Private Tales 40 Years In The Taking

[Fieravene]

OHmmmmmm. Maintaining eye contact Fi bit at the nock of one of the arrows.

She had never wanted to tag an innocent man with a solid metal arrow more in her life.

"Gerra," scarlets dipped once to look the man down and up his considerable height, "if that's what you'll do for a silly hat I shudder to think what I'd get for an arrow to the knee."

 

[Gerra]

“Well,” the way her lips brushed against the nock brought back memories.

“I can assure you...”

He stooped to whisper in her ear.

“It wouldn’t be pleasant.”

 

[Fieravene]

The elf visibly shivered at the whispered words in her ear, caging a muted sound of delight by biting at her lower lip instead. The arrow fletching flicked through the air to tap lightly at the God-Emperor's nose. Fiera tilted her head back to look askance at him, mirth present in all aspects of her expression, "Don't threaten me with a good time, darling."

 

[Gerra]

Gerra blinked and went cross-eyed trying to look at the arrow she'd tapped his nose with, he sniffed in amusement, eyes flicking back to burn into her blood-red orbs. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip. Something in him responded to that primally. Carnally.

One of his anvil-like hands came up and wrapped all the way around her throat, holding it the way you would hold a butterfly, fingers caged.

"It's not a threat... it's a promise."

 

[Fieravene]

The pair had garnered themselves quite a bit of attention from the others on the boat. Many were staring ... or rather, trying not to stare considering the rudeness of doing it to a normal person. To stare at a God-Emperor? Unthinkable.

But how did you not stare when a half fire giant and what equated to the royal executioner were getting ... friendly (?) out in the open. Perhaps, Fi thought, it was a bit like watching a volcano threaten to erupt, consuming all the lands in unstoppable hellfire. Breathtakingly terrifying.

"Mmm," the elf made no effort against the hand around her neck, a pleased smile languidly settling onto her face, "such things you say."

Red eyes broke the gaze she was holding to glance over at one of the nobles presently watching them, his bronzed skin having drained of color on his face, "Are we making a public spectacle of this? I'm not sure they understand..."

 

[Gerra]

“Then perhaps I should clarify for them.”

His fingers tightened ever so slightly around her throat.

The watching nobles stared openly, yes, but not because they were unused to such displays. Quite the contrary. The river cities of Amol-Kalit held parties that would turn a priest of the Radiant Church white with shock, then red with rage. No, these nobles stared because some of them secretly hoped he would make a mistake. Perhaps squeeze too hard. A dead foreigner by the emperor’s own hands. What a scandal. A scandal they would use for their own political advancement.

“Or perhaps not. They don’t deserve such a show,” he whispered.

The servants and slaves aboard the ship who watched watched for other reasons. Mainly that it was the most interesting thing happening in an otherwise uneventful trip.

And it suddenly became quite interesting indeed.

With little effort, Gerra hoisted her off the ground and retreated into the cabin, shutting the door with a sandalled foot as he stooped inside.

He tossed her onto the rug and kneeled to pick up a chain from the corner.

“You’re due for a reckoning.”

 

[Fieravene]

Somehow, and she wasn't even certain how, Fiera managed to keep hold of the arrows and bow while being plucked from the ground like a ragdoll and carried off. The elf smugged at a gawping noble, sending the man a wink before the door slammed shut and she, said ragdoll, was tossed to the floor with a yelp.

She landed in a heap and remain as such for several long moments, contemplating the many long years of her life and how it was they brought her here, of all places.

"Past due, if I'm being honest with myself," but she was talking about an entirely different sort of reckoning. Maybe. Fiera heaved a sigh, lazily brushed hair from her face, and gave the man a curious look as he fussed with something in the corner. One of her hands absently lifted to her throat, pawing at the dissipating sensation of pressure.

Was that coffee still hot? She could go for a second cup.

"Are you sure you want to start this now and not..." she gestured with one of the arrows, "after the hunt."

These sorts of encounters tended to last long enough to need a relatively clear schedule on the horizon. Which they did not.

 

[Gerra]

"And meet the danger wide-eyed and fully prepared?" Gerra said, uncoiling the chain and weighing it with both hands, eyeing the manacles at the ends, "Fieravene," he tutted, "I thought you were more interesting than that."

Red-gold eyes looked down at her. She still had the bow and arrow. Gerra supposed that perhaps the most interesting thing that could happen was not ensuing pleasure, but her assassinating him and making off without a care.

Now wouldn't that be exciting.

"Besides, the beast could kill us. Do you really want to die without having lived-"

He snapped the chain taut.

"To the fullest?"

 

[Fieravene]

A knowing smirk arrived into her expression like a bird alighting upon a branch, with a quick sort of grace. She was not above hunting an oversized iguana in all her naked glory, but the idea of being blamed for the death (re: murder) of yet another God-Emperor and having to go through yet another botched death sentence was really quite tiresome.

But he did look so keen with that glint in his eye, and who was she to put him out.

"Gerra," she tilted, eyes narrowing, grin broadening, "it's almost as if you're romantic."

The elf pushed herself up and set the bow and arrow aside, "Color me convinced. At no point in my life may I ever be considered uninteresting." That just wasn't allowed.

 

[Gerra]

A long while later....

Groggy and dazed, Gerra began re-assembling his wardrobe on his person while Fieravene looked oh so coy. A smile had just touched Gerra's lips and he bent down to put on his shoes when suddenly the entire barge wobbled.

Gerra froze.

"Did you feel-"

The barge rocked violently, careening side to side. Shrieks of panic began to filter into the room from outside despite the cabin's shut door.

"Fuck," rumbled the half-giant, standing up suddenly and slamming his head into the ceiling. He let out a string of curses, eyes burning like hot coals, as he rubbed at his skull and searched around for a weapon. Had he left his sack of javelins outside? He had hadn't he.

Gerra picked up the only thing he could find - the chain laying on the floor - and opened the door.

The deck was a scene of chaos, with crew scrambling from one side to the other, peering into the river's depths. The other two barges had stopped at some distance from them and onlookers crowded the railings of their boats.

Suddenly, one of them exploded in a spray of wood shards, sending men screaming into the river. In the midst of the flotsom, an impossibly immense shape took form... heading directly for them.

 

[Fieravene]

Fieravene had been lounging on the rug, sipping cold coffee from a chipped mug when the ship momentary shudder.

"Did you feel-"

She raised her brows in a facial shrug as the ship went quiet again, slowly tipping her cup up for a long drink. Then then boat gave a sudden lurch. The pot skated off the table and narrowly missed crashing over her head, landing instead to smash just inches away. She blinked at it, bug-eyed, tall ears alert.

"Fuck-" THWUMP!

Fiera pouted at the pot and the loss of coffee, reaching to pick up the cap from the mess of shattered pieces. Her gaze shifted from the first victim of the encounter to the fuming half-giant as he lumbered out the door.

The elf gave a long sigh and picked herself up from the floor, tip-toed around the porcelain shards, and began to redress.

She arrived a few moments later, yanking on her right boot with the bow strung about her shoulders and the two arrows in her free hand. She skidded out into the open, wide eyes glancing about to take stock of the situation. Fi turned on her boot heel just in time to catch the explosion of the first boat and the surge of a massive creature through the water toward their own.

One moment her feet were planted firmly, the next she was flying through the air, and a moment after that she plunged into the murky depths of the river with all manner of boat pieces, debris, and supplies raining down above her. Fingers still latched about the two arrows, she made a solid mental effort not to drop them - knowing they may be the only arrows at her disposal now, and swam to the surface.

Reaching open air with a gasp, Fiera wiped water from her eyes and looked about for any sign of the monster or the man who called himself Emperor.

"Where is it?!" she called to a group of men clinging to a large portion of the now capsized boat, "Do you see it?!"

One of the men raised a shaking hand to point upstream.

 

[Gerra]

All eyes turned in that direction, but saw nothing. Gerra frowned. Where-

Shards of wood exploded in a spray of shrapnel that sent crewmembers flying backward and left Gerra sprawled on the deck. An enormous green-gray head jutted from the middle of the gutted barge. Its skin leathery and scaled, its pupils black slits in the midst of a venomously green iris. Jaws as wide as a cart opened, yellowed teeth in ragged rows, and a saprostomous stench so foul that it made bile rise in the back of Gerra's throat issued forth from the pink maw.

A terrifying reptilian hiss issued from the behemoth's throat, then it began to wriggle madly, thrashing about and ripping the barge in twain with its movement. The pieces began to sink swiftly. Gerra began to slide down toward the water. Desperate, knowing he could not swim, he hurled the length of chain in his hand at the beast. It smacked the behemoth in the open maw, which snapped shut with a suddenness that left Gerra's heart in his throat. Then the beast dove into the water, hauling Gerra off the sinking barge and into the river with it.

The half-giant disappeared beneath the surface.

 

[Fieravene]

Grabbing onto a nearby floating crate, Fiera lifted herself up just enough to get a better look around. Her eyes followed the pointing hands of the people waiting on the larger flotsam until the monster exploded through the girth of the ship and began to thrash it to pieces. She watched as crewmembers jumped, or were sent sailing, and then finally spotted the image of Gerra around a large portion of floating rig.

The half-giant was there one moment and gone the next, dragged down into the depths of the river.

Fiera gave an audible, huff of frustration, "I can't believe this... get those people on the other boat!" she slapped the water at the men sitting nearby on the floating pieces of the boat, "get them out of the water!"

This was not what she had signed up for - being heroic. Pushing off from her crate, Fi swam over toward the larger bulk of bulwark still floating on the surface and pulled herself up. She was able to climb up to the top and find herself a decent vantage point to look across the surface of the waters, elvish eyes narrowing as they took in signs of surging or ripping waters. The bow was pulled over her head and one arrow pinched in her teeth. The other was strung and set at the ready, but not yet drawn.

She waited for a hint, a sign, ready to draw and release at the first opportunity.

 

[Gerra]

The water seemed to suddenly boil and the crocodile burst forth, thrashing madly about as a figure clung to it, a chain wrapped about its maw.

Gerra held on for dear life, despite the frigid cold he felt from the water's touch and the chain links biting into his arm, tearing at the flesh and grinding bone beneath. He coughed up a lungful of water, then let out a hoarse, defiant roar as he struggled with the behemoth, the chain wrapped fully around the both of them and pinning Gerra to the crocodile's backside.

He could barely see for the water in his eyes and was only above the surface for a moment before the great reptilian hauled them under again. Gerra struggled, but even his strength was futile against the behemoth's sheer tonnage. In the murky depths of the river, he could see nothing but the gray-green skin of the beast he was strapped to and slowly, his strength began to disappear. His lungs cried out for relief until at last Gerra could resist no longer and with a choking sigh he sucked in water.

A sensation of serenity filled him, even as his lungs filled with water and blackness engulfed his vision.

He did not see when the beast surfaced again, for he was already unconscious.

 

[Fieravene]

Watching the two beastly things wrestle and flail in the water was enthralling. Fiera caught herself staring in wonder, the chaos engendering a seedy mirth in her gaze.

"Lady Fieravene!" one of the men nearby struggled to pull himself up from the water, pushing a bundle forward in his hands, "Take them!"

A massive spray of water crashed around them all, churning waves rocking the detritus of the boat. Fiera blinked and looked down to see the man was offering her the quiver of arrows. Damn.

"Yes yes," she swiped it from him and pulled it over her head and shoulder. The elf gave the man a dejected glare, sighed dramatically, then moved to climb higher. Now with a river breeze in her sopping wet hair, Fiera drew her arrow and held her breath, waiting to take aim.

She didn't have to wait long. The monstrous lizard resurfaced, surging directly towards her. A moment passed, she aimed down the sight, muttered something under her breath, and set loose an arrow that blazed through the air like a gleaming red comet.

It sank into it's left eye with a sickening explosion of dark magic.

 

[Gerra]

The leviathan rose fully out of the river with a crocodilian hiss of pain. The river seemed to boil with its thrashing. Blood cascaded from its pierced eye, until the river ran red. The reptile rolled and rolled, body wriggling as though it were entirely boneless, until its floundering body fetched up against the river bank.

A figure could still be seen lashed to the corpse by a chain, though he was caked entirely in mud. He did not stir when the behemoth stilled.

 

[Fieravene]

There were cheers rising into the air as the monster came to lay prone on the banks, gushing blood from the wound in its head and hapless for the tagalong. Fiera lowered the bow and watched for several minutes as those along the riverbank slowly flocked forward to begin the process of untangling Gerra from the chains. Pulling him free and wiping the mud from his face, a man leaned in to listen for breathing.

After a moment he leaned up, face blanched, and shook his head. The frown indicated the answer to the question on everyone's lips.

"He is ...gone," the man said on trembling words, "he is gone!"

The cheers were slowly replaced by an outcry of disbelief, of anguish. Fiera did not join it but instead methodically pulled the bow back over and across her chest before diving back into the muddy red waters.

She resurfaced near the shore and slowly trudged up through the mud, wiping the stained water from her face. If nothing else, the trip had proven short. Almost too short. Suspicion wasn't something Fiera entertained often if only because it was she that was typically the guilty party, not another. Yet something seemed amiss. Almost as if someone were having a laugh.

"Lady...my Lady," a woman approached her, tears streaking her face, "is there nothing you can do? Surely someone who can take the souls of the guilty can bring back the souls of the honored?"

Fiera gave the woman a look of mild affront.

"Surely...surely there is something to be done...? Please Lady Fieravene. I beg of you, his empire needs him."

Scandalized by the thought of playing hero yet again, the dark elf withdrew herself from the woman's simpering gaze and looked on at the scene of those surrounding Gerra with distaste. More eyes were turning her way, hopeful, uncertain, shocked. She heaved a sigh at long last and gestured dispassionately at them, "Step aside. Let me have a look."


Late evening.

Gerra would awaken within his tent, his body weak, limbs heavy, heart stinging, throat raw, eyesight blurred beyond measure. His mind, however, was alight with visions of things incomprehensible.

 

[Gerra]

Heavy lids fluttered open to stare blearily up at a vaulted dome of red silk. Gerra blinked, trying to clear his vision.

Where was he? What had happened? The last thing he remembered was...

Starlight burst in the vision of the minds eye and he recoiled into the mattress he lay on as his breathing quickened. He sucked in lungfuls of air, chest rising and falling as he remembered drowning in the river and then... and then...

Things I was not meant to see. Things no mortal should.

I died.

He had always thought that when he died he would be welcomed into the court of his mother. But this had been nothing like that, he could not even put the vision into words.

Weakly, Gerra sought to prop himself up on his elbows and then push himself to stand. The first attempt made him collapse back onto the mattress.

"Hello?" he croaked, throat raw and ragged, the fathomless rattling of a shade.

 

[Fieravene]

An attendant was there quite quickly, a young woman who looked as though she were seeing a ghost.

"Your Eminence, I am here. Please, the Lady Fieravene insisted that you remain at rest. May I bring you something? Food or water?"

 

[Gerra]

“Yes,” rasped the emperor, despising the weakness with which the word was uttered. “Both. And wine. Fetch me wine.”

Why did his hands still tremble?

 

[Fieravene]

The woman nodded, jaw gaping slightly at the sight of him, "At once, Your Grace." She scurried out of the tent with great haste.

The tent fell quiet, curiously moreso than it likely should have been. Gerra would find several braziers surrounding his mattress, the flames intermittently flashing odd wisps of red and black. A weird sense of the arcane lingered on the air - the odor of death and the burning remnants of ether.

Silence for some time aside from the hissing of the flames.

And then the tent flap burst open again, permitting a sudden flush of new smells to saturate the dwelling. Two men carried an oversized platter upon which a rather grotesquely shaped slab of meat rested, it's charred exterior making it rather impossible to discern. It did not smell of beef, nor was it of an appropriate size to be of anything smaller.

"Over there, on the table," Fiera entered after them, stinking of blood while she idly wiped it from her hands with a cloth.

Three more hosts walked in carrying plates, knives, glasses, and a great pitcher of water.

"Will you be needing anything else m'Lady?" one of the men asked.

"No, that will be all," Fiera tossed the cloth aside and moved to the table to select a large carving knife. Her red eyes narrowed as she watched the procession of servants exit the tent and then she turned and got to work cutting into the unknown hunk on the platter.

"No wine for you tonight," the elf remarked definitively, eyeing the color of the meat as she prised the incision apart, "it will impede your recovery."

 

[Gerra]

"What is that?" Gerra rasped, looking from Fieravene to the slab of charred meat.

He tried to sit up, then fell back again, muscles loose as water.

"What- what happened? My memory its-" he held a hand up to his head and closed his eyes, but did not like the visions that flashed through his mind, and opened them again almost immediately. They stood wide and afraid.

The emperor could not remember the last time he had felt so helpless.

Not even in the barren desert.

 

[Fieravene]

"This?" Fiera gestured to it with the knife, popping a slice into her mouth to test the flavor. Probably a bit undercooked, but this particular cut of meat wasn't well-known for its ease of roasting, "The flame-charred heart of your scaled assailant, of course. I cut it out myself..." the mirth pulled at her face in all the wrong ways, dancing angles in the flicker of torchlight casting a heathenish air about the elf.

"Stop fussing, you've been mostly dead all day. I went through a lot of trouble taking your soul from the Drowned Eldar God to bring you back and I won't have my efforts put to waste." The same blade was pointed at him pointedly to make her point, then used to skewer another sliver of heart and pop it into her mouth, "Mm, actually this isn't half bad...could use some seasoning..."

Fiera loaded up a plate with several cut pieces, poured a large flagon of water, and walked it over to his bedside. She handed him the water first, "Drink up, journeys through Oblivion are terribly dehydrating."

 

[Gerra]

The half-giant followed her advice and stopped attempting to stand. Resting on an elbow, he accepted the water from her and drained the entire flagon in a single go. The cool water still stung his raw throat, but the sensation was somewhat soothing. He gave a ragged cough as he finished it and nodded his thanks to her.

"So it's true," he rumbled, his tone gaining some strength again, "I died. And you brought me back?"

A heavy hand reached out to touch her slender wrist.

"Thank you."

 

[Fieravene]

A brow larked at the guzzled tankard, Fiera's expression dulled by the notion of duty and heroism. It stuck to her like tree sap and she was finding it all to be rather ... disenchanting.

"Don't be so hasty to paint me a hero," the elf sniffed, setting the platter of meat down on the bedside, "it's unbecoming for an Executioner."

Her free hand reached to snatch up the tankard, extracting herself from his hand to refill it for him.

"There are other ... machinations at work here. I suspect your future will hold challenges and repercussions that may make you regret your second chance."