(Untitled)

[medea_players]

As much as Samem Ren disliked the bizarre and illogical structure of Ishamael's estate, it provided many excellent places to talk in private, like a secluded area behind the stables. On the surface, he was talking with Luzah Ashan, chief of laundry services about washing the bedding that the Darkhounds slept on. Samem Ren was a big man with lengthy

Comments

[woven_threads]

Luzah presses her lips hard together. Fool coward of a man.

"Very well for you to say," she responds, in a hiss, "It's not your risk. Unless I get caught in the act, of course, so I do suggest you be a little more helpful."

[woven_threads]

Crossing his arms across his massive chest as he loomed over the woman. She was tall, certainly, but nowhere near the mammoth size of Samem Ren. He always liked that. His voice was coarse as he commented in an angry tone.

"Be more helpful? I smuggled in every damn thing you'll need under that bitch Vashti's nose, and you want to talk about risk, you fucking wench? There won't be anyone to punish you if you don't fuck up."

[woven_threads]

"Yes," she says tightly.

"I will be the one striking at the strongest Channeller of the Age, apart from Lew Therin. I'll need to be as careful as possible, and if I fail because of something you did or didn't do, do you think I'll hesitate to name you? Please."

[woven_threads]

A derisive, snorting laugh from Samem Ren. Did she really think that? Good thing she'd never live to name him. That was the fortunate part of this whole thing.

"You think you're gonna survive if this fails? Then you're a fucking idiot. I'd suggest succeeding."