Arachnid was the type of person who stuck with something if it worked. However, if it was a subtle change that would in turn make things more interesting, he wouldn’t mind trying it. This moment was a fair example. Junebug eagerly found herself atop of Arachnid; hidden behind the confines of his bedroom. Her hands clasped his sweaty palms with uncomfortable squeezes. There were brief thresholds of time when a beam of stray lantern light would catch his eyes. In these sort periods of bliss, Junebug became refreshed. It was as if Arachnid was lending her warm blood from his body to make sure she didn’t stop.

More time passed, and they were back to the same way they were the night before. Junebug’s nails almost seemed to be magnetic to the spot they dug one night prior. “I’ll make you forget about all the things you’ve grown to hate,” Arachnid spoke through breathes of air, “We’ll be together forever…blind to this piece of shit world.” Junebug ate up each word with a wide mouth and closed eyes.

“Yes, Arachnid, yes! We will!” Junebug gasped.

Things tend to go unnoticed when the blood is on vacation from the brain. This means it may just be small details, or a slight change in a ritual. It wasn’t until a voice spoke that Arachnid noticed something was different.

“I knew you were an odd guy, but I didn’t know you were into necrophilia.” a voice almost hissed as if confident behind a wall of shadows.

Before Arachnid had time to collect a thought or pull himself out, his room became illuminated by a raging lantern. Blood fresh from Junebug’s neck seeped across his linen sheets and reflected pitifully on Arachnid’s eyes. His sweat became cold. His body’s previous drive became lost courtesy of what he saw. “Ju--JUNEBUG!!” His hands panicked and launched towards the maroon liquid. It wasn’t long before they stumbled upon the source; two iron throwing knifes.

“Come on, ya spider. Get dressed and take your revenge.” The disembodied voice was enjoying Arachnid’s new display of emotion. “Unless your dick is the only weapon you can use.”

Arachnid turned and saw him; the man who just as well may have been the devil; and perhaps he was. It was a tall man with long ruby red hair. Not just any ruby either; it would have to have been the ruby of a king. Perhaps a god himself. Contrasting this was a generally basic black poncho concealing lower clothing. Loosely, a scarf matching that of Junebug’s blood sat around the man’s neck. His face only beckoned for Arachnid to charge him. And so that’s what happened.

Within a short moments time, Arachnid pulled out one of the throwing knifes and leapt from his bed. His muscles, his mind, his heart, his soul, his everything wanted to send this man to hell. He wanted to see flame licked skin hang from his unknown enemies face and fall to a hoard of demons. He wanted to pack salt within every blood wound of this mans body after wrapping barbed wire around in generous amounts. But he was too slow.

“They’re meeting us at Plums.”

Lutious’ sentence struggled to reach the confines of Arachnid’s mind whose attention was stolen by his own reflection cast on a pond’s ripple-less water. He watched his eyes carefully on the muggy water. His shoulder length black hair contrasted greatly with the pale blue sky above him. Lutious watched with mixed expressions and patience as Arachnid slowly moved his index finger to touch the reflection. A small fish beat him to his intention and hopped slowly above the water level; effectively altering Arachnid’s face. ‘I see,’ he thought dubiously.

“Did you hear me?” Lutious repeated. “I said they’re meeting us at Plums.”

Arachnid rose to his feet; a pair of black leather boots weighing him down, “I heard you. I was just looking at my reflection…for a bit.”

Lutious half grinned, “Yes…I…I know that you were. That’s why I-,” his grin flipped to a short laugh, “Lets try to get there as soon as possible.”

“Yes, we should,” Arachnid almost whispered, “because they’re waiting for us. So we don’t want to be late.”

The dark iris’ of Lutious’ eyes rolled as response to Arachnid, “I’ll just follow you. Even though I happen to be twice you own age.”

Arachnid ignored the latter part of Lutious’ words, but did well in leading their travel to Soard. Over the past several days, both Lutious and Arachnid had begun recruiting mercenaries and drifters alike into a guild they called Geist. After Adore attacked Reimoorse, the guild of Bells was nearly wiped out; the survivors eagerly joining Geist. Their intention was to create a force large enough to kill Adore, and only leave graves in their wake. As of now, the members of Adore had long fled Reimoose, and we increasing their own numbers. Complete control of the land was what they had in mind.

Adore’s specialties included well thought out murders, theft of caravans, rape, and other things that left widows praying to the gods. Each member was scene with a poncho of varying types. Some wore simple black linen Paunchus, but the other extreme included eccentric hybrids of jewel tone colors on fine silk. In this land of long forests and obscure trails, it was easy for such a group to exist. This fact alone left most blade trained individuals caring about their own well being instead of others. Arachnid and Lutious sought to bring all these people together for a final blow.

A warm flickering fireplace sat at the center of Plums. Various empty wooden chairs were slide up next to it; some evident of being footrests. The time was between lunch and dinner and small amounts of people began to usher in. No one knew if it was the dim lighting that could easily hide an ugly person’s face, or the constant aroma of burning cedar, but the same old patrons would always come back to Plums. If they were to die, a new resident would take their favorite place at the bar within the week. This was how things went in the world; although Soard was the most notorious for shallow lives.

Lutious and Arachnid held a spot in one of Plums’ corners. A dozen chairs were centered around two large tables, and an empty glass resided by each open sitting place. Green wine bottles with purple liquid accompanied these as well. No one would have to second guess a meeting.

“I see you picked the prune wine,” Arachnid forcefully spoke. It was as if he meant to say something else, but decided against it at the last moment.

“I did, yes.” Lutious responded with a half bitter tongue. “Now ask what you were really going to ask.”

A smile found it’s way across Arachnid’s lips for an instant, “I was going to ask…well, I was gonna ask what the hell happened to Kitty?”

Lutious leaned forward; not without a creak from the chair he sat on, “Kitty? I almost forgot to tell you, Arachnid. I decided to help her out.”

“Last time you said ‘help’…” Arachnid paused. “Where is Kitty?”

Any form of happiness distilled from Lutious’ face, “She’s on Rabbit Trail. Right at the top of the hill,” Lutious watched Arachnid waste no time in making for the door and disappear into the overcast atmosphere. “That boy over reacts, I will say.”




------


‘Rabbit Trail’. An old sign that appeared as if it had never been changed directed Arachnid down a low vegetation path. Sparse trees evened themselves apart atop struggling green grass. Rain had begun to fall from gray clouds; effectively dampening Arachnid’s hair and adding weight to his body length linen black coat. He himself completely ignored this, and made haste up the hill.

It was around now when Arachnid noticed the water trailing down the hill in front of him was strange. It wasn’t like the rain that was falling. This world’s familiar tint of red was dubiously adorning each stream of the water. A couple of seconds of running up the hill, and Arachnid discovered why. Kitty - one of Arachnid’s best friends in Reimoorse, and who also was a trained alchemist - hung headless upside by thick twine from a sturdy branch. Her body oozed out it’s liquid and various other commonly hidden body parts.

Arachnid wanted everything to look away, but found himself watching her life fluid unwillingly draining itself onto dirt and clay. He didn’t cry, however. He couldn’t. He found himself wanting to, but he knew what Kitty herself would have said. She would have made it clear that tears wouldn’t solve anything. Tears were just a speed bump on the way to intention. Arachnid thought that was downright stupid, but he’d let her ideals shine through his own personality just this once. He would do something else about it, though. It didn’t include going up against Adore like he promised Lutious he would. It involved joining Adore itself. Lutious could have his damn guild, and he could try his best to take on the bizarre and trained ranks of Adore, but Arachnid would be there to fight back.

‘This is the last straw,’ Arachnid thought. ‘I couldn’t believe I even went through with the plan to let Adore attack Reimoorse. So what if there are cultists hidden there? They haven’t done as much as that demon.’ Arachind held a thoughtful silence while still finding it hard to look away from Kitty’s body. ‘If I told those who joined Geist about Lutious, then…then it wouldn’t be a challenge to kill him.’ Arachnid revealed a taciturn grin, ‘Lutious…you’ve messed with my mind too much now.’

As the dreary sky drizzled rain upon the land below, a cloaked figure walked slowly through one of the filthy streets of the tainted town. Their stride was smooth and elegant, and they almost seemed to float along the ground; not out of place among others in Soard, something of a typical sight. Hugging close to the walls of the dilapidated buildings, the figure entered an alleyway, intending to pass through it to the next street.

Sylvia’s hand strayed almost instinctively to the sheathed weapon hidden beneath the folds of her cloak as she entered the deeper shadows. It was not the first time that she had traveled through Soard, and tedious as usual. In fact, were it not for the rumors, she would never have come close to the shady, pathetic town in the first place.

Life had been so boring for her- it seemed like ages since the last bit of excitement she had. She had turned to dabbling in tavern and alleyway gossip to find something that could spark her interest, though it normally wasn‘t her style. However, it turned out that veering from the norm had worked out- after entering the lobby of an inn at Riot‘s Edge, she had caught snatches of discussion about the attack on Reimoorse. That didn’t particularly interest her until the topic wandered to the construction of a guild.

Geist, was it called? She couldn’t quite remember.

With such little to do constructively with her time, she figured that it might be worth it to travel to Soard, which was where the rumors had led her. It occurred to her chasing rumors had never yielded any results.

Then again, chasing rumors was something that she had never done to begin with. Coming to the edge of town, she blinked wearily at the sad state of the area‘s plant-life.

“Well, scenery is meant to match its inhabitants, I suppose.”

She was about to walk away before a sign caught her eye. It was difficult to tell just what it was about it that made her linger. Resting a hand on the worm-eaten wood, she scanned over the faded letters. Rabbit Trail. Looking past the sign, she tracked with her eyes the ribbon of trodden vegetation that scrolled away through the sickly trees, and finally, up a hill. However, she couldn’t see the top of the hill clearly through the sheets of rain. She placed one foot upon the trail- then another, beginning to walk at the same steady pace she had used in the actual town. Perhaps she would find something, perhaps not; but her intuition told her that examining where the trail ran could potentially lead to something worth her time- foolhardy or not.

Less chance of being mugged by a cultist, anyways.

There was nothing but the smell of ash and death left in Reimoorse.

A cool, damp mist clung to the entire town, wrapping it in a white shroud that seemed to hide it from the outside world. It was as if the powers-that-be were ashamed of what they allowed to happen there, ensconcing it in their holy haze. Gods were supposed to be flawless, and Reimoorse was a giant, discreditable blemish in that theory.

Caliste, of course, did not believe in gods. As she walked through the barren streets, the mist caused ash to cling to her legs, a constant reminder of the atrocities that had befallen the citizens. The only thing that she had on her mind was death and tragedy; the same that was apparent in the smell of the air, the sound of her hollow steps echoing off the smoldering buildings, the sight of miles of empty metropolis. Everything was completely ravaged, stripped of the glory and prestige it once held to reveal a brittle and weak skeleton. True, there was a darker side to Reimoorse—Caliste had experienced that first-hand, and had been stripped of the promises of childhood because of it—but there was much good that could be found there. No one deserved this fate.

Yes, Caliste had never a penchant for religion. Spending the past nearly five years of her life adapting from being rescued from the vileness of cultism had given her a fear of organized faith unlike any other, and she avoided any talk of deities or idolatry at all costs. However, witnessing the terrorization of Reimoorse by forces unknown, Caliste had lost something even more: her faith in humanity. She had always been a firm believer (if she could be considered a believer at all; she was no activist for any causes and did not have strong opinions on much) that changes were caused by humans, not some silly divine force. Humans looked too much to scorn the godly because of certain events, and yet did not realize that they are the reason for their occurrence in the first place. However, Caliste also believed that humans could be genuine and cooperative without some promise of posthumous redemption...until now.

There was no hope left for civilization. Slowly, there were descending into madness and vice. Reimoorse was only the beginning.

Quickly, Caliste turned a corner and slunk against a wall. Three thugs ran past her, glittering gems and jewelry bundled in their arms. One held a newly-crafted gun, and Caliste shivered; such technology scared her, especially in a time like this. Since the attack, there had been a heightened crime rate in Reimoorse. Thievery was abound, and with the authorities busy aiding the public in rebuilding homes, treating the injured, and dealing with legal issues, there was simply no time to deal with it all. Broken storefronts and smashed locks had become an all too familiar sight.

She had to make it to Mantis’s house. He was the one leading the refugees, the one who had taken her in and allowed her to help. If there was any hope left for the town, it would lie in him and his cause. Reimoorse depended on Caliste...and she depended on him.

Her muscles tensed automatically as a new stinging bite of pain seeped into her back. That would end. Two or three strokes more and her body would already remember that fighting was useless. She had already resigned herself long ago, struggling against her due punishment was a waste of effort. She deserved what she got and she had to accept that. Every time again her body protested against the first ones, and every time again, it would realize its resistance was futile. Another lash came, creating another red stripe across her back.

She was glad it was not her bottom today. That hurt far more, and it was more lasting, reminding her whenever she sat down. No, today's wrongs were not bad enough to warrant that. She was happy she hadn't completely disappointed her Master. It was not the worst punishment she had had to endure. Far worse ones had come and gone. At one time her Master had even ignored her after she had failed him. That had hurt more than the dozen or two-dozen lashes she often got for minor failures, even more than those on her bottom that hurt for days or weeks.

A number of guildmembers stood around watching her punishment. Her master had decided to do it out in the drizzling rain. The rain both intensified the lashes she got and soothed the pain afterward. It was definitely a strange thing, but she didn't have time to concentrated on the differences. Some of those around her looked down in horror, some even cringed when the bendy wooden switch was about to hit her. Others were simply amused at her predicament. Those that stayed away had already seen this often enough, while they came back at times, they were generally bored with the demonstration. She wished she could be like them, that it didn't matter anymore to her, but she always felt ashamed she had disappointed her Master. She also wished that she could be good enough never to disappoint her owner anymore.

The camp suddenly stirred around her. Everyone seemed to dash in a seperate direction, drawing their cold iron weapons. She had felt that coldness far too often herself. She didn't enjoy went her Master lent her to one of the others, but she would always do her very best to please and thus please him too. She stood in her place, the rain still sprinkled against her back. He had not told her her punishment was done, so she didn't move. If she did, he would be angry with her again.

A single person, she couldn't really see more than that it was a person, approached the scene of her penance. As he came closer, the others returned too, sheathing their various weapons. Before she could breathed again though, the stinging wooden tool swished across her back again. She hadn't been prepared and her body had been given too much time to recover after the last one. She almost yelped in pain. Fortunately she could stop herself from doing so. Whenever she screamed during punishment, her tongue would be punished as well. In fact, any time she spoke she was punished for doing so. She was expected to do her chores quietly. And she gladly did so, it seemed futile wanting to talk to anyone. What would she say anyway?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the formation of another streak, far to the side this time. Punishment would be a dozen lashes, like it usually was, but she was never able to keep count and her master didn't count either. At least not out loud. That made it impossible for her to determine when it was done. Perhaps that was for the better though, that way, it was more of a punishment and less something that she simply had to endure.

Her back was surely fiercely red by now, it felt painful enough. She didn't think it was bleeding yet though, she couldn't feel anything dripping. Perhaps a few bruises, but those were usually limited on her back. On her bottom they were usually much more prevalent, and they did indeed take a long time to heal. Although, according to her Master, she healed quite rapidly and quite well, her skin was miraculous in that regard. She never had any rough, ugly scars, all healed extremely smoothly and at its worst, a line of deeply pinkish skin would remain visible. That was one of the reason she was still allowed to remain with Him, as he adored her soft and smooth skin, and because it always returned to that state.

The anticipation was at times worse than the lashes themselves. She was never allowed to look, so she never knew when it was coming, she only knew that it was. She had to stare to the ground most of the time, sometimes she was allowed to look in front of her, like today. Another one came in hard, the switch slightly bending along with her body, creating a long gash all the way across her back. The still drizzling rain began soothing immediately, but that last one hurt a lot more than usual. Tears welled up in her eyes, eventually finding their way down her cheeks.

Another five came, one at a time, with plenty of time in between. None of them were quite as bad as the one before. Maybe she got used to it over time. Perhaps that was why her master never did more than two dozen strokes. Actually never more than a dozen on her back, two dozen was only done on her rear end, where each consecutive one seemed to hurt more.

On the last stroke, the rain started pouring down, and guildmembers fled in different directions. Many fled to the inns and bars of the nearby village, while others fled to their tents in the camp. She? She could stand out in the rain for a while, contemplating her punishment before she would be called inside for the night. At least, she hoped she would be called inside for the night. It had happened before that she had to sleep outside in the mud, though never if it was still raining out. She was never subjected to unnecessary risks. The rain ran over her on all sides: between her small breasts down her belly, down her back and across her anus, which tickled.

Her feet sank a bit deeper in the softening ground. The mud seemed to be climbing to her ankles from her perspective. She didn't free herself, she didn't even move, she just waited to be freed and allowed to serve again. It didn't come quickly. By the time her Master called her into his tent, her curly hair was soaked and her skin was so clean it was shining even after drying. Her hair wouldn't dry so quickly on its own, so it was wrapped in a towel. After drying, it did regain its curly volume. It had been doing that a lot lately, it almost seemed as it if had given up being curly, as opposed to fighting to be straight at every chance.

She couldn't thank her Master for drying her, as she wasn't allowed to talk, but he would take what she owed him for it before he went to sleep. For now, it would do that she sat on her knees at his feet, staring at the ground, ready for when he wanted her to do something.

Arachnid finally commanded his feet to turn him around. It didn’t matter anyway. The image of a good friend missing their head wasn’t something to just slip out of memory. He presumed his dreams would dangle that in front of him for months; if not years. And Lutious. He wouldn’t have to suffer a single night with Kitty’s haunting. Being the sickly sadistic man he was, a full slaughter of children wouldn’t phase him. Arachnid half cringed at this fact. He knew he’d never be able to set an even revenge since Lutious held nothing dear. His two swords were all he seem to chronically care about, and that’s if you call bathing in blood a gift.

“Did you do this you son of a bitch!?”

Arachnid was taken off guard if he ever had it. A cloaked figure stood before him in the pouring rain. Arachnid didn’t take time to sketch details to his mind and almost whispered, “I may be a son of a bitch, but I didn’t do this.” Without spending another moment of his time defending his stance with the new person, he began walking past her under the pathetic sky.

Sylvia’s dark eyes were bitter and accusatory under the shadow thrown by the lip of her drenched hood. She tried hard not to look at the headless corpse, but her eyes seemed to almost move without her discretion.

Crossing herself clumsily in her haste, she murmured a brief prayer under her breath and turned away. Though she was not particularly religious, it felt somehow necessary- considering the proverbial hell that the victim had apparently gone through.

“I’m not done with you yet.” she snapped abruptly- finding something to take her mind off of the corpse. Her voice was gruff- fueled by her anger over what the killer had probably done to his female victim before finishing her off.

It occurred to her that it well could have been- and probably was- the work of Adore. Just the thought of the sadistic and disgusting organization made her even angrier. While her mind pondered the evil guild, she was reminded of exactly why she had come to Soard.

Geist? Gest? Again, her memory had turned its back on her. Perhaps she should have written it down.

“Tell me what you know about the formation of a guild.” she said flatly- staring coldly at Arachnid and speaking with a voice that failed to betray her gender. Rather than asking the question, she opted out for demanding the answer. It was something she had learned from past experience with the ‘street-rats’ of Soard- asking nicely rarely yielded any kind of results.

“Well? Speak up.” Sylvia spat- impatient and getting angry with each moment that ticked by. The rain wasn’t helping. Soaking into the thick fibers of her cloak, it hung heavy over her shoulders. Her hand rested on the wrapped hilt of her short-spear- tensed and ready in case the situation called for drawing steel.

With a sickening squelch, the knife found its mark. The man on the other end of the blade frowned as the red liquid dripped slowly down to its hilt. There was a good chance it would stain the metal, as it had before - there were three or four spots he just couldn't get clean. It was worth it, though; it always was. With determination, the man raised the knife again, bringing it down with another thud, accompanied by a splash of scarlet. A droplet hit him in the face and he licked his lips; it wouldn't be long now... Another slice. Then another. He savored the smell as it reached his nostrils.

"Hey Boss, hurry up, would ya?" The man sighed. Didn't they realize that these things take time?

"Yeah Boss, come on, we're starving!"

"If you want it that badly, do it yourself!!" The Boss yelled, rising from his stool where he'd been cutting meat for dinner. The four other men at the campsite grumbled abashedly; the Boss knew this was as close as he was going to get to a "sorry". He went back to cooking.

-----

Twenty minutes later, as the sun sank below the trees, four bodies were seated around the campfire, enjoying a meal of venison and venison with a side of venison. They didn't complain, though - their Boss was an excellent cook. One of the men turned to tell him so, only to find empty air.

"Where'd Boss go?" he asked, turning back to the others.

"I dunno. Probably wandered off somewhere again."

"Geez. He's gotta stop doin' that to us."

"He'll be back, don' worry."

-----

As it was, the Boss was currently sitting about 20 miles away, on a rocky outcropping that jutted off the face of the mountain. Far below him, the trees stretched on for miles, an endless sea of emerald green. An occasional bird glided by, silhouetted by the orange glow of the setting sun. The Boss gazed towards the sun, and as it slowly sank beneath the horizon, his thoughts turned to her. He'd sat in this exact spot with her many times, watching similar sunsets, his arm around her slender waist, her head on his shoulder, her long, pale gold hair cascading around them both. That all seemed so long ago now. So much had happened...

He looked off in the direction of Reimoorse. She was there right now. He knew he could be, too, if he wanted to be, but... they had both agreed it was better to work separately. It was strange, but he could have sworn the sky above Reimoorse was slightly more orange.

'She must just be that radiant,' he thought, and chuckled despite the tear in his eye.

He sighed. It wasn't to be, he kept telling himself, but his heart just wouldn't listen. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he closed his eyes and sang quietly to himself.

The man known as Cojisto walked through the town of Plume. He really had no reason to be there, no real reason to be anywhere, but he was a man who had come to love his own freedom. This man was a tall one, cut an intimidating figure: muscular, lean; not the kind of guy to mess with. Then again, the burnt orange vest that was hanging open precariously, showing a chiseled chest. Even more intimidating was the giant sword, a Claymore, slung acrossed his back along with a small bag of belongings. The only sign of armor on his body were a pair of chain mail gauntlets on either hand. Coupled with what looked like black slacks, he appeared to be wearing a motley assortment of clothing that appeared to have been pulled out of a wardrobe at random. So… he looked like an intimidating clown.

Cojisto palmed a small, wooden, dumbbell-shaped object in a hand. A simple device: a Yawara. A weapon used mostly to incapacitate an opponent, but can kill with the right pressure in the right spot. Not liking to kill when it could be avoided, the weapon was a perfect one for the man.

He looked at the buildings around him. Plume was one of the more architecturally advanced cities around. Even in the gloom of dusk, the buildings near the church were pristine and magnificent. Even now, as he stood before the massive doors of Plume’s great church, he could do nothing more than believe that a place so grand could offer the guidance that many have promised. Surely such architecture had to have been created by a higher force! Honor, morality, a man’s moral duty; all such things started in places such as these. Everything he’s ever learned about how to treat an opponent came from golden doors such as these. Awestruck, he started towards the doors. Until a small muffled scream reached his ears.

He instantly perked up, muscles tensing against the rapidly approaching darkness. His frame turned from the gates and towards the cry for help. Eyes searched rapidly, every alleyway seeming to disclose their contents with a single glance. Then he saw it: a man dragging a woman even farther into the darkness. With a low growl, Cojisto started towards the two people.

“C’mon sweet cheeks, all I wanted was a little action,” spoke the man. “It won’t be long til I have to return, so let’s make the best of the time we’ve got.”

The voice, low and menacing, was followed by a loud ripping sound. Cojisto turned in time to see the bare chest of the woman in view. “Hey, buddy, let the girl go.” Both the victim and the victimizer turned towards the voice. They both stared at him, the girl with hope and the guy with narrowed eyes. Neither of them moved. “Well? Get out of here girl. Grab your clothes and go.”

“Now who in the hell do you think you are? Get out of here, scum bag,” the man said as he spit in Cojisto’s direction.

Now it was his turn to narrow his eyes. “You dare call me a scum bag after this!?” Exclaimed the honorable man, “If anything, I should be disgusted by you..” And with that, Cojisto closed the distance between him and the man. It happened quickly as to take the man by surprise. A tight metal fist collided with the man’s jawbone, sending him to the wall and away from the girl. “Run lady.” Nodding to him, the girl gathered up her now ruined shirt and ran away, probably home.

“Oh, you are SOO going to pay for that.” The man stood and wiped his jaw clean of blood. The shot had gotten him pretty good; the metal links of the chain mail had dug into his skin. That would definitely leave his skin raw for a bit. The two stared at each other and it became obvious that Cojisto was definitely the bigger man. Even if the assailant was a large man himself, and had an axe which is something Cojisto hadn’t noticed earlier. “Just you wait, you’ll get yours someday, scum bag. I’ll get Adore after you faster than you can twitch. Bloody bastard, you’ll rue the day that you messed with Mug Colt.”

Mug Colt left the scene, running with his tail between his legs. The thought of chasing after him filled the larger man’s head, but he merely shrugged in the end and started back towards the Cathedral. He would complete this little leg of whatever journey he was on. “… Adore, I think that was something important? Ahh well, I’m sure Daku would have mentioned something about it if it was. I'll spend the time to think about it after seeing the church.” Cojisto shrugged before entering through the large gates and back into an awestruck state of mind.


This message was edited by Rust on Jul 23 2008.

"I needn't any of your horse shit tonight, Thomas! Get off my step!"

A drunken villager went head first off the porch thanks to the other man's shove. Blood and alcohol gurgled in his mouth and dribbled onto the streets. Weyland could tell the drunk was trying to reason with the other man, desperately reaching out from the ground, but wet jibberish was all that came from his lips.

The man on the porch showed no sympathy for this Thomas and went back into his home, almost happily. Weyland stepped to the drunkard's side and looked down on him. The man's eyes immediately found Weyland's left arm hanging limp in a sling. Hacking up the rest of the fluid in his throat, Thomas said his first coherent words, "I'm sorry."

It was honest, sober sympathy between two complete strangers. The kind of sympathy that only exists in a world terrorized by Adore. Weyland had developed a very desensitized indifference to everything, but that still didn't stop him offering his right hand to help the drunkard up.

"Plums?" Weyland asked.

Thomas smiled and nodded.

It was sharing day. She really disliked that day. Despite the great importance of it to her Master, and thus to herself too, she couldn't help but deeply despising it. The whole day was very annoying, she was forced to deal with other people besides her owner, even though it was on his behalf. And although she didn't have to do anything fundamentally different from what she usually did, she did have to do it over and over and over and over again. It became a drag halfway through the day and she still had half a day to go then. On top of that, some of the things she was subjected to were bizarre at best and painfully humiliating at worst. Her Master never allowed her to be seriously harmed though.

She was still curled up in her little warm self at the feet of her Master, who slept peacefully but loudly above her. She sighed, but she stayed where she was. It was going to be a long day again, like they always were when she didn't look forward to it. Perhaps it was her own fault for not being more positive. Her stomach growled. That was also something she had to endure on sharing day, she was not done and thus couldn't eat until she had finished all her chores. They really were chores, even her Master called them that, just some things that had to be done. He didn't particularly like sending her out either, He had admitted to her once. But that didn't change anything of course. She still had to do it.

A gust of winds shook their tent, He didn't wake up however, and thus she could still only remain at her Master's feet. Her legs were held closely against her chest, her arms wrapped around them. It was the position she normally had to sleep in. Sometimes she was allowed to stretch out, but that was usually paired with something else, like being tied up or being used as pillow. Still, the variety was sometimes a bliss, and the ability to even serve her Master in her sleep always made her very happy, which meant that her day after was very productive. Strange that He didn't do it before a sharing day. But He was the Master and she the slave, so it was not up to her to second guess His decision.

“Awake?” His voice suddenly came from above her. Of course she was awake, she was always awake before her Master, as a good slave should be. She stretched herself while nodding. If her Master was awake, she could begin her morning and help him get up and dressed. She particularly liked that. Actually, it was mostly the feeling of clothes she liked, likely because she couldn't wear any herself most of the time. Strangely enough, this annoying day was one of the few times she could, bizarre at the very least.

She gently removed the blanket from her Master's body. She then grabbed the wet cloth from the bucket of water and began washing Him. His face went first, his stubbly beard felt very weird. Normally she had to shave him first, but that was another exception on sharing days. By the end of the day the beard would be quite soft, and perhaps she would even be allowed to play with it again. His hands were next to follow and as soon as they were done, they began to run along her body, inspecting her, finding every bruise in every little corner. He needed to know on this day, so that he could see any excessive damage someone might do to her and pay him back in kind. Despite hurting her quite often Himself, He was very jealous and protective. No-one else was allowed to harm her as much as He did. And preferable not at all, but He had had to concede a bit in that area to please some.

She continued to wash His body, from His armpits to His toes and everything in between. He inspected her as thoroughly as she cleaned Him. It didn't take very long however, they both knew what they were doing and they had done it often before. Once her Master finally took his hands away from her, she stood up and turned around to grab his pants. By the time she turned back around, pants spread and ready to receive her Master's legs, He was standing up as well. She bent through her knees, holding the pants to the right level as He stepped in. His left leg went first, His right leg followed quickly. She stood back up and closed the buttons. A belt was unnecessary.

She grabbed a simple shirt with buttons and draped it around Him. She could only close the light buttons one at a time, but still it was done fast enough. Her Master even petted her for her fast work. “You're nervous today. Don't be.” She nodded to say she understood. Not that it would help much, but it was only polite to show that you had heard, even if you weren't allowed to talk. The black poncho was the last piece of clothing to follow and the easiest. All she had to was put it over His head and she was done. The poncho simply fell the way it was supposed to.

“There's a lot of sharing today,” her Master explained to her, “new guy at the end too.” New guys were the worst, because she never knew what to expect and they were often clumsy and that as last ones in the line. So instead of doing her last one quickly, she had to wait around for him to finally finish. “But, because it really is a long one today, you can sleep as soon as you get back.” If this had been a normal relationship, she would've flown at Him, hugging Him tightly. This wasn't a normal relationship however, and she could only share her elation with herself. She didn't doubt He knew how thankful she was though. She would show him her thanks tomorrow by working even better than usual, if that were possible.

Then it was her time to be readied for her day. She wasn't exactly being dressed, but she did get to wear something on this day. Her Master brought out her box and opened it. Inside were the bonds she knew well enough. Four cuffs, two for her wrists and two for her ankles. They were actually quite soft and comfortable. Her Master had acquired them because he didn't like to see her wrists and ankles bleeding from being bound every sharing day. Since it was easier to attach her with the cuffs, it was done by most, if not all guildmembers, without His expressed obligation. A second piece was a collar for around her neck, with an attached leash. It was not really used. It only showed that it was sharing day and at certain occasions who was in control, although that was rather unnecessary.

Unlike other sharing days, He did not eat breakfast first, but instead moved toward the tent of another guildmember immediately. That really said something about the day being busy, He had never before gone off to breakfast without her, not even if he were punishing her. Her leash was quickly handed to the first member of the day, a man named Crow. She didn't like Crow, even less so because he was usually one of the first, while it would be much easier to have him as one of the last. He always wanted her to be unresponsive. Play dead while he did his thing to her. It was almost horrifying, but she did it because she had to. Playing dead is harder than one would expect under the circumstances she was in.

After Crow was done, her Master came back and guided her to the next member she had to please. Another one she got to see every time, and one who liked to do things unlike most of the others. Another experience she preferred not to be put through, unless it was done by her Master. Not because He was more gentle about it, but because she belonged to Him and thus He was allowed to do whatever He wanted. Her day went on like that, each member did his weird thing with her, ranging from tying her in absurd positions to simply violating her. And after each of them she was escorted to the next in the line by her Master, who then left again to return after her next chore was done.

That was how her day passed, without drinking, without eating. Her stomach growled and her body and its crevices