Private Tales An Overdue Rendezvous

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer


Empress Regent
Character Biography
The Viper's Den: a club in one of the more upscale regions in Ragash. Once upon a time it had been a meeting ground for the notorious gang, the Blood Asps. It had been a sordid place where women danced in exchange for coin, drugs were taken in dark corners, and shady deals were made beneath dirty tables. That was many years ago, however, when Medja was an employee and not the owner of the establishment. Now it was almost exactly the same, but it looked nicer and was regulated and paid taxes.

Like all things that operated how the Vizier of Stars preferred, the Viper's Den rode the line between order and chaos. Crime, while not traditionally ideal, was something that could actually be beneficial to the Empire when carefully watched and kept under control. Though she had mostly separated herself from Ragash's underbelly since the Empire had annexed it, Medja still had her fingers in certain aspects of it, and the Den was a great method of keeping tabs on things. Greasing the right palms and eavesdropping on the right conversations often yielded information that couldn't be acquired otherwise.

The biggest reason Ragash's Unseen Hand kept the venue under her ownership, however, was one that she'd never openly admit: she had a soft spot for the dancers. Working as one had made her intimately familiar with the hardships that many of the women had to deal with. There were few places that a dancer could perform and feel safe these days, but since Medja had acquired it the Viper's Den had built up a reputation for both the quality of its dancers and the importance it placed on their safety. Bouncers could not be bought at the Den; no amount of money or influence could spare you if you broke the rules. Even still, it was one of the most popular clubs in Ragash. The drinks and entertainment provided at other venues simply couldn't compare.

So it was that Medja happened to be visiting the Viper's Den one evening, waiting in an elevated, private booth near the back of the club. "Booth," of course, was a loose term; it was more of a series of plush, luxurious couches surrounding an equally extravagant seat that resembled a throne. Some might call her indulgent for choosing such a throne as her perch, gazing down upon those who would find their way into her presence, but Medja didn't care. After all, she was nothing if not resplendent.

While the vizier did have a couple of her beloved dancers to keep her company, there was one person who she was truly eager to see, who she had sent a personal invitation to. The one who she thought would appreciate a change in the usual scenery. The one who she gifted one of her own precious artifacts to some months ago. The one who her informants had told her was back in Amol-Kalit. Medja awaited Fieravene.
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She arrived a few days after the letter reached her estate in the capital, traveling in no fashion of hurry. The turning of time had always held a curious fondness to her, for as long as she lived she'd never have need to be hasty in her own designs. Leaving her steed to the care of the stablehands, Fiera progressed through the city of Ragash like the shadow of the evening chasing the fading light of day. No stops were made for refreshment or respite from the long ride - the dark elf arrived at the Viper's Den with a strong desire for water, food, and the undivided attention of a particular Vizier.

When she stepped into the private area, her figure immediately stood in stark contrast to its surroundings. Fiera's penchant for the unforgiving hue of black had marked her as something of a fiend in most places, especially out here in the desert. Here, within the Viper's Den, with her reputation as the Royal Executioner preceding her, her appearance was perhaps cause for unwarranted concern.

Clad in her lighter traveling armor, the elf set a gaze of heady crimson on the vision of the woman and her throne. Those eyes skated openly, unapologetically, across the sinuous figure draped in cream and emeralds and gold, and provided the woman with a grin like a scythe.

"A sight for the sorest of eyes, as always, Lady Medja," she offered her a half bow, the lengths of her grown out hair dropping over her shoulders, "or is it Vizier, now?"
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Even in the dimming light of the Den, Medja could identify the unmistakable figure of Fieravene. The dim glow of her wine-hued eyes as they traced the vizier's figure were equally distinctive, the softly burning orbs a welcome sight after all this time. A comfortable warmth welled up within her chest as her mind confirmed what her eyes had already informed her of: Fiera had accepted her invitation.

"One could say the same about you, darling." Medja replied, sinking into her seat and drinking in the lascivious gaze the dark elf cast on her. She returned her smile with gusto; for all that had happened in recent days, Fiera's presence was a welcome--no, a desired one. "You've more than earned the right to call me whatever you like, dear...though I do enjoy the title."

The Vizier got her companions' attention with a gesture and the duo moved from their cushions to instead flank Fieravene. The women would guide her to a comfortable seat and offer to take any burdening equipment off her person.
"I owe you a great deal, and I feel as though I did not have the opportunity to thank you properly when last you graced our fair Empire." Medja gushed over the woman, absent-mindedly placing a hand on the center of her own chest. She gripped the thin cloth that covered the spot and held back a grimace before reasserting her composure. "Ladies, Miss Fieravene is an honored guest. See to it she gets whatever she likes during her time here."
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There were hands on her. Dainty, clean, decorated hands. Fieravene did not complain nor make any effort to dismiss them. The hands were welcome, as was the involuntary undressing. Off went pieces of armor. Though light and molded to her figure after ... well, far too long of use to be certain, it was like shedding a second skin. She watched them dutifully set the pieces aside and then willingly followed them over to the seat.

By the thousands, how lovely it was to sit.

Her gaze that was so often sharp with intrigue or excitement had been dulled by her endless travels. She wasn't one to complain, but the dark elf was tired. Sore. Hungry. Desirous of a great many things.

Whatever she likes during her time here...

Now there was a jar of worms.

Fiera smiled to herself at first, allowing her head to fall back against the cushion and languish in the comfort of it for several long moments.

"Coffee, food, a long hot soak, wine, and-" she tipped her head up, lofting a brow at the Vizier with a keen look at her. One hand lazily gestured to all of the woman, "all of you."
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Medja was more than happy to watch Fieravene get undressed by her dancers, though experience told her that doing it herself was far more entertaining. She waited patiently for Fiera to settle in, her chin perched atop her knuckles as she rested against one of the arms of her chair. The Vizier appreciated her as one might appreciate a work of fine art, soaking in every detail she could. She was thankful that her eyes had already adjusted to the Den's dim illumination.

"It's fortunate that I thought to stock ahead on coffee," She stated with a slight giggle. Another idle gesture to one of the dancers, an Abtati girl, and she was off to fetch the esteemed, black brew. "No one else I know would have any mind to drink the stuff at this time of day." "Then again, you're a very busy woman...or so I hear."

The woman smiled sidelong as more women returned with the dancer who had departed bearing a number of platters.
"As for the rest..." Medja cooed as the platters were opened to reveal a veritable buffet of local delicacies and an assortment of fine wines. With a flourish, she let a hand glide over her own figure. "Would you like it in that order?"
"One of your many admirable qualities," Fiera remarked, watching the Abtati dancer take her leave, red eyes following the sway of her hips until they were out of sight. Distracted only for the briefest moment, the dark elf returned her attention to the Vizier, shifting to drape both arms along the top of the couch, "Yes, well - seems everyone needs something done. I've just returned from the Eretejva tundra," she lifted her hand to analyze the cracks and sores of her skin where the cold had leaked in and bitten.

"Two hours of daylight in the far north, nigh perpetual darkness in the depths of their winter. Your breath freezes before it leaves your lungs and the cold never, ever sleeps." Not like the heat of the desert sands where the night offered some small reprieve. "No small wonder the people of the snow are of such an abrasive, frigid nature."

The other dancer seated on her right noted her fingers and tutted, "We have a cream to help your poor hands, may I?"

"Well it certainly can't make them any worse," Fiera replied, a withered smile effecting her features as she watched Medja's gestures and the glinting of her adornments in the mood lighting, "why not all at once?"

Because who knew how long she had until she was off across the dunes again.
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"One of your many admirable qualities,"
A proud smile crept across the sorceress' face.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, dear." She smirked, observing Fiera and her girls in turn.

Within moments Fiera would find herself surrounded by doting women, many eagerly listening to the dark elf as she spoke of unfamiliar territories. Medja thanked the Abtati girl as she returned to her side and offered her a glass of wine. The woman to Fiera's right, meanwhile, began to gently caress her hands, carefully working the lotion into her blemished skin. Others still held fruit aloft for Fiera to pluck at her liking.

"That sounds miserable. I've experienced my share of cold, desert nights, but nothing quite so...extreme." Medja let by an empathetic shiver, but curiosity overwhelmed poor memories of sleepless nights in Ragash's streets. "And, admittedly, I have never seen snow with my own eyes. You must tell me of your ventures."

The Vizier pondered a moment, considering the logistics of installing bathing tubs in the Viper's Den. She made a mental note of speaking with an architect about it.
"Mmm, no baths here, I'm afraid. We'd have to travel to the nearest bathhouse or to my tower at the palace," She replied, gesturing vaguely at a nearby window. "Whichever you prefer, of course. The night is young."
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"Ohh, it's not flattery if it's the truth," Fiera smirked wryly at the woman, tipping her head back into the cushion of the couch and closing her eyes.

"Snow is just bitter sand, truly," one hand made a flippant gesture before returning to hanging limply before another dancer took it into her own to treat like the other, "you wouldn't like it and it wouldn't suit your complexion or your taste in fashion."

Though the idea of seeing Medja bundled up in furs wasn't so terribly terrible.

"All in all, I give it 2 out of 10 Golden Scarabs, would not recommend."

Her skin is so dark, remarked one of the dancers to another, I've never seen a dark elf in the desert before.

Do you think she's from the city below?
whispered another.

Fiera was content to let them gossip and felt no inclination to answer their curiosities. "Well I can be convinced to relocated once tonight for you, darling, but not twice. The tower it is."
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Fiera always seemed to know what to say to please the decadent sorceress. She listened intently to the woman's explanation of her snowy travels and let a genuine laugh slip by at her rating of the experience. It felt good to laugh without care again...

Medja felt no need to scold the dancers for their quiet commentary to each other. While it wasn't the most polite thing in the world, many a treasured secret had found its way to the Vizier's ears by way of her girls' gossip. Besides, was there really anything wrong with appreciating Fiera's particular brand of exotic beauty?

"Excellent choice." Medja replied, smiling. She had admittedly been somewhat eager to get the dark elf back to said tower at some point.

Wine would be drunk, food would be eaten, and plenty of doting would be delved out by the dancers in the coming hour or two at the Viper's Den. In time, however, a chariot was called for to deliver the women back to the palace. Medja was all too happy to lead Fieravene to her place of residence. While not as expansive as many of Ragash's own points of interest, the Vizier had taken great care to turn her tower into a self-contained paradise filled with all that made her city great.

Lounges lined with lush cushions, bars stocked with exotic drinks, displays holding many of Medja's most prized treasures, and even an indoor garden were among the sights contained within the tower's floors. Not least, of course, was an indoor bathing room; it was comparatively small next to the Royal Bathhouse in Annuakat, or even a dedicated Ragashi bathhouse, but it was private and intimate.

Upon arriving in the tower's base floor Medja adressed her elven guest.
"My home is open to you, darling. You may have your pick of its contents."
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Not one to be particularly impressed by the ostentatious or layers of luxury, Fiera greeted the new setting with marked curiosity if only for what the Vizier had chosen as its contents. Naturally, Medja would not be without things of quality or rarity, leaving Fi to judge the chamber as astutely appropriate for the woman. Truth be told, Medja could have lived in a hovel and Fiera would not have blinked an eye.

She reached out as the floating sphinx drifted by, catching her by the arm and abruptly tugging her back. The second dark arm looped itself comfortably around Medja's waist as the two of them came nose to hovering nose.

"Don't mind if I do," Fi greeted her with a grin that could have been mistaken for a scythe before shamelessly drawing Medja into a kiss.
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As long as she'd known her, Medja had never taken Fiera to be particularly nuanced in her approach to life. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and when she wanted something she took it. What she lacked in subtlety, however, she more than made up for in confidence and charm.

Even so, the Vizier hadn't expected what came next. In the brief moment that the mercenary had swept Medja into her embrace, the emerald-eyed woman couldn't help but blush deeply.

"Wha-- mmm..." was all she managed before being silenced by Fieravene's kiss. A low, contented moan hummed it's way up from her throat, and her hands worked their way around the dark elf's back. One hand slipped up the nape of her neck and into her soft, sable hair, now much longer than what she remembered some months before.

Medja pulled some of the hair into a firm grip and, eyes still closed, broke their locking lips for a moment to let out a happy sigh. Her lids slid open, a familiar, hungry gaze setting upon her wandering companion.
"I missed that."
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