Melody
He. Hated. Khisfire.

It wasn't the biggest surprise. He wasn't a man use to the sweltering heat of a desert. Each ray of sun that hit him felt like a taunt against his very existence. He was exhausted and out of water, heat stroke starting to take affect on his body. Azerrel's wings dropped down, tail hitting the hot desert floor as he pushed through the market stalls. He didn't move for long, soon collapsing across the ground as his legs finally gave out. He didn't even have enough water to sweat. 

Azerrel was utterly terrified. He hated how weak he felt out in the desert, unprepared and understocked. He had only packed enough water for a day of work back home, not having expected to use up so much of it throughout the first half of the day. He should have prepared better, or better yet he shouldn't have come here at all. He should have stayed back home where he knew it was safe, where he knew he wouldn't be bothered by the weather. Lazaroth wouldn't have done this to him, he just knows it. 

He had just enough energy to cover his coin purse and curse at a small rascal who tried to rob the downed man, curling up on his side to try and hide from the sweltering heat. People didn't pay the man much attention in his current state, walking around him and even over top in some cases. He was a tourist who wasn't prepared, they had all seen it before. Water was expensive, too, and who had time to share? The man didn't exactly look wealthy either, so they would find no great reward in helping him. So, he was left to cook on the market's floor.
Edith
*Heeled sandals clicked their way across the paving stones of the market. As she sauntered her way through the marketplace, people instinctively parted ways for the Madam. With the lower half of her face obscured by a thin veil, and her head shrouded in scarves, it wasn't hard to mistake her for a commoner. However, the jingle of bangles and the quality of her clothes exposed her status. Through the translucent weave of her scarves, one could make out the shape of her horns and follow the pattern of swirling ink that moved its way across the left of her upper body.*

*Vendors knew Kallista, she often came seeking all sorts of products for the Den, preferring to speak to them directly as she could assure that both parties would be satisfied. Now, as much as she was known to simply go about her business, ignoring the rest of the world's troubles (save the occasional impoverished children, for whom she regularly bought meals), today there was a foreigner here. And that, she could not simply ignore.*

*Approaching a nearby stall to scope out its products, the shape of the man curled on the dusty edge of the street caught her eye. 'Pitiful' was the first thought in her mind, but after only a moment of studying his figure and a quick exchange of words with the vendor of the stall, she was set to action. A dark shadow of her figure overcast the dehydrated man's face as a canteen of water, procured from underneath her scarves, was placed next to him. Deep brown eyes bore into him from above, as the figure rested a hand on her hip. Analyzing him closer, it was obvious why he had collapsed. His clothes, clearly not from anywhere near Khisfire, likely were suffocating in their heat. Combined with the radiance up above, it was only a matter of time before he bent the knee to the fiery temperature. When she spoke, her sultry voice filled the space between them with ease, and several passersby glanced in their direction before hurrying off.*

"Oh my, it seems someone isn't quite acquainted with the burning sun here~"

*As much as she wasn't keen on aiding any random man who collapsed in the street, Kallista saw an opportunity arise with this foreigner. Truth be told, it was a miracle he had yet to be carted off somewhere much more nefarious- she had gotten there just on time. Even if he seemed to be less wealthy than her usual clientele, any outsider had a tendency to catch her eye. Connections, to the woman, were just as important as money- more so these days. Perhaps he had a rich master or was here on some business. Either way, the succubus took specific pleasure in gathering information. The man before her was nothing short of intriguing.*
Melody
The foreigner wore clothes clearly of Lazaroth descent, the shield with a rearing wolf seen on his shoulder. It was a tad odd for someone to be so proudly displaying their kingdom colors in a foreign land, but it was the only kind of clothes the man had with him. He had thought that the weather would not be to bad, and so assumed he could simply wear his work clothes out of the palace without an issue. How wrong he had been, clothes soaked in sweat. His tail curled around his feet as he rested on the sandy floor, wings still dropped next to his side, defeated.

He felt pathetic. He felt weak. Lord above, he even felt scared as he laid on the ground of the market. He knew the dangers that came along with Khisfire, the slavers who wandered their streets freely. It was no surprise, then, that he flinched back at the water that was placed next to him. Instinctively covering his head from any further attack that may stem from the movement, he was utterly terrified it seemed. A jumpy man who did not want to risk being harmed, not even a bit. 

And yet no harm came to him.

His head tilted upwards to stare at the bedazzled shadow he was faced with, eyes landing on her horns. A tiefling, a concubus, he did not know for certain, but he felt safer in the presence of one who shared his traits. His hand shakily moved to the canteen, grabbing ahold of it and yanking it back as quickly as he could. Azerrel undid the top of the canteen as soon as he had a proper hold on it, hands shakily undoing the top. He started to down the water he waas provided with, drinking a good half of the canteen in mere moments. He was dehydrated as all hell, and so drank like his life depended on it. It did, in a way.

Azerrel slowed his drinking after a few moments, looking up at the one who had decided to save him. He did not know who the madam was, and so quietly asked, "Who are you?"
Edith
*As he lay pitifully amidst the dust and dirt, Kallista continued to survey the man before her. Slender fingers tapped against the silk of her skirt, causing the material to slightly ripple and shimmer in the blinding daylight. A gush of wind kicked up the grime, and the scarves shrouding the succubus's face fluttered in response. Light, confident chuckles came from behind the light material at his wariness despite his circumstances. She raised a brow as he drank, observing his desperation with curious eyes.*

*Despite being a connoisseur of local fashions, Kallista wasn't familiar with that of Lazaroth. However, the display of the sigil immediately caught her eye. His wings and tail though, threw her off. Admittedly, she didn't know much of the distant country, aside from the general knowledge of the public- which was primarily made up of rumors and biases. So far from home, what was a little dove such as him doing in Sol's Landing? Oh, how she thirsted for more information*

 "I am your humble savior, darling. Given your..." *Her piercing gaze moved over his frame once more as the smooth words fell from her lips,* "Predicament, I believe I'd like to get to know you first". *In the truth of the matter, he could ask nearly anyone in the city to identify the Madam. If not for her striking appearance, the nighttime whispers carrying her name often spread through the local population. She was not concerned with concealing her identity but prioritized finding his. A bit of powerplay never seemed to harm much in these instances.* 

"Quite the outfit you've got there, love. I have an affinity for those who dress as their own, but it looks more like, hm, a uniform- of sorts, no?" *With a click of her tongue the woman's shadow crossed the stranger's face as she took a single step toward him. Though she remained some distance from him, her eyes bore down as intensely as ever, a smirk outlined beneath a scarf that crossed over her mouth and nose.*
Melody
He had heard rumors of a Madam, truth be told. It was only when she stepped forward did the thoughts come swirling back to his mind, where he remembered the rumors of a lady. He did not wish to assume this was who the lady was, lest he be wrong. It was always quite rude to assume something about anyone, let alone assume someone worked in such.. Shady business. So, he pushed such thoughts out of his head and focused on the women in front of him. 

The man clearly had the traits of an incubus, but they were odd. Far too small to be a true born, they were dull. His wings were clearly incapable of flight, his tail was skinny and his horns looked like they had just grown in. It was unclear what else was mixed into his blood, showing no clear traits of any other species. While it wasn't uncommon to see a half breed concubus, given the nature of their feeding, it was rare to not be able to identify what he was. He simply looked like a young incubus, but was clearly older in age then his traits appeared.

He almost laughed at her words, but he was just smart enough to hold his tongue for the time. *Humble savior*. Such grand words from someone, so he knew that the lady viewed herself as important. He could feel the power imbalance emanating from her, one where he was the one lacking said power. It wasn't uncommon for him to be powerless when talking to another, but it did not make the feeling any nicer. It still made him feel ill to his stomach, knowing such an imbalance was present.


"It.. Is. It is a uniform, Miss. I simply do not have the coin to pay for my own clothes at the moment." With a nod, he spoke. His voice was hoarse from the lack of water, with his thirst just recently being quenched. His voice was not as smooth and silky as the Madam's. It almost felt uncomfortable for the man, Azerrel not being used to using it. It was such a strange feeling, talking to another besides one word answers. He kept his composure, though.