Luneshale Pass looks like there's no more room in hell for me

@Eset! anyone else that might be with her may also join if desired!

the reaper roams. he scavenges. and when the time is right, he devours. nothing has since yet captured the danger of his attention. but today, things change. 

the flatlands are expansive—so much so that he's only had the time to explore a few of the territories. most he visited were barren, lacking signs of travelers or those making homes. but as the pass creeps on, scents waft near. there are some... no, many. this place, unlike the others, is not a wasteland, nor is it a ghost town. 

and now, whoever is here... they've captured the reaper's attention indefinitely.

He is unlike anything she’s seen before and so she stands wary, suspending her search for herbs in lieu of pursuing his ascent with her eyes and bracing a confident countenance that wishes instead to flee.

Here they are not so far off that she could call for the mazoi if needed, and in this recognition she will greet him firmly with a dip of her nose as the man nears.

“Good day,” she offers softly. Unbidden her eyes slide to the marrings along his shoulder before finding their mark again over his own.

good day.

a voice. one he does not know. one of many he has never heard. and yet, here, a body stands, words aimed his way. 

the reaper looks, muzzle jutting sharply in their direction. he expects not what he sees, but he does not display a surprised expression. it is instead barren, void of any emotion. 

untrusting of his own words, he does not speak, deferring to a curt nod in form of response. they do not appear to be a threat, but still, he is tense. wary, as he has always been. and while his way of communicating is blunt and unwelcoming, his eye scours with a hint of curiosity. where do they come from? what do they offer? what do they know?

His silence unnerves, as does the cut of his dark shoulders against the brightness of the sky but she is reassured in that he does not seem altogether uncourteous.

The fellahin swallows a tightness in her throat and looks up at him levelly.

“May I help you with something?”

she asks a question he too wants an answer for, which forces a dry, humorous chuckle to rumble from the depths of his throat.

his answer begins with a shrug, as if to suggest he isn't sure. but then, in a low, husky baritone, he adds, can you? it's as if he believes she has the answer, rather than playing along with her assumption that he knows what it is he wants from her, or this place he has been led to by the scents of, more than likely, her people.

He is toying with her.

She noses at the air, shifting her muzzle briefly and detecting no other scents along with his own. She could only guess at his motives but a solitary desert traveller was almost certainly looking for a place of reprieve.

“I may be able to help, if you’re lost, or looking for somewhere specific,” she offers, steading her posture once more. "You are very near the palace of  Muat-riya, where I live," she adds, so he understood she was not alone.

I am never lost. the words come out almost as a snarl as his legs draw him closer. it shouldn't, but his curiousity has become vivid. 

the world... he gestures with a sweep of his tail. it is my own jungle gym. I go where I want, when I want. another way to simply say he doesn't care how close, or how far her "palace" is. it doesn't make him afraid to know others may see him. it excites him, actually. but something excites him even more...

he stops, realizing he is only a stride or two away from coming nose to nose with her. more or less, anyway. the height difference is uncanny, but he likes it. 

so. he grunts out a low rasp, the word clipped. you know I am not lost, nor am I looking for anything— at least, nothing i'm not looking at —so, what is it that you think you can help me with, hm?

silence, but he adds more before she can reply. what can you offer me, little dove? a hiss of words, and suddenly he is circling her like a predator would his prey. it's turning into a game, and he is enjoying every second of it.

He descends and the only sense that magnifies is sound. She can hear every grain of sand pooling beneath his steps, the grit of teeth against itself as he speaks.  Her throat runs dry, absorbed by a reverse of energy.

She perseveres the last of herself, raising her head high over her shoulders to inform him:

“You will regret it.”

Her eyes flick past the stride of his legs, looking for a place to run.

his tongue clicks soundly against the roof of his mouth. another idle stride, and he's saddled to her flank, chin hovering above. regret what, little dove? he hums in a low, thick rasp. a warning, almost, that she should be careful with how she answers. too many assumptions already. another, and he might just fold to his control.

at this angle, he can see little of her. he is forced to crane his neck further, skull tilted a bit to allow his remaining eye a view of her crown.

lmk if this isn’t okay!

she is returning from home—@Khusobek and @Inji in tow. Pharaoh moves in easy strides; she has been forgiven. she has been blessed. Eset is no doubt expecting her, to prepare her for her wedding—
who she hears now. you will regret it. regret what, little dove? 
the pass is hers. theirs. with her sister stolen and Melody dead, Toula needs no context, no invitation. she sets @Khusobek upon the threat with a bristle, moving toward Eset at a swift clip. next she summons @Zaahira, thinking it best not to waste time, in the event this one did mean foul play. 
regret testing the might of Akashingo, she answers in turn. was that his intent? his design?

Her body turns against her, one stagger and then she crumples. She hears familiar voices but her eyes fixate on the desert at her feet, just as they always did.

another voice. 

he whirls, teeth snapping in warning. but then he hears the quiet thud. 

side-stepping, he looms over the still frame that was once beside him. he crouches above, taking a defensive– no, possessive stance.

it is no longer her he wants to toy with, but those that come near. too near. he gives another warning, this time in the form of a low, dangerous growl.

zaahira had known immediately that something was wrong merely by the tone of pharaoh's call.
she had scarcely heard the conversation save for the seething threat: regret testing the might of akashingo; and as she rounds the path carved in sandstone she sees then the willowed figure of eset and the leer of — man. a man. one not of the palace, one shrouded in shadow and dancing around the maidservant like a lion.
he reminded her fiercely of rashepses. of khaba.
a gnash of teeth, the rumble of a growl and then the sound of a body thudding against the earth.
eset.
her blood burns. instinct shoves the formal, dignified training of the sandsoldier down into the dirt, and instead what comes from her is the wretched, venomous snarl of a heathen. should she have the chance, she would quickly maneuver herself to stand between the heckler and akashingo's women. her pharaoh. her eset.
the message is clear.
i will have your head.

only a foolish and stupid man would dare such things in a still-bustling palace. khusobek welcomed the trip to akashingo but now they were returned to muat-riya and his ruler sent him to fly.

teeth gnashed. the powerful body of the crocodile launched across the sands toward the dark interloper, and khusobek found he truly was enraged to see that the stranger's target had been eset. 

he too would have blood.

why had this man deigned to strike fear in her subject! what matter of cruelty was in his heart? she could not be patient with him, not in this time of danger—and Toula called to Eset, and as he made a bid to stand above her…
Toula too would have blood! and she would, she would lunge for him in concert with the rest had Zaahira not prevented this action of his. he would have been her sacrifice to the Gods. the first man she would command to be killed. he still could be. 
it was Toula who would stand above her, a solid shield, as she made herself watch what she had commanded of Khusobek. above the din of teeth, of snarls, Toula asked the stranger: did you come here to die, if not live in regret? submit at once, or else that wish shall be my next command!

Toula’s call is somewhere beyond the reer of blood in her ears and the collision of teeth. On her elbows she begins to drag herself towards it.

another, and another. it is an endless trail of these insufferable canines.

the newest — she speaks of death. his death. there is a laugh of mirth that escapes him this time. it is cold, perhaps empty to their ears. but he catches every trickle of humor within the sound.

do you think I fear death, little wolf? his prey forgotten, he steps over the small body and advances a stride forward to the one that now holds the majority of his attention. the other two are not forgotten, but he will deal with them later. 

and how is it that you believe you can make me submit to your will? I see nothing in my favor that says I should. his very existence aside. but that fight will come when it comes. and he won't be on the losing end.

the rage flares like a wild inferno behind her eyes. the man has the gall to laugh in the face of pharaoh! he has dug his own grave!
a look is shared with khusobek. surely they will both enjoy the taste of his blood; the smell of his meat as it burns at the hearth of sekhmet.
the man is lucky that she will wait for the word of pharaoh before she strikes. when it is given, there is no hesitation, nor mercy; she aims to wrap her jaws around the windpipe and tear it from beneath his skin.

glory to akashingo.

pharaoh commanded. khusobek for this moment was pleased enough to be her dog.

the jodai dealt a stunning blow. the crocodile sought to sink his teeth into the fool's dark haunch in the same moment, dragging backward.

they would split his skin between them, he and her.

he would not make it to her. between Zaahira, who stood before her, and Khusobek, who made his way toward him with teeth, Toula knew he would not get half as close to her as he wished. she said nothing to him in turn, gemstone gaze hard as she watched Jodai and Mazoi descend upon him. she would hold Eset in her arms all the while, thinking,
it was a good thing he did not fear death.

She’s so removed, isn’t this Toula’s shoulder? Does she hear Khusobek, and Zaahira?

She clutches the golden arm and lurches them both a pace away.

the first warrior, the woman... she reaches for him. but he sees the intention immediately for what it is. she wants his blood in whatever way she can get it, and so makes a bold move. he tsks when her body rushes his. if she wants blood, he will take it. but he will not so easily give it. 

her teeth want his throat, but he lifts it from reach. when he is high enough, like a bear looming over its opponent, he strikes downward in defiance, a widened jaw and ready teeth eager to sink into her muzzle. flesh, he wants to rip. bone, he wants to break. blood, he wants to taste. but the way this ends solely lies with her. the only control she holds in this moment is just how badly she gets hurt.

the reaper's next strike toward zaahira would be met by the imperator.

he had left muat-riya, not to follow the pharaoh's entourage but to see for himself how fiercely claimed their corridor from desert to flatland had become.

and he saw that the pass belonged entire to akashingo. this would have been the end of his exploration, a report carried back to son and daughter, were it not for demanding words and clashing shadows along the stone walls.

he knew it to be a battle, and still might have turned were it not the voice of pharaoh herself rising over the din in calm command. it was self preservation which led him forth: were she harmed here, it might be his person blamed.

two mazoi grappled with a great beast. a fading fellahin guarded her royal master, pulling the young ruler away.

germanicus stepped into that place. he planted hip, shoulder, and swung himself broadside into the exposed flank and ribcage of the attacker, swallowing a grunt of effort as their bodies collided with bruising force.

his swordmetal muzzle cut next, sidelong, upward, a soldier earning back lost aplomb through a valor only akashingo would see.

OMG WOOOOOOOO

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he is larger. stronger. but she is quicker.
his teeth aim to sever her upper jaw. just as she swerves to dodge, a shadow and sudden coolness smother her. there is another— the imperator.
never before had she been thankful for a man's assistance. she is quick to join, to assist, to bombard the black wraith with vicious, swift fury. khusobek held the rear, the imperator held the front; and jodai now found herself diving beneath exposed belly with the hopes of destroying the chances of this world ever seeing children with the face of a pig.
she will spare no expense with the sharp cut and deep crush of teeth that have been honed, ready and waiting, for a moment such as this.

Usually, Meridian would investigate a scene of such violence. This time however, she felt no reason to leave her perch, atop the ridge. First with the death of the golden priestess, and now this conflict, she could only wonder why Akashingo was the center of such unrest.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. The coyote simply kept observing, from a safe distance.

Cameo!