moonshadows

Sweet, merciful gods of my ancestors, Joshua thinks. It’s a shark pit. Why am I here?

The Minister of War catches his eye and smirks. His eyes go a little bit wider as he catches her implication that she knew this would happen, something confirmed when she gives him a tiny nod before verbally cutting the metaphoric legs out from under the Minister of Health.

And I thought the start of this meeting was bad. No wonder she insisted on going first.

The Warlord’s cabinet meeting had started as cordially as the Warlord usually got – that is to say, snide comments and arrogance towards everyone, disparaging remarks and a general lack of respect towards the highest members of his government. The Minister of War had gone first, her report and ongoing commands dealt with in relative civility. Agriculture and Industry followed, with the discourse growing sharper, less patient, more insulting. When it came to State’s turn, things started getting ugly.

They have to know his temper. Are they trying to get killed?

In horrified awe he watches as the cabinet meeting descends into anarchy and madness, personal insults and threats, screaming and growling and blatant disrespect all around. This isn’t unexpected coming from the Warlord, although he’s usually not this bad. Most people recognize the danger and back down, however, and the ministers actually seem to be…

No, I have to be wrong. They wouldn’t.

The blood drains from Joshua’s face as he realizes that the ministers are deliberately riling up their lord. He’s been quiet for most of the meeting, after the first initial attempts to speak resulted in him getting verbally shot down from just about every direction. Now, he does his best to be invisible, certain that at any moment, the Warlord will snap and kill them all. All attempts at getting anything done have been abandoned in favor of an all-out verbal brawl in which nothing seems to be off-limits. The ministers seem to prefer insulting and accusing one another rather than taking verbal shots at their lord, the only sign of self-preservation Joshua’s witnessed so far.

“At least my paramours are all adults,” the minister of Justice retorts snidely after his sexual preferences have been called to everyone’s attention.

State is unfazed by the implication and smiles broadly. “Well, we can’t all have tasty little morsels following us around like our esteemed master.”

Two fists strike the table so hard it jumps. For just an instant, Joshua is certain he saw horns and wings.

“OUT OF MY SIGHT, ALL OF YOU!” The Warlord is on his feet, eyes blazing.

As though they had been waiting for this, the ministers leap to their feet and hurry towards the door, eyeing their Lord warily as they scurry by him. State, however, comes just a hair too close and one hand is suddenly around the flabby man’s throat, squeezing, lifting the minister until his toes flail for purchase against empty air.

“You will never speak in such a way about my demon again, is that understood?”

State chokes out something that sounds like an apology, and the Warlord throws him through the doorway where he impacts Finance and Health, knocking them both down. War is the last to leave aside from Joshua, and she takes a moment to give her master a half-bow before picking her way past the tangle of limbs. Far from being placated by this gesture, the Warlord lets out a growl that chases her down the hall and makes the three ministers on the ground flail in panic, pushing and kicking at one another until they are separated enough to get to their feet and flee – or, in Finance’s case, simply crawl out of sight.

Once the last minister is gone, the Warlord lets out a wordless bellow of rage and flips the table over – no mean feat, given the length and weight of the thing – then sees that Joshua is still sitting, trembling with fear, in his chair.

“I said all of you,” he hisses, eyes glowing green and the shadows of wicked claws gracing the ends of his fingers as he raises his hands slowly.

Joshua has no wish to be thrown out into the hall. He flees, taking refuge in an alcove some distance away to catch his breath. A few minutes later, however, the sounds of angry boots come echoing up the corridor. Joshua holds his breath and presses himself flat against the wall, and the neither the Warlord nor his four guards see him as they march past. Despite himself, he is curious as to where his Lord would go after the disastrous meeting. The echoes aren’t hard to follow, and he curses his curiosity as he trails quietly after them.

When the echoes lead down the corridor that dead-ends at the Warlord’s private gym, Joshua ducks back around the corner. Why is he going there? The gym is not the first place Joshua would have gone if he were in a murderous mindset. But then again, what does he know about the way his Lord’s mind works? Maybe in whatever crazy demon world he comes from where keeping teenage girls isolated for days at a time is perfectly okay, a brisk workout is exactly the thing to take your mind off the desire to kill your ministers.

“Uncle Josh, I’m a demon. Things are different for me!”

“I am aware that sometimes, I need to hear it.”

Something in those two memories clicks together, and Joshua suspects that his Lord actually is trying to take his mind off of the desire to murder his ministers. If the Warlord really does know that he’s unstable, this would be one of the times that he needs to hear it…but not from Josh. No, the happiest Joshua has ever seen his Lord was after he’d spent time in the gym with Tessa – and at this point, Joshua doesn’t care what it is that she does with him behind those doors. Cabinet meetings that descend into screaming matches are not an effective way to govern, and he doubts his Lord really wants to be this angry at ministers he’s reluctant to kill.

This is going to be a gamble. Well, if I’m wrong, at least she’s certain he won’t hurt her.

Joshua heads for his niece’s suite.

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"I'm here to bring the Warlord his demon."

The two guards look at each other while Joshua sweats. "You don't have the amulet."

"She's fully bonded to the Warlord," Joshua lies. "The amulet is unnecessary; his word alone controls her."

They share another look. One unlocks the door while the other keeps him discreetly covered with his weapon. "If you're telling the truth, the demon will go with you. If she refuses..." The guard trails off ominously.

"Open the door," Joshua says with false confidence.

The door opens, revealing Tessa waiting on the other side, in the white outfit she'd embroidered with otherworldly runes. Joshua isn't sure whether this is reassuring or unnerving.

"In the name of the Lord you serve, you are commanded to accompany me, for he has summoned you." Please don't argue, please don't fight this, please don't ask questions...

"I hear and obey the words of my Lord," she says calmly, and Joshua just barely keeps himself from sighing with relief.

As she follows Joshua through the halls, she listens very intently to his buzzing thoughts, trying to figure out why he's bringing her to their Lord without orders. All she can make out is that her Lord is very angry, and Joshua is both scared, and certain that he's doing the right thing. The fear flares up enough to nearly obliterate that certainty as he turns up the corridor that ends at the Lord's private gym, but he keeps walking until the guards at the door move to bar his way.

"I am delivering the demon," he says, mind shrieking terror and uncertainty.

"We have orders to keep everyone out," one guard says belligerently.

"And I have orders to deliver her," Joshua lies.

"The Lord gave no order to bring her that we heard."

"Maybe so, but I have my orders."

"And we have ours, and they say no one enters."

She tunes them out, listening for his fractured mind. Through the door, she can barely make out the agonized sound of a thousand mind-blades spinning. Maybe he didn't give Joshua the order to bring her to him, but she needs to be here all the same. A quick distraction spell covers the guards and her uncle, and she takes one step-

-the physical world fades out, replaced by the writhing energy of the Twisting Nether. A second step takes her past the door and into the gym. A third step-

-the world fades back in and her hooves make no sound on the rubber floor as she retrieves her blades from their cabinet.

The Warglaives of Azzinoth trail lines of glowing green as they spin around him. The blades of his mind scream anger and pain, and she knows that gentle reassurance will not soothe them this time. She should be worried, she thinks absently, but somehow she has become the vessel of his will, and nothing matters but the pattern being woven, the ritual of motion. She takes up a position closer to him without being close enough that he might accidentally hit her, waits for him to start the routine over again, and follows his lead.