Private Tales Another Loose End

[Ashuanar]

Weeks now, Ashuanar had been plagued by the memory of Nak'Ehim. His rebellion had stirred the hearts of others, whose ears had been told of this... weakness. It had sullied the Empire's reputation, and he took that responsibility to be his own. It was his failure after all that had brought such misconception. And so he would deal with it.

Swiftly.

And he had.

The newest band of would be rebels who had taken to harassing and destroying the Empire's caravans... had been found. It proved a formidable group, obviously funded from some other party, and their ranks even bolstered by mercenaries. But they proved naught but a pestilence none the less.

And now, over the ruin of their number - torn and burnt and wasted across the desert, he presided. Behind him, the Collosal Beast, standing many stories high, loomed overhead and awaited it's master's command. And he, Ashuanar, remained still as he looked out onto the field of death he and his brethren, and his beast had left for the desert.

"Vizier?"

Al'Daim's voice.

"Your... orders?"

"Return to camp," he said, his eyes turning to the horizon.

The sun was nearly set.

"We can leave this place now."

Al'Daim turned back to their company, and ordered them out. But Ashuanar remained, he and his pet.

Fieravene​

 

[Fieravene]

Ashuanar was not the only one dealing with a new uprising of rebellious Abtati. Several nights ago, very shortly after her return to Annuakat, Fieravene had been called upon by Prince Mago with a curious request. To act as the Royal Executioner in regards with a one treasonous Abtati Priest Zekul'ka. Word had gotten out about the exploits and trail of bodies left in the wake of the demon dark elf.

They had begun to call her Death in their own way and Mago required her skills in ensuring the death of the Priest. Fiera was happy to provide. In the days following the private execution it was learned that Zekul'ka had been an informant and that he'd been providing trade route details to another insurgent group.

"Will you do for us what you did before? Will you help us regain control of these lands and eradicate this mess before word gets out?"

Mago was not an outwardly prideful man, but he did take his job as Steward of his city very seriously. These were his people being slaughtered on the roads and he meant to see a stop put to it. Fieravene set out across the sands once again at the back of her black steed and spent several days tracking fringe groups along the trade routes.

It was here, on the eve of this heinous battle, that the fiend and her horse crested a nearby dune to lay red eyes upon a sea of visceral waste. There, blocking the view of the horizon, was a monstrosity the likes of which she'd never laid eyes upon and at its feet the man who commanded its will. A sandy gust pressed at her back in silent encouragement to meet him once again, and so the ghastly duo strode forward to close the distance.

No word was spoken as she approached but nothing truly need be said. Out of anyone on this planet, Ashuanar would know her presence and the darkness of oblivion she carried with her. Those same ethereal energies that devoured the countless realms unending was what had kept him breathing long enough in that dreary temple to be rescued. Medja had been his savior and what better person for the role.

Fieravene was no one's savior.

The crimson glow within her cowl tracked the man as she rounded him on her horse before bringing it to a stand beside him. There her gaze panned upwards to take in his beast in silent curiosity. Magnificent.

 

[Ashuanar]

For a time he felt a contentment in their deeds here this day. Such was an honour to him: to serve Gerra rightfully as the furious tip of the Army's might, and show forth the Emperor's righteousness through blood. So, he stood proudly.

The men departed, and it became quiet. The sounds of windswept banners, and the whistling through armour found him. And then, a presence. One that yet once more sent a chill down his spine, though lessened through the familarity of that cold. And indeed, no word need be spoken, not until she was now placed beside him.

"Fieravene," he said, turning his shrouded face to see her, only his eyes peering out, "I'm afraid I have left nothing..."

He smirked, irrelevant as it was.

Fieravene​

 

[Fieravene]

What an astute statement of fact. Sparing a moment to pan her gaze across the carnage one last time, the elf offered him a mild shrugging nod of agreement. Indeed, he'd left nothing.

She'd not come up empty handed for her troubles though. While it seemed he'd taken care of a large force of rebels, Fiera had spent the last several days hunting down fringe groups lying in wait along the caravan routes. The dark elf wouldn't say she felt wholly accomplished so much as wholly complacent with the job. Annuakat would know greater peace again, but who was to really say if they'd gotten them all.

Eventually they'd be calling upon her again, but she considered her mission complete for now.

A glance was given to the Vizier and a gesture made with a shadowed gauntlet to indicate the next call to action: drink?

 

[Ashuanar]

That, was a good idea. All of the camp was likely to be in a celebatory state - who were they to not partake?

He nodded, and turned around to look up at the great scorpion, whose attention was keenly fixed upon him, and her - just as its master was. But in no way did it seem threatened, or threatening. Rather, in its own way, acknowledging the darkness of her with its own quiet admiration.

Then, he reached out and displayed his open, downturned hand to the creature. It stirred in its place slightly before turning away from them, its great limbs swing overhead. Then, it moved off, and after several hundred of its paces were covered it began to descend into the earth in a great cloud of dust and sand.

Ashuanar did not stand idly to watch it leave, instead turned back to Fiera, "Of course. Please," he gestured in the direction of the camp, where a great trail from Al'Daim and his men was still quite evident in the sand yet.

It was only a short distance away, hidden out of sight.

Fieravene​

 

[Fieravene]

Fieravene shared a moment with the mighty creature, staring up at it as it stared down at her. A mutual exchange of curious respect for a fount of ageless power and wonder. Wasn't often one came across another of similar stature so the due course of action was to, naturally, smell the roses as they say.

Then the moment was over and the Vizier was indicating their path to libations. Fiera brought her horse about and followed at leisure. As they arrived to the encampment she paused to dismount, handing the black stallion off to an attending stablehand. Keeping just off Ashuanar's heel, the dark elf kept her silence and casually strolled through the growing frenzy of attention at her presence.

Eyes loomed after them and she couldn't help but hear the whispers spoken as they walked by. There was a muted sense of trepidation in those hushed words. Curiosity. Anxious excitement. Was she to join them at Tel Madu? Why was she here? Had the Vizier called her in? What did Ashu intend to do now?

Mostly she focused on her own curiosity; like what sort of drink did he have for her in that tent.

 

[Ashuanar]

Indeed, Fieravene was known quite well by now. To Ashuanar, she had proven to be likely one of the most dangerous individuals he had ever encountered - and considering the scope of his acquaintances at this point, it was no shallow esteem. The growing sensitivity to her presence alerted him that he was far from alone in that assessment - a testament to the wisdom of his men.

He led her to the command tent, where within they found a handful of faithful lieutenants, casually discussing their next steps, glasses in hand. Al'Daim was among them. Seeing them enter, the general snapped his fingers and two more glasses were delivered to the entrants.

Ashuanar moved in, removing his headwrap and hanging it over his shoulder. He told the servant to retrieve a particular bottle of spirit from his collection. It had been a favourite of his during his visit with her. There was plenty else, even a few assorted bottles set on the war-table, but he thought this to be something they could mutually enjoy.

Their attendant returned hastily, and Ashuanar took the bottle from him. He turned his stare toward his lieutenants - a silent dismissal to they who had also gone quiet. And with a nod of the head, to each of them, they departed.

"This, is from the lady Medja's own stash" he said, gesturing to pour Fiera's glass, "I found it quite... enjoyable."

Fieravene​

 

[Fieravene]

Whether or not Fieravene had been waiting until their company departed to remove her cowl and helmet was a curiosity for another time. The timing, as such, suggested she might've been, but the casual way in which she did suggested mere coincidence. Either way, once the helmet was removed the seething effect of the dark ether surrounding her figure subsided into black wisps. Which was not to say that her armor did not yet still look like a heathenish mass from Oblivion itself.

She daintily took the stem of the glass in the dark fingers of her gauntlet and held it up as Ashu poured. A whorl, a gentle sniff, a small sip - she smirked, "Almost as enjoyable as Lady Medja, herself."

Ashuanar would find a pointed brow raised knowingly at him as she moved to take up a seat somewhere off to the side.

"Well, since you have so effectively robbed me of what should have been a full and constructive evening, I suppose I shall endeavor to find something else to fill my time."

 

[Ashuanar]

Many would perhaps be comforted by the apparent lessening of the dark that surrounded Fieravene. Ashuanar of course, percieved little more than an outward difference. She was every bit as terrifying, no matter how she chose to present herself.

He simply knew too much.

He poured now his own glass as she began to sip on hers. His eyes traced up to meet hers, and her smirk was matched. He let out a half pleasant hum, raising his drink to his lips, "your taste is exquisite, then."

He took a few steps after her, but slowed and ran his hand along the edge of the table. It was littered with maps, scrolls, and other paraphernalia neccesary for mobilizing troops. He glanced down at it all, and then leaned on the table as he turned to face her.

He chuckled at her quip, and a brief excitement flashed through his eyes before he turned toward the sound of merry making somewhere out in the camp.

"It is true, even if I had been expecting you I may well have finished them all anyway..." he took another, slow drink, "however... I expect there will be some few fools who will learn of their comrades' fate all too late.

They will come looking for revenge, no doubt while we still refuse to slumber.

So few are they, so passionate.

These rebels... it is unfortunate they should place their faith so poorly. Surely they would be a tremendous asset to the Empire were they to serve so... wholly, no?"

He looked back to her. His words were directed one way, but his question another. He was well aware that her loyalties were set firmly in one place alone - but she acted otherwise at times. So his curious eyes, beyond their better judgement, searched hers. He had indeed come to know much, but in being blessed with such knowledge, he realized to some extent just how much he did not know.

He knew she chose to be here.

He did not fully know why.

Fieravene​

 

[Fieravene]

What a foil this man was to his fellow loyal servant, Uvogin. His words spilled out like a sonnet of a songbird - pretty sounds that didn't always seemed to have a centered meaning. Where Uvogin was strongly reticent most of the time and shortly verbose for the rest, Ashuanar seemed to enjoy the art of conversation.

Or at least the art of talking.

It was entertaining to listen to, at the very least.

"No," she disagreed with him, shaking her head, "Rebels are only worth the point you make by killing them. Don't waste your time on such silly aspirations - noble though they may be, they won't win you any battles that were already coming."

A sigh followed, head canting to one side as she fixed him with a gaze of consideration, "Speak plainly with me Ashuanar, you've no need to impress me with your lexicon nor do you need to candy the real question on your mind. Be forward, I implore you."

 

[Ashuanar]

Strangely, his composure eased.

He was indeed one who had taken his appointment quite seriously, and the way he spoke reflected the political nature of said placement. But Fieravene apparently had a way of outweighing whatever façade he was expected to portray - to little surprise.

It was a relief. He was at heart after all but a simple nomad, lost in the desert.

"You've appeared to me now in my dreams, even my own tomb, and helped pull me from it," he whirled his cup around gently before taking a casual sip from his glass, "and now, here you are again.

Why have you come, Fieravene? If there is something you require, I am of course in your debt."

Fieravene​

 

[Fieravene]

"There, that wasn't so hard," she mulled his simpled words over her own drink of wine, watching the elf over the rim of her glass, "I had an assignment to do the job you and your pet have already completed." Sent out to hunt down the remainder of the main Rebel Abtati whose locations she'd procured from the Priest just an hour before she'd taken his life force.

A gloved finger delicately traveled the circuit of the glass rim, "But since I am both here and a creature of convenience, I intend to strip you of the very essence that I used to help pull you from your tomb and find you in your dreams."

Red eyes leveled him with an intense stare as she looked him over, taking in the sight of bare flesh so beautifully bronzed by the desert sun. Ashuanar had that exotic appeal to him, much like Medja did, but eventually that dark ether would corrupt the man and make him something he most certainly did not wish to be. Normally she wouldn't have bothered, but the man had Medja's affections which meant something to her.

Just not the something most people would assume it to be.

 

[Ashuanar]

She caused in him a brief pause, and then the arch of a brow.

He knew of course of what she spoke of - that which had brought him to his feet after having been doomed to his knees. But her choice of words discomforted him some. From another creature it may have been less so, but remembering how the initial experience had felt, he was apprehensive to imagine what this would entail.

"Mmm.... I see," he finished his drink, his uneasiness apparent,"well of course, I have no grounds to deny you."

Fieravene​

 

[Fieravene]

Pity, a part of her was hoping he'd make a fuss. She'd been denied her evening of wanton slaughter and, admittedly, was itching for some carnage. Well, beggars can't be choosers and, really, how often did people give in to her demands so ... willingly?

Ashuanar was a curious man. Perhaps a glutton for punishment. Time to find out.

Dark pauldrons shifted forward as the elf stood from her seat, helmet tucked beneath her free arm. Her wine was set aside with purpose and intent - she meant to return to it later. It wasn't a flavor to be rushed or wasted, but one to be savored. Just like Medja. Her boots carried her across the distance between them, soundless upon woven reeds, and she approached the larger man with the aura of something far greater than what stood before him.

The red of her eyes took on a heated glow.

"On your knees," she commanded, softly.

 

[Ashuanar]

He too set down his glass and took his weight off the table. Watching her approach was an almost fearful thing. She moved with such poise and purpose, fuelled by something he failed to fully fathom, even as a portion of which had fuelled him for a time.

A small portion, he wagered.

"On your knees," she commanded, softly.

Tension gripped him, and his pride welled within. His mouth curled, and then his eyes cast down and a wry smile appeared.

"Very well,"

So then he dropped down onto one knee, and then the other, but he kept his head held high.

Fieravene ​

 

[Fieravene]

The expression on her face was not a smile. It was not pleasant. Nor was it reassuring. As if Ashuanar had willingly submitted himself to judgement by the Executioner of Oblivion, that his fate suddenly rested in her own method of will. Fiera lifted her free hand, turning the palm of the gauntlet to face him and settled it over the proverbial third eye of his forehead.

C̵̦̉͂̍͊̄ą̷͔̪́̿̍̒́h̸̥̙͛͛͐f̷̧̢͉͇̈̒͠ ̷͇͉̣͉̑̚̚a̵̡̢̦̤͋͊͛̀̿h̵̺̜̉͐̍͘͝ ̸̣̋n̷̖͖̺͍̋͂̇͝ͅa̷̻̦̣͖̖̔͂̉̒͌f̵̝͙̳͗̔l̵̡̡̯̹͒͜ ̵̻̈̓m̵̖̽̑͂̈́̕g̷̳̯͓̃̑̌́̈͜l̸̠̞̮̺͑͠w̵̳͂'̶̲̞̋̊̇̀n̵̬̲͋̆̓̕ḁ̸̦̭͑͒̈́͘f̶̱̱̹̑̍ḩ̴̊̈́́ ̷͙̼̦̠̇̾̑̀ḧ̸̘́͌́ȟ̸͈͇̒̌̉'̷̖̅̆͘ ̸͓̈̄̊̏̐a̴̝̣͗̃̏h̸͚͓̳͛̅̑͝ǫ̸̙̅ͅr̴̨̛͕͈̒̕ ̶̭̱͚͋͗͂s̷͇͚̭͋y̸̛̺̫̳͓̒͆h̴̡͈͕̿a̵͔̒̈́͒͂'̸̺̰̳̄̕h̷̫̙͈̝͙͋̚͠ ̸̛̰̦̚ḁ̶̻͈̎̑͝ḧ̵̝̜̲̀̕ͅ'̶̨̱̋̅̒̅̈́ḽ̴͈̻͔̺̊̄̍̎̕e̴͍̺̰͍̭͆̋͐͝g̸̜̗̹̰̺̽̓̌é̷̜t̴̨̼͇̰͆͛ͅh̴̲̼̿​

She spoke and her voice rang as a thousand-thousand voices within the tent, sending the poles shuddering and the flames of the braziers flickering into a wilted smolder.

,̸̨̢̰̺̑̈͜͝ ̸̱̟̼̈́͊̽̃̃n̶̟̠̹̍̾͝g̷̠͙̞̑ ̷̅̈ͅl̷̛̠̻̠̰̥͒͝ĺ̶͔̿͊̎ͅl̷̩̐̓̃̄̚l̷̨̢̼͇͌͜ ̴͇̙̂͂̾̔̿o̴̰̿r̴̛̖̝̰̙̒̂͝'̸̡͎̙̟̎̍̌̋̄ͅā̸͎̯̰̼z̵͔̞̽̆́͋̕͜ä̵̛̞̻͙̘́́͘͠t̵̼̲͖͛h̴̘͉͌̈́͂̚ ̴̨͍̙̱̎̀̈́̌s̴͓̹̙̿ý̴̤̣̣̲̳h̴̢͉̻͙͗̚ā̵̰̟͍͈̎̔̈́͋'̶̧͔̘̀h̸̭͗n̸̢͋̌ä̶̺̝̱̼́̃̉̿̕ḧ̸̨͖̠̻́̇͜h̴̡̜̩̠͆ ̶̪͇̑̔̅̕ͅn̴̥̹̓̈̈́̕͝'̷͚̼̹̎g̶̘̗̲̙̫̀̈́̈́̋͝h̴̛͉̱͕̯͕̎̇̅f̵̫̹͕̋͐̎͝t̸͈̭̆̽e̸̯̙̎̈́̓p̴͔̲̲̓̄͒ḣ̶͈̟̺̙a̵̞̅i̸͉̪͈̙̓̈́͑͌͘ ̴͙̇͒́​

Darkness beyond the night began to consume the space around them, so thick it was almost tangible. With it a sense of distant, fathomless void. Not cold, but simply empty. Hollow.

n̶̯̝̏̅̓'̸̢̱̰͖̀̏̎͑̔g̸͇̮̀͛͛͂́h̵͉͑̀̓̋͠ä̵̟̟̪͉́͂͐ ̴̘̩͉̄͌̑̍̚a̷͇̱̯͖̦̔͋͂͒̾h̷̜̟̜͑o̶͍̅̒͂͛͊r̴̢͖̝̠͊̽̒̋̊n̷͉̳̭̾͑̃̽ä̴͓̳͈̦́̿͌͗͜h̶͖̔ ̵̧̱͕̤̯̽̀̓͝á̷͈̽̈͌͠h̸̭̰̯̘̰̄̓͝'̷̯͎̹͆m̵̗̲̺͕̤̈́͗͗g̴̼̘͍͓͈̔̕l̶͎̖͊͂ẅ̷̰̂͌̐͒'̸̦̦͕̗̎̋̈̋ņ̷͖̪̠̯͑̀ä̸̬̠͎̤́̿́͛f̴̞͊h̶̨̛̪͗̾̈̎​

"Lord Ashuanar?" a voice from the entrance of the tent, echoing perversely in the infinite expanse between them. An Abtati peered in, eyes wide at the blackness he discovered within, and made to call out for his Vizier but found the air in his lungs retreating into the void.

Fiera withdrew her hand, a metaphysical hold overtaking Ashuanar where he knelt, and replaced her helmet back on her head. The virulent tendrils of dark ether flared like a heated sickness, forming that same heathenous aura he might recall watching him from the dark corners in the temple where his life almost fell forfeit. Something in him recognized the presence and filled him with a deeply seeded desire, an unquestionable longing, to reunite with its source.

 

[Ashuanar]

The sound that came from seemingly everywhere brought a frown to his lips. Whispers from all around both near and far spoke together, and echoed each other.

It went dark, flames dwindling to nothing.

Then it grew darker, and he felt that terrible emptiness. The quiet. He inhaled, but he breathed in nothing.

A twinge of anxiety washed him, but he stifled it, finding comfort - perhaps ill placed - in the knowledge of her presence.

His name. He heard it, faintly, but it too fell away into silence. He swallowed, and he tensed. And then, as she stepped away he felt its pull, and he burned within. He fell to his hands and ground his teeth shut, and did something he did not fully intend, but he fought it. Unwilling to let go of that dark that had fuelled him through his trial, he resisted the pull he felt from within - and even after realizing his folly, was far too late in doing so.

It felt like the back of his brain was forced through its center and pulled back around. His head thrashed back upward, rising back up onto his knees as he let out a noiseless cry. And from him, it revealed itself once again, and loosed him from its grasp - and he collapsed onto his hands again.

His breath was laboured, and sweat dripped from his nose. One hand came to his neck, and held it a moment. It felt torn, and ragged. His head spun, and he saw stars mixed with blurrs.

He fought the urge to collapse, both hands again coming down on the ground to steady him.

"Gods," he uttered, his voice hoarse and quiet as though terribly dehydrated.

He felt... lighter, but he also felt... uncomfortable.

Fieravene​

 

[Fieravene]

N̷̢͈̟̩̤̅͝ợ̷͕̳͒́̕ ̷̩̪̘̙͊̆̋̀d̴͔̹͑̓̋̎a̸̯̹͊͝͝ȓ̷͍l̵̨͕͙͖̾̆͂̆͊̓̕͜ì̵̯̈́͠n̴͕̠̺̙̖͉̒̌͋̾͂ǵ̶̢̦̲̲̝̟̽̐́,̵̭̱͕͉̟̲̪̑̐͑͋͒ ̵͍̀̇́j̴͍͍̣̥̖̬̽̓̑̽̅ͅu̷̡͚̦̾͒̒̈́͘̚s̸̘̪̯͛̐͌̇̚͝ṱ̵̳̥͓̩̣̑͂͋̏ ̶͖̭͎̮̤͂̀ṁ̵̹̘̉̽ḛ̷͕̫̲͉̊͠ͅͅ.̵̛͔̐̂​

Fieravene was smiling the sort of smile that wasn't meant for reassurance.

The Gods have nothing to do with this.
​

Black essence drifted from the man in amorphous tendrils through the air, encircling the elf where she stood. It brushed against her along her shoulders and legs, like a cat pleased to reunite with its owner, before filtering back into the abyssal aura surrounding her. In a blink the oppressive void was gone, light returned to the tent, a fresh breeze drifted in through the doorway where the guard picked himself off the ground.

Red eyes watched Ashuanar intensely. His resistance had been strong but senseless. It would leave behind scars, damage that could not be undone and Fiera was curious to see just what that meant for him.

"How do you feel?"

​

 

[Ashuanar]

Weakness gripped him. He wavered, but steadied himself. His breath began to calm, and the pain that seemed to tear at his very soul also assuaged.

But it remained.

His eyes darted from one side, then the other, and slowly he lifted his head.

"How do you feel?"

One hand came upon his knee, and he lifted himself to his feet. He met her gaze, and in his eyes there was a grief. A pain. It was dark, and though the void she had imparted to him was now gone there was now another shadow that seemed to linger behind him, and within.

His eyes listed one way, "I am not entirely... sure..."

But there was a tell-tale sting in his words that while he himself might not know, another would see quite easily.

"Uh... Vizier...? Are yo-"

"Go," he snapped, affording an impatient glance.

He looked down at his hands, over at the table, and then back to her. He certainly felt strange, something was different... but he could not place exactly what, not yet. He let out a sharp breath through his nose.

"Well now," he started, reaching to replenish his drink, "it would seem your travel here was hardly wasted..."

Fieravene​