Punishment Undeserved.

[Haze]

No one ever said life was fair. In fact, sometimes life could throw the wildest of curveballs in attempt to knock one off their feet. But for some, fate had a penchant for making their lives utterly miserable, taunting them with the hope of things that might have been with every passing moment. One such person was Naamiah.

It was the appointed time of worship, late afternoon as the sun began its slow and steady decsent into the sky, casting shadows through the pillars of the open front of the temple. The other attendants were lined up beside her, twelve in number,  each of them adorned in the finest silks in a rainbow array of colours. Naamiah was dressed in a vivid green, as she always was. Priestess assured her that it was the colour that best bathed her creamy skin, and brought out the paleness of her eyes, themselves green in shade. The thin silver chains around her shoulders and neck dangled too, across her back, cold reminders of her servitude. Not that they were a symbol of that. No, they were supposed to back her more alluring as she, and the other girls, were all representative of the goddess.

Naamiah kept her eyes to the ground, staring past her sandaled feet and too the marble floors beneath. She should have been used to this sinking feeling by now. The hollowness that cut her stomach and squeezed around her weary soul. There was no escape. And that was the long and short of the story. She was a slave to men and women alike, all because of a fault not her own. Men lined the hall, paying their dues first to Priestess, copious amounts of coin that ensured the lavish lifestyle of the temple, before taking their pick of bed-partner. The other attendants were picked first. Not because Naamiah wasn't attractive, or alluring - she was by far the most stunningly beautiful of all the girls, but because she was reserved for the highest bidder. She knew just who he was.

The man approaching was one of the more ... violent ones. Naamiah's eyes tightened shut, trying to block the sight of his arrival, even though the steps that pounded in her head like a drum were announcement enough. The footsteps stopped, and she smelled the sour breath of the patron. "My little flower," he leered, taking one of her hands. She couldn't refuse. Not because she didn't want to - because she did, vehemently - but because it was expected of her. She would be his to use how he willed.

--

As evening set in, Naamiah bathed herself gingerly in the baths, catching sight of the cut on her lip as she looked up to the mirror. She winced. Priestess would not be happy. Any sign of violence was not looked kindly upon. Her face's canvas was marred. It would be another month at least to her time in the temple. With a heavy sigh, the girl finished her ablutions, and slipped back into the silk robe. Any other woman might have revelled at the feel of it against their skin, and admired the way it washed over their hips, smoother than the water of a still, glassy lake. To Naamiah, it was just another reminder of what she was. Where she was.

With feet bare, she took herself to be assembled for nightly inspection with Priestess. But tonight, she couldn't bring herself to go. It would add another month, if she missed this, but her soul was longing for the stillness of the stars. And so she slipped out unnoticed. She didn't go far. She couldn't. There was a small garden situated at the back of the temple, and this is where Naamiah hid herself away, tucked under an weeping willow - a true analogy for how she felt. The girl stared through the boughs and then leaves that swayed to and fro with the wind, ignorant to the tears that slipped silently down her cheeks, silver tracks of despondency that she could neither acknowledge, or else be entirely consumed. "Just a few more months," she whispered to herself, in a desperate attempt to avoid being totally disheartened as she dropped her pale-haired head onto her knees. "Just a few more months."

[Anonymous]

"You arrived earlier than I expected."

She was surprised – hell, they always were. Many thought 'mercenary' and images of big, hulking brutes were the first to come to mind. Men with no honor or class, they thought, must be mercs, men who could not, and did not, care for the rules of society, must be the only sort of man willing to sell himself for a few bits of gold. It was the same old story, and he'd heard it over and over, so many times before.

Ira stood before her, the Priestess in silk, and smiled pensively, shaking his head. He could feel the Priestess sizing him up now – he must've looked nothing like what she expected. Ira, the giant, standing at six feet, two inches, with his muscular, but not hulking frame – his gentle (too gentle, not threatening at all) clear blue eyes, and his long copper brown hair, that fell to his waist, curtained his frame. He did not fit the stereotype of a merc. She was taking a gamble on him.

"I came when you called," was Ira's simple retort. He shifted in place, and the bow and quiver that was strapped to his back adjusted to his gait. When he looked up at her, it was his sharp, hawkish gaze, perhaps, that may have convinced her that he was more than met the eye. "I'm not one who likes to keep a woman waiting."

"Mercenary," she began, after a long pause, "It is I who must keep you waiting. I assumed you'd be late, and my associates do not have our target location pinpointed just yet. It will be some time before I'll have the information you'll need – the enemy's name, its face, and where it rests its head at night." She laughed, and it echoed off the temple walls like church bells on a Sunday afternoon. "You've done yourself a disservice, by arriving on time."

It was the story of his life.

"I've inconvenienced you – but, ah, why not stay, until the information surfaces? The women here, you'll find, are most... helpful. Tell them your plight, and they'll lead you to a room you may stay in, for the time." A coy smile played on the Priestess' lips. "Oh, and if you're lonely, and you've got the coin... I'm sure one of my girls would be more than happy to keep your company."

[center:3lwt9x0y]__________[/center:3lwt9x0y]

He couldn't imagine why a temple in La'marri would have enemies, and he couldn't imagine why the Priestess would need someone – or something, maybe – killed, but he never questioned his contracts. This place, there was something... poisonous about it, but just what that poison was, well, he couldn't exactly put his finger on it. Perhaps it just felt dirty to stay in a temple that was not devoted to Ansgar. Who could know, who could tell. He'd immersed himself in so many different cultures since he left home, he wasn't sure what bothered him and what didn't, nowadays.

The girls would take him to his room, she'd say – and give a little extra for coin, she'd promised. He had no use for the extra – and couldn't imagine why in Ansgar's name temple assistants would offer themselves up for a few coin, but he didn't think on it. Or at least, he tried not to think on it. The temple girls here were flirty, tempting, coquettes in fine linens that seemed eager to please – every breath they took, every gesture, every signal and wordless verbal cue, screamed to please, and it was unnerving.

Don't think on it, he said, because this was a job, not something to make complicated – not something involve himself too deeply in. He was here for the coin, and that's all there was to it.

Evening had fallen quickly, the moon resting listlessly in the dark sky. Ira had taken to the courtyards, finding the solace of nature more comforting than the temple's marble halls. He could probably sleep out here, he figured – it reminded him of being out on the road, when all he'd have for shelter were the branches of trees, making a canopy for him, sheltering him from the element's that raged around him.

This courtyard's garden was silent, except for a faint whisper that fell near the trees – near the weeping willow. Curious, he stepped lightly towards the tree, placing his hand on the trunk, and looking down, to find a woman curled up, despondent, defeated. Ira wondered if he had interrupted a prayer session, or something of the sort, but he couldn't just leave someone looking so downhearted, the way she did.

"You don't look nearly as happy as the rest of the attendants here," Ira noted, recalling the happy, eager smiles of the other women in the temple. "What's got you down?" Even if it was none of his business – which he suspected it was – his conscience made it so he had to say something.

[ I took some liberties with the Priestess in the beginning of the post, I hope that's okay! ]

[Haze]

Why hadn't she heard the footsteps? She was so caught up in self-pity that she had failed to even note the presence of another in the garden until the man spoke. Startled, she looked up, pale eyes watery and unsure, if only for a second. The second was all it took for Naamiah to realise that he probably wanted something, despite his neutral words. Her face dropped down again as she pushed herself up from the ground.

The hem of her robe tore in the process, catching between a rock or twig, and her heel. Another month. I am never getting out of here. Silently she berated herself for her foolishness in coming out, undoing any healing the solitude had done to her soul. With eyes trained on the ground the girl simply put right hand over left, weaving her small fingers together, extending them towards the stranger, as if offering herself to be led back to the temple.

"May you find the happiness you seek in Alrosi," she murmured, lifting her eyes a second time, but never making eye contact. Her expression was soft, but clearly trained to be that way, all inner turmoil put aside. Attendants for Alrosi did not have problems. They were the physical embodiment of the goddess, there to provide their services so that men could commune with the goddess herself. And so, expecting that this was what the gentleman was here for, she spoke again.

"Alrosi's eye is everywhere. We do not need to return to the temple to be under her gaze. Where is it that you would like to go?"

[Anonymous]

This woman's gestures were a lot softer, more delicate, than the rest of the attendants that had accosted him during his stay here. While the others strove to please — with girlish giggles and coquettish come-hither glances — she was quieter, contained. But there was something melancholy about her aura, one that Ira couldn't help but feel concerned over.

At her question, Ira shook his head, unsure of what exactly she meant by it. "Where do I want to...?" Ira echoed, blinking back in confusion. He laughed instead, shaking his head. "I'm just looking for my room, is all," he responded, remembering how lost he was. "The Priestess — ah, she said something about letting an attendant take me to my quarters, but so far, no dice. Are you the one who's supposed to do that?"

He regarded her curiously, recalling her gesture being made by the other attendants here as well. While the other girls had accompanied the move with a wink or flirty gaze, she kept her eyes firmly to the ground. There was that melancholy aura again, and it reminded Ira why he had approached her in the first place. "Hey— are you sure you're alright?" he asked again, concerned. "You seem like something's got you down."

[Haze]

Naamiah was surprised when, instead of taking her hands and leading her off, the man simply spoke again. But it was true, he was here for a room, and with her being the only attendant out in the gardens at the time, she guessed that it would be her that would lead him there. "I can be the one to show you," she said, voice ever so still. Dropping her hands to her sides, where they balled into little fists, brushing very lightly against her gown.

She chanced a look upwards again. He was tall. A lot taller than she was, and looked a whole lot kinder than many of the usual Alrosians. She couldn't help but notice his eyes, so vivid in colour, as her gaze chanced across them, before she lowered her head again. If he would not take her hands, then she would not force him to. Despite everything she had been taught, she simply could not bring herself to be as forward as the other girls in the temple.

Instead, she spoke to his feet.

"I am as well as the goddess desires." It was such a blithe answer. What did it mean, anyway? It was as if she could only speak what had been given to her to say, and for once, she was sick of it. Breaking away from the tight rules and regulations, she offered him another sampling of her voice, this time looking up again but now to his shoulders. It would be some time before she would, or even could, make eye contact. "It is kind of you to be concerned. I was simply considering the hand life has dealt to me. Sometimes I think it is very unkind.

"Come, never mind that." Please mind. You would be the first to care. What am I saying? I am bound here. I do not need anyone to care. It cannot change anything. "May I take you to your room?"

[Anonymous]

Ira's world was fast paced, normally filled with busy, demanding people who were quick to look you in the eye and tell you where they needed you to go. He was used to playing the pawn to debonair, dime a dozen directors, each who would not be shy about getting their chess piece where he needed to be. I need you, Hawkeye, was all his contractors would ever have to say, and he'd show up on their doorstep, right on time, ever the perfect, obedient weapon.

So it was curious to him when this woman's voice was as still as a leaf on a windless autumn day. She did not dare look him in the eye, and when she spoke, it was down towards his leather boots, not to his face. He frowned a little, adjusting the bow strapped to his back so that it was less noticeable – wondering if it was his weapon that perhaps had intimidated her. Or was it something else, entirely?

She let it slip – a hint of something gnawing at her conscience, and Ira grabbed onto his scrap of a clue. "Life's a cruel, cruel mistress," Ira related with a laugh, drawing a breath. "She plays favorites, cheats, sometimes stacks the cards against you..."  It was strange, however, that she would be so down in a temple – wasn't the church supposed to help you with your issues? That was what Ansgar had done, back in Connlaoth – he assumed that other religions functioned the same way. "I've found that just talking about the hand life's dealt you can make the burdens easier to bare."

This one seemed guarded, and although she had told him to leave it alone, how could he? What kind of person would honestly close their heart to someone's plight? He could only wonder what she meant when she claimed to be as well as her goddess desired. A part of him knew it was not his place to pry, but he also could not leave well enough alone.

At her question, he nodded – it'd probably be best to head out now, before it got too dark. "After you, miss," he offered with an easy smile, following her to his room.

[Haze]

He certainly was different from the men who usually attended the temple. He engaged in conversation, for one. And intelligent conversation at that. She took no solace in his words, however, and simply inclined her head once before stepping just slightly in front of him, heading back towards the temple. She was silent as she walked, pensive, but with a fixed gaze ahead. Her feet made close to no sound, only the gentle rustling of the fabric of her gown whispered in the air.

Nearing the temple front, she could see the silhouetted figure of the Priestess. Unconsciously, the slight woman set her shoulders, waiting for the words that would whip her as soon as she walked past her. Priestess reached out a hand, and gripped Naamiah by her forearm, and the girl came to stop. Her eyes averted. "Another month, Naamiah," snapped the older woman's cold voice. "You know better than to anger him."

I didn't, she opposed silently, but nodded just once in acknowledgement. But at least you haven't seen the hem of my dress. With her eyes still turned to the ground, she failed to notice the eyebrow that raised in her companion's direction. "Good choice," was all Priestess said, before turning away herself and disappearing back into the hallowed halls.

Naamiah let out the breath she'd been holding, controlled expulsion between pursed lips, and then held her hand out to the tall one. "This way," she said and stepped lightly the rest of the way to a simple room deep within the temple. She pushed open the whitewashed door, and stood to the side, bowed at the waist as was required. "Your room, sir."

[Anonymous]

She didn't respond to his musings, but for some reason, he had a feeling she wouldn't. It was strange – even the mages his contractors forced him to fight, to kidnap, to yank away from their homes – they were quick to complain of their plight at least, even though they knew Ira couldn't lift a finger to help. She, instead, held her head silently – but how could he be quiet, how could he let it go?
 
They were near the temple now – how Ira had managed to keep quiet for so long was beyond him. He had taken his time to study the grounds – an old habit any merc couldn't very well shake out of his blood. It nearly reminded him of the churches back home, and how grandiose they had been, but there was something – ah, there was something! – about this place of worship that made his skin crawl.

That feeling only intensified as the Priestess crossed their path. Ira's eyes widened as the Priestess gripped the woman, a fierce, giving her a fierce, hawkish look, with a grasp strong enough to match. She was venomous, a taipan tunneling through the grass with fangs erect, waiting to strike. Ira narrowed his eyes – there was only so much a person could take.

The woman pushed open his door, but Ira didn't step inside. "Miss," he began. "There's something wrong about this temple. You can't just expect me to act like nothing's going on here." Ira looked on at her imploringly, with eyes like meteorites. "Please," he started, searching her. "Tell me what's going on."

[Haze]

Naamiah sighed as he spoke. Was he asking her, just to continue her suffering? Or did he truly not know? She couldn't understand why he posed his query as he did - she thought that everyone who visited the temple knew exactly what went on inside its closed doors. She turned her face to him, a sad, lifeless, far away look in her eyes. She didn't want to answer him. "There is nothing wrong," she said slowly, speaking to his shoulder.

The only thing that goes on here is Alrosi's worship. The only thing that goes on here is the use of my body for other's gain. The only thing that goes on here is entrapment, betrayal, slavery.

She moved to take his hand, and pull him inside. Her hand has without power, gentle as a feather's caress, and it slipped from him as soon as the door was closed behind them. In the silence of the room, she motioned towards elaborate furnishings. Naamiah imagined that the bed in itself was so much like what might be found in a noble's house. It was large and plush, with decadent looking pillows and bed covers.

It was with a resigned slump in her spine that she lifted a hand to her shoulder, resting on the broach that secured her robe. every movement fluid as water, as she had been taught. Unlike some of the other attendants, who laced their actions with seduction, Naamiah simply brought herself with simplicity. It was one thing that had made her so popular. She was without hesitation in her actions, though unbeknownst to the men that visited her, she abhorred every single moment.

It still had not registered with her that perhaps this man had no idea what she thought he was expecting from her. The hand stayed there a moment, and she lifted her gaze again and finally she looked directly into Ira's eyes.

"Your worship to Alrosi will not go unheard," she stated simply, words trained to spill from her lips with grace and ease. "You may use my body as you will."