Fable - Ask A Royal Execution

[Gaheris]

Right. Elvish lifespans. How could he forget. Gaheris sipped his wine, trying to pretend his mind was not reeling from the reminder that Fieravene - over a decade prior to him even being born - had snatched up eight powerful artifacts from a set of ten. She said it so casually, like it was barely a footnote to something else.​

Fucking... Elves.​

Well, at least the wine was good. He felt pleasantly warm already.​

“Why the fuss, then?” He ventured, “It sounds like you want to see what happens, and His Eminence certainly wants the rings...”​

 

[Fieravene]

"I don't work for free, Gaheris," she smoothed the pad of her pinky over a brow, "regardless of when the effort was made, it was still an effort. Not to mention having to retrieve the rings again from where I stored them...halfway across the world."

An arm lifted to curl over the top of the seat's low back, folding to prop her head on as she shifted to face the Mortician more fully, "I also find it fascinating what people consider valuable."

The elf's eyes narrowed faintly as she gazed at the man, "What would you pay for 8 rings of power I wonder..."

 

[Gaheris]

He smiled, either awkwardly or nervously. A highly expensive question. What do you offer a woman whose primary motivation was amusement? Aside from a detailed look at the back of your head as you flee screaming into the night.​

​

"You're clearly not strapped for money," he began, tapping one hand idly on the table. "Information, I guess. Knowledge. Some other artifact of equivalent power?"​

​

Gaheris could not remember, for the life of him, what any of those rings did. That was the problem with sets of ten - hard to keep track of what did what. Was there even a ring he would particularly want?​

​

He looked contemplatively into his wine glass, disturbed to find the color was not at all that dissimilar to Fieravene's eyes.​

 

[Fieravene]

"Clever man..." she eyed him shamelessly, as enthralled to watch him fidget and twitch in discomfort now as she had been before. This time, however, was purely for pleasure and not out of ulterior motives. There was no dragon horde to raid, no orc's debt to pay. While it was true what he said, she was not strapped for money, the dark elf was finding that the value of her time spent in Amol-Kalit, doing things for a man who proclaimed himself a God, was starting to depreciate.

Perhaps Gaheris could provide added value. She drank from her own glass, more deeply than usual, and promptly set it aside, empty.

The Necromancer ... Mortician .... Necrotician? Mortmancer. Well, he was indulging his inner turmoil with a longing gaze into his wine glass so he wouldn't see the curious wisp of black ether conjured by her hand.

"I'm not certain Gerra could offer me useful information or knowledge, but he did offer me this."

She held out the golden trinket for him to see, "The Amulet of Dahaka. Heard of it?"

 

[Gaheris]

"Clever man..."​

​

"I do my best," Gaheris muttered to the wine glass, before taking a similarly deep drink.​

​

When he looked back to Fieravene, she had produced an amulet seemingly from nowhere. Gaudy little thing, crafted in a style he didn't quite recognize. Perhaps an Abtati trinket, though if Gerra had offered it, it was probably something greater.​

​

"No, I can't say I have," he replied, eyeing it as if he expected it to explode.​

​

Gaheris had never been one for trafficking in ancient artifacts, though he had known a colleague at the Bloodgrass Academy who did. It had taken weeks to scrape his remains from the walls. It was the sort of event that inspired him to use items that were largely crafted by his... Contemporaries.​

​

Clearly Fieravene had no such compunctions.​

​

"Does it do anything?"​

 

[Fieravene]

Drats.

Well she supposed she'd not entirely expected him to know anything about it. The tedious chore of research on the item would take her months, no doubt. Clearly there was a faster, greedier way to get to the bottom of it. Fieravene held no compunctions about taking the shortcut either.

None whatsoever.

"Well," she tilted her head at it, turning her hand just so that it caught in a beam of moonlight, the flicker of candelabras made it seem as if it had a face and that it were grimacing at the pair of them.

"According to him it has the power to summon a legendary city-leveling creature called Dahaka."

Sighing, she turned her hand to let the amulet drop until it hit the length of chain and swung like a nuclear-infused pendulum from her hand.

"He admitted to not having put the legend to the test so I suppose that little effort is left to me."

Scarlets slivered with mirth as they shifted to Gaheris, "Fancy coming along?"

 

[Gaheris]

"City leveling," Gaheris repeated, testing the full weight and meaning of that combination of words. He watched the amulet swing back and forth for a moment, like a snake being hypnotized.​

​

What kind of God-Emperor hands out abomination summoning amulets? To Fieravene, of all people? Didn't Gerra own most cities in this region? What could he possibly gain from the uncontrolled release of such a monster?​

​

As usual, the inner machinations of the God-Emperor's mind were an enigma. Though, speaking of enigmas...​

​

His eyes snapped abruptly from the amulet, back to Fieravene. His mouth twitched, forming a nervous, possibly apologetic smile.​

​

"Ah... No?"​

 

[Fieravene]

Those eyes watched him intensely for the several moments of silence that stretched between question and answer. Beneath them a smile that was not trying very hard to look friendly.

"Ah... No?"

The pointed tips of her ears dipped a fraction but her smile did not relent, "Pity," she offered before gathering the amulet back in her fingers again and casually tossing it over her shoulder. It sailed through the air and disappeared into an impossible ether crack in the same way someone might drop their gold coin through the slats of the boardwalk.

That hand then glided through the space between them to take up the bottle of wine. Gaheris found his glass refilled.

"Well then..." Fiera opted for a sudden shift of conversation and filled her own as well before lifting it, "a toast to your new Royal Post - belated though it may be. Welcome to Annuakat, Gaheris."

 

[Gaheris]

Gaheris blinked dumbly as she flung the amulet away, nary a care in the world. Like it was any other useless bauble, and not allegedly suffused with the power to ruin the lives of tens of thousands of people. She refilled his glass while he was still staring after the amulet, snapping back to reality to a full glass of wine.​

​

To his relief, Fieravene did not press the issue. Amazing. He should really try saying 'no' to more people, more often. What a liberating experience.​

​

He halfheartedly lifted his own glass. "Yes, thank you, I... Certainly feel welcomed..."​

​

It was abit overdue. No wine and roast duck had greeted him on his acceptance of the post. Just a pile of improperly executed criminals who had to be thrown out. After the salvageable organs were excised, naturally.​

​

"You've met the Emperor several times now, I take it," he offered, fiddling with the rim off his glass, "How would you assess his... Temperament?"​

 

[Fieravene]

"Like a lazy volcano," Fiera replied dispassionately, looking up as Vadira returned with a fresh tray of cheeses and fruit.

"Dinner will be ready shortly, M'Lady. Will you take it here or in the dining hall?"

The elf had plucked a stem of grapes from the tray, leveling Vadira will thoughtful look, "neither. We'll dine on the veranda in the moonlight."

Vadira bowed her head, "Of course. We'll prepare it right away." And off she went.

"The dining hall is so impersonal," Fi remarked absently, popping a grape into her mouth. She hadn't brought the man here to put half a room of dining hall table between them. How anyone could hope to hold good conversation when they practically had to shout at one another was beyond her. Dining halls were where you took people you didn't really care to talk to.

"All the ingredients are there for a seething inferno but he remains content to keep it bubbling just beneath the surface, placated by war and women and wine and worldly baubles. He conquered Salitra with bread and rewards his loyal followers handsomely. He's, mm..." she gestured with a grape, "what's a good W word to keep the momentum going .... winsome. There it is."

She labored over a sip of wine, "A bit like lukewarm bathwater."

 

[Gaheris]

A lazy volcano. His brows rose. "Oh."​

​

Another visit from the servant. The veranda in the moonlight? Something about that description agitated his flight or fight response - with a clear bias towards flight. Gaheris scratched his forehead casually, checking to make sure he hadn't started sweating.​

​

He had not.​

​

It was refreshing, if not altogether elucidating, to hear the Emperor described in such plain and relatively unflattering terms. Everyone else he had plied for a profile had only given the usual platitudes. Couldn't say he blamed them.​

​

"Rather poetic description," he observed, again fiddling with his glass but not drinking from it. "Well, I suppose there could be worse rulers to work for. I feel better already."​

 

[Fieravene]

"Much worse indeed," the elf intoned. She'd seen more than enough failed empires and terrible rulers to last ten lifetimes, and of all of them Gerra certainly wasn't the worst. Of course 'worst' wasn't a terribly good descriptor as it really depending upon one's definition of what made a poor ruler. Fiera's definition likely didn't match most others.

"Are you not hungry..." a pointed brow lifted at him. Hadn't seen him take a bite and he'd barely touched his wine. Was his new predicament of employment under the God-King really so unnerving? "Shall I cancel dinner?"

 

[Gaheris]

He looked confused for a moment. "Oh, uh, no, just..."​

​

Gaheris selected a piece of cheese at random and plucked it off the board, as if to assuage her worries.​

​

"Thinking."​

​

The mortician popped the cheese into his mouth and washed it down with a modest sip of wine. Is this how pairing worked? He never got invited to tastings. The strong scent of cinnamon could throw off the experience.​

​

Not that anyone ever told him.​

 

[Fieravene]

"You know," Fiera spoke after a beat, "your cinnamon scent will alter the taste. Flavor's not just on the tongue," she leaned to choose a thin piece of meat from the charcuterie board, "but in the nose, too."

Now someone had told him. She offered the man a small smile before popping the slice into her mouth and chewing slowly.

"Where did you learn your mystic talents, by the by?"

 

[Gaheris]

His brow furrowed. Gaheris examined the glass, as if suspecting evidence of this alteration to be found within, and swallowed.​

​

"Interesting," he muttered. Truly, he learned something new every day.​

​

One day, perhaps, it would stop. And he would finally know some measured amount of contentment and worldly wisdom. When she asked about his mystic talents, the corner of his mouth twitched, threatening to frown. Bad memories.​

​

"Elbion, among other places," he replied, scratching behind an ear. "Looking to compare degrees?"​

 

[Fieravene]

"Oh, do they teach Necromancy there now? They didn't when I taught there..." she glanced off ponderously, thumbing the hollow of her cheek before taking another drink of wine, "honestly their morals were more uptight than a Vel Anirian noble's asshole. As if introducing the Eldritch alphabet into Ancient Runes was such an ambiguous thing. They just don't appreciate the history of the true ancients."

 

[Gaheris]

"They don't," Gaheris said, frowning at some memory - or the image of an Anirian asshole. "But they were happy to share the fundamentals."​

​

Elbion was, as she said, a place of rather restrictive "moral" standards. What did dead people need their organs for, anyway? It wasn't as if they were using them. But such reasoned arguments had not swayed the ethics council, nor prevented his expulsion.​

​

The science of necromancy just wasn't for everyone.​

​

He looked at her suspiciously. "Aren't Eldritch runes the ones that drive people crazy...?"​

 

[Fieravene]

"For certain," Fiera sneered into those two words with the same precision of an expertly crafted blade slicing through an opening in a set of armor, "with improper use. A knowledgeable practitioner can effect a great many things through them."

"M'Lady?" Vadira had returned, "Dinner is served."

"Fabulous," the elf stood, topped off her wine, and swilled her glass in Gaheris' direction, "this way."

She lead him out of her private chambers and back into the main hall, barefoot and lithe form swaying like a willow tree in the breeze, "So am I to assume you were unceremoniously and prematurely graduated against your will from the College?"

 

[Gaheris]

Gaheris coughed nervously in response to her sneer, and quickly covered it by downing some more wine. The servant girl had returned, summoning them to dinner. Wherever they were going, he had enough presence of mind to know it wouldn't be the dining room. Something about the table being too big.​

​

He followed after her, footsteps light. Like someone who thought themselves to be a trespasser. Gaheris presumed himself free of notice, and so liberally indulged in what could be called - generously - an appreciation of Fieravene's figure. From the back.​

​

"Erm," he said, eyes snapping forward once again. "Graduation would imply some certification at the end. I did not receive any."​

​

"Otherwise, yes. Unceremonious and premature certainly apply."​

 

[Fieravene]

She paused, glancing back at the man to wait for him to catch up, and gently took his arm. Like a lady walking with an escort. How novel, really Fi needed to do this sort of stuff more often.

"The true tragedy is their loss of your talent," the elf offered as she continued leading the way down the hall. They turned into a large foyer toward the end and headed off to the eastern wing.

"Did you know," she began, leaning toward him as though she were sharing a secret, "there is another institute of higher arcane learning and practice in the far east?" Similar knowledge had been shared with Aivrid at their last meeting and he, being a dragon of infinite curiosity, had deemed this worthy enough of further investigation. Fiera hadn't made the voyage yet - she needed to find out more first, which meant a trip to Cortos where the first nuggets of rumor had reached her ear.

"As I understand, they hold no such restrictions on their curriculum."

 

[Gaheris]

"Uh," said Gaheris, in his usual spirited elegance that arose whenever Fieravene came within sufficient proximity. "How kind of you to say..."​

​

They were proceeding through the manse, which was steadily growing larger than he had originally imagined. Where does one even find the money or patience to find this many furnishings? Not having to find either was likely the chief benefit of seizing estates from others.​

​

He swallowed loudly when she leaned in, and expressed some furtive scrap of knowledge. A learning institute in the far west? Hopefully she wasn't talking about...​

​

"I... Ah. Does this mysterious place have a name...?"​

​

Well, only one way to find out.​

 

[Fieravene]

"Nez Meca, built upon the lost city of Eriz Meca, allegedly."

Such were rumors. It was likely she'd learn three more names for the same apparent institute before she ever stumbled upon it. That it existed in the far east, swallowed by the sprawling expanse of the Ixchel Wilds, did not help its case. The Wilds were a vastly unknown, unexplored, undocumented territory from which very few emerged after spending any length of time there.

"We'll see if it sticks after further investigation."

At the end of the east wing was the grand veranda that overlooked a water garden courtyard shared with one other manor. A private table was set out en plein air beneath a clear sky of stars and moons. There fine dishware gleamed under the silver light and the soft glow of candles. The latter being necessary only for mood and not for illumination. Fiera released herself from the man's arm to take her seat, watching as the servants uncovered the plates and their piping hot dinner.

The smell was enough to make her mouth water.

"Have you been as far east as the Ixchel Wilds?" Fi asked as she took up fork and knife and cut into her dinner. No prayers or saying grace at this table.

 

[Gaheris]

Nez Meca, Eriz Meca. Unless that was a local dialect's pronunciation of the Bloodgrass Academy, Gaheris decided to let himself be at ease... As much as that was possible, given present company.​

​

"Can't say I've heard of it," he returned, trailing off.​

​

Nor could he place the name. It did not sound like it came from the nice side of The Spine, which was a problem all on its own. Gaheris stared dumbfounded at both the general view and the dinner. There was a noticeable delay before he seemed to notice Fieravene had released him.​

​

He cleared his throat - a response to his mouth watering - and hustled into his appointed seat.​

​

"Er," Gaheris replied, hand hovering as he decided between one of two possible forks. "I have not. Not much work to be found out there..."​

​

Gaheris arbitrarily picked a fork. On the other side of the plate, he was relieved to find only one knife. Made the selection process easier.​

​

"...Or so I'm told."​

 

[Fieravene]

She would have whispered to him which fork to pick, having noticed his hand hovering over the selection, but found she was more curious to see which one he'd pick on his own. Very telling that the man didn't know - his meals likely never having been a grand enough affair to warrant more than one set of utensils, if any at all. Fiera liked that he wasn't touched by the sense of superiority that the majority of her own kind were.

No one of her family would be caught dead living in a city ruled by a half-breed, in a house previously owned by a human. No less sitting at a table and sharing a meal with one. The ego of the Underdark truly knew very few limits.

"No, I don't suppose there is. It's mostly wild lands with very little to speak of civilized occupants."

What cities there were sat at the outskirts of the sprawling jungles, in the plains closer toward the coast.

"Mm," she took a bite of her meal, savoring the sweet taste of fresh duck, "but incredibly rich in exotic resources and ingredients for ..." the elf eyed him, "magics of a particular nature."

Under the table her bare foot lightly brushed across one of his legs as she moved to cross her own. She said nothing for the intrusion and continued the conversation instead, "There's a cavern there ripe with crystals that are perfect for focusing and storing magical energy."

 

[Gaheris]

Wild lands, few civilized occupants. What an idyllic getaway that would be. The very thought of traveling that far to languish in a jungle, to be taught black magic by what he suspected would be lizard-people in loincloths, tied his stomach in knots. Or maybe that was just his hostess.​

​

It certainly wasn’t the food. More elaborately prepared than anything he’d ever sampled, and more delicious besides. What was that? Spices? Seasoning? They may as well have been eating gold.​

​

Still, he picked only small, reticent bites off his plate. Most of his attention seemed to be on Fieravene. He could hazard a guess as to what she meant by particular magics.​

​

Gaheris felt something brush his leg, and there was an audible thud, as well as a gentle rattle of dinnerware, when his knee slammed into the underside of the table. As if a physician had tested him for reflex.​

​

Also, he bit the inside of his lip mid-chew. Because of course he did. The copper tang of blood mingled with roast duck.​

​

Gaheris coughed into a hastily retrieved cloth napkin, attempting to cover up a noise everyone in earshot had already heard. “Crystals, you say? Are they much better than the ones in Cintria?”​