Open Chronicles Amaranthine Apotheosis - Festival of Gods

[Mirielle Merlon]

Mirielle sidled up to Uvogin and offered him the most unusual portrait that had clattered to the floor.

"To burn with the stone, I believe," she murmured. "And should the stone fail to burn, as stones often do, I'd be quite interested in the chance to examine it. Um...permanently."

 

[Gerra]

Ah. There it was, the bite. He let the sting to his pride seep beneath his skin. Let it linger, just a while, as he felt his blood run hot and his jaw tighten, flex, teeth grinding.

Then he smiled again.

Let it go.

Menalus would have mounted her head on a pike outside the gate.

I am not my father.

He enjoyed a woman who knew how to get under his skin. There was something about the clash of wills that he found... exhilarating.

“No, sadly, it has eluded me,” said the bare-chested, tattooed half-giant. He extended his palms out to either side in an empty-handed gesture. “Perhaps one of your... associates might know. But let us not speak of business, how are you enjoying the manor I provided you? Is it to your liking?”

 

[Halul]

Uvogin tucked the sack of coins into a small leather satchel on his belt. He took the portrait from the quiet woman.

“Many thanks,” His voice resonated within his helmet and escaped the narrow opening that made up the mask’s mouth as a deep hum, “no pit of fire would be sufficient in burning the stone. It will be yours, on the condition that you save your examination for after festivities have concluded. I would not be keen in explaining to the Emperor why his garden contains twenty paces of sprouting potatoes.”

It was a poor attempt at humor, delivered dryly like the ocean of sand that expanded for countless miles around Annuakat. He did not see the harm in leaving the stone with the woman, nor did he think Gerra would care where it ended up, so long as it was away from him. Extending his hand, he offered the potato stone to Mirielle Merlon.

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

The stone disappeared into Mirielle's clothing somewhere. It took not a little effort to make that appear effortless, as anyone knows who has ever attempted concealing a rock in their clothes.

"Your condition is completely sensible, Captain. I'll be sure to do just that. Consider the stone disposed of."

Unless something went radically wrong in the next five to seven minutes, the stone would never again grace the riotous streets of Annuakat. With a nod of thanks, Mirielle vanished into the crowd.

Though she couldn't quite recall the name of the cognitive bias in question, fear of being associated with a thing of low prestige certainly counted as a mistake in thought. Unless one was a politician, and Mirielle wasn't. She was just a woman with a rock that sprouted huge quantities of root vegetables ex nihilo, under certain circumstances, and huge quantities of root vegetables had their uses.

Uvogin

 

[Xaviera]

The Queen of Tyria found herself again in the attentions of the emperor, and she turned to position herself so that both he and the elfen woman were within her sights. She couldn't help but feel a touch of awe about the strange elf. No - not a stranger now that Xaviera knew her name was Fiera. That was more than nothing. She resisted the impulse to check whether her jewels were still in place, which would have been unspeakably rude.

And she thought she could be trusted to tell whether someone's hand had been fumbling around the brooch at her bosom.

Couldn't she?

Her attention went from her jewels to her surroundings, an eyebrow lifting slightly with curiosity at the banter between the elf and the self-appointed god. Curious, she mused, her pupils narrowing slightly. Is she a friend of the god-emperor? (Or was it king-emperor? Or god-king? Damn and blast.) Or a non-citizen unconcerned with the possibility of offending him? No, there is a history here. Mental note: learn more. Addendum to mental note: find out what kind of booze elves like, buy a bottle, share with Fiera.

The mention of a manor intrigued the Tyrian Queen, and again her eyebrows furrowed with curiosity. "Forgive me, your grace," said Xaviera to Gerra, gesturing towards Fieravene casually. "We haven't been formally introduced and I feel I'm watching the second act of a play, having missed the first. Can someone catch me up?" She extended a hand to the elfen woman. "Xaviera of Tyria," she introduced herself. "I have a feeling I would very much like to know anyone with such a... refreshingly brusque approach to monarchy."

 

[Fieravene]

"Do you know that I have not yet been?" Fiera began in effort to Gerra's question, "I've only just returned and I thought to myself that wouldn't it be the chivalrous thing to do: complete the mission before seeking to pine over payment. I'm certain a sovereign of your tastes turns out a splendid abode."

The elf whisked thick and dark eyelashes quickly over heady crimson eyes, just barely managing to curb the mirth stuck on her lips as the Queen of Tyria interjected. Fieravene's smile broadened as she took the woman's hand and ducked to plant a kiss on her knuckles - all formal like, "Your Highness, I find myself amenable to your desires. I could use good company on the maiden tour of my new manor."

 

[Xaviera]

Xaviera wasn't sure, exactly, whether to believe the dark elven woman when she flattered Gerra about his taste. The gaud and debauchery that had escalated along each step along the ziggurat suggested that his taste, perhaps, left something to be desired. He wasn't even wearing a shirt, for heaven's sake. She suspected that this played into some pre-existing relationship between them. She allowed an enigmatic smirk to cross her lips - a smirk that turned up into a smile when Fieravene took her hand.

"Yes," she said. "I'd be delighted, I'm sure."

She'd had her hand kissed by an elf. What a time to be alive. Her grandmother made a disapproving growl disguised as clearing her throat. Xaviera had forgotten all about Jaliah for a moment. The Queen turned to the former queen and said, "Enjoy the party and take the litter back to our lodging, Nani, and I'll find my own way back." The guards would split - some staying with Jaliah and others with Xaviera. She watched the old woman scowl as she processed the instruction, but even she would not gainsay her own queen in front of this crowd. She made a show of curtsying low to her granddaughter in a silent rebuke, then straightened and - leaning with some exaggeration on her walking stick - hobbled off.

She turned back to Fieravene, a confidential smirk accompanying her lowered voice. "I am curious to see what kind of good taste the god-emperor displays. This," she said, gesturing vaguely to their surroundings, "doesn't necessarily bode well, but maybe he has hidden depths."