Private Tales 40 Years In The Taking

[Fieravene]

The hand on the thigh was awarded with a break from her stare as she glanced down to see a hand that could easily snap the leg beneath it simply with an unfortunate twitch.

"Excite? No," her eyes met his again just in time to see the shift in his face. It was wonderful to learn the man was capable of expressions beyond vacant discontent.

"They amuse me."

Entertainment for tall and pointed ears.

"Excitement is reserved for the act of conquering and destruction."

 

[Gerra]

"Ah... so you believe in that old adage."

He could not read her expression beyond the perpetual sense of capriciousness that always lurked there, like a leopard sitting on a tree limb, tail flicking, staring down at passersby. One moment lounging in laziness, the next springing down on her next hapless meal.

Gerra bent his neck lower... and lower... until their faces were only a breath apart, hand on her warm thigh.

Words came from his lips in a soft and impossibly deep bass.

"Deeds. Not words."

 

[Fieravene]

Having graduated from pesky bird to capricious leopard in less than an hour was surely something to be smug about. Fiera didn't look smug, though. Instead a seamless look of placidity settled into the lines of her face in the way that the leopard and the lion maintained their truces between the realm of the hunt for night and day.

A curve upturned her lips as the lion pressed in, his figure radiating warmth the way stones did in the evening after basking in the sun all day. Small wonder he hadn't attracted komodi to his bed, surely they above all would appreciate him in their own cold-blooded way.

"The power of deeds and words are not mutually exclusive," she said in return. A moment passed while Fiera gazed at him before a delicate elven hand lifted to take Gerra's chin into its grasp, "my what lovely eyes you have."

Beneath the warmth of his palm strange, glowing sigils appeared upon her skin, faintly radiating beyond his touch.

 

[Gerra]

Gerra did not see the sigils that came to life upon her skin.

As she spoke of his eyes, he could not help but gaze into her own. Were they pools of blood, or vats of wine? He could not decide. Either way, he felt he might drown in them if he was not careful. Beneath them, her mischievous mouth had curved into an impish smirk.

He let her small fingers touch his chin.

"My.... what lovely lips you have."

Hunger flashed like fire in his eyes. Insatiable. Unquenchable.

His hand glided upward and he stooped for a kiss.

 

[Fieravene]

The sigils upon her skin followed the progress of his hand, glowing bright red under the contact and fading where the warmth had departed. Fiera shifted where she sat just slightly, head turning at the last moment to land the kiss upon her cheek where a matching phenomenon occurred.

Beneath Gerrra's lips more vibrant sigils awoke, flaring to life under the warmth of his breath across her jaw and pointed cheekbone.

Fiera held still, her own hand having slid along his jaw and down his neck, posed now just at the bridge of his clavicles.

"Careful," she warned gently, watching him from the corner of her eyes, "or you'll start mixing business with pleasure."

 

[Gerra]

The kiss landed on her cheek and glowing sigils erupted all across the skin there. Gerra's brows shot up as he stared in confusion at the occurrence, then came sharply down as the woman's fingers came to rest at the hollow of his neck.

Black tattoos inking his neck there seemed to come alive with some dark fire, ancient runes writhing and shimmering under his skin, as if wanting to escape his flesh and hover in the air.

Is she trying to bewitch me?

Where before he had been only hungry, now he was positively voracious with curiosity, though he knew that she would not spill her secrets so easily.

Do I wander blindly in the dark now?

Is she another assassin?

The danger he had placed himself in, alone with her far from prying eyes, where he might easily be killed and she escape. He knew it. And that was why... that was why...

That hammering in my chest. The roaring in my ears.

He rarely felt so alive.

"I always do," he murmured.

 

[Fieravene]

She felt the dancing of his ink beneath her palm before she saw it. Rune magic - always a sight to behold when used as a permanent fixture upon one's skin. Such a simple arcane trick folded into complex power in the same way the orients turned metal upon itself 500 fold, creating a mortal weapon nearly unmatched in beauty and deadliness.

Too bad it would serve him little here. Especially if he failed to heed the obvious warning signs writhing upon his flesh.

A smirk sliced across her lips as she turned her head back into him, "Are you sure?" Fiera leaned forward on her perch and eased her own lips toward his ear for a whisper: "I don't think your tattoos like me." A wayward finger slithered lightly across his bare chest, languidly chasing the squirming black ink while her own canvas of molten scarlet lit up along the side of her face and jaw, following the warmth of their proximity just down her neck before fading at the point of a slim, dark shoulder.

 

[Gerra]

"Mmm," he replied.

A full and complete explanation.

But what did she expect, with her finger sliding across his chest like that? Her words tickling in his ears. Raising all the hair on his arms and setting a chill down his spine.

"And you?" he rasped, fingers skating further up her leg, up under her dress, soft as a breeze but firm when they closed around her hip. A lion toying with his prey.

His other hand traced the fading bursts of light down her neck and over her shoulder, before dropping down the small of her spine.

"Do you normally glow at the touch?"

 

[Fieravene]

Dark lids drew languidly over crimson eyes as a simmer of pleasant warmth crept up her thigh and blossomed with a daring grab of her hip. The elf's posture stiffened slightly at the sensation of fingertips drifting from her neck to her back, curling against the touch like a spoiled black cat.

Fiera brushed a nuzzle along the jaw within her reach, loosing a breath down his neck with a bated chuckle.

"Only when I'm excited."

She leaned back up again, claiming the half-giant's ear with her teeth and his neck with her hand, chasing after those slithering lines of ink like a cat after string.

 

[Gerra]

Teeth scraped along his ear. Fingers caressed his neck. Gerra closed his eyes and the torchlight disappeared from his view, leaving him in total darkness. He could hear the crackling of the fire. Smell the scent of spirits. Hear her husky, cloying breath in his ear.

He shifted his grip on her, hands sliding fully beneath the dress, then lifted her right off the barrel and pulled her against him.

Gerra turned into her kisses on his ear so that his mouth could find hers, so that he could taste her lips. He wondered if they would taste like wine.

How old was she, really? How many had she had in her life time? Life times? What dark arts did she know that he could not begin to understand? What could she show him, if she chose?

The thoughts passed through his mind like flashes of lightning in the midst of a growing storm of pleasure.

 

[Fieravene]

Rich, floral-tones met his lips, intricate and complex. Notes of wisteria, Keemun black tea, cocoa nib, meyer lemon, frankincense... this was not the expected flavor of wine, but that of quality, exotic coffee. It left a lingering finish of sweet undertones and mild acidity. It had been enough to grant the elf the pep to take a half giant on after what had amounted to an exhausting journey across the far reaches of the world.

Both arms ensnared him by the neck now while bare legs, though long, failed to encircle the broad, barrel-sized waist of the man. Not that it mattered really, her miniscule weight in his arms was an afterthought. Fiera sought out the heat of his breath, a veritable fireworks display of scarlet gleam coiling across her skin at every point of contact. The sigils glowed enough to shed light in their dark corner even after the candelabras and braziers around them rather strangely went out.

A darkness seeped into the corners of the room, filling the spaces between the barrels and bottles until it permeated every inch around them. Distracted as he was in his pursuit of the mysteries in his grasp, Gerra would eventually open his eyes to find the miasma of infinite dark surrounding them so thick that the only hint that they were still in the cellar was the barrel at his feet and those directly behind her.

At the very end of the hall the single door leading into the cellar very suddenly slammed shut, much to the alarm of the Immortals standing guard there.

Heady, glowing embers stared at the God-Emperor with intent as thick as honey.

 

[Gerra]

She tasted like an overcast night: raw and dark, with sinister depths. Acrid in its complexity. And he wanted to taste more. Their lips locked together and Gerra lingered there with urgency, kisses growing deeper until he felt his chest tightening for lack of air.

The way her bare legs sought to wrap around him, heels pressing into his back, made his grip on her rear tighten reflexively. Large, calloused fingers pressed into supple flesh. He wanted her closer to him. Wanted her to melt into him until they formed only one waxen mess of taut skin and sweat-slick muscle.

At last, he pulled his head back and sucked in a breath as they both panted. His heart beat like a drum inside his chest. He opened his eyes. Dazzling lights shimmered from her skin, the only illumination - he now realized - in otherwise pitch black cellar. He could barely see the barrels behind her.

Without another thought, he pressed her up against them so that she was trapped. Her back to the oaken slats, the rest of her coiled around his frame. He trailed kissed along her cheek, marveling at the bursts of spiraling color, even as he pulled her hips down toward a hard and growing ache that had only one cure.

"Is this your doing?" he rumbled in between kisses.

She felt so light in his hands. Barely a feather.

 

[Fieravene]

"Hhhnnnnh-" it had been a while since she'd gotten splinters on her back from this sort of encounter. The sudden, encompassing squeeze across various areas of her body was enough to press the air from her lungs. She gasped when his lips broke from hers, head rolling back to press into the corded wall of barrels. Her thoughts wandered, ever so briefly like a curious child off a cut forest path to peer at a curiosity, whether or not the wall at her back could handle the tide of a half-giant.

"Is this your doing?"

She felt light as a feather.

Fingers clenched around the back of his neck, peeling into the arcane layers of his tattoos and scuttling the markings like a nest of snakes.

"Uff-" Fi bit at her lower lip, and the sound of a clik followed a short gesture of a hand. The clasp at her shoulder holding her dress up came undone, "d-don't get distracted," he had too much business to take care of with her to be letting a bit of fathomless fog draw him off-course.

 

[Gerra]

Afterwards...

He watched her retreating figure and admired the view. He leaned back against the cellar's shelves.

He guessed they would return to bickering about bauble exchange rates after this. Sighing with the sort of vague, half-hearted melancholy that comes in such moment Gerra began to don his clothes.

Meanwhile, the Immortals outside seemed to stiffen at the dark elf’s passing. Their expressions were hidden behind their masks, but the eyes told volumes. When she’d waltzed further away, one of them let out an exasperated sigh.

“Shh.”

“Oh come on, Imhotesh, that’s like the third one this week. How does he expect us to- you know what, nevermind.”

“It’s not our job to speculate, Kheptat. I know it’s hard sometimes, but where would we be if it wasn’t for him.”

“Ok, but the noises. And… gods… we were here the whole time. How am I supposed to sleep tonight?”

“I don’t know, burn an incense stick to Maskat, I guess.”

Kheptat rolled her eyes and both fell silent as Gerra approached, fully clothed. He nodded to them, smiled, and then went about his business as if nothing had happened.

…

Two days later, Fieravene received a delivery at her manor. It was the barrel of Belgrathian spirits she had been so curious about. Along with the barrel was a letter in spiking script from Gerra’s own hand inviting her to partake in a hunt for an infernal crocodile allegedly the size of two to three river boats the next morning.

There was also a subscript.

“P.S. I still want my rings.”

 

[Fieravene]

"M'Lady ... Lady Fieravene?"

A grunt echoed from the bedchamber. It was dark and yet it was midday. Very thick curtains had been drawn over every possible opportunity for light to enter the room. The curtains were black which was cause for a good deal of curiosity considering how costly black dye was.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but you said to wake you if it was something important and, well," Vadira frowned, hands lightly clasped at her front as she glance back the way she had come, "I think this may qualify."

Mmmmf.

What day was it.

What century was it.

"The suspense is killing me Pigeon," Fiera's voice drawled from a heap of cushions, pillows, and silk.

"There is a delivery here with a letter from the Emperor," Vadira took another step inside, "it looks like his hand."

"Ffff...delivery of what?"

"A rather large barrel, M'Lady."

Fieravene felt the broad, lopsided smile stretch her face before fully considering the implications of accepting her consciousness, "Belgrathian 10."

"I'm sorry, M'Lady? I didn't quite catch that."

The elf sat up, multicolored satin sliding from bare, pointed shoulders. Her black hair flocked about her ears like a flurry of birds. Her silhouette leaned into a languid stretch in the dark of the bedchamber, "Hmmm ... bring me the letter."

"Of course, and the barrel?"

"Put it in the cellar, with the rest. And Vadira ... coffee, if you please. Make it strong."

"As you wish."




The next morning.

"Two to three river boats," Fieravene's voice cut through the early morning din of the port from where she stood on the dock, lazily leaning against a support pole with Gerra's letter folded open in her hand, "allegedly."

She wasn't in her typical armor today, but dressed more for travel in loosely fitted robes of black. The parchment flipped about in her grasp, caught by the breeze. The elf sniffed and peered up at the oversized figure of the God-Emperor, "That's bait."

 

[Gerra]

"The river boat?" he rumbled, raising an eyebrow and looking from her to the wide-expanse of the coursing Baal-Duru, its near bank covered in reeds. He could barely see the far bank.

"Yes, I suppose the boats may well be bait."

He stroked an earlobe, fingering the ruby earring studded into the flesh there, and a soft smirk twitched across his lips. Feigned ignorance might prickle her, especially if she knew it was feigned.

"I suppose we should board before it leaves without us?"

The boat in question was more of a barge, with a flat bottom and a set of long pole-oars on either side. It had a high stern and cabin, but only a single mast. The sail was purple and the prow gilded. Gerra had not had it commissioned, but appropriated it after the previous owner, a prince of Annuakat, died rather suddenly.

A number of servants were already on board the barge. Other barges were being outfitted as well, since a royal hunt was no small affair, though these were owned by other nobles who would be accompanying them. All told, there were three

Without further adieu, he lumbered forward, holding a sack of javelins in one hand.

 

[Fieravene]

Bemused, the elf batted a brow at the man and pushed off from her perch to follow. It had been some time since she'd traveled by boat, something she was reminded of as her boots made purchase of the wooden deck. The gentle swaying in the port was languid, lazy even - well enough to re-accustom herself to the sensation.

The elf made an effort to be out of the way of the busy deckhands and servants while they finished loading supplies and storing it. She moved toward the bow, plucking a piece of fruit from an open container as it was carried by. Pointer and thumb gently gripping the stem, she slowly began to turn the fruit in hand while visually assessing the other boats in line for the outting.

"So you are conducting a hunt based on .... what exactly? Rumor? Evidence? Eye-witness accounts?" she eyed Gerra as he neared. The boat rocked, they were leaving the docks, "Dreams?"

Twist, twist, twist.

 

[Gerra]

The prow of a vessel in open waters would dip and rise wildly and be subject to salty deluges. Fortunately, the river had no such rumblings. Though wide and mighty, the Baal-Duru did not surge with waves except beneath the greatest of tempests.

So, Gerra felt more or less comfortable joining Fieravene at the prow. He looked down into the muddy depths of the water as the oarsmen's smooth teamwork made them glide across the surface of the river. He saw a group of hippos in close to the bank, they watched the barges pass, but kept their distance.

By the magic of well-equipped servants, Gerra already had a goblet of wine in hand.

"Several remnants of destroyed reed boats, with mangled corpses aboard. High reports of fishers and hunters missing. And a bull hippopotamus found missing its lower half. The villagers measured the bite marks on the hippopotamus and found them to be.... substantial."

 

[Fieravene]

Twist, twist, snik.

Fiera tossed the stem over the side of the boat and gently brushed the fruit against the fabric of her robes. It was an absent sort of gesture, made while she listened to the man.

"Hm," she remarked, thoughtful for a moment before inspecting her snack, "curious that a beast of such proportions would not finish its meal..." a hippo for a croc that size was barely a meal, she wagered. If the reports were true, then this creature wasn't merely hunting for sustenance, it was hunting for sport. Or perhaps out of an odd sense of retribution. Oversized beasts of the wild were widely regarded as supernatural in nature.

Fiera had her suspicions on this one, but she didn't like to assume. Time would tell, and perhaps a bit of meditation, too.

"What have you brought to use against it?" Hopefully more than just a few boatfulls of bait and some toothpick-sized spears for it to clean its teeth when it was done feasting.

 

[Gerra]

He raised an eyebrow at her, then fished in his sack and withdrew a javelin. The sycamore shaft felt smooth in his grip and he rolled it between his fingers before tightening his grip and feeling the wood creak. The steel head was small and brought to a sharp point, much like a bodkin arrow - made for piercing chain, or thick hide.

The emperor’s smoldering gaze swept across the near bank until he found what he sought. His stance shifted, feet moving shoulder-width apart, knees bending slightly. He brought the arm wielding the javelin back, took two running steps across the deck, then launched the missile with terrible velocity. It arced across the river, a black blur, before impaling itself halfway through the trunk of a palm tree that grew near the river bank. The entire tree swayed beneath the force of the impact.

“That.”

 

[Fieravene]

Fiera took a lazy bite of the fruit, one elbow leaned against the railing while she watched, and blinked as the tree gave a shuddering wobble under the mighty weapon.

"I see." It would obliterate a normal crocodile for sure, but the elf could not help a nagging doubt that this monster's hide was likely littered with weapons just like that tree-felling javelin.

"Is that all?" she queried with a raised brow. Fiera didn't make a career out of hunting mythical creatures, but on the off-chance she was tasked with such a quest she made sure to have more than one option on hand for the job.

 

[Gerra]

The elf munched on her fruit, supremely unimpressed. Gerra snorted. Still, she had a point.

“Well, since I do not have the Rings of Amon-Thun,” he looked at her flatly, “I brought along a relic from one of your recent... adventures.”

He gestured to a nearby servant who brought forward a massive war bow that Fieravene would be quite familiar with.

“Anirian sungsteel, capable of putting an arrow made entirely of iron through even the thickest plate. But I am no skilled archer. You on the other hand...”

 

[Fieravene]

She smiled blithely in response and took another bite of her snack, waiting on bated curiosity for what he'd called for en lieu of the Rings. A put-upon expression shifted across her face as she looked at the bow, "And here I thought I was just along for the show..."

With another bite of the fruit she gestured to the servant to hand her the bow and traded it to him for her snack. The bow was weighty - ever so much more than her own - and nearly as tall in height as she. Fiera had trained with war bows, but she'd hardly had reason to use them in the last century of her life. Hunting bows were more her style and far less obnoxious to cart around. The elf wasn't a soldier for any Kingdom or Empire but, Fi supposed, she could dust off those war bow skills for such an extraordinary hunt.

Two steps moved her aside to raise the bow into position and test the weight of the string and the clarity of the sight. There was no hint of irony lost on her that she'd gone through the effort of stealing the prototype bow from the Anirian's only to use the end product herself.

"I will need some time to become acquainted with it," Fi lowered the bow and gave it a short visual appraisal of its craftmanship, "how long for?"

 

[Gerra]

“Who knows,” Gerra’s eyes widened, “Perhaps it lurks beneath us at this very moment.”

A twitch of the lips, then he rumbled on, “at least a half-day’s travel upriver before we reach the site of the last attack.”

He crossed his arms and looked down at her as she handled the bow.

“Time enough for refreshments in the cabin.”

 

[Fieravene]

Refreshments in the cabin.

"I hope that includes coffee," good, strong coffee. Fiera took her fruit back from the servant and strode past him, maintaining the bow in her other hand despite his offer to take it back. No, she'd be holding on to it so she could spend some time putting arrows in things that didn't necessarily need arrows in them.

"Wouldn't want to tag something undiserving with an arrow because of a yawn..."