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The Sublime Overlord of the Realm
Whisper left Sir Ichs' office and strode down the hallway to where she and her cohorts would be spending the night. She opened the door and scowled at all of them within. This Hold is pathetic. I am going to consecrate their altar in an hour. If anyone needs me, I will be there until then, praying.

So the woman left them to chose to follow or not. Juli had looked mildly disturbed and Mender looked absolutely bewildered, both unsure of what choice to make even though they knew that they had an hour. Whisper dug up a cloth from one of the rooms on the way to the altar room and began to dust off the sacred objects, making them gleam as best as she could without the proper polish and ointments. When she was done, she settled herself to the floor in front of it and prayed softly, her lips moving though no sound could be heard. So she waited for the hour to see if anyone would arrive.


Shad looked into her eyes with his own. Her fright was evident. So evident that she would have stank of it had he been some sort of animal and prone to understanding of that sort. There was a glint, a small spark that was rising in him. This one has spirit. Terrified, but spirited. I'm almost impressed. His hand slid along the fine smoothness of her skin, the luxurious softness of the inside of her leg was something to be marvelled at. Even her futile kicks did little to deter him. I tell her that I'm not a raper, but she doesn't believe me. I never said I was a gentleman. I'm definitely not one of those.

He pulled her leg up just a little more, holding it firmly still. He didn't want her to fuss too much as he planted a warm, solid kiss on the inside of her knee, left hand on the inside of her thigh and the right on the outside of her lower leg. One hand to stop her from pushing in and the other to keep her from kicking. I've already told you that I'd not rape you, woman. But that doesn't mean that I have to be a gentleman about keeping you here. And no, there's nothing you can do to stop me. Your magic is useless and, if you're trained to fight, you're not strong enough to overpower me.

Shad was actually being quite gentlemanly. He left her skirt dip low to cover the area between her legs even as he wrapped his left arm around her lower waist and pulled her just a little further away from the wall. He slid back with her, keeping her right leg pinned beneath his ankle and hooked the left leg over his shoulder to place another warm, lingering kiss on the inside middle of her thigh, his hot breath on her skin as his cheek settled against it for a time. There was a sort of tenseness in his body that could probably be felt through the leg he had over his shoulder. That tenseness was what he was holding back. His right hand slid up the outside of her left leg, reaching until it settled on the highest part of her outer leg, before coming back towards her knee on the underneath side. Your skin is so smooth. Smells like soap yet. You must have bathed today. I like legs like yours. Long. Graceful. Formed well. Just enough muscle to know that you walk and dance. I can admire a woman who carries herself instead of makes others carry her. His scarred lips placed another kiss on the inside of her leg before he slowly pulled himself away and straightened her skirt, looking at her appraisingly as he slid nearer to her feet, on his knees yet. Don't hate me. Not for the little pleasures I took from you. Hate the poverty and justice systems that drive me to it.

He got to his feet near enough to her so she would still be surrounded by the null that he permanently had around him and tugged off the patched black shirt he had on. For your trouble. He hunkered down to tuck the fabric around her torso and upper legs, figuring that she'd tuck her own feet beneath her again. His bare torso was a mass of scars of all shapes, sizes, and designs. Some the work of animals, others the work of weapons like whips, swords, and axes, burns marks here and there, and some looked as if he was strapped down and carved into with small curved strokes. Across his abdomen, the middle of his left side under the pectoral muscles down at a mild diagonal slant to several inches above his pantline, was a black tattoo. It was not a fetching tattoo nor did it look like anyone had planned it carefully. Just bold, black letters. LAWBREAKER. The pendent on the silver chain around his neck swung, reflecting the light of the lanterns on the walls. The eye within the mountain. From where he crouched before her, his half grin was more gentle. I'm not sorry. I just want you to know that. His voice was a rich, dark thing as he spoke those last statements.
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Shadows · City Randatria

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