This Little Piggy

by **Fable** on December 6th, 2015, 11:56 pm

"Sayana, was it?" The woman's tone was slow, steady, and calculated. It flowed from her ruby lips as easily as honey from fine china. "You're certainly a... tenacious sort of creature." Every syllable was carefully pronounced, not even a hint of rush in the words as tapped upon the collar of her elaborate gown, a gentle click, click from where the dark claw struck against the large beads that had been embroidered in to the fabric. "Now, who would like to explain why there is a rat strapped to my favorite chair? Hm?" The pale woman turned to face those gathered, her stark white hair flowing behind her in a cascade of moonlight. In the flickering flames of the candles that adorned the ornate walls, she struck an elegant, imposing figure. From the thin contour of well fitted, crimson gown that glistened with the different shades of black captured by the faceted beads that dripped from the silk like a waterfall of gems to the arced brow and piercing gaze. She was a woman of power, and there was nothing to refute it. "I don't repeat myself." The warning carried with it enough acidity that, finally, one of the shaded figures stepped forward.

"I... I can." The voice was familiar, dark and gravelly, a low hum to the words that the zith had no way of concealing. "She killed Mercy." There was a flash of hatred in the dark eyes as the furred face glared at the eypharian who sat tied to an ornate, high backed throne of a chair. Her hands were bound with a thin wire that just barely cut into all six of her wrists, threatening much more than that if she attempted to struggle. Her legs were bound in a similar fashion, razor wire just pressing against the skin without sliding through it as it could should any sudden movement be made.

"Did she?" The Seamstress turned back to face her prisoner, eyes void of anything more than the disdain one might have for one's trash. "Vulgar, but what else might you expect from such an animal, Rend? They're instinctual beasts, not to be held to their own actions." Her lips turned into a smile, her fangs revealed only for a tick before she let a small bubble of laughter rise up from her waif of a frame. "Or so they would have us believe, I fear." She extended a hand to her left, fingers slipping over the others to give a sharp snap in the relatively quiet chamber. "Iman, dear, would you bring my needle?"

There were footsteps as Rend moved back into the shadows and the Tailor moved forward, a large sliver of metal in hand that was handed to the woman without a word before the strange creature stepped back to where it had come form, a soft, "Of course, of course." Whispered into the darkness.

"Now, shall we play a little game, Rat?" There was a playfulness to the Seamstress's voice, but nothing about the manner in which she looked at Sayana seemed to indicated that the proposition would lead to enjoyment, at least not for both of the parties involved. "It seems there is one who believes me incompetent and wishes to do my job for me." She turned, her smile still sitting easily on her lips as the needle was thrown like a dart, planting itself into Rend's chest as the zith let out a cry of pain and surprise. "Such a one should remember who he is dealing with." She jerked on the thread that had been hidden by the pale glow of her skin, the zith stumbling forward as she did so. "Perhaps you would like to ask her your questions, Rend? You think yourself a Speaker already; I wouldn't want to step on the toes of one of my fellows." In the background, there was a squawk of laughter, presumably from the tailor, as the zith pulled the needle from his chest, teeth gritting again each other but saying nothing as he moved to hand the tool back to the woman who had cast it. "Ah ah, that's not for me, dear."

Dark eyes seemed to realize what she meant as they turned to stare down at the hated creature who sat bound and gagged before him. Not matter the defiance he was met with, the zith knelt down, needle firmly in hand as he pressed the bloody tip against the eypharian's high right shoulder, a small bead of blood forming where it just barely breached the skin. He spoke then, claws tearing at the cloth gag, scraping against the smooth flesh of her cheek and drawing blood in one sweep of his hand. "Why?"

Whatever the eypharian remembered, it was most likely not being stuffed into a sack after finding a particularly dangerous side road and, subsequently, losing consciousness. Though covered in bruises from the unceremonious ferry to what seemed to be the Seamstress's home, she was mostly unharmed, if not a bit groggy. There was an ache at the back of her head where she had been struck, but beyond the slight itch where the wires had already cut in to her wrists, the burn of the zith's claw on her face, and the prick of pain on her shoulder, she was in good health. How much longer she remained as such was in the hands of the man who's sister she had slaughtered not a season before, who's eyes burned with all the hatred of Ivak's wrath.

OOCFeel free to do a lead in into this situation! You wanted to start with the action, so jump in at whatever point you would like to.

Please also set the date in your first post!

by **Sayana** on December 8th, 2015, 1:11 am

Winter 21, 515 AV

Sayana stirred to the sound of her name. They had caught her just as she was gaining consciousness. For a moment, the world spun before her eyes but as her vision cleared she could tell she was in a room, seated on a large chair of sorts. The room was lit, but only just enough, and shadows crept at the edges of the room where the walls should have been. But more importantly, she was gagged.

Instinctively the Eypharian reached to remove the material, but a burning pain sliced into her right high as the razor sharp wire cut into it. She winced and bit hard upon the gag but managed to stifle any sound of pain. Her eyes started to dart about in earnest. She was bound, all her wrists upon two large arm rests, and she could feel more cord upon her legs. Her weapons and other belongings had been taken away from her and all she wore was a red and black dress. Before her was a pale and frail looking woman speaking big words like ‘tenacious’.

Click, click.

Her gaze shifted quickly to the long black claws tapping at the beautifully made dress. There was something familiar about her, and if nothing else, her race. Hadn’t she seen a lady like that at a clothing shop? At the mention of a rat, Sayana’s eyes darted around. Was there some sick ritual involved? Or was there a zith leaving ‘snacks’ around to be consumed later? When she couldn’t find said ‘rat’ or chair, her search and assessment of the situation was renewed with a stronger sense of urgency.

It was dark, which meant she was either in a room without windows or it was nighttime. To extinguish the candles could mean a distraction but not for long. But first she’d have to free herself of the bonds. Even that small movement had caused a line of blood to form upon her wrist. However the throne she was seated on was meant for humans, lesser races. It was not a Pressorah’s throne. Even though all her wrists were bound, they were not bound individually but in sets of three to match the two arm rests. Yet it was still a snug fit and even the smallest movement produced a prickle of pain in warning. But it was a flaw nonetheless, no matter how minute.

She was momentarily distracted by the voice of the zith. So the zith boy had finally managed to catch her, or at least find someone who was capable of such a feat. Mercy, now there’s an ironic name. When the zith gave her a glare of hatred, she narrowed her eyes in return with a defiant stare. He could hate her all he liked, but she had watched him squirm and bleed before her. There was a little hiccup of doubt and fear as her heart skipped a beat. Was that what was in store for her? But she could get through it, couldn’t she?

Her attention turned to the conversation, as one sided as it might be. There was little in the room and although she hoped that her belongings were shoved into a darkened corner, there was no point straining her eyes if there was nothing to see. It was better worth her while to learn who her opponents were. Her pride burned at being called a mere animal and her eyes stared intently at the slim lady’s face. The woman held herself with confidence and a strong presence. Not to mention the dress. For a tick Sayana envied the black and red garment that outmatched her own. The Eypharian turned sharply as another man entered with a long thin needle point weapon. Despite her firm resolve, she could feel her heart beat quicken. A game… a game… so long as she could find a way to win it.

The sudden throw of the weapon surprised her. Not the throw itself, but its target. Perhaps not everyone here was as friendly towards each other as she might have initially thought. Mutiny? Rivalry? Or just power and demanding respect? Her head spun as she began thinking of ways that they might become divided. Clearly the lady was the one in charge. And she didn’t seem one to be trifled with by friends or foes.

The zith approached her, needle point weapon in hand. Needle… was it a coincidence that the lady’s gown was so elaborate? Not anyone could do such fine work or afford it. The zith glared with fierce hatred, but Sayana chose not to match it with defiance. Instead there was a sparkle in her eye, a hint of mocking, and a slight quirk of her eyebrow. And then the pain hit. Acute and localized it pierced at her shoulder. Her hands clenched upon the armrests of the throne and her heart raced, but her eyes remained fixed on the crimson ones of the zith.

In the next tick he had slashed her gag free, probably with some effort due to her biting down hard upon it, and in the processes long scratches appeared on her cheek. She spat, ridding herself of the awful taste of the gag and the hint of iron that had come with the swipe, then composed herself in an elegant fashion, the needle still pressing against her shoulder.

“Ah… It appears that I am your guest of honor, seated upon such a royal looking throne.” Her voice was light and aloof as she plainly ignored the zith’s question. She could feel the pain increase as the beast was clearly not happy with her approach. Press onwards, push past the pain.

“But you want answers, don’t you? Well I’ll be happy to provide.” She turned to the lady and a slight smile formed upon her lips. “You do want answers, right m’lady?” There was an innocent tone to her voice as she forcefully masked the pain she was feeling from the needle. Cocking her head in a sly manner she continued. “You see, the name ‘Mercy’ is a rather ironic name.”

The beast before her must have sensed something was off or not going as planned and jabbed the metal much deeper into her shoulder. Sayana couldn’t manage to stifle the gasp that escaped her lips and she blinked rapidly to clear her eyes of the tears that threatened. The pain was intense but his reaction golden.

“Oh, has he not told you? You poor thing…” Her second comment was directed towards the zith with pity in her eyes. “Are you going to tell her, or am I going to have to?”

by **Fable** on December 9th, 2015, 5:34 am

Laughter, light and airy and so filled with mirth it was almost surprising it came from so regal looking a woman who had, only a tick before, seemed so detached. Her fangs flashed in the murky light, pale lavender eyes twinkling in amusement as her fingers splayed over her chest, shoulders rising and falling with the melodic undercurrent that played almost as a whisper to her wholehearted humors. "Your tastes are as base as you appear." Her words flowed smooth and easy, each one, just as before, yielding to the next only after its presence was forced to be acknowledged. There was little condescension in her voice, though the words were as a sharp as any blade, and the woman did not seem particularly invested in however Sayana interpreted them.

Rend did not find the situation nearly as amusing, his fur standing on end with both frustration and embarrassment as he tried to take control of the situation through the application of pain. His tactics, however, were simplistic and childish: "push more to cause the shyke stain pain". It came as no surprise to any in the room when the eypharian continued, still addressing the Seamstress as if she were the one who had orchestrated the entire scene, seemingly blind to the winged mess of rage and hatred who only managed to elicit a few suppressed tears that did little more than to cast glistening rivulets down a bronze desert.

The pale woman only raised a perfectly formed brow at Sayana's flattery, eyes holding within them little more than the expression one might wear looking at something unpleasant because there wasn't anything better to contemplate. There was, however, a spark of interest in her gaze at the mention of the female Zith's name, one that was followed by a purring grin. "Is that so?"

Could Rend's expression grow any more twisted with grief, abhorrence, and aggravation, his teeth may have shattered. The needle in his hand cut into his palms, the metal unyielding against the pressure that he could not control, and it buried itself deeper into Sayana's shoulder, the majority of the slim metal's sheen disappearing into the smooth, caramel flesh as the bead of blood matted against the furred knuckles of her oppressor.

At Sayana's final question, the woman's laughter was joined in with that of the Tailor's, who's own hoarse cachinnation reverberated against the darkened walls in an eerie echo as the rest of those gathered remained silent. When there was little more than a soft chuckle and gossamer glimmer of mirth in the pale woman's eyes, she raised a hand to stop the Tailor, who let the laughter fade with a soft, "Of course, of course."

Though she did not approach, Rend took a step back, his own lips curling into a smug grin as he let the Seamstress speak. With a delicate tap of the tip her claw against the edge of her eyelid, she pulled away a small tear that had escaped during her levity. "Oh but you are a facetious sort of ignoramus, I do concede to that fact." Her smile had settled on her features, painting her in all the hues of a motherly figure, blissfully gazing at a beautiful child, eyes soft and gentle. "What is it you have to share that I do not already know?" She ran a dark talon over the curve of her bottom lip, just barely caressing the skin. As she came to the edge of the deep crimson paint, she whirled to face those assembled, the shifting shadows still too nondescript to truly guess at how many or few there were, clapping her hands together with a soft clack as her claws tapped against each other. "Who would like a story?"

Without waiting for a response, the Seamstress pulled her hands apart a began, her voice a melodic, soothing hum as her words danced about the room, her eyes fixed with a steady, vacant stare upon the constricted eypharian, who's shoulder still held the needle that had been embedded in the soft flesh, the pale string bobbing only slightly at the Seamstress' movements. "There was once a beautiful young woman. She moved with a grace to rival the shimmer of the stars, and her voice was richer than the sweetest of honey. Not a single man, nor woman, could compare to her, and though her countenance rivaled the sun's warmth and the moon's allure, her heart was as empty as her head. Now, it was well known among the people of the land that a shadow was never to be crossed. 'Stay always and forever in the light' they would say, their tones so doting and filled with care, but the young woman paid them no heed. She was, after all, without any to compare to, and so she traipsed where she pleased. One day, she passed beneath the shadow of a grand old oak, and in an instant, her skin became worn and weathered, her hair thin and ragged, her eyes dulled and dimmed. 'What have you done to me, you wretched thing?" She shouted, her voice little more than a frog's croak. 'Why, my once fair lady, I have only shown you what lies beneath that which you choose to see.' The woman took a step back, finding that as long as she did not stand within the shade of the tree, her beauty was as brilliant as ever, save her eyes who refused to twinkle with the innocent sparkle they had held before. So, she ran back to her people to share with them her tale of woe at the clutches of so cruel a beast. With ax in hand, she returned, for she could convince no one to come with her. 'Why, my once fair lady, what is it you intend to do with so wicked a tool?' The shadow said. 'I have come to do as you have done to me!' And so she felled the oak, and with it the shadow. When she returned, however, her people recoiled in fear, their eyes wide with repulsion and disgust. 'My loves, what ails you so?' The young woman asked, her voice as sweet and smooth as ever. 'Behind you!' They shouted, but it was far too late. The woman's shadow had risen and consumed her, leaving behind nothing but a gleaming ax and the soft echo of her screams."

The final hiss of the last word faded into the darkness as the Seamstress smiled at Sayana. "What a petty young thing." There was laughter in her eyes, but there was also a deeper, darker malice that, for just tick, seemed to glow with a crimson ember in her gaze before she turned towards the young Zith who had stood still for the duration of the tale, fists clenched and teeth grit against what seemed to be sorrow that glistened in the corners of his eyes. "Now, I believe you were invited to share a tale as well, Rend?" There was no indication that she had given any pause of thought to what it was Sayana might have to say, as if she were little more than a painting upon the wall to be looked at once and then forgotten.

The Zith nodded, his dark, crimson eyes turning back towards to object of his antipathy. "She... killed Mercy." No one moved to interrupt him, though should Sayana try, she would find a sharp, powerful twinge of pain in her shoulder at the Seamstress' casual tug on the string she still held, though she gave no indication of it as she nodded with a motherly encouragement. "Mercy was to be mother. Mother to my children." He grit his teeth, rage flaring but calming only by a sheer force of his own willpower as his eyes still burned, flickering in the murk. "She hunted us. We were pushed away. They came and we... We had only there to be. She came... She waited and knew. She tempted with food, and Mercy... Mercy thought to help. She thought, but she thought wrong." He raised a clawed hand, his fingers shaking with the control it took to keep himself from tearing out the soft, unprotected throat before him. "She murder, then she try to trap, to trick, to deceive." He tapped his body where pale scars still healed, and the Seamstress gave a light, complimentary clap, cutting off anything else he had to say.

"Iman, be a dear and clarify for the more... simple individuals in the audience." Her eyes glanced in Sayana's direction, though they held little but a whimsical entertainment in them.

"Of course, of course." The strange human stepped forward, lips curled in a sloppy grin as it stood before the chair where Sayana still sat bound, blood forming thin red lines where the wire had cut into her skin from her slight shifts of weight and pressure. A pale pink finger was pointed at her, though the face ever remained to hold the gaze of the white haired woman. "Raped and angry little rat. Can't get over herself, too proud, too weak." A slight giggle escaped the thin lips before the words continued. "Met a hunter, struck a bargain. Poorly thought out, foolish! Kill Zith, kill to kill, simple and base. No elegance." The pale eyes rolled, an obvious disdain in the hoarse tone. "Killed Mercy, refugee. Wanted trophy, vanity, and we gave her! Much more than she deserved, of course, of course." Another chuckle. "But! Maybe not a little clever; tricked and traded. A face for a face, he came and she fought. Weak and useless, of course, of course, but perhaps not entirely. Maybe useful, maybe useless." It was then, and only then, that the Tailor turned, head cocked and eyes shifting over the eypharian in a jerking motion. "Does she not know? Does she not think? How sad. How... Simple."

by **Sayana** on December 11th, 2015, 10:53 pm

She had failed to convey the proper tone, the double entendre that would spark the story she had planned. Oh and it had been such a grand counter tale. One where the zith ‘Mercy’ had seized her baby boy only to toy with him and eventually mutilate his small corpse. Instead, the lady seemed disinterested in Sayana’s attempted hook and more intent on sharing her own story.

Sayana tried to ignore the pain in her shoulder as the spider carried out her tale, yet it was distracting nevertheless. Blood oozed out slowly from her wound but she tried not to look at it and instead focus on the woman’s face. Clearly the lady was trying to get across some moral point, however the Eypharian couldn’t help but notice that vanity and power was actually shared between the two women. The spider simply did not draw attention to her glamourous garb, royal-like throne, and powerful presence.

The story merely had a child-like theme and ‘lesson’ and Sayana turned her focus to the zith when he was invited to speak. A mother… yes. She wondered whether it was a lie or whether the brother and sister had indeed mated like animals. However at the mention of ‘them’, Sayana sat up straighter only to find a sharp bout of pain shoot into her as the needle was tugged upon with the string. There had been whispers of ‘them’ and that ‘they were coming’.

The Eypharian used the time provided to her to think of plan after plan, lie after lie, yet even as she considered outright denying her existence and claiming to be but an illusion, her stomach found itself in knots when they seemed to know so much about her already. Too much. And it had been them who had given them a trophy? Why? Yet the man questioned her usefulness. There was her lead in.

“How sad. How… simple.”

“Except you need help.” Sayana interrupted, getting straight to the point.

She let her words linger for a tick before continuing, afraid of losing her chance to speak. “People are scared. I can see it in their eyes. There are whispers. They are coming… You know who they are.”

“And yet, you are a speaker,” Sayana spoke with a rising volume to her voice as she turned to pale lady. “Defender of justice and protector of the city. And here we sit squabbling like children.” Her eyes burned accusingly and her body clenched as if expecting another stab of pain from a tug of the needle’s string.

“I can kill, but I can also lead. Wouldn’t you rather that I was on your side than against you? Or do you want to add another corpse to the gutter?” She spat the last line, knowing that while it was still possible that they might wish her dead, they had already let her live thus far in attempt to interrogate her or toy with her.

“You need people united. United with hope in their hearts. I can deliver that. I can find the light that will drive the shadows away.” She spoke with vigor and passion with the thought of bringing Nephti into full bloom.

“But more importantly, you need help finding the source of this evil brewing in Alvadas. The source, and its weaknesses.” She then paused and crooked an eyebrow at the pale lady. “Unless… you already know this source but have deemed it too terrifying to disclose to the people of the city.”

AsideSayana simply guessed that the Seamstress is a speaker based off the the way she had accused Rend of acting as though he was a speaker. She might also come up with the title 'Seamstress' pretty soon if the symenestra keeps playing with her needle.

by **Fable** on December 14th, 2015, 12:28 am

The Tailor's head cocked to the side at Sayana's suggestion, pale white eyes flicking back and fourth as he stepping back to let her speak. The Seamstress grinned, brows arced as she hummed a subtle, Is that so? Rend remained where he stood, frustration sloughing off of his frame in a heated cloud, though he made no move to do anything more than listen for the time being, low clicks emanating from his throat here and there as Sayana spoke.

The pale woman responded to Sayana's words with a mix of muted expression, though she never once seemed to indicate that what was said was true. There was the ever present disdain that was mixed with what seemed to be pity, but she did not interrupt the eypharian, not even with a simple tug of her needle's thread. When she had finished, the woman gave her a gentle, consolatory round of applause, the clicking of her claws sending an eerie echo through the murky room. "You ferreted yourself away on a ship from Sylir's city, did you not, Sayana?" Her words were slow, chosen carefully as she let out a slow, airy sigh. "I'm going to explain something to you so do try to keep up."

She glided across the floor, her delicate fingers sliding the needle from Sayana's shoulder in a single fluid movement. "Rend, if you would." A vague gesture was made, and the zith moved to stand behind Sayana, his hands gripping either side of the woman's head. If she tried to move, she would find her body well restrained, though not entirely immovable. "Firstly, I personally consider cockroaches to be far more inspiring than your particular sort of offal." A tiny needle was pulled from her dress, hidden within the weave, and she pulled a thin, dark thread from another part of the gown, threading the needle's eye with ease before pushing the needle into the skin of Sayana's chest with an expert movement, sliding it through the flesh as she began to embroider the bronzed canvas. Any shout or pain or attempt and stopping her was ignored and met with the resistance of zith's hands that wrapped tightly about Sayana's head.

"Secondly, Speakers are the wardens of the city, yes. We are not, however, even remotely comparable to the self-righteous neanderthals who think themselves servitors of an impotent god." She worked steadily, the thread running its way through the eypharian's skin, the small fibers catching at the increasingly bloody, dark line that ran from just above the crevice of her chest to just below the small divot of her throat. "There is no 'justice' in Alvadas. There is no 'good' or 'evil', no 'hope' or 'fear'." She cut and tied the first thread before starting a new on the next diagonal line that would cut the first right though the middle. Her tone remained ever the same, motherly and smooth, almost soothing had there not been the faintest his of condescension. "But we do not protect; we are protected."

The Tailor watched on, lips curled in a malicious grin and the shadowy figures behind shifted, whether in anticipation or fear, it was uncertain. The Seamstress, however, continued, unimpaired by anything anyone else had to say, her words filling the room with both mystique and authority as the second line of thread was finished, blood running down the front of the eypharian's body to mingle with the crimson hues of her dress. "And finally, it is neither my place nor my desire to act in anyway in the manners you have suggested." She started on the third and final line, another diagonal, though this one opposite the first, beginning to form a very familiar pattern.

There was a cackle of laughter from the pale, pink Kelvic, and the Seamstress echoed the cachinnation with a chuckle of her own, finished up the final line of the "x" with a vertical line through its center. "I believe," She took a step back, taking a handkerchief that the Tailor offered her to clean the blood from her needle and hands. "You misunderstand why you are here." Waving a hand, the Seamstress wordlessly commanded the zith to release Sayana's head. "You are being punished, like the child you are, Sayana. Would that I could drown a rat such as yourself, I might think upon, but death..." She waved a hand in the air, a vague look to her eyes as she searched for the words, a feigned exercise as she had proven nothing she said was without foresight. "Death is so very droll. Instead, I believe I said we would play a game?"

She held out another needle, only this one seemed slightly different. The metal seemed to glisten with an azure hue, shifting in the pale white of her palm before she shoved it through the center of the embroidered mark on Sayana's chest. As far the eypharian could tell, it would feel just the same as being stabbed by a needle, but Rend let out a deep, rolling growl. "What is this?!" His fur and risen, and his teeth gnashed in fury. "Seamstress!"

The woman let out a laugh, her mirth met with that of the Tailor's as the two smiled down at the newly transformed zith that sat trapped to the throne. To all else, Sayana appeared the epitome of a zith: wings, fur, fangs, even her voice. Should she speak, only the zith's tongue would be heard, and only a priest of Inou would see through the disguise, should that priest be so foolish as to meddle in the affairs of Inou. "How lovely! You look much better, little rat." Ruby lips curled in a genuine smile, eyes twinkling with pleasure. "All games have rules, and I believe you've set them nicely: unite the zith, lead them out of their petty fears, and show us what this "light" is you speak so highly of. Whether you win or lose is of little consequence, but it should be more than enough to occupy your time."

The Tailor spoke next, holding a bag that, as it shifted, released a muffled clang indicating that her weapons were contained within. Pulling out one of her basic throwing daggers, it was dropped on the floor, a giggle slipping from between grinning lips. "One for you, the rest for us! Prizes, of course, of course!" Then, the Speakers left and the shadows faded, leaving Rend alone with the permanently illusioned Sayana.

He stared at her with a burning hatred, rose his fist, and struck her across the face, sending her into darkness. When she awoke, the chair had been smashed to pieces, the wires scattered about, and her dagger lying just a foot away from her. Her wounds still stung, very real and very fresh, and while she could not see the illusion that wrapped around her, no matter how she might try, neither thread nor needle could be removed without the assistance of the woman who had placed them there. The room was now well lit, an abandoned home with ragged walls and boarded windows. There was the distant sound of laughter just outside a flimsy looking wooden door, and aside from the throne, there was no indication that anyone had been with her at all. Still, in the very back of her mind, the rules of the game would repeat themselves, like a half-whisper, always present until their parameters fulfilled.

by **Sayana** on December 14th, 2015, 11:46 pm

Despite Sayana’s words of strength and leadership, the pale lady only seemed mildly interested. The ‘round of applause’ was that of distain and mocking. She seemed to know ever more of Sayana’s comings and goings, even the boat that had taken her to the city of Alvadas. The Eypharian breathed in sharply as the needle point was suddenly withdrawn from her shoulder. She could feel the warm blood trickling from the wound but she dared not look at it. To do so would acknowledge the pain the spider inflicted.

She gritted her teeth as the zith’s claws clamped down on either side of her head. Cockroaches… She made a disgusted look before her eyes spotted the much smaller needle the spider held. Clearly the ‘big’ needle had just been the warm up. Yet despite her attempts at staying calm her heart raced at the new implement, no matter how small. She tried to shake her head from side to side but found it strongly resisted by the cursed claws. If she could just get one arm free, then the rest would surely come… She winced visibly as the cord cut into her wrist while she attempted to make just enough space for her lower hand to slip free. But it was in vain, for the cords were wrapped too snugly and were too sharp to bear.

The spider seemed to pay little heed and soon had the small needle equipped with dark crimson thread. The Eypharian expected more razor sharp pricks and pierces, but not the embroidery into her flesh that began. She felt the stinging sharp pain as the needle wove in and out of her skin. She let out a cry of pain but her head couldn’t move as she was forced to watch the Seamstress’s work. Constant digging in and out, and feeling the thread slip through her skin. At last, with practiced skill the lady tied off the end of the string and Sayana was reduced to shuddering breaths.

No justice, no good or evil, no hope or fear…

She tried to make sense of the words even though her pain but they didn’t add up. Justice. This was her form of justice. Good or evil? That might be debatable. But hope and fear? Everyone could feel those and mostly people were feeling fear.

But even with the line of crimson blood and thread running from her throat to the edge of her lacun mark, the pale lady readied another piece of string. “I will do whatever you ask of me!” She cried out. But the needle began piercing another line. It was hard to tell what was worse. The stinging of the needle or the bitter taste in her mouth from the pitiful begging she was being reduced to. On and on… the thread sliding through her skin. Her hands gripped the arm rests with white knuckles and she tried to think of being somewhere, anywhere but here.

By the time the last line was completed, salty tears coated her cheeks and her breathing was ragged. Finally a moment of calm where the pain of the needle did not burn so acutely. There was still blood upon the lines of embroidery but the pain had lessened compared to the active pricking and digging into her flesh. It was her mark that had been sewn into her. The symbol of six, that matched her arms, which she had carved into the flesh of any zith she could lay her hands on.

Punished. She didn’t misunderstand that. Or at least not now. It seemed that the spider did not like offers to negotiate and had her own agenda in mind. A game. A game was better than death. She could win or lose, but then again, she could win. She summoned the last of her reserve when the pale lady produced another needle. She could win… she could get through…

She let out a high pitched scream, reaching higher octaves than any human voice. Her ability to endure was waning as she was set upon by wound after wound. The zith wasn’t entirely pleased either and even in her weakened trembling state, she managed to catch his form of address to the spider. The Seamstress.

You look much better… Games have rules… unite the zith… lead them to the light…

Her vision was beginning to blur, be it through tears or being unable to resist the pain that was consuming her. Things weren’t making much sense. Why was the zith angry? Why did the Seamstress want her to lead the zith when she had said that it didn’t matter and wasn’t her intention? And her dagger… where were the others? What about her lakan? What about…

Smack.

The world went dark.

---

Sayana awoke to pain even with her first breath. Her upper chest burned as she inhaled and she quickly scrambled to her hands and knees. But the room was abandoned. She reached for the small dagger that had been left for her. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The throne was in ruins and she quickly surveyed the room. There, almost out of sight was a small black bundle. Her newly purchased black robe and vest that she had been stripped of for the torture. Yet even as she picked it up there was a whisper in the back of her mind.

Lead, unite
Take away the fear
Bring forth the light

A game. Only a game but a deadly one.

It was time to get to work.

by **Fable** on December 17th, 2015, 6:10 am

S A Y A N A

a d r o i t . a c c r e t i o n s

e s p i e d . e r u d i t i o n

r e c o m p e n s e . a n d . r e t r i b u t i o n

can

d e t e r m i n a t i v e . d i c t a

OOC INFORMATION:
1) Can Sayana see the illusion at all?
She can see what she looks like in the reflection of another zith's eyes at first. The longer she stays under the illusion, the more she'll start to see the changes herself.

2) Can she still use her other arms? And to what extent?
The longer the illusion, the less she'll be able to use her arms. If she uses her other arms to do things, it will look like she's using her wings, or her arms. The illusion is pretty complete in that it works as a perception filter to remove any weird things that it can.

3) Can she use her illusionary wings? And to what extent?
She cannot control her wings or use them to fly, but they will shift and move as they would for any other zith watching the illusion.

4) You mentioned that whenever she speaks, it will be in Zithanese. Does the illusion include ears that can understand (and hopefully hear) Zithanese?
Yes! Anything speaking Zithanese will sound like fluent common.

5) Did the Seamstress take all her weapons/daggers? All meaning her lakan and her heirloom?
The Tailor has them, but she can win them back if she wants to. Otherwise, yes, they're gone.

Quest This Little Piggy