"And here we have the sworn witness accounts of Riqre'ma Medaale which state that a black and white striped woman was in Zehia Maquet residence..."
Zehia stopped listening. Riqre. That festering boil on the ass of a Garbichug! She'd trusted him! She'd welcomed him into her house! This was how he repaid her after years of knowing one another?! Zehia seethed inside, while retaining her outward mask. Other people's accounts were read, but it was only members of the hunting party that had assaulted her house and broken down one of her walls.
The main evidence was Riqre's testimony. All the others were haphazard recountings of a hectic battle. They were flimsy at best and hearsay at worst. Riqre. He was the one behind this... but why? Zehia had her enemies, but she made a point of knowing who they were. Riqre had been... not a friend, but a friendly acquaintance. There was no reason for him to betray her and omit such vital details.
Correction.
There was no reason that she knew of for him to lie about her. That didn't mean one didn't exist. The most obvious one would be bribery and greed. Riqre was rich, but that did not mean he could not be bribed. It wouldn't be for gold. It would have to be for something special. Something unique.
The Djinni.
Laila.
Zehia smiled as the two guards escorted her back to her cell while the Emirs' representatives debated her fate. Riqre had obviously killed two [Slaves] with one thrust. A favor to let him buy both the Djinni and Laila, thus removing the evidence that would exonerate her.
[Slaves] could not testify.
First of all, doing so would be pointless. There were potentially no end to what they could be bound from saying. Getting one to speak out against their owner would require removing not only their shackles, but also their [Class].
Second of all, property had no place in the courts. Even if a [Slave]'s statements could be trusted, Roshal would never let one be in any position of power over a [Slave Master]. The mere possibility that a [Slave] MIGHT say something disparaging... That could not be allowed under any circumstances.
[Slaves], however, could be used AS evidence. Zehia hadn't entertained that thought. She would not have been arrested if her guilt hadn't already been decided. She'd thought that meant that Laila had been disposed of, but would it not be simpler to bribe Riqre with her?
Laila was valuable. Her [Skill] was worth more than anything. Anything, that was, but being flayed alive and being a [Slave]. Some Emir would've paid handsomely for her as an experimental subject, except those sorts of experiments were banned.
Ah, of course. Riqre desired her return, not just because of her [Skill], but to further his own illegal activities and to hide any evidence. Laila could not testify, but the origin of her [Class] and [Skill] might interest the wrong people.
People like Zehia. Problem solvers.
She smiled ruefully to herself. She was a loose end, and she hadn't even seen it coming.
Well! There was nothing for it, but to escape! The timing would be the most important aspect. Once a proper collar was on her, it would all be over. Before that came the cell. That wouldn't be as bleak, but it would take a lot of luck to pull off an escape from there. The deliberation chamber wouldn't be much better. There were too many guards, and the Emirs' servants had far too many personal protections. Attempting anything now would be beyond stupid.
So, she'd have to escape as she was being returned to the back rooms.
The two burly [Guards] roughly grabbed her by her upper arms and held her up as another undid the chains that connected her leg shackles with the floor. Those shackles also locked [Skills], and their placement prevented running. She couldn't manage much more than a slow shuffle with them on.
It was perfect.
Walking slowly meant that it would take longer to escort her back to her cell. It also meant that they would take the back passageways. A prisoner couldn't be anywhere that a high quality person might stumble over them. Being relatively isolated was the key, as was the tedium of the walk.
Zehia moved along as fast as she could with her head bowed. She wanted the [Guards] distracted. Going slowly might help that, but any benefit would be outweighed by the [Guards] taking a more active role and dragging her. Her fastest, however, was still pretty slow currently.
She silently counted her steps. She knew this building, and she'd memorized its layout. She needed to rely on her memories, as looking around would alert the [Guards] to what she was planning.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Rattle. Thunk. Thunk. Rattle.
The only sounds were the chains and her and her captors footsteps, and they were approaching the door... Now!
Zehia stumbled as her feet got caught in her chains. The [Guards] could've grabbed her. They could've prevented her from falling.
They didn't.
Exactly as expected.
Zehia turned her fall into a roll, and barreled through an open door. They had to be open so that the [Guards] could make sure no one was inside without stopping to open them one-by-one. It was a protocol that had been implemented after some [Bandits] had snuck in and ambushed the progression their leader had been a part of.
Zehia used her roll to rise to her feet.
"[Halt, Prisoner]!"
Her momentum suddenly stopped, but that was fine. She spun around, grasped the door with her hands that were still bound behind her back, and slammed it shut! She then sat down and leaned back against it. It was solid oak. The [Guards] would have a hard time breaking it open, she just needed to hold them off until she could bar it.
It took some contortion, but she managed to grab the wooden bar despite the awkwardness of doing so without being able to see her hands behind her. She dropped it into place just as the [Guards] had ceased their half-hearted attempts at pounding it with their fists, and started ramming the door with their shoulders.
For her part, Zehia did the same and rammed her right shoulder into the wall. Of course, her goal wasn't to break it down, but to dislocate her arm. Once that was done, She brought her legs to her chest and used the extra slack to force her arms from behind her back and down underneath her. She stifled a scream as something tore, but she managed to pull her arm under and out. Now that they were in front of her, she brought her elbow to her mouth. Or, more specifically, she brought the fast-release stitch she had in her elbow to her mouth.
Zehia clenched it between her teeth and pulled!
The thread unraveled in one, long strand, and so did the rest of her arm. Once it was no longer attached to her, it reverted to cloth. It was still magically bound to the shackle, but she wasn't.
At least for her left hand. Now she was on the clock - even more than before. It was a connected segment, so the bleeding wouldn't be bad, but every second now counted. She picked up her cloth forearm, and brought it to her face.
Where was it? She knew she'd had it added... there!
Zehia pulled out a thin metal strip while the [Guards] started hacking at the door with their swords - having given up trying to ram it open. Zehia spat the lockpick into her palm, and then pulled the torsion wrench from the remains of her arm.
She might not be able to use her [Skills], but she'd picked plenty of locks without them. She'd even practiced picking her own shackles with only her mouth before. It paid to be prepared.
She clicked on the back lever. The standard locks they used had four pins. She got the first one, then three, two, and... one!
The lock popped open, and the shackles fell from her still-attached arm. She then quickly focused on her leg chains as the oak door was starting to give.
Click. And... click.
Freed of her shackles, Zehia paused and took a deep breath. It was good to have access to her [Skills] again, but she couldn't stop to appreciate the sensation, she still needed to stop her bleeding, deal with the [Guards], and finally escape from the building.
She cracked her neck. She could do it.
The final lock gave way just as easily from around her detached arm. Zehia stood up, faced the wall, and slammed her shoulder against it to pop it back into its socket. Then, she tore a strip of cloth from her clothes, and wrapped it around her stump to stop any bleeding. Doing this one-armed wasn't ideal, and she wasn't a [Tailor]. She had enough skill to technically re-attach her appendage, but it would take time.
Time she didn't have.
And it wouldn't be as good as if she'd gotten someone with the proper [Class] to do it anyways.
Instead, she picked up her left forearm, and tucked it into her belt. That was a problem for later. Now? She had two [Guards] to deal with. She could see them through the holes they'd successfully chopped in the door.
Strong then. She wouldn't have been able to do that so fast.
Strong, but not smart. She saw the two of them were still together. The intelligent thing would've been to have one go and get reinforcements. It was possible that they hadn't thought about that in their panic. Or that neither of them wanted to be left alone with her. Even with her shackles, they would be right to fear her.
However, the most likely reason for why they both were still here, was that they didn't want to look bad. They either hoped to resolve this without anyone else finding out they'd let her escape - even if it was just into a room with no other exits, or that they wanted to take care of their own mistake.
She wondered if they considered what the ruined door would say about the first option. Like she'd observed before, they weren't smart.
That didn't mean they weren't good at their jobs, or that they weren't decent fighters. She wouldn't make the same mistake as them. She wouldn't underestimate her foes.
Zehia picked up her shackles, and held them in the crook of her left arm, while she moved closer to the door's wall. She grabbed the beam that was locking the door and eased it out, while keeping a foot at the door's base. It wasn't easy to keep the door closed without the bar, but since the [Guards] were no longer trying to ram it open, it was possible.
Zehia grasped a shackle.
Thunk, Thunk.
Thunk, Thunk.
There was a rhythm to the blows they were raining down on the door.
Thunk, Thunk.
Zehia moved her foot out the way.
Thunk-
The first [Guard]'s sword struck the door, and pushed it back. The second [Guard] continued their strike, but stumbled forward as their target moved. Zehia slapped the shackle over his wrist, and then pulled him forward.
Bereft of his [Skills], and off-balance, he fell into the room.
[Disarming Strike].
Zehia didn't announce her [Skill] out-loud. Instead she activated it with a thought as her right hand struck the other [Guard]'s arm. It spasmed, and the sword fell out of his numb fingers...
...And into her waiting hand.
"What?"
The simple shocked utterance was the last thing the [Guard] would ever say as she quickly reversed her grip and shoved the blade up through his jaw and into his brain. She placed a foot on his head, and jerked the blade out as the first [Guard] got to his feet.
"Mighty Blow!"
He looked equally stupid as she blocked his attack. They were just words. His [Skill] was too low-level. He couldn't use it with even a single shackle on.
[Cobra Strike]!
Zehia's [Skill], however, worked - and it ended the fight before it had even begun.
She looked down at her two former captors and took in some long, deep breaths. How long had that taken? Five minutes? Ten? The back hallways were seldom used, but someone would be by shortly. Even if she hid the bodies, the blood and the ruins of the door would alert anyone with half a brain.
No. Sneaking out wasn't an option. At least, not without a bigger distraction.
Zehia used her newly-acquired sword to pry some of the light-stones from their settings. She piled them on top of the second body, and pulled some silk from her detached arm. Stitchfolk feared fire, and didn't have open flames if they could avoid it. That didn't mean that the light-stones they used instead were perfectly safe. While they weren't hot, and wouldn't burn anyone, they were still warm. If you put enough of them together, along with something easily combustible, then a fire would start.
The silk was already smoking.
Zehia smiled as she placed the remaining shackles on the first guard. While they were potent artifacts, she'd be VERY obvious if she tried sneaking out with them. Plus, their weight wasn't insignificant. Besides, good opponents wouldn't fall for her trick she'd used on the [Guard]. No, their best use would be to buy her time.
She didn't think she'd fool the other problem solvers, at least not forever. But, it would distract and misdirect them. Two burned bodies, one of them in shackles, painted a different picture than her killing her escorts and escaping.
At least at first glance.
After she finished binding the [Guard], she searched his body and removed anything that wouldn't be consumed by the flames. Keys. A dagger. Some money.
He wasn't very wealthy, but she hadn't expected him to be so. Still, every single copper counted now that she was a fugitive.
The second [Guard] was burning nicely. Zehia pulled the first one on top, and then ran down the hall and watched the immolation from afar. She didn't have to wait long before someone else came by. A young [Scribe] stood with his mouth hanging open for a full thirty seconds before shaking himself from his stupor. He yelled "Fire!" and started running the other way.
[Expert Stealth].
Zehia followed him, and slipped behind him as he passed through each door. She was skilled enough to go un-noticed by the door spells, but she still needed someone to open them in the first place. She knew the building. She knew the access points. Soon enough, she was 'safely' outside.
...
The old man hobbled down the street. His head was bowed, and his hair was long and gray. Gray hair wasn't commonly seen inside of Lailight Scintillation. The rich could afford treatments or hire experts to keep them looking young. The poor didn't live long enough for their hair to naturally change color. That was why he had drawn a number of looks.
The old man ignored them all, and walked with a purpose. His destination was right around the corner. He turned into an alleyway and knocked on a door with three sharp raps, followed by a single thud.
There was rustling inside the house, followed by the sound of a wooden bar being lifted. Then there was more rustling, and then... silence.
The old man pushed open the door, and entered the now-abandoned room.
It was more a closet than anything else, and had only a single other exit. The old man closed the door behind him, and barred the door. He then turned and barred the other door. Once that was done, he knelt down and ran his hands along the floorboards.
His fingers found an indention, which he pushed. There was a soft click, and a panel in the wall swung open half an inch. He gripped the edge and pulled the hidden compartment open completely. Inside there was a chest.
A chest that must've been filled with something dense, like gold. For while it wasn't large, the old man strained to pull it out of its alcove.
He then entered himself and felt along the ceiling.
Another indentation let out another soft click. This time, the hidden door didn't open. Instead the latch that had held the trapdoor in the roof shut had been disabled. The old man pushed it up as he stood. Inside the section hidden in the secret compartment, that was nestled away in the back-alley building was the real treasure. The chest had only contained gold.
The man grabbed the cloth bundle, closed the hidden trapdoor, and went back into the room. He set the parcel on top of the chest and untied the string that bound it.
Two rings. A dagger. A cloth face. Several cloth muscles.
He grabbed the rings first, and put one on each hand.
Zehia then reached up and tore off her [False Face]. It wasn't her real skin, but a disguise - albeit, one that would fool most anyone lower-level than herself. It wasn't the best disguise, but it had been the closest one she'd stored that was on her way here.
She couldn't have wasted any time being sidetracked. Every second she wasn't shielded from scrying was another second she was in danger. She let out a deep breath, but she didn't relax. She never relaxed when she was on the job.
This time, she was her own client, and the job wouldn't be over until she was in another country and had found a benefactor. One strong enough that Roshal wouldn't risk coming after her.
Before that, she had some vengeance to enact.
First, a little self-surgery. She preferred her lithe body, but a more muscular one had its own advantages. Chief among them was that she'd look different. It would also make her stronger, but not by much. New limbs didn't have the strength of levels.
The face was also just another disguise. Unlike Laila, she couldn't survive flaying her own flesh. Thus, it was only a mask. However, as long as she didn't go anywhere that had anti-intrusion wards, it shouldn't be an issue.
The trip hadn't been so bad for Laila, so far.
Of course, she hadn't expected Riqre to skin her alive on the road, or really do anything else while they were traveling. Actually, no, that was a lie. She was terrified every time she woke up. Would today be the day he put her in a jar?
But it wasn't.
In fact, Riqre hardly gave her a glance. She had the Djinni to thank for that.
She ran beside them during the day. She was so strong and graceful. So full of energy. So capable. She ran in an effortless way that was mesmerizing to watch.
It made Laila sad.
She knew the Djinni was a killer. She knew it had hurt numerous people in its rampage. But looking at it like this... She didn't care. Not that Laila's opinion mattered. She'd never have the strength to determine who lived and who died. Even if that wasn't the case, she didn't think she'd ever be able to bring herself to kill someone.
No. The only similarity between her and the Djinni was skin deep. It made her all the more self-conscious about her current appearance. Stitchfolk didn't care about how people looked as much as other races. When you could literally take off your limbs and sew on different ones... It made focusing on outward appearances seem silly.
Except for her.
Laila's [Class] let her change the single thing that no other Stitchfolk could: her head.
She'd overheard the remarks from Zehia's guests. How they envied her. How they wished they could alter this or that. Of course, all of them had been silk. They had no real reason to change their faces. They were already in the upper crust.
They just wanted what they didn't have. Laila had learned that was a common trait among [Slave Masters]. A hunger that could never be sated. A hunger, not of the body, but of the soul.
The Djinii vanished.
Laila blinked and scanned the side of the road.
Oh. There she was. For a second it had looked like she'd gone and there'd just been a golden collar floating in the air. How absur-
The Djinni vanished again.
Laila was waiting for it this time. She saw the collar remain and move as if the Djinni was still running with it. It hadn't done that the previous days. She glanced around. The other [Slaves] didn't seem to have noticed. They were too focused on Riqre. Their unnaturally wide eyes seemed drawn to him, or to whatever he was looking at.
Laila glanced back and forth between Riqre and the Djinni. The black and white woman only vanished when Riqre was looking the other way. In fact...
Yes. There were two distinctly different things that happened when she vanished. The first was that the collar would continue moving. It was as if the Djinni was invisible, but the collar wasn't. The second, was that the collar would freeze. It hung motionless in the air for a spit second before the Djinni reappeared.
Sometimes the Djinni would slow down afterwards. It was like she'd lost all of her momentum. Other times, she would continue on just as fast... or faster.
Laila looked at her... and felt sadness swelling up inside. The Djinni was stronger than her. She would live for far longer. Yet... for as short of a time as it had been, Laila hadn't been born a [Slave]. She'd lived for years before that day. The Djinni? She'd been free for only a few weeks.
That... didn't seem right. Not that anything about Laila's life right now felt 'right', but that observation in particular stuck with her. The Djinni wasn't a scary monster. Well, she WAS a scary monster, but Laila no longer feared her.
Instead, she felt pity.
And how absurd was that? A [Slave] feeling pity for a Djinni? Everyone in Roshal knew that Djinni were monsters that would kill them all in a heartbeat if they could. As true as that was in general, and it was certainly true for THIS Djinii in particular, Laila still felt that the alternative would be infinitely better.
Let the Djinni go free.
Let Roshal burn.
It wasn't like her life would be any worse off.
And so, Laila stared at the Djinni as she ran. She'd ceased to vanish, and instead sped alongside them with ease. So much ease, that Laila was certain that the Djinni could outpace them with hardly any effort. She should've run away. She should've left Lailight Scintillation and run all the way past Roshal's borders.
The way she moved... Laila was sure she'd been able to make it.
Each step hurled her through the air as if she was as light as a feather. She wasn't. A feather would float to the ground no matter how strong the person was who threw it. The Djinni flew as fast as an arrow. Then, she would put her foot down for the briefest of moments, and push off again. Or she would 'land', only to skim over the ground like it was covered in soapy water.
It was beautiful.
She was grace personified.
The terrain didn't matter. Rocks, trees, travelers going the other way... she avoided them all with a precision that was beyond what any Stringfolk could match. Some times she arced around to the side, but she never strayed too far from the caravan. Other times, she leapt over the obstacles with an enormous jump! Occasionally, she weaved through them as if she was dancing, and they were standing still.
It brought a smile to Laila's face. A small moment she'd try to treasure in the coming years. This memory would ha-
The Djinni tripped.
She'd put her foot down to spring off of a rock... and instead of her usual, powerful jump... she'd tripped.
The Djinni scrambled to her feet and started running again, but her previous grace was gone. She was running just as poorly as a mortal. Worse. One of her legs wouldn't support her, and she fell again.
She got back up.
She fell again.
Was that... blood? Was the Djinni bleeding?
Laila looked on in shock. Her precious memory had been shattered. The Djinni desperately ran after them, but soon fell behind due to her hobbled condition.
Perhaps... perhaps this might be for the best. Could it be possible that she'd just be left behind? It didn't matter what else might befall her, it was bound to be a far better outcome than what Riqre had planned.
Alas, that was not to be.
Riqre still glanced over at the Djinni from time to time, and he noticed when she wasn't there. The procession came to a halt. Before anyone could be dispatched to look for her, the Djinni limped forward and caught up.
'Her blood is gray.' It was an odd thought to have, but it was still a surprise to Laila.
The Djinni was injured.
HIS Djinni was injured!
Not by some great battle or forgotten spell. Not by some [Hero] or a relic from before the Waning Age. Not by another Djinni or an nearly extinct monster like a Treant.
No. It had hurt itself by TRIPPING ON A ROCK!
Riqre glowered at the magical mass that took the shape of a black and white woman. His Djinni smiled back at him.
It looked forced.
It looked like it was leering through the pain. As if the wound was far greater than it actually was!
Although... it might be. Djinni were creatures of magic. They didn't get physical wounds. Unless it had stepped on a discarded piece of magicore or on a buried magical blade... Even then, even that would merely deplete its essence. Its physical body was nothing but an illusion!
"Tend to it." His [Slaves] jumped to fulfill his order. They might not know a thing about Djinni, but even they could bandage a... skinned knee. And a sprained ankle? It certainly looked like that had been what happened from the way it ran and walked.
The Djinni snarled and raised its hand as his [Slaves] approached. The limb stopped in mid-swing before falling loosely to its side. That was good. It was proof that its bindings were working.
Still... Should he have taken it to be more thoroughly examined after all? Even if the bindings were working, there could still be... oddities of the Djinni's very nature. Anti-Magic? Stealth? Disintegration? Reforming? Unforming?
Riqre was looking forward to discerning its nature on his own. To have others test, probe, and examine HIS property?
He shook his head. Even if they did not tamper with its bindings or add any scrying aspects or other contingencies, it would wound his pride as a [Slave Master] to let another shape his greatest [Slave]!
Besides, there was still poor Meeria. He had promised her three more days to start to love him. Turning back to Lailight Scintillation would reduce that by at least one. Even if he left her jar on the outskirts again, he would be too busy inside the great city to give her the final chance.
It would break his heart to not provide that chance. The final day was when most of his [Slaves] had seen the light. Meeria would make a fine [Adoring Slave]. Her nose and cheek bones were exquisite, and subtly different from his other personal [Slaves].
No. It was unacceptable.
The Djinni doing this was unacceptable.
It was nothing more than a poorly thought out ploy!
"Creature!" He spoke, and the Djinni's eyes instantly locked on him. "Reform yourself."
A smile. A vicious smile and nothing more.
"Creature!" Riqre was having trouble keeping the rage out of his voice. "Heal yourself!"
It only continued to smile at him.
"Creature!" This was why shaping a Djinni into a perfect slave was so important. Their bindings forced them to obey, but if his wording could be misinterpreted, then it would be. "Explain to me what you are thinking right now."
A simple command, but an effective one. Any logical holes would be laid bare. In fact, he should give a standing order for the Djinni to tell him how his orders could be misconstrued. Having it reply to everything would be a minor annoyance in exchange for fixing any... issues.
The Djinni's mouth opened.
It started to speak.
"... ... ... ... .. ... ..."
Riqre stared blankly. The Djinni was no longer smiling. It emphatically moved its mouth and lips as if to talk... yet no noise came from it.
In fact, he couldn't remember it ever making so much as the smallest sound. Not when it moved. Not when it leaped in the air and landed. It certainly had never spoken before.
It hadn't even cried out during its binding!
Could... could one of its aspects be silence? Was noise anathema to it?
Riqre was torn between rejoicing at figuring out part of its nature already, and screaming in anger because it was incapable of communication!
Wait.
Unable to speak, it might be, but just as Djinni came into existence knowing language - it knew how to write!
"Fetch parchment and a quill!" His [Slaves] jumped to obey. "Hand it to the Djinni." They did, but got no response - aside from more 'spoken' non-words. "Creature. Stop speaking. Take the parchment and quill. Write down your thoughts."
The Djinni smiled. It took the writing implements, and started using them.
A [Slave] behind it gasped.
Oh? Were its thoughts that distressing? Riqre knew it had to harbor great animosity towards him, but that would change soon enough.
A drop of black liquid splashed the bottom of the carriage.
Riqre blinked.
Another drop, and another. One after another they fell from... the parchment.
"My master." The [Slave] behind the Djinni spoke. To address him without being addressed first? It must be important. "The words do not take."
"What?"
"The ink." The [Slave] gestured. "It flows off the parchment like water off of a duck."
"WHAT?"
Riqre clenched his fists and ground his teeth so hard he feared he might hurt himself.
Summary:
Zehia shows why it's hard to keep a high-level [Assassin] imprisoned. She escapes after learning Riqre is the main witness against her, and seeks her revenge.
Sibby displays malicious compliance as her body might be forced into following orders like a Djinni, but her power is unfettered. She purposely injuries herself and experiences pain for, perhaps, the first time.