Open Chronicles A Court of Sand and Furies

[Gerra]

At the gates to the palace Leogaire waited a lone figure. Tall as a young oak, with a frame that spoke of the blood of ogres… or giants.

He wore a loose fitting kaftan of black, with gold scrollwork on the edges, unfazed by the searing Kaliti heat. Jewels glittered on his nine fingers and gold shone in his ears and upon his neck. So many amulets and talismans etched with warding words in Abtati, Kaliti, and even Kherkhanite that he resembled a gilded sorcerer of Thakath.

The skin of his broad features spoke of ash, whilst his eyes danced like twin embers, the hair atop his head like tongues of flame.

The gates creaked open before him and he strode forward, sandaled feet crunching into the sand, to meet Favashi.

Gerra of Molthal had come to call.

 

[Favashi]

Leogaire was not an easy place to find.

Sandwiched between the mortal realm and the various other slices that made up the fabric of the world it first required a person to have the Sight. That rare ability to gaze through that murky mirror and know that what they saw beyond was no trick of the light or illusionist's spell. Yet even those born of that realm, able to see the two as if they were one, had trouble finding the capital of the Dawnish Court. Created centuries ago as the hiding place of an exiled Summer Princess she had made her new home with the intention that her sisters would never find it. Glamour's, tricks and nasty traps would have turned most but the strongest away before they caught even a glimpse of the ancient gates that seemed to brush the clouds themselves.

Once found, however, it was hard to imagine nobody had stumbled upon it by accident. The city - as that is what those who resided in it called it - made those made by mortals appear like backwater hamlets. Magic and technology wove together here to create a sprawling mass of homes and habitats that should have been impossible in the heat of the desert sun. Vast lakes and lazy rivers sat amongst blistering sand-parched streets and lush green forests so thick they appeared encased in permanent shadow. Houses, temples, palaces and more mottled the gaps in between the four elements where different fae from different courts found their salvation. Their home. Their freedom. The enticing possibilities stretched out beneath the feet of any visitor who stepped through those gates like a complicated tapestry.

It was eerily silent as the doors swung shut behind the proclaimed God-Emperor. If there had been guards - which there must have been to have allowed him in - they were not visible nor did they make any move to offer guidance on where he should go. It didn't matter which direction he wanted to go, the path would take him to the destination he sought. Every person took a different tour to the city's heart. Some walked by a never ending lake, others walked through forests, some saw nowt but sand, and it would never be the same should they visit again. A curious bit of chaos to put those who dared walk the Dawn Court's streets at ill-ease.

Whatever the path appeared to Gerra it was only after precisely an hour that a palace began to rise up in front of him. Here the gardens were lush and pleasant pools with complicated water features adorned the grounds around it. Whilst neat it did not appear kept but bordered constantly on the edge of wilderness. It was there, lounging by the largest of the pools, that he would find the being he sought.

She didn't appear to care that he arrived for she did not get to her feet but rather watched him approach with a mix of boredom and curiosity. Despite her relaxed reclined position and the way she idly plucked strawberries from a silver platter and popped them in her mouth, the Fury was dressed for war. Her golden scale armour tunic ended at the mid thigh and was cinched in at the waist with brightly coloured strips of blood-red fabric. Her soft leather sandals were wrapped up to just below the knee and the matching helmet and blade lay close to hand. Her hair was scraped back into a half up half down affair and decorated with tiny bells and coins that tinkled when she turned her head.

"Gerra," she purred and bit into another strawberry, licking the juice that fell before motioning to plump cushions that had suddenly materialised. "Please, sit. You must be tired."

 

[Gerra]

The world shifted around Gerra as he trod forward, though the glamor of this place did not deceive him, else he would never have found the hidden court.

Only the gold and ruby earrings he wore enable such otherworldly vision. An old enchantment and one he seldom spoke of to others. Piercing the spells of the Fae was no small thing. Many searched for them. Few returned.

The half-giant regarded Favashi, smoldering gaze taking in her raiment from head to toe, though the lines of his black ash features remained implacable as stone. When he spoke, the words came out obsidian smooth in a bass rich and earthy. like the soil after a summer fire.

“No, thank you.” He stared at the strawberry between her fingers and the muscles in his jaw rippled. “Though I would be happy to fall under your spell and remain here forevermore, Fury, I was meant for greater things.”

His gaze passed from the berry to a palace he saw before them.

She well knew of his curse and taunted him with that which he could never savor again.

Nothing but ash to him now.

“Do you always dress for pitched battle, or is it my presence that provokes such attire?”

 

[Isiell]

Isiell was still getting used to certain aspects of the Dawn Court. The lack of a strict schedule in which she had no say. The lack of elaborate lessons and etiquette. The lack of... cold. Her propensity for flame had rarely left her feeling chilled in the Winter Court, but the utter warmth of Leogaire was something else entirely.

She was definitely enjoying being able to wander through the streets, the parks, or the palace without having to juggle cloaks or coats over a heavy woolen gown. Now she got to wear garments of light silks and linens that left her arms bare, and sometimes even her legs. Today's outfit was one of those. Gold clasps on her shoulders held a sheath of shimmering green silk in place on her. It draped low across her bosom, and even lower in the back, and the hem fell just above her knee. Simple leather sandals protected her feet, and she wore delicate gold rings on nearly every finger.

She'd been lounging at the edge of the same pool as Favashi, though in a more secluded spot that kept her tucked away from view. A sketchbook lay across her lap, and her fingers were smudged with charcoal.

Having sensed the arrival of this visitor, though, she'd set the charcoal aside, and was quietly listening as he approached Favashi.

Gerra of Molthal, she silently mouthed to herself, turning over the little she knew of the self-proclaimed god-emperor of Amol-Kalit in her mind, wondering with a smirk if he was immune to fae-fire.

She gathered up her sketchbook and headed toward where Favashi lounged. When she rounded a shrub and came in sight of Gerra and Favashi, she merely smiled, and sat down next to her fellow Fury. "Don't mind me," she murmured, her chaotic eyes wandering over Gerra's form, "I'm just here to watch."

 

[Favashi]

A smile that would have made a viper proud twisted her lips into a lazy, feral thing before she popped the berry in her own mouth with a shrug. It would have been one of the sweetest things the half-giant had tasted. That was, if it weren't for his little curse. Such a bemusing piece of information to have been given about the man who appeared to some as a God. She wondered, idly as she picked up another berry and twirled it slowly between two fingers, whether the fact he couldn't taste anything would make him immune to the toxins within fae food that made those not of their kind want to stay forever.

"I'm slotting you in in between appointments," she answered after another two berries disappeared between her dark red lips and she had licked the juices from her fingers. "Wars seem to have become more popular since your disappearance. Did you know that some believe you to be dead?" It was hard to miss the edge of feverish excitement in her voice. Grown men wept on the eve of battles for what was to come with the dawn, but Favashi spoke of it as a king might speak of an upcoming hunt. Her eyes slid briefly to the other Fury whom she sat up and poured some wine for, passing her the first goblet before filling her own, and then continued once the small hospitality rite had been completed.

"But I do not think you have come to talk to me about those wars."

 

[Gerra]

Now there were two of them, but they could not have been more different. One looked ready for war, while the other looked ready for… other activities.

Gerra crooked a brow.

The sight of her figure might once have stirred him, as one stokes embers into flames, but he found more than his appetite for food had been taken from him. Such pleasures now held the bitter aftertaste of ash.

“Not those wars, no.”

He stared long at her, this fury of war. Blood and death were in her nature.

“When was the last time you stood upon the field of battle… the last time your blade tasted an enemy’s blood. I suspect not in a long time. Too long. Too idle. Do I strike the mark?”

 

[Isiell]

Isiell smiled and murmured a quiet thank you as Favashi poured her a cup of wine. She set her sketchbook and charcoal aside, lifting the cup to her lips, the wine staining them red for a moment as she sipped.

She smirked over the rim of the cup as she caught sight of Gerra's crooked brow as he looked her over. She said nothing, though, simply listening as the two began to talk of war. Gerra's presence was like a smouldering coal, she thought. What would it take to fan it into an inferno...

Isiell had never played a part in a war... well, not actively. She was pretty sure her antics in the Winter Court had caused a war or two along the way somewhere, but her parents had never let her bask in it.

"It must be rather heady," she murmured softly. "The chaos of a battlefield."

She nearly felt drunk on the power of it, just at the thought.

 

[Favashi]

Favashi crossed her ankles neatly and leaned back upon her elbows in a relaxed reclined manner. She certainly didn't appear as though she were about to tread upon another battlefield in a matter of a few hours. Her smile had turned from feral to lazy, as much of a softening of her features as one would hope to expect from the fae, but a sign that he had piqued her interest enough to stop the thoughts of bestowing bodily harm.

At least for the time being.

She swirled her cup and watched the colour of the wine catch the sunlight then nodded her head at Isiell's guess.

"Perhaps you should come and see one of these mortal skirmishes. I think you would enjoy how they line up in their pretty rows only for them to be splintered to pieces," they did so like to try and attempt to maintain a semblance of order on the field. She supposed that order made them believe that war was not some wild, chaotic beast and that by partaking in it they became no more than wild animals themselves. The delusion was as much a drug as the battle itself. Lingering on the thought for a moment longer she finally turned her gaze back to Gerra.

"I have no enemies. Enemies require time, dedication, and I see nobody worthy of my efforts," her shoulders rolled in a casual shrug. "Have you come here to convince me yours should be mine, Little Giant?" The musical lilt of amusement didn't reach her eyes.

 

[Gerra]

“Not at all,” he replied, voice deep, rich, and complex, belying the hewn lines of his face. “I do not seek out friend or foe, only mutual benefit. A trade. A bargain.”

The currency of fae was no coin or shell, but the value of favors, oaths, and promises.

“You are a being of war. I will provide that which you seek. I can see it in your eyes, fury.” For he was every bit as fae as the rest of them, born to the Ash King of the Blight, in whose lands they dared not meddle. “The lust for battle. It sings in your blood, just as it beats in mine.”

A mighty forge within his heart, spewing sparks of wroth, burning with an unquenchable core of utter hate.

“When last did you see your hermit king upon the battlefield? When last did he loose you upon the other courts? Mischief yes. Mere meddling. But outright war? Think of it, Favashi. Think of the chaos.”

It was what they delighted in.

“Your throne is ruled by the strongest. I challenge your king to single combat. I am fae by blood, half-giant.” And more besides. “Will you second my claim?”

How could she not? Such chaos would be irresistible to one such as her.

 

[Isiell]

Isiell grinned, a grin wide and feral with flashing teeth. "It sounds delightful," she murmured at Favashi's description of a skirmish.

She fell quiet again, leisurely swirling her wine in its cup between sips, listening as the two bantered. Bartered.

When Gerra spoke of chaos, she snorted quietly. Favashi was the wrong Fury to tempt with that. War would be sufficient enough.

Isiell couldn't help the quiet laughter that began to bubble up, though, when Gerra attempted to make a challenge for the Dawn Court throne. She may not have been there long, but it hadn't taken much to figure out that King Andronicus was a mere figurehead.

"You wish to become our puppet?" she asked Gerra, smirking, her voice teasing. Andronicus was far from the strongest. He was the most malleable, in her observations so far.

She was curious about his claims to be fae, though. The Winter Court would have likely accepted him as such, and while the Dawn Court wasn't particularly prejudiced against those with mixed blood, that didn't mean just anyone could wander in and claim it as a way to challenge for the throne.

 

[Favashi]

Favashi was far less polite in her reaction and outright laughed at the half-giant stood before him. It wasn't a polite little laugh either, not one human women in the courts would make to wound done behind a hand in a mocking attempt to hide their amusement. The Fury's laugh was the loud, peeling sound of bells and it kept going until she was clutching at her sides and tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes. Isiell's observations had been correct about the Dawn King; she could name ten fae within the court who were physically stronger but detested the idea of playing the game of chess that was Kingship.

"It seems that dragon stole more than one sense from you," she sighed as the laugh finally abated and she was able to rub the crystal tears from her rosy cheeks. "If you want Andronicus' crown so badly he will probably throw it at your feet as much as he can whilst adhering to tradition," picking up another strawberry she popped it into her mouth and chewed.

"As for being my... champion in this match," her cruel smile was a twisted thing of beauty. "I like them to prove themselves. Especially some half-fae from the backwater ashlands," her eyebrow quirked. "Does a God-Emperor have time to complete quests?"

 

[Jiroshina Tensho]

Laughter was heard echoing as some unseen being cackled seemingly amused by something it found to be hilarious.
It started as a wisp if smoke, it hung low across the floor, it gathered dark thick sucking out the light around it it spun up swirling faster and faster until he appeared, the tall slender fae grinning wickedly behind his red hornes mask, he cackled more. It was going to be a fun day, he could feel it his skin crawling with anticipation and excitement.

"Just let the thing fight and be done with it. It will be fun to watch"

He reached down plucking strawberries from the tray that Favashi was eating from, total disregard for if his presence was wanted or not and for that matter his opinion.

 

[Gerra]

The half-giant paid no heed to a third being who coalesced out of smoke, seemingly defying the Five Laws. Ignoring these ancillary creatures would set their heads spinning far more than any words he could utter. Indeed, as he looked upon Favashi, he saw the time for words had passed.

"No."

He let the word hang in the air, even as he loomed over all three of the fae. A simple word, but spoken in the voice of a being who commanded armies as numerous as the sands. Annuk's Scepter hung from Gerra's waist and his fingers brushed across the hilt of the mighty mace as he imagined what it would be like to obliterate their sneering faces in a single blow.

A half-dozen spots of air around them shimmered, like a mirage in the heat, as Abtati warriors materialized from beneath their desert illusions, concealing magics passed down through their tribes and refined for centuries upon centuries. Every one of them held a composite bow drawn taut, cedar arrows knocked. From their hidden city of Rhaqoum, they ruled the northern wadis. Did the Fae truly think that they had the monopoly on such magics? Or even technical immortality?

Of course they did, wretched, fickle, and short-sighted beings despite their long lives. Their societies throughout Arethil had stagnated long ago.

Once, before Drakormir, Gerra might have tried to reason with them. Tried to cajole them with more promises and a grand vision. Tried to convince them to follow him not out of fear or blind self-interest, but out of a belief in a shared dream. But he was tired. So bone-achingly tired. And he no longer had the patience to brook fools.

Should he give them over to the Thakathi? Those sorcerers whose insatiable search for immortality led them to do terrible things. Gerra wondered how many centuries a fae might spend under Thakathi experimentation and dissection before the blood sorcerers decreed that they had siphoned all they could.

It was clear that these petty princelings of chaos despised the so-called "mortal" realm while knowing next to nothing about it, or the power that a united Amol-Kalit could call down upon them.

"You misunderstood me."

His fingers curled around the mace and he unclasped it from his belt. As he shifted, the sound of chain tinkled gently beneath his kaftan.

"I would not be your champion. You would be my courtier. Now, give voice to your support of my claim. Or be left to irrelevancy when I ascend."

This court would bend to his awe.

Or he would break it all to pieces.

 

[Isiell]

Isiell's smile was filled glee, her eyes green pools of chaotic mirth as Favashi's laughter filled the air, though her eyes narrowed as she caught a strange echo after the sound. As the War Fury spoke, Isiell saw the gathering smoke, then rolled her eyes when the new fae appeared, trying to insert himself into affairs.

She ignored him. It was Favashi's fruit he was stealing, after all, not hers.

But as Gerra called forth his... minions, Isiell felt a rage begin to simmer beneath her skin. She had not fought so hard to leave the Winter Court, to find a home where she was free to be herself, for some foolish young male, less than half her age, to try and threaten her new home.

Quietly, she rose and came to stand beside Favashi. At the moment, the only indicator that Isiell was beginning to draw on the ley lines through the region was the air beginning to shimmer around her form, like the heat visible over the sands during the height of the sun in the day.

He is called the son of fire? she thought to herself with a grin as her cold gaze fixed upon him. I've heard he is immune to flame, but if he is made of fire, then there is a chance I can control the very essence of him.

At the least, though, she could cause the very air in the lungs of all his armies to turn to flame. But she was the youngest, and newest, Fury. So she waited to see how Favashi would respond.

 

[Favashi]

"You break the Law of Hospitality."

The laughter had gone for Favashi's face and she rose to her feet with the fluidity of a snake. The laughter had gone, the playful amusement and curiosity. Gone. Her eyes flickered over the Abtati not with any fear, but with the beginnings of an anger that would burn for centuries if not dowsed soon enough. The Dawn Court did not have many rules and those it did have it liked to break. That was, except, for the Law that governed their entire species. Noone knew where or when it had exactly started. Some dusty old fae would have you believe it had come from a game, others that the fae had once been a peaceful species and this the only fragment of a more civilised time. Favashi believed it was the greatest game in the world. There were loopholes within loopholes to get what you wanted - a word omitted or added changed the stakes entirely. But in order to play it right people had to abide by the rules.

One of the first was that you could only be invited into a persons home.

"My invitation was quite clear, Gerra of Mothal, that it extended only to you," the water in the calm pool behind her began to churn and swirl but her face remained impassive, calm. Deadly. "I will give you a few moments to remove these insects from my home or this conversation is over."

 

[Gerra]

Now it was Gerra’s turn to laugh. Rich and thrumming notes, touched by a sense of lethal false-lethargy, that rumbled from him like the stirring of a long-slumbering volcano.

He waved off his Abtati with a hand and their bows lowered, air shimmering around them as once more they faded into the desert in a burst of ancient magic.

Now the Emperor regarded Favashi and her hovering consorts with a cruel gaze.

The way a cat looks upon a mouse.

“Finally. Something rouses you and your true colors. Come then, follow me to the palace and bear witness. Or remain behind and fume.”

It no longer mattered to him now. He did not have time to play games with these Fae as he once might have. Bearing the Scepter of Annuk, his mighty mace, Gerra strode toward the palace where King Andronicus resided.

 

[Isiell]

If there was one thing--a single thing--Isiell was grateful to her parents for, it was that they'd spared no expense in making sure she knew how to utilize her abilities. As Favashi's own ire was revealed, Isiell continued to keep her connection to the ley lines open. There was no use in draining her own magic when the lines were right there.

She waited for Gerra to comply with Favashi's command, the air still shimmering around her. When he finally did so, then turned to them with a glare that was supposed to be feral and cruel, all Isiell did was smile serenely.

"Vicious little kitten thinks he's a tiger," she murmured to Favashi with a soft laugh. "It's almost cute. But I don't think he really understood when we said puppet."

Fire wasn't her only gift, and while Favashi's wrath gathered and churned in the pool of water behind them as Gerra turned and strode toward the palace to attempt to challenge Andronicus, Isiell let go.

It was subtle, at first. Likely to go unnoticed at first glance. There were few things to block the wind in the desert, after all, and the sight of sand blowing along the ground was commonplace. But then the air picked up speed and force, plucking the sand from the ground and sending it flying into the air. In the time it took to draw a breath, a blowing wall of sand stood between Gerra and the palace.