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[Ross Vernal]

[Before I start: Yes, this is the universe in which I run games in. It's... post-apocalyptic postmodern dungeonpunk high/dark fantasy. Someday it will consist of an epic. Even if it's terrible, it will never be 50 Shades or Twilight terrible.

Also, yes, Zane is an ass.]

Ch. 1
Narissara looked like trouble from the first moment we met. She was a tall, voluptuous woman dressed in the traditional red-white Bodyweaver's robes with a hip-length braid of straight black hair that bobbed when she talked. It was as captivating as it was annoying. I studied her for a few seconds, trying to guess just what she was. I wouldn't buy human; she had to be at least a quarter fey to be that attractive. Her features were just too... artful, but shy of perfection.

"Centurion Deustrages."

Roaken clearly wasn't her first language - the accent was wrong. I still wondered why Consul Drusus had personally ordered me to escort the priestess, but orders were orders, regardless of our gods and her attitude. Still, it rankled me to have to be at the beck and call of Illeni and Vijer's servant. Lawful good types tend to be a real drag, and healers like her tended to look on soldiers like me as "uncultured murderers in uniform."  Well, no, let me rephrase that: calling a Bodyweaver a 'healer' was something akin to calling a Wizard a 'person who dabbles in magic.'

"Take me to the rest of my escort."

Naturally, it wasn't a polite request. It was looking to be a long day, and her high-pitched voice wasn't helping me any. If I ever had headaches, I'd probably have one now - trying to reconcile the voice and words falling from her full lips... I shook my head. No, she was off-limits, just another person with piece of paper certifying her grandmastery of the healing arts that clearly meant she knew everything about everything. Doctors.

"They're off-duty at the moment." I told her, trying to keep my sneer from showing. She probably would catch the minor insult of not calling her by her title, and I hoped it pissed her off. Narissara shook her head, and I waited for a few seconds be fore she spoke again, a poisonously sweet smile revealing her dimples as she spoke.

"Then take me to Eyilana's alcove in the Parthenon. Praetorian."

Her deliberate pause was as much insult as mine. Still, I was disappointed that we had a Goddess in common. Now she'd have a decent reason to talk to me. A two-denari tribute to Ingram's luck I'd made earlier in the day gave me hope that the bodyweaver would be less of a priestess than I was a priest. Maybe. Hopefully. Given how well Ingram was treating me this day, I wouldn't have the luck. Next time I'd make a bigger tribute... shoving the thought aside, I looked into her deep green eyes, which shone with intelligence and - Dammit, no. It was my job to guard that wonderful body, not to lust after it.

"You follow the Seer too?" I asked her grudgingly. Keep the talk on business, everything would be fine.

She grinned and leaned forward on the balls of her feet, head and shoulders above me. I swallowed and looked up to her face, not wanting to give her the wrong impression as I quietly bit the inside of my lip. Just a little closer, just a little shift of her robe... argh. No. Business. I tapped my finger and thumb together a few times.

"The Aspect of Secrets. It was part of my Bodyweaver training."

I had to wonder how in the hell she didn't fall over. It was impossible not to notice her... endowments, if you will. It was a damned shame that she didn't feel a calling to be a Hedonist at her coming of age. I gave in and looked down as I turned from side to side, sweeping my gaze across her breasts as I looked for any dangers around. Roak Val was a fairly safe place, especially where we were, but one never knew. Maybe there was a pickpocket around. Or maybe I just wanted to admire her breasts more. Whatever.

"Ah."

Normally, I'd have something more to say, but this whole situation was getting on my nerves and if this conversation lasted one more minute I'd go decapitate someone just to relieve the stress. This whole... Praetorian political soldier job was a mixed blessing. Officer's pay, not too heavy on the combat duty, and the chance to make contacts with Citizens. Unfortunately, it came with the duties of playing toy soldier for important barbarians. Though I couldn't call a Bodyweaver a barbarian, now could I?  She made me nervous in some way I didn't quite understand, deep in my stomach.

"Let me guess. You follow the Aspect of Books."

I blinked, taken off-guard. Her smile broadened, and she settled back down on her feet before giggling and punching me in the arm, hard. Again, I had to wonder just what in the hell she was - not human. She was maybe a part-fey, but I didn't sense any traces of glamour about her. And aside from a few notable exceptions - namely, the Duchess Vernal and the Winter Queen Akasha - fey did not have breasts that large. I found myself looking again, and blinked again, blood rising to my ears as I looked away.

"It wasn't hard to tell, really. One doesn't rise to your rank at your age just by following Shin's Aspect of War... at least, not just that."

My confusion at the name must have shown on my face, because she tapped Portraikos's deaths-head insignia on my right shoulder with a smirk. I shrugged, noting the bowstring calluses on her right hand. This small talk was getting a little old, and the sooner this was over with, the better. I didn't know if I wanted to screw her, kill her, or kill myself, and I still felt that strange combination of a deep, primal gut-fear mixed with a warm, tingling sensation where my heart would be if I'd had one. The woman was dangerous.

"How long is your stay here in Roak Val?" I growled, voice surly. Narissara's smile didn't fade a whit, but the venom in it faded to nothing as her eyes sparkled at me knowingly. She stuck the tip of her tongue out at me, giggled, then continued talking.

"About a week. I need to find books in the Mage Towers, and there's a... mold... no, a... a fungus, that only grows in the Undercity that I need for some of my alchemical experiments."

Well then, everything made sense now! My role was clear, and I was flattered. The captain of Marius Drusus's personal guard – Aurelius, or something like that, anyway – was retiring to enjoy time with his family and his remaining limbs, so I was being groomed to step into his role. Perfect. Consul Drusus was not the type to take his free time as rest time, probably from his time in the Untold Legions of Portraikos. This woman - who gave every sign of being as stubborn and reckless as our patrician Consul - was a test of my abilities.

"Alright, off to the Parthenon, then. I'm looking forward to be of service to you, Bodyweaver Dairana."

I gave her a smile right back. A real one, this time.

"My name is Narissara, and who's the third god of your trifecta?"

"I'm a Citrinitas of Mingan, and call me Zane."

She held up a long-fingered hand as she closed her eyes, and I waited patiently, taking the time to admire how her robes hugged every last curve of her luscious body while she wasn't looking.

"Blood, Chaos, and... Darkness, if I'm not mistaken."

Well then. Maybe she did know everything about everything. Narissara had clearly done her research ahead of time, and this only confirmed my theory. I could practically taste that promotion. Primus Pilus from the Consul's orders, then from there it was only a matter of time before I'd become a Tribunus Laticlavius and be eligible to lead the entire Roak Republic's army as Legatus Legionis or run for the Senate. Maybe someday, rise to the plebeian Consulship myself, and the key to it all was the woman standing in front of me and her report on my performance. Or the report of the spies who were undoubtedly watching us now and already seeded through my century. Not that I was accusing any man of being a traitor - simply of being loyal to those who have bought him.

"I'm currently studying the Aspect of Magic, since Potraikos – erm, Shin - forbids me from Necromancy." I replied, my voice much warmer as I noted to myself to use the name for the death god whenever I was around her and in my thoughts. We started walking north from the Campus Martia uphill towards the Pantheon and continued our little conversation. As it turned out, Narissara was the niece of Marius's second-in-command when the old Consul served in Shin's Untold Legions.

"I forgot to ask you, Zane. When are your... erm."

Narissara stopped and pouted, moving her lips from side to side as she stared up into space.

"Your commander subordinates... Optico and... Tresseris? Opto and Tesserian?"

Hehe. She did look cute when she didn't know things, and it did confirm that her grip on Roaken wasn't as strong as I had hoped. I chuckled a little, and prepared to field her inevitable questions.

"Optio and Tesserarius, Nari - do you mind if I call you that? Allen is my optio candidatus-"

"For you? Nari works. Optio candidatus?"

"My second in command, my deputy, who is being groomed to take my job when I get promoted. I'll miss the big bast- er. Lug. And my Tesserarius... I don't think there are words in Common for it, so Renn is the man who makes sure our century keeps to their schedule. He's coming with me when I get promoted, and we'll meet them both tomorrow morning, actually. Allen is probably off in the South Tower with a bottle of wine, and Renn is probabl – oh, nevermind, he's right there. Gistos! Get over here, old man!"

I indicated the gray-haired gunmage walking towards us. Renn was a tough old campaigner, covered in scars and wiry muscles mostly hidden by his faded old Drall-skin duster and the straw hat with a feather on the right. He must have been at least sixty, but he still carried himself like I do – hell, he had better posture than I do. And even though he was about as Roaken in the blood as I was, nobody would disagree that he was as fine a soldier - and man - as any the Roak Republic could come up with  The old Hedonist smirked and bowed to Narissara, greeting her with a kiss on the back of her pale hand before giving me a flippant, lazy salute, which I returned.

"Well, Zane, I'm impressed. Who's this lovely lady you're with?" Renn asked me, not taking his eyes off of Narissara. Well... part of her, anyway. I never did understand just how he managed to come across as being charmingly lecherous (much less succeed with women more often than I could) but some folk had all of Ingram's luck. Then again, I outranked him and I was about thirty-eight years younger than he was. Ingram was tricky like that sometimes - one had to expect that from the god who tricked the other gods into letting him steal Luck. Anyway, it wasn't that Renn, like most other followers of Bree, was using the powers of her Hedonism aspect to seem appealing to the person or persons they were attracted to. I loved Renn, but his was a face that only a blind mother could love. And yet, the women flocked to him like wasps to raw meat. Unbelievable.

"This is Bodyweaver Dairana, and she's the one we're escorting around for the rest of the week."

Narissara edged back, looking around the crowded Parthenon, presumably to find Eyilana's alcove. Or maybe to escape from Renn, though she'd be the first woman I had ever known to be immune to his... animal magnetism. Not that I'd really had the chance to enjoy the sights of far-away lands. I tugged on the elbow of her robe and pointed across the atrium.

"It's over there. How long will you be?"

"An hour and a half, roughly; I'm lecturing on the uses of medicinal alchemy to treat war wounds that healed wrong. I don't know how many times I've said that with the proper treatment regimen, we can avoid surgery and even more recovery time... nevermind. I have to run. See you soon, handsome."

Handsome?!

She gave me one of those dazzling melt-your-mind smiles and kissed me on the cheek before winding her way through the crush. Renn watched her backside with a look of awe on his face. Or at least, I thought he did out of the corner of my eye, my own being currently utilized for the same cause I suspected of his.

"A shame she's not a Hedonist with a body like that. I'll tell you what, Zane: I'll be nice and let you have her."

I looked at him and burst out laughing, shaking my head a little.

"You know I'm not a fan of goodie-good healer priestesses. Besides, this is politics: Aurelius or whatever is retiring, and Narissara is like family to Consul Drusus, so..."

Renn clapped his gloved hand on my shoulder.

"Ah, you scheming bastard. If I weren't someone else's client I'd join you someday."

His tone expressed pride. I'd met him years ago during the Water Riots when he was part of a crowd control brigade. He'd stood alone in front of a torch-bearing mob and pacified them without firing a shot; since then, he'd been a father figure to me as well as serving as my Tesserarius. His experience and stories had saved my behind in combat more than once, and it'd been my pleasure to save his a few times. There was nobody I would trust at my back - or side - more than him.

"Always. Learned from the best, didn't I?"

"Hah. No, Zane, you'll surpass me there, too. Anyway, I'll let Allen know about your plans, boy. He's off playing with the kitties again."

He was gone before I nodded. I didn't know how he managed to do that either, but at least Renn was nice enough to let you see him coming. Allen just tended to... appear, and then just disappear. Either way, I had an hour or so to kill - I wasn't much of an alchemist and tended to be more skilled at ending lives than saving them, so going there to hear and admire Narissara was out. The building was as secure as the Campus Martia, given the sheer amount of priests and worship here. I had nothing to do but brood. With a sigh, I walked towards Mingan's alcove to talk to the Vampire God, or whatever celestial minion he foisted upon me instead of coming in person like he was wont to do recently. Oh well, such was a pawn's life.

Out of all the alcoves in the Parthenon, Mingan's was the smallest. It was actually closer to the literal sense of an alcove. It wasn't an addition to the Parthenon, though; when it was first built, he was among the first gods that it was in honor of, mostly due to his being the brother of Shin. For reasons which any sane person could completely understand, his faith had never really caught on that much, but we had our small rooms. Lesser priests nodded as I entered, and slowly cleared out of the Room of Reverence so as to give me my privacy without my so much as speaking.

As the door ground shut, I procured my needles. Not all of the Aspect of Blood carried blood needles, but I had a full set. Cold iron, steel, jade, copper, silver, and gold, to be precise - if any being had a material weakness, I had a blood needle that would kill it. Presumably. I hadn't yet had the chance to kill many things less human than I was, but a well-guided needle through the heart or head would kill anything. Hopefully. Either way, I had an offering to make, and I used each needle to pierce assorted veins I could see through my skin. It didn't really matter where I did it, so I preferred to use my thigh. I needed my wrists and fingers to hold my weapons and shields, and blood did not help with grip. I kept myself busy by narrating my thoughts to myself as each needle slid in place, then threaded the needles with a small metal cord that worked fairly decently as a garrote.

In one smooth motion, I ripped the needles from my leg and watched as blood began to well up and flow. It burned - not with pain, but with power. My power, my blood; Mingan's power, Mingan's blood. They were one and the same - or at least, I bore his blood with mine. Hence my surname, Deustrages - God's Blood. Wordlessly, I drew my short, rune-inscribed ritual ivory dagger from its sheath around my neck, put the edge to the skin, and waited for the blood to flow onto it. When it had, I scraped the edge against my naked thigh, pooling my blood across the flat of the weapon. As usual for the ritual, the blood flowed towards the point, vanishing into the blade until only a single drop of crimson gleamed maliciously on the tip in a start contrast to the color of the blade.

I never did like the next part of the ritual. Fourteen years ago, Mingan gave me the dubious honor of a visit. With a single motion, he changed everything, broke everything. Everything but me - well, no. I simply put myself back together. Maybe it was a test, or maybe Mingan felt like doing what he did that day. I was stalling, and I knew it. In war, I didn't fear. Well, that's a lie. I do fear, but I control my fear. To fall in war is, was, and would always be an honor for anyone who worshiped Potraikos. Shin. Death. But here, alone in the were-light of the Room, I knew fear - not of death, but of an eternity of solitude, the fear of nothing.

I took a deep breath, then put both hands around the hilt of the dagger. I held my hands out, with the dagger pointed towards me, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and with the experience of years of practice, stabbed myself directly where my heart would be. There was no pain. No body, nothing but an nothingness solid enough to be perceivable, my mind shifting into my meditation.

I remembered Mingan's voice as a child, blue fire rippling across their bodies, telling me this was my nigredo, with his face like a raven. He told me he was giving me a wish in return for each of them he took, but that they were gone. Power, love, and hate. It wasn't worth the cost. I remembered seeing that my eyes had turned from... whatever it was they were before they became every color. I remembered the years of training in the Campus Martia, my induction and oaths to the Army of the Republic under the silver eagle, when I had a cause to live for again - my albedo. I remembered my first summer bacchanal, and the blonde girl who my faerie godmother had found for my first time...

And then, suddenly, I was choking on beer. With a cough and a splutter, I opened my eyes to find the room halfway filled with beer, with me laying flat on my back, staring up at Mingan, who appeared to be drinking from a stein as he sat cross-legged on the surface, looking like a human for a change. There were times when I enjoyed being a follower - willing or not - of the chaos god. This was not one of those times, and I swam up to the surface and began to tread... beer.

"Hi, Zane. We need to talk."

I shivered. The last time I'd heard that tone, I'd been sitting in the Baths. Or at least, I had been until I suddenly found myself in the middle of a battle at our southern border, naked, in the middle of a tile bathtub, armed only with a scrubber on a stick and a bar of lavender-scented soap. I really hoped that this wouldn't be like that time, but unlike then, I was armed. I had not stopped carrying at least three weapons since that day, in fact.

"Well, I need to talk, you need to listen, and then ask questions if you don't understand anything. You, my darling little pawn, are going to the end of the world and cease to exist as such."

He waited. I waited. That could mean anything from "I'm going to turn you into a were-woman" to "I'm going to kill you" to "I'm going to give you an island paradise to live on in indolent luxury for the rest of your life."  For some entirely inconcievable reason, I suspected that it was closer to the second definition than to the third.

"Narissara is a lovely woman, by the way, and far, far more than she seems. You like her, don't you?"

"...no. I can't stand her. Arrogant, thinks that just because she was smart enough to become a Bodyweaver that she can use those... flashing eyes... and, and her smile that shows all of her teeth... and those wonderful- AUGH. This is your fault, isn't it?"

The god laughed at me. I hated being laughed at.

"I'm not the one in love with her, Zane, you are. Now, be quiet, I have exposition to deliver. Four hundred-odd years ago, my brother, my daughter and I used Chelan God-King's newly-appointed Defender of the Faith, Archduke Vernal, to kill Caribia, Lisse, and Oraith. Or, as you might know it, the War of the Gods."

I ground my teeth together. Every child had heard the story. You learned it in school, or picked it up from storytellers. I had a few first editions from the era, in fact. I had no idea why he was wasting my time with this little history lesson.

"Patience, Deustrages. What you don't know is that the Archduke has no loyalty to Chelan, and, in fact, hates him."

Well, then!

My jaw dropped, eyes going wide. I couldn't conceive of a situation when any god would elevate a person who hated him to be the official head of his cult, especially given that the Defender of the Faith embodied the Faith as the god's avatar. Well, maybe Mingan himself would, but to know that the King of the fucking Gods had done this was an utter shock. I struggled to articulate words, and after a few spluttering attempts, I shut my mouth and looked at him.

"Fascinating, isn't it?  Anyway, I have need of his services again. You, my child, are going to go find him and recruit him. Or kill him. Or get killed by him. It's up to you."

He had no right to call me his child, but I would take "child" over "pawn" any day. The former was just slightly less accurate and added to my reputation, while the latter was, unfortunately for me, the truth. Or perhaps fortunately - it was rather hard to tell, following a god like Mingan.

"Anything else?"

"Is there anything more you want, Zane?"

His tone was mocking. He knew the answer, but asked anyway, and knew that I'd reply like I always had.

"My family alive again would be nice."

"I have better things to do than cater to your every whim, or to provide information to the many."

"...the many? Who are the many?"

"Who are you?"

He was gone. The beer wasn't. Short of drinking the entire room, there really wasn't a whole lot I could do about that without causing one hell of a mess. Well, looked like I was bound to get chewed out fairly soon. Which was okay - I had been chewed out before. One of the highest guiding principles of being a high priest of the Chaos god was the unofficial rule of "Obey whatever laws and orders help you, ignore whatever laws and orders hinder you." As would be expected, this did not endear me to the command. I'd seen my file, and had noted the word "insubordinate" written about eighty times. On the other hand, though, I commanded a century, and I was still alive, and the men and women up top were not in a hurry to argue with success. Especially when I made sure to give them full, glowing credit for their valuable support in that anti-corruption scheme that had (likely) gotten me into this mess in the first place. There was more than one reason why I hated politics.

"...this is good beer," I commented wryly to nobody, then submerged myself, swam down, and opened the door. Beer rushed forth from the room to flood the rest of the alcove until it was knee deep. I sighed, turned around, and had my sword halfway drawn before I recognized Allen standing behind me.

"Stop doing that!"

"Zane, I've heard of drowning your sorrows, but this is ridiculous."

I had no idea how he did it. He was taller than Narissara was, and had a neck the size of my entire thigh, putting him heads and shoulders over most Roaken men. He was more like a midget fire giant than a human, stood out like a sore thumb, and you would never see him coming until he was right there. Seeing as how I was in a room with one door that had beer flowing out of it, which I was watching, I had no clue how he'd done it. I gave him a glare.

"Oh, you're no fun. Orders, sir?"

His face shifted, all trace of humor and personality gone as he stared down at me. I sighed and shook my head. He meant well, and it wasn't fair to take my frustrations out on him.

"...don't worry, Allen. It's just been a weird day."

The life restored itself to his eyes, and he slouched back, losing maybe an inch from his height as I ran my palm down my face and sighed, shaking my head from side to side as I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Mingan tends to do that. Listen, I've arranged a schedule for tonight's entertainment, since you know absolutely nothing about it - there's chariot races, and you're sitting in the same section as the Consuls - though only Verginius Caeliomontanus is expected to show, as his favored aedile is putting on a show. You'll have ten minutes to reach the theater near your apartments - a highly under-rated foreign group is coming through for two nights only. You'll be a little late to my dinner party, but I'm sure I could convince the philosophers to debate until you show up to escort the lovely lady. And you had better change - dress uniform. No armor."

I blinked, then remembered that for some odd reason, people actually cared about how others chose to dress, and actually spent their money on owning several different items of clothing to wear. Which struck me as plain silly, but there you have it. I didn't have time for anything other than reading, training, magic, whores, sleeping, and drinking - the only things that mattered, as far as I was concerned. Fortunately for me, I'd been blessed by a thoroughly competent subordinate in Allen, and even though I admired his efficiency, it was a little disconcerting that my chosen one was a much, much better administrator than I was. Allen was a merchant's son who had my eye for details about people, only for politics and numbers. He saw patterns in everything and always seemed to be in the right place at the right time.  At the moment, though, I was just glad that he preferred the company of men to women, and I felt a little stab of jealousy even thinking about him possibly becoming more than casually interested in women when he saw Narissara. What spell had the woman cast on me? Ye gods.

"Mmmh."

"It has been a weird day, huh? Look, don't worry about it - whatever trouble comes up, you have Renn, you have me, and you have ninety-seven men willing to die for you at a moment's notice. You'll be fine - now, with all due respect, sir, move your ass. Your uniform is being brought to the barracks by one of our new recruits, and if you're fast, you'll have time to rinse, change, and make it back here in time to catch the conclusion of Narissara's lecture."

"Don't call me sir, I work for a living. Dismi- gods dammit, how does he keep doing that!?"

Gone again. Either way, he had a point, and I hustled. The crowd held me up, but I had time to get rid of the scent of beer and dress like a proper citizen-soldier instead of a drunken mercenary legionnaire.

Technically, I am a drunken mercenary legionnaire... eh.

Taking up a position against the curved wall, I made my way through the packed room with a minimal amount of jostling and minor pain hexes until I was to Narissara's left, just in front of the stage. After idly removing some hair and what appeared to be a peanut shell from my shoulder, I looked up at Narissara, admiring her profile as she spoke, not hearing a single word she spoke, with a damn goofy grin on my face that I couldn't hide no matter how hard I tried to look serious.

[Xantalos]

ADDSADASADADAASDDAFSFFHGJFHF
How did I not see this before. Post to fukken watch.

[Doomblade187]

Just skimming this, I enjoyed it greatly. PTW, and I'll take the time to read it in detail soon.

[Angle]

Dayum. PTW.

[Ross Vernal]

Ch 2.

While it was certainly fascinating to watch the tip of Narissara's tongue caress the back of her bottom lip whenever she took a break from speaking, and no matter how many sparks I felt coming off of her, something nagged at me. Maybe it was what few memories I had before Mingan had claimed my life for his, or the stark impossibility of what he'd asked me to do. Or maybe I was just grumpy from hunger or had a vague sense that I was violating some obscure point of eittiquite. Either way, I eventually turned away from her and looked over the crowd, face serious as I thought about the past and the future, tapping my finger and thumb together again out of habit.

I barely remembered my mother's face. Her voice... that I remembered. She was a gifted singer, and she always used to sing lullabies to my older sister and I at night, no matter how much we protested. She always knew how much we appreciated it - come to think of it, I didn't remember much about my sister at all, aside from that I had one who was younger than me. And my father, I remembered his hands - big, thick, calloused, horny-knuckled, as suited to the plow as it was to affectionately tousle my hair - or smack my backside, depending. We were freemen and landowners - not much to brag about for a Denca, where every soldier was given a plot of land to keep with others of his squad, but I had always wished that I'd never grow up to be a farmer.

As it turned out, I got my wish. Late one night, I woke up to a cold, arcane blue flame dancing on the tightly-curled bodies of my family, slowly turning into a real fire as I watched, helpless. Mingan was there - in fact, he was the one who'd started the blaze. He had offered me a simple choice - whether he should take my life then, or if he would take my life in the form of service. Even then, I knew better than to argue with the god of unlife - it was better to be a living servant with at least the illusion of free will than an eternally unliving slave.  I might not be the sharpest sword in the armory of human intelligence, but my mother didn't raise any fools, either.

He had seemed impressed by my rapid choice to serve him alive, and had offered me three wishes - one per life. As much as I wanted my family back, I wouldn't want them back how he would return them, so I told him what I wanted: love, power, and hate.  So far, I had been given - or possibly grown into - a love for books, an incredible amount of sheer magical power, and an unstoppable, ruthless, calculating and ice-cold battletrance that had not only saved me, but apparently spread to any man - or woman - who'd served under me.  Oh, right, and he'd also ripped my heart out, then poured his blood into the giant, gaping hole in my chest, making my blood flow without the proper organ to do it. It was not quite what I had expected, but, then again, Chaos god. It had worked decently so far, as far as it went. Oh, and of course, I had men and women willing to die at my words. It was a giddy power, a sacred trust, to know I had the lives men and women in my hands, and that they trusted me - or the strength of the armies of the Republic - to actually be responsible for those lives.

I smiled at that one, hearing Narissara lecturing about the potential benefits of smaller, stronger, more frequent doses of potions and tinctures and assorted whatnot I understood on the most basic of levels. I'd love to have her on the most basic- son of a bitch! I shook my head and looked back at the audience, again. Apparently, her occasional fumbles in Roaken were amusing to them.

Allen was technically correct when he said I had ninety-seven men willing to die for me. Women were not actually allowed to serve in the Roaken army, so any woman who enlisted was legally and temporarily declared a man. As far as I had seen, men tended to be physically stronger and more warlike in general than women. On the other hand, women were better with magic than most men and fought just as well even without the chest-pounding. Actually, the former had been proven - most of the legendary magic-users of the world were women, and one of our Emperors before the Roak Republic was a republic had tested twins with boys and girls - the women, even those without so much as a day of magical training, were almost universally more powerful than their brothers.

Not that possession of power - or strength - meant that one knew how to use it, mind you. All other things being equal, it is the smarter who beats the stronger. Anyway, at the moment, I had a little under half of my force as women, with the battlemages spread throughout the ten divisions  of my century. My personal division  had six women and three men - as the commander, I spent more time in the back of the lines than at the vanguard, and having a fully dedicated squadron of battlemages - and me - to throw their power behind any squadrons at a moment's notice had proven to be quite decisive.

I found that I was woolgathering, thinking about things I already knew about while staring directly at Narissara, watching the way she held her weight on her right leg, pushing her hips and the curve of her ass in a perfect profile for me to admire. Again. She hadn't hit me with any love spells, so I was forced to conclude that Mingan had done something to me. But, gods, what a woman! The lecture was winding down. Narissara looked serious, sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and somehow or another managed to keep the place quiet save for her voice, the occasional laughter and a few shouted out linguistic tips when she did that cute little pout... mmh-hmm.

Eventually, I'd gotten over my hazy, dizzy feelings when I looked at her, and had taken the time to study the audience. I wasn't much of one for socializing - or social situations at all, given how little of them I understood, but this was a tactical assessment of a battlefield, not an awkwardly polite dinner with accompanying philosophers.  Roak Val's four Bodyweavers were attending in the front row, occasionally taking down a line or two - the rest of the crowd seemed to be other healers who hadn't yet or would never qualify to be a full 'weaver, and a few alchemists and assorted lay priests. I could have sworn I had seen Allen sitting three rows back, dead center, but when I blinked, he was gone, his seat taken by someone with ridiculous-looking goggles and frizzy white hair. Interesting.

"-techniques and hints help you save at least one life. Thank you for your time... do questions have... er. If anyone has questions, I'll be near my escort."

I snapped back to reality as practically everyone there turned to look at me as she gestured towards me. I hadn't even known she had noticed me, but I guess she had seen me out of the corner of her big, pretty green eyes. Mindful of my reputation among the city, I touched my right index and middle finger to my forehead, just above my eyebrow, in a pseudo-salute and gave them my biggest, most charming "fuck you" grin. They started getting to their feet and otherwise not paying attention. It seemed my gesture was appropriate for the situation.

Narissara turned towards me, a confident little smile on her face, a spring to her step, and a sparkle to her eyes as she approached me. Mine? Not hardly. Maybe she was playing nice...

"Zane!"

I could practically taste the joy in her words, and it confused the ever-living hell out of me. This woman had basically taken my life and stood it on its head. First, she was cold, then she was nice, and now, from the way she spoke to me, apparently she... I was lost for words, and the rest of the world slipped away as we walked towards each other nice and slow, watching each others bodies move. At least, I could feel the heat in it, and my breath sped up as my blood raced through me. We stopped, inches from each other. She reached out and put her right hand on my chest, and looked down into my eyes as I looked up into hers, as we looked into each other. I didn't know how to describe what I saw, what I felt. Burning, vividly alive, thrilled, lustful, hopeful of having my wish come true and terrified of her even more. I felt alone, but alone with her. It was weak but strong... it confused me, intrigued me, and sent shivers through me. I'd never felt anything like this before, but whatever it was, I could see in her face, in her soul, that she felt it too.

"Zane...?"

"Narissara...?"

We stared at each other for a timeless moment, both of us stepping closer and our faces growing closer, her tongue running over her lips-

"Bodyweaver Dairana, your audience has questions for you."

Our moment shattered, and we took a few steps back from each other, a blush rising to her cheeks as I shifted my stance slightly. The Bodyweaver - I didn't recognize him, so he was probably the private Bodyweaver of our tribunes - took Narissara by the upper arm and gently steered her towards the eager crowd. Still, though, as she went, she turned to look at me, looking slightly regretful on top of her eyes promising that we'd continue what we had started later, when both of us were more... alone. He tugged at her arm a bit more, and she sighed, standing still. He kept trying to pull her, but when he realized that there was no way he could possibly move her, he turned around and opened his mouth, but before he could so much as get a word in edgewise, she'd already grabbed his arm with her left and squeezed. Judging by the smell of adrenaline and the look on his face, it hurt him to the point of scaring the pretentious little bastard.

"Stop. Touching. Me."

I blinked again. Her tone was cold steel, and she jerked away from him, letting me see exactly how pissed off she was. It was pretty intimidating - apparently, she'd spent a lot of time looking at herself in a full-length mirror and practicing. Everything about her - from the angle of her head slightly to the side and up to catch the flash of the green inferno of her eyes, the way she curled her upper lip, and-

"And you! Centurion Deustrages! Get out of here - you've already caused enough... bad, and I need you no - rrgh. I don't need you!" she growled at me, giving me a personalized glare that screamed blame, dislike, a sliver of pity, an ocean of emerald anger, but most of all, contempt. Eyes widening, I stepped back as I raised up my hands, trying my best not to let my shock show.

"...I'll wait outside, then."

What the actual fuck just happened?

"Shoo!"

She flicked her wrist at me and turned away, Mouth slightly open by the sudden, abrupt change from loving to bitch, I turned and walked out too, shaking my head.

Etiquette.

Women.

I didn't understand them at all. Well, no - my women. Men. Son of a bitch. After passing out from Eyilana's alcove, I moved to the side of the door and slowly, lightly hit my forehead against the wall a few time as I took one long breath and sigh. I got along well enough with my women. Of course, my women were either either soldiers I commanded, assorted widows with fortunes or daughters, and a few of the Tokee "priestesses" - or, as I preferred to refer to them as, "expensive whores." As I continued to vent my frustrations at impossible fucking women being fucking crazy and stupid rules of society like clothes, politeness, and lying, a sudden warm whisper came to my ears.

"My little one."

This wasn't quite the time I had expected my faerie godmother to show up, but now was a good of a time as any. The best woman in my life could help me with the craziest one. No, second craziest one. The fey had a different version of the word sanity than most people did, and the Duchess Vernal and I had many long nights discussing the finer points of magic, wanton slaughter, and how intriguing it was to watch two women have sex. Going to my Unseelie faerie godmother for relationship advice was probably not the strangest thing that was going to happen to me today.

I am so fucked.

I turned around to see her standing there. She had a big grin on her face, her tri-colored eyes gleaming with amusement, her short, vivid red hair in thick spikes. What most got my attention, though, was an emerald pendant that dropped down to a sparkling almost-transparent cerulean and silver dress that started most of the way down her breasts and ended less than two inches below her ass that she was barely wearing. And those boots - snakeskin, going up to mid-thigh, leaving a few inches of her sun-kissed thighs uncovered. As usual, she'd worn clothes that matched her eyes, and that somehow managed to conceal her perfect body and yet leave absolutely no doubt as to how exquisite it was or what it looked like without the clothes. And I did mean perfect - Narissara had a nice body, but it was human - a belly, big hips, those calluses I'd seen, one of her front teeth was pushed just a little forward- augh! I had to stop thinking about Narissara like that.

Anyway, the Duchess Vernal was perfect, beautiful, utterly female - not a single flaw, not a single hair out of place, every last move, expression, gesture, and word rehearsed and planned with hundreds of years of intimate practice, even though she was quite possibly the most masculine-featured and muscular woman I had ever seen. It was almost disturbing to me, but then again, she was like family.

Rephrase: completely disturbing.  Looked too human to be human. Ye gods. I tapped my thumb and finger together again, rapidly.

"Something's wrong, isn't it? Talk to me, baby."

Her voice was deep and like honey, and I grinned back at her reluctantly.

"There's a priestess woman. Built sort of like you, only... more curvy, shorter, not as well built. And lighter-skinned. She's driving me crazy."

"In which way?"

Her eyes sparkled merrily at me. The funny thing was, she wasn't even using much of her glamour, and none of it was aimed at me. She just... sparkled, naturally. All fey did, and it made my brain hurt to be afraid of something that sparkled and shined. There was something profoundly wrong with the whole concept.

"She's crazy. First, she's this arrogant, pushy woman. Then she starts being friendly enough to me, and... we nearly kissed just now. But then she just totally went cold and pushed me away."

The Duchess didn't seem to buy it, and she stepped closer to me, taking my face in her long, inhumanly soft-yet-firm hands as she looked directly into my eyes, boring in. This time, I could feel the glamour - she wasn't going to force me to be completely honest, but she knew very well I wasn't giving her the whole story.

"Zane, we're family. You can tell me anything."

I did. After I had finished, she arched an eyebrow and pinched my cheeks, laughing a bit more.

"Oh, you're so helpless it's cute sometimes. Of course she likes you, my darling idiot boy; surely you don't need me to teach you how to please a woman."

She chuckled, as did I. No, the two of us hadn't, although she certainly hadn't made any attempt to hide the fact that she would if I didn't happen to be her faerie godson with serious, serious issues about how wrong that would be.

"But why was she so... If she likes me, why doesn't she just say it?"

The faerie sighed, smiling a little.

"So, she's coming to a city she hasn't been in before, in a language she's halfway competent at, and finds that her personal bodyguard is an attractive, powerful, and good-looking man. The problem is, he's a different religion, and she usually feels about as much emotion as, say... oh, let's go with a knife."

I frowned. That wasn't anything I'd mentioned, or guessed. Maybe she knew Narissara?

"And he's being a jerk about it - you have the manners of a lunatic - so she tries to find something in common with him. He starts being less of a jerk, she starts liking him more. Then his friend just happens to show up and make an ass of himself for her escort's benefit. And she's not stupid, so she's going to wonder if you did it deliberately. She goes away to do a lecture, giving him a biiiig hint that she wants him to be there. Then, he just doesn't show for most of it, then shows up late just to give her hope he wasn't a total fuckup - and then spends more time eying her like a piece of meat than listening to her. Do you know how that makes her feel?"

Somehow or another, this had turned into a lecture, and I was feeling extremely stupid. This was one reason why I didn't socialize outside of the army much - all these rules about what to say, when to say it, what to look at, how to look at it, and different ways to cover it up.

"Uh, no?"

"Of course not. Angry, sort of flattered, jealous, and insecure. Oh, and hurt, a little stupid, and embarrassed. And proud, a little vengeful. Most of which, aside from "angry" and "proud" are mostly new. Maybe he had a woman to visit, or maybe he just wanted her for her body. After all, he didn't care enough to escort her there. Then, she goes to embarrass him by calling attention to his negligence, and he somehow doesn't get called on it, which pisses her off. But maybe he's just a little shy, or figured it out late, or sacrificed basic skill for awesome training, and hey, maybe she was just over-reacting, because SUDDEN ILLOGICAL EMOTIONS. And then she saw the way he looked at her, they got close, and then she got dragged away and he refused to stand up for her, and what would people think of her now that she almost kissed him in front of them..."

She went on for a bit longer, then stopped and looked at me again seriously.

"Did any of that get through to you? Say something, love."

"Oh."

"And what are you going to do about this?"

"I guess you want me to apologize?"

"No, I want you to do what you think is best. Wash your hands of her and request a transfer. Go back and apologize for being a jerk and try to get in her robes. Go back, refuse to apologize, just do your job to the best of your abilities, and write her off as being more insane than attractive. I'm not telling you what to do, baby, I'm asking you what you, as an adult, are going to do about this hole you dug yourself into."

I thought about it for a second.

"Any advice?"

The Duchess looked amused.

"A philosopher once said that from the deepest desires often come from the deadliest hate," she told me enigmatically, then winked at me. "I think you've already decided, and I have to get back to my work, love."

She gave me a kiss on the forehead, then walked slowly and gracefully out of the Parthenon, drawing attention as she went. I could practically see the smirk on her face. It was rather unfortunate for me that the Duchess Vernal was extremely familiar with the Archduke Vernal - part of me suspected they were married. If faeries COULD get married, I had no idea. Orgies and marriage seemed rather... impractical, for lack of a better term. The task was for me to find the Archduke, so as ridiculously easy as it would have been to simply ask her to carry the message on, or to just somehow magic me there, or had her doing anything that would make it easy, it would mean that she was doing it. Unless it was asked as a bargain, which was a bad idea, and if not, it would not technically be me finding him and asking him. It was generally not a good idea to try to rules-lawyer the Chaos God, so I was left speechless with the profound inability to do the stupidly obvious.

I returned inside and stood by the door, arms crossed. Narissara seemed to still be chatting with a group of people, and when she spotted me, she leaned her weight on one side to just slightly brush the side of her breast against the shoulder of the man next to her, almost-but-not-quite meeting my eyes. Even though I knew she was just trying to make me jealous, I still felt a pit of sick anger at my stomach at the thought of someone else having her. Maybe I wouldn't apologize after all. They didn't speak for much longer, and I could tell from the tick in her jaw and her not looking at me at all that she was still furious. It was sort of appealing to see how she looked, but I could even feel the thick air between us. She came to my side, a few feet away, then looked at me and did that pout again.

"Deustrages. I'm sure you're the kind of man who would plan some... fancy, clean... thing he doesn't know about to impress me. Do you know how- mmmmh."

She shook her head, and it was clear she wasn't exactly thrilled with what Allen had planned, although I didn't know how she knew it. He wasn't the type to be divided in his loyalties - he was far too meticulous to complicate his life, even if he'd get an advantage from turning on someone and would not only get away with it, but have a parade thrown in his honor for betraying the poor son-of-a-bitch. Or at least, I thought so. Maybe... whatever, she knew, it wasn't worth my time to wonder about it, as she was taking long, fast strides towards the exit. I followed her out the door, out of the Parthenon, and down several streets before I realized she was trying to ditch me. I broke into a jog, and after a few more minutes and several turns, I finally caught up to her - she hadn't looked back once. I raised my hand and almost immediately remembered that poor bastard she'd gripped. He should have had a bruise-

Wait, hold that thought. I fell back a distance and kept shadowing her, reviewing the scene in my mind once again.

Judging by the smell of adrenaline and the look on his face, it hurt him to the point of scaring the pretentious little bastard.

"Stop. Touching. Me."

I blinked again. Her tone was cold steel, and she jerked away from him, letting me see exactly how pissed off she was. It was pretty intimidating - apparently, she'd spent a lot of time looking at herself in a full-length mirror and practicing. Everything about her - from the angle of her head slightly to the side and up to catch the flash of the green inferno of her eyes, the way she curled her upper lip, and the way her tongue moved and her jaw did. And I could sense that she'd drawn blood, and see the bruise on his arm shaped like her hand, but it was already fading as I turned to look at her.

"Ye gods... what am I getting myself into?"

Ehehe, into. But, there was no time for jokes, I had a crazy probably-not-human bitch whose body I was supposed to be guarding who was currently getting fucking lost in a city she'd never been in before, apparently headed right for the slums that had one of the entrances to the Undercity. With a smirk coming on my face, I looked back towards the Parthenon and the Mage's Towers floating above them. I knew the scent of her blood, I had felt her soul, and I knew the city like the back of my hand. Most importantly, however, I really wanted to jump off of an extremely tall building.

Five minutes later, I was climbing my way to the top of one of the towers, the topmost of the intricate bridges connecting the two hundreds of feet below me. It wasn't an easy climb, and the assorted rods and whatnot on the top shot up even higher than where I could stand. There was actually room for about four people, if they were comfortable with heights and the cold. And winds. I didn't bring many people up here, given that most people didn't want to risk dying from a very long fall. Apparently it was bad manners to endanger someone's life on a first date?

Narissara would probably love it.

As I pulled myself onto the flat top, I laid there for a minute, just breathing. It took me a little time to get used to the feeling of the air, especially after the way I'd climbed. Finally, I rose to my feet and pulled out two blood vials from one of the many secret, padded compartments in my formal wear. Just because I was looking nice was no reason to not have at least a little bit of armor, several weapons, and at least thirty vials of my own blood. I flicked my wrists and the blood flew out, then hovered in midair, just on the edge of my aura, sort of glowing in the sun. It was awfully clear up here.

"Where is she?"

The blood formed into the figure of a bird, whirled into the air, and vanished as the vials hit the roof, bouncing and rolling across the top. I kneeled and grabbed one that was about to roll off the edge, then picked up the second one from behind me before putting them back where they belonged. As I straightened up, I closed my eyes, held out my arms, and thought about her. Images flashed before me, and I felt a yanking on my soul to my left.

With a big, big, smartass grin on my face, I tossed out another three vials and kept a hold of them, feeling the magic flowing through my veins. I took a few steps back, got low into a sprinter's stance, then ran right towards the edge and took a giant leap of faith in her direction. I took a certain pride in my approach to blood magic - focus really hard on what you want, then throw your power at it until it worked. Some may have called it brute force; I called it efficiency. My hair whipped in the wind as I curved up into the air, then harder as I plummeted down and forward closer to her, the ground rushing and my blood rushing through me - I'd learned that gravity was an extremely harsh mistress at a young age, and my commanding officer at the time had refused to quickly heal the bones I'd broken in my arm. Nor did he have any sympathy for my injuries, and took great delight in having me go around to every last man with a big, steaming hot potful of soup for them all. Since then, I had taken the time to ensure that I could partially exempt myself from the laws of the physical universe. Malu wouldn't tolerate anything that bent his laws for too long, but there was some wiggle room here and there. Not a whole lot. It varied.

Judging by the fact that I was falling more downwards than forwards at this point, I was pretty sure that this was not going to be my best landing. On the other hand- wow, the ground was getting close, real fast. I brought my knees up and my hands up, looking for a landing spot. By the coincidences of magic, it looked like I'd get up to my feet about a half a foot away from Narissara, who very obviously did not see me coming, given - oh, she was looking at me with a very confus- I hit the ground rolling, and sprung to my feet in front of her. A bit further than I had guessed, since she'd stopped moving.

"Where are you going?"

Oops, it came out a little bit less in a concerned tone and more of a petty one. Fuck it.

"...that's none of your business. Why are you here, Deustrages?"

"It is my business; I'm your bodyguard."

Narissara looked upset and twitched her eyebrow, then sighed.

"Do you speak Common, Deustrages?"

I smiled, and replied to her in said language.

"My friends call me Zane."

She looked a little less stressed, then indicated with a jerk of her head to follow her off the side of the road. I did, and she took a step closer to me and spoke back in Common, much more fluently. Still accented, but maybe this was her second language.

"Look... Zane. I don't like this country, or their attitude. It's hard enough that I'm not from here, but look at me. I'm one of the best damn healers in the world, and yet the other ones - those who should know perfectly well that they don't name people Bodyweavers unless they fucking well deserve it - look at me and see a woman who forgot her place. And Gods only know how much money changed hands in the audience while I talked. How many secrets sold. I hate this place."

"But-"

"But women can serve in the military, and machines need grease to run, and that makes it okay. Only they can't, because they get declared men, because women can't fight and your stupid fucking government can't even sign a fucking document without a bribe, so it doesn't even work!"

I wasn't quite sure if she was angry at me, or in general. True, her words said one thing, but maybe this was one of those manners things?

"I don't hold your being a woman against-"

"Don't you even start, soldier boy. I know you're attracted to me, but not enough to put any effort out to get me."

There was silence for a minute. Personally, I thought jumping off of a tall building and flying halfway across the city constituted putting out effort, but then again, what did I know?

"You were right, Narissara. I did have something all fancy planned for us, because my friend told me it was a good idea. Wear clothes, go to the races and enjoy the company of one of our tribunes and some of the more important patricians. And then putting on different clothes to see people in fancy clothes pretending to be someone else, based on what clothes they're wearing. Oh, and then, putting on different clothes, and going to a 'formal dinner' that seems to revolve around politely turning down food people put special effort into preparing and serving, not eating food they had someone go to an effort to prepare to be eaten, and listening to people in 'formal' oversized towels talk angrily to each other about things nobody really understands but them, while we decide which of them is saying things that make the most sense."

She let out a half-laugh.

"Sounds utterly, deeply boring, Zane. What else?"

Well, at least she's not totally pissed at me anymore.  Maybe she realized that jumping off of a building was effort?

"We're supposed to be sober for these events."

"Okay, no, I am absolutely not going to tolerate this. See, I come from a small little farm village where we grew rice, raised oxen, and talked about dirt. And we have our own ways of dealing with too much day at the end of work, which is more or less my only fond memory of the place. Let's go to some of these taverns I've read so much about, we get drunk, and see if I can put up with this shit better with a few sheets to the wind. How about that, mmmh?"

I laughed in an extremely pleased and surprised manner, and so did she. Well, hers was less surprised and more amused at my expense. Apparently, I'd been forgiven, so I guess I hadn't had to apologize after all. Good thing... and it was a good sign that she liked to drink. Still, I wasn't quite sure it was a good idea. Robes like that meant you had money, meant you'd get some bravos trying to shake you down for it at swordpoint. Or down the barrel of a flintlock. Likely both.

"Are you sure you want to go to the taverns?"

"Yes. Absolutely. What's the matter, soldier boy, can't hold your booze?"

This time, it sounded like a pet name instead of a derogative. Well, sort of both - hey, she was giving me shit about my drinking?

"Bitch, please, I will drink you under the table."

She laughed, doubling over and smacking her thigh a few times. When she came up, still laughing at me, I could see that her anger had blown away. Or at least, hidden itself under a pleasant facade - I still didn't entirely trust her and wasn't quite sure whether or not this smile was one of those socially acceptable lies or not.

"Why, that sounds like a challenge, Zane. Do you think your friends will mind if we show up drunk?"

I didn't hesitate to answer. Would Allen have issues if both of us showed up reeking of wine and clearly drunk, making a mess of everything? HA!

"Yes, they'll mind."

"Good! Then, as your employer, I'm ordering you to come to the tavern with me. To keep my body safe, of course." She winked at me. "And, as it's quite rude to not drink with a lady, you're going to drink with me. And pay the bill."

"As your ever-so-devoted retainer, lady, I think it only sporting that the loser should pay both her way and mine."

"Fair enough, but I hope you have enough money to pay."

"We'll see, crazy lady. We'll see."

She offered me her arm, I took it after a second of figuring out what the gesture meant, and we set off.

[Mego]

Posting to read, because you don't watch fine pieces of literature.

[Rolepgeek]

Post to read at another time.

[Ross Vernal]

I really liked writing Nari and Zane as a couple.

Spoiler: Something you don't find out for a few chapters (click to show/hide)

She's an evil shapeshifter with the emotional awareness of your average cup of tea, he's a traumatized lunatic weapon of mass destruction. They're both drunks and geeks for magic and books, their idea of foreplay is trying to kill each other, and they're constantly trying to one-up each other.

To quote from later...

"I love you," Nari told me, smiling. Well, actually, she threw a meat cleaver at my head and then hugged me hard enough to crack my back. Same difference.