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The Other Side

copyright 2020 comidacomida

Sir Hamer knew that resistance was useless but, despite the fact that he was escorted by two large Ahkish bruisers he still struggled; nothing less would be suitable for an Andorian Knight. FORMER knight, he reminded himself. No, he reasoned, despite the fact that he had been stripped of his title, he was still a knight-- no corrupted official could change that in anything but on paper. Then again, that little voice in his head reminded himself, no Andorian Knight would be sentenced to Ransor's Hollow.

He was pushed and pulled, kicking and squirming down a long hallway which would lead, he presumed, to a cell within a cell. Although the prison population of the Andorian Nation's largest depository for the worst scum of the world couldn't go anywhere, the vile forces of the Shadow Queen obviously didn't look favorably upon an Andorian Knight. Former knight, that pesky recollection struck him again.

A set of carved limestone doors parted before him, swept aside when two gemstones on them glowed. Magic didn't work in the main shaft of Ransor's Hollow; apparently wherever he'd been taken was far enough away from it. Still struggling, his thrashing was all but useless but he didn't relent; knights did not surrender. The Akhish guards were hardly inconvenienced in the least and all three of them stepped through the doors and into a room that finally caused Sir Hamer to pause. It was a throne room.

Created in what almost seemed to be a mockery of a royal chamber, the throne room was lit by eerie eldritch green fire held in crystalline sconces on the wall. A deep-spider silk rug dyed oh-so-obviously with what was probably dried blood stretched between the doorway to a small, squat throne which sat raised on a dais, three steps higher than the rest of the room, and upon it sat the Shadow Queen herself.

The woman was shorter than an Andorian maiden, and her skin was both darker and more pale; death did such things to a corpse. She, however, was not unmoving, nor, precisely, dead. As the Ahkish guards arrived at a predestined position in the room they finally released the knight (ex-knight, came that unpleasant reminder from his own mind) and he was pushed to the ground, falling to his hands and knees. He immediately stood, unwilling to look like he was prostrating himself before her... before the enemy.

Ojai were not welcome in the Andorian Nation, and such a creature was lucky to have escaped immolation; for her, the Hollow was probably the closest thing to salvation her disgusting kind could receive. Beside her, a large, imposing shadow moved from the edge of the dais and into view of the eldritch fire; it was a Dragul, and a male one, judging by his horns and the yellowish-green frill running down the center of his head. The Lizard rested a large talon on the arm of the throne and, as Sir Hamer watched, the Shadow Queen placed her hand on it gently... almost... lovingly.

The loyal Andorian scowled, disgusted. "Such profanity is an affront to decency."

The Dragul's scaled lips pulled back and a deep growl reverberated in his throat, though the sound that emerged from between his serrated teeth was more akin to a breathy hiss. The Shadow Queen removed her bony hand from his talon and the lizard was immediately silent. Once the echo of his aggressive sound came to an end, she spoke. Though her mouth opened, her lips didn't bother sounding out the words, and yet he could hear them clearly as if she were a skilled oratrix. "Sir Hamner, recently deposed third Lord Knight of the Central Province... your manners as a guest leave something to be desired."

He scowled. "I owe nothing to a filthy harlot... not just a corpse, but a lizard lover as well? You deserve disgust, not manners." The knight spat at the floor for good measure.

The Shadow Queen glanced at the lizard man, who merely inclined his head to her and made to leave, but she stopped him by taking hold of his wrist. Though there was no doubt in the knight's mind that he could easily have lifted her off the ground without a second thought, he froze in place immediately, turning back to regard her at her unspoken request for him to stay, and she did it with nothing more than a gentle touch.

The frail, emaciated figure of a woman was dressed in a courtly gown in perfect repair, which created a stark contrast to the decomposing body beneath it, and yet she still somehow managed to move with a grace that would have challenged even the finest tumbler within the king's court. She moved around the Dragul, pressing her body against him in a foul display of sensuality, unbefitting of one of the undead and, hanging off of the lizard man's opposite arm, she looked at Sir Hamer with pinpoints of green light from within empty eye sockets. Her question was directed right at the knight. "Do you know that the dead still crave companionship?"

Ex-knight, he reminded himself, even as his brain wrestled with her statement. He made a show of trying not to void his stomach before gritting his teeth. "You are a deviant... not only for taking a Dragul as a lover--"

She raised her free hand and rotated it, skeletal digits flickering in the air, and Sir Hamer's voice left him along with his breath. No longer able to speak, he clawed at his throat, fighting to draw in breath. Even as he did so, her voice was crystal clear and at the forefront of his mind. "Your frame of reference reveals your own perversions, HUMAN... no... the sins of the flesh have been left long behind-- I speak of COMPANIONSHIP... camaraderie... a sense of belonging."

It took all of his will for Sir Hamer to find his breath and, when he did, he gasped, filling his lungs again an again as he gulped down air. He maintained just enough fight in himself to challenge her words "Tough for you then... Ojai don't belong."

Her eyes again fell on him and, for a moment, her hand raised. Then, slowly exhaling, she lowered it. "You are correct, of course..."

The way she quickly caved was, in a way, reaffirming but he quickly realized that it probably meant no good. Still, he was loathed to pass up the chance to press the advantage. "You must disgust even yourself... don't you?"

The Shadow Queen rested her head against the arm of her reptilian companion and he slowly turned, leaning forward so he could touch his forehead to hers, then whispered something in the accursed language of the eastern lands. She smiled, looking up into his eyes and then, with Sir Hamer, they kissed. Reptilian lips met shriveled ones and the knight turned away, unable to accept the attack on his sensibilities. Even though he didn't look, the Andorian still felt a chill run up his spine.

Only a moment later did he realize that the Ojai woman was suddenly right next to him, and he jumped back, but she was surprisingly quick, latching onto his wrist. The chill worsened enough to cause him pain, especially where she touched. Her grip was so tight as to be bone crushing, but her words eclipsed every other sensation. "To be deprived of something as simple as a comforting pat on the shoulder... or an embrace... or a kiss..."

Vision going blurry, the knight was forced to his knees. He felt his strength begin to leave him as weakness took over, but she continued speaking. "To be unable to have something so simple as a shoulder to lean on, knowing that any time you reach out for that connection the only possible result is the death of those for whom you care so much...."

By that point, Sir Hamer was more supported by her than himself; even breathing was a monumental task. Whether his eyes were playing tricks on him, or the eldritch light in the room was growing darker, he could not see clearly, and yet, he swore that the Shadow Queen's stringy, gray hair had grown black and lustrous, her frail, emaciated body had become voluptuous and full, and her beauty... was terrifying.

Kneeling down so she could look at him face to face, he expected to see scorn and malice in her eyes but, for that one moment, all he could see was emotional pain. Her words came as a whisper, and his death knell. "There is nothing you could say to me that hurts more than the mere prospect of existing... but at least I can end that pain for you."

* * * * *

Rising up from her position kneeling over the corpse of the misguided zealot, Kari, also known as the Shadow Queen released her hold on its wrist, letting the arm fall down to crumble to dust on the floor. Her loyal Akhish guards moved up quickly, the green skins attentively picking up the remnants of her latest meal. Despite what the foolish Andorians believed, the Okai rarely meant ill-will toward them, but survival required certain needs, and, unlike Humans, the undead could not subsist on animal flesh.

A gentle rumble drew her attention back to Bass'iku, her consort. The Dragul held a talon to her invitingly, and she eagerly accepted. Pulling her close into what would have been a cold embrace for any living creature, she basked in his warmth... a warmth she could not accidentally take. The Dragul essence was not one that fed Okai, and so he was safe... which meant that she was safe. Humans couldn't understand what love truly was because they did not understand how vulnerable life could be but she, as a being that ended it any time she drew close, could truly appreciate it. Bass'iku murmured softly, speaking in the words of her homeland "He must have tasted sour... he sounded as though he were made of bile."

Burying her face into his scaled chest, she slowly shook her head. "No, my sweet... he was wonderful. They always are. Despite his vile words, he truly was a good man... perhaps that's why he was exiled here. There is no room for good men in the Andorian world."

Bass'iku stood passively, her comfort; her rock. He waited patiently for her to disengage, providing her the comfort she desire without the demand for anything more. Sometimes, after she had fed, when her body was closest to alive they would make love. She knew that the lizardfolk had different needs when it came to physical intimacy than other races, and that, at times, they were driven into a rut that was nigh unstoppable, and yet she had never seen that from him. She had saved his life almost a decade past but, then again, she had done that for most of her followers.

As one of the original prisoners of Ransor's Hollow, she was spared death only because she was capable of saving the King's son from a wasting disease. Despite being the sole individual with the power to restore the prince to health, she was still reviled by them; it was an endless cycle of hatred, and the thought of it disgusted her. Almost as if sensing what was on her mind, Bass'iku reached out and took hold of her hand delicately and gently so that his talons wouldn't threaten to puncture her newly softened digits. "They are not good enough for you, my Queen... this is your kingdom; all of the worthy ones are here."

She smiled softly at his comforting words. Moving to her throne, she settled her consort into it so she could climb onto his lap, resting her head against his chest as she used to do centuries past when she was a little girl in her father's care, easily a decade before she became an Ojai. Sometimes she could almost feel what it was like to be alive, but it was bitter-sweet; she was no longer alive, and no amount of day-dreaming would change that. But, despite her realization, she still managed to smile. "Thank you, Bass'iku... you're right. Everything I need is right here."