Private Tales 40 Years In The Taking

[Fieravene]

Annuakat
Late Evening
Gerra

The braziers were burning at all corners of the streets, filling the empty walks with dancing golden light. Twilight had come and gone and the moons were high in a cloudless, star-filled night sky. It was quiet when she arrived, the dark elf in her dark armor riding upon her dark steed, heralded by the sound of hooves across stone cobble. The Guards needn't stop her anymore, as rare as her kind was in the overbright - rarer yet, far out in the desert lands, Fieravene was easily recognized.

No doubt Gerra already knew of her presence. The God King had been awaiting his prize for far longer than he would have liked, she surmised. But it was not to him that she went, no. Instead the elf made way for her home just beyond the palace proper. It had been a long journey and she was in need of a strong cup of coffee and a long, hot bath.

 

[Gerra]

As it happened, Gerra was taking a bath at that very moment. One so hot that the steam perfusing the room seemed as thick as smoke and he could barely see two feet in front of him. The humidity was thick enough to leave a mountaineer gasping for air. He lay in the large bathhouse, alone, Immortals guarding the entrance with orders that he was not to be disturbed save by those on a very short list. Fieravene happened to be on that list.

 

[Fieravene]

Steed left to the expert care of Prince Mago's stablehands, Fieravene was taken to her home via chariot and greeted at the door by two handmaidens ... slaves, she'd not quite figured out what they happened to be yet given the little amount of time she'd spent here.

"M'Lady, your package from Vizier Medja has been taken care of," a young brunette bowed and followed after her while the second took the various travel accessories from her as she peeled them off.

Fiera's tired eyes blinked at this sudden reverie - of course, Medja had sent her coffee.

"The coffee," she yawned, stretched, and languidly allowed the women to attend to the various ties, buckles, and straps holding her armor in place, "I need it." Among various other unspoken things, but at that very moment coffee was of paramount importance.

"I'll tell the kitchen, M'Lady," the brunette curtsied before nimbly removing several pieces of armor and placing them on the form.

"I also need something to wear to the bath house," Fi added, lazily. She hadn't a clue what sort of clothing could be found in her wardrobe, but the furrowing of the Handmaiden's brows and the scrunching of their noses told her she was also in desperate need of a bath. Fiera already knew this, but it was nice to see the world agreed on something.

A short while later she arrived to the bathouse, stepping out from a litter with handmaiden in tow and a whistling tune on her lips. Wearing a sheer slip of black material that gathered over her left shoulder, the dark elf strode in through the doorway of the building unimpeded by the Immortals. Sometimes infamy paid off, but mostly she knew it to be recognition of the only dark elf in all of Annuakat that held the God King's council.

 

[Gerra]

The emperor had his eyes closed, legs bobbing in the water, elbows resting on the marble edge of the bath. The steam wrapped around him like a warm blanket and eased the tension of the day's events. So many nobles to corral. So many ambitions to draw rein. The tension rested in his shoulders, bound up in tight knots that made sitting for hours upon the throne giving audience a pain.

The bath eased those muscles and he felt like a contented cat who'd got the proverbial cream.

In truth, this reminded him of the only pleasant aspect of Molthat that he missed - the hot springs. To bathe anywhere else would spell a very severe bout of the chills for those with half-giant blood. Some thought he did not wash at all, but that would be ridiculous. People would smell him a mile off if it were true. No, Gerra was just as civilized as the rest of them. He simply needed to take certain precautions.

The sudden sound of whistling caused him to open his eyes. His squinted through the haze of steam.

"A most peculiar tune," he rumbled.

 

[Fieravene]

Fiera hadn't any real intention of seeing Gerra this evening and had, initially, been heading for one of the smaller baths in a private room. But the God King's voice was deep and rumbled down the long, open hall like distant thunder. The elf's tall, pointed ears twitched. It was difficult to mistaken and further more, difficult to ignore. No wonder he garnered the attention he did when he spoke.

The elf, to her credit, never missed a beat. The tune of her whistle continued uninterrupted as she gracefully curved her track back into the main hall and down to the massive bathhouse chamber where she'd previously enjoyed a soak with Maho and Toruuk.

Tonight the bath was witness only to the half giant who took up quite a bit less space than the massive minotaur from before. Fiera entered the room, ascended the steps to the ledge directly across from Gerra and promptly removed her coverings by unsnapping the clasp at her shoulder. The material dropped to the floor, leaving naught but a dark elf and all her dark skin bared for Gerra to see. No hint of modesty or shame to be had, but who could really say just how much he could see through the stseam. The elf slipped into the hot waters and her whistling tune finally ended as she dipped beneath the surface.

Fiera slowly resurfaced, water dripping from her lashes and hands slicking black hair from her face.

Red eyes blinked open, landing on the King over a growing smirk, "Fancy finding you here."

 

[Gerra]

Through the vapor he saw a dark vision, lean and lithe, stalking toward him. The closer she came, the higher his brows arched. He could barely make out the lines of her figure through the thick and swirling steam, but what he saw made the corner of his mouth twitch upward ever so slightly.

She submerged herself in the water and resurfaced, beads of water dripping down her taut figure. Gerra blinked slowly.

"Mmm, Fieravene. What a... surprise."

The god-emperor shifted, letting the tips of his toes float up to the surface and then down again.

"I should have known. Only your lips could craft and carry such a tune."

The look his red-gold eyes flashed her was of a reclining lion, half-lidded and august in his languidness. "I was resting, you know."

 

[Fieravene]

The brunette handmaiden followed silently up the steps, the gentle tapping of her flats could barely be heard over the lapping of water but the clatter of a tray complete with silver kettle and matching cup and saucer. Fiera's smirk persisted as she eased back against the wall of the bath and waited, patiently, for a cup to be poured. Something about being given the rights to her little song was eternally satisfying.

She'd been whistling that tune for far, far longer than Gerra had been alive.

"Mmm," the elf parroted the man's own musing sound, "yes, I know."

Handmaiden passed over the saucer of steaming coffee brewed from the beans gifted by Medja and the elf took it with a muted eagerness. She held it beneath her nose, inhaling the wonderful aroma and swimming in the sensation of distant euphoria it brought.

Gods it had been far too long since her last cup of good coffee.

Notably, there was no sugar or milk or cream on the tray. Fieravene liked her coffee like she liked everything else: black.

"It's not a tune meant for peace and solitude." Not for others, anyway, but she quite liked it, herself.

 

[Gerra]

The smoldering gaze turned now to the handmaiden who poured her mistress’ coffee. Through the lavender smell of the baths, he could smell the roasted beans, rich and dark.

“And you brought a friend,” he said, the words a leonine rumble in his chest.

“Ah. Not a second saucer, I would imagine. No matter. Come closer, girl. What is your name?”

 

[Fieravene]

"I hadn't planned on company," Fiera offered blithely in return before taking her first sip, "and neither had you, by the sounds of it."

The Handmaiden gave a sidelong look to the elf before rising to her feet and approaching the God King at the side of the bath, "Vadira," she replied softly with a perfectly practiced curtsy, "Your Emminence. If it pleases you I will fetch another saucer and more coffee."

 

[Gerra]

“Vadira. Allirian? What a beautiful name,” he purred, “Come, put down your tray and join us.”

His eyes slid sidelong to look at Fiera through the steam as she haughtily sipped her coffee, wondering if she would deny the request, despite his station. If anyone would, she would.

Well, her and Aivrid.

His lips twitched, firming into a line, then the expression was gone.

“As you say, I had not planned on it, but now that you’re both here...”

The half-giant shrugged, sending out ripples through the bath.

 

[Fieravene]

Another glance to the elf who blinked back at her curiously.

"I ... thank you for the invitation, your Eminence," another quick curtsy, "but the water ..." Vadira glanced at it and the steam billowing up from the surface, "it's far too hot for me. I'll be cooked alive."

Fiera's gaze momentarily glanced down at the water wonderingly. Was it so hot as to cook a mere mortal human alive? She couldn't tell. The elf offered a faint facial shrug before luxuriating in another sip of coffee.

Vadira padded off quickly, face flushed and hair frizzing from the humidity.

Fiera looked back to Gerra, pointed brow tipping at him, "You scared her off. Well done."

 

[Gerra]

“Me? Or fear of offending her mistress?”

It seemed difficult to tell if Gerra was truly disappointed, or if this turn of events suited him. His features seemed as difficult to read as stone. Save for the eyes, which glowed faintly in the hazy dimness.

The goliath stretched luxuriously, with a long cat-like yawn, before settling back onto the lip of the bath.

“Ah well. What can I do for you, Fieravene? Have you found my rings yet?”

 

[Fieravene]

"Mistress..." Fiera snorted lightly into her cup. Truly she had no idea what tall tales and rumors had run amok since her mission to help apprehend the captors of Vizier Ashuanar. Apparently there were quite a few.

At the asking she promptly recovered her attention from her coffee and placed it on the naked half giant lounging across the tub from her, "Do you know that I did?"

"Gaudy little things, honestly the ancients had no sense of simplicity for design or taste for style, I'm afraid they've not survived the shifts of fashion well."

 

[Gerra]

A spark of interest lit up his eyes and his head tilted slightly as she spoke, as if to better hear her.

“And yet, I think they would look lovely on my fingers.”

His elbows slipped off the edge and he submerged himself until only the upper half of his face was visible. The near-boiling water lapped at him pleasantly.

He floated closer to her, then rose again, coming to his full height before her, like an obelisk rising from the ocean’s depths to tower over the waves below. Water sheeted off of his shoulders and he peered down at her.

“Where are they?”

 

[Fieravene]

"Naturally."

Shocking. No points for taste, but Fi supposed she wasn't exactly one to talk.

Could you possibly ever wear something other than black? A question asked on numerous occasions in numerous voices throughout her life.

No, no she could not. The elf tongued the inside of her teeth, seeking out the flavor of her drink where it lingered. She had, with luck, mostly finished her coffee before the man rudely decided to drip water all over her personal space. Red eyes drifted up along his figure with a countenance of calmness.

"Rest assured the rings are safe and near." Both pointed brows leveled upwards at the man, "Of course there is still the discussion of my payment to be had."

 

[Gerra]

“But of course,” the words dripped, rich and smooth as molasses. “Must we do this dance again where I seek to divine from you what sort of reward you seek?”

He settled back down in the water, leaning in the edge of the bath beside her.

“Or will you simply tell me... what it is you want?”

The fingers of the arm not leaning on the side of the bath played with the surface of a water.

 

[Fieravene]

That wry smirk returned. Fiera set her saucer and cup aside on the tray and leaned to prop her right arm up over the side of the bath, fingers intertwining both hands at her front as she turned to face him. Clearly the expression said they were going to do the dance again.

"You once offered me an entire countryside estate for a single magic weapon. What will you offer me for this collection of prized rings?"

 

[Gerra]

The fingers toying with the water’s surface stopped and he slapped the bath lightly, creating a small splash.

“Damn it, woman.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And here I was planning on a relaxing evening without having to offer up entire cities on silver platters.”

A hand stretched out, there was a soft flash of magic, and a peach flew from a basket in a side room and into Gerra’s hand. He bit into it and juice dribbled freely down his chin. He licked it away, then glanced at her.

“You don’t want a whole city... do you? I seem to recall you shunning material wealth, or something equally ridiculous.”

 

[Fieravene]

Smug was the grin on the elf's face, broadening enough to show caps of white teeth. Fi daintily wiped droplets of water from a sculpted cheek and flicked them back into the bath, taking an idle moment to run a pinky over a brow as the half giant took a stab at his first guess.

The woman's expression deadpanned, "Do I look like an elf that wants a whole city to you?"

No, of course she didn't.

"Go fish," the smirk returned and she flicked the water in idle playfulness at him.

 

[Gerra]

“I do not particularly enjoy fishing,” Gerra rumbled, taking another bite out of the peach and squinting his eyes in thought.

What the fuck the dark elf actually wanted was anyone’s guess. She seemed to delight in rejecting his good faith offers.

“I can give you this,” he reached up and touched the chain around his neck, a golden snake amulet with emeralds for eyes. “It is almost as ancient as the rings. It summons the great serpent Dahaka, said to be as large as a city. With it you could have power unmatched even by the likes of Aivrid.”

 

[Fieravene]

"Why does that not surprise..." Fiera leaned to pour herself another cup of coffee, noting with a glance aside that Vadira had not yet returned. Hm. Skittish little thing.

She swilled the contents of her cup, forgoing the saucer for greater relaxation - or perhaps just out of laziness and impropriety given the current company's mood - and took a slow sip. Red eyes followed his hand to the amulet resting upon his chest and narrowed as he spoke of its power.

"Said to be," she implied without further words that Gerra perhaps believed in fairy tales a bit too much, "and you've-" Fiera gestured at him vaguely with her free hand, "seen this Dahaka yourself? Where's the pudding, darling. I know the powers of the Rings to be quite real but you're ... what, leaning on legend and my nonexistent gullibility?"

 

[Gerra]

The last of the peach disappeared in his mouth, teeth scraping the pit. He tossed it aside irritably and watched the nut bounce off, disappearing in the steam filled room.

“Oh, it’s quite real, but I would rather not dabble with almighty beings unless my need is great. Power always has a price.”

He glowered at her, submerging himself deeper in the bath til only his head showed, like a hippo.

“As you enjoy reminding me.”

 

[Fieravene]

Power always has a price. Too right he was.

"Darling," the elf tutted softly over her cup of coffee, "grousing doesn't suit you." Especially when he knew exactly what he'd been getting himself into when assigning this particular mission to her. Sooner or later he was going to have to pay up.

"Let me see it," Fiera held out her hand for the amulet. He'd piqued her curiosity with it, for certain, but the dubious stare she offered him was not one of a woman convinced, "I would like to appraise it for consideration."

 

[Gerra]

"Grousing?" The half-giant scowled, "You and your five drakma words."

Unlooping the amulet from about his neck, he coiled the chain in his palm and handed the artifact to the dark elf, idly wondering if he would ever see the item again after tonight.

Unlikely. Fiera would probably pawn it off for something incredibly nostalgic and utterly lacking in material value. Why could she not simply appreciate fine art like him? Now there was a worthwhile past time. Collecting glasswork, fabulous carpets, and the paintings of virtuosos.

"You know my art gallery is extensive. I don't suppose you would be content with a priceless painting? A statute from the second era?"

 

[Fieravene]

In her own much daintier hands the chain was heavy and cumbersome. Absolutely not something Fieravene would be caught dead wearing. Or alive wearing, much less. She let the weight settle in her palm, golden chain curled through open fingers, and examined it with dilated pupils as a cat might a caught bird.

"Hmm," the power it exuded was near tangible to her in a way it likely would not be to others. It would require some looking into but that was neither here nor there. Fi placed it on the silver tray next to the pot of coffee and poured out the remainder into her empty cup.

"Tell me," the elf returned to his suggestion with a crimson side-eye, "do I really strike you as someone who collects baubles and home decor?"

She'd not even bothered to add a single ornament to her home in the city, though it had come fully furnished it might be considered curiously bare by any of the nobles living next door.