Thread: Under the Thumb of a Tyrant (Valanaer x Swagbeast)

Cain's presence brought with it an eerie tension. It was suffocating, so much so that she nearly felt a pair of ethereal fingers choking her throat. Though he was the embodiment of confidence, Ammon felt as she usually had indifferent. Her roguish features were always wan and her facade had less color than stone despite her bronzed complexion and its exotic elements. Taken ' advantage '? She took a pause, practically chewing on the word. It momentarily resonated, apparent by her contemptuous mien. Before refastening her bandeau, Ammon took one last look at herself in her mirror. She was a curvaceous woman if ever one lived with wide hips and long, powerful legs that carried her nubility with the strength of a stallion. Each of her knuckles were branded with alien markings, her palms as well, and similar markings were sewn into her forearms and spine. Even her mane was intimidating - a matted, starless mess, thick and wild and as unruly as a lion's. Eventually she shrugged into her robe - an oversized raiment with scalloped sleeves that were four sizes too large for her - and began unfastening her belt. The cool air sighing in through the glass panes overhead balmed her wound after she unwraveled her cummerbund and laid it in a heap with her heavier armour. As humans, we are wired to overreach. It has been our maxim since we first learned to walk. She plucked an ornate decanter of hipporcras from her desk and poured a glass full to the brim. The scent of cinammon bloomed pleasantly in her nostrils, quickening on her tongue as she took a far from prudent drawl. But I appreciate your concern and it does not go unnoticed. As any polite host Ammon poured Cain a glass of hippocras and offered it to him. She realized it was a queer taste in wine but it would facilitate in sleep and help keep her mind clear of unwanted anomalies. Those with captives in their possession will be dealt with accordingly, that I can promise, she reassured. Ammon had been a slave for a hefty portion of her life, those who supported the slave trade had a special hatred in her heart. But spoils, those cannot be returned. It's impossible to fund a cause based on preaching and doomsaying alone. She licked her lips, absentmindedly flicking the bead of obsidian below her bottom lip. The taste of the hippocras pacified her tastebuds but hadn't quite done the same with her ire. You want me to replace them. Replace them with ... men of honor and dignity, am I right? Her demonic hazel eyes flickered with transgression. Honor is a perverted thing, general Cain. I do not live by a code. Nor do I expect me men to. I ask only that they believe in my cause and adhere to my behests. Of course, I dislike their representation of my name - thus I am equipped to deal swift justice - but if I wished to hire an honorable man I would have hired a fool dressed in motley and have him parade about singing derisory shanties. She paused and eyed her general with the utmost discretion and took another sip of her wine. We are a largely passive order, but as of late those frowning upon my cause have grown increasingly hostile. Do not think for a second that I will not react. Ammon, like her cause, conveyed the utmost nonchalance. She was elegant but feral, aggressive but insouciant. I march, preaching, but some are threatened by my words. It is a sad day when men fear words more than swords. Even so. I cannot risk the chance that our enemy's affiliates will not rise when their superiors are defeated. Surely you can see my reasoning.