Several times before dinner, the cell door is opened partway as leaf-nosed Eeee, Vartans, Jupani and even a Naga peek at Willow. This usually ends in yelling by Mr. Sackcloth followed by hasty retreats. The Rhian is still grumbling when he brings dinner in for Willow and has Mr. Cottonmouth guard the door from outside. "Damned short-timers and raiders," the man curses while untying Willow's wrists. "Getting the rest of them too curious for their own good. Mr. Bright is going to be.. I don't know what he's going to be. Upset. I'm sure he can get upset."
"Upset about what?" Willow asks after she can sit up and rub at her wrists a little. "I thought he wanted me to be a glorified sex toy for the men here." She makes a face after that comment.
"He wanted to control who would get a chance," Sackcloth says, clearly not liking what he's saying. "I'm sure he'd rather you were a secret." He sprinkles something into the oatmeal - it looks like big grains of dark sugar. He uses it sparingly.
"He is ... a fool. I suspect he hopes I will love him. Not going to happen," Willow comments a bit dryly, then starts to eat slowly. "None of this would have been a problem had those raiders left me behind. There was nothing to be gained by grabbing me."
"You upset Mr. Stitch," Sackcloth says and snorts. "Or challenged him. The old pirates are still hung up on image, I suppose, since it's all they've got left."
"Yes, because yelling at a lady through a door is a great way to get it opened," Willow points out and sighs. "Image is all they have left, though? Surely not."
"Well.. probably anger too," the Rhian guesses. "And revenge - at least that's what I think they use to justify being here."
"Eh? Revenge for what? I haven't done anything to them," Willow notes.
The man blinks, then brays a laugh. "Not you, no," he says afterwards. "They're pirates.. you can probably guess who their enemies are, can't you?"
"Well, if they'd been caught by the Yodhrepath, I imagine unpleasant things were done to them," Willow notes in-between bights. "I did research before my visit; I know the stories."
"If they'd been caught.." the Rhian starts to say, then pauses and touches his throat. "Well, maybe they were. I don't think the Yodh seize pirate ships though.. just sink them."
"Varies. Some were caught as they had special punishments for them," Willow notes and shrugs just a little. "So, is there any hope I'll ever be released from this place?" she asks.
"Whenever the rest of us are, so.. yes.." Mr. Sackcloth says a bit uncertainly.
"I am not one of you," Willow points out.
"None of us are one of us," the man says cryptically. "I honestly don't know how many of us would actually be allowed to go. Usually we just get replacements for those that fall in the raids."
"I am Willow Ebonmane, ambassador of Draco County. If I do not return eventually the Countess will get perturbed and come looking," Willow claims and crosses her arms. "And she is scarier than those Babel Yodh."
"Nobody knows where you are though," Sackcloth says. "I don't know where we are. But we'll be getting supplies and replacements after Mr. Bright makes his report."
"The Countess could find me. Do you really not know about her?" Willow inquires, sounding a bit shocked. "I know it is Sylvania, but even outside of it people fear her." She sighs a little and shakes out her mane, then asks a bit dryly, "So, are you trying to tell me I'll end up with some stupid name like Miss Spreadlegs?"
"How many know your name as it is?" Mr. Sackcloth asks. "Or your station?" He actually sounds worried.
"Him. You. The Pirate," Willow ticks off. "That's about it."
"It's best if you don't tell anyone else," Sackcloth says. "A pseudonym is best. Do you have a nickname or anything?"
"I do not. Why cannot people know who I am?" Willow inquires. "I see no reason to hide."
"It might make some of the men upset is all," the horse doesn't explain.
"That is not a reason," Willow notes and crosses her arms.
"Because most of them have lost their names," the man claims. "You could be Ms. Black, or Velvet, or Shadow. Mysterious!"
"What do you mean lost their names? You can't lose your name; it is not a physical object to misplace," Willow argues.
"If you don't remember it, and nobody can tell you, then it is lost," Sackcloth points out.
"Why wouldn't they remember it? Surely you remember yours," Willow says, sighing.
"I do, but I don't use it," Sackcloth notes. "I have skills that make me more useful to the base. And I haven't suffered severe injuries like the others. I don't know why Mr. Bright is here."
"Did they lose their memories before, or after they came here?" Willow asks now, suspicious and eyes-narrowed.
"I assume before," Sackcloth says. "The dead or wounded are brought back from the raids, but.. well, there usually isn't much I can do for the wounded. It's more so their bodies can't be examined, I suspect."
"Examined for what?" Willow asks now, leaning in and peering.
"You've seen Mr. Stitch," Sackcloth notes, leaning away slightly. "I'm not a doctor, but I know a slit throat when I see one. I knew someone who drowned and was revived, but his memories and mind weren't the same. The brain doesn't do well when you stop breathing for too long."
"Well, I know that," Willow replies and leans back, "But healing severe injuries isn't that special, well, when magic is involved. People can survive when treated, so I am not sure why examining them would matter outside of showing they were treated."
"I figure that's the issue right there," Sackcloth says. "Healing pirates is probably not something the Guild allows. They'd look into something like that. Pretty sure they have a 'wanted list' of their own. And.. I don't imagine they were healed out of kindness. Mr. Bright is the only one that talks to whoever runs this operation, but I don't think it's the doctor himself."
"The mage guild doesn't have that much of a reach any more," Willow points out. "And you know, you could just ... leave my cell open and let me leave."
"We're deep in the mountains somewhere," Sackcloth points out. "Mr. Stitch would find you again and bring you back."
"I could escape him. I am from a dangerous land," Willow points out. She finishes her meal, then takes a drink from whatever is provided. "So, back down on the bed, is it?" she asks.
"So eager to be rid of me then?" the Rhian asks, but winks as he collects the empty bowl.
"No, not really. I just ... do not know what to talk about. You won't tell me much about this place or anyone else," Willow admits and shrugs. "And I cannot be the only prisoner here."
"I do have to tend to the others, it's true," Mr. Sackcloth says. "It's Mr. Cottonmouth's turn to keep you company anyway. I'll be back later to let him out."
"He was added to the list?" Willow has to ask. "But he's a cat, isn't he? I hear they are ... painful."
"He's very gentle," Sackcloth claims.. possibly not realizing what Willow meant by painful. He knocks on the door, and it opens just enough for the horse to leave as the tiger slips in. Then the door closes and the bar falls across the outside with a clunk. Mr. Cottonmouth just stands with his back to it and stares at Willow.
"Hello. I do not generally bite," Willow comments and waves a little. "Feel free to sit down. There aren't any good chairs though. In fact no chairs. I hear you don't talk; no tongue. Is that true?" she asks. He should be able to nod yes or no at least.
The man instead sticks his tongue out. There's a line of scar tissue running across it from side to side about two-inches from the tip. He then steps forwards a bit.. and sits on the floor in front of Willow. "i can talk" he whispers. He has a slight lisp, but it sounds more like he has vocal-chord damage than just tongue issues.
"What happened to your tongue and throat?" Willow asks as she looks down at the feline. "And what is it you wish from me?"
The man rubs his throat. Throat injuries seem common here, but he doesn't have a scar at least. "kicked in throat, bit tongue," he whispers. At the second question, he seems to think, then gets up and sits next to Willow on the bed. He pats his lap - and still has his pants on, so may just want her to sit.
Willow looks at him oddly for a moment, then just slides in and sits in his lap. "Why are you here?" she asks. "Do you not remember who you were?"
"guard doors," Cottonmouth whispers, and just hugs Willow. "remember, yes. but had to be fixed. so work off debt here."
"Who fixed you?" Willow asks as she leans against the cat.
"doctor no-face," the tiger whispers, and starts to purr a bit. It sounds a bit broken instead of constant.
"No face? What do you mean no face? Everyone has a face," Willow remarks, expression drawing up in a bit of confusion.
"hides face, so no-face," the cat explains, and nuzzles Willow's throat. He even tries to groom her slightly with his tongue, and she can tell the tip of it doesn't quite work. It doesn't seem to move, only get dragged along.
Willow lets her eyes close a little and just lets him do that. "What about your family? Do they know where you are?" she asks, quietly.
"no family," Cottonmouth says. "not from here. from far-away."
"Why are you here, then? Why come?" Willow asks. "And why did you go to this odd doctor?"
"stranded," the tiger claims, and nuzzles between Willow's breasts. "sold. ran away."
"Wait, what, you're a slave?" Willow has to ask, and also ends up squirming a little bit.
"no, new master dead," Cottonmouth claims, and the squirming makes him grab Willow's butt.. but at least he doesn't use his claws.
"Meef," says Willow and arches up a little. "Then why don't you just leave?" she asks. "If you're not a slave, then you shouldn't have to stay."
Cottonmouth pulls his head back enough to look Willow in the eye. "master dead because of me," he says. "I run away from this, I go to gallows."
"Is anyone looking for you? How is your master dead because of you?" Willow asks.
"because I killed him," the tiger admits.
"Why?" Willow asks. "You do not seem the type, so he must have deserved it."
Cottonmouth is silent for a while, even his purring has stopped. "i wanted his wife. she get me to do it, then try to turn me in. I killed her too.. was angry."
"Ah, manipulated. That happens some time. What was he? Eeee? Naga? Another feline?" Willow inquires.
"rhian," Cottonmouth says. "wife kick me in struggle."
"Ahh, that is what happened to your throat. Well, your doctor didn't do a great job fixing it," Willow claims and shrugs a bit. "I could arrange better, I suspect."
"for a murderer?" he asks. He can't put much inflection into his voice though, so it's hard to tell if he's being sarcastic or actually curious.
"I don't consider you a murderer," Willow notes, then shrugs a bit. "You were tricked. Used. You could argue the wife gave you the order."
"maybe i go somewhere else after this," Cottonmouth whispers, but immediately buries his face back in Willow's cleavage afterwards.
Willow squeaks a bit at that and wiggles! Well, she at least knows what he likes in women...
Cats also like cream, so he puts his rough tongue to that task next. He hasn't used his claws on Willow's rump yet at least.
Willow mmmphs, as thanks to Inala, that makes things start to flow pretty quickly, again! The unicorn ends up sighing a little, then just sort of petting along the back of his neck. She has to let him drain her now, or things will hurt later.
Since he uses his tongue and laps instead of suckling, it's slow going - so things get a bit tender before he's done. Then he licks her nose.
Willow grits her teeth and bears it; she's been through worse! The lick on her nose gets her to rub it a little, then look at him. "Enjoyed that?" she asks, knowing he's probably a little stoned now.
"rrrrrrrrr," is the response. He doesn't seem as stoned as someone with less body mass might, but does have a goofy expression.
Willow pats his head gently. "Is that all you wished?" she inquires.
After shaking his head a bit awkwardly, Cottonmouth tries to get his pants off.. with Willow still in his lap. It.. isn't working out well, since among other things the trousers are caught on some of his now-exposed barbs. There's something Khattas never talk about..
Willow just ... well, she at least doesn't laugh. She slides completely off his lap and helps him get his pants off. Yeah, this one is going to be uncomfortable, but she'll live. She then rubs her forehead a little around her horn and asks embarrassedly, "So, ah, front, back, or, mouth?"
"..." the tiger goes, confused by the question. "lap?" he finally asks.
That still leaves two options, unfortunately. "Facing you, or away?" Willow asks for clarification.
"i like your face," the man answers and grins. That's.. sort of an answer. His tail flops about drunkenly behind him.
Willow sighs and just shakes her head. She straddles his lap, sort of kneeling over it. She has to then reach down and make sure things are liked up. Then she takes several deep breaths to prepare. With a single smooth and slow motion she lowers down; taking him in until she's sitting on his lap again, facing him.
Once she's all the way down, Cottonmouth doesn't seem to know what to do, but his face does light up at the sensation. So he.. kisses her!
Willow finds this all very odd; he is acting quite strange. Still, she returns that kiss gently, then starts to rock up and down slowly using her legs. The result for her is a weird, prickly, and semi-uncomfortable pulling sensation, but at least not agonizing. For him ... well, hopefully it feels good!
It seems as if he's never done this before, or else is too stoned to remember. He does hold onto her though at least, and purrs properly. "this is nice. is it always nice?" he asks.
"Usually," Willow claims. It's ... not exactly super pleasurable for her right now, but that's not really the point when it comes down to it. So, she listens to him and adjusts her movements when it seems he likes something a bit more, or less. She also slowly uses it as a chance to ken him, and see how badly he was injured, and if his brain was altered somehow.
She discovers more than an almost-crushed throat - he also had several broken ribs and a broken jaw that occurred at the same time (the jaw-breaking is probably what led to nearly biting his tongue off). He probably lost a lot of blood from that particular wound, which may have caused other problems - but there's no obvious brain damage. He also isn't as old as he looks, either, and that might have something to do with whatever magic was used on him.
This is odd. Is another shadow dragon at work here, shifting these people? But surely the repairs would be better than this if it were, Willow wonders. Still, she doesn't dare hold the ken too long lest he really notice something odd going on. So, she has to withdraw it soon enough and just resume her steady riding.
With his already whacked-out state, the kenning is enough to put him over. Although it isn't clear if he's awake when it happens, or if he was already falling backwards onto the bed.. and taking Willow down with him. It does cause a final deep push before the climax though.
Willow then slows down and stills. She waits for a bit, then carefully pulls herself up, the uncomfortable tugging still quite there and leaving her a little tender inside. She makes a small hiss at this, but is soon off. And now with the khatta on her bed, she sits on the floor and leans back against the wall, sighing softly. She still have no idea what is really going on, or who is in change. This doctor could actually be dangerous to her, so should she risk even waiting ... or blow her cover soon and just take them out or escape?
She still hasn't tried contacting Tulani yet either - and she's supposedly out there somewhere, depending on far she could followed the raiders without showing herself. "Your cat is purring too loud," Kaira complains from behind Willow's ear.
"He's not my cat," Willow mutters, "And this is not proving very fruitful in terms of learning much. I am debating breaking my cover and just using my full abilities to take them out enough to escape."
"Have you found out why they're raiding?" the dragonette asks.
"Nope," Willow admits. "I've learned mostly nothing, other than they're all patients from some doctor, and all had horrible injuries once."
"Someone has to know," Kaira notes. "Have you tried using Barada's kiss on any of them?"
"No, I haven't. Any time I get some little bit of information they tend to shut down, or stress they would be severely punished," Willow says, "So i have not pushed it."
"Hmm, best not to waste it on someone who doesn't know what's going on," the dragon admits. "Maybe.." The dragon is interrupted by the sound of the door bar being raised, and goes poof.
"And you do it too. I think you're all against me," Willow mutters grimly and frustratedly. She pushes herself up to her hooves and stretches a bit, wondering who is coming.
The door opens, and Mr. Bright steps in and looks around. "He passed out?" the Aeonian asks of Mr. Cottonmouth.
"Yes," Willow claims. "Aeonian milk can have that effect on non-Aeonians. Here to let me go?"
"I'm here to take you out of the cell," Mr. Bright says.
"Why? And to where?" Willow asks next.
"I'm no longer comfortable having you stay in here," he says. "You're moving to my quarters. Some of my clothes should fit you."
"Because I am becoming too popular?" Willow has to ask. "What is your interest in me? Outside of being as rare as you, I suppose. What is it you want of me?"
"I want to keep you safe," Mr. Bright claims. "All of the men know you're here now, and I don't want knowledge of your presence getting back to the ones who set this all up."
"Why? Who are they and what do they want?" Willow asks and crosses her arms. "They already have you, they don't need another Aeonian."
"That is exactly what I worry about," Mr. Bright says. "They are cruel men. One might go so far as to call them evil. I don't want them getting hold of you for their experiments."
"Experiments? What sort of experiments?" Willow inquires, head tilted slightly to the side.
"Come with me, and I might tell you once you're in more secure surroundings," Mr. Bright offers, and gestures to the open door.
Willow doesn't look like she quite trusts this man. "Fine," she relents after some time looking at him. She then walks out of the door assuming he wants her in front so she can't do anything behind his back.
There's only two directions to go along the hall, and Mr. Bright is behind her blocking one of them, so it's pretty clear which way he wants her to go. They pass more doors, unbarred, along a curving tunnel, until the come to one that is barred and has the Naga guarding it. Behind it is the mass of oddly anxious-but-relaxed auras, along with the one she recognizes as Mr. Sackcloth's. But Mr. Bright indicates she should keep moving.
Willow pauses there to try and sense a bit more, then glares at the Aeonian behind her and keeps on. "How do I know you aren't planning to experiment on me?" she asks.
"There are some things I'd like to explore further," Mr. Bright admits. "But I'm not a Mage or doctor. I'm a tactician, which is more valuable to our sponsors than my flesh at this point." The tunnel ends in a door that apparently swings inwards instead of outwards and doesn't lock from the outside. It's ajar as well. "Please go on in," Mr. Bright requests.
Willow looks back at him long and hard. She lets out a soft snort of defiance, then steps through the door and into the room that awaits her beyond. "Who are these people?" she wonders.
The room if fairly well lit, and is mostly taken up by a table (that also serves as a desk from the look of it) with two chairs, a single over-packed bookcase and lots of drawings with lines and arrows and symbols on them. The other half, separated by a drawn-back curtain, has a bed (with a real mattress and duvet), a small dresser and a washtub, complete with washboard. No laundry service apparently! There's also a chamber-pot stool in the corner. On the bed are a pair of dark trousers and a button-shirt that Willow almost certainly won't be able to fully button up. But Gypsy-girls always preferred knots anyway.
Willow goes straight to the bed and at least starts putting on the pants. "Are you going to tell me what exactly the experiments are you want to keep me from?" she asks. "I don't trust you, you know. You could be up to anything."
"Hmm," the Aeonian says, and pulls out one of the chairs to sit on. "How much do you know of Babel's recent history?" he asks.
"Plenty. I researched it before I came. I know of the wars, their old weaponry, and even of the supposed demi-god running around currently," Willow notes as she fiddles with the pants to get them to fit. The shirt is next and true enough her milky nature means she has to tie it under her chest instead of regular buttons.
"The old regime did not go down easy," Mr. Bright explains. "When the High Princess fell, quite a few of the nobles - and all of the Royal Mages - tried to flee. Some fell to the Temple, others to Minister Thath. Those that did manage to escape hold a bit of a grudge. And while they have money, they seem reluctant to hire mercenaries. They don't know how to fight the Yodh either. I'm supposed to figure out how for them."
"Ah, the old royal mages still live. The ones that liked to mess with the minds of people. That explains much. Do they not fear the demi-god running about?" Willow inquires. "From what I've heard, he is quite terrifying."
"They fear many things, and so wish to risk little," Mr. Bright notes. "Those Royal Mages also were the key to the Sabaoth's immortality. I don't suppose you've noticed that people here seem to have suffered serious injuries?"
"Yes, and healed poorly in some cases. Terrible scarring," Willow points out.
"I'm not certain that actual healing was involved," Mr. Bright says. "They aren't exactly open about their circumstances with me. Mr. Cottonmouth eventually listened to my suspicions though. I was close to the truth, but didn't grasp the fullness of it. Of why these men serve here, even go into what are certainly suicidal battles. Which I was instructed to use them for."
"What is the truth?" Willow has to ask as she sits down on the edge of the bed. "These aren't zombies, are they?"
"No, but they are more afraid of failure than they are of death," Mr. Bright explains. "That was the key to beating the Yodhrephath. The Mage they call the 'doctor', from what I have teased out of some of them, saved their lives by transferring life directly to them from someone else. And then demonstrated to them what it felt like to have some of their life drained away in turn."
"The doctor may think Aeonians have more life to use up, but really we do not. Living longer doesn't grant us any extra energy or spirit or whatever is involved," Mr. Bright notes.
Willow's brow arches up a little at that. "There are a great many things far worse than death. What they practice, then, is a form of necromancy. Were they in Sylvania, they would be confined in the Well of souls for all eternity, while constantly having their own life drained and restored, in endless agony," she remarks a bit dryly. "One can even argue being immortal is worse, for you see all you know die over time, and even your own memories fade like so much dying ember."
"It can make us a bit.. numb.. to death," Mr. Bright admits, and looks to his tactical drawings. "I do try not to meet the expendables though when they arrive. And Mr. Sackcloth keeps the prisoners comfortably sedated during their time here, until they're taken to aid in further recruitment, I suspect."
"And the men like Mr. Stitch.. I suppose they just want to get back at the Yodh," he concludes.
"So, the prisoners are used as the life sources for those brought back from the brink," Willow reasons out and frowns. "That is beyond horrible. Why do you help them?"
"I'm not sure that I am," the Aeonian says. "How many defeats does it take for the Yodh to back off, or will their pride keep them going? Will the same tactics work every time? Important questions.. that I may have prompted them into thinking were important, anyway. And now the Yodh have developed a new tactic, even without proper information on what had failed previously! It will delay things longer. I think engaging the Yodh is a key part of their plan, you see. They have to know they can occupy them long enough to enact their strike on the city."
"The Yodhrephath aren't the only ones. There are Yodhblakat, the Yodhgorphat have resurged, and the Yodhsunala and their pet demi-God to contend with," Willow ticks off on her fingers. "Engaging just one faction does not handle the others, of which all are dangerous in their own way. I had meetings with a few of them as part of trade negotiations."
"I suspect they plan to use assassination," Mr. Bright says. "It's what I would do, given a small force of people with no fear of death. I'm still trying to figure out their goals and targets. I don't have a lot of news on who's who in Babel though. The only thing I can do is play the long game with these people." And here the unicorn grins a bit cruelly. "If it's one thing our kind excels at, it's the long game."
This actually makes Willow laugh a little. "Assassinations? Of the Yodhsunala, who are trained assassins? These people are so blinded by their anger they can't see the futileness of their plans," she remarks and shakes her head. "But then there are always those that will continue to attack in pointless attempts to save face; the Gallesians do that with Draco County all the time, no matter how many of their kind are either fed to the Shadow, or turned into hogs." She then looks up and at Mr. Bright, then nods, "That we do. One thing that is always our ally is time. Now the question I suppose I have is, do you really want to help these people, or would you prefer to see them fall by their own hubris?"