Open Chronicles Cleanliness is close to Godliness.

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

God's wash.

​

At least, that's what it meant in the common tongue.

It was the God-King's private bath-house. Or, at least, it had been made so ever since he had come into power. It was quite possibly the largest, the priciest and most extravagant he had ever seen or experienced. No where else in the world would you find a place quite like it. The instant you walked in, heralded by the opening of two massive red doors, you were invited to a steam that smacked you in the face, filling up your nostrils, being cleansed before even an ounce of skin dared to plunge itself into the scolding hot mineral water, brought over specially from the Seret mountains. Everything was of a fine hard-wood, with gold fittings running across the long joists that held up the immense structure.

The smell was mesmerising, a thousand herbs and spices hitting you at once, a bombardment to the senses. There was an orderly line of baths on each side of the long, seemingly never-ending hallway, each having up to three staff-members each, all tending to the waters, cleaning the floors and fetching whatever drink, dish or other desires you had in mind.

However, all of those were eclipsed by the royal bath in the far north of the room. It was massive, easily 5 times the size of any other bath there, each being able to hold 4 people; this bath however, could fit 16 easy. It was made of the most expensive wood available, being constructed and refined with ancient trees from the Falwood. Supposedly, the wood held magical properties, enhancing the quality of the water held within. Much like the rest of the bath-house, gold ran alongside the edges and seams of it, glimmering in the bright-lamp-light, barely making it through the thick fog.

Gerra himself had recommended he take a wash in it's famed waters. Even ignoring the infamy he'd gained amongst the people, his position as a Vizier allowed him free access to the Royal Bath whenever he wished. The only thing holding him back were the rules of entry:

Stripping naked after the entrance way was compulsory.

It was something to do with the 'God of Cleansing' or something or other. Bad luck not to.

Amol Kalit and its Gods...

He'd chosen to go late in the day. Early evening. The sun had lowered in the sky, and the streets were lit beautifully in the darkness. As he entered the bath-house, he was almost immediately recognised by a managing member of the bath-house, who greeted him graciously, giving about 20 bows before letting him speak. Jerik asked for the Royal Bath, as Gerra requested. Then, of course, the manager asked him to remove his clothes.

It wasn't something he'd ever done before. Rarely did he ever take his mask off, let alone his clothes. He was attended to by a short girl, old enough to be in her 20's, but with stunted growth. She held up a bronze-box for him to put his clothes into. First, he dropped his robes, being provided help unclipping his leather under-armour by another attendant. He could feel them reel back in shock, as his body was revealed for all to see.

Although completing the contract had provided him with superior strength, stamina and vitality to an ordinary man, his skin had awkwardly healed through his scars, leaving huge, sprawling marks across his entire body. He found it strange, how his muscles and stature had increased to that of a seasoned warrior, yet he had done very little physical fighting. Another of Imamu's gifts, he thought. However, he was extremely dirty, his hair had grown very long, and he seemed to be covered in a thin veneer of dirt. If the Imamu had given him any mercy, at least his less on-display parts were left intact, despite all of the suffering and injuries he had gone through up to this point.

He removed his stone-appendages that Gerra had bestowed upon him. The girl almost fell over as he put them in the box, of weight or shock he did not know. Finally, he removed his mask, his scars obscuring the once handsome man he had been. Although all the other scars had healed, the one he had received when he was just a boy stood stead-fast, still bleaching the colour on the left-side of his face.

He then began to walk towards the north side of the room, trying his best not to look at the litanies of beautiful, very much naked women in the bath-house. Unusually, there seemed to be more women than men, which puzzled him greatly. He didn't know whether it would be more or less awkward with Gerra there. He wouldn't like to find out.

He saw one or two people in the bath ahead, but he could not make out who they were. He approached, through the thick steam.

Here we go...

 

[Fieravene]

Of those few people already enjoying the luxuries of the God-King's bath house and his private bath was none other than Fieravene. As it turned out, most of his harem could be found here at odd hours of the day, and having made such good acquaintances with a few of them Fiera found herself extended an invitation.

Will you tell us more of your stories?

Turns out having a long life filled with adventure was good for something.

But of course I will.

And so, here she was--for she was loathe to turn down such a wonderful offer--entertaining two of the God King's wives; a gilded crystalline glass of wine in hand, servants at her beck and call, one wife at either side, and a host of delectibles to snack on for as long as the stories unraveled. Fieravene was enjoying her vacation greatly.

"What about the story you told at the feast?"
"Which one was that, darling, I seem to recall reciting quite a few..." Fiera lazily motioned for a servant to refill her glass.
"The one about the King's wife who was walled into her own castle?"
"Oh, did you miss it?"
"I only arrived after you left and all my sister-wives were talking about it. No one seems to remember it properly."
"Well you're in luck, it happens to be one of my favorites."

"Wait ... who is that?" the woman to Fi's left motioned at the man walking toward them.
"I don't know ... Fiera, is this one of your ...friends?"

The drow's red eyes skated across the rim of the bath, tracking the approaching figure with growing intrigue, "No, not yet."

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

As he approached the stupidly large bath, he was greeted with three women.

Two of which, he almost immediately recognised. Members of Gerra's harem. One of the perks of becoming a 'God-King' was being that your seed was considered greater than that of any other man's. You were, indeed, a god walking among men. He remembered walking past Gerra's living quarters, only to see him enjoying his ever-growing group of desirables.

And Jerik had to say, they looked pretty damn desirable.

But the other was unknown to him. Clearly a Dark-Elf, far slimmer than the other two. You could tell; the members of the harem were very well fed, all being 'plump' in the right places. This Dark-Elf however, looked strong, like a warrior, but quick as a whip. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but he was almost positive that he had seen her before, perhaps when he still went by Sparhawk.

But then again, knowing someone back then meant little to him now.

He could see one of them point towards him, clearly unknown of his position or title. He hadn't thought that, without his mask, he would be generally unrecognisable, being a sort of symbol of his service. Of his deeds.

He approached the bath's steps, and slowly lowered himself into the hot, steamy water. It felt great on his skin. And the view wasn't bad either.

"My name is Jerik. I hope you do not mind me joining you." He spoke, with his grainy, low voice.

 

[Fieravene]

While the women made efforts to divert their gaze for likely more reason than one, Fieravene openly watched the naked man with a keen gaze of interest. She was admiring the trails of stories across his flesh and the way it stretched so weirdly over brawn. He reminded her of a chimera she'd come across - as if portions of himself were not of his own.

As if someone had pieced him together from the various stories within which he took part.

The elf found herself wanting to hear those stories far more than she wished to tell her own. She greeted him with a sanguine smile, "Well met, Jerik," Fiera tipped her glass of wine to him, ignoring the hushed whispers of the two wives from either side of her, "I am Fieravene, and these here are the God-King's wives Lerissat and Anatsu'te."

"He's a Vizier," Lerissat hissed into one of Fiera's tall, pointed ears.

"Ohhh..." a dark brow larked at him, "well well. Seems you have more right to be here than me. I remain at your behest."

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

He's a Vizier.

Of all things, that's what he hated most. It almost made him miss the days of being a 'nobody Sorcerer' who could travel from village to village, not garnering even the measliest of glances. Not being judged on ones past actions, because they didn't know. But here, everyone knew who he was, if not by name, by the mask he was characterised by. If this Dark Elf knew who he was,

She'd probably run.

And even then, the people didn't know the whole story. But what does it matter. He lowered himself into the hot water, his eyes firmly on the Dark Elf across from him. There was an allure he couldn't quite put his finger on. A pull.

I remain at your behest."

"No need to be so formal. It's pleasure." He nodded towards an attendant, grabbing him a bottle of aged Annuakat Rum. His favourite.

"The rum here is...delicious." He struggled to find the word.

"What brings you to our glorious city, Fiera?"

 

[Fieravene]

Fiera fed her smirk more wine as the man made himself comfortable, leaning into the whisperings of Anatsu'te that told her of this Jerik's dealings. Or, at the very least, what a wife within the harem of the God-King would know of them. Lerissat seemed to be displeased with this latest turn of events and promptly scoffed, turning to face away from the man and help herself to a fresh drink.

Anat spoke of the God-King's Mad Dog, of the ghoulish mask he always wore, of his contract with a devil. All these words and more garnered a look of rapt attention from the she-elf.

"The glorious God-King and his glorious wine," she replied candidly, swilling the contents of her glass, "and the glorious ladies of his court."

Anat eyed Jerik before reaching for the elf's chin to turn her gaze towards her, "We're going to the market to find gifts for Sahthra's baby, won't you come with us? You don't have to stay here..." with him, left unsaid.
"Well that sounds lovely, but I must decline."
"Do you have a new mission?" Lerissat looked over her shoulder curiously.
"Something like that," Fiera smiled, an expression closer to a tiger that had successfully cornered prey, "go on without me."
"Will you stop in later? I must hear that story, Fi, I must."
"As you wish, darling. Later then."

Sweet smiles to the elf and wary glances to the Maddog, the ladies picked themselves out of the bath and hurried off gosspping in whispers.

Fiera watched them go with wane amusement, bridging both arms along the rim of the bath as she turned red eyes back upon Jerik, "Seems you're quite popular."

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

Thunderous hoofsteps alerted all near the entrance to the bathhouse as the grand behemoth approached. Toruuk had spent many days and nights trekking through the harsh desert to find this rumored "empire" he had heard so much about. A look of grim resolve marked the bull's face, his fur matted and drenched with sweat. Heat was something Toruuk had grown accustomed to in the harsh territory of Candenord, but this was something else.

At the very least, it seemed that the people of this land weren't too wary of Toruuk's immensity. A few strange looks here and there were expected, to which the bull responded with an exhausted snort. After such a long and arduous journey and the rigors of exhausting, albeit disappointing combat along the way, Toruuk had decided a well deserved bath was in order.
"Th-the royal bathhouse is nearby, b-but it is for the God Emperor's closest subjects!"
Toruuk recalled the words that a local had stammered out after cornering him earlier. Royalty or not, the Wandering Champion was getting his damn bath.

The bull sauntered toward the entrance with confidence and purpose, as though he were meant to be here. A few servants scrambled about at his approach. Toruuk couldn't help but smirk. It was as though they couldn't decide on the proper course of action. Should they greet him as a guest? Turn him away? Would the beast get violent if they did? Toruuk could only imagine what the attendants were thinking, but it ultimately mattered little. The bull simply pushed his way past enamored servant and shocked guard alike, silently daring anyone to challenge his arrival. To his mild disappointment, no one did.

"Hold all this for me, would ya?"
Toruuk demanded once inside as he began to unstrap his gear and armor from his hulking form. Massive gauntlets, a pauldron, belt, axes and else wise clanked and clattered to the floor one by one. To his surprise, a few attendants did in fact begin to gather his things and move them away, presumably to storage elsewhere. Amazing what one could accomplish when you simply act like you belong where you are.

Now as bare as the day he was born, Toruuk continued his stroll into the hall of the Royal Bath. He was nine and a half feet of rippling muscle and dingy, brown fur punctuated with countless scars, a product of ceaseless training and constant strife. He briefly brought a hand up to sweep some stray hair off of one of his gnarled horns, so as to better scan the room. A great many women, equally in the buff, met his gaze. Toruuk snorted in contempt.
So scrawny...
It was another scarred up form that caught his eye. Not quite the scars left by blades and bludgeons, but interesting damage nonetheless. Perhaps a fellow warrior? And it seemed as though he was joined by a female dark elf, an individual who looked out of place (though perhaps not as much as Toruuk). Regardless, the tub looked large enough to accommodate another body, even one as large as his own. Nothing like a little conversation with a nice soak.

A bit too tired to be as boisterous as he usually preferred to be, without so much as a greeting or query of permission, Toruuk lowered himself into the bath that Jerik and Fieravene now occupied, just opposite them. With a loud sigh of relief and a massive displacement of water he came to rest, arms outstretched on the sides of the pool.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Some nerve.

He held incredible disdain for the harem members. Though their looks drew people in, they were quick to spread rumour, and give opinion. It was obvious to him, just by looking at them, that they must've relayed just about everything that had been heard about him, and of that there was much. Everyone seemed to have a verdict on him, good or bad, mostly the latter.

"The glorious God-King and his glorious wine," she replied candidly, swilling the contents of her glass, "and the glorious ladies of his court."

"I like a woman who likes her wine." He said, flippantly.

"And yes, at least two of those are accurate..." He muttered under his breath. The bottle of Annuakat spiced rum made its way to his lips through the air, and he took a long sip. He thanked the gods that he could use magic, else the loss of his arms would truly pose an issue.

"Seems you're quite popular."

He looked into those red eyes. Definitely a feistiness lying within them. He didn't know if she was after anything, but considering that the God-King's wives had protested her stay, he imagined that she was, at the very least, curious about their conversation. He stared back with his sharp, grey-dulled eyes.

"I imagine they told you all about my 'exploits'. Our 'God-King' really can't keep his mouth shut." He half-snapped that comment. It wasn't his place to question Gerra, but in the bath-house, with this interesting stranger, it did not matter to him.

"Alth-" He couldn't get half-way through his word before the absolute behemoth known as Toruuk slipped in. He had met minotaurs before during his journeys to the East, but this must've been one of the biggest he'd ever seen, a construct of muscle and strength boasted before them both, as an ocean swam its way out of the bath. The staff quickly ran to clean the mess, and re-stock the bath with fresh herbs.

If it were any other circumstance, he would immediately kill the man-creature. But, that was Vizier Jerik's job. Right now, not only was he off the clock, but he just wanted to relax in the bath. And hey,

He was no Killer.

"Well- Uh, hello Minotaur. Please, Make yourself comfortable. I am Jerik, and this lovely Dark Elf is Fieravene. You are?"

 

[Fieravene]

"I like a woman who likes her wine. And yes, at least two of those are accurate..."

Fiera settled into an amused smirk, tipping her glass in a silent cheers to that. She didn't care to uncover which of the two he believed to be true, frankly only one of them was true to her. The elf put her feistiness on mute to allow the man his vocal breathing space. It was much easier to let people talk about themselves once they got momentum going rather than forcing information at the point of conversational interrogation. But the man didn't get far before her attention was drawn with some amount of visual force, to the massive entity entering the bathhouse. The behemoth blocked the sunlight carving through the entrance and windows to the end of the long hall, and for a moment she struggled to make out just what, exactly, it was.

Couldn't be Gerra, the King had his own entrance, but she knew of very few who boasted a silhouette like that.

Jerik couldn't see him with his back to the doorway, but Fieravene had the pleasure of watching the lumbering giant - no, Minotaur - trudge his way towards them. No doubt in her mind that he was heading for their tub, it was likely the only one here that could afford his mass. The elf raised her glass of wine as the beast trod up the tub steps, buoying in the displaced waters when his hulking self joined them.

His immense size immediately gave him away, but it helped to see him up close, too. Fiera didn't doubt that other Minotaurs could grow to such scale as the one she'd witnessed at a gladiatorial event some years ago, but this one was quite unmistakable.

"He is Toruuk the Wandering Champion," the elf stated, gesturing to him with her wine and a keen smile, "whom I had the distinct privilege to observe in the Serahana Tournament of Warriors four years ago where he claimed the crown by ripping the arms off the reigning mountain troll champion, Uggbelov the Mighty."

"Hm," she remarked wonderingly up at the brute, "I see you have yet to meet your match, Toruuk. Well done." He was alive and in one piece, after all. What a treat to share a bath with him. Fiera idly gestured to a nearby attendant to add a few more orders of herbal treatments to the tub, for the Champion's sake.

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

At the man's behest, Toruuk shifted about in the tub to find the position that was most comfortable, then groaned and rolled his head from side to side to produce a series of muted *pops*. Interrupting this pair's conversation hadn't been his intention, but attracting attention was something of a natural proficiency for the Minotaur. Still, the bull took a moment to eye over each of his new bathing neighbors.

The first, the scarred fellow. Scruffy beard and hair and a body well kept in spite of its notable...absences...and eyes that spoke tales that words could not. A closer view of the man's scars quickly soured Toruuk's initial assumption, and the floating glass of alcohol only served to confirm his new one: the man was a mage, likely a talented one.
This one looks dangerous.

The second, the she-elf. Natural for an elf of any variety, she was more frail in appearance than the concubines that populated the baths. Yet, she didn't even flinch when the bull sunk himself into the water. She was nonchalant and yet graceful. Her posture and attitude betrayed something more...
This one's more dangerous than she looks...

"You are?"

Toruuk opened his mouth to speak his introduction, but held his tongue when Fieravene beat him to the punch. The bull cocked his brow at the woman and he couldn't help but let a proud smirk form on his face. The champ was impressed.

"Yeah, you got it right. Looks like the champ's reputation precedes him!" Toruuk punctuated the statement with a hearty chuckle and a nod of appreciation. "That was a good fight. Old Uggy thought he could get one over on me by coating the spikes on his cudgel with poison. Hope you enjoyed the show as much as I enjoyed relieving that bastard of his arms!"

As the attendants began to place more herbs into the bath the bull made a quick, awkward glance towards the one called Jerik.

"Uh, no offense, o' course. Oh, and good to meet ya both."
Toruuk had taken the liberty of making himself comfortable in this unfamiliar place, the least he could do was show a modicum of manners to his apparent hosts.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Now Fieravene had specified that he was a Champion of the Serahana Tournament of Warriors, his physique made far more sense. Although the Minotaurs he met in the East were still massive in both stature and musculature, he'd never seen one so thoroughly built. He'd say he was built like an Ox, but somehow he felt that may cause offence.

When he was younger, he used to love going to fighting tournaments. He of course attended and fought in many magic ones, but somehow it never came close to the tension of two warriors clashing their steel against one another, in a test of raw strength and skill. It did not surprise him in the slightest that he pulled the arms off of his opponent, as he looked as if he could probably lift about a dozen ton as well.

Somehow, he felt slightly jealous. Why couldn't Jerik be known for something so prestigious, yet of great praise? Then again, looking at his actions objectively, they weren't exactly heroic either.

Perhaps that was an understatement..

"Uh, no offense, o' course. Oh, and good to meet ya both."

"None taken Toruuk. Always a pleasure meeting a fellow Warrior. Actually- it was actually the God-King's forces that relieved me of my arms, ironic..." This time, he took a long gulp of his rum, making his way down to half the bottle. He felt it a little, but not much.

"I imagine you've killed plenty of capable warrior in your day, my Friend. If I may be so bold, what's your kill count?" He was always curious about those sorts of things. Some warriors kept a count of their kills by the number of scars on their chest, or the amount of ears worn on their necklace.

As he went to have another sip of his rum, he gave Fiera a smirk.

 

[Fieravene]

"Looks like the Champ's reputation precedes him!"

"Cheers," Fiera toasted the great, horned man with her glass only to realize it was quite close to empty, "ohh - garcon..." she leaned over the edge of the tub and dandied her glass about, "more wine, if you please."

The elf listened distractedly to the Minotaur, gaze flickering over towards Jerik at the mention of lost limbs. That chuckle couldn't be helped, waning as the servant leaned up to pour her glass full again.

"Would the Lady like a sampling of Annuakat's finest sweets?"

"No," she replied pleasantly, "I prefer savory. What does Annuakat have for that?"

"Smoked meats and cheeses would suit, perhaps?"

"Yes, that will do, thank you..." Fiera looked back just in time to catch the last line of questioning from her scar-riddled friend, as well as the wink. That earned him a curved brow and a smirking sip.

"I've seen some of your kind that carve notches into their horns for every noteworthy victory, and break off a horn completely for their failures. Though..." she leaned to gaze upwards at Toruuk, "it doesn't appear to be so for you."

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

Toruuk grinned widely, revealing a surprisingly full set of teeth. Jerik seemed to be a good sport, but it was his "fellow warrior" comment that really got the bull excited. Perhaps his initial judgment was correct after all, and the prospect of sparring with a new partner in a strange land piqued his interest. He wasn't certain what the scarred fellow's affiliation to the so-called "God-King" was, but it did seem a tad odd that a master might relieve his servant of something so precious.

"Wine...meats...cheeses..."

The words danced around Toruuk's ears and then hit his brain like a stone wall. It hadn't occurred to the bull that he hadn't eaten in what felt like days (but was more likely hours). He found himself salivating, unbidden.

"Oi, bring the champ some o' that meat, too. A lot of it, actually. And, like...a barrel of whatever counts for strong booze in this land," Toruuk pointed a finger and demanded of the same servant. So prim and proper they were with Fiera, yet they seemed to cower in Toruuk and Jerik's presence. Odd. The bull shrugged it off as the servant jumped at the command and scurried away.
"Of-of-of course sir!"

The distraction was enough that the bull didn't catch the sly looks between his two bathmates, but he registered their questions nonetheless. Toruuk reclined slightly and shrugged his shoulders.

"Dunno. Don't bother to keep track anymore. It was in the hundreds before I ever left Candenord. The scars I got are more important to remember. Each cut and hole's a memory of a great fight." Toruuk pulled himself up out of the bath slightly as he spoke, then pointed to a circular scar on his left abdomen. Though difficult to tell through sopping fur, a multitude of blackened veins ran away from the mark, showing the damage that had been done beyond the surface.
"Old Uggy did that to me. Just barely caught his club before he slammed that sucker into my side here. Veins felt like they were on fire."

Toruuk slowly settled back down, careful not to cause anymore tidal waves within the recently restocked bath.
"Anyhow, 'kill' is just another word for 'beat' to me, just more permanent. I try not to kill the good fighters just for losin'. Means they can come back and gimme a better fight next time."

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Means they can come back and gimme a better fight next time.

Means they can come back and gimme a better fight next time.

Means they can come back and gimme a better fight next time.​

He couldn't help but have those words float around in his head. Talking about fights like they were something you could enjoy, which - of course - you could. But something rang hollow about his whole life in that short phrase. In the moment, he thought he enjoyed massacring the enemies of the Empire, or anyone for that matter. He thought he was truly a champion of Imamu, who killed for the sheerness of killing.

But in those words, he wasn't so sure. All those warriors who boasted of their kills and exploits and battles, but in truth, he was no warrior. He was a killer. It didn't matter how many people he'd sacrificed to the fire, enemy or innocent. All of his actions were completely reprehensible.

Somehow, he was taken back to the moment when he arrived at Elbion to burn it all down. He didn't have to snap that girls neck. That poor girl. But he did so anyway. An innocent apprentice, simply asking where her class was. And he took away all that life, all she had to give, gone in an instant.

What's wrong with me?

"Maho Sparhawk..." He muttered to himself.

"Who am I..."

"The aged Port!" He whipped his neck towards the girl handling the drinks, who quickly bowed and ran to the backroom.

Snap out of it.

 

[Fieravene]

The entire tub seemed to vibrate at the rumbling order of the Minotaur and Fiera blinked in mild alarm at the sensation. She gave the wooden rim of the gigantic tub a gentle pat, encouraging it silently to continue holding steady. Surely this beast was not the worst occupant it had seen, but the last thing she wanted was to be sprawled naked in a heap of splintered wood and herbal dredgings.

"Well that's terribly sportsman-like of you," a fresh sip of her wine, a brief gander over at Jerik who seemed to be muttering to himself, "do you find that they-"

"The aged Port!"

Another alarmed blink, she nearly spilled her wine into the tub (what a waste that would have been), "ahem ... that they do?" A brow batted upwards at Toruuk curiously, "Give you a better fight the next time?"

Jerik received a prolonged sideglance. Was she imagining things or did she sense an impending existential crisis in the man? It was probably all the herbal steam in the air and wine in her blood. Free hand drifted from the rim of the tub to lightly brush a fingertip under his chin, just enough to garner his attention from where he craned to bark the order to the help. He looked terribly tense for someone sitting in an herbal bath with half a bottle of rum in his belly.

"May I?" a murmured request, fingertips lightly plying at his neck and jaw, a little messaging distraction might do him good, She'd turn her gaze back to Toruuk - her own attention split for the time being.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Alcohol had always been a crutch. Even before re-joining Gerra, ever since he'd returned from Belgrath, the nightmares never ended. War had changed him forever. After you'd seen what he had seen, you never quite slept the same, if at all. He remembered the countless nights spent drinking away with other sad individuals, trying to find some meaning in those hopeless moments. He didn't know if he was any better off now.

Remember that trick I did Myles? Where I made the Ale fountain out of the mug? Everyone used to find that so funny. Did it for years. Good times, Good-

The second he noticed the dark finger tracing his chin, his eyes turned a deep, fiery red, his whole body becoming tense. It seemed his body was so conditioned to combat in battle, that any sort of physical interaction promoted that sort of response. But unlike before, Imamu had no say over his reaction. He turned to look at Fiera, who had a softer look about her. Whether it was the wine or something else, he wasn't sure. He noticed her features as she looked at the Behemoth on the other side of the bath.

"O-of course." His eyes softened and the light left them, as her hand continued to play about his neck.

I've met you before...

He thought to himself. He remembered them meeting at the Pub, all those years ago back in Elbion. Elves never seemed to age, and she hadn't a day since the last time he'd seen her. It felt like an age, a completely different time.

The attendant came with the wine, leaving the bottle beside him. He continued to look at her, studying her features. There was something about her he couldn't quite put his finger on. To think they'd meet again in a place like this was astronomically unlikely.

"Soft hands."

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

As the vagrant bull finished speaking he couldn't help but notice the sudden thousand-yard stare that Jerik donned. It was an all too familiar look, one that he'd seen among the veterans of his clan, soldiers in mercenary companies, pit fighters and more. There was no denying it: this man had seen or done some serious shit. Toruuk couldn't help but grow a bit curious...there were certain things that a good brawl could tell you that words never could.
When the moment's right...

A bit of muttering and a shout for some sort of booze seemed to mark the end of Jerik's episode, so the Minotaur returned his attention to Fiera.
"Just the honorable thing to do, ohhh yeah. Depends on their attitude when they come back, their state o' miiiind. Some of 'em come back angry, big ol' chip on the shoulder, lookin' for revenge...those ones the champ usually puts down just the same," Toruuk inhaled deeply, thoughtfully, taking in the odd scent of the herbs as he did so.
"Others...they come back with the right spirit. They come back havin' learned somethin', yeah. They come back because they know the first time was a good time, and now, NOW they can have an even better one. That STEEL sharpens STEEL, oh yeah! Wohohoho!"

As oddly introspective as the champion was getting, there was suddenly a moment of awkward silence after he finished his brief rant. He watched as the dark elf gave a gentle caress of the chin to Jerik and, while he initially thought it might trigger a moment of violence, he saw that it quickly grounded the scarred vizier once again. The air between them suddenly felt distinctly more...intimate. The bull might've offered them a moment of privacy if he wasn't eagerly awaiting food and drink. Instead he simply raised a brow and observed.

 

[Fieravene]

"Hmm..." Fiera's smile broadened at the bull's words and bellowing laughter. The tub shivered in tune to the sound and she felt it reverberate within her chest like the boom of thunder. Toruuk lived his life at a magnitude far greater than most - a testament to his longevity she was certain. Not many turned a lifestyle like his into a lasting career.

"Fitting," her lips split open over the caps of white teeth, grinning easily into another drink from her glass, "that you should turn down the opportunity to lead. I recall the story passed around the tournament that day..." an easy gaze slipped sideways at Jerik, her soft hand encroaching further into his personal space to take up residence at the back of his neck, petting and kneading to elicit relaxation and comfort.

"How you bested even your own kin yet did not deign to take the throne. A bold move," and the Minotaur's food and drink arrived: a massive platter featuring slabs of meat and cheeses the likes of which would have fed an entire party. One man wheeled in a barrel of drink and used a prybar to prise open the top. Someone had discovered what appeared to be a large, brass planter and now offered it, clean and ready for use as a goblet, to the gargantuan creature.

The ingenuity of people in Annuakat was certainly something to behold.

"Your Kingdom for the world. Can't say I blame you. Cheers."

"M'Lady," a servant arrived behind her, setting down a tray upon the table of her own selection of smoked meats and cheeses, "brandy soaked desert cherries and the finest selection of local olives, for a woman of savory tastes."

"You're divine," Fiera crooned at him, set her wine aside and plucked a cherry from a gilded bowl to sample, "mm, yes. That is perfect. Jerik...?" a finger traced the rim of his ear, her other hand holding up one for him questioningly and offering to feed it to him.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

The Minotaur seemed to become more interesting by the second.

A Minotaur of honour.

"Steel Sharpens Steel. Have to say, never have come out of a battle without learning something new." He said to Toruuk, taking a long draw of his port.

A champion fighter was always interesting to talk to. In his youth, when he first became an apprentice at the College, he used to meet many famous fighters making their way through the city, either to find themselves a new set of armour, or drink themselves into oblivion. In any case, Toruuk seemed like an interesting creature to talk to, and wouldn't be a bad bet if he were to gamble in the future. Although, he didn't think that very likely.

Even among the scented steam that hung in the air, the waft of food was immediate, the freshly cured meats and aged porks came on a tray, accompanied by a selection of fine local cheeses, as well as foreign ones. Funnily enough, this wasn't the first time he'd seen a Brass Planter used as a drinking Goblet. Of all the things Gerra wasn't, he was most definitely a fun drunk.

He tried not to tense up as Fiera's hand travelled to the back of his neck, as she began to lightly prod and massage it. He never let anyone touch him, but after already finishing about half of the Port he'd asked for, he was beginning to feel a little mellow. In fact, he was beginning to invite it, sitting slightly closer to Fiera, shifting around the massive circle that was the bath.

The hair on his arms stood up however, as her finger circled his ear.

If this was any other woman, they'd have to be held at bow-point to do this. What a woman.

He looked at her again. Definitely feeling mellow now.

"If you think they're perfect, how could I refuse?" He said, giving a sly smile and a hint of a wink. He was actually enjoying himself.

Good company. Good food. Good drink. Better company. What more could a man ask for?

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

"Fitting that you should turn down the opportunity to lead."

The words took Toruuk's mind off of the increasingly sensual ministrations that Fiera was giving Jerik. A feeling of bittersweet nostalgia washed over him momentarily. This woman continued to impress the champion. A keen mind, this one was.

"Hmmm...yeah. Settlin' down in my pop's job was never in the cards for me." His thoughts turned to Gorrok for a moment. He was surely leading by now...Toruuk wondered if the clan had come to accept him as chief? Perhaps a visit home was in order at some point. For now, there was a more pressing matter to attend to. An excuse was in order.
"Sounds like you already know the story, so I won't bore ya with the details."

With that, Toruuk enthusiastically reached for a handful of pork and stuffed it halfway in his mouth. Then, quickly but carefully, he hefted the barrel of whatever grog the servants had brought him and poured a serviceable amount into his "cup." It took some restraint to not simply chug directly from the source, but decided it would be rude not to use the container that he was provided. Mouth half-full he lifted the makeshift goblet.

"Cheersh!"

About twenty seconds of stuffing his face with meat, cheese, and drink later, he registered Jerik's remark. He swallowed what he had been in the process of devouring a bit too quickly so he could speak again, wincing momentarily at the sensation of his esophagus exerting itself in moving the mouthful down.

"Exactly! You get it! Ya know, I thought you might be the fightin' type." Toruuk paused to take a big swig of booze, swallowed, breathed, then continued. "Ya know, I was just thinkin'. I'd like to spar with ya, if and when ya got the time for it. Maybe we can learn a bit more about each other, eh? Wohoho!"

He punctuated the request by stuffing his face once again and continued to ignore the none-too-subtle display.

 

[Fieravene]

A match-off between a Champion Minotaur and the God-King's Mad Dog? Now that was something she'd stick around to see. The elf raised her brows at Jerik enthusiastically for the offer before gently pushing the alcohol-soaked fruit into his mouth. Couldn't help but chuckle, too. Toruuk's hearty laughter seemed to be infectious.

"What a spectacle that would be," she perused the platter sitting on the table at the side of the tub, "I would not doubt the King himself would clear his schedule to bare witness." Gerra seemed the type that liked a good match, though she had to wonder at the sportsmanship of his expectations. Would he demand a fight to the death or would he let bygones be bygones?

"I wonder who he would bet on ..." Fiera grinned, those fingers at Jerik's neck now coiling through his hair.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

As Fiera pushed the soaked-cherry into his mouth with her slender fingers, he let himself taste that delicious, sweet fruit. He felt warm all over now, partially from the steaming hot bath, but also from the hot alcohol making its way down to his stomach. He felt good. He smiled when she chuckled at him. He thought this was a nice change of pace, not being on the battlefield, even though he knew he'd be on another month long task come tomorrow.

He joined in with Toruuk in taking a long swig of his port, realising, before long, that there was none left.

"More wine!" He shouted at the attendant, who ran once more to the backroom.

"Ya know, I was just thinkin'. I'd like to spar with ya, if and when ya got the time for it. Maybe we can learn a bit more about each other, eh? Wohoho!"

"You know Toruuk, it'd be a pleasure to fight someone of your skill and esteem, as the lovely Fiera has already made quite clear here." He blew her a kiss in the air, relaxing even more as she coiled her fingers through his long, wild hair.

Another bottle was set beside him. However, it travelled to both Fiera and his own glass, filling them both with the ruby-red wine.

"And no need to wonder my delicious lady, He'd be a fool not to bet on me." He smirked. Bravado. He felt braver than usual, whether it was from the alcohol, or from his conquest, he wasn't too sure. Maybe it was the lady.

And i'd sure as hell learn something. I'd learn what the inside of a Minotaur looks like.

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

Smiles and laughter were abounding between the three of them. Good. That was what life should be about: experiences that you could enjoy and laugh about, ones you could look back on later when you were down to help pick yourself up again.

"More wine!"

A sentiment Toruuk could agree with. He chuckled once again and raised his odd mug to the notion before knocking back its contents.
The bull was overjoyed at Jerik's acceptance of his challenge. This talk of betting, however, served to spark the fires of the champion's more competitive spirit. A deep, rumbling laugh built within Toruuk's chest, his teeth flashed in a wide grin.

"Sounds like a guy with a lot of money to lose! I wouldn't wanna embarrass ya in front of your king, though. Don't need him takin' any more of your limbs, huh? Wohohoho!" The bull teased, balancing a freshly stripped pork bone on one of his fingers. He gathered that the man was probably showing off for his lady friend. A bit of jeering felt like it was in good sport.

Mages. Always so confident. Always so shocked when they lose.

 

[Fieravene]

The air-kiss got a look of tethered interest, the whooping laughter of the Minotaur a broadening grin. Fiera took her newly filled glass and tipped it back for a drink, "Seems we have an accord. Fabulous."

Dark fingers slipped from Jerik's hair and under his jaw, the elf leaned in with a salacious smirk toward the man, "Why wait - I'll see a public match is set for the evening. This city has been aching for entertainment since the God-King's celebration, I expect this will fill every seat in the stadium."

"A friendly sparring match then," Fiera continued and glanced between the two, "no weapons. No magic. No killing." Couldn't have the King's Vizier getting more limbs ripped off and bleeding out. Nor would a slaughter bring the right mood to the city - the people needed warriors to cheer for and a good fight to keep their spirits aloft.

Mirth glinting in her eyes like heated coals, she tipped her fingers off Jerik's chin and slipped away, moving to exit the tub without so much as a blush to the dark skin she bared.

"Gentlemen," Fiera drained the remaining wine from her glass and set it aside, "I'll see you at the arena at sunset," then turned and leisurely strode off to collect her affects.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Glorious.

Jerik could feel the blood in his veins boiling for a fight. How amazing it must feel to have the vibrations of his fist colliding with the colossus's chin reverberate down into his entire body. To hear the crowds roar above their combat and the gods watch down on their duel would be a sensation incomparable to anything else. Sometimes, there was nothing that could compare to a good fight.

And with a Minotaur, he'd be a fool to pass that opportunity up.

Before he finished his cup of wine, he noticed the beautiful Fieravene making her way out of the bath. Truly, it was a sight to behold, her dark-skin, highlighted under the soft-lamps that surrounded all the baths. He couldn't help but gaze in awe.

I'm getting me some of that.

"I expect to see you after my victory, Fieravene. Be sure to cheer for my victory!" He raised what was left of his goblet, and drunk the rest, toasting his soon-to-be opponent before he did so.

DEFINITELY getting me some of that.