he had a sense of pride. He had seen the possibilities in the Kingdom that he and Isabella had created together, but now that was all lost to ignorance and war. This city was forgotten, their land a pathetic reminder of what could have been. Maybe his old heart was still buried under the ruins, but he didn't exactly want to find it again. There were too many memories here, especially with the human priestess who had captured his heart.

“My name is Vylrath Xanathi. Until the other day, I was a Vuri, not the demon standing before you. I created the Vuri lake, the damnable thing you summoned me near and fed sacrifices too- by the way, you gave the remaining Vuri strength...I'm sure my children are grateful to you.” Shaking his head, he wondered if they really had a plan, or were just blindly storming through cities.

“The Vuri are not creatures that you want to make enemies with. They live on blood and flesh of man, any creature foolish enough to fight against them. They also have the ability to consume the strength of that creature, or any magical attributes...I became Vuri, because I ate a man and gained his blood curse. I turned some of my children against their will. My daughter Caela, is currently the Vuri leader.”

Vylrath exhaled, wondering how he had remembered so much. Noticing that he had their attention, he moved away from Ryothan and Phaedra. Sitting down, he decided to make himself comfortable. If they wanted to stand, who was he to argue? His history was as old as the land itself. They would be here awhile, if they wanted to learn anything useful.

“When you summoned me, I was in some godforsaken Unseelie realm, controlled by King Pendaran.” Vylrath rolled his eyes, remembering the grandeur entrance of King Pendaran and his awkward attire. “Now THERE'S a piece of work...I have been around a lot of King's and influential people, but I will never figure that guy out. The damn man had makeshift clothing made out of ice and the grace of a woman." Vylrath rolled his eyes again, remembering the scene very vividly. It was enough to make his stomach churn. "Not very intimidating in my opinion...but he wants my daughter for marriage.” Vylrath shrugged his shoulders again, positive that all of this information was causing their thoughts to spiral.

Waving a hand, he explained further. “This daughter is from a different marriage. I've been with three women...Isabella Rivenfelde, Caela and Kahlan...this daughter, Igraine, is born from Kahlan, who happens to be an arch angel. My daughter was born in the Fae realm and this asshole, thinks that their marriage will mend their realms or something....” Vylrath was not the person to go to for explanations, or opinions on politics. “I have no idea what his plan is, but you interrupted my attack on him, while you were summoning me.” He had almost forgotten that anger. Had he not been interrupted by Phaedra, he was sure that King Pendaran's face would have been mauled.

“This guy has had issues with Kahlan before, but even I don't understand that history- I just wanted the bastard dead. Now our daughter is stuck in his realm and I have no idea where my other kids are. I doubt Kahlan knows what's going on and I hope to Hell she doesn't find me.” Vylrath shuddered at the thought of Kahlan finding him. It had been his job to protect Igraine and now he was bound to Phaedra. Kahlan didn't know that he was demonic now either. He feared the wrath of his lover, more than any other force on this miserable Earth.

“I'm sure that King will come looking for me. I did kind of ruin his party.” Vylrath grinned, wondering what sort of expression King Pendaran wore after his sudden disappearance. He was certain that Igraine could hold her own, but he wondered for how long.

“Since you decided to bind yourself to me, King Pendaran will consider you a threat. I hope you're prepared for one helluva war, Master.” Vylrath said the word, but he was shocked to find it escaping from his lips. Demons were strange about contracts and who they were bound to. He would die for Phaedra and be at her every whim, whether his mood allowed it or not.

[Phaedra]

Ryothan’s touch was always a welcome balm to Phaedra. His hands could do miraculous things that made her forget the world even existed. He persisted in working his own personal magic in front of Vylrath, but she didn’t mind. She let herself get lost in it until he stopped. When he did she let the bear cloak fall forward to conceal her body again. Phaedra looked like a vicious savage Queen standing there with wild hair and fur covering her naked body. She stepped to the side as Ryothan threatened Vylrath with the point of his spear.

Her attentions were riveted on what the apparently old demon had to say. He spoke of many grand things, including his involvement of the decline of this once grand empire, and she shook her head. Men had such a way with words to make themselves seem invaluable to every aspect of an event. This Vylrath Xanathi seemed to be no less capable of such feats of ego stroking. As he continued to speak Phaedra blended into the background, picking up a bowl and some water. She set these things on a table between her and Vylrath. She was still listening to him as she poured the water into the bowl and pricked her finger with one of the needles she was carrying.

It was true that demons loved blood, but Phaedra’s would smell wrong to him. He wouldn’t want to attack her simply because she was his Mistress in all things. She owned him more than he owned himself at this point, though he seemed comfortable enough. So when a drop of her blood hit the water and dispersed, Phaedra stuck the offending appendage into her mouth and sucked it clean of all blood. She murmured a soft word over the bowl and blew across the surface to create wild ripples. Moments later her face was illuminated by a light that erupted from the bowl.

She had neglected to speak much since her husband’s arrival in the tent, so when she spoke it would potentially unnerve the men standing outside the tent and Vylrath. Despite her being in the room the whole time, Phaedra had quite a way with blending and moving without seeming like a nuisance. Indeed, she could almost seem to disappear from the forefront altogether if she wanted to. It was a skill she’d learned from her mother. If someone wasn’t looking directly at you or directly addressing you the whole time you could blend into the background carefully. It was what had largely kept her unbeaten by her task masters early in her servitude to Ryothan. Those that had laid a hand on her for beating or otherwise had been dealt with by Ryothan personally when he’d found out. To say that Vylrath had gotten off lightly with his treatment was an understatement with regards to those individuals that had hurt her.

“Is this your daughter? This Caela Xanathi that you speak of?” Phaedra gestured into the bowl before her at a red haired woman with several of the features of the demon now standing before her. She flicked her wrist to sift through various scenarios, touching on one where Vylrath was being rather forceful with his…daughter. In fact it looked like he’d gotten a child in her belly if the roundness of her middle was any indication.

“I see that your demonic heritage precedes you.” Phaedra flicked her wrist through a few more scenes before blowing on the surface of the water again to conjure up a whole new series of images. These were more recent, though her magic could not extend through the veils of the independent Fae realms that Vylrath spoke of. One of the pictures was of a beautiful statuesque woman with long loosely curled fiery blonde hair. She had softly angled features and a breathtaking pair of grey blue eyes. A hint of what she could be flickered across the bowl in the form of a single wing framed by sunlight. It was brief but it was enough. This would be the Kahlan that the demon spoke of.

“Your lover is impressive. I don’t see how you can be around her with your difference in…powers. It’s a shame I don’t know more about Angels. Perhaps I should look into it more.” Phaedra flicked through the scenes until she found one of a woman that looked to be younger than herself. She had a look of the woman that Vylrath loved, but she also had some of the features of the demon. She was a handsome woman, that was for certain, but there was something completely otherworldly about her. There was a grace that wasn’t Demonic or Angelic in nature but something altogether different. Perhaps it was this Seelie business that Vylrath was speaking of. She would grill him on information about that later.

“We want your daughter Caela. We have been searching for her and will bring Xexoria to heel if we cannot find her. Mark my words, Xanathi, this will come to pass if she is not brought to us in a timely manner. We don’t want to hurt her, but we want to use her as a figurehead of sorts. She rules Xexoria in our stead, by our rules, exporting whatever god forsaken textile this country can produce. When we call on her for supplies or men or anything that we need, she is to report with what we ask. It is a generous offer, one that your…Rivenfelde wife would have been willing to accept I wager.” Phaedra blew on the surface of the bowl to reveal scenes of Isabella Rivenfelde. She was a handsome woman too, a trait that Vylrath seemed to be attracted to. She had an inner fire, not unlike Phaedra herself, and she carried herself with a royal authority. No one could deny that she was a Queen, though by the looks of it she had not started out that way. She had been some sort of warrior priestess. A smile formed on Phaedra’s lips and she nodded before dashing her hand across the surface of the water to break the scrying pattern.

“I can respect this human wife you had. She is an acceptable individual.” Phaedra’s own story had been similar, though not quite as glamorous as being a priestess. However, she had risen to the glory of Ryothan’s wife and Witch Queen of Numantia.

Phaedra watched Vylrath carefully as he spoke of flesh eating Vuri. She said the word out loud, tasting it, letting it stick in her memory before letting her jade green eyes pin the old demon in place. She raised her hand and gestured for him to be more forthcoming with this information.

“You were summoned for these reasons. Come; tell me more of these Vuri. You created them? What purpose does this lake have? Obviously having pushed several human men into it has yielding very interesting results. Why is it on fire? I suppose the real question is why did you set it on fire? What is the purpose of this lake for the Vuri besides trapping unwitting humans? I also saw runes on the temple itself. Do those have any significant meaning to being a Vuri?” Phaedra walked back to where Ryothan was, pressed a kiss to his good arm in passing, and poured the water from the bowl into a basin. She set the bowl aside and slipped behind Ryothan, letting her fingertips trail across his back briefly before standing next to the tent flap.

“Mull that over. I will return. My husband has reminded me that I’m in terrible need of a bath after last night’s activities.” Phaedra ducked under the tent flap and walked in quiet contemplating to the tent she shared with Ryothan. When she entered she pulled the cloak off and laid it on the bed they shared. Several mute slaves came forward and helped her into the tub that had been standing by for her arrival.

Every slave that attended on Phaedra was mute. She wouldn’t be served by a slave that could voice his or her opinion to anyone in the camp, so she had every one of her servant’s tongues cut out. They were useful implements in some rituals so the organ never went to waste. As water was poured over her she relaxed into the tub and allowed the slaves to scrub her weary body clean. When they were done, Phaedra got to her feet and let them dry her. She walked to her chest and pulled out a pair of black pants and a black wrap that she bound her breasts in. She pulled her wet hair away from her face and braided it carefully. With careful hands she pulled on a pair of boots and grabbed the bear cloak from where she laid it.

Phaedra was stopped a few times on her way back to the surgical tent by the advisors that had avoided Ryothan. She put most of them off, but accepted reports of the flora and fauna from one soldier, and dismissed the rest until later when her husband could stand in attendance. She ducked under the tent flap and flipped through the papers while gesturing at Vylrath.

“I dare say you’ve had plenty of time to think of how to reply to my questions. Out with it.” She settled on a stool near Ryothan and showed him the reports she’d gathered from one of his scouts. “It looks like they have wolfsbane on the list, which is good. I’m running low on that particular herb.” Phaedra leveled a glance on Vylrath that would not allow him to realize she was listening to him and expecting him to answer her promptly. Even as her body leaned closer to Ryothan, gravitating to the warmth of his presence, she flipped through the papers scanning for anything she didn’t recognize in the descriptions.

[Ryothan]

The womb of creation housed many planes, realms, worlds within worlds. Living within these infinite channels was the phenomenal, the ungodly, the supernatural, and even the mundane. Exchanges of unfathomable power were the signature norm of one place, the stuff of legends for another. But on this plane, in spite of it all, it seemed the dominant race was the lackluster human. No more than two-legged cattle in the grand scope of things, but somehow a force to be reckoned with all the same. Against all the odds they rose up, spread like wildfire, consumed all in their path with a cancer's hunger and forged kingdoms, legacies, and changed the annals of history for all time. They functioned purely on ambition, greed, and the whims of a heart that made no sense to anyone who dared to decipher.

Perhaps it was this sheer audacity, or maybe just the balls to establish their own significance, that made this humble race thrive. On top of that pile sat Ryothan; Numantian king, warlord for the ages. It was his knowledge, and absolute acceptance, of all these truths that allowed him to keep the proverbial nerves of steel in the face of everything Vylrath had to report. Words spilled from the demons lips with ease, the creature more docile than the day before minus a few verbal jabs of a sharp tongue, and even though it was as he desired there was a resonating sense of disappointment. He had both entertained and favored the idea of a round two with the man, further punishments were definitely in order, but it seemed his wrathful hand would be put on ice for another day. Convinced of Vyl's cooperation in the matter he lowered the weapon tip to the ground and remained all ears.

Being edged with the senses, both mental and physical, of a predator allowed Ryothan to keep a general sense of Phaedra's comings and goings about the tent's interior, but his fierce blues spent a majority of their effort trained on the demon's form. As stalwart and unwavering as a man could be, even he found himself subjected to curiosity as the Witch Queen opened a viewing window of all things being spoken and called forth a name. He hunched over her shoulder, staring at the image of this Caela and made a mental note. She flipped through the imagery like the pages of the book, it told a rather informative story in a short period of time, and Ryothan snarled at the sight of some of the specifics. There were some lines not meant to be crossed, but he'd hardly dwell on it. If these women were foolish enough to repeatedly be swept up in Vyl's wake, the fault was their own. The strong take from the weak and all that.

Slowly but surely Phaedra was unraveling key pieces to the puzzle and painting a far more complete picture of the events surrounding their demon captive. It seemed the fiend had a singular appetite for the company of women and left one hell of a mess everywhere he tread. What Ryothan did with his sword, Vylrath seemed to do with his love. However, the king found the demon's handling of relationships to be a huge flaw, a weakness. His wife's presence in his life had only kindled the fire as it burned, steeled his resolve, and allowed him the strength to unleash a figurative hell in the pursuit of dreams. But the two men were of different breeds, it served no point to ponder. The visual of an Angel lover, a term surely best used loosely, awe struck him a notch. Why would one of divine genetics lay with what should have been anathema? Layers upon layers, but silently he pressed for the more relevant.

Yet another woman with an all too familiar look took shape in the water. His patience was growing thin as it stretched over the useless heap of information that seemed to be gleaned from Vylrath's vagina riddled past. Phaedra was a collector of knowledge, it served her and therefore him very well, it expanded her resources and abilities, she would have an invested interest in bringing to light the various facts of the demon's story...however, Ryothan became restless with the moment. What had started as a genuine interest minutes before now turned to aggravation. The towering king rolled out from behind Phaedra and stalked the length of the tent, his spear in use as if a walking stick, his short journey brought him across the demonic man, a brief pause in his pacing for a short stare. His posture was not threatening, his demeanor placidly neutral, he nodded as if approving a thought. About this time was when the queen explained to Vylrath the motives behind the missing Xanathi search.

"She may care very little for this shit hole, but she will rule, in our name, here once more. Refusal is not an option." Just a brief reiteration, curt words to solidify his presence in the meeting.

Phaedra mentioned something about respect and acceptable. Rare compliments for either of them to give, and as such Ryothan paced slowly back to her side of the table and offered a quick glance at the woman in the bowl. Hm, perhaps he would have needed to see the whole story as she had.

"I grow weary of the women in his past. We are after his knowledge in the regards to these Vuri and the lake of fire, not his rape count."

On cue. . .

Phaedra unleashed a wall of questions. As was stated, she was a witch. Being attuned to the fabrics of magic made her exceptionally inquisitive, and very thorough. These were the questions that needed to be asked. This was the heart of the matter. The meat and potatoes as to all the events of the last day and a half. The reasoning for summoning Vylrath to this plane to begin with, why they had bound him so absolute. It was his knowledge of these particulars that Ryothan found relevant. Anticipation drew a grin, both hands now clutched the shaft of his spear, the butt firmly ground into the sand as he leaned forward to listen. Instead of getting answers to her interrogation she walked back to him, he offered a soft nod with her kiss, and watched as she poured out contents of her bowl. Her lingering touch was a goodbye, but just for now, and he turned to watch her go.

There was a part of him that would have loved nothing more than to rush back to their personal quarters and share a bath with her, but there was work to be done. Looking back over his shoulder he sighed in resignation. Again he traversed the short distance to stand before the demon with an appraising eye. With a casual toss of his arm he dispatched of his weapon to the furtherst corner of the tent where it laid inert, there would be no need for it. Plucking one of the extra chairs from the room over to where he stood he took a seat across from Vylrath. He rolled his injured shoulder, flexing muscles just to shake loose the tired ache and get the blood flowing, his good hand adjusting the straps to the leather guard protecting his injuries.

"Demon," Ryothan always spoke that word with venom, it was a derogatory term where he was concerned, "you make a habit of misspeaking. I care very little for Rivenfelde, or its people. It is no jewel, no prize. Its people are pathetic and broken. Cowards on the best of terms. But even the weak serve their purpose to the strong. Judging from your colorful past I am sure even you can attest to this." This train of thought tapered off with the tightening of the final strap.

Looking up from his armor fitting he stared the demon eye-to-eye. On to the more current topic of debate.

"I care less about your race as a whole than she does. What I want to know, demon, what you will tell me is if this sanctuary can be used. For power, for a weapon. Will it serve any purpose? Do not test me with riddles, jokes, or quips on this. I will pluck your tongue from your head and mount it next to your ears. I know you do not fear the pain, but not even you would subject yourself to pointless misery." Removing a knife and laying it across his lap for emphasis he leaned back against his chair. Judging from earlier behavior he doubted more blood would be a necessity, but he would negotiate from a position of power at all times. Silence would pass between them, but he would allow Vylrath the time to find his voice.

Taking the handle of the knife in hand he leaned forward again, arms resting on his knees, his voice casual but still that cavernously trademark deep...

"Does this fairy king really walk around in pants of ice? In the realm of fairy, do they mistake the terms queen and king?" It was a more casual exchange, especially for these two, but it was by no means an olive branch of any kind. Ryothan just literally found himself baffled at the idea. "It seems the people of Fae bend their knee to a woman confusing herself for a man."

It was about this time that that wild lover of his burst back through the flaps and relit the room with her presence. She voiced to the demon it was time to start flapping his gums again, and with a nod he agreed.

"Yes, demon. Out with it." Though he knew Vylrath to be bound to Phaedra's will, thus more likely to address her line of questions first, he spoke in support of the question he had asked personally when she was out.

He took the reports in one hand and thumbed through a few pages, "When we're finished with our immediate concerns we'll have to investigate these reports ourselves. Perhaps our friend here would enjoy revisiting the sights and picking flowers..."

[Vylrath]

Humans were annoying creatures. They always had a desire to discover and question what should be left alone. Ryothan addressed him by his race, which amused him greatly. Since he wasn't shown respect, he wouldn't be sharing that sentiment with Ryothan. When Ryothan showed some interest in what he was explaining, Vylrath smirked. If these humans entered the sanctuary, they would go mad. He and Isabella had made sure to protect their race, should curious creatures decide to intrude.

Perhaps he shouldn't warn them of that flaw...he would enjoy seeing Ryothan buckle. Ryothan sat across from him, his bulky frame keeping Vylrath from a possible exit. This was all so tiresome, but if he could gain these humans as possible allies, he should at least try to cooperate. Even if that very notion got under his skin and ruined a good mood.

King Pendaran might be expecting his power, but he wouldn't expect a band of humans, with a powerful witch and competent army. Vylrath stretched, pausing with his thoughts before he continued the explanation of his past. He was feeling very old, from visiting old phantoms and the images spawned in the scrying bowl didn't help ease his mind.

Kahlan had done well with cursing him to harbor human emotions. Demons didn't normally possess so much thought and emotion. He had once loved Isabella deeply, but their affair was always complicated by wars. Vylrath had always been a man of action, often used as a pawn and iconic figure when he aided Isabella. These thoughts of consequences were quickly driving him insane, especially when he recalled the image of Caela. When he had impregnated her, it had been his demonic lust and rage that had consumed him. It had been awkward enough meeting up with her again, but even more-so if he was asked to contact her for their bidding.

They hadn't exactly parted on good terms. He had made sure to tell Caela, that he had been there for Igraine, not for their children's sake. Vylrath had no bond with Trydian or his other grandchild Sebilla. They were the last of his thoughts, which was unfortunate for Caela. Sebilla had only been realized, because of the demon she had contained in a crystal. Once that had been released, his thoughts on her had quickly dispersed, along with his sanity.

“I cannot contact my daughter and I doubt she would answer to my call. If I had remained Vuri, I might have been able to request her presence.” Shrugging, there was little he could say on the matter. His family was the most dysfunctional and hardly communicated normally with one another. They always seemed to meet in dire situations and wars. The Parley had brought all of them together in one room, which hadn't been the smartest move on King Pendaran's part.

“The flame is caused by my son's blood. I suppose he considered himself the new Vuri leader, after I disappeared. Vuri blood is much more toxic, than demonic blood. Thorin bled in it, which is why it is no longer a blue flame. His stench is overwhelming....” Vylrath drifted off with his words, as if distracted by another thought.

“Why did your God create humans? Do you think your God has a path planned for you? You are a fool if you do...I had no real plan with the creation of Vuri. I just wanted control. I wanted to seize their fate and make them bow to me.” Vylrath got up and walked to where a decanter was sitting on a nearby table. Its contents gave a hazy hue, but he didn't bother to read the label. Pouring himself a drink, he handed another glass to Ryo.

Drinking the burning liquid, he forced himself to explain the Vuri and their miserable past. “They were once weak individuals, but I made them into warriors. The sanctuary was created to protect them and regenerate their bodies from sickness and war. However, should an average individual walk into its space, you will go insane.The runes on the sanctuary prevent humans and other creatures from entering for very long. It will make you go into madness and you will never be the same soul again.”

Sitting back down, he motioned toward Ryothan with his glass of amber liquid. “So, if you want to venture in, be my guest. I'll start making bets on how long it takes the sanctuary to break your mind.” Vylrath thought it over, wondering if they would actually survive long enough to decipher the runes. It would be the most fun he's had in awhile. “I'll even give you a tour.” Finishing the drink, he crushed the glass in his hand, allowing the acidic blood to corrode the floor. “It's the least I can do, after what I did to your arm.” That remark would hit a nerve with Ryothan, since Vylrath was sure he hadn't been planning on such a low tactic from the demon.

If Ryothan decided to use his weapon again him, he could simply use his blood magic. It would be just as painful and even crippling to a degree. Vylrath didn't doubt the warriors ability, but he always had to plan a defense, just in case things got personal.

“Do you want to know how I killed the man and became Vuri? The foolish human decided to use blood magic against me and you know how I react to human blood...I tore the man apart, by using his own tactic against him. My blood magic invaded his body and ripped him asunder like a vice.” Vylrath watched the expression on Ryothan, but this man wasn't easily shaken. It was almost refreshing.

“I think that Baleron was his name...he thought he could be a lover to Caela. Now the Vuri hold his power. When you become a Vuri, your soul dies and you become the element that calls to you. Painful changing. Isabella had been the second Vuri changed, then Caela and now Thorin. There are some naturally borne Vuri, but you don't want to cross them. My son from Caela is exiled, but I wouldn't even want to go against that power- it isn't natural. I'm sure the madness has consumed Soren.” Naturally born Vuri were full of raw energy, not as easily concentrated as a changed Vuri. Vylrath barely understood the race itself, since they were so new. Everything had occurred accidentally.

Interrupted by Ryothan's questions on King Pendaran, he smirked. “Yes, ice pants. I cannot take a man seriously, when he is dressed better than my daughters.” Shrugging he looked to Ryothan, his face etched with genuine honesty. “I cannot tell you about the Unseelie realm, only because I was called for appearance on a peace Parley. Well, you can tell how that ended. Now I am here with you...unfortunately.”

If he played his cards right, he could get used to the company of these humans. At least Ryothan and Phaedra had intelligence and a desire for some form of corruption.

“Ryothan..if you want this to be in your favor, I would suggest working with me, not against me.” He paused, picking his words carefully. “Unless you want to end up like our friend Baleron.” Vylrath's words were not a real threat, but an idea on what could happen if Ryothan decided to make him an enemy.

[Phaedra]

Phaedra listened with one idle ear as the men spoke between themselves. She rolled her eyes as she flipped through the pages of the reports on flora and fauna that had been taken in detail for her personal use. There were a few she didn’t recognize and she made a mental note to pay special attention to those, bringing her sketch materials along on the trip they would make. When Vylrath began threatening Ryothan she glanced up, her jade green eyes locking on the demon.

Slowly Phaedra rose to her feet, unimposing from years of slavery. She set the papers down carefully and removed the cloak she was wearing, setting it aside for now, revealing the pale flesh of her shoulders and belly. The tattoo that swirled around her back was only partially blocked by the fabric that wrapped around her chest. She rested a hand on Ryothan’s good shoulder and stepped over the barrier created by his leg. She straddled his thigh for one moment, pressing a kiss of apology on his cheek, before continuing the motion, standing directly in front of Vylrath.

“Excuse me. I think I might have misunderstood your speech.” Phaedra reached up and brushed her still damp hair away from her face. Her lips twitched slightly in a half smile, her eyes searching Vylrath’s healing but destroyed face. He would never be the same, though she wouldn’t tell him that. “Did you threaten your King?”

Phaedra laughed a little and glanced over her shoulder to level a look at Ryothan. Her braid whipped around enough to hit Vylrath in the chest with some force. She turned her attention back to Vylrath, running her fingers over her braid in idle thought.

Later, Vylrath might be impressed, but at that moment Phaedra was angry. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her hands around his throat and pressed on his throat with her thumbs. For such a slight woman she was incredibly agile and strong, all attributes that Ryothan favored in her. She pulled Vylrath down to her level, for he was slightly taller than her – but not by much.

“I don’t care if you were a god of the universe, or a King of Heaven and Hell itself. I will not allow you to threaten the life of your King. Ryothan Valari is the only King that you will acknowledge, and as far as you are concerned he will be the only God that you worship until the end of your life.” Phaedra pushed Vylrath away from her, which might upset his delicate sense of balance, but she turned her back on him. He would sense her displeasure and that wasn’t the bond that would clue him into it. Phaedra stepped over her Husband’s thigh carefully, bracing herself enough so that she didn’t trip. She paused halfway over before looking at Vylrath with a grin.

“On second thought… I think I know how to make you behave.” Phaedra scrambled back over her Husband’s knee and grabbed a fistful of sewing needles. She reached out and grabbed a handful of Vylrath’s hair and pulled his neck to the side. Right on the side of his neck she started pushing pins into his neck in an intricate design. She didn’t even take them out. The whole time, with steady hands, she was chanting something soft and low; right into Vylrath’s newly reassembled ears. When she was done, Vylrath’s blood would be dripping from the thirty or so individual needle wounds. She took them out one by one and used the last one to drag roughly through all of the individual punctures, connecting them carefully in a perfect circle and then tearing through the middle design.

When Phaedra was done she deposited all of the needles in a nearby wooden bowl that had some old bloody water from Vylrath’s previous wounds in it. She took a handful of the liquor from the bottle Vylrath had been drinking from and tossed it on his wound. It would burn, but nothing like the holy water, and it would wash the sigil clean of his oozing coagulating blood. Phaedra washed her hands carefully with the alcohol and smiled down at Vylrath.

“Let me make this incredibly clear to you Mister Xanathi. You are my slave. You live through my desire to use you as I see fit. The moment you become a threat to anyone in my immediate circle, including my Husband, you outlive your usefulness. Are we understood, Vylrath?” Phaedra smirked at him and shook her head.

“Oh, by the way, Xanathi – the Sigil on your neck binds you to my Husband as well. You may do such things as spar with my Husband if he deems you a worthy opponent, but you will not be able to kill him. You will also be incapable of dismembering him and consuming his body after death. Do not try my patience again. Once you become more a nuisance than you’re worth I will kill you myself.” Phaedra walked away from him then, lifting herself over her Husband’s legs and gathering the papers again, perusing the last few pages in relative peace.

It wasn’t long after the episode ended that one of Phaedra’s witches, a tall blonde with sapphire blue eyes, slipped into the tent. She wore a simple black dress that was the dress code for all of the witches within Phaedra’s circle. She passed a haughty gaze over Vylrath’s form and directed her gaze toward Phaedra and Ryothan. She bent low in a curtsey and when Phaedra bade her to rise, the woman settled easily near her.

“What have you to report, Cora?” Phaedra asked without looking up.

“The city has been cleansed of all offending material. A pile has been made outside the city proper. We have also gathered all usable supplies for our purposes. Herbs and potions from an Apothecary near the town’s center.” Cora reported with her gaze on the entrance of the tent, looking neither at Phaedra or Ryothan as she gave her report. She looked to be a few years older than Ryothan himself, and also the youngest of all the Witches to serve under Phaedra. Phaedra herself, being only twenty eight years old, was the youngest of them all – and the strongest.

“Very well, burn the material that has been gathered. Set aside any of the herbs that you don’t recognize. Make sure that Hazel brings me a sample of each unidentifiable herb. Take a few of the villagers and force them to tell you what the unidentifiable potions are from the Apothecary. If they resist, start force feeding a few of them to see the reactions. Several are bound to be poison. No self-respecting Apothecary owner would go without poisons.” Phaedra set the paperwork down again on a table near the stool she had seated herself on.

“As you will, my Queen. What of the dead?” Cora glanced at her Queen before looking at the silhouettes of the soldiers outside the tent.

“If they are ours, burn them. If they are the villagers, which I presume all of them are, force the remaining men of the town to burn them. If they refuse, torture the women. Leave the children be, we can always raise the boys to be future warriors within our fold. The girl children will make decent slaves.” Phaedra made a dismissive gesture before catching Cora by the wrist. “Oh, and the King and I will be going to check the plant life in the area. Make sure to relay this to the rest of the Coven.”

Phaedra let the woman go and watched her walk out of the tent and disappear into the dull roar of an army fifty thousand strong.

“Ryothan, darling, I think I might like to give Vylrath to Cora for an evening.” Phaedra spoke as if Vylrath wasn’t in the room and didn’t even exist for her. He might feel a pang of jealousy for being ignored, but she doubted he would even consider it. He would understand the motives for giving him to her witches though. Any male would understand that. There was more than one way to break a man after all.

“If you’re done bleeding, Vylrath, it’s time to go.” Phaedra got to her feet and draped her cloak over her arm. “Ryothan, how many soldiers would you like to gather in order to go on this expedition. The distance to these different plants aren’t really discussed in the notes, just general figures.” Phaedra pushed her head out of the tent and grabbed one of the soldiers guarding the tent for Ryo to talk to. She held her hand out to gauge the height of the sun from the horizon, judging there to be enough time she glanced back at Ryothan.

“I’ll just be a minute. I have to get my things that I need to take with us.” She left the tent and walked to the one she shared Ryo. With hands that were seasoned to the task, she gathered up everything she would need, including her sketchbook, several quills, and a few ink wells. She put these things in a bag that she carefully slung over one shoulder and across her chest for ease of use.

Phaedra walked back to Ryothan and stood beside him. She was small in comparison, standing only five feet six inches in height, though she had a presence that could command a room. Her jade green eyes scanned the breadth of the soldiers camping and taking care of their individual chores. The daily life of an army on the move was like being home for Phaedra; she felt the most at ease during these times. She pulled the black bear fur over her shoulders and tied it. In the distance she could see a large fire growing beyond the town of Rivenfelde. She tilted her head as the smoke was contained beneath the tree line by the witches in charge of disposal. Cora was a bright girl, she never did have to be told twice, and all fires that had the probability of producing smoke had similar enchantments.

Phaedra’s eyes were drawn to the second fire, just now starting to flare to life. The men were like ants at this distance, but they were walking two by two, carrying a body between them. It looked as if the women had been separated from their children for the time being as an assurance that the deed would be followed through with. When Phaedra was completely sure that her orders were being carried out, she turned to Ryothan with a smile.

“Shall we, my King? The first series of herbs are a short distance from the edge of the jungle. Perhaps thirty yards.” Phaedra smiled a soft genuine smile. Ryothan humored her in doing this, and he chose to accompany her because he trusted no one else completely with her safety. She rested her hand on his good arm, eyeing his wounded arm carefully. His armor covered the entirety of his wounds and provided extra coverage for the event of a battle. The arm would not have its full use for a while, and Ryothan was used to pain so he didn’t show how badly it hurt. It would be stiff though.

“When we return to camp I will change your bandages.” That also meant she would check each wound diligently for infection and apply more medicines and allow the wounds to breathe before bandaging him all over again. It was a safe way for them to acknowledge the pain that Ryothan was ignoring. It was a chore that she took with pride and did carefully. If Ryothan were to die from infection she would not be able to handle his loss. Most women would gladly take over the power their husbands left behind, under the guise of necessity, but not Phaedra. She knew half a dozen different ways to kill someone that left no trace. Phaedra would die with her husband and let the Kingdom take care of itself, which meant it would destroy itself.

For a couple that lived and died by the laws of destruction, this was the only acceptable way to leave the land of the living.

[Ryothan]

Since landing on Xexoria's shores bearing the gifts of invasion and war the ride had been a topsy-turvy one on the best of terms. Their stay had been defined by extreme highs, lows, and barely enough violence for the Blight King to wet his tongue and taste of carnage. The mental aggravation the Vuri Sanctuary brought in tow not only rivaled but out-shone the searing trinity of plaguing injuries laying his left arm low, atleast for the time being. A headache manifested dead center between the eyes and he felt his patience slipping further and further into a black hole screaming madness. When he had used the term "out with it" he wasn't aware the demon would be so literal. All Ryothan required was a simple answer to a simple question, Vylrath however deemed the phrase adequate prodding for another one of his enthralling, and enchanting, life stories. What a boastful tongue the creature held, it struck a nerve that blazed annoyance.

Atleast his beloved Witch Queen would enjoy the wealth of knowledge. He would endure, he had to endure. Buried somewhere within the endless ramblings were the answers he craved. Never in his journeys, adventures that had stretched the breadth of the realm in the pursuit of conquest, had he found something as baffling as this blasted lake of fire. If he could bend its energies to the will of the Numantian empire he would have it. This thread alone allowed him to remain in control as the demon addressed him, and apparently solely him, for the duration of story time. He busied himself with playing with the perfectly balanced knife held within skillful hand. Twisting it, twirling it, weaving it in and out of digits. It occupied the half of him that craved action and demanded he silenced Vylrath, while the other half absorbed what relevance it could find in the wretch's words. Ryothan chose only to answer when he felt it necessary, there was no reason to drag this out.

"Demon," what a repugnant word to have to repeat, "I do not give two shits about the gods, or their schemes. I forge my own purpose and path." There was a short chuckle swimming in a mocking tone, "I find it humorous that it took you a race to feel in control. Now quickly get on with it."

He took the glass but would never bring the contents to his mouth, trust was not a common thing for the man. An eyebrow perked with curiosity as Vylrath explained the ill side-effects of a mere human stepping foot within the Vuri holy grounds. Following soon after was another one of the fiend's oh so side splitting taunts, it drew up a corner of his lips in a familiar grin. The corrosive material splattered the sands, it sizzled and popped with endless hunger. Perhaps it was also worth a response. Just slightly. Flexing the perpetual stiffness in his arm he spoke...

"It takes nothing more than a mirror to mark the victor of that exchange." Short, sweet. His ego was hardly a fragile thing. It was the threatening of his wife that drove him to take Vyl's sight and ears, not hubris.

It was true. Ryothan was not easily shaken. Nothing the demon had to say would rattle him much, it seemed nothing more than stories to try and bolster his rank among his captors. Maybe pluck the chords of fear? He wouldn't find such things. Not with Ryo and Phaedra. Fear had no place, served no purpose. Fear was met with disdain and the headsman's axe. Those who trembled under its touch were not worthy of their lives. With a grunt he picked at his nail with the tip of the small, yet lethal, weapon in a display of disinterest for the tale of blood magic. The veiled threat of power was not lost on him, but it wasn't what he was seeking. The search continued.

There was a moment where a sliver of interest spiked his other emotions from the playing field. It was that damn sissy Vylrath had described. It was a fleeting sensation as the demon continued to talk. It was no loss. There was no valuable information to be gleaned from this "Unseelie" nonsense, it was hardly prudent to the situation at hand and truthfully he would rather not meet someone who could call themselves a man with a straight face while draped in garments of ice and water.

Without warning the situation became volatile...

There was a second threat, less veiled and watered down, and this time his wrath had no time to surface before that radiant beauty who served as his right hand took action. She crawled over his lap, a brief moment of appreciation, and she seized Vylrath by the throat and armed herself with a fierce speech to match the intensity of her anger. Crossing his arms over his chest he settled in for what promised to be quite a show. He rather enjoyed, was even impressed by, the way she handled herself and the commanding presence she could generate from such a small package. Fire burned in that one, it was one of those endless qualities he so passionately loved. Again she withdrew a pricking, biting batch of needles and set to work decorating Vylrath's neck. He wasn't familiar with this process, it intrigued him further and drew him closer with a forward lean.

She set to cleaning herself and her utensils up, doused Vylrath's wounds in alcohol, and punctuated her rage with a threat that wasn't hidden in a gentle choice of words. It was the spectacle he had hoped for, it brought a little excitement to the situation and got the blood flowing. It ended entirely too soon for his tastes, but the future was full of promise.

One of the lady twelve entered the scene with more to report. She occupied Phaedra's attention for now and Ryothan returned his to Vylrath as he sat in the chair, no worse for wear, demons were an insanely hardy stock. He was sure the pain from this episode was more of a nuisance than anything, maybe a mark against the being's pride. Reinforcement of what had been said before seemed to be in order.

Using the length of the knife he raised Vylrath's chin so the two men met face to face as he spoke. Let there be no mistake of the seriousness in Ryothan's tone.

"I do not need to work with you, demon. I do not need to do anything. I told you. Here I am king, I am the sole lord, I define your world and your rules. Accept this truth or be slain as a result of your ignorance. I've already broken character and afforded you more leniency due to the potential information you hold. Yet here you are telling us you cannot locate the one we seek and giving me no answers to what I demand. You bring negative mark after negative mark to your usefulness, hellspawn. I suggest you become more careful with your words."

He shot a glance Phaedra's way as she spoke his name, it took a moment for the seething to slow to a crawl and allow him the proper tone with her.

"If you think it wise." He held his own doubts in check, the Coven was her business and she was their matriarch. It was understood that he interfered only as necessary when it came to her decisions involving them.

She lured one of his guardsmen inside and discussed her plans to fetch her things, she left the tent and he was alone with the demon again. He would not directly impact Phaedra's decision, but he would help secure the outcome. Swiftly he shot a fist out and took Vyl in the throat to send him reeling, with force he swept a leg out from under the chair and the whole thing came crashing down. In a flash Ryothan had a knee pinned against Vylrath's chest and he stared daggers into the eyes of a demon.

"Cora is of considerable value to me, demon, as is all the Coven. She is to be returned intact. Dabble in her carnal delights, but do not lift a finger against her in rage. If you do..." He tapped the knife to Vylrath's groin, "The next time we speak you'll have to choke the words with your own cock in your throat."

Hulling the demon to his feet he allowed Vyl to roam as was necessary for Cora's wishes or whatever the queen's plans involved. Approaching the guard it was time to finalize the details of their little expedition.

"We're heading into the jungle. Ready twenty five men, light gear and rations." He spoke while kneeling down to retrieve the discarded spear from earlier, the weight was always a comfort. Leveling his gaze on the soldier, "Quickly." It was all the catalyst the man needed. He shot from the tent as if it was burning down and went about the task of readying the selected number of soldiers, horses, and supplies. Ryothan exited as well, it was beginning to feel suffocating in there. As quickly as she departed Phaedra returned, took her place at his side. A presence always welcomed.

"I've sent for horses and men. Upon their arrival we depart." Snaking an arm around her waist he watched the distant signs of burning bodies. Their dead were generally afforded funeral rites, but Ryothan had stripped them of that honor on this island. Dying to peasant filth would not be honored. She spoke of his wounds, there was a twinge of pain as if he needed two reminders.

"I will recover soon," he gripped his left bicep in his right hand, "I've suffered worse." It was his submission of thanks. As always she knew how to read between the lines of his tough guy talk. Only a few more minutes took place before their retinue made an appearance, mounted and geared appropriately, two empty horses for their king and queen. She hardly needed it, hell, she had even scolded a man for the same thing the day before but he didn't care -- Ryothan helped her onto her mount. Between them things had a different meaning, it was a sweet gesture and not a helping hand for a "maiden in distress."

Climbing into his saddle he took the reins and looked around. Camp was still in full swing, business was being handled, orders carried out to the letter. It was as it should be. Kicking heels inward he took lead next to Phaedra onto their first of what would probably prove many stops.

[Vylrath]

Phaedra and Ryothan, didn't deserve whatever wealth of information, he had stored in his conniving mind. Vylrath scoffed, amused with Ryothan. Most human males had to swing their dicks around and Ryothan was no exception to that poor sight of ego buffing. Eventually, though, even the most stubborn ego could be corroded away- much like acid to flesh. He was growing impatient with this haphazard interrogation. Vylrath was beginning to regret having left King Pendaran's realm and his party. At least the bastard hadn't been as boring as this tripe.

When Phaedra brought up the subject of Cora, he could feel himself hardening from the sight of her. Ryothan's threatening words were lost to the wind, while his eyes played up and down her curves. She was young, but he was not one to discriminate against age. He would make her beg for his cock. While Vylrath could be a brute in bed, he could also be gentle when the moment needed it. Cora was young and would need convincing that he wasn't a bad guy. Vylrath would make her want him, along with any wench they thought they could control him with.

“Tempt me with flesh, but none will taste as sweet as my Kahlan. If you insist I take her, it will be a few days before I am done with her.”

Ryothan threatened him again, causing his lips to curl in delight. Humans were predictable in their rage, humility- among other emotions that they couldn't control. There would be a breaking point with Ryothan. Vylrath only needed to worm into his psyche a little more. His weakness was in the same room with them.

“Do keep your promise, human. Then maybe this cock war will end? Mine will grow back, but I doubt yours would.” Vylrath spoke suave, as if invited to a tea party. Cora didn't need to hear those harsh words, but they needed to be said. “Seeing how my Master is always anxious for you, that would be a shame.” Things would be personal with Ryothan and the mood would only thicken. If Ryothan thought that Vylrath would be cruel to Cora, he was not the one to underestimate.

Phaedra amused him just as much, but only because of her intense powers. Her powers were not as raw, but her aura burned with a remarkable fire. There was hidden potential, but that was not something one discussed with their Master.

After the needles had been removed, each intricately aligned and positioned, he did feel the bond strengthen ten fold. While he couldn't hurt these miserable humans, he had other connections that might be interested in them. Phaedra had said that he couldn't kill them, but she didn't warn against another hand interfering. This thought made him grin all the more, but Cora might take it as flirtation.

In one swift movement, his wound was covered in alcohol. He hid his pain, another cock contest with Ryothan. All of this made him even more reluctant to talk and cooperate. Since Phaedra had promised Cora to him, he assumed she would keep her word. Kahlan would forgive him, considering the circumstances...or so he hoped.

Ryothan would never be his King. One did not prove himself to a demon so easily with simple words. They had to have the same passionate desires for love and war. Vylrath saw nothing of this, when he looked at Ryothan as a man. This human man, was nothing more than another wayward King, out for conquest. He would fall one day and another would rise in his place. It was the same boring human history, that Vylrath had encountered before.

What a pity.

The humans contained him, because of a spell cast by a witch. Had it been an ordinary day, Ryothan's limb would be torn from bone, not simply recovering from an acid infliction. Vylrath had nothing to prove to them. Not ego, not his hidden desires. His emotions for them, would become as empty as Ryothan's threats.

However, Cora would gain his special attention. Vylrath could not ignore a pretty face, in such a desolate world. He made himself comfortable again, ignoring the orders from outside. Cora had her own duties to perform, which he would not keep her from.

“Return to me from whatever duties you have. I will let you experience the heart and passion of a demon.” Vylrath could speak to women when it benefited him. His demeanor would be completely different, his mind only set on one goal. He was sure that she was knowledgeable in carnal affairs with demons. Why else would Phaedra offer this girl to him?

Thoughts of his daughter vanished and his new path quickly formed. If Phaedra awarded him with these women, perhaps life wouldn't be so dire. Vylrath would gladly take a thousand needles to his body for a willing whore. It appeared that they were in abundance with them.

Watching the young woman leave, he noted the change in atmosphere. His Master was preparing to leave, but unless commanded, he would not be joining her side. Removing himself from the tent, he stretched, wondering who he should contact first. Considering that Caela could not be reached, he would have to endear this on his own and hope that she returned to the sanctuary.

"Provided the jungle doesn't swallow you, we will have to continue this dance later." Vylrath said sarcastically to Ryothan, bowing only to Phaedra- which would be a first for all of them. He could get used to Phaedra. The woman was beautiful and strong, but he would never submit to the arrogance of human males. His body was quickly healing, but it would take a night with Cora, to raise his spirits again.

[Phaedra]

The Island of Xexoria was proving to be a strange place. Despite nearing the cover of the Jungle it was apparent that the hold of the desert was strong. Heat rolled across the sands not yet consumed by the treeline in visible waves. Phaedra pulled her horse up short of the tree line to look into the distance. The heat danced and shimmered, baking any foolhardy soul to death over the course of a few hours. Phaedra imagined that living in a country like this, before it’s strange destruction, would have been hellish at best in the desert, but somehow people always managed to survive.

Like cockroaches.

Phaedra guided her horse with her knees as she looked at the notes made by the scouts. The first few notes were nothing of consequence. Her interests lay with new herbs, new flowers, new animals that could be used for her practice – and stocking up what stores might be low. The most curious thing on her list was a flower that seemed to have the properties of an herb, though the notes were scarce. No one from Numantia had ever seen such a thing before.

“Our first stop is deeper in the jungle. It’s the only unknown on the list and I want to see for myself what this flower has to offer.” The Witch Queen glanced over at her husband and smiled, drawing her horse closer to him in her desire to remain close to his side. With Ryothan things were usually simple – kill or be killed – and yet between them both there was a deeper and greater understanding of things. Their bond went beyond master and slave, husband and wife, witch and warrior. Humanity valued love, just as much as it valued violence, and the Monarchs of Numantia were no stranger to the emotion. There would be many that would call their version of love a perverted and unnatural thing, but that had never stopped them before. There were also a small sect of Numantian people that still believed that Phaedra had ensnared Ryothan with her powers – though that sect liked to remain underground as much as possible.

The transition between the desert heat and the wet humid heat of the jungle wasn’t immediate, and most of the journey was spent in a limbo between the two natural worlds. By the time they were nearing the site Phaedra wanted to visit, she could feel sweat trickling down her spine. When they arrived, she dismounted with a fluid grace and pulled her cloak from her shoulders. She tossed it carefully over her saddle. With careful footsteps she walked the few feet to the flower, spying it immediately with its immaculate white petals. They seemed to glow in the relative gloom of the jungle as Phaedra neared the several blooms on the plant. She crouched low, climbed the tree they were nestled in and glanced down, looked close and from afar – every bit the scientist studying a plant that has never been seen before.

It didn’t take long for Phaedra to pull out her sketch book and settle on the ground right in front of the tree to take notes and draw the flower in detail. Her various feather quills were sharpened with a knife before being dipped in several different ink wells. She moved with a purpose, her wrist bending and her fingers curling on the quill expertly. Some might call Phaedra a talented artist, but it was a feature borne of necessity. There was no other way to catalogue the various plants she encountered in her travels with Ryothan, and to err at all could prove fatal in the long run. It would take Phaedra the better part of an hour to document everything she needed to on paper, before starting to collect the specimens she wanted.

At first, the cracking of fallen branches was attributed to the soldier’s patrolling behind her. Phaedra shook her head and stood, stretching her limbs in order to work out the stiffness. She then bent to grab a few vials. With a knife she started scraping the bark of the host tree, taking pieces of the leaves, and clipping a whole flower from the plant. As she was debating the logic of trying to remove the plant entirely back to camp for further studying, she heard the cracking sound again – closer to her this time.

Phaedra paused, schooled enough in the realm of combat to know when something doesn’t feel right. She eased her body around just in time to see a flash of orange and spots.

“Ryothan…” He was behind her and some distance away to give her room to do her work. Everything in her body was screaming to turn around and run back to the safety of the men, because all she had was a small knife to take samples with. She clutched that knife tight in one fist, still unsure if what was stalking her might be human or animal. She had seen many cultures wear animal skins in some spiritual sense of connection with the dead creature.

Another flash of the strange orange fur with spots, it was unlike anything she’d seen before and it was enormous. This time there would be a flash of fang that would cause Phaedra to back up a step. Nothing really alarmed Phaedra more than an unpredictable animal. There would be no reasoning with it, no buying time to get backup, and no way to shoot the animal without shooting her as well. Phaedra wasn’t scared; her mind was working through all of the possibilities when she heard a strangled scream from the left. She spun toward it just in time to see a large jungle leopard stalk along the edge of the clearing around the tree. It had blood and what looked like a string of entrails dangling from its jaws.

“Ryothan!” Phaedra shifted the knife in her hand as she shifted her body, trying to ease her way back toward the safety of her husband’s arms. She would have little to no chance of fending off the beast by herself with just a small knife. As she moved the creature watched her with a deadly, almost human, intelligence. It matched her step for step as she backed toward the men. When it judged she had gone far enough it leapt high into the air with its claws extended from massive paws.

Phaedra yelled in surprise, flattening beneath the onslaught of the giant cat. It didn’t attack her outright but stood over her, pinning her, and batting at her with its big paws. She attacked at the cat with her knife, trying hard to deal it a mortal wound, but the animal was too large for such a short blade to do any real damage.

It did, however, piss the cat off. It reared back and pounced down on Phaedra again, right on her chest, which served really only to put pressure on her already bruised ribs and knock the air out of her lungs completely. Gasping for air, Phaedra finally screamed out of rage and frustration rather than terror. She began trying to fight the huge cat off, flailing but the creature just started batting at her head with the flat of its paw. It was obviously not hungry, and Ryothan would be one man short, the rest of his entrails dangling perilously close to Phaedra’s face. However, the swats taken at Phaedra with its paws were no love taps, the thing was trying to shut her up.

The cat climbed off of Phaedra and started stalking around her, flicking its tail and tapping her body with it. It growled something akin to a roar and Phaedra turned over on her belly and began to crawl toward Ryo. She was scratched and there were a few claw puncture wounds on her stomach, but it was nothing that would be fatal.

That was when the cat pounced hard on her back the second time. The knife in her fist was knocked loose, skittering to rest at Ryothan’s feet. This time, Phaedra just played dead, her eyes locked on Ryo. The whole encounter would have taken less than the span of five heartbeats to occur. If nothing was done, and fast, Phaedra would end up being killed by the cat that was more interested in beating up and playing with its food than eating.

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

“What the hell…?”

“Mother, what’s the matter?”

“There are soldier’s everywhere. I don’t recognize the insignia.”

“Another invasion?”

“It would seem so. Why is everyone infatuated with this infuriating island? Xexoria is as useless now as it ever was.” Caela growled something low in an old Xexorian dialect which made Sebilla laugh quietly.

“What are we going to do?”

“We just have to make it into the Sanctuary.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Run. Now!” Caela sprinted with her daughter through the short clearing to the front of the Temple Sanctuary. Once inside she quickly hid her daughter in a supply closet, ready for any invasion into the temple by the foolhardy men outside. A full minute passed before she gathered Sebilla and relocated to one of the back rooms inside the temple.

Caela pulled Chaos and Darkness from their respective sheathes and sat them on either side of her as she contemplated the open door, leaving her with a clear view of the Temple entrance. Men passed back and forth in front of the door but no one came inside. Caela began to think that no one saw them come inside. She had no way of knowing that Vylrath’s warning of what would happen to humans had spread to those watching the Vuri Temple and the Vuri lake.

A man was already on horseback headed back to camp with the news that two women, that didn’t look completely human, were taking refuge within the confines of the cursed temple.

[Ryothan]

Even a hardened being such as Ryothan find himself at the mercy of enjoyment. His wife, war, and just getting out and riding to list a few. A slow ride should have been therapeutic and cleansed his mind of all the turmoil. Perhaps any other day it would have, but today all it did was allow him time to reflect. And reflect deeply he did. A perpetual scowl defined the features of his face and his loose hair crashed around it like a wild frame in the all too rare breezes of the island. Something about Xexoria was eating away at him. Why did he find himself staying his hand all too often? In particular; Why was the demon being awarded for his insubordination and insufferable presence? The infinite mysteries of a fire spewing lake was warping his sense of self; the infrastructure that drove the beast known as the Blight King. The nimble digits of his good hand and arm wrapped tightly in the reins and squeezed a leathery cry of mercy.

This inner reflection did not blind him to the happenings of his surroundings, however. He was well aware when Phaedra guided her mount closer to his quarter and he even returned the gesture drawing a meeting of their legs and a short, but sincere, smile overwhelmed that broody mask. She was a beacon, a love, and her metaphorical brightness was enough to pierce even the deepest reaches of his anger no matter how thickly the strands of gloom coalesced. It did much to raise his spirits, but even her radiance could not fully replace the workings of his mind. Not in this foul of a mood. He felt he wasn't himself here, felt as if his wrath was cooled entirely too much in the pursuit of answers this festering hell hole seemed to have none of. It would change, mark his silent words, it would change and this godforsaken place would know the Ryothan the rest of the world had the misfortune of facing. Vylrath especially would learn his place as a servant to the Numantian lord.

As was all too often here he failed to track the passage of time, he couldn't place the hour of day they arrived at their first destination to save his life. The men spread about in a crescent flank and alternated where they gazed to maximize the potential prevention of being caught unaware. Immediately Phaedra set to her work, this was the academic side of her black art and though he'd never say it aloud for many reasons he found it...cute. It never ceased to amaze him how many of the emotions he rejected in soldiers could be brought to surface with her. But they were lesser men than he, they could not temper the desires of love and passion into a weapon and their minds would be addled like children instead of sharpened in result. That wasn't to say they were not allowed to have women of their own, or families, his killers were rewarded for loyal service and fierce prowess; but on the fields they were not to show emotion opposite their given purpose. Spear in hand, the shaft's butt end pressed to the environment floor, and eyes narrowed in guardianship and thought he watched his wife at play.

She studied the foreign plant with a child's wonderment, her thorough nature was impressive and a quality that absolutely fell under the positive column. From tree climbing to sketching she did it all when it came to identifying and marking potential product. It was dedication that separated the exceptional from the standard, they were both prime examples of such a philosophy. Considering all this and more must have softened his mind to a unfocused state. Generally, he didn't find himself caught off guard and on the defensive. He was an offensive powerhouse, showing great favor for the tactic of grinding the enemy beneath brute strength. Yet, here we were. It had happened. Like everything else in relation to Xexoria, shit went down differently.

She screamed for him twice, he would not allow a third to be necessary...

It happened entirely too fast to be human, he knew it to be a jungle predator before the visual queues had time to clue him in. Viscera hung from feral fang, feline grace coiled tightly in powerful muscle beneath a housing of orange and spots. It was airborne when he kicked into motion, his own corded interior bursting his large frame into a dead sprint. Had this been any other place on earth, had the target been anyone other than the only precious thing in the world to him he would have been taken back in admiration of the killer's grace. But no, this was the second time in as many days an offender had threatened the well being of his queen. The first had been met with violence, but not a sufficient level of such. This creature would not find the same restraint in Ryothan's eyes. It would see only dead blue and witness the harbinger of its demise. It was a fitting time to slay it, a stomach swollen with a final meal. Dessert was being removed from the table.

"RUN!" he screamed the command a breadth before he sprung into action, he doubted she would misunderstand who the demand was for.

The long weapon wouldn't be personal enough at this moment for this call for blood, he pitched the spear down just before the entangled pair and about two feet short of colliding he jumped. His body sprawled wide and horizontal as he flew over the top of the cat and wrapped the length of his right arm around the cat's thick neck, his hand finding purchase in a massive clutch of skin and hide. As he soared over the other side he squeezed hard and pulled rolling the cat off of Phaedra's back in a blind fury as they bounced away in a ball of fur and flesh. Animal vs. man, a contest as old as the world's beginnings, and everyone present had ringside tickets to the match. Almost instantly Ryothan sprung to his feet, he clutched and withdrew the longest of his four dagger set on hand and flipped the business end downward. The inward curve of the blade found reinforcement against the underside of his forearm. His posture was ducked low, his legs spread, constantly he swayed and prepared for possible counterattacks. . .he was not disappointed.

Guttural roars were met with fevered warcries as the beast sprung with stretched paws. Hate smoldered in its eyes, it was a child's displeasure compared to what the cat would find in Ryothan's. The primary location of the claws seemed to be his left and already battered side, further injury would not be allowed, and he shifted his torso appropriately. Tilting quick and throwing back his left side at an angle the cat breezed by, but with a viper's speed Ryothan's dagger shot out and took a bite of the jungle stalker's rear flank. Bringing the weapon back to bear and shifting so he faced the cat again he took note of the feline mortality dripping from the perfect edge. The leopard seemed foolhardy, failed to realize it was out of its depth. It was a mankiller, was obvious, but he had never dared the path of someone like this and he wouldn't live to try a second time. Again the beast sprung forward with the same intentions and was met with a similar result, this time the weapon tasted even deeper and the cat was forced to be more passive.

It paced and stalked, back and forth it walked in its spot, it was reasoning, as much as bestial mind could allow, the chances of yet another offensive. In a moment of inspiration Ryothan started a backpedal very slowly and still very alert. It was a feint to pressure the creature into one final charge, how could such a mighty predator allow a meal to walk away? Ryothan believed it would work because he himself would not allow a challenger to walk away unpunished. Body crouched low, hand finding the shaft of his spear behind him, his eyes swam with the lithe and powerful leopard. To onlookers it would seem Ryothan was eerily calm, poised with great discipline to have such a presence of mind in the face of such primal ferocity, to move with that unnatural agility his size would seem incapable of. Nothing was further from the truth. Nothing. Inside of him a storm of rage consumed everything. It was blinding. They were not witnessing the bold actions of their ruthless commander, but the sinister efficiency of a butcher about to sate a blood-thirst that known languages had no known words to describe.

It was as he predicted. That mass of athleticism and claws burst into a full out assault and came barreling down the stretch of distance his way.

A killer's grin. Massacre inevitable.

The beast leapt high with a cousin tactic of his previous flank attempts. Instead of hoping to gash open his stomach, he planned to plow down the massive man and go for the throat. The cat was in air coming down centered in a flying tackle. It was higher than Ryo was as he was crouched, and at the apex of the cat's leap just when the arc would start his downward descent to claim its prize he burst into action again. His left arm, encased in thick leather plates to bolster the injured appendage, shot forward bent at the elbow and slammed into what would be considered the leopard's throat, the hand clutching the laying spear shot across from its direction and buried the serrated mess of a point deep into the animal's side. There was a roar that gave way to a whimper and he pitched the cat to the ground. Adrenaline, hate, and anger were the only lights on in Ryothan's mind. This was not over.

He leapt atop the beast and proceeded to lay a butchery into it with several vicious dagger thrusts. Each flash of steel drew another whelp, a pitiful cry, the closest thing to asking for mercy and the deliverance for the final kill stroke the beast could offer. The Blight King had none of it. He continued to ravage the body of the leopard and he even took it further than the cold touch of metal. In a second moment of inspiration he clutched a nearby rock and took the creature across the skull with a wet thud, a second time it was more of a crunch, the third the structure seemed to lose all integrity where he pounded. Intestines and other goodies spilled from a mangled stomach, breath came shallow and a final sleep was chomping at the bit to claim its prize. Soldiers looked on in discomfort, unaware of appropriate response. All they knew for certain was not to intrude.

The man came to his senses at the end of the bludgeoning. Reason took back the day, but the inner storm was still a motivation. Ryothan found a meeting with the green of the leopards eyes. With a cold grin he rolled his neck until it popped, last rites were offered in a basic sense.

"You could not have known who you faced, beast. I will tell you before life fully escapes," he leaned close to the cat's ear as if he could understand his words, "Ryothan Valari, Blight King of Numantia...."

In a sadistic manner he stroked the cat's head as if comforting it...

"Now gaze into the face of DEATH!" The dagger bearing hand shot down plunging the wicked blade deep into the open eye of the leopard and bringing upon it the final moment of life it would ever experience.

Adding insult to injury Ryothan took the time to remove the fur from the creature and leave it a naked husk to burn in the dreaded sun. It took some time, and in all that time, his troops still remained aghast and unsure. It was for the best. Meticulously he removed the largest of the teeth that survived all the impacts. They would join Vylrath's withered ears on his necklace of growing trophies from Xexoria; biggest festering hole ever.

Ryothan rose slow. Muscles rippled with bursts of energy under bronzing skin coated in crimson aftermath. He appeared as feral as his victim. After such a massive exertion surely he was fatigued? It didn't appear so. Breathing was mellow, serenity etched out territory in his composure and face, and he turned to face his men and wife with a grin. Truth be told, he felt damned alive. Despite the tribulations of this blasted island he had found himself again and there would be hell to pay back in camp. It wasn't that he was particularly proud of losing himself like that, a warrior's discipline is what kept a man alive and he was hardly a level headed being when it occurred. It was as man turning into wolf; only raw instinct remained. But clarity, a lot of it, seemed to wade in the wake of the outburst and it felt good. Damned good.

Calmly he walked back towards his assembled men and his beloved queen. The spear was used in walking stick fashion and when he was in earshot he issued his orders.

"Have the coat prepped, repaired and cured for your queen," he pitched the item in question towards the guard who had taken the command.

Moving towards Phaedra he pressed in against her, an arm bound around her waist and pulling her close to rest her head against his chest. The beating of his heart for her ears alone, it would express everything words could not.

[Vylrath]

Cora was already in the tent waiting for him. Vylrath smirked to himself, but smiled at her demeanor. She had confidence and an exotic allure that interested him. It didn't take him long to be on top of her, his breath hot along the curve of her neck. She feared him, like any normal human girl would, but Cora was not an average human. This coven business intrigued him, considering they had the ability and power to contain him.

Vylrath was gentle with her, gaining her trust and banishing any insecurities she harbored. While she wasn't Kahlan, she was far more skilled at pleasing him. She kept his attention and his desires intact. Remembering the threats from the human King, he smiled once more in her eyes. He wouldn't harm her, that wouldn't be enough to leave a lasting impression. He would do much more to her physically, rather than emotionally damaging.

Demons had the natural ability to rape the body and mind. Her vulnerable essence would be no different. Cora would feel his presence grow- not just physically, but his aura would encompass her mortal spirit. Every fear that had transpired through her, every doubt, would siphon into Vylrath.

She fought hard, but eventually her body weakened under his grasp. He took her fully and with a greater purpose. Her body would not be enjoyed as it should be, but ravaged and almost unrecognizable. Shackling her mind made him want her even more. They had been foolish to think he wouldn't harm such a precious mortal. King Ryothan seemed to delight in underestimating him, which only fueled Vylrath.

Cora was favored among the coven witches he had encountered. She had as much strength as Phaedra, but this knowledge didn't falter Vylrath's motives. His tongue slid down her trembling body. Considering she might scream, he had gagged her mouth and tied her hands with simple cloth. The guards would hear muffled sounds, but none would be the wiser to their cause.

“Sweet thing, your King has abandoned you for glory. He's left you with this fate....” He whispered in her ear, forcing her legs apart once more. She would flinch, while his nail cut along her inner thighs. Her blood would feed into his furor, the human scent controlling his mind. Vylrath's eyes dialated into a solid crimson.

He would mark her again, but this time with his own blood. Biting into his own wrist, he let his blood spill onto her porcelain-esque skin. She would scream, but the sound would not escape. The blood dripped from her chest, to her face. Her beauty would be ruined, her body writhing underneath his.

From those acts, he took her, the smell of singed flesh and blood annihilating any conscious effort. Once morning came, he would abandon her and allow her King to find her. It was a sign that he was not to be won over by flesh, or controlled by Ryothan. If he were to die, he died knowing that he marred something precious to Ryothan.

[Phaedra]

Once the weight of the cat left her back, Phaedra scrambled to her feet and ran to the waiting soldiers. They closed around her, one checking her wounds while the rest watched Ryothan battle the man eater. Phaedra’s eyes never left Ryothan, she wasn’t hysterical, she didn’t even panic as one of the men counted the puncture wounds on her back and stomach. She was calm and collected as she watched her husband seek retribution on her attacker.

Watching Ryothan work was like watching an artist sculpting a scene from imagination. He moved like a dancer from hell, crossing the dance floor to a ballad that only he could hear. The cat stalked him, trying to find his weak spot, but it was sorely mistaken – the Blight King was a rare human that had one weak spot that the cat had already found. Phaedra couldn’t really be considered a true weak spot with regards to her husband, however. She was the one thing that could cause him to fly into a calculated rage if she were harmed.

There was a hunger in Phaedra’s eyes as she watched Ryothan kill the beast that had tried to maul her. She edged to the front of the group, forcing the men aside so she could get a better view of her husband. She was not disappointed as Ryothan killed the cat with an almost intimate gesture, his lips pressed to the cat’s head as it died. Blood flew everywhere, slinging across the gathered men and their Queen as their King made short work of the carcass.

When he was through the Blight King looked like something straight out of hell. He was covered in blood, and a quick inspection proved to the Witch Queen that none of it was his. When he folded his body around her and held her head to his chest, Phaedra let out a deep sigh, shuddering in his arms as the tension fled her body. His skin was slick with the blood of the cat and her blood smeared across his legs, comingling with the blood of the cat. It was a calm and quiet gesture as she raised her hands to run her fingers along his skin, trailing her fingers through the blood.

“My wounds are insignificant. I can continue on our journey.” Phaedra reached up and tangled her fingers in Ryothan’s beard, stretching up to kiss him in a rare moment of open affection. When she moved away her face was slightly less covered in blood and she licked her lips, tasting the coppery feline that remained on her lips. She smiled and picked a few pieces of cat flesh out of his beard, which was fairly covered in gore.

It was at this point that Phaedra felt the first sign of trouble. She twitched a little, as if something were tickling the back of her neck. She paused for a moment before a searing pain ripped through her body from head to toe. She made no sound but she went rigid in Ryothan’s arms. When it was over she gasped for breath and looked up at her husband, her eyes wide – not with fear but with shock.

“That gods forsaken DEMON has done something stupid. Cora. She’s hurt.” It wasn’t so much a bee hive mentality where all of the witches knew when the other was hurt; it was a power that rested firmly in Phaedra’s hands. Each of the witches was bound to her in a contract that wound so deeply into the fabric of their souls that she was highly aware of when that was tampered with. She turned her attention to where the horses were tied to trees and sprinted for one. She was on her horse in a matter of seconds, though she let out a frustrated hiss when she realized it was still tethered to the tree. It huffed and shook its head as it felt Phaedra shift irritably on its back.

The brilliant thing about being married to a King, a real King and not some half-wit that was so inbred he couldn’t count all eight of his own toes without getting confused, was the fact that no real communication had to pass between the pair. Once Phaedra burst into action it was always easy to assume that Ryothan would also. So when a soldier freed her horse, Phaedra was off without even asking her husband if it was okay or if he would join her. With hardly any goading her horse leapt forward, its body more lithe and its gait more appropriate for an archer and magic user.

The link with Cora was shortening, fraying at the edges as Vylrath continued to assault her. The irony was that the demon thought he was rebelling against Ryothan, but he was bound to Phaedra – not unlike her witches. His rebellion, which he believed was of the King, was in fact a direct push against his Mistress. This cocky demon was proving to be a lot more trouble than he was worth.

Phaedra made quick time through the jungle, her horse heedless of any low lying branch – so she ended up with a myriad of scratches along her forearm and cheeks. When she burst through to the desert, her horse staggered a little in an attempt to regain its footing. When it righted itself, Phaedra pushed the horse to camp. By the time she made it the beast was covered in sweat and she barely let it stop before dropping to the ground.

“Where is that demon?!” Her voice echoed through the camp like some beast of legend as she stormed to the tent where she knew Cora to be. Unfortunately for Vylrath everyone around Phaedra would melt back and reveal him walking away. They weren’t stupid enough to harbor someone the Witch Queen had a problem with – where she was hard to handle and deadly, the man she married was ten times worse. Phaedra threw her hand out toward Vylrath’s back, gathering those gossamer threads that bound him to her and pulled him back toward her. His feet would leave the ground with the vehemence of her anger. Phaedra would loom over his body and tap a finger to her lips, stalking around him, forcing him to remain quiet by sheer force of will. A grin split her lips as she realized she must look like hell with the puncture wounds she had received from the cat, the scratches along her arms and face from the trees, and the coating of cat blood she’d received from her husband’s close presence. Another savage tug of those gossamer threads would see Vylrath on his knees, facing the tent where he thought he could commit crimes against the Coven.

“It seems, Vylrath, you have outlived your purpose to me.” Phaedra bent to speak to him, allowing him to see into her eyes and all of the blood covering her body. She was controlling him so he wouldn’t be able to break free and try to ravage her – he was completely incapable of doing anything with her control over him. That would include speaking. “You were kept alive because of your usefulness to me. Your transgressions against my coven and the crown mark you for death. Try to die usefully, your bones and blood can be of some benefit after your death.” Phaedra slapped Vylrath hard across the face before spinning away from him.

When she entered the tent she smelled the blood. She could hear the groaning first, the whimpering as she got closer and the silence when she found her. Cora was stretched taut across the bed, tied down and gagged like a professional. Phaedra rubbed her forehead as she surveyed what had been done to one of her prized, one of Ryothan’s prized witches. Where Vylrath’s blood had touched her in skin was burned away, in some places the muscle was eaten through. Cora’s fair face was completely demolished to the point that the bone along her jaw was showing in places. Her nose was partially eaten away and one of her eyes was perilously close to being lost. Phaedra was proud for a very brief moment at the knowledge that this woman was so powerful that she hadn’t dissolved into screams despite that horror that ravaged her body.

All of the witches had a kit similar to Phaedra’s, except there were no needles for tattoos and it lacked some of the various rare herbs and tonics that she procured herself. They all, however, had holy water. When she grabbed the holy water she turned quickly and started putting out the rampant fire the demon’s blood was creating. Her attentions were methodical, washing away every single smear of demon blood. The scene was no less grisly when the blood was washed away, but there was a subtle sigh of relief from Cora as she withdrew inside herself to deal with the intense amount of pain she must be feeling.

“Ryothan!” Phaedra called for her husband as she cut Cora’s arms loose, unbinding her hands from the bedpost and resting her arms by her sides. Ryothan would only have to step inside the tent and take one look at Cora to realize what had been done. Phaedra would look at her husband and the understanding was there between them. Cora knew it as well, and it looked as if she had come to some sort of peace with the idea. No doubt the pain within her body was so intense that it was something she would welcome.

“I am sorry, my sister, that this horror has been visited on you. I want you to know that retribution will be had. You will be avenged for what has been done to you.” Phaedra smoothed Cora’s hair back before covering her with a sheet to keep her modesty. Then, with some effort she gathered the woman in her arms and carried her out of the tent.
The sound that radiated outward from where Phaedra stood with the woman in her arms was intensely audible. Cora let her feet down, but Phaedra held her tight, letting her lean hard on her. Cora was destroyed. Cora let go of the Witch Queen and staggered until she fell to her knees in front of her. With violently shaking arms, because she had been bound so tight and not due to fear, she pulled her hair back from her face and neck, the sheet slipping down to show the extent of the brutality visited on her body. She lifted her chin and looked Vylrath in the eyes, her own startling blue eyes hard, though she was shaking from the pain her body was experiencing. She made no sound except for a shuddering exhalation, as if breathing were a chore in itself.

Phaedra stepped up behind Cora; with a hand on her forehead she pulled her head back against her belly. The knife was quick as it sliced across the damaged woman’s throat. Her blood sprayed in a vicious arc all over Vylrath, in his eyes, up his nose, in his ears. It might make him a little crazy, but it would show just how insane these Numantian’s were. The light fled from Cora’s eyes as she stared blankly at Vylrath. She was a brave soul and one that would be sorely missed among the Coven. Phaedra carefully laid the woman down, covering her with the sheet once more, this time completely over her disfigured face. Her hand smoothed away some of the blonde hair, slicing a lock from her head with the knife coated in her blood.

“You cost me a witch. A good witch. You don’t deserve to have her blood coating your skin you sick son of a bitch.” Cora would have survived, sure, but she had become a liability to a moving army the moment she became so horribly disfigured. She required a depth of care that none of those in the army could afford to expend, not even the Queen. Cora knew it, Phaedra knew it, and so did every single man within the Numantian army.

“Get rid of him. I can’t bear to look at him. My power is at your disposal husband, to use as you see fit. This demon just proved himself useless to me.”

[Ryothan]

And there they stood. Entwined. The visceral signature of a fallen foe shared between them, it brought her as close to the reckoning upon the predatory cat as he had been. It was a gift he openly offered her. Ryothan and Phaedra were both primal beings, it was a trait that the mobile forces of Numantia shared, blood was a raw energy that expressed this thoroughly. As always, he returned her kiss with an equal enthusiasm and fingers, a warrior's cast of ten mighty and scarred, found their gentle side as they traced reassurance in comforting circles on the warm flesh of his somewhat injured wife. She had an unconquerable heart, an indomitable spirit. Even wounded and shaken she wished to continue and see this excursion for materials to the end.

"Let me look you over and I will decide if I feel a quick patch job will suffice," he was planning on using it as an opener to shower her in a few more affectionate efforts. That was until...

Ryothan was immediately aware of the displacement of his wife's focus. Even when it was nothing more than a subtle hint of change. His practiced touch could feel the minute ticks, the small twitches in muscle and body. When she went rigid he didn't panic, he held onto her and tried his damnedest to help her make through the experience. Then it came to a head as her words finally turned on the light that enlightened her King to the scenario at hand. The demon. That undisciplined creature had violated orders; he had expected and planned for nothing less. She burst from the strength of his hold and shot out in a deadsprint in a direct course for the tethered horses. Life essence, both foreign and domestic, glistened under an abusive sun and she looked like some sort of Valkyrie. By the wretched gods, he had married the perfect woman.

"Come. Tonight even the hells learn their place," it was his command for his soldiers to follow.

With the command issued he drove his powerful legs into his own run. With an upward jerk of his arm he severed the tether from the tree and his horse, fluidly he rolled on top to take saddle. Grabbing ahold of what remained of the reins he jarred heels inward and forced his horse to match his eagerness to return campside. His wife would undoubtedly beat him in the return voyage, his horse was more of a crush-the-foe-beneath-hooves animal, she had always opted for the streamline speed in hers. But her emergence in camp would set off the chain of events that would transpire through the night. Surely her quick return would be all Vylrath Xanathi would need to realize he had merely created the catalyst of fatality. His big middle finger would be nothing more than the green light Ryothan had been craving since the summons's success. Sinister grins, anticipation almost tangible. For the last time he'd have to look upon the demon and for the last time he would have to see an insignificant child pretending to be a beast.

He wasn't sure how much sooner Phaedra had arrived, but when he had made it to the epicenter of the camp he found Vylrath bound and on his knees by what he guessed was surely the will of the mighty queen. There was no use for words at this juncture, but there was a few choice ones in store. He didn't even bother hovering around the demon or even giving him the knowing look. Even a fumbling moron such as the demon would know what the hurried return of the ruling duo would herald for his future. Ryothan was positive he would try to grit and bear it, to defy, to ramble words about how great he is and how feeble the humans before him are. He gave it no further thought as he heard the urgent call of his name from inside Cora's tent quarters. Ducking through the flaps he came in on a pretty intense display; just proximity to similar wounds brought aggravation to his left arm. He did not cringe, pain was his to own, but it did add even a sharper edge to Ryo's expanding plots.

Cora was of Phaedra's profane flock. She was hers to handle, her responsibility, and her spiritual kin. Ryothan wouldn't even offer a helping hand, he knew she would prefer to handle this one-hundred percent on her own. He stepped to the side and lowered his head in respects as the females walked as best they could back to the inert Xanathi bound to the sandy floor by magical imprisonment. Cora was placed to her knees and a moment of judging eyes was cast upon the hellspawn before her. She was strong, she did not waver, her body did not quiver uncontrollably. She accepted everything that would come. As a valued tool to both her king and queen she knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the retribution would be violent. Her own regret in that moment would be she wouldn't live to see and then Phaedra brought the release of death. Though he would not voice it out loud, Ryothan found it fitting Cora's blood had landed where it had. Now in spirit she could witness her revenge.

Witch Queen Phaedra said her piece to Vylrath. She expressed a wish to have him removed from her sight, Ryothan never missed a cue. Approaching the same group of men that had witnessed the butchery of the cat just minutes before as they arrived on scene he issued orders. These orders were not for them alone. This was a camp-wide event. Tonight the demon dies, tonight Cora is avenged, tonight Phaedra is given a massacre the likes of which not even she knew her husband capable of. It would be his ultimate gift to her. Hurting her, any part of her, any aspect of her life, was an invite for the darkness that dwelled deep inside the Blight King. Tonight, the subjects of Numantia are introduced to this horrifying force.

It took several minutes for Ryothan to express the full extent of his wishes. They were to build a stage in the center of camp, a large platform from the surrounding trees, and on this platform two erect poles would stand on either side. Their given time frame hardly seemed sufficient, but when you fear nothing more than the displeasure of the one who rules your world you are motivated to create miracles whenever asked and to do so with a smile. It was also expressed that Vylrath was to bear witness as the setting for his demise was brought into the world around him. Men shot off in every direction to inspire and rally others to their cause, their king's patience was growing exceedingly thin with each new sun on Xexoria.

Immediate business handled he returned to his primary quarters. Slipping inside and moving to clean himself of the day's presence. While doing so he sent for one of his mute attendants to locate his queen and have her returned to their shared tent. There was a matter that her particular set of skills was needed to address and unfortunately it wasn't of the carnal delights variety this time. Scooping up water in his hand he washed away blood, gore, sweat, grime, dirt. You name it, his body seemed to currently host it. Next his long shock of hair, his wild beard, both of which were bound and braided afterward. She stepped through the entrance about this time and he rushed to her with a quick stride. There was a kiss, a lingering hug, husbandly duties and obligations came first at this moment to ensure she was steady from what had transpired.

When he felt it appropriate he took the meeting in another direction. First, he had her remove the bandage of his left arm so she could inspect, treat, clean, and re-bandage the appendage in an effort to prevent infection and usher in a speedy recovery. Secondly, and this was going to be especially important for things to come, he requested of her a warding. He needed to be invulnerable to the ravenous nature of Vylrath's blood because he was sure to be exposed to plenty of it. She took care of the first request with the sure hands of a surgeon. For the second she required a little prep time and the right tools. She went about preparing the ritual and he went about changing.

Trading in comfort for a bit of utility he now sheathed his injured arm in the fury of steel. Same principle as the leather affair, but with the added detail of jagged burs along the woven structure. Perhaps those vicious little additions will come in handy, perhaps not. Either way it was fitting imagery. The rest of his attire seemed standard Ryothan but there was a touch of flare this time around. A thick plate and leather belt around his waist supporting ragged flaps of cloth that dropped around his dark pants in loincloth fashion; one of his standards with a reconstructed purpose. The dark colors of the Numantia symbol framed in a blazing red fabric. About this time Phaedra was prepared and they spent the next while completing all the necessary steps. There was no rushing it, not with stuff like this, and her meticulous nature down to the most hidden details was exact. Mastery.

For now lovers parted ways with another kiss, they would be reunited on that sinister construction of Ryothan's design.

When the king finally made his way to the location of Vylrath's incoming death the demon had already been chained and suspended between the two poles from wrists and ankles. He was spread out like an x and hanging inches off the stage's flooring. A few feet to the right rested a stand playing table to a variety of select toys. With haste Ryothan scaled the structure and stood to the creature's left flank over looking the sea of Numantian denizens gathered for the show. The sun was on the downward climb, but torches had already been erected and prepared in effort to combat the night when it swallowed the remainder of the day. There was a strange silence considering the sheer volume of people gathered; he had even had the foresight to have Khorun marshal out the Rivenfelde captives so all could see the fruits of defiance.

Snatching up a knife the wicked stock of metal giving it edge glinted in all the light sources. With casual speed and a calm that only a clear sense of purpose could bring Ryo stalked in front of Vylrath. Muscles surged and flexed, roiling under the sun-kissed flesh. He knew exactly what he planned to do, this wasn't a bid for time, this was a savoring of the situation. Eventually he made his way behind the chained fiend and brought powerful arms around and under the being's arms, the knife blade tapping Vylrath's lips. He would ensure the show was visible to all for as much as was realistic, there were many motivations at play here...

Words spoken, but he was sure they would fall on fresh deaf ears.

"Demon, you are far too predictable. You have the discipline of a dog who wets themselves whenever their master throws them a bone. Know this, Vylrath Xanathi, you die in vain. You die for no ideal, no cause, nothing. You leave behind you no legacy of note. Your very name will not even survive in whispers until the week's end. You have had no impact on the world you leave behind. You will goto your grave knowing the very race you thought the puppet master of, the very beings you thought yourself so above, enslaved you, took from you, and reduced you to blood and piss."

And with those words action became the commanding engine of his being. Springing into motion his open hand tugged Vylrath's top lip forward and the knife came across severing it from his mouth. He repeated the process on the bottom lip in the same two jagged slice motion. Violently he rammed the knife's point into the demon's cheek and cut through entirely folding back the loosening skin to expose jaw and teeth, again he repeated the process on the other side. Blood ran everywhere already and the show had just begun. There was far worse to come. Slamming the blade into Vyl's shoulder for safe keeping, Ryothan then took a hammer and chisel set from set of tools. He went to work with perfect poise. Removing scores of the creature's teeth with every few whacks until all fell from tattered, ruined gums. With pure hostility commanding his expression he placed the chisel's fine edge to the hinge between top and bottom jaw. He worked both sides with reckless abandon until it came loose and fell in a heap of mess. Laying exposed was hanging tongue and open throat. . .

"I made you a promise, Xanathi. I intend to keep it."

With no care he pulled the knife in the demon's shoulder down and out leaving a messy cut behind, but it didn't matter, that was probably the most minute pain Vyl would feel. Quickly he dispatched of the bindings keeping the fiend's pants on exposing his genitals, without being squeamish or resistant he grabbed ahold of that rapist cock and stretched it exposing the base to the hot touch of the knife. It took a few strokes to sever it from the body, but he managed and slammed the bloody stump on the table next to the remainder of utensils that had yet to come into effect. Grabbing a leather binding he secured it roughly around Vyl's throat, enough to allow breathing but tight enough to prevent swallowing, and reclaimed that recent removal.

"I told you if you laid a violent hand on her the next time we met you'd be choking on this. If it were larger perhaps you would choke to death on it instead of just gag like an inexperienced tavern wench."

With brute force he rammed the severed appendage down into the throat hole exposed from the twisted wreckage of what was once a mouth. But there was no moment to rest, no no. He would exact every ounce of anger before the demon passed out and shit himself from the pain. Next up was a barbaric set of sheers. He took the scissor-action blades to each digit and toe separately, slowly squeezing them shut to maximize how much was felt at each severing. He really took his time here, minutes just faded away, and every metal twang as the blades finally met after ending all resistance between them was satisfactory. Then there was a moment of true inspiration, something that just had to be completed while Vylrath was of the conscious variety. In a quick snip he removed what remained of male identification. Vyl's scrotum fell to the rough wooden planks and Ryothan crushed it beneath sadistic heel and ground balls into smeared gore.

Now hands worked the shaft of a large stone-headed maul. A double fisted grip for added force. With a grin he took the massive sledge to the demon's knees for several cracks a piece. There was a lot less supporting his efforts with the being suspended as he was, it took a lot more tries to cave them in properly, but that just allowed him to enjoy it for even that much longer. Next he took massive metal spikes and drove them through thigh muscle and burrowed them into bone, five for each leg. There was a recurring theme, Vyl's body suffered equal parts. Whack, whack, crunch, whack, thud. Was there a more fitting soundtrack? Never. Not even the most silver-tongued bard could lay down a more fitting ambiance. Sweat fell down his sculpted frame in rivers now, it had been some time at his work, and the minutes spent with the massive hammer really punctuated the energy being spent. Yet he didn't feel tired, in fact, he felt tireless. Full of clarity and motivation, he continued the diverse forms of torture.

Ryothan chose to arm himself with a knife again, but this one a different breed than the previous. This one was designed exclusively for the task he was about to embark. Marching to stand behind Vylrath yet again. Placing the razor's edge to fiend skin he applied just enough pressure to fully break flesh and he proceeded with this skilled care as he proceeded to skin Vyl alive. Literally. He took way more care here than he had with the beast in the jungle in the middle of their day, but the result was definitely the same when at long last the skin of the demon's back and front came free like some macabre shirt. Materials for a new standard to be made in the coming days. Next from shoulder to the elbow, on each arm, Ryothan took everything down to the bone. Everything. Clumps of demon just fell and piled in layers at his feet. All great art took time and was always changing, evolving, swept with the tides of creativity whenever they struck.

Muscle and tendons, the piston workforce of the body, shown to him now. Raw. Perfect. He drug the jagged plane of his armor piece across the newly exposed soft bits. From back, around his side, across his stomach and scooping up a large corkscrew shaped piece in passing off the table.

Finally he stood before the battered, mangled mess of what was once demon or man. Whatever it was. Head tilted to the side as he surveyed the massacre and took a moment to appreciate everything that had transpired. With a an approving nod he rammed the tip of the spiral shaped tool into Vylrath's stomach and speared it deep inside, cranking the wooden handle with glee and twisting all of the demon's guts and insides brutally into the mechanism's simple function. He spun and spun, wound it until he found that even his strength could not overcome the restrain of how much it had bound up in its metallic grip. Pop. He ripped it back out the hole it had entered and with it came all the insides that could manage in its wake. Spilling from a rough hole, hanging there, as inert and useless as their host.

It did not burn his flesh, he had taken the proper precautions, but he was covered in the demonic life force of his victim. He appeared so savage, in tune with pure instinct and not human reason. He turned slowly and faced the seething masses and was met with a culmination of stunned looks, smiles, mad laughter, and indecision. His wife stood to the side of the stage having collected all the materials she deemed of use to her and her practices, she always had approval in those jade pools. He nodded to her before waving his hands for pure, unviolated silence. Well, except the fading gurgles and whimpers behind him.

"Let this be a lesson to what disobedience brings upon your head. Be you human or demon, you will bow or find yourself broken across my will." His body now felt the strain, but his voice betrayed none of it.

Grabbing the last of the table's gifts he procured a hatchet. With violent guidance he took it to the base of Vylrath's neck again and again as if taking down a tree. He was shocked how much blood remained to be spilled and squirted from the resulting carnage as he removed the head fully and held it tight by the hair and holding it high as a final grisly trophy. Shouts exploded from everyone in attendance, chants, warcries, various sayings. Numantia eternal was mentioned several times, until the world drowns in blood, and it all broke way to the unified sound of fifty-thousand cheering his name. But nothing he did was for any of them, not a single one of them. He kept his eyes locked on Phaedra and what drove him the most.