22nd of Zi’da, 716The Citizen’s Market was overwhelmed with all sorts of ruffians at night, at least if one were to judge them by their morality. The law did not mind the gambling rings, the few slavers that offered their wares, nor the hired blades that advertised their services to those willing to pay. They were a part of the Etzori lifestyle, for the city shined in a grim light once darkness came. Amidst the frozen soil of the Outer Perimeter, where the coughing and the spitting was normal, a prostitute had been flashing her goods in order to attract customers. Popular for her cheap and efficient service, it was strange to discover that she had been missing from her post, or that the smell of her inner thighs did not float around the trading hub. No customer took her so long, for experience had made her efficient.
The squad of Black Guards that had decided to visit her were somewhat disappointed to not find her there. Visiting the Underground’s many prostitution rings got somewhat tiresome every now and then, and so poking their heads outside the underground and the walls themselves often felt like a novelty for the veterans. There, they often received pampering words, gifts from the locals, and all sorts of benefits that came from turning a blind eye to little irregularities in their activities. The prostitute in question also offered discounts, and her capacity to deal with more than one man at a time kept the soldiers coming back every once in a while. For her to be unavailable was a true tragedy, indeed.
After a couple of glasses from some imported liquor, which had to be sold in the night exactly because of its foreign origins, the guards started getting restless. ‘Where is she?’ they asked this one and that one, thinking themselves tricked out of her services, outraged at her unavailability. ‘Why is she taking so long?’ they asked, for they knew the digits in a single hand would be enough to count bits needed for a man’s release, especially if they dealt with said unnamed prostitute. It wasn’t until they interrogated the local fortune-reader, or the local drunk, if one wished to be more precise, with a couple of harsh punts that they got an answer.
‘By the dried off well’ he had told them in between tears, pointing towards the darkness with it’s broken finger. They breached the darkness, armed with torches and outrage alike. The cold soil accepted their armored steps, yet the breeze tried to warn them off their task, blowing against them for their own sake. In time, they finally encountered the prostitute, naked as she often was, laying on the soil with dead eyes staring exactly towards them. Unlike previous times, they cared not to meet her brown eyes, as instead they stared at the creature above it, an individual so thin and pale its very existence seemed to cheat Famula herself. It was not dead, however, for it moved and breathed, its mania unchained entirely as it leeched from the body of the female. Bone details that grew before their eyes spoke the madness before them, their own sanity trembling as much as the creature that violently shook as the female’s fluids traveled up its heavily mutated arms.
Some were eager to extinguish its life right there and then, yet the one man in charge kept his violent emotions under control. He too was afraid, yet the discipline earned through many arcs allowed him to see past it. Someone yelled towards the beast, yet no answer was received save for the wheezed hyperventilation it possessed. ‘Stay calm’ yelled the man in charge, nervously pulling off his cloak and twisting into an improvised rope. ‘Capture it’ he ordered, as he advanced and wrapped his cloak around the beast’s frail neck, attempting to subdue it. The strength was enough to strangle it, yet the beast seemed not to care nor notice. It wasn’t until it was pulled off the corpse, and the arms that suctioned the female’s fluids were free, that the beast reacted.
A shriek, a screech, or a squeal were not words capable of describing what the beast communicated, nor how easily the nearby midnight market was completely silenced. The creature’s limbs flared out, flailing at the nothingness with such ferocity one’s heart could shrink. The Black Guards, terrified, imitated their leader, and tore off their cloaks. One by one, they captured each of the beast’ flailing limbs, and through twisting force they attempted to secure it to its frame. Four cloaks formed four improvised ropes, yet they were still not enough to contain the violent wiggling and waggling of the captured specimen. Despite it being quite light in weight, its strength was as violent and as ferocious as its terrifying nature. No orders were needed once it was captured to begin taking it somewhere else, somewhere the beast could be locked away forever, where its memory would be forgotten.
As they passed through the market, and every morally rotten individual stared and gasped at whatever it was they were seeing, those that held jobs related to the authorities came to aid, trying to hold it still, wondering why nobody had stabbed it yet, or quietened the horrible noises that escaped its captured throat. ‘Shut it up!’ yelled one of the men to his colleague. That same colleague brought up his armored fist and slammed it right into the creature’s groin. He had never touched another man’s groin, but he had punched quite a few in his day. It was that what made it as terrible for him as he looked towards the leader.
“It has no cock,” he said, eyes wide agape, as if he himself spoke the most terrifying tale ever to exist. ‘No cunt, either.”
Thanks to Sabine for this amazing template!