10 Doomguard Walk, Hashkar 129 [Adult Content]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

A clamouring chime from the bells in the clocktowers, rang out across the Cage. Nine hours After Peak; lights like tiny fireflies dancing in the gloomy dusk, rippled across the great torus, more flaring to life as the darkness deepened.

A mingled cacophany of distant voices, drifted through the waves of mist - illumed by the liquid light of the Foundry's forge fires - as night-time revelers, street vendors, touts and whores trolled through the ward.

A few blocks away, rowdy Sinkers rallied together a mob of angry drunks, and put a second tenement building to the torch that evening. Curls of smoke, licked by tongues of flame, rose up to mingle with the stagnant pollution choking the city's skyline.
Wraith turned away from the open window, and resumed her slow, gentle rocking.

Aerin stirred on her lap, murmuring in his sleep; nestling further into the warmth of his new mother's embrace.

Slowly she stroked her half-elven son's downy blond hair, and placed a gentle kiss upon his crown. He nuzzled her breast, and suckled his thumb.

Wraith sighed, a mix of sadness and contentment; a nostalgia brought on by the sudden changes in her existence. At least now she wasn't alone anymore, and her adoptive father was at peace...
There came a knock from downstairs.

Who's disturbing me at this ungodly hour? Uathach thought to herself with a tired yawn, and rose from her rocking chair. The sleeping half-elven boy she'd adopted as her own, slumped limply in her arms. She carried him to his bed, and quietly settled him down on the mattress, then pulled the covers up to his neck.

She crouched beside the bed, holding the little boy's soft hand between her dry, chapped fingers, and gently brushed the curled flaxen locks from his face.

He looked so peaceful, with the contented smile worn only by those embraced by dreams of happier times.

She spent a long moment just looking at him, and gently caressed his face. She couldn't help but marvell over the innocence of childhood; an innocence she, as the abandoned child of a Fiend, never truly possessed. At least, not in the same manner as other planars and primes. She was just another of Sigil's boundless tiefling orphans, a victim of breeding and circumstance.

Uathach cast the thought aside with a rough shake of her head. Now wasn't the time to succumb to her melancholy and self-pity. This was her time for Aerin.

Smiling wistfully, she placed a gentle kiss upon the little boy's forehead.

Aerin stirred in his sleep, mumbling "goodnight, mother" before slumber claimed him again.

An amber tear limned the tiefling Dead's silvered eye.

Many times she wished she could bear children of her own, perhaps in vain to feel the little life quickening inside her. But in the realms of Death, it wasn't possible; the unborn babe may shrivel in her womb, and the birth would kill them both.

The creation of anything truly beauteous and unspoilt seemed anathema to the lie so many had mistaken for True Life.

Uathach heaved a soft, melancholy sigh.

Looking upon this child, so sweet and innocent, she was reminded again that vestiges of Life still remained here. They were more than echoes; their light had become a guiding beacon to illume the darkness ahead.

Aerin was truly a miracle, for the little boy had been spared the unfortunate - but all too common - Xaositect gang war which claimed his parents, not so long ago.

He could've been lost that day. He could've become just another nameless corpse dragged into the Mortuary by the Collectors, had Fate not decreed she take that turn off Whisper Way. Uathach still believed it was a mixture of dumb luck, and the divine grace of Apollo - though most likely the whimsy of Her Serenity - which cast that Ooze portal into her path...

The sharp rapping on the door persisted, louder than the knock before.

This had better be important... Uathach thought with a growl of anger, and rose to her feet.

She'd have to teach this berk a lesson in proper decorum for disturbing her so late in the evening.

Kissing Aerin good night, she took her leave of his tiny bedroom on the second storey of her late father's home, and pulled the door shut behind her. She lingered in the hallway for a moment, just to be certain that her son hadn't awakened suddenly, from the sound of the door closing. But when the berk in the street knocked impatiently for the third time, she hissed under her breath, and took the stairs down to ground level, two at a time.

Clenching her hands into tight fists at her sides, she strode toward the door. Sliding open the latch, and turning the key in the lock, she yanked the portal open.....

[To Be Continued]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Silvered oily streamers of rain spilled from the overflowing gutters, to pool in the cracks of the cobblestone street; enshrouding the light of the guttering street lamps for the most part. A sharp gust of cold, gritty Lower Ward air rushed in beneath the lintel, and tugged at the loosely bound strands of Uathach's hair.

But what took her by surprise, was the appearance of the tall, cowled man, standing on her front door-step: He bore the symbol of the Fated stamped into his silver belt buckle. His gloved fist was raised to knock again, which he promptly lowered to his side.
"Forgive me, Mistress Blackmantle, for disturbing your rest, but I have urgent business to discuss with you." He replied, with all due respect, and a curt nod of his shrouded crown.

"Isn't it a bit late to be out collecting taxes, basher? Who are you, and what do you want?" She brusquely demanded, glaring at the cowled stranger through the driving sheets of oily grey rain. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits as she peered at him suspiciously. There was a familiar air about him, and it was more than just the stylish black and red raiments, concealed beneath the fine, deep hooded rain slicker.

"I assure you, though I'm here in an official capacity, it's not to start poking holes into your purse. Rather, I need to check your late father's financial records, to ensure your acquisition of his estate goes smoothly."

She scowled at the man. "Can't this wait until morning? It's past 9AP, and I have a child to care for." She turned on her heel and started to walk back inside where it was warm and dry; implying in no uncertain terms that this discussion was over.

"I am aware of this, but this cannot wait." The Taker's even tone dragged her back to the threshold again.

Her scowl turned down into a thoughtful frown. "Who are you?" She asked again, cautiously, uncertain of what to expect. She knew she'd heard that gravelly timbre before, although she couldn't pin-point exactly when, or where...

"I didn't think you'd forget me so easily, Mistress Blackmantle."This time there was no denying the familiarity of his voice, nor the way with which he spoke her name. It was almost disturbing. She shivered, and eyed him warily.

The Fated said nothing to confirm how he knew her - although it was likely she'd seen him before in one of her many dealings with his miserly faction - and lowered his hood.

Uathach staggered back through the doorway with a cry of surprise. Not once in the last five years did she expect to cross paths with him again.

"Marrak?" She gasped, and said no more, as she was certain that her throat would close over at any moment.

The genasi Fated studied her with a tiny enigmatic smile. "I suspected you would remember me, despite all of your vaunted Dustman ideals." His smoldering gaze lowered to her throat, then dropped further to the crude embroidery stitched into her cotton nightgown.

Uathach glared at him. "If you have business with me, basher, then let's get this over with. I have no desire to tolerate your presence any longer than need be." She curtly reprimanded the genasi Taker, and stepped aside to let him pass into her home. She closed the door behind him, and slipped the key into a concealed pouch. "You'll find my father's finacial statements and log books in the cabinet near the kitchen." She pointed to an open door leading off from the small front room and living area - almost tucked away behind the stairs - and turned her back on him, to hunker down before the hearth.

While Uathach warmed her cold hands in front of the fire, pretending to seem oblivious to the Flame Lord's presence, her ear remained angled in his direction; intent upon his every movement, as he shuffled through the neatly stacked files in the old cabinet.

So, after all these years, he'd finally decided to return. Did that mean he'd be man enough to explain his less than noble actions to her? Or would he just abandon her again in her time of need, without even bothering to say a word at all?

Her thoughts drawn inwards, focused upon the flames, leaping up to kiss the soot-stained flue, she didn't hear the genasi's footsteps behind her.....

[To Be Continued]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

He halted only a few feet away, yet she felt his presence through the heat cast by his ebony silhouette. Wraith swallowed hard, forcing down the nervousness congealing in her chest and throat. So, it's come down to this, has it? She thought bitterly, and stared into the leaping flames.

"I'm assuming you've found what you were looking for, and you'll be leaving again soon?" She mumbled at length. It was intended as a plea for him to stay longer - only the Powers knew how much she'd missed him - though she was certain the words came out harsh and hurtful; if not downright cold and dismissive. Either way, the genasi Fated didn't take her cue.

Or he didn't care to.

"I'm not one to linger any longer than is needed, Miss Blackmantle." Marrak relied, perhaps a little too coldly. A certain chilliness crept into his resonant voice.

Wraith felt a sharp stab inside her, and grimaced. And that's why you types are called the Heartless or Coldbloods. Because all you ever do is hurt people. You have no heart, no conscience, and no consideration for anyone else, save yourselves.

"Of course." Uathach mumbled, feigning disinterest, though inside her heart was aching. She clutched a pale hand to her breast, and stared into the flames, if only because it kept her gaze fixed firmly away from his; she didn't want him to see her cry. You robbed me of my heart, my chastity, my dignity, and leave me to discover my mother had died during the night. Now you act like you don't know me, or even care. Typical. She thought bitterly.


"It seems your father left quite a mess behind in his passing. Marrak observed, shuffling through a sheaf of paper behind her.

Wraith scowled. He's not my father; just some berk who adopted me. She thought angrilly, but wisely kept her mouth shut. The Fated was still talking; and he might have something important to say.

"...but it's nothing I can't sort out in due order. As your father's accountant, I personally will ensure you get what's rightfully yours."

For some strange reason, those words left a cold sick feeling in the pit of Uathach's stomach. She shivered.

"Will you now?" She stated rather tartly, refusing to look at him, and raised her pale hands to warm them by the fire. They're cold tonight. She observed with a pensive frown, and took mental note of the fading chemical burns etched into her skin. There was also a long cut across one anaemic palm, where she'd slipped while performing a Y-incision only two weeks ago. It had bled profusely then, nearly healed now, but it would leave a permanent scar.

How many more of these would mottle her flesh in the months and years to come?

Again, the flame lord spoke, and this time she heard the anger creep into his voice. "Aye, Miss Blackmantle. If there's enough legal documentation here to prove your rightful claim, then the property will remain in your name. If not... unless you can spot up the jink to pay for the house - which I know you don't have - you will lose your family home. Until then, you still have to pay your taxes... and if my records are correct..."

There came the sound of rustling paper behind her. "... you're at least one week behind in your taxes."

The words hung like a dark and ominous cloud over Uathach's head.

The tiefling sighed. Until then, she'd remained silent, politely biting her tongue to let the Taker say his piece, but now she whirled on him. Anger and hurt, accumulated and repressed over all these years, flared white hot behind her weird purple eyes.

"Oh, I get it now. The high-ups sent you here because they know you know me, and my family personally, when they could've just sent any other tax collector my way." She spat, feeding the poisonous rage. The words sounded clueless and illogical, spilling unchecked from her mouth, but she'd waited so long to tell him how she felt, she wasn't about to back down now; now matter how much of a leatherhead she seemed. "I know you types, always eager to do your dirty work. It could've easily been someone else. But no! It had to be you! You Takers aren't satisfied with merely pestering the poor and downtrodden; you have to kick them where it hurts, too!" She snarled, jabbing a finger at him, forgetting in that moment all sense of proper Dustman decorum. To the Abyss with good conduct!

Marrak grit his teeth, weathering out her embittered tirade, and closed his eyes. Kneading his fingers into his temples, he heaved a frustrated sigh, and muttered something under his breath; it sounded like a prayer...

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

"Uathach, unless you can pay your taxes by the end of the week," Marrak heaved a frustrated sigh, and kneads his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "You will lose your house, regardless of what these documents say." He berated her like he would a wayward child, and thrust the sheaf of parchment under her nose. "That's the severity of the situation, but it's not entirely beyond your means to change." He sighed again. "It's called Life, Uathach... something you seem to have forgotten about."

The Flame Lord's gaze drops to the crude embroidery stitched into her nightgown, before returning to her face.

Unimpressed, Uathach scowled at him. She snatched away the stack of parchment, and hurled it to the floor in disgust. One of the sheets, a property deed at first glance, landed dangerously close to the hearth. The aged parchment began to curl and crisp, turning black around the edges. "Don't speak to me of life and all it's hardships, Fated. And don't bring philosophy or politics into this, either." She snapped, pointedly folding her arms over her breasts.

"I might be a Dustman, I might reject what you call "life", but I know what my obligations are, and I always fulfill them. If you don't believe me, go back to your headquarters and check my records, because last I knew, I was up to date with my taxes. In fact, I might've even been a week or two ahead." Spinning away from Marrak, Wraith began to restlessly pace the loungeroom floor, stopping more than once below the stairs to cast a sad glance up to the second floor.

What if Marrak was right? What if somehow she was mistaken, and she was behind, not ahead? What then? Shaking her head and running her fingers through her hair, Wraith paced again. It was better than standing still and considering the worst case scenario.

If Marrak was troubled by her anger, he didn't show it. "Uathach, know this, if you were indeed ahead or up to date as you claim, I wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be addressing this matter with you personally. I came here because we know each other, you trust me, and your late father trusted me. I want this mess sorted out. Not just for your sake... but for his." He pointed up the stairs, at the only bedroom, for emphasis.

Take offguard by his impassioned speach, Wraith spins around and stares at the Fated. Now that didn't sound like the kind of thing his ilk would say at all. Since when did the Coldbloods care about anything but lining their pockets? She peers at him suspiciously, wondering for a moment if this was some kind of a trap.

His face as always remained inscrutible.

"Don't you dare bring Aerin into this, Marrak. I will not tolerate-"

"Don't you understand, Uathach? I'm throwing you a lifeline here! I shouldn't even be doing this, but I am, because regardless of how I'm expected to behave, I don't want to see either of you homeless. And the truth of the matter is, I have the power to evict both of you tomorrow."

"So why don't you?" She says coldly, before she could stop herself. Too late, the words were out, and she couldn't take them back.

Marrak's jaw clenched. "You don't want to walk that road, girl. Not with Aerin. Now, you have seven days to pay what's owing. Or you're out on the street." The genasi opens his ledger, scrawling something onto a clean sheet of parchment in a fine, flowing script. Folding it in half, he sets it down on the sideboard in plain view.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Watching him warily, Wraith walks toward the sideboard and picks up the note. She unfolds it. Her fingers were trembling as she read the figures once, twice, three times just to be sure she'd read them correctly, and wasn't somehow mistaken.

Once again Marrak had taken her off-guard with his odd behaviour. But why? All of a sudden she felt sick and was sure she'd swoon if not for the sideboard she leaned upon.

"What do I owe you now, Marrak?" She whispers sadly, folding the parchment and left it on the sideboard where she found it. She felt the genasi's eyes upon her as she paced beneath the stairs again, and finally sat down, hugging her knees to her chest.

The figure he'd written down was far less than what she'd expected, almost halving what she'd normally owe for being a month behind.

A muscle in the Taker's jaw twitched; the only outward sign of any emotion he was feeling. "I kept you away from your mother the night she died, and I departed in a less than chivalrous manner-"

Uathach sat up straighter and glared at Marrak. "So you would place a price on what you've taken from me?" She spits, narrowing her eyes into thin angry slits.

"Hardly, Uathach." He scowls at her. "I have my own debt to pay, and it's been hanging over my head ever since. Now I'm giving you the chance to be the mother to Aerin that Yrrina was never with you." He says with a calm, cold finality that made Uathach wonder if there was more to this "transaction" than he was willing to let on.

She shuddered in revulsion, feeling ill again. This whole thing stank of some sordid and shady dealing she wasn't even sure she wanted to be a part of... even if it meant keeping a roof over their heads, and food on the table.

The Flame Lord watched her closely, studying her, seeming to sense her hesitation and her internal conflict. "Don't be a fool by rejecting this opportunity I'm giving you. I know you're much smarter than that." His voice broke the silence, bringing an end to the tension that hung over them.

[TO BE CONTINUED]