<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/218/f/f/blood_and_steel_by_wraithdt-d5a3htl.jpg)</div></div><br/>It'd been a quiet night for the most part. Supper was particularly flavorful, closer to the type of cooking Methuseld had been used to - sweet, tangy, with plenty of fruits and sauce-drenched meats. Then she sat in her office, writing some orders to be enacted tomorrow morning - mostly small changes in protocols. A few men knocked on the heavy wooden slab of a door that barred unwelcome visitors entry and requested her direction on certain other minor matters. Her tasks for the evening done, Methuseld retired to her bed chamber, where she stripped off her armor, under armor, and undergarments and settled into the hot bath that had been prepared by the slaves a few minutes earlier.<br/><br/>Steam was still rising off of the water when a loud knocking sounded. "What is it?" Came the annoyed, gruff, accented voice of the general. It was husky, with just the faintest hints of a feminine melodiousness that flared up particularly when certain vowels were stretched out for too long, or certain consonants made softer. The rolled R's were particularly noticeable for those who hadn't gotten used to the foreign general's speech, though most people had been around enough slaves from foreign lands that no one were too taken aback.<br/><br/>"General - thieves have broken into the sorceress's chambers and stolen something! The Vizier wants to see you-"<br/><br/>"Tell him I'll be there shortly." Methuseld sat up, her pale damp locks falling limply to her creamy-fair skinned shoulders. Just the tops of her substantial breasts peaked out of the water, but although the guard was not in the room, she did not expose herself just yet. When she heard receding armored footsteps, she stood up, powerful body glistening as rivulets of hot water dripped down and dried herself off and re-dressed.<br/><br/>Securing her sword at her side, the heavily armored woman made way to the Vizier. He was a vile man, and she was loathe to even look at him, unable to forget all the things he'd made her do all these years. A devious sparkle blinked in his eyes whenever he laid eyes on his enslaved Lady warrior, standing before him in shining plate-metal armor that reflected even the dimmest candles in the room. He'd forced her to commit countless unspeakable acts in his name, to share his bed and the bed of any guest he wished to entertain, and to kill anyone who displeased him. A monster of a man that she'd come here all those years ago to kill.<br/><br/>"A fine evening, Lady von Ellegarde. Please, I bid you look at me..." Resentful eyes, gray like the clouds before a storm, cold like freshly-quenched iron, raked across the floor until they met his. "I trust you have been appraised of the situation? Xoxo wants her pet back. But what<em>I</em>want is to find whoever did this. I want to bring them here, break them (as I did you, my pet) and sell them. I'm sure anyone who broke in must be quite the specimen, fetch a high price." Those beady eyes glimmered greedily. "So what do you think, General, will you do this? Personally?"<br/><br/>The Vizier liked a bit of fight in his general, apparently, because despite what he said he'd never actually broken her. There was no need, when he could simply command her to do whatever he wanted. He also knew that she'd never talk to him unless commanded to.<br/><br/>Sighing, he waved his hands in the air in a gesture of helplessness and resignation before approaching her. He was shorter than her but nevertheless felt dominant in their encounters, and he was. "I bid thee find these men and bring them to me. And bring Xoxo's fox back unharmed, or I shall not hear the end of it. Do you understand, pet?"<br/><br/>A twitch at the corner of her mouth told him all he needed to know about how much she was trying to resist the order, even after all these years. "Yes, Vizier," she said, a hand over her heart as she bowed in the traditional form of respect from her country. She maintained the servile gesture as she stepped back, out of the room. Turning on her heel then, the silvery-golden-haired warrior was quickly barking orders to the men in her retinue who'd accompanied her to the Vizier's chambers. Most of the orders were standard procedure - lock down the Spire, lock down the city gates, search any ships leaving the harbor. Most thieves fleeing the city tried to take their chances in the desert, so naturally most soldiers would be searching there first. As long as no ships left harbor, they would have time to make their way down the city towards the docks.<br/><br/>For her part, Methuseld von Ellegarde took a group of about twenty soldiers and began working from the docks. It was a dark, ruddy, unpleasant night. The air smelled of piss and sweat and other things all to pungently. She hated this city, hated the poverty and the stench and the culture. The filth, the mud-covered streets with nary a cobblestone in sight, the slaves with scarred backs scurrying like rats. This city stripped one of dignity the moment it grabbed on with its dirty claws.<br/><br/>Astride her powerful desert horse, all grays and white splotches of color, Methuseld watched with cool detachment as her men pounded on doors and rushed inside to search for anyone suspicious. A lantern hung at her side, casting a surreal yellow tint onto everything in view.<br/>