Neda awoke to a tall column of red-hot, burning canvas, sticks and accelerants. The air reeked of cooked flesh and burnt, organic dust. White butterflies of ashes fluttered about the air between her and the burning tent. On either side of her; Asrael and Rallo stood and stared at the impressive bonfire. Neda dared smile as she looked up at her brother, only to have it fade as she remembered Asrael’s words... this was no longer Rallo. This was no longer the man who had cared for her and kept her safe for the better part of two decades- this was not... her brother. This was a perversion- a puppet vaguely reminiscent of her beloved Rallo. Before she could speak a word to signal her awakening, the puppet began shambling forwards- towards the burning tent. She threw herself forwards and grabbed him by the leg, only to have him stare down at her with a jerking smile.

Neda screamed with all her might; “No! No, Rallo- stop! The fire’s gonna kill you!”

She heard a scoff behind her back. “He is already dead, you simpleton. It is his wish- and mine that his binding breaks. And since he insists on being cremated; I thought it interesting to see him burn.” Neda did not even turn to shout at the cold-hearted psychopath.

“Please!” She shrieked. Rallo jerked down to tap her head and ruffle her sun-bleached hair. She looked up to see his pained smile and wished above all else she could read his degenerating mind- hear his voice. Without a sound; Rallo stood back up and resumed his determined stride back towards the fire, but Neda would not be so quickly deterred. Only an inhumanely strong, long-fingered hand around her wrist kept her from leaping into the fire after him. She watched in horror as Rallo turned around to walk backwards into the inferno. His clothes were the first to catch fire as the smoke wrapped around him like a hungry serpent. She turned in a frantic panic and struck for the necromancer, scratching, pinching while demanding to be let loose. As tempted as he was to do so, Asrael needed the girl- at least for the time being... but he made certain he noted down how much he would enjoy watching her burn at some point. When he had finally had enough of the assault, the necromancer struck out and sent her flailing across the dust, where she fell flat on her chest and knocked the air from her lungs. Desperate as she was, not even a wildling beast could fight the shock of involuntary breathlessness, and she remained in place for long enough to see the bubbling mess that had once been her brother disappear amongst the serpentine tendrils of noxious fumes. Asrael demonstratively rubbed his cheek and left her to watch as her only family- her only faint trace of humanity disappeared in the smoke.

Thankfully; Kerras had been wise enough to accrue a fortune in barrels of water. Asrael had missed washing himself as he had used to in the Tower. Every morning following a restless night; he would awaken to find ginger-infused, soapy water by his bedside- gifts from that infuriating, old man. His frequents comments on his body odor had, however, changed his morning routine for the better. Though he did not have ginger; the shambling, miserable commander still patrolling their campsite had an ample supply of body-oils and soaps, no doubt; one of many tricks he had attempted to lure the redhead from Neda’s bosom... or rather; Neda from the bosom. He shuddered as he thought of the violation and kept rubbing the cloth under his armpit.

Thankfully; his skin seemed to remain in place, even if he scrubbed it viciously. At least the epithelial adhesion was intact. He was not tired, nor was he hungry, which sparked the question; did he still need to cover his basic, physical needs, or were his stores of magics enough to keep his body from eventually disintegrating? He had tasted sleep in the night. The two-or-so hours had been peaceful- far more peaceful than when his heart had plagued him with its incessant thumps, and he had slept for an uninterrupted, lengthy interval the likes of which he hadn’t tasted in years. When he had dressed himself in Kerras’ loose, white shirt, his oversized leather vest and donned the blue pants, he set his sights on the still, kneeling form outside. She was still alive- news he took with mixed emotions. He turned away from the washbucket and set his sights on the wildling before departing the tent. She did not react to his approach, nor did her eyes ever move from the still-smoldering, bacon-scented tent.

He raised his voice to command her; “Get washed. Kerras has food in there and you may eat your fill. Next; I want you to sleep while we wait for the caravan. It will be arriving this afternoon, if I may trust Kerras’ information.” Of course he could. He had ripped it from his mind, after all.

Neda slowly shook her head. “You’re a monster... you’re horrible...” She whispered- still staring at the fire.

Asrael scoffed and answered; “And you are a pathetic, filthy, unsightly being. Eating helps when faced with emotional distress- as does sleep. I do not want to listen to your constant whining and so I am ordering you to wash as to not have you offend my nose and tend to yourself as to not offend my mind.” Of the many lessons he had learned from the old man, he had never thought his wisdom when it came to women would ever be of use.

She turned towards him with teary cheeks and a grimace; “Fuck you! You don’t decide what I do and don’t! You killed my brother!” Asrael almost found himself breathing heavily through his nose, but instead set his sights on something more practical. He stepped across the dust and grabbed her by the shoulder to drag her into the tent. She kicked and screamed her protests, even in the knowing it was futile. She was as much a slave as she had been for the last twenty years. He forced her down on the chair and pointed a strict finger towards the bucket.

“Use it. Then eat. I will not have you disturb my work on the fine Lieutenant still weeping over in that yurt, so you had better be resting when I return.” Neda watched as the thin, finely dressed man disappeared back into the distant tent. She winced at first, when she heard the screams. The one she had dubbed Ogrim- the one who had threatened to abuse her and the one who had frequently brutalized her brother now lay roaring in an agony and a panic neither of them had shrieked... not even the women had, back when they still screamed.

Neda sat down and stared at the bucket of misty, finely scented water. A thick layer of oil swirled atop it. How many times had she been envious of these people’s fragrance? How many times had she wished to be shown this secret remedy for her reeking anatomy? She reached inside for the warm cloth and brought it up to her face before turning around to face the mirror over the Commander’s bed before running the coarse fabric across her cheek. Some of the deep red coloring immediately disappeared, but thick lines of wet dust remained at the edge of her cleaning efforts. Was this the color of her skin beneath the red dust? Unfolding the cloth; Neda eagerly wiped her face clean of the numerous stains and was shocked to see the transformation. She looked nearly as neat as the men and women in the caravans and smelled good, to boot.

She had been eager- far too eager in her washing. From the tips of her sun-bleached hair to the bottom of her toes; she had wiped herself down with the magnificent piece of cloth and seen herself transform. Next; she had clothed herself in some of Miss Kerras’ apparel- a white blouse and a lengthy, blue skirt she had never once worn around her, as the tightness of it all prevented her from whipping her breasts out for the- Neda squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She was no more- that terrible, deranged woman. Now; she had another, horrid creature in her life- the one currently engraving the other tyrant in the tent across the courtyard. Naturally; she wished not to do anything he demanded of her... But a glance over her shoulder at the net-covered ham, the skin-covered wheel of cheeses and that drink she had tasted so many times on Lena’s lips made her mouth water. She had always envied Lena’s body- the way only her ribs had shown whenever she took a deep breath, whereas her body had visible bones at her hips, chest, shoulders, arms- everywhere... perhaps, she thought, if she’d only taste the cheese; the arrogant fucker wouldn’t notice.

He was pleased to see that the woman lay on the bed- covered in breadcrumbs, strips of meat, balls of cheese and whatever else she had gotten her grubby hands on. Though he did not approve of the reek of alcohol-infused breath in the atmosphere, he came to the conclusion that it would be, if nothing else; a way to dampen her emotions. At least the old man would have his mood lightened by the drink and therefore; he imagined it would do the same to her.

Behind Asrael; the monstrous oaf dredged his feet. The freshness of his corpse meant that their connection- as well as the connection between the various parts of the Ogre’s being was impeccable. It soothed the necromancer’s soul to know that the fine lieutenant was as agonized as the Commander- both of whom hated their new existence. He looked across his army through his mind’s eye and paused to draw another deep breath of the woman’s fine scent. The Ogre, the three women and Kerras were ate his mercy- all obedient, but uniquely fit to each their task. The women scanned the roads and warned the necromancer that the carriage would be arriving within the next ten minutes, whereas the Ogre gently picked the woman up and carried her along, where they would wait by the dirt road for the black carriage and the four approaching horses. Asrael rarely smiled, but as he sensed that, by long; some of his questions would be answered, he could not help but feel... hopeful. He turned to the confused-looking, monstrous Ogre at his side and grinned at the thought of burning the good General Sargerrei on a pyre.

“Our journey begins.”