Quest A Tomb for My Brother

[Gerra]

After the events of the Dragon Risings, Gerra returned to Ragash, where he sat upon the Sherdal Throne in a fury upon learning that the body of Maho Sparhawk had been stolen. He summoned his viziers, the holy priests, the nobles, and the captains of his army to the Alabyad Palace, where he held audience. Scented braziers lined the throne room and flickered, illuminating the marbled floor and vaulted ceiling. Gerra sat upon the golden, winged-lion throne. His hands gripped the arms of the throne, fingers curled tight. One was missing.

One by one, the members of the Imperial Divan entered the throne room until all were assembled before him.

"Where," rumbled the God-Emperor, voice unnaturally flat, "Is the body of Maho Sparhawk?"

The Empire

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia Sidra had seen better days.

She had returned to Ragash following the aftermath of the Great Ones' emergence, albeit at her own pace. For a time she remained where Tereth Adathar had brought her, assisting the healers with the surge of refugees and injured, but she always knew she would make her way back to the Empire.

With regular tending, her leg had begun to heal. The progress was slow, but eventually it no longer pained her regularly, and she was able to travel. Her deeds to the people and her status of priestess resulted in quite a bit of assistance from the townsfolk, and she arrived in Ragash with a handful of devotees to populate her sermons.

When Gerra arrived she knew she could not longer avoid the inevitable. She had been preparing and rehearsing, but facing a towering man who had grievously wounded her was... intimidating to say the least.

She entered the chamber. Her soft sandals made little sound, and her gait was punctuated only by the hollow beat of an ornate cane upon the tiled floor. She motioned to a servant, and a seat was brought for her. She lowered herself slowly, and while she did so with dignity, it was obvious that her twisted leg still pained her.

She paid the eyes of the nobles no mind. She belonged here. Yes, she had failed to save Maho Sparhawk's life, but her efforts had been more than most could offer. What was more, she knew something evil had lurked within the man, a secret she suspected the Emperor was also aware of, and that may prove useful.

Besides, she was glad to see Gerra again. Guilt was a tremendous motivator, and she made sure that her injuries were apparent to his Majesty.

 

[Ashuanar]

As dusk took hold of the city, an already solemn heart that beat within her walls grew quiet. Streets that were usually filled with bustle in even this late hour were unnervingly bare. Were the occasion more suited, he might have taken the time to admire the stillness, but instead his mind whirled with apprehension and even... frustration.

There was much trouble in these latest weeks, scarring far more than only the land, or body. The heart too, was wounded. And more and more he grew to know that it was not only his that mourned so, but the whole of the Empire itself felt these sorrows.

Some, however, more than others.

While the people knew and felt their great loss, they knew not all the things that had been seen.

All the things that had been done.​

Beyond the crackle of torchlight, and the odd gathering of a very few folk, he heard only the sound of his footsteps and those of his men who followed. And wordlessly they made their way to the palace. There was an uncertainty in them, and as they entered into the throne room it followed after.

Ashuanar and his seven Abtati came forward, bowed as they drew near. And then with all the others they took their place round-about their emperor, sat silently upon his throne.

Again, only the crackling, and the stepping feet. And then, a long pause as the whole world seemed to draw in its breath.

"Where," rumbled the God-Emperor, voice unnaturally flat, "Is the body of Maho Sparhawk?"

He crossed his arms, and his eyes descended to the floor.

It had all been so confusing, and terrible. He had never imagined something such as this would also come to pass. And, given his respect for the fallen man, he felt anger at this apparent injustice, and guilt - for having left him behind.

Maho deserved a proper end.

Hopefully, that could still be.

 

[Nym]

She was used to attending court, used to staying tucked away in the shadowy gloom of doorways and pillars, reticent and static as her eyes wandered over the attendees in mute scrutiny. Nymeasha Soleiman preferred to stay well out of the public eye, she wasn't exactly a beloved princess, not that she cared.

Today she hadn't been summoned, today she'd heard that Gerra's wrath was bubbling and she sought only to sate her curiosity. She didn't announce herself, didn't curtsy or greet him, and she doubted he'd expect her to and to be anything but her stubborn, hateful self in his presence would likely disappoint him anyway.

And so stood, casually propped against a pillar at the back of the throne room, her narrowed gaze fixed upon the anguished giant. He didn't need to sit in the throne to be the focal point, he didn't have to say a word to command the undivided attention of an entire city. Her disdain for the Emperor had never been a secret, she could still conjure the feeling of her spike plunging into the colossal man's chest. She doubted she'd ever like him, but she could respect him, and she could be grateful to him for her life.

Nym took in each of the court's guests with intrigue, some faces familiar and others not so. Jade hues rolled toward the Abtati Priestess as she entered, her face warming with a soft smile at the woman's presence before dissipating to a look of gentle concern as she watched her shambling into the room. She hesitated for a moment, and decided to remain where she was for now as Gerra spoke. The room was a hush, and Nym chewed gently on her lip as her gaze drifted over the room, waiting for someone to answer..

 

[Gerra]

The emperor saw them gather: Ashuanar, strong and standing by his side, despite all that had been done; Kiia, with her limp... he would needs make amends, but now was not the time; and Nym, he spotted her defiant features lurking in the back.

Good.

There are enough.

There came a sudden commotion from the back of the throne room and two Immortals came in bearing something between them. They stopped before the foot of the throne and knelt.

"What is this?" Gerra asked.

"The body of Maho Sparhawk, your majesty," replied the Immortal named Timur. "Stolen by Cortosi mercenaries where he fell. Returned by the Immortal Guard."

The emperor stood, features visibly boiling with barely restrained rage.

"And the Cortosi?" he grit out.

"Dead."

"Archlector?" Gerra turned to Archlector Snaaib who stood at the forefront of the crowd.

He had his hands tucked into his sleeves and replied calmly, "Another desecration by the Radiant Church. Long have they troubled our borders."

"Then they will trouble us no more," Gerra replied, steel in his words, "We will march the army to the banks of the Sleeping Sister and when we cross... we will show them the depths of our fury."

The Immortals slammed the butts of their spears into the floor.

"Medja, where is Medja? Build my brother a worthy tomb."

 

[Medja]

Until now, the Vizier of Stars had been content to observe in silence. She had some knowledge of what had come to pass at Elbion, that the Emperor had been bestowed some form of curse by the Herald and that many of his trinkets no longer worked as they were supposed to. It was hardly enough. Medja's hand grazed the scar on her chest and she glanced to the atrophied limb of the priestess, Kiia. Gerra's suffering was apparent and, in her mind, deserved.

Now the Emperor demanded Medja's magics to craft a tomb for a man she despised. Her anger had been at a low simmer before, but now it began to bubble over.

"A 'worthy' tomb? You would truly make such a request of me?" Medja spat, floating into the throne room proper. "And who will build a tomb for me when next you try to strike me down, your Majesty? Who shall bury the Sun, or the Waters?"

She spared a sidelong glance at Ashuanar, then Nymeasha as she lashed out. Her fists balled and wrinkles creased her nose as she glared daggers at the man she had called "Emperor."

"How long will it take, O Grand Emperor, before you turn your rage against all who you claim to stand beside?!" She finished. She hadn't felt this shaken since Ashuanar had been taken some months ago, but she quickly found her composure crumbling under the weight of the stress and anguish she held in her heart. Gerra had to answer for what he had done.

 

[Ashuanar]

Warranted. All of it.

Medja's fury permeated the air, and for once, at least from Ashuanar's point if view, Gerra's presence was diminished.

Ashuanar's place in his mind was indeed as the Sun, the head of the Imperial Army, the shining light of the Empire. But his heart... its place was elsewhere, which before now had not caused him any strife. But after what had happened on those decimated sands, the anguish within him never ceased to ebb. It had wounded him to see the Stars so ill-treated. It had harmed his perception of Gerra.

And though he had obviously held Maho in much higher esteem than Medja had, he could not ignore what had been done to her first and foremost. Clearly, and without any surprise, neither could she.

Perhaps if it had been another to speak to the Emperor in such a way then Ashuanar would see fit to intervene. In this case, he hardly felt it appropriate - nor did he wish to.

 

[Nym]

Nym's lips twisted as she silently observed, eyes following the immortals who entered before watching the Emperor's reaction and finally settling on Medja. As the woman met her gaze, Nym straightened, her eyes widening slightly at her fury. Gerra had a way of provoking such rage, but she had no doubt that Medja's could be quite catastrophic.

Her teeth captured her lower lip and she chewed gently for a brief moment before pushing herself away from the pillar, lifting her chin to hide her discomfort that came with the feeling of eyes watching her as she made her way toward Medja. She stood a half pace behind the Vizier by her side and clasped her hands together in front of her, clearing her throat quietly to let the woman know she was there. She lifted her eyes to Gerra and squared her shoulders as she drew in a breath.

Well, this was awkward..

 

[Halul]

Uvogin, late to answer the summons, silently treaded through the gathering of nobles, priests, viziers, and soldiers. As he crossed the room, he listened to the interaction between Gerra and the Immortals, then Gerra and Archlector Snaaib, and finally Gerra and Medja. The crowd whispered among themselves; those that noticed Uvogin, helmet tightly tucked under his arm, immediately ceased their whispers out of fear of the Captain.

There were bags under the Captain's eyes, and he wore a grimace as his footfalls announced his emergence from the crowd.

"You are out of line, Lady Medja," he tiredly chided. "Please, compose yourself."

His gaze snapped from the vizier to Gerra, whom he regarded with curiosity and wariness.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia’s body remained still, but her topaz eyes flicked back and forth between speakers. She allowed Medja’s fury to take the place of any harsh words she may have wished to direct at Gerra, although her anger had diminished considerably in the time since the Great Dragons.

Gerra had lashed out in rage, and while she had not deserved his ire, she had simply been there to receive it. Many men acted in such ways during loss... none of them had had magical artifacts, however.

She had lived long enough to know that political borders were more fluid than water, and the Emperor’s proclamation of war caused her little distress. The words “Radiant Church,” however, caught her attention.

Kiia was, by most accounts, a fairly “open-minded” priestess. She did not seek to forcibly convert and Abtatu, being vague and unknowable by definition, rarely had iron-clad directives. But the Radiant Church troubled her, And she could not precisely say why. If there were to be a crusade, she would be keen to observe if not participate.

She turned again to face Medja, and saw Nymeasha joining her. She remembered the young woman fondly from their conversation much earlier, but felt a pang if guilt as she saw the sorceresses’ face. Truthfully Kiia had done little damage, and she’d certainly cared enough hardship to atone... but the power of the Vizier was frightening. She hoped there was no grudge.