Private Tales Firekeeper

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

A facet of life ne'er talked about when one possessed influence, eyes and ears throughout several civilizations was that this web could sometimes result in entirely novel, unexpected meetings taking place. Strands of fate bound and coiled in the web of his reach before being pulled, inexorably, toward it's center. Which was, of course, Petrus himself. The most recent creature to be brought to him was most certainly a novelty. A smoldering butterfly with crimson wings fit to light his web alight and this, unfortunately, was far from pure metaphor.

Standing from the throne in his court Petrus would walk down scant few steps to the kneeling woman who had been brought before him. The associate of his that brought her forth being a spell sword with no small degree of skill with frost magics. Having several dozen such agents and assets spread from here to Ragash was something of a secret but the fact that the spellsword brought before him a woman with flaming red hair and had, evidently, put up quite a fight, showed that maintaining such a network was still useful.

The genasi woman was pushed down to her knees before the throne but Petrus would hold up a hand as he stalked closer. Burning amber that would look almost more natural on Srivani herself would meet the burnished gold of her own gaze for only a moment before he murmured.

"You will receive your compensation via our usual channels, that will be all."

A wave of the hand and the sell sword departed, a job well done and paycheck collected, the magic-suppressing manacles that currently shackled Srivani were left to ensure she didn't try to immolate the agent's employer, and Petrus would address the genasi woman in a tone remarkedly casual for such an occasion.

"I suppose the first step to take in this meeting of ours is to inquire why a woman wanted for a princely sum from the royalty of Oban now finds herself in my court?"

He did not give her the chance to speak before continuing.

"While I am quite aware of the Obanish's cultural peculiarities involving women I find it highly unlikely that a valuable prize such as yourself escaped with anything resembling ease."

A brief pause, a flurry of footsteps, and if Srivani's eyes were not downcast she would see a servant scurry over with a tray, Petrus retrieve a cup of water, and then glance at her with mild curiosity.

"It must be quite the tale. Now let us see how well you tell it....."​

 

[Srivani]

Her chest rose and fell quickly, pulse still hammering from her capture, from the cold that had seeped into her skin where frost had smothered her flames. Her fiery hair bristled with static heat she could not summon, and her gold eyes glinted sharply at the departing spell sword. A quiet hiss slipped from her lips as the man left, leaving her kneeling there, shackled and powerless.

She shivered, not from shame, but from the unfamiliar chill that clung to her and the feeling of the dull echo of her own strength held at bay. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the man who spoke, her eyes glistening, though her chin was held high enough to meet his gaze.

“I… I did not… escape,” she murmured, her voice silken with a lilting accent that made the words stretch and curve with careful rhythm. “I… was taken. And… I was given my freedom. It is mine... and you must give it back."

Her hands flexed against the iron, useless against her own power, yet her voice held a fragile strength. Each word trembled with fear, yes, but also with a spark of defiance. Even bound, even shivering from frost and fear, she held a spark the manacles could not snuff out.

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus noticed the fragile confidence and strength in the genasi's tone. She was showing no small amount of courage, fighting for a freedom she had barely known, barely possessed, and yet he recognized the spark in her eyes all too well. With this one the fire seemed to be both within and without, from heart to hands, and Petrus would nod with a fledgling speck of respect. Though his words remained hard, aloof, and neutral.

"Must I?"

The servant would supply two pieces of paper now. The first Petrus would take, study for a long moment, before kneeling down to place the WANTED poster of Srivani on the floor in front of her so she could read it. The likeness was undeniable, the sum offered exorbitant, and as he took up the second paper he instead read from it aloud for her to hear.

".... the target has put up quite the fierce resistance. Flames burning hot as the finest forge and movement like a feather upon the wind. You will find, my Lord, she is worth a sum worthy of even your notice. I will be bring her in forthwith....."

He did not read more from the report his agent had sent ahead and instead folded the paper over his thumb and looked down at Srivani.

"This report seems to indicate you were quite capable of giving one in my employ a chase worthy of note. Is this true?"

Turning back to the servant he would instruct them.

"Summon Virdalia Deuxstrom to my presence at once."

An order that was carried out immediately. If not a desire sensed by Virdalia herself already.​

 

[Srivani]

Must I?

Her breath caught at his words, panic flashing across her face before she could smother it. For the smallest moment, hope trembled through her like a fragile flame, and she gave a quick, insistent little nod, naïve, desperate, as though her answer alone might sway him.

But then he knelt, and the poster was laid before her. Her own face looking back at her, hair like fire, every line etched to trap her on parchment. She couldn’t read the words, but she didn’t need to. The meaning was clear enough, sinking into her chest with the weight of iron. Her heart dropped into her stomach, the light in her gaze dimming. She had seen these before, plastered on walls and market posts, but not for so long, not since she’d grown clever and cautious, not until she'd been better at staying hidden. She had let herself believe, foolishly, that the King had tired of the hunt. That perhaps he had forgotten.

Her eyes turned glassy as she looked back up at her new captor, lashes wet, watching him read aloud the damning words. Flames burning hot as the finest forge. Movement like a feather upon the wind. Words meant to make her sound less like a free-thinking creature and more like a prize.

Her head shook once, then stilled, then nodded, contradiction written across every flicker of motion before shaking again, as though she could not decide if truth would save her or doom her. Her voice came quiet, soft, lilting, threaded through with a trembling edge.

“I… I did not harm.” The words wavered, broken, as her brow furrowed in sorrow and defiance both. “I only wanted to run…”

The chains rattled as her hands shook, her body shivering under frost’s lingering chill. A single tear spilled free, falling hot against her cold skin, leaving a glistening trail down her cheek before dropping to the stone. She looked between the man and his servant, eyes tracking the latter as he scurried off to do his duty.

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would sigh softly at the girl's breathe catching. He supposed she was not the kind of woman to understand a rhetorical question, let alone one he posed purely to reassert his authority and not HAVING to do anything she told him. It was, in the end, a pedantic thing that set the naive little genasi on such an edge and Petrus would close his eyes as he steeled his patience. Allowing him to speak in a tone much more level, quiet and steady than he truly felt.

"Calm yourself."

A rough hand would, with surprising gentleness, wipe away the tear she let fall and he would hold up the cup between them.

"First, drink something, it is not poisoned or anything so crude. I am more than willing to remove the bindings if you can assure me you will harm none here and listen to what I wish to say. Hmm?"

He would move the cup a scant inch closer to Srivani and his weathered features would maintain a stoic, not necessarily friendly, countenance as he added.

"You are hardly the first slave I have aided in acquiring freedom but I can hardly do that if you char me down to my bones now can I?"

Having no sooner let the last word tumble from his lips Petrus would then hear the door open and feel the approach of his aide. Turning to regard Virdalia Deuxstrom with a knowing glance he would back to Srivani slowly.

"Does all of this sound amenable to you, little flame?"

In truth he was being deceptive. Kinder, softer, quieter, than he would otherwise because of Virdalia's presence. But of course it was worth the falsity. He knew what Virdalia would vouch and how, like a gentle breeze that would tenderly blow the smoldering crimson butterfly right into his web. A breeze he, of course, controlled.​

 

[Srivani]

Her body went rigid when his hand came so close as to brush her cheek, every muscle tensed for the strike or grip she had expected, but neither came. Instead, she found herself staring up at him, golden eyes wide, hesitant, searching for the cruelty she had known so often before.

The offered cup caught her gaze, and she lowered it quickly, lashes trembling as she weighed the promise of release from her bindings, of warmth. Do no harm... Listen... Those, she could do. She had never been one for violence. Fire had always been art to her, not weaponry, but he did not need to know that. All he needed to believe was that she could burn him down to bone, if she wished.

Her lips parted as though to protest his words, to say that she was not a slave, that she had her freedom, that he need only give it back to her, but she managed to keep those words locked tight behind her teeth, her thoughts hidden behind the shimmer of her eyes. Instead, she gave a small, silent nod.

Her hands trembled as she lifted them, chains rattling faintly, to accept the cup. She watched him over the rim, wary, before sipping once, twice, letting the cool water ease the gritty rasp in her throat.

The door opened, and she glanced up to see another enter, a female this time. Srivani straightened, shoulders stiffening, eyes darting between them.

“Amenable,” she echoed softly, the word lilting on her tongue, unfamiliar yet spoken as though she understood. She shifted impatiently on the stone floor, “Yes.”

The manacles still weighed heavy on her wrists, and the promise of their removal drew every line of her attention sharp with anticipation.

 

[Virdalia Deuxstrom]

Virdalia had sensed that she would be summoned through the pull of her and her lord's bond. Making her way towards the throne room, her senses sharpened as she heard the faint power of Lord Iskandar's voice along with another's even before the doors opened. A woman's, perhaps? Unsure, she waited until one of the guards gestured to her to confirm her summons. Steeling herself, she stepped inside with caution.

Her silver eyes swept over the chamber, and she immediately saw the stranger. Sunkissed skin, hair like fire, there was an otherworldly beauty about her that stirred a spark of wonder. She looked less like a criminal and more like a caged storm. The manacles at the woman's wrists drew her attention, as did the faint shift in the air. The temperature seemed to rise as soon as Virdalia crossed the threshold, warmth pressing against her skin.

Her eyes found Petrus, and without hesitation she lowered her head in a respectful bow before approaching him. "My lord," she said, her voice steady as she came to stand before him. Silently, she discreetly pressed against her bracer, channeling a protective current into the floor before his feet. A subtle ward, nothing ostentatious, but it gave her some modicum of comfort to protect him against whatever energies were resonating from this woman.

She could not silence her thoughts however, and she hated seeing the sight of someone chained. Yet, even her hatred bent beneath loyalty and she dare not make any move to help her take them off without his direct command. Of course, she knew that he wouldn't have shackled her himself. Even the way he regarded the prisoner was with a soft kindness, completely bereft of cruelty.

"My lord, forgive the boldness of my tongue, but she is no ordinary captive. Those restraints hint at great power. You freed me once from such chains, might I know who she is that such measures are required?"

Petrus Ritus Iskandar
Srivani

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would feed the little flame, paradoxically, with water. The echo of his word drifting from Srivani like an answer of steam given from a real flame that just had a douse of water poured onto it. The poor, manacled thing lived and breathed as flame did, indeed, and Petrus would straighten to stand as Virdalia approached. He could feel the internal anguish she felt at seeing another in chains, like a boiling pot that strained beneath the lid of her trust in him.

He was pleased to see it hold true and let Virdalia feel every ounce of his approval of her.

At her question Petrus would inhale deeply, then sigh, and sweep his gaze over Srivani slowly. The glow of those golden eyes answered by a smoldering reflection in amber in Petrus's own before he would turn to glance at Virdalia and answer her.

"This.... is a woman by the name of Srivani. The Dancing Flame, they call her. The Flickering Dancer. The Sun-Kissed Alluress and so on."

Petrus would motion to Srivani casually.

"Stand, please, I'll not see you bow and scrape like a wounded bird chirping for food from my hand."

His gaze returning to Virdalia he would continue.

"As for the measures employed to secure her they are, in all honesty, hardly necessary. Though....."

Turning his gaze to meet Srivani's once more Virdalia would see the same commanding, authoritative steel to his gaze directed at the fire genasi, though less personal than when it was directed at her, and though in some ways more soft, he nonetheless made his position clear.

"..... the true necessity of them is not up to I."

Petrus stared, unabashedly, unashamedly, into the depths of Srivani's eyes. A wondrously unique, if not at all comforting, sight awaited the genasi if she could bring herself to stare back. Amber worked into steeled hardiness was set in his eyes, a firmness and unyielding will quite the opposite of her own.... but it was not harsh. Not bent to her punishment or retributive towards her. Only firm, only guiding, if rigorously so. Only when he had taken his own measure of her did he turn back to Virdalia.

"I am, it seems, caught in an awkward position by our little flame here. The Obanan royalty are offering a ludicrous sum for her return and, to be frank, I have holdings and vineyards, wineries and more on Obanash soil. It would be simpler, easier to return her and collect my reward for handing back such a pretty bauble."

Taking a sip of his own from the cup Petrus would sigh and set his shoulders.

"Fortunately for her I've never been one for 'easy' and so...."

That gaze would turn back to Srivani and, now changed, the amber-worked steel she had seen before was now something wholly different and, perhaps, novel to her. It was not a blade to cut her for impudence, it was not an amber cage to keep her, but a possible shield as Petrus finished.

".... if she would wish to stay I can..... obscure her presence here. But, little flame, mark my words - if you flee, if you rush off onto the winds the moment those manacles fall from your wrists then someone else will simply take your freedom from you again."

With that Petrus would retrieve a small gem from his pocket, a keyed lock to the manacles, and with a small exertion of magic they would fall from Srivani's wrists with a dull, powerless CLANK as Petrus addressed Virdalia once more.

"I called you here, my Virdalia, to see to it this fragile songbird of a woman can be reassured of the genuine nature of my offer."

Petrus, of course, would meet Virdalia's gaze without pause. He had noted her protective ward all along, his gaze and connection to her was nothing but pleased, nothing but approving, such that he need not put a single ounce of it into words.

She had been utterly perfect.

Virdalia Deuxstrom​

 

[Srivani]

Srivani’s eyes followed the silver-eyed woman as she entered, her posture drawing straighter as though some instinct told her she should. There was something in the woman’s presence, a steadiness, a quiet power, that drew her attention as much as Petrus’s words did. Her gaze shifted between them, gold and glimmering, wary as they spoke about her.

When Petrus bade her rise, she did so, movements careful, slow, as if afraid that at any moment a sharp word or strike would send her back to her knees. Silence clung to her tongue as naturally as breath. She listened. She wrung her fingers together anxiously, the manacles clinking faintly as he spoke of Oban, of the bounty, of returning her like a trinket. Her smouldering eyes grew glassy, the heat behind them dampened by the weight of his words.

And then, something shifted. The tone of his voice. The glint of his eyes. His offer. She was still forming her answer when the manacles opened and slipped from her wrists.

She drew in a sharp breath, and it tumbled back out of her with relief. Heat welled up through her palms before she could stop it; flames bloomed and spread, enrobing her, curling up her arms and chest, licking across her skin like something alive, something joyous, as though they too had been starved and now returned to her. She sighed, the sound soft and shaky, rubbing at her aching wrists as the frost left her bones and the warmth settled back into her flesh. Her eyes lifted again, flames dimming around her until only their echo burned in her gaze.

It would be nice, she thought, not to hide. To rest. But she had known luxury before, silks and gold, endless food and adoration, and none of it had been freedom. It had been a cage gilded bright enough to blind her.

Her accent thickened as she finally spoke, her voice laced with the question that had settled in her chest:

“Why would you offer me such kindness,” she asked, gold eyes fixed on him, “instead of adding to your riches?”

Because surely there would be a cost. There always was.

 

[Virdalia Deuxstrom]

As the manacles dropped and the Srivani's flame danced around her, Virdalia finally understood her namesake. The fire's glow danced around the woman, and Virdalia immediately eased. Through her bond, she felt the pulse of Petrus's approval. Though, she hardly needed the connection to know it. His commanding gaze alone told her everything.

Through Srivani's thick accent, she heard the question posed. Virdalia inclined her head respectfully, "If I may, my lord," she said quietly, "allow me to answer." Turning her gaze to her, "Srivani, The Dancing Flame, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance." She offered a small bow of her head and smiled at her politely, "As I mentioned before, I too was once enslaved. I endured many harsh days and harsher nights still. Were it not for Lord Iskandar...." her voice softened, "I don't know if I could have survived much longer."

Virdalia stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "I don't blame you for questioning the offer before you. Freedom can feel like a trick to those who have lived in chains and I asked myself the same questions once..." Her tone shifted, kind but edged with quiet admonition. "But please, don't insult Lord Iskandar so. Look around you, he is the foremost merchant of Alliria and holds wealth beyond measure, he has no need of more coin."

Her voice grew steadier as she continued. "What he needs, are not slaves, but people who choose to stand beside him, to lend their strength to his vision. I can see power in you, Srivani. Power that has been stifled and bound. I ask that you join us, and use your gifts for something greater than yourself. Serve our lord's cause, and in return, you will have protection and a future free from enslavement."

By now she stood before Srivani and looked directly into her eyes with resolve. Though nervous, her conviction carried her words, "Lord Iskandar will no doubt speak for himself, yet I wanted to offer my own words. Should you willingly choose to accept, I pledge my protection and guidance to you, to the fullest of my ability. Consider his offer well, you hold rare skill and promise and it would be my honor to welcome you into our company." She smiled, once again bowed slightly, and made her way back to Petrus's side.

Internally, she prayed that Srivani would feel safe enough to take this offer. She knew how much freedom meant, its worth far greater than any free person would be able to comprehend. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing someone like Srivani chained again, someone whose very presence moved like fire: beautiful and alive. Moving her hands behind her back, she clenched her fist tightly with anticipation, hoping beyond hope that this flame dancer would not let her chance slip away.

Srivani
Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would watch and listen to Virdalia with pride in the woman she was becoming. To turn from slave at the hands of those who had seen her as nothing but a toy, a commodity, to now a studious woman with promise, growing magical power and loyalty, he would give her an approving nod once she was finished. Passing off the cup of water to her as he turned to look down at Srivani levelly.

The little genasi was correct. Nothing came without a price. But the price currently being asked of Srivani was an interesting one. It was asking her to grow, not submit, to charge against her the weight of her own future and Petrus would offer her a hand while gazing into her burning golden eyes.

"Everything Virdalia says is true. But the offer before you is simple little flame: I offer you a home, not a cage. A chance to grow, not submit. The price I ask of you is not slavery, you can leave whenever you wish on your own terms, but should you choose to stay I will charge you with your own growth, your own success, your own safety. Perhaps, just perhaps, i wish to see what happens when one small flame is given the chance to grow. Will you sputter out and be reduced to nothing but ashes? Will you be whisked away on the wind, carried back to the iron fist of your previous owner? Or will you, perhaps, burgeon in a roaring flame? So that one day you can save another soul, pull them into your protection, just as I offer to do for you?"

The hand waited, gaze expectant, but not rushed, not domineering, alluring perhaps, coaxing, but with no force. If Srivani wished she could turn on heel and dart from his court and the only ones who would pursue her would be those seeking to claim her bounty.

Srivani
Virdalia Deuxstrom​