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This story is licensed under the Creative Commons

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© 2008 by Noisy Bob All Rights Reserved

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NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: The world this story is set in is the one of Onyx Tao's excellent story series Cold Blood (don't throw a fit, it's all open license and Tao's a great guy!) and is set into the timeline at around about chapter 3 - Green Fields - but is to be considered non-canonical, being purely a fanwork. If you enjoyed this then go check out Cold Blood which as of the writing of this is up to it's 13th chapter, I guarantee you won't be dissapointed.

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Cassius surveyed the wreckage of the coach carefully, it had been overturned and smashed half to pieces, one door bearing a Lycaili crest had been thrown away from the main body of the coach. Blood and dried gore had marred the road, seeping into the rain-tracks, but Arafal had insisted that it not be cleaned off yet and gone to prepare himself for a spell of divination. Smudged tracks surrounded the road on all sides but by the time he had arrived they were too windblown to make much of.

Cassius didn't doubt that this was the work of wolven though, not after seeing the bodies. The Justicars had mercifully removed the dead from the roadside and kept them covered up in the section house. The three humans had abject terror etched permanently onto their dead faces and were - and he felt nauseous even to consider it - partially eaten. The dead minotaur was too badly mutilated to identify by sight alone, he had to go through the deceased's effects before finding something he recognised - a travel pass bearing his signiature.

"Provost Viruk."

"Who?" said Arafal, who was poking through the few pieces of bric-a-brac that had survived the attack.

"An archeologist of the Lycaili university, quite well respected in his field as I understand, he sent a request for a travel pass a few days ago." replied Cassius, studying the thick parchment chit bearing his signiature as though it would reveal something more.

"Oh, do you know why?" Arafal said, leaving the miscellanea behind.

"He was supposedly going to examine the creator ruins in the valley basin outside central Kurga." said Cassius, stuffing the chit away inside the folds of his shirt.

"Daring fellow, from what I understand nobody has been able to make heads nor tails of the ruins since they were discovered."

"Yes, his loss will be a great blow to Lycaili accademia, but his death may have inadvertantly provided us with a compass to direct our investigations."

Arafal nodded, his horn-bells tinkling "Best to make sure first, I have a spell for situations like this."

His preparations now complete, Lord Chant approached the wrecked carriage, a servant scurried out in front and placed a padded kneeler on the ground before him. As the chanting that accompanied his magic began to build in the background he lowered himself onto the kneeler and pierced the palm of one hand on his horn-tip before clasping both hands tight together and closing his eyes, mumbling as if in prayer as his blood dripped onto the ground.

"Now's the time, boy." said Lord Chant to the servant after a good minute of intonation. The servant nodded and knealed before Lord Chant who drew a sigil on his forehead in blood and placed his hand on the humans brow, a Lens. As the servants eyes glazed over Cassius felt the air change subtly, growing seemingly colder and more clammy as a faint static charge built up around him, making the fur on the back of his neck stand on end, ever present was the chanting of Arafals signiature ringing in his ears.

Za Va Ka Ha Na-Ra Na-Ra, Zeh-Ho Ahhhh...Zeh-Ho Ahhhh...

A ghostly carriage came into view down the road, as though passing through a curtain, an echo of the past made visible by the magic of Lord Chant.

The carriages progression played out before him, in the corner of his eye Cassius saw a movement and turned to see a spectral wolven crouched in the ditch beside him, watching the carriage intently with its bared fangs dripping spittal in anticipation. It's pelt was snowy white, undoubtably Arcos. Cassius didn't want to watch what he knew was about to happen but he had to anyway and forced himself to observe the scene, searching for details.

The wolven charging in concert, the astonishment on the face of the driver as he spurred the horses on too late, lupine monsters crawling over the careening coach, the driver losing control while vainly trying to fend off an attacker, a bump in the road, a crash...

A massacre.

Provost Viruk had at least fought valiantly to the end, crushing one wolvens skull with a weighty steel-shod walking stick, but what chance did one elderly accademic and a few terrified slaves have against the mass of claws and fangs that descended upon them? None, he decided, seeing the wolven in action was more terrifying than reading any of the reports about their battle-prowess, the level of coordination they exhibited was bizzare, they moved as if with one will like a single monstrous beast that just so happened to occupy multiple bodies.

In the aftermath of the battle, just as the wolven had begun delighting themselves by tearing open the dead bodies of Viruk and his slaves, Cassius turned away in disgust.

"That's enough, Arafal, I want to see no more of this." he said, Lord Chant nodded and whispered something under his breath and the strange aura that had filled the air began to fade along with the gruesome scene being enacted by the phantom wolven.

Arafal's lens groaned as he came to and held his head in both hands for a moment before looking up with a start and positively leaping into Arafal's arms.

"M-Master...help, please...so cold..." he moaned desperately, Arafal placed one hand over the humans eyes and he swooned over.

Arafal sighed and rose to his hooves, slinging the lenses limp body over one shoulder and picking up the kneeler "Patience, you won't have to wait long, I promise." he said.

"Lets get back to the coach house, I trust you have all you need?" he said, turning to Cassius.

"Yes, more than I wanted really."

Arafal nodded and made a bee-line for their waiting coach where Archon Callidon was watching the proceedings. "Have the road cleared, our investigations here are complete, no need to worry passers by any further."

"Aye, Lord Chant. I'll have it seen to immediately." replied Callidon with a sharp salute.

Cassius climbed into the coach and tapped the roof to signal to Driver. Cassius settled back in his seat as the coach moved off to the tune of the horses hoofbeats. Lord Chant took a seat also, resting the head of his enspelled lens in his lap.

"Wolven, this far within Clan territory, it's unthinkable." said Cassius to the world as a whole.

"But it's a fact, Cassius. Sunlaus's Temporal Echo does not lie, it's practically impossible to fool." replied Lord Chant.

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that, tell me that it was more magical subjectivity." Cassius said.

Arafal shook his head gravely "I'm afraid not, the spell relays exactly what transpired at the time, only light-manipulating spells of illusion can decieve it and at this point there is no reason to think that any such magics were in use."

"Such spells are uncommon?"

"Virtually unused, it's water and earth magic doing a job suited for air magic, like trying to cut wood with a hammer - it's just the wrong tool for the job." said Arafal

"Allright, let's rule that out for now; how precisely do you smuggle a force of wolven this far inside our lands without someone noticing?"

Arafal shrugged "Kill anyone who notices would be my first bet, it wouldn't be hard, especially with assistance from a mage."

"But surely someone would notice the missing?" said Cassius.

"These are harsh lands, Cas. And the mountains are crawling with monsters the like of which even I don't want to think about and in any case a wolven attack is likely the last thing that would occur to any investigator, even if they did suspect skullduggery." replied Arafal.

Cassius huffed his frustration and gazed idly out the side window "At least we have an inkling of where to look next, if your conjecture that Arcos clave really is in league with this rogue-"

"Which they are." Interrupted Arafal, Cassius was constantly irritated by the way Manticore clansmen ignored proper decorum but let it go, it was just a difference of perspective. Still, it was galling to be interrupted and corrected like that, it was like being spoken to as if one were a human.

"-if he is," repeated cassius, pointedly "then it was likely no coincidence that the late Provost Viruk was targeted, the next direction to take is the creator ruins, we have to know why this rogue didn't want those ruins to be spied upon."

"You realise, of course, that if we do go to the ruins we are likely to recieve much the same welcome as those sorry bastards currently under tarpaulin back there?" said Arafal, bluntly, as he rifled through the coaches small drinks cabinet.

"That's why we're going to wait for my guards to arrive before progressing further, I am no fighter and that means that if we were to encounter trouble then we would have to rely on your talents and if something were to happen to you...Ah, if only Diomedes were here this would be so much less difficult." said Cassius, accepting a tumbler of lantail-infused gin from Arafal.

Knowing what he did now about the activities of Arcos clave and their possible connection to a mage of dark purpose had renewed his old worries about Diomedes's safety. He tried to snap himself out of it, chiding himself for thinking that any number of wolven stood a chance before Dio's axe, he'd slay fifty to the left then fifty to the right and still be hungry for more.

Still, some things couldn't be fought with steel and Tempus alone, regardless of the wielders skill, the image of Diomedes struck down by mage-fire had become a constant fixture of his nightmares. To be unable to even send a missal of warning to the border for fear of alerting Arafal's quarry too soon filled him with a tension that gripped him like a skeletal hand closing around his heart. But the attack on Viruk had been too well-planned, they knew he was coming and that meant that his mail must have been intercepted, it seemed the roots of this rogues treachery ran deep indeed.

When they got back to the coach house Arafal immediately retreated to his rooms carrying his spellbound human without saying a word. His position had permitted Cassius to be privy to lore that most uninitiated were unaware of so this behaviour came as little suprise to him, channelling a spell of that potency would invevitably induce overwhelming levels of lens-euphorea and the ride back, being denied satisfaction and with nothing more than physical contact to take the edge off, was sure to have been torture for the lens.

Back in his suite Scribe was still at work, he stepped away from the rooms small writing desk and kneeled as Cassius entered. For a feral to be responding almost like a native in such a short period of time was uncanny, it was so unexpected that it even forced a smile to his face despite his gloomy ponderings. A worthy purchase indeed, even discounting the reduction of tedium that the little feral brought he was a suprisingly erudite conversationalist, lacking the childish dependancy that those born in bondage did and possessing a penetrating wit along with a stimulating, if mildly disturbing, habit of intellectuallising each new experience and discovery to breaking-point. Someone capable of holding an interesting conversation was worth their weight in gold when the melancholia overtook him, Arafal was boisterous and knowledgable on many matters but he did grate on one after a while. There was one other valuable quality he possessed; his unusual susceptibility to the influence meant that Cassius could feel free to bask in the humans own influence without risk, and that would help quell the ache of lonliness immensely.

"Rise, Scribe. How goes your work?" he said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Nearly complete, Master. Just two more missals left." came the meek reply, he still looked at the floor when Cassius spoke to him, a forgivable failing.

"Leave them for now, we will be returning to Adamant Manor this evening." said Cassius lowering himself onto the bed "Come, Lie with me a while."

Scribe nodded and climbed up beside him, his flustered difficulty at scaling the bed, which to him was chest-high, never ceased to amuse Cassius, He had long thought that watching a feral adjust to what to them was an alien evironment was one of the few benefits of the training process, it was just so funny to watch, like a newborn foal taking its first steps.

He wrapped one arm around Scribes chest, feeling the butterfly beating of his heart beneath his hand, and took a deep breath of the fresh-bread scent of human.

"Master?" said Scribe, tentatively, after a minute or two in Cassius's embrace

"Yes, Scribe?"

"Is there something wrong?"

"Why would you say that?" said Cassius, suprised at the humans perceptiveness.

"You seem...I don't know how to describe it, just tense I suppose, but not quite...I don't know, I just thought I could sense something amiss." said Scribe, rambling slightly.

"Yes, things have been...perturbatory of late, but these things cannot be confronted at this time so I would rather not dwell on them. Content yourself in the fact that you are helping to allay these troubles." Cassius said, lifting himself a short bit off the bed and resting his head on one hand, Scribe shifted round so that they were facing eachother.

"But enough of that, a different topic of conversation perhaps; you seem to be assimilating well, ferals typically find it much more difficult."

Scribe shrugged slightly "I honestly can't think of any reason why." he said simply.

"Oh? Are you not frightened by the prospect of slavery?" probed Cassius.

"Yes." came the reply "At first anyway, I thought I was going to end up worked to death in a mine or something. But this...this isn't like it is in the Empire." he said.

"Explain." said Cassius, intrigued by the flow of thought.

"Well, you've treated me so well, a slave in the Empire would not have been nearly so well treated, even a skilled one." said

Scribe "I...when I used to live in Dioclepia I worked all day just to scrape together enough money to rent a small room over a tannery and keep bread and wine in my stomach, it was all I could afford. But here..."

"Go on, i'm interested." said Cassius, softly.

"Here I do much the same thing but sleep in a manor, eat so well I think i'm actually starting to gain weight, my health is improving, and...and I actually get told my work is appreciated. I can't help but wonder; at what time was I really most a slave?" he said finally.

Cassius blinked in suprise and laughed aloud "What a fascinating outlook on life, pleasingly pragmatic, you have the soul of a philosopher, Scribe."

Scribe smiled, blushing slightly "Thank you, Master."

"Bear in mind though that your experience is not universal, my clan is by far the most egalitarian with regards to the treatment of our slaves, were you purchased by a clansman of Ouroboros, or Manticore for that matter, things would likely have been somewhat more traumatic for you. There are even a few of my own clansmen who would not have been so kind."

Cassius rolled onto his back and stared intently at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"Kurganalia will be commencing soon, first this venture and now that, what a bother." he said Wearily, shifting the topic.

"Kurganalia, Master? A festival of some sort?" said Scribe, quizzically.

"Indeed, a commemoration of the city founding, a whole week of celebrations. Entertainers from miles around come during the Kurganalia, I always appreciated the street theatre and acrobats the most but the focus of the event is the ceremonial fights."

"So Warhound and the others will be..."

"Yes, Hopefully Dio should be returning soon, Warlord Diomedes is the Officiator of Ceremonies, he oversees the fights and his fighters are expected to put on the best show. The position is not unakin to that of a priest in your Empire." explained Cassius.

"A priest?" said Scribe in a puzzled tone.

"Yes, festival fights are heavily ritualised and have much superstition attatched to them, fought with ceremonial weapons in pre-ordained combinations such as the 'Harrowing of Kurga', during which a group of human fighters are dressed at hunting dogs, with masks and furs and the like, and fight a single unarmed but heavily-armoured minotaur slave. It's supposed to represent the mountain battles with the Kurgani." said Cassius "It's usually considered a bad omen if the harrowers win, they rarely do, though."

"Oh, they have something sort of like that in the Empire, exhibition matches. Sometimes they even flood the colisseum and enact naval battles, i've never seen one of those before though." replied Scribe, apparently quite interested.

"I wasn't aware that the Empire practiced bloodsports, you attended these matches?" Cassius said.

"When I could afford to, or when the Emperor declared a day of free games as a celebration." said Scribe.

"And there was me worried that you might end up being upset if I took you to the arena with me, I always found the whole business highly unpleasant and the trappings of ritual make it all the more distasteful in my eyes." said cassius.

"No, Master, I always enjoyed the fights, especially when Verena was on the cards."

"Verena?"

"A gladiatrix I supported, a female fighter." said Scribe.

"And that's usual?" inquired Cassius.

"Gladiatrix are pretty rare, actually, they draw a good crowd though. I always thought she was beautiful, even wearing armour, especially wearing armour." said Scribe, wistfully.

Cassius chuckled to himself and pulled scribe ontop of him, clasping both hands around his chest, the human made a suprised noise but didn't protest. "Well then, you shall accompany me during the Kurganalia, at least one of us might get something out of it and significant ammounts of paperwork usually change hands around that time so i'll have use of you, the Manticore consider the arena to be a prime venue to make deals, for reasons both practical and symbolic."

Scribe nodded "It's much the same in the Empire, all the senators attend the colisseum for the same reason, even the ones that don't enjoy the fights."

"Argh, why is it that when one mixes business and pleasure the end result is little of either?" said Cassius with a sigh. It was about that time that he became aware of how hungry he was.

"Scribe, are you hungry?" he said.

"Er...yes, Master, a bit." came the reply.

Cassius snorted "More than 'a bit' I suspect, you've eaten less than me and i'm famished." He swung his legs off the bed and rose to a sitting position, scribe hopping off his lap "To the restaurant, I think, come."

The coach house's restaurant made up much of the lower floor and doubled as a drinking establishment, travellers from a bevvy of different clans were arranged there and the constant background wash of conversation filled the air in addition to the peppery smoke of the water-pipes filled with smouldering euphoric herbs being shared by some of the clientelle. Cassius reserved a private booth off to one side and ordered a selection of cold cuts and accompaniments along with a pitcher of Karkaden and second plate and cup. Scribe kneeled at his side when commanded, apparently having gotten used to the slightly uncomfortable position, and scanned the room with darting eyes, fascinated by the unfamilliar sights and trying to take in as much as possible.

Surrounded by voices, other lives, Cassius was finally able to feel something resembling normal. The soul-crushing depression he suffered was incurable, he had consulted mages on the matter of memory-suppression therapy and even memory modification but they all said the same thing; it was something he was born with, a result of imbalanced humours, not a derangement, and their magics couldn't change that, the only recourse left to him was to flee from it by any means available. Duty was his typical balm, his dedication to his Clan and refusal to allow personal problems to interfere with the execution of his duties helped to cover it beneath a veneer of irreproachability. But really it was fellowship that proved to be the truest medicine, not to mention the fact that on several occasions it had only been through the action of Diomedes that he had been saved at the worst times, when the knife was at his throat, the poison in his hand...

But it had been some time since he'd been that bad, his disgust and horror at witnessing the wolven attack had brought much back but he wasn't suicidal by a long stretch.

A human waitress brought his order and asked if there was anything else he desired but he dismissed her with a wave. He placed a few of the cuts on the second plate along with some roasted vegetables and bread and set it down for Scribe with a cup of the bright-red chilled tea.

"It's made from a type of dried flower, quite bitter but it's an acquired taste." he said, noting Scribes puzzlement at the drink.

"Thank you, Master. This is a minotaur drink?" said Scribe, taking a sip and wincing slightly from the tart flavour of the drink but seemingly not finding it unpalateable, or at least being too polite to say otherwise, probably a combination of the two.

"Yes, though perfectly safe for humans, quite refreshing too."

Scribe nodded and experimentally tried a piece of roasted pepper. Halfway through his meal Arafal joined Cassius, his entrance drawing a flurry of whispered conversation and wary glances as he strode across the room, the Manticore were distrustful of Mages, even ones who were their own.

"Doesn't that bother you?" said Cassius, taken aback by the sheer afrontery of the reaction.

"Hmmm? Oh, that." Arafal took the booth seat opposite him, drawing the curtains of the booth shut behind him, and setting down his flagon of dark ale "No, it's perfectly understandable, you forget; I have witnessed the crimes magic is capable of first hand, and made a career out of it."

He took a draught from the two-pint mug of ale before continuing. "Some do get a bit hysterical about it though, just a month hence I picked up a human who had been thrown out on the street when they started to manifest a signature, an action on the part of their master that was both dangerous and dishonourable, I took great pleasure in leveling a heafty fine on him." said Arafal with relish.

"Oh, where are they now?" inquired Cassius.

"Recuperating upstairs after a heavy bout of lens-euphorea and a good, hard fuck I should hope, otherwise I really am losing my touch." he replied with a grin.

"Ah, I see. I do hope his signature isn't anything that'll ruin the upholstery, do you know Lord Fog?"

"Only by reputation, hard luck, that fellow. My current lens only has a minor effect, nothing to worry about, his presence turns water into blood, slowly though." said Arafal, taking another swig.

"Charming, as if there hasn't been enough gore flying around today." Cassius said, covering his eyes with his hand in mock despair.

"Well, it's not real blood, just reddish water that tastes and smells the same. Enough to frighten a superstitious commoner though."

"Then I shall take heart when my flower vases end up filled with a substance that is only practically identical to blood." Cassius said, rolling his eyes. Arafal guffawed and brushed the curtains aside, signaling to a bar slave who hurried over to him.

"How much for the use of the pipes?" he said.

The slave girl curtseyed before replying "Two coppers, sir. For as long as pleases you."

"Aye, bring one over then." he said, pressing a couple of coins into the girls hand.

When the pipe was brought round, a hefty affair of glass and bronze with a smoking handle trailing off a braided tube, he filled the bowl on top with some reddish-gold leaves taken from a pouch in his shirt. Rather than taking a wick to light it he just placed one fingertip in the bowl and it began to smoke instantly. He placed the wooden handle to his lips and took a long, indulgent drag, rising bubbles through the pipe-water, and held it for a second before exhaling with a sigh of enjoyment.

"Do you partake, Cas?" he said, proffering the handle.

"It's not a Lycaili tradition but Diomedes persuaded me to try it." he said, taking the handle and drawing a few short stacatto puffs before handing it back.

"Hah, he's a bad influence on you!" laughed Arafal "I thought you Lycaili were practically ascetic in your tastes."

"Oh, we appreciate the finer things in life just fine, thank you." Cassius said, his mood lifted by the euphoric herbs, Arafals own blend by the taste of it. They conversed about small matters for a while, both trying to forget what they saw that day, though Cassius knew that Arafal imbibed to forget alot more than that, his had been a long life and he'd seen so much...

"Well, I suppose i'll be the responsible one and ready the coach." said Arafal when the available topics had finally run dry.

"Meet me outside in a bit, and try not to fall asleep." the last statement was made with an undertone of humour at Cassius's relatively low tollerance for pipe-smoke.

Cassius nodded groggily and finished the last of the Karkaden. Once Arafal had left he suddenly remembered about Scribe, still kneeling attentively though blinking and nodding dizzily from the smoke.

"Come up here, Scribe." he said, patting the bench next to him. The little human looked around in confusion for a split-second before rising shakily to his feet and sitting next to Cassius with a mumbled "Yes, Master."

Cassius grinned at the sight, the herbs had a much stronger effect on humans with their smaller bodies and less robust metabolisms, even just a few fumes left him mildly befuddled.

"Hardly seems fair..." he said to himself before taking the handle of the pipe and offered it to Scribe "here, there should be another short toke left and it would be a waste to leave it, i've had my fill."

Scribe looked at the handle quizzically before taking it and putting it to his lips, he inhaled and quickly let out a spluttering cough that slowly faded away. When he regained his composure he leaned back and groaned contentedly, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, a faint, beatific expresion on his face.

"Yes, Arafal's blend isn't the smoothest but it has quite the kick to it." he said, smiling at the reaction.

Scribe leaned over and rested against his shoulder, probably without realising. "Hmmm, it can have another effect on humans, tends to induce arousal, or so i'm told." he said, upon realising that Scribe, no, this was intimate enough for him to be Claudius, was indeed trying to get closer to him but had enough control left to restrain himself, he started when Cassius said that and looked shame-faced as he tried to slide away. Before he did Cassius, put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's allright, Claudius, there's no need to be ashamed, I thought you would have realised by now." he said, kindly.

"It's...it's not that, Master. It just came as a shock, that's all." Claudius said, weakly.

"Oh? Well, there is one way to clear both our heads." said Cassius, undoing the ties on the front of his trousers.

"Here? Now!?" said Claudius, clearly suprised.

"Where else?" Cassius said, puzzled by Claudius's reaction.

"But there's people!" he exclaimed, trying to keep his voice low.

Cassius suddenly understood and shook his head "And why else do you think these booths have curtains? Besides, didn't you notice that Arafal placed a privacy spell around this place? It's still there."

Realisation appeared on the herb-addled humans face before sinking into hungry focus, he dropped to the floor and kneeled before Cassius, leaning down to undo the rest of the ties.

"That's it," said Cassius "just do what comes naturally."

Cassius sighed as Claudius suckled on the head of his shaft, rolling his tongue around it in circular motions and slowly stroking him with deft fingers. Cassius entwined his fingers through the supine humans flowing aughburn hair, such a pretty, coppery colour, and guided the speed of his motions. He cooed and gasped quietly as Claudius slid a roving hand down the front of his breeches to knead his sack, rolling his testes between palm and fingers, and felt Claudius respond in turn to the expressions of his pleasure.

"Ah, You certainly make up for inexperience with enthusiasm." he said under his breath, if Claudius heard him he made no sign of it, seemingly lost in the act. Claudius slowly worked further down his shaft, taking more and more of his length into his mouth, the pressure rubbing against his glans made cassius shudder as Claudius milked him, making small contented noises in the back of his throat.

When he felt that he was approaching full arousal Cassius lifted Claudius's head from his lap, the human looked up at him in confusion before he was lifted bodily and set down on the booths table, Cassius brushing aside the few obstacles with the side of his arm. Cassius leaned down and kissed the unresisting boy, tasting his own scent mingled with Claudius's own yeasty human aroma. He held Claudius by the wrists, pinning him to the tables surface, careful not to hurt him but just applying enough pressure so that he knew he was safe, warm and his. One hand slid along Claudius's thigh, reaching under the brief tunic that made up almost the entirety of what he wore and tugging off his loincloth. He shifted his grip underneath Claudius's shoulders for better purchase and the boy rested his now-free arms around his neck, urging Cassius not to break off the kiss. He could feel Claudius shudder beneath him when the tip of his shaft touched his pucker and the moans of hot breath that escaped his mouth as he slowly entered the deliciously tight passage until he was almost hilted. Claudius locked his legs behind Cassius's back, keeping him close as he thrust into the ecstatic human with long, slow, steady strokes that coaxed choked moans and whimpers of bliss from the depths of Claudius's mouth.

"No need to hold back, with the spell up you can be as loud as you like, nobody will hear." he said to Claudius inbetween deep breaths. Claudius nodded, he was too addled by the experience to respond with words but his expressions became less restrained.

Cassius began to loose his awareness, just letting the rhythmic motions in time to shudders running through Claudius work a hypnotic spell on him, building to peak like waves crashing against a cliff until it toppled and fell. The heady scent of passion-sweat around him was sweeter than incense, the sweet human scent so oddly reminiscent of freshly baked bread marred only by the lingering pipe smoke, and he let the sensation carry him, feeling the walls of the humans guts spread and stretch as he pounded deep into them, keeping just a single piece of his concentration focused on not exerting his full strength and risking hurting Claudius.

An enticing tingling had begun to rise in his loins and he braced for orgasm, It went off like an arrow shot from a bowstring, suddenly and penetratingly intense. He pulled claudius back off the table and held him tight to his lap as the ecstacy hit him, unloading a shuddering stream of seed into the humans arched body, lowing so loudly that he wondered for a second whether even Arafals magic could quieten it. They collapsed against eachother, panting from exertion and relief and were still for a while, soaking up the afterglow.

After a while his breathing slowed to a manageable level and he looked down at Claudius "Feeling a little more alert now?"

Claudius nodded weakly and untangled himself from Cassius, fishing about on the floor for his discarded undergarments. When they emerged from behind the curtain the sounds of the room suddenly intensified as Arafals magic dissapated, Claudius looked a little red-faced to be surrounded by unfamiliar faces so soon but none of them seemed any the wiser.

Arafal was waiting in the coach outside, Driver opened the door for Cassius and he and Claudius climbed in, Claudius was about to take his usual position on the floor but Cassius stopped him.

"Sit beside me, I think you've earned a little comfort." he said.

"Thank you, Master!" Claudius said, visibly overjoyed.

Cassius looked across to Arafal, who was smirking unabashedly. "And what, praytell is so amusing, my Lord Chant?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing." he said impishly "Good thing I left my privacy spell on a contingency cutoff though, eh?"

As they rode Cassius and Arafal discussed possible hypothesese and strategies for how to carry on the investigation, Arafal seemed eager to move out and delve the Creator Ruins as soon as possible but Cassius argued him down with all the possible dangers such a hasty action could engender. They were within sight of Kurga when their conversation was cut through by a terrifying roar of deafening proportions. The coach shuddered to a halt and the horses whinneyed fearfully, shaking the coach.

"What in the hells was that!?" exclaimed Cassius "Is it wolven?"

Arafal shut his eyes for a moment and his signiature again picked up before his eyes sprung open and he rushed outside, the coach door slamming against the body, Cassius stood to follow him out.

"Wait here!" he commanded to Scribe before stepping into Tempus, entering that crystaline other-world of slow time.

Outside, Arafal was staring down the montrous shape of a Manticore, standing ten foot tall at the shoulder, the creature from which his clan took its name. A terrible fusion of human, lion, bat and scorpion. Cassius had never seen one in he flesh before, they were incredibly rare, mistakes left behind by the creators. For some reason the fusion of human and animal created something greater than either, the fusion of human and multiple creatures created something so much worse.

The beast regarded Arafal through bloodshot eyes, it's features leonine but posessing human-like expressiveness, from time to time it's wings or segmented tail would lash menacingly. Arafal stood his ground, staring back at the Manticore with just the same ammount of conviction.

"Arafal! Get away from there!" Cassius hissed, watching the monster advance.

"Can't do that, Cas. It has to be contained before it causes any harm." said Arafal, a misty luminescent halo surrounding him as his signiature boomed in the background. Arafal raised one hand and made a claw-fingured gesture at the monster.

Za Va Ka Ha Na-Ra Na-Ra, Zeh-Ho Ahhhh!

The Manticore roared and charged at him, catching him unawares, moments before tackling him it stopped in it's tracks and arched it's back to strike with its tail stinger. Arafaltook a step backwards in suprise but would have been impaled on the venom-dripping spike had Cassius not rushed past in Tempus and dragged him out of the way.

"Damn your bravado!" snarled Cassius "How you lived this long i'll never know!"

The Manticore roared again and reared up on it's hind legs, batting it's sail-like wings and rising into the air.

"Quickly, scatter, it's going to dive!" cried Arafal, pushing Cassius away and darting aside.

With an ominous whistling the Manticore dropped from the sky, Cassius made a Tempus jump out of the way of its path and looked back in horror to see it descending onto the coach, Driver had jumped down and was trying to alert Scribe and Arafals lens but they wouldn't get free before the monster smashed the coach to matchwood.

Cassius was helpless to do anything but watch, even with Tempus he couldn't stop it in time, he just wasn't skilled enough...

Another whistling accompanied the Manticores descent and he watched in amazement as the Manticore suddenly swerved in mid air and was thrown away from the coach, crashing torturously to the ground with a chain bola tangled around its body.

"Are you unharmed, Ambassador?" came a voice from beside him, a Minotaur dresed in black leather and steel armour had appeared and was offering a hand up, which he took.

"Fine, who are-?" he started before arafal cut him off.

"What-ho, friend Hunter!" Yelled the mage "Great timing there!"

The Hunter shrugged as a number of similarly dressed minotaurs appeared and drove stakes through the Manticores wings, pinning it to the ground. "I should be begging your forgiveness, we were transporting it down from the mountains for the Kurganalia but it got loose."

"I can passify the beast by magic if you desire."

"Nay, we have ways of our own and will be more vigilant in future." replied the hunter.

"See that you do. If I had found out that my servants had been killed because of some barbaric sideshow attraction you can guarantee that i'd have the head of the one responsible." Cassius hissed acidly, striding off with a flourish and not taking a glance back.

Arafal caught him by the sleeve and got close to him to whisper "What was all that about? It was just a mistake, Cassius. There's no need to go off on him like that."

"Arafal, I don't expect you to understand this but I hate feeling powerless, especially when someones life is on the line." said Cassius, Testily, brushing Arafals hand off him.

"I understand well enough." he protested.

"No, you don't. And I hope you never will, I truly do." he stared at the sky for a moment, trying to forget that moment when he kew thee was nothing he could do but watch as claudius was about to be crushed to a bloody pulp by the ravening beast, strangely so similar to what had happened to Provost Viruk.

"Come on," he said, snapping himself out of his reverie "Let's just get away from here."

Arafal made a careful rumble of assent in the back of his throat and followed him to the coach silently, the three humans waiting there looked shaken but otherwise not too badly perturbed. Cassius wanted to reassure them that everything was fine, that they were never in any danger, that he was capable of carrying out his reponsibility, his one responsibility to them, to protect them from harm.

But he couldn't. To say otherwise would be a lie.