Fable - Ask No Fury

[Settra]

Umber eyes watched as Nym finally began to let her guard down, the emotions that he so adored observing spilling forth like a break in a dam. Watching her cry, knowing her tears were evoked by his words, was like having a burning spear forced through his gut...yet still he admired every moment she embraced her emotions. He drew in a deep breath, sure that no great feats had been accomplished just yet, but allowing himself to be hopeful all the same. Silently he was glad that she had not reacted in any volatile way to his grasp - he knew he was likely to have been stabbed, or worse, if she had taken the impulsive act as a threat.

"He said that too..."

He had been right. Nym had been burned by someone close to her. Just the thought filled him with unwonted anger. That someone could have scarred her this badly...the image of plunging his blades through the heart of such a man was immediately vivid in his thoughts, and he subconsciously realized why Nym was so driven to do the same to her betrayer.

The conclusion she drew, however, pulled him back into the moment. "I have no idea what I did wrong."
She...blamed herself? Pangs of sadness and anger shot through his heart like daggers. He didn't know the circumstances of what had happened, but something about the way she seemed to think the responsibility fell on her felt distinctly wrong.

The assassin continued listening to her until she'd had her say, contemplating her words as rationally as he could despite the torrent of thoughts and emotions rampaging within him. With her asking for forgiveness, her touch, he found his calm at the eye of the storm.

"The most hurtful thing you can do right now is push me away, Nym..." He murmured back to her in measured pace. "You must know that you are no coward. The woman who faced down a serpent with me, who brought a bandit a head taller than her to his knees, is no coward. You were hurt...it is natural to want to keep yourself from that pain again..."

"...But your heart cannot heal if you cut it out. I was not toying with you, either, I am--" "In love with you." He choked on the words. His heart screamed them, burned for him to admit it, but his brain fought at it, fearful that he would scare her away. His voice quieted, and he compromised in a half-confession. "--I am acting from my own heart."

Settra closed the gap between them, wishing to stop her tears, and brought his hands up to cradle her face. His palms slid up her cheeks, his fingers slipping past her ears to tussle her hair, soft and sable.
"I don't want you to ask my forgiveness, not for letting yourself be vulnerable. I want you to trust me. To lean on me. To give me a chance to help mend what 'he' broke. To know that I will not abandon you of my own will. Not ever.""

He swallowed hard, knowing that his next words would be difficult. If she took the out then it would mean never seeing her again. The mere idea crushed him, but...he had to. This wasn't about him. It was her story, and she had to decide for herself if she wanted him in it.
"...If you wish me gone, then order me so. I will leave Amol-Kalit and never return. You will not see me again." He whispered, and braced for the worst.

 

[Nym]

Now that the first few tears had spilled, she could not stop them from flowing. They couldn't extinguish what had been, yet they seemed to ease the searing pain, and perhaps they might one day erase it from her mind. So perhaps she should have been proud to cry, to let herself be vulnerable in front of him, if it was what saved her from becoming a monster, a person indifferent to suffering and sorrow, if it would show him the wounds she carried and explain her actions then she'd do it. For him she'd do it, she owed him that.

"There are other ways to be cowardly.." she muttered quietly.

Her eyes closed for a moment as she felt the warmth of his touch against her tear-soaked face. Gods, he was killing her.. He should have given up by now, he should have stormed out and left her here and yet still he stood stubbornly pouring his heart out to her asking her for a chance and offering to leave everything he knew behind him if it would make her feel better. The conflict and fear in her mind raged on, her self doubt fought against the guilt, what she wanted was beaten down by what she believed she deserved.

"I don't deserve you, Settra..." she whispered and let her head bow to rest it against his chest. He was hers if she wanted him and she did, but the fear of losing him was already damaging her before she even really had him.

"And you don't deserve this." she sighed.. "I.. Don't want you to leave. I just don't know how to keep you." she admitted with a frown, tears falling in singular salty drops to run in rivulets down his stomach. The heat from his body was reaching out toward her, beckoning her closer, and she resisted for as long as she could before closing the frigid gap entirely, her arms snaking around his waist to pull herself against his naked skin.

"I'm sorry, I hurt you." she spoke softly, her cheek finding it's comfortable spot against the sinuous valley of his chest, and she stared out of the window at the palace she'd grown up in. "What if I'm not fixable? You've shown me nothing but patience and understanding but for how long?..What if you are making promises that you cannot keep?.." she frowned, suddenly realising that she had completely turned the tables, and where she'd given Uvogin her patience and understanding and wanted nothing but to love him, he'd left her. She'd almost done the same to Settra. Her grip tightened and she looked up at him.

When the dawn arrived, when the light touched the land, the flora responded no matter what happened before. Yet her heart was more complex than the simple bloom, than the plant that stretches confidently into the rays of each fresh sun. Yet after all this time waiting for gold to spill over the mountain peaks, for a new day to come, to feel real heat once more - she found herself stretching into the direction of his warmth. She supposed that was trust, knowing that something that had the power to reduce her to ash would rather give her comfort and nurture and watch her grow.

Let him.

Her walls crumbled and she breathed. "I trust you."

 

[Settra]

Tension pulled at Settra from every direction as he waited for Nymeasha to cast him aside, but the stress began to fall slowly when he realized that she hadn't pushed him away. Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm down. That was what he told himself as she rested her head on his chest, velvet skin gracing him with its presence.

"I don't deserve you, Settra..."

Still he was shaken by how she could have come to loathe herself so. He could not imagine that someone could have inflicted this on her, to have seen her so vulnerable before and crushed her very soul. Without ever having heard her story, every one of his convictions offered him their truth: that she had done nothing to deserve what fate had wrought upon her. She and him were the same, just unfortunate products of circumstances that were unwarranted, unjust.

When she finished and pulled herself into him, when he felt the warm dampness of her tears rolling down him, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, taking her narrow frame into the safety of his arms. He breathed a heavy sigh as he thanked whatever Hundreds had helped her listen, and spoke back to her.

"You deserve to be happy, Nym." He breathed with a sad smile. "And I am not hard to keep. I am already yours, heart and soul."

"I'm sorry, I hurt you."

Her apology almost stung him more than her initial rejection. Every word reminded him of how deeply she was scarred...by her father, by "him," whoever "he" was.
"It's okay. You were trying to protect yourself...I can't fault you for that." He rasped back to her, tenderly stroking her hair as he held her.
"If you can stand..." He paused, unsure of how to phrase his own shortcomings, his near dead void of emotion. "...the way that I am...then that is all I ever need. I will stay as long as it takes to help you heal."

As he met her gaze again, he did his best to reassure her, to make certain that she knew that he spoke from his heart.
"I do not break promises, Nymeasha." He whispered. She should know for herself; after all, Medja did not work with those who broke promises.

And then...then she said the only words that he had wanted to hear. Words that made every fiber of his being glow with hope and sigh with relief. He let out a breath, half a surprised laugh, half almost a sob, as the breath was stolen from his chest.

Settra closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers, touched the tip of his nose to hers, and felt the weight of the world fall off of him.
"Thank you." He whispered back, and drew her into a gentle kiss.

 

[Nym]

When she had met him, she'd already lost everything she'd deemed important in her life. As she stared up at him, listening to him speak to her, she wondered how he could hang on to something so incomprehensible, and how long he could keep pouring love into an abyss. But there he was, and there was something in those umber eyes that lured her in, something beautiful and safe and warm that gave her the will to heal, to let him repair the wounds.

"The way you are?.." A smile broke upon her face and she laughed under her breath. "Settra I would choose you for your soul, for your wish to protect me, for the determination that you seem to have that there is something to be salvaged. I'd choose you for your quiet warmth, not the burning of one who possesses, nor the chill of one who is further away than he appears. I know that what you offer me is pure. Unselfish. Undemanding..Free." her head shook slowly, her brow furrowing softly. It was all she had wanted and all she believed would be forever out of her grasp, just as she had watched her family grow from afar, without her, because she wasn't supposed to have love in her life, she was supposed to meet a purpose not compromised by the weaknesses that came with a soft heart. "I want you because of the way you are."

Nym stood on her tiptoes to lean into his kiss, and in that moment she felt her body flush with warmth all over again, a volume of pure and vulnerable passion and promise mutely spoken in the emotion of it. Her hands were on his face, and the tears that spilled now were no longer cast in sadness. This was a person she wanted to know more than she'd ever felt before. He was someone she could love forever, he just had to teach her how, but she knew then, the second his lips touched hers even after he knew how damaged she truly was, that she was willing to learn.

Whether or not she believed that she deserved happiness was irrelevant. She knew for certain that he did, and if she was what would give him that then who was she to deny him? The day could wait, the mission could wait, for the next few hours all that mattered was him, rekindling in the knowledge that this was more, and proving that she was entirely his.

 

[Settra]

Every word that Nym spoke was a soothing balm to Settra's heart. Each sentence endeared him more to her, built his desire to protect her and build her up, the she always should have been. Then...then she told him her truth.

- "I want you because of the way you are." -
​

No words could have possibly touched Settra like those simple nine did. His heart overflowed with her splendor, a nearly painful tightness suddenly seizing his chest. By the time she returned his kiss, he felt a sensation that was almost entirely unfamiliar to him, one he'd only felt while at the end of a whip before. The wetness in his eyes told him that Nym was not alone in the wave of emotion that now swept over them.

Despite the danger that they were inevitably going to be placing themselves in later, comfort and confidence filled Settra. Locked in the embrace of the woman he'd fallen for, everything he knew told him that things were going to turn out okay. He was dedicated to her, now and forever. The heavens would fade and the sands would fall into the sea before Settra would let her go.

He'd let her take things at her pace. What was important was that she knew that she had an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, and a rock to lean upon. As long as she wanted to stay in this room and enjoy each other, he'd stay. As long as she wanted to stay in his arms, he'd hold her and make her feel what she deserved to: safe, wanted, and happy.

 

[Nym]

She had never felt such calm. Even with the knowledge that certain difficulties awaited her, to know that this would be waiting for her, that he would be there with her would get her through any storm. And so Nym lay a little longer, their limbs entangled, ignoring the raw sting in her lips always unable to resist one more kiss. She let the happiness soak right into her bones, wanting the feeling to still be there when she was old.

Nym closed her eyes and savoured the moment, her fingertips tracing tiny circles on his chest and shoulders, exploring his face and combing into his hair, as though determined to convince herself that it was entirely real. For the first time in forever, her body and mind relaxed, and her cheeks dimpled as she smiled and opened her eyes on his face again.

"If we don't move now, I'm not sure I ever will.." she breathed out in a sigh of contentment, her smile curling into a grin as she pressed herself against him to leave another feathery kiss at the corner of his mouth before she rolled herself out of bed and stretched.

"I'm not sure how I'm going to concentrate on work.." she smirked over her shoulder at him as she crunched into a grape, her eyes wandering over him in admiration. "Or what use we're going to be to Medja when we return home." she added with a laugh under her breath as she wandered toward the balcony to set her gaze on the palace again.

"I don't know who's been left in charge of things.. I haven't asked. But my mother and brothers are here. I should speak with her, ask her what she knows about this other Soleiman.. And retrieve what's mine whilst I'm here." her brow quirked, and she dragged her eyes back into the room to bathe and dress, and brace herself for whatever lay ahead.

 

[Settra]

Serenity was an addictive feeling, and being in Nym's company, wholly accepted by her, was serene. Just as she slowly took in his features, he ran his own strong hands along her form, ensuring her with each moment that he was here to care for her in any way he could. When she smiled that radiant smile at him, he melted knowing that it was him that had brought her such contentment.

"If we don't move now, I'm not sure I ever will.."

Right. Nym's mission. He groaned softly at the light touch of her lips against his, equally in satisfaction and irritation as she withdrew. She was right, he didn't want to move from this spot, ever. The view she provided as she stretched, however, was intoxicating and motivating in equal parts. He drank in her statuesque form, particularly appreciating her callipigean behind.

"Careful. Unless you want a repeat performance of last night, you'd best not show off for too long." He teased her, feeling a familiar warmth start to take hold of him. With some effort, he pulled himself from the bed as well and began the hunt for his discarded gear.

"Or what use we're going to be to Medja when we return home."

"We'll be Onyx Hands all the same, I imagine. The Mistress is in no position to judge others for their...intimacies." Settra mused back. So far as he knew, Medja had never put any rules on the love lives of her Hands, and that included co-worker relationships. Ziba, in particular, came to mind.

"I don't know who's been left in charge of things.. I haven't asked. But my mother and brothers are here. I should speak with her, ask her what she knows about this other Soleiman.. And retrieve what's mine whilst I'm here."

"Any idea where to find them?" Settra asked, strapping blades to his body and affixing his cloak as he did. The palace was the obvious answer, but the assassin was unsure if the Emperor had perhaps hidden them away elsewhere since the royal family had been deposed, so to speak.

 

[Nym]

Nym's brow arched at his warning as she stepped into the cool water to wash her skin, her lips twisting in amusement.. "I would like many repeats. Just as soon as I get this over with. Then perhaps, we can take our time returning home." her head tilted and gave a husky laugh.

"It's not that I envisage her having an issue with it as such. Just that my mind has always been entirely consumed by work. I had nothing else.. But it seems that has changed quite unexpectedly" she smirked and stepped out of the water to wrap herself in fresh linen to dry off with before picking out something to wear.

"I believe they're still in the palace having been allowed to take up private residence.." she answered with a sigh, glancing up at him as she dressed. "My name is a dangerous thing to use around here, but I'm afraid it might be the only way to gain access to what I need." she groaned quietly.

She was careful in what she chose to wear, her face had been seen by few, and her word alone wasn't likely to convince palace guards that she was who she said she was unless she looked the part of a Salitra Princess, and yet she expected action of some form, as always. Her clothes were tight and dark, her top inlaid with gold armour, her cuffs and pauldron were of gold feathers and she wore a gold circlet on her head. Her weapons were worn far more proudly, and would serve to convince people far moreso than gold and trinkets that she was who she claimed to be. Her stomach twisted as she looked over her reflection, the thought of saying her full name at the palace doors was nauseating.

"Alright..I'm ready as I'll ever be.." she frowned.

 

[Settra]

"I would like many repeats. Just as soon as I get this over with. Then perhaps, we can take our time returning home."

The assassin glanced back at Nym, approximating the closest he could manage to a coy smirk. He definitely had something to look forward to once they were all said and done in Salitra. Their tumultuous morning and the glistening of cool water on her bronzed skin was making him feel very impatient, but patience was a virtue among his ilk, and he was more than capable of restraining himself for the time being.

"I believe they're still in the palace having been allowed to take up private residence.."

Settra continued strapping into the same gear he'd traveled in thus far, starting to now pull his hood and mask over his visage.
"There are alternatives. We could go in quietly, or..." He suggested, making a tiptoe gesture with his fingers, then reached into one of the pockets on his cloak and produced an emerald laden insignia in the shape of a hand clasping an eye. "...these always carry a certain amount of weight."

Once he was finished gearing up, scorpion tail firmly affixed to his back, Settra stepped over to Nym, taking a moment to admire the intricacy of her chosen attire. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiled beneath his mask.
"Try not to worry. We've got this."

 

[Nym]

Nym sat by the dresser to fiddle around with a vial, and she pulled her soft hair up, tying it and slipping two spikes carefully into the knot, a few dark waves falling free to frame her face and tickle at her collar. She watched Settra in the mirror as he spoke, and her head tilted thoughtfully at the trinket he produced, a small smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she stood to face him with a sigh.

"I snuck around this place my entire life. I'm free of that now, I'm walking in the front doors." she nodded with a soft smile. The hand on her shoulder was more steadying to her than he could realise, and she gazed adoringly into those dark eyes now that his face was once again hidden from the rest of the world. That she couldn't see his lips caused her own to ache needily and so she bit down on her lower lip for a moment, her hand resting over his affectionately.

'We've got this.' Not 'you', but 'we'. Her eyes narrowed slightly as the warmth of her smile met them, the words causing her chin to lift that little bit higher before she nodded firmly. "Yes we do." Nym smirked and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before heading for the door.

The people outside looked at her not because she was a familiar face, but because they realised by the way in which she managed to carry herself that she was no commoner. Having Settra at her side turned more than a few heads also, and the throngs of people parted and laid bare a path for them both to approach the palace steps unhindered.

She'd never really noticed the opulence of the palace before. Where outside it's walls people still lay on the street begging for scraps, the tiers of marble stairs were flaunted by fountains and foliage and great statues. Poverty would take much longer than a year to fix, but she could only imagine how these people must have celebrated her family's demise, and she tried not to think about it as she climbed the palace steps with her name on her tongue.

Two guards were approaching to halt them on the last staircase, another two approached from behind to encircle the pair, their hands affixed to their weapons. She said nothing as they were studied, and when they were asked to state their business, Nym's brow lifted and she boldly answered.

"I am Nymeasha Soleiman. And I'd like to see my mother."

 

[Settra]

"I snuck around this place my entire life. I'm free of that now, I'm walking in the front doors."

While perhaps not an attitude becoming of an assassin, Nym's confidence was inspiring all the same. If that was how she wanted it to go down, then Settra would follow her into the fray. He was in for the long haul; the only question was how they would be greeted by both citizens and guards as they made their approach.

That was a question he didn't have to wait long for an answer to. The duo was quickly underway, and while he wasn't terribly fond of the idea of having so many eyes on him, Settra carried himself with the same confidence that his charge did. Within minutes, they had arrived at the gates to the Salitran palace, and no sooner had they done so that the guards were on them.

Though Nymeasha had announced her identity and intent, the guards seemed no more motivated to let them by. Confused, perhaps, but certainly not amicable. Settra scanned each of them, already trying to devise a way to dispatch as many as he could as quietly as possible, carefully eyeing one in his peripheral as he tightened his grip on the haft of his glaive. The Onyx Hand had already begun to subtly reach for one of his own hidden blades as the men started to reply.

"There is no 'Nymeasha Soleiman.' If you're trying to trick your way into the palace, it's a flimsy attempt." Admonished one of the guards in front, grip firmly around a large scimitar.

"Wait...'Nymeasha?' Wasn't that the name of the girl that was taken from the palace by the Imperials a few months back?" Asked the one with the glaive, his posture slipping slightly. Settra's hands now rested on folded tri-tipped daggers within his cloak, all to eager to make use of the distraction.

"So what?"

"So...what if she's telling the truth?"

By now Settra was fully expecting a fight, and was near moments from impaling both of the men closest to him when another voice caught his attention, distinctly feminine and sultry.
"Let them in." The voice commanded the guards, and each of them suddenly pulled themselves to attention. "They're expected."

A woman wearing a mix of white and gold, both cloth and armor, in a fashion reminiscent of one of Medja's Hands had come up to the inside of the gate. She was totally faceless, metal mask completely hiding her visage beneath her silken cloak. A pair of blades, slender and deadly, lay by her side.
"Welcome home, Princess Nymeasha."

 

[Nym]

The mask of pure confidence that she wore would not crack. Nym knew what she was capable of, she had no doubt in her own abilities and she trusted in Settra's, but it was the confidence of speaking her name on the steps of her old home that was a lie. It was having people look at her and know who she was that caused her stomach to churn uneasily even as she carried herself with an air of unwavering self assurance and sheer tenacity. Her last name would never be a thing that she would be proud of, not now. She'd never been able to use it when she'd wanted to, and now she had to despite loathing the sound it made it tumbled from her lips, cold and smooth as river stone.

A dark brow quirked at the guard's response, full lips pursing in amusement, and she was stoic and silent as she listened to them argue amongst themselves. Her expression would not falter, her gaze shifting between the two men closest and her focus on every one of them. She made no move to touch a weapon just yet, but she was as ever ready to do so.

Her lips parted to offer an interjection when the feminine voice spoke, and she tried her best not to look vexed. Expected? How was that possible? The confusion only sunk deeper as her gaze settled and narrowed over the woman, studying her from head to toe before lifting her chin again and offering a brief smile at the welcome. Uncertainty tickled at the back of her neck and Nym suppressed the shudder of nerves. She dipped her chin to the guards who now stepped aside, and with a glance to Settra she stepped through the gate to join the woman.

"Thank you. I sent no prior word of my intention to visit, so I'll await your explanation with intrigue whilst you escort me to my mother." she told the woman with a technically warm smile, her words a spoon full of honey to hide the taste of venom.

 

[Settra]

Tension's release came suddenly, unnaturally quick by the strange woman's intrusion. Her presence was almost...eerie. Nym's acknowledgment of the oddity of her knowledge of their arrival was slightly comforting; something here was distinctly off.

The woman's voice, hollow and metallic behind her mask, gave answer as the gates opened into the courtyard of the palace.
"The Empire isn't the only one keeping eyes out these days, princess." She replied with a shrug and a turn upon her heel. Her accent was...curious; not like anything that Settra had heard in his time in Amol-Kalit, nor any of its surrounding territories. "Come. I'm certain you know your way to the throne room, but I'll escort you nonetheless."

She seemed to have no further interest in conversing with either of them as they were led onwards, but seemed to carry herself with a similar level of deadly grace to Nymeasha, gliding along like a model despite the sharp heels of her armored boots. Eventually, they were brought to the palace's interior, onward and upward towards what Settra could only imagine was the aforementioned throne room. There were a number of guards about, but substantially less than what the assassin would've imagined given his experience with similar settings.

While he kept his wits about him, he also kept quiet. This was Nymeasha's show, her home, and he'd let her take the lead in it all. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were rapidly walking into a trap.

 

[Nym]

"Apparently not.." Nym answered, making no effort to hide the suspicion in her tone, her gaze narrowing slightly at the accent she couldn't place. In that grand entranceway, to greet the them, was the most monumental of chandeliers, the girth of a giant evergreen alight with oil flames, inviting her gaze upward by the virtue of it's sparkle. It'd been one thing she'd liked about the palace when she'd been a child, and now it disgusted her. The palace had not changed much, and Nym allowed herself to be distracted by her memories of the place as she gazed around, her feet automatically following toward the throne room.

Wait..

Nym's pace slowed. Her family had been allowed to return home, but they had no place in the throne room. She glanced to the few guards stationed around, and then to Settra, clearly sharing his feelings on the matter. Something wasn't right.

"Who are you?.." she asked firmly, pausing a few steps before the opulent doors, feeling more than uncomfortable that she knew far less about this woman than she seemed to know of her. Whoever she was, the way she'd commanded the guards suggested she held sway, the way she carried herself suggested she knew how to handle herself, and the way she hid her face suggested that she likely followed the same line of work as she and Settra did. But who did she work for?

 

[Settra]

The woman stopped and turned back to face them both, hand on the doors to the throne room and ready to push onwards and inwards. Her expression was unknowable, and her tone was steady and confident, totally without tells. It was unnerving. If she was a Hand, then Medja had not bothered to inform Settra of her existence, nor had he heard anything about any Emeralds or Onyxes operating out of Salitra.

The fact that Nym apparently didn't have any idea who she was either didn't help to ease Settra's nerves any. He was the assassin; he preferred to be the one getting the drop on his mark, not the other way around. He shared the uncertain glance with the princess, waiting for her lead.

"I am called Zalika. I'm the personal aid of the current regent of Salitra." She replied in a deadpan that could've rivaled his own were it not dripping with superiority. She pushed one of the gilded doors forward and gestured an open palm towards it, inviting the duo to enter. "Shall we?"

Again, he waited for Nym's go ahead. There was no way to know if he was accurate on his guesses as of this moment, which meant trusting in his partner's instincts and orders on the matter. He dared not speak, lest he give away any potential advantage that they had left.

 

[Nym]

Nym's gaze narrowed slightly as the woman turned and gave her answer, the uncertainty cracking her stoic facade. She watched as she pushed the door with invitation and she looked to Settra, and then behind them for a brief moment's thought. If they knew who she was and that she was coming here, they knew what she was and what she was capable of. They knew she was travelling with another just as deadly. And yet, they hadn't removed their weapons at the door. Here they were outnumbered, that much was obvious, but they'd be able to do a fair bit of damage if accosted.

Her heart pounded in her ears. She hated this. That this woman knew something that she did not, that she was off her guard and two steps behind instead of ahead. That she had no idea what was going on..but she had to know.

She pulled in a breath and cleared her throat with a dry smile at the woman as she stepped forward, accepting the invitation with a glance to her companion to ensure he remained by her side. It was unnerving to be as uncertain as she did, she felt her confidence crumbling like sand, and yet she lifted her chin and stepped boldly into the room.

 

[Settra]

Settra stepped forward after Nymeasha, brushing past 'Zalika' as he did. A moment in time stretched for minutes as he could've sworn he'd locked eyes with her, each of them from beneath their chosen coverings. Tension and malice were all he could sense as he followed Nymeasha into what he now truly believed was the maw of death.

The throne room Nym would see before her would be one almost entirely unfamiliar to her outside of its original architecture. Multiple stone seats lay before the throne, each symmetrically lined across from each other. Large, clay vessels were set up in similarly symmetrical patterns, and at the furthest reaches near the windows and exits of the room were 8 foot, metal statues of Kaliti warriors.

Afternoon's light poured through stained glass windows and dusty air into the room, revealing its occupants. Each of Nymeasha's family members appeared to sit in one of the chairs surrounding the throne, oddly silent. An unfamiliar man, burly and bearded, sporting an illustrious hat and robes, occupied the throne itself. Standing bestride the man in the throne was an older fellow with thin, grey facial hair and thick brows, withered in appearance and garbed in much less exuberant robes of his own; his headdress bore a gem and a feather, and long, ashen hair fell down from beneath it.

As Nym and Settra stepped forward into the throne room, Zalika stepped in and shut the door behind them, folding her arms behind her back and waiting patiently at the entrance.

The burly noble broke the silence, apparently jovial as he greeted them with a broad smile.
"Welcome home, Princess Nymeasha of Salitra. I am Omar Assaf, appointed regent." The noble spoke, warm but...stilted. He gestured to a few of the open seats before the throne. "My watchers informed me of your arrival. Come! Sit! And tell me, to what do we owe this visit?"

Settra's skin was practically crawling, every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He payed little mind to the apparent regent's greetings, his attention far more fixed on the...advisor? Who stood next to the throne, dull gaze locked upon the daughter of Soleiman with the slightest ghost of a smirk beginning to tip the corners of his decrepit mouth. The most concerning thing he noticed, however, was how the old man's own mouth moved almost imperceptibly and silently as Omar spoke, and stopped when he did. Once again, Settra began to subtly reach for his blades.

 

[Nym]

Nym stopped a few paces into the room, her expression paused at the unfamiliar sight, and she spared it a moment's glance before settling her gaze on those present. Her eyes fell first upon the familiar faces of her mother and brothers, a subtle frown in confusion creasing at her brow as she had not expected to find them here, but in some private quarters, as far from the throne as they could be kept. She did not expect warm greetings from brothers who didn't know her, nor from her mother who'd never cared for her, but she expected something other than silence.

She glanced to the door closing behind her, and to the woman stood in front of it, her thumb idly tracing over the cushiony tips of her fingers as they craved the feel of her weapons. The buoyant voice drew her attention back to the throne and her gaze narrowed. She had never heard the name, nor seen the face before, but she dipped her chin in a greeting repaid. Her shoulders squared at the offer to sit, and she took a few steps closer if only to be close enough to converse with a little more etiquette, but she had no desire to sit.

"Your welcome is appreciated, I hope you can forgive my intrusion, but it is my wish only to speak privately with my mother and be on my way. I'm afraid my time can't be afforded for much more than that." she told him with a polite smile, but her focus too drifted to the robed man who stood beside the regent. The air of eeriness and unsettling coldness emanating from his gaze sent a militia of chills marching across her spine, and she tensed to suppress the shudder, her chin lifting almost defiantly as she picked up on the distant smirk on his lips.

She'd made a mistake and she knew it.

 

[Navran Soleiman]

The pile of flesh and bone that was once Regent Assaf moved and danced and sang much the way a human would, all too easily made to bend to the will of his 'advisor' now that his blood was mixed with the sorcerer's sand.

The royal family, too, were otherwise indisposed. Not made into living dolls, by any means, as they were far more useful to him alive, but pinned in place by tendrils of powdered stone. Thousands upon thousands of grains crawled beneath their clothing, just out of sight, pinning them to their seats and denying them speech.

Now he was certain that this was who she claimed, and that she clearly had no intent of so politely imobilizing herself on one of the chairs, Navran smiled at his prey, and willed the corpse to speak.

"And I am afraid that such a private meeting isn't possible." Omar Assaf's tone suddenly shifted, jarringly, from amiable to aggressive. "In fact, I fear that your time is far more limited than you realize."

Navran's grin widened as the blood and sand within the clay vessels began to drain out onto the floor, across the room in six distinct trails, and eventually begin to pool within each of the hollow statues at the edges of the room. Slowly, they began to come to life, animating under the will over the sorcerer.

"You see, I am aware that the both of you are assassins. And I am aware that the only reason the Empire would send assassins here is to end my life." The regent concluded under Navran's performance before raising an accusatory finger to condemn the two Onyx Hands. "Kill them."

With a flash of red light as the blood reached their eyes, each statue shifted forward, hafting a heavy polearm in its mighty grip. So too did Zalika unsheath her twin blades from behind Nym and Settra, each wickedly sharp and serrated. Like so many others, they had fallen into the mastermind's web.

 

[Nym]

Nym realised that there was something not right about her mother and brothers, but as she looked over them again she knew there was more to it than simple incivility. Her emerald gaze moved back to Assaf, and with his shift in tone and the threat he spoke, Nym stepped closer to Settra, and slipped a throwing blade into each hand.

Realisation dawned on her as she watched the robed man's malevolent grin grow on his withered face, and her gaze stalked the slithers of sand as they moved toward each of the statues. A flash of fear widened her eyes as they were each animated.

Kill them..

Nym had fought beasts, she'd fought the Captain of the guard, she'd brought down the God Emperor himself - but those were all flesh and blood and bone, those could all die. What good were weapons against metal? A shuddered breath tumbled from her lips and she cast a look toward Zalika who stood armed and ready between them and their escape.

"I'm sorry." she told Settra as she watched the statues move toward them. She looked around wildly for some idea of how they could possibly survive this when her gaze settled once again on the sorcerer. Perhaps they could avoid the great lumps of metal, she doubted their agility in comparison to her own, but it was his magic that controlled them..they only had to bring him down.

"Kill the woman." she looked up at him, and swiftly turned to make a run toward the throne, her blades rapidly cast, one intended for Omar Assaf's throat, and the other for the throat of the sorcerer.

 

[Settra]

...And one hell of a trap it was. Before Settra could even react, blood-infused sand had wormed its way into now-moving statues and everything had gone to shit. This was a scenario far more suited to Emerald Hands than one such as he, but the assassin would have to make do.

"I'm sorry."

Nym was off in a flash, and much as his got told her to follow after, her order was to deal with this so-called Zalika, who now strode towards him with blades drawn and flanked by her own pair of glaive-wielding golems. Odds were certainly against the both of them...but Settra had faith in the princess. He'd buy her all the time and space she needed.

"As you wish." He answered before drawing a tri-tipped dagger in each hand. The assassin's eyes flashed violet and energy coursed down his arms and into the blades, as well as into the spine-like mass of metal attached to his back. There was no immediately noticeable effect...not to anyone else, anyways, but Settra took a defensive posture all the same.

"This place will soon be your grave, assassin." Zalika taunted with a flourish of her swords as she stepped closer, the golems stepping heavily to her sides, surrounding Settra. He remained quiet. No indication of intent. No opportunity for the enemy to get into his head. He inhaled, watched, and waited.

Even covered as she was, Zalika was still a living thing, which meant slightest twitch of her muscles before she moved. The golems, while not living, were still operated by a human mind and therefore prone to the same tells. Settra discerned this the moment he saw the one on his left make the first move.

*WHAM*

The blade of its glaive, wicked and weighty, impacted the floor where Settra had stood just a fraction of a second prior. He had slid back and towards the statue a few inches moments before the blade smashed into the ground, crushing the tiles beneath it. No sooner had he done so did he see Zalika's right arm twitch, and he instinctually brought up his blades to guard. A fortunate choice, as the warrior woman was on him in an instant, swordtip locked between the notches in his daggers. She was blindingly fast, though that was no great surprise to Settra.

The Onyx hand repelled the first sword and parried a strike from Zalika's off hand, then tumbled just as a second *WHAM* echoed through the chamber as the other golem tried to smash Settra into the floor. So began the dance. The assassin focused every ounce of his attention on the movements of his foes, finding the rhythm between the heavy handed swings and overhead strikes of the statues and the much more precise and quick movements of Zalika. Where the golems were simple enough to duck and dodge between, narrowly avoiding their polearms with each attack, the white and gold clad woman was far more troublesome. Sparks flew and the shriek of metal on metal filled the chamber each time she went on the offensive, Settra only barely managing to parry her blows each time.

Finally, an opening presented itself: a break between Zalika's relentless onslaught and the golems' swings when one of the latter accidentally lodged its blade in the floor where it had struck once already. Settra suddenly lurched forward, stepping on the back of the glaive, and tossed one of his daggers at the warrior woman. The weapon sung as it spun through the air like a whirlwind, only for Zalika to block the attack by crossing her own blades in front of her. Rather than clatter to the ground, however, the dagger flashed violet and bounced off the swords, finding its way immediately back to Settra's grip.

Now the pace was set anew. Dodge, dodge, parry, attack. Dodge, dodge, parry, attack. Again and again like a deadly waltz, Zalika and Settra clashed while Navran's golems attempted to flatten him.

 

[Navran Soleiman]

Impetuous and tempestuous, Nymeasha was predictable all the same. A pair of assassins would, of course, go after the softest and most valuable targets in the room. This was easily accounted for, of course; Navran wouldn't expose himself so if he believed there was not ample reward for such risk. Where he did not, and indeed could not, fight the way that Nymeasha and Settra did, he was far from defenseless.

The sorcerer's taloned fingers went rigid, and in an instant thousands of particles of sand wrenched themselves free of the regent's corpse, forming a thin net in the air between the princess and himself. While Nymeasha's knife near instantly found purchase in Assaf's throat, the blood-magic infused sand reacted the moment that her blade touched the particles, collapsing on the knife and stopping it dead in the air.

"That one was merely a puppet, child. I only took the strings." Navran sneered and began rapidly moving his fingers, pulling at the invisible tethers that controlled his metal dolls. The remaining four not already occupied with aiding his ward picked up their lumbering pace, moving quickly now to intercept the killer princess and protect their master.

"It's senseless to resist. You're nothing more than a pawn in a game I've been playing for sixty years." The sorcerer taunted Nym as one of the golems drew nearer to him, and he slipped behind its protective bulk. "And unlike the rest of your family, you're not even a valuable piece on the board. Do me a favor and die quickly, won't you?"

With another curling of his claws, the other three statues moved in concert, each taking broad swipes and powerful, overhanded strikes at Nymeasha, hoping to crush or decapitate her with their overwhelming strength.

 

[Nym]

It was difficult not to let the fear of certain death dominate one's mind. She had considered several times just how she would die, but this..this was a stretch. As she watched the blade clatter to the tiled floor, the sound of it seemed to echo in her mind amidst the sound of Settra's battle. Her venomous gaze shifted from the sorcerer's sneering face, to the empty throne, to her petrified family.

Sixty years?..

Her expression was a contortion of confusion as she stared at him, watching him step behind his protective golem and taking a step toward him before she felt the shudder of the other three as they came for her. Nym had always been exceptionally light on her feet. She could move with such fluidity that infuriated her opponents in spar, that let her evade and twist and leap out of harms way. Right now, it would be her saving grace, when her strength was far outmatched and her weapons were useless.

She had to buy time, and think. It was such a time when she wished that Medja was here, but she wondered whether the Vizier knew exactly what Nym had been walking into. There was little the woman did not know, and so the woman must have had some sort of faith that she and Settra could both handle this. But how? This was not what she had trained for. This was beyond her.

Nym ducked and rolled out of slashing blades of one golem, and flipped backward out of the way of a crushing metal foot that slammed into the floor, shattering the tiles and causing the entire room to shudder. She paused for a moment as she looked up, her thumb brushing against the ring on her finger, and she moved backward and slipped behind one of the great stone pillars in time for the statue's fist to collide with it, the stone crumbling away with the strength of it.

Nym's eyes squeezed tight shut and she grit her teeth as she shoved her back against the pillar, drawing on the ring's power, willing it to grant her the strength she needed. And suddenly, it felt easy to move, and the pillar toppled like a sandcastle, flattening whatever was in it's path and drawing up plumes of dust from the rubble.

She used the distraction to make her run, the sorcerer's words still playing on her mind..

Sixty years.... Unlike the rest of your family, you're not even a valuable piece on the board...

But as the dust settled, Nym had not gone after the sorcerer, nor another pillar. She was stood behind one of the chairs, the one which the eldest of her brothers sat, clutching hold of a fistful of his hair and pressing a blade to his throat. If they were truly valuable, surely he wouldn't want them harmed, surely he needed them.

"STOP!!.." she demanded, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath and calm her pounding heat. "Call them off! And tell me who you are!" she yelled at the man, her voice cracking with rage and her blade drawing the first bead of her brother's blood to prove her sincerity.

 

[Navran Soleiman]

If nothing else, the princess was resourceful. Navran watched from relative safety as one of the pillars toppled over, shoved aside with surprising force. That particular power, at least, the sorcerer had not been aware of. He sneered in mild annoyance as one of his precious golems was flattened beneath the weight of the tumbling stone, too slow to evade but not durable enough to avoid destruction. Sand and blood spewed from the armor's crushed form, and the golem ceased to function.

Then she made a more...unexpected play.

"STOP!!.."

Navran preened his facial hair thoughtfully and complied, gesturing for his servants to halt for a moment, if only for the entertainment value. Immediately the statues lurched to a halt, and Zalika followed suit. The trickle of blood that began to form on the Soleiman boy's neck earned a grin from Navran.
"Hahhh...bold, aren't you? Willing to sacrifice your own flesh and blood for your own sake...perhaps you're not quite so different from me, hmm?" The sorcerer posited, all too amused by that little realization.

The pause was tenuous, the pace clearly controlled by Navran as readily as he pulled the strings of his puppets. He cocked his head at the princess' question, entertained by the game they now played.
"If you're here, then surely you must already know who I am, child. But if you've truly wandered in here so blindly, then allow me to elucidate before you perish: I am the once-emir's elder brother, your uncle, Navran Soleiman." He declared, lifting one of his bony, taloned hands threateningly in her direction, expression falling flat. Once again the statues took a more offensive posture, ready to begin their assault once again. "If you're going to kill him, then be quick about it, won't you? I could use some fresh blood now that you've broken one of my toys."

 

[Settra]

Settra was holding his own, but doing little more than that. The relentless onslaught of the statues made it impossible for him to edge out any kind of advantage on Zalika. Every time he noticed an opening in her form or techniques, he was denied a proper opportunity to capitalize on it by the swing of a heavy glaive in his path. He felt confident he could take her out of the fight, he just needed an opening to do so.

Then, with only a shout to stop from Nym, everything came to a halt. The golems ceased their attacks, assuming only an aggressive posture but not moving, and even Zalika's ceaseless flurry of blades found a pause. Settra, too, came to pause, panting slightly. This wasn't the most rigorous fight he'd been in, but it was certainly straining his concentration to the limit. His heart was pounding hard, but the brief respite gave him time enough to calm himself and focus.

For now, he bided his time. When the opportunity was presented to him he'd stick a blade through his opponent, one way or another.