The Merits of Patricide (Oziah/Delilah)
Feb 8, 2022 13:56:16 GMT
Grimes, Pieni, and 5 more like this
Post by Oziah Daybreaker on Feb 8, 2022 13:56:16 GMT
Truth is a knife. Its blade cuts deep, past sinew and bone to the very heart and soul of who we are…
The girl of shadow’s steps are silent as she enters their new rooms in the central tower of the Fort. Oziah had been busy all day moving their possessions – most of them being Oziah’s – everything from trunks of clothes, to spare armour, to the plush Luskani curtains she had imported from Faerun. It was quite the feat truth be told, but when Oziah set her mind to do something, that thing got done.
Oziah was lounging in front of their new fireplace, half asleep. It was late afternoon and she had clearly been furiously working all day by the fact that everything appeared to be in its proper place. Beastie slinked from Delilah’s shadow to quietly dash over to the freshly made bed. Leaping up, they proceeded to knead Delilah’s pillow, stomping around in circles before settling down and seemingly going to sleep.
Shaking her head with a smirk, Delilah moved across the room, still silent, to where her infernal puzzle box sat on a desk. Quick fingers tapping and twisting the panels she found the folded, transcribed note she had done from the communique she’d been passed the night before. There was the briefest of hesitations as dark eyes studied the curve of Oziah’s neck to her bosom, feeling her heart clench. But Delilah pushed the feeling aside as she walked over, placing the folded parchment and the dark band down on the table next to Oziah’s chair.
Watching her with hooded eyes, Delilah removed her mask, tucking it into a pouch on her belt. With a careful hand, she reached out and moved a section of hair that had fallen across Oziah’s face, tucking the chocolate brown tresses behind her pointed ear.
“I’m back, my dark angel,” she says softly. “And I bring gifts.”
Oziah’s deep blue eyes remain fixed on the flickering flames a moment longer, clearly deep in thought, but her hands move on their own accord, reaching out to tangle her fingers with Delilah’s and tugging the other woman closer.
“So when I bring you gifts it’s an annoyance-”
Her eyes snap suddenly to Delilah’s, a sharp smile forming. She snakes an arm around Delilah’s waist and lifts, leaving her no choice but to take a seat on Oziah’s lap.
“-but when you do it, it’s perfectly alright. I see.” She leans in and presses a line of light kisses along Delilah’s throat. “Horribly unfair. You cruel woman.”
Delilah holds Oziah closer, fingers finding their way into her hair, smooth as silk and soft as air. Then she makes Oziah look up at her, but the other woman captures her lips suddenly and passionately. It’s a struggle to just let the note and the ring lay where they are, but a whispered voice in her head from Beastie reminds her that some things shouldn’t wait and comfort for both of them can come later. Pushing herself up so she is looking down at Oziah, Delilah holds her head firmly in her hands, making Oziah stop and listen.
“I never claimed to be a good person,” she smirks, but it dies quickly on her lips. “But for you I will be a nice one. Here, let me get you a drink. You’ll need it.”
Oziah quirks an eyebrow up at her.
“That’s not alarming at all.”
Delilah stands up, slipping from Oziah’s hands like vapor and goes over to their rack of fine wine. Choosing one of the bottles from that devil’s stash they raided before the caravan cart disappeared, Delilah busies herself with uncorking the bottle. She spots a special airing strainer that Oziah must’ve got recently. Used for airing red wine whilst you pour it so it’s ready to drink faster, Delilah hasn’t seen one since-
She stops her wandering thoughts and focuses on the simple task at hand.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Oziah pick up the obsidian ring with a decidedly satisfied look on her face. She slips it on the index finger of her left hand and picks up the note with the other, worrying at the band with her thumb as she reads.
Delilah waits until she sees the realization hit – the straightening, ramrod spine of a soldier at attention, a snake coiling to strike – before she sets a full tumbler down at Oziah’s elbow.
For a long moment there is nothing but a deadly silence in their room – a calm before a perfect storm, Delilah’s sure. Slowly, Oziah closes her fist around the note until her knuckles go white. Outside the window a shadow of a massive, winged form darkens the sky as Deimos circles the north-east tower of the Fort. Oziah opens her hand and lets the crumpled note fall onto the floor at her feet before reaching for her drink. She raises the glass to her lips but her hand is shaking hard enough that she spills the expensive liquor, dripping amber across her fingers. With a sudden curse she gets to her feet and flings the glass across the room, smashing it against the door. Beastie hisses from their place on the pillows and there’s a clatter of hooves on stone as Deimos lands on the balcony just outside their room. Oziah sinks down on her knees, trying to hold back a scream behind her clenched teeth.
A clawed shadow hand shoots out from Delilah’s, unlatching and opening the balcony doors, allowing Deimos to enter. Then she is beside Oziah, laying her hands on the taught muscles of her back, gripping her hand, letting her know she is here, with her, in this moment, and she is not turning away.
“I’m here. Deimos is here. You can let it go. You can let it go.”
The room explodes in light and shadow, eldritch power and necrotic force mingling with the fleeing shadows, outlining the tattered wings that expand from her back, translucent and ghostly, a shadow of their former image. Several more glass objects shatter around the room before Oziah’s done screaming.
Eventually she settles, tears of fury running down her cheeks. She clings to Delilah desperately like she’s the only thing keeping her from drowning in her own anger. Deimos stands over them both, head bent low and wings stretched out, spanning the width of the room, shielding them from the rest of the world.
“I’m going to kill him, I am going to kill them both, I am going to carve them into pieces, I’m going to burn his legacy and his House and everything he holds dear, I am going to put his fucking head on a spike and take his legions for my own-”
Delilah’s brow draws together over her dark eyes, listening to the mantra, the promises, the vows her love utters under her breath. She knew Oziah’s hatred for her father ran deep – deeper than even her own dislike of her mother. Delilah had also predicted some sort of reaction to the news, but this…
“Oziah,” she says, using her voice to draw the woman’s eyes up. Even though rivers of fury flowed down her face, Oziah’s beauty is undimmed. In fact, she looks like something from holy scripture and it steals Delilah’s breath away.
“Love, listen to me,” she presses. Oziah’s grip is like a vice. Her hands are losing feeling but she doesn’t flinch and she doesn’t look away. “Your father’s end will come. Maihl’s legions will fall around him. Your vengeance will be sweet and I will be right by your side, presenting their hearts to you on a silver platter.”
She holds Oziah’s gaze, their breathing becoming one, slowly and surely. Oziah hears Delilah’s words and accepts them as simple truth, as prophecy and law. She nods, slowly and shakily, and breathes.
“I will. We will. Together. Together we’ll end all of them, every single one of the people who wronged us. Together.”
The concern she had before darkens Delilah’s eyes once more, proceeding the question she wants to ask, but doesn’t know how to. Oziah wipes her face unsteadily with one hand, loosening but not letting go of Delilah’s hand with the other. After a moment she catches the look on the other woman’s face and stills again.
“Is there more? Or is there a question you fear the answer to?” She visibly tries to gather herself, however difficult it might be. “Ask, my love. Or tell. I fear nothing with you by my side.”
She lowers her eyes to the ring on Oziah’s hand.
“It is not fear that holds me back. For you, I would drown myself in darkness and blood, to help you I would do anything.” Delilah brings Oziah’s hand up to her lips, lightly breathing across the white knuckles before kissing them. “I just did not anticipate how the information I gathered would cause you such upset. I…”
She trails off. That, more than anything, seems to settle Oziah. She pulls Delilah in, resting their foreheads together briefly before shaking her head gently.
“This was not on you. Never.”
She sighs and looks around the room, taking in the broken glass and overturned furniture. She gets to her feet with a grimace and lays a hand on Deimos neck. No words are spoken aloud between them but seemingly reassured the large skeletal horse backs out of the room and takes flight once more. Oziah closes the doors to the balcony, rights a chair absentmindedly and offers a hand to Delilah again and she takes it. They sink into bed together, holding each other. For once, Beastie and Oziah pay each other no mind.
“He tried to sell me. Like cattle,” she whispers into the dark. “The first suitors had some political merits but after I refused them all and it was clear that no dowry in Faerûn would be enough to have someone take me on, he went the other route. ‘Feisty, but beautiful. She just needs to be housebroken.’” Even through her whispers, a seething hatred comes through. She’s not broken, she is furious. “He started at a respectable 2000 gold,” she scoffs, “but soon enough he was willing to throw in a discount. I don’t know what the final offer was that night when he tried to pull me out of the Legion but it can’t have been much. Unfortunately for him, I know my worth. Now more than ever. And if he thinks he can get away with having some pretender wear my face and name, he’s sorely mistaken. Him and Maihl.”
“What kind of fucking title is Over-Commander anyway? It’s not even a real military rank,” Delilah asks, her words clipped in anger at these disgusting men. It garners a small, dry laugh from Oziah.
“Fuck if I know. He’s a twat.”
Her face falls again as she reminisces, her eyes distant but her hold on Delilah firm.
“I asked him to take the men and leave. With me. They would’ve been ours. We’d captain the Blue together and strike out on our own, free of my father’s influence. And he laughed at me. ‘You really are as stupid as you are beautiful.’ My father wasn’t willing to pay for the charade anymore and Leomar couldn’t wait to be rid of me. And the thought of me commanding troops was ludicrous to them both.”
Delilah strokes Oziah’s cheek as she says, “The foolish are always blind to what scares them the most.”
“I’m going to bide my time. And when I’m strong enough I’m going back there and relieving him of command. And you’ll have not one but three legions. I’ll be the only one to command them, and you’ll be the only one who could ever ask me to do anything.”
Delilah goes very still for a moment.
“Do you mean that? Truly, Oziah?”
Oziah blinks as she returns to the present and she turns her head to look at the woman next to her; a woman who had seen all of her horrid scars and lethal intentions and hadn’t even flinched, a woman who had embraced it all and loved her still.
“I will never marry. I will never bow or pledge allegiance. I will never be bound, ever, in this life or the next. But I will follow you to the ends of this earth, to the hells and all the planes of shadow and despair, and if you say the word, my power is yours. The forces at my disposal are yours. You are the only one who will ever be able to claim that honor.”
She says it not with vehemence but with a calm, utter certainty, trust and conviction shining in her cobalt eyes. There is something hidden in the depths of Delilah’s dark eyes, hidden thoughts and unclear emotions. The pale half-elf holds on tighter, pulling herself closer, closing her eyes to tuck her head into the crook of Oziah’s neck where she can hear the faint sound of the woman’s strong heart.
“I have never wished to claim anything from you, Oziah. Just this, just us, has been all I could ever hope for — and you have given it to me.” She pauses a moment. “Every moment with you has been a dream of starlight.”
It’s the most poetic Delilah has ever been. For her dislike of bards, she certainly knows how to turn a phrase.
“You cannot claim something freely given.”
Oziah sinks her fingers deep into the silky strands of Delilah’s hair, holding her as close as she can.
“And I’ll give you the stars themselves.”
The pale sunset over Daring Heights is a poor imitation of spring. A damp chill of winter still holds the Dawnlands in its clutches but Oziah is drunk enough that it’s less of a chokehold and closer to relief. She steps out of the small tavern on Tato Street and only stumbles a little on the slick cobblestone. She steadies herself and the world rights around her as a familiar voice filters into her head.
“Several hours in the company of others and you are not only drunk, you are decidedly cheerful, Dark One.”
Oziah smiles crookedly at the dark shape in the sky, circling the inner city lazily.
“Slaying a dragon does wonders for the humor. Even if it was in the name of a god.”
“Careful, child. Some might go so far as to say you have friends.”
“Shut up,” she fires back, the smile still on her face. “Where is she? Do you have eyes on the target?”
Deimos banks suddenly east, gliding silently over the rooftops.
“Heading for Swamp Gate. A minute away. You had better hurry.”
Oziah’s grin turns into a predatory smile. She touches her fingertips to her cheek to draw the poison of cheap spirits out of her system – closing her eyes briefly against the jarring sensation of sudden sobriety – and takes a deep breath.
“Race you.”
One dimension door, a Haste spell and a brief moment of undignified exhaustion in a dark alley later, Oziah steps out onto Swamp Road just across from Heyford Avenue. Deimos touches down in the middle of the street, black and glistening in the dying light, a plume of mist giving him an unholy halo in the setting sun. Neither of them can say for certain which shadow is hiding their prey but Oziah can feel her, in her bones and in her heart.
“Hello, lover.”
There’s no sound, no footsteps, just a shift of shadows, then a light tap on her armored shoulder.
“People might say you’re mad to go chasing shadows.” Oziah turns around and sees the woman she hunted for standing there, one hand on her hip, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “Or even worse, that you’re in love with them.”
Oziah wastes no time, pulling Delilah closer with an arm around her waist.
“Why settle for one or the other? I’m madly in love,” she answers, quickly pulling Delilah in by the waist before she can melt back into the darkness, pressing her face into her neck. “Now get on the horse. I slew a dragon today and there’s only one thing that can make this day better.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Delilah asks in a low voice.
Deimos walks up beside them and Delilah leaps nimbly onto his back. Oziah settles in behind her with a firm arm around her waist.
“Let’s go home.”
Deimos shoots off at a dead sprint and takes to the air just as their clear Swamp Gate, his massive wings unfurling like the sails of a Man-of-war. They climb steadily into the night sky until the stars seem just within reach before gliding silently east, riding the wind coming in from the Sea of Tears. Oziah lets out a contented sigh as a genuine smile spreads across her face.
“I’ve missed flying,” she whispers into Delilah’s ear. “I didn’t realize how much until I got it back.” She chuckles a little. “You know Celina called me an Aasimar today? I nearly stabbed her, but then I didn’t.”
She presses her face to Delilah’s neck again, almost as if she’s trying to make a home there and never leave.
“You’re the only one. No one else gets to call me that.”
“I’ve heard that the little apple seller tends to run her mouth. Surprised it hasn’t gotten her in trouble yet.” She laughs. Beastie, tucked away in the shadows under her robes of constellations, moves to sit in front of Delilah, poking their little not-nose out to smell the air. A pale finger poops their nose before making reparations with careful pets along their shadowy form.
Delilah turns her head, brushing her masked face against Oziah’s. “You know, I never understood the appeal of flying,” she admits.
Her only warning is Oziah’s arm tightening around her midriff. Deimos folds his wings and drops into a steep dive, spinning like an arrow towards the ground. There’s a yowl from beneath her robes as Beastie scrabbles to get a grip on Delilah, their dagger-like claws digging into her flesh as the Pale Daughter uses her one hand to hold onto them. It takes every muscle in her body to keep herself from being thrown off as her stomach jumps up to her throat.
A hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet closer to the ground he spreads his wings again, taking them through a series of turns and loops, weaving through the sky like he’s threading the stars on a string, before settling once more on a current, carrying them towards Fort Ettin. Oziah laughs happily before relaxing her arm again.
“Of course you don’t, my love – there are no shadows up here to hide in. And that’s how we’ll get them.” Delilah doesn’t need to ask who ‘they’ are. “I’ll rule the skies and draw their eyes. And they’ll never see you coming.”
There’s a continual growl coming from in front of Delilah before it disappears in an echo of vapour and a puff of shadows.
Voice straining through a tight throat, the even paler half-elf says, “I thought I felt my soul leave my body.” Delilah gives a shaky laugh. “Wouldn’t that be a shame for daddy dearest.”
Oziah lets out another chuckle of dark laughter before quickly adding, “Not that I’d let him, of course. He’s not touching a hair on your head, love.” She presses a quick kiss to the top of Delilah’s head.
“How was the research, though? Any leads? Some convenient ‘stab here for faster death’ instructions perhaps?”
“That would be too easy,” she says, slowly relaxing back into Oziah’s arms. “What I found was a bit more interesting.”
Resting her head back on Oziah, she looks up at the stars, watching their slow passage overhead, dark eyes following their patterns as if to memorise them.
“When I was originally looking into organisations that had ties to the Shadows, besides the Obsidian City, there was a group of thieves who joined a cult of shadow demons that belonged to Fraz-Urb’luu – or so they were led to believe. Someone, or something, was playing games with them and the powers they received were in fact from a group of devils, though I could not find out which type or who. In a footnote there was mention of an ascension ceremony for only the most powerfully shadow-imbued members of the thieves. They would step into a portal and ‘receive a place in paradise’ never to be heard of or seen again.” She scoffs, and can practically feel Oziah rolling her eyes in time with hers. “A bunch of puppetmasters and fools.”
She falls silent, brow furrowed. “I don’t know if the information will actually help us or not but that’s what I found.”
“Perhaps your father is the puppetmaster. Hopefully not. Hopefully he’s a puppet; idiots are easier to kill. But from what we’ve seen, he’s sharper than most. So most likely, not.”
She’s quiet for a moment, letting her strategic mind kick into gear only for it to be sidetracked.
“Fraz-Urb’luu is a fucking ludicrous name. Maybe his title is Over-Commander.”
Delilah’s only reply is a noncommittal, “Hmm.”
“Regardless. We’ll get to the bottom of it. And Him. One father at a time.”
There’s no verbal agreement, just a hand that laces their fingers with another, holding on tight to this happiness, this piece of paradise that they’ve found. There’s nothing the Pale Daughter wouldn’t do to keep her love safe. She’s done all the preparations she could. All that’s left is to face the man who claims the name father – whatever that could really mean to a girl who’s never known him.
Co-written with Delilah Daybreaker 🖤
The girl of shadow’s steps are silent as she enters their new rooms in the central tower of the Fort. Oziah had been busy all day moving their possessions – most of them being Oziah’s – everything from trunks of clothes, to spare armour, to the plush Luskani curtains she had imported from Faerun. It was quite the feat truth be told, but when Oziah set her mind to do something, that thing got done.
Oziah was lounging in front of their new fireplace, half asleep. It was late afternoon and she had clearly been furiously working all day by the fact that everything appeared to be in its proper place. Beastie slinked from Delilah’s shadow to quietly dash over to the freshly made bed. Leaping up, they proceeded to knead Delilah’s pillow, stomping around in circles before settling down and seemingly going to sleep.
Shaking her head with a smirk, Delilah moved across the room, still silent, to where her infernal puzzle box sat on a desk. Quick fingers tapping and twisting the panels she found the folded, transcribed note she had done from the communique she’d been passed the night before. There was the briefest of hesitations as dark eyes studied the curve of Oziah’s neck to her bosom, feeling her heart clench. But Delilah pushed the feeling aside as she walked over, placing the folded parchment and the dark band down on the table next to Oziah’s chair.
Watching her with hooded eyes, Delilah removed her mask, tucking it into a pouch on her belt. With a careful hand, she reached out and moved a section of hair that had fallen across Oziah’s face, tucking the chocolate brown tresses behind her pointed ear.
“I’m back, my dark angel,” she says softly. “And I bring gifts.”
Oziah’s deep blue eyes remain fixed on the flickering flames a moment longer, clearly deep in thought, but her hands move on their own accord, reaching out to tangle her fingers with Delilah’s and tugging the other woman closer.
“So when I bring you gifts it’s an annoyance-”
Her eyes snap suddenly to Delilah’s, a sharp smile forming. She snakes an arm around Delilah’s waist and lifts, leaving her no choice but to take a seat on Oziah’s lap.
“-but when you do it, it’s perfectly alright. I see.” She leans in and presses a line of light kisses along Delilah’s throat. “Horribly unfair. You cruel woman.”
Delilah holds Oziah closer, fingers finding their way into her hair, smooth as silk and soft as air. Then she makes Oziah look up at her, but the other woman captures her lips suddenly and passionately. It’s a struggle to just let the note and the ring lay where they are, but a whispered voice in her head from Beastie reminds her that some things shouldn’t wait and comfort for both of them can come later. Pushing herself up so she is looking down at Oziah, Delilah holds her head firmly in her hands, making Oziah stop and listen.
“I never claimed to be a good person,” she smirks, but it dies quickly on her lips. “But for you I will be a nice one. Here, let me get you a drink. You’ll need it.”
Oziah quirks an eyebrow up at her.
“That’s not alarming at all.”
Delilah stands up, slipping from Oziah’s hands like vapor and goes over to their rack of fine wine. Choosing one of the bottles from that devil’s stash they raided before the caravan cart disappeared, Delilah busies herself with uncorking the bottle. She spots a special airing strainer that Oziah must’ve got recently. Used for airing red wine whilst you pour it so it’s ready to drink faster, Delilah hasn’t seen one since-
She stops her wandering thoughts and focuses on the simple task at hand.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Oziah pick up the obsidian ring with a decidedly satisfied look on her face. She slips it on the index finger of her left hand and picks up the note with the other, worrying at the band with her thumb as she reads.
Delilah waits until she sees the realization hit – the straightening, ramrod spine of a soldier at attention, a snake coiling to strike – before she sets a full tumbler down at Oziah’s elbow.
“The City of Lesos is strong and stable.
There was a minor skirmish with trolls lately, but there are few overly concerning reports from that region.
Lord Archon Hadir is alive and continuing his duties in service of Lesos. His family have had some financial difficulties of late, but are currently trending upwards in social circles.
There was a minor skirmish with trolls lately, but there are few overly concerning reports from that region.
Lord Archon Hadir is alive and continuing his duties in service of Lesos. His family have had some financial difficulties of late, but are currently trending upwards in social circles.
The Blue Legion were engaged in fending off said trolls and have been pursuing them into the mountains as of last reports, though the latest information is two months old.
Over-Commander Maihl vanquished a dragon 18 months ago and used the wealth to found Red Legion and Gold Legion,
two additional mercenary companies, and gained some, though not total, financial independence from the Hadir family.
Over-Commander Maihl was managing the three mercenary companies at last report.
Over-Commander Maihl vanquished a dragon 18 months ago and used the wealth to found Red Legion and Gold Legion,
two additional mercenary companies, and gained some, though not total, financial independence from the Hadir family.
Over-Commander Maihl was managing the three mercenary companies at last report.
Lady Oziah Hadir has been residing in Lesos with her family for the last two years, and is currently engaged to be married later this year.
There is no suggestion she has ever traveled to Kantas.”
There is no suggestion she has ever traveled to Kantas.”
For a long moment there is nothing but a deadly silence in their room – a calm before a perfect storm, Delilah’s sure. Slowly, Oziah closes her fist around the note until her knuckles go white. Outside the window a shadow of a massive, winged form darkens the sky as Deimos circles the north-east tower of the Fort. Oziah opens her hand and lets the crumpled note fall onto the floor at her feet before reaching for her drink. She raises the glass to her lips but her hand is shaking hard enough that she spills the expensive liquor, dripping amber across her fingers. With a sudden curse she gets to her feet and flings the glass across the room, smashing it against the door. Beastie hisses from their place on the pillows and there’s a clatter of hooves on stone as Deimos lands on the balcony just outside their room. Oziah sinks down on her knees, trying to hold back a scream behind her clenched teeth.
A clawed shadow hand shoots out from Delilah’s, unlatching and opening the balcony doors, allowing Deimos to enter. Then she is beside Oziah, laying her hands on the taught muscles of her back, gripping her hand, letting her know she is here, with her, in this moment, and she is not turning away.
“I’m here. Deimos is here. You can let it go. You can let it go.”
The room explodes in light and shadow, eldritch power and necrotic force mingling with the fleeing shadows, outlining the tattered wings that expand from her back, translucent and ghostly, a shadow of their former image. Several more glass objects shatter around the room before Oziah’s done screaming.
Eventually she settles, tears of fury running down her cheeks. She clings to Delilah desperately like she’s the only thing keeping her from drowning in her own anger. Deimos stands over them both, head bent low and wings stretched out, spanning the width of the room, shielding them from the rest of the world.
“I’m going to kill him, I am going to kill them both, I am going to carve them into pieces, I’m going to burn his legacy and his House and everything he holds dear, I am going to put his fucking head on a spike and take his legions for my own-”
Delilah’s brow draws together over her dark eyes, listening to the mantra, the promises, the vows her love utters under her breath. She knew Oziah’s hatred for her father ran deep – deeper than even her own dislike of her mother. Delilah had also predicted some sort of reaction to the news, but this…
“Oziah,” she says, using her voice to draw the woman’s eyes up. Even though rivers of fury flowed down her face, Oziah’s beauty is undimmed. In fact, she looks like something from holy scripture and it steals Delilah’s breath away.
“Love, listen to me,” she presses. Oziah’s grip is like a vice. Her hands are losing feeling but she doesn’t flinch and she doesn’t look away. “Your father’s end will come. Maihl’s legions will fall around him. Your vengeance will be sweet and I will be right by your side, presenting their hearts to you on a silver platter.”
She holds Oziah’s gaze, their breathing becoming one, slowly and surely. Oziah hears Delilah’s words and accepts them as simple truth, as prophecy and law. She nods, slowly and shakily, and breathes.
“I will. We will. Together. Together we’ll end all of them, every single one of the people who wronged us. Together.”
The concern she had before darkens Delilah’s eyes once more, proceeding the question she wants to ask, but doesn’t know how to. Oziah wipes her face unsteadily with one hand, loosening but not letting go of Delilah’s hand with the other. After a moment she catches the look on the other woman’s face and stills again.
“Is there more? Or is there a question you fear the answer to?” She visibly tries to gather herself, however difficult it might be. “Ask, my love. Or tell. I fear nothing with you by my side.”
She lowers her eyes to the ring on Oziah’s hand.
“It is not fear that holds me back. For you, I would drown myself in darkness and blood, to help you I would do anything.” Delilah brings Oziah’s hand up to her lips, lightly breathing across the white knuckles before kissing them. “I just did not anticipate how the information I gathered would cause you such upset. I…”
She trails off. That, more than anything, seems to settle Oziah. She pulls Delilah in, resting their foreheads together briefly before shaking her head gently.
“This was not on you. Never.”
She sighs and looks around the room, taking in the broken glass and overturned furniture. She gets to her feet with a grimace and lays a hand on Deimos neck. No words are spoken aloud between them but seemingly reassured the large skeletal horse backs out of the room and takes flight once more. Oziah closes the doors to the balcony, rights a chair absentmindedly and offers a hand to Delilah again and she takes it. They sink into bed together, holding each other. For once, Beastie and Oziah pay each other no mind.
“He tried to sell me. Like cattle,” she whispers into the dark. “The first suitors had some political merits but after I refused them all and it was clear that no dowry in Faerûn would be enough to have someone take me on, he went the other route. ‘Feisty, but beautiful. She just needs to be housebroken.’” Even through her whispers, a seething hatred comes through. She’s not broken, she is furious. “He started at a respectable 2000 gold,” she scoffs, “but soon enough he was willing to throw in a discount. I don’t know what the final offer was that night when he tried to pull me out of the Legion but it can’t have been much. Unfortunately for him, I know my worth. Now more than ever. And if he thinks he can get away with having some pretender wear my face and name, he’s sorely mistaken. Him and Maihl.”
“What kind of fucking title is Over-Commander anyway? It’s not even a real military rank,” Delilah asks, her words clipped in anger at these disgusting men. It garners a small, dry laugh from Oziah.
“Fuck if I know. He’s a twat.”
Her face falls again as she reminisces, her eyes distant but her hold on Delilah firm.
“I asked him to take the men and leave. With me. They would’ve been ours. We’d captain the Blue together and strike out on our own, free of my father’s influence. And he laughed at me. ‘You really are as stupid as you are beautiful.’ My father wasn’t willing to pay for the charade anymore and Leomar couldn’t wait to be rid of me. And the thought of me commanding troops was ludicrous to them both.”
Delilah strokes Oziah’s cheek as she says, “The foolish are always blind to what scares them the most.”
“I’m going to bide my time. And when I’m strong enough I’m going back there and relieving him of command. And you’ll have not one but three legions. I’ll be the only one to command them, and you’ll be the only one who could ever ask me to do anything.”
Delilah goes very still for a moment.
“Do you mean that? Truly, Oziah?”
Oziah blinks as she returns to the present and she turns her head to look at the woman next to her; a woman who had seen all of her horrid scars and lethal intentions and hadn’t even flinched, a woman who had embraced it all and loved her still.
“I will never marry. I will never bow or pledge allegiance. I will never be bound, ever, in this life or the next. But I will follow you to the ends of this earth, to the hells and all the planes of shadow and despair, and if you say the word, my power is yours. The forces at my disposal are yours. You are the only one who will ever be able to claim that honor.”
She says it not with vehemence but with a calm, utter certainty, trust and conviction shining in her cobalt eyes. There is something hidden in the depths of Delilah’s dark eyes, hidden thoughts and unclear emotions. The pale half-elf holds on tighter, pulling herself closer, closing her eyes to tuck her head into the crook of Oziah’s neck where she can hear the faint sound of the woman’s strong heart.
“I have never wished to claim anything from you, Oziah. Just this, just us, has been all I could ever hope for — and you have given it to me.” She pauses a moment. “Every moment with you has been a dream of starlight.”
It’s the most poetic Delilah has ever been. For her dislike of bards, she certainly knows how to turn a phrase.
“You cannot claim something freely given.”
Oziah sinks her fingers deep into the silky strands of Delilah’s hair, holding her as close as she can.
“And I’ll give you the stars themselves.”
The pale sunset over Daring Heights is a poor imitation of spring. A damp chill of winter still holds the Dawnlands in its clutches but Oziah is drunk enough that it’s less of a chokehold and closer to relief. She steps out of the small tavern on Tato Street and only stumbles a little on the slick cobblestone. She steadies herself and the world rights around her as a familiar voice filters into her head.
“Several hours in the company of others and you are not only drunk, you are decidedly cheerful, Dark One.”
Oziah smiles crookedly at the dark shape in the sky, circling the inner city lazily.
“Slaying a dragon does wonders for the humor. Even if it was in the name of a god.”
“Careful, child. Some might go so far as to say you have friends.”
“Shut up,” she fires back, the smile still on her face. “Where is she? Do you have eyes on the target?”
Deimos banks suddenly east, gliding silently over the rooftops.
“Heading for Swamp Gate. A minute away. You had better hurry.”
Oziah’s grin turns into a predatory smile. She touches her fingertips to her cheek to draw the poison of cheap spirits out of her system – closing her eyes briefly against the jarring sensation of sudden sobriety – and takes a deep breath.
“Race you.”
One dimension door, a Haste spell and a brief moment of undignified exhaustion in a dark alley later, Oziah steps out onto Swamp Road just across from Heyford Avenue. Deimos touches down in the middle of the street, black and glistening in the dying light, a plume of mist giving him an unholy halo in the setting sun. Neither of them can say for certain which shadow is hiding their prey but Oziah can feel her, in her bones and in her heart.
“Hello, lover.”
There’s no sound, no footsteps, just a shift of shadows, then a light tap on her armored shoulder.
“People might say you’re mad to go chasing shadows.” Oziah turns around and sees the woman she hunted for standing there, one hand on her hip, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “Or even worse, that you’re in love with them.”
Oziah wastes no time, pulling Delilah closer with an arm around her waist.
“Why settle for one or the other? I’m madly in love,” she answers, quickly pulling Delilah in by the waist before she can melt back into the darkness, pressing her face into her neck. “Now get on the horse. I slew a dragon today and there’s only one thing that can make this day better.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Delilah asks in a low voice.
Deimos walks up beside them and Delilah leaps nimbly onto his back. Oziah settles in behind her with a firm arm around her waist.
“Let’s go home.”
Deimos shoots off at a dead sprint and takes to the air just as their clear Swamp Gate, his massive wings unfurling like the sails of a Man-of-war. They climb steadily into the night sky until the stars seem just within reach before gliding silently east, riding the wind coming in from the Sea of Tears. Oziah lets out a contented sigh as a genuine smile spreads across her face.
“I’ve missed flying,” she whispers into Delilah’s ear. “I didn’t realize how much until I got it back.” She chuckles a little. “You know Celina called me an Aasimar today? I nearly stabbed her, but then I didn’t.”
She presses her face to Delilah’s neck again, almost as if she’s trying to make a home there and never leave.
“You’re the only one. No one else gets to call me that.”
“I’ve heard that the little apple seller tends to run her mouth. Surprised it hasn’t gotten her in trouble yet.” She laughs. Beastie, tucked away in the shadows under her robes of constellations, moves to sit in front of Delilah, poking their little not-nose out to smell the air. A pale finger poops their nose before making reparations with careful pets along their shadowy form.
Delilah turns her head, brushing her masked face against Oziah’s. “You know, I never understood the appeal of flying,” she admits.
Her only warning is Oziah’s arm tightening around her midriff. Deimos folds his wings and drops into a steep dive, spinning like an arrow towards the ground. There’s a yowl from beneath her robes as Beastie scrabbles to get a grip on Delilah, their dagger-like claws digging into her flesh as the Pale Daughter uses her one hand to hold onto them. It takes every muscle in her body to keep herself from being thrown off as her stomach jumps up to her throat.
A hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet closer to the ground he spreads his wings again, taking them through a series of turns and loops, weaving through the sky like he’s threading the stars on a string, before settling once more on a current, carrying them towards Fort Ettin. Oziah laughs happily before relaxing her arm again.
“Of course you don’t, my love – there are no shadows up here to hide in. And that’s how we’ll get them.” Delilah doesn’t need to ask who ‘they’ are. “I’ll rule the skies and draw their eyes. And they’ll never see you coming.”
There’s a continual growl coming from in front of Delilah before it disappears in an echo of vapour and a puff of shadows.
Voice straining through a tight throat, the even paler half-elf says, “I thought I felt my soul leave my body.” Delilah gives a shaky laugh. “Wouldn’t that be a shame for daddy dearest.”
Oziah lets out another chuckle of dark laughter before quickly adding, “Not that I’d let him, of course. He’s not touching a hair on your head, love.” She presses a quick kiss to the top of Delilah’s head.
“How was the research, though? Any leads? Some convenient ‘stab here for faster death’ instructions perhaps?”
“That would be too easy,” she says, slowly relaxing back into Oziah’s arms. “What I found was a bit more interesting.”
Resting her head back on Oziah, she looks up at the stars, watching their slow passage overhead, dark eyes following their patterns as if to memorise them.
“When I was originally looking into organisations that had ties to the Shadows, besides the Obsidian City, there was a group of thieves who joined a cult of shadow demons that belonged to Fraz-Urb’luu – or so they were led to believe. Someone, or something, was playing games with them and the powers they received were in fact from a group of devils, though I could not find out which type or who. In a footnote there was mention of an ascension ceremony for only the most powerfully shadow-imbued members of the thieves. They would step into a portal and ‘receive a place in paradise’ never to be heard of or seen again.” She scoffs, and can practically feel Oziah rolling her eyes in time with hers. “A bunch of puppetmasters and fools.”
She falls silent, brow furrowed. “I don’t know if the information will actually help us or not but that’s what I found.”
“Perhaps your father is the puppetmaster. Hopefully not. Hopefully he’s a puppet; idiots are easier to kill. But from what we’ve seen, he’s sharper than most. So most likely, not.”
She’s quiet for a moment, letting her strategic mind kick into gear only for it to be sidetracked.
“Fraz-Urb’luu is a fucking ludicrous name. Maybe his title is Over-Commander.”
Delilah’s only reply is a noncommittal, “Hmm.”
“Regardless. We’ll get to the bottom of it. And Him. One father at a time.”
There’s no verbal agreement, just a hand that laces their fingers with another, holding on tight to this happiness, this piece of paradise that they’ve found. There’s nothing the Pale Daughter wouldn’t do to keep her love safe. She’s done all the preparations she could. All that’s left is to face the man who claims the name father – whatever that could really mean to a girl who’s never known him.
Co-written with Delilah Daybreaker 🖤