Fable - Ask No Fury

[Nym]

Nym's chest heaved as she took advantage of the moment to pull a few hungry breaths into her lungs, and after a glance to ensure Settra was alright, her venomous gaze remained fixed on the withered old man's conniving face. He was rapidly ticking every box that it took to rile her. The amusement at her expense, the assumption that he knew anything at all about her, how foolish she felt that she hadn't in fact realised who he was and the fact that he'd been two steps ahead of her.

Her brow quirked, her expression pausing as she fought through her memory in search of a mention of his name, but she could find none. Her father had never mentioned a brother, then again her father had only told a select few that she existed. Did he work for her father too? Or perhaps, against him? She had so many questions and yet she wanted nothing more than to slaughter him where he stood.

Her brother's head lolled as she pushed it away from her and stepped away from him with a growl in frustration. "So you handed me over? Why? Why put us into Gerra's hands? How did you know about me in the first place when I knew nothing of you?.." she asked, her gaze drifting warily over the remaining golems.

"I came all this way to find you - you don't get to just kill me without an explanation." she paused, her gaze narrowing slightly. "We are blood. I... I could have worked for you, as I did for my father. Instead you gave his sharpest weapon away.." her head shook slowly as she twisted the ring on her finger.

 

[Navran Soleiman]

Navran was not one to pass up an opportunity to gloat. So many years of operating in secrecy, the oft chance he had at rubbing things in was almost therapeutic. The frustration and confusion on his niece's face was tangible, and he reveled in it.

"Gerra of Molthal is not the only person with dreams of having all of Liadain in the palm of his hand. I had been pulling strings from the shadows for decades, biding my time until I could start my own conquest. Your father was the face of this city, but I've always been the one in control...until the Empire arrived at our gates, that is." Navran explained, at first cocksure, but his expression twisted into a disgusted sneer as he seemed to recall the Sacking of Saltira. "I had kept my own existence a secret. The less anyone knew of me, the better...but I was careless, and that Imperial witch's spies uncovered me. I needed a way to escape Salitra, and you were a convenient distraction. Little more."

Nym's further prodding earned a derisive laugh from the blood sorcerer.
"Your father didn't think I knew about you either. That was the very problem. You were his sharpest weapon. He crafted you as an insurance policy against me." He rasped angrily, as if still insulted by the idea that his own brother would defy him. He took a single step to the side of his protective golem so that he could stare down his niece, decrepit claws curling upwards in spite and malice. "That man was untrustworthy; he fooled himself into thinking that he was in control after so long, and against my council he chose to defy the Empire and me with his mercenaries, his Eternum dogs, and with you."

The sorcerer pointed one of his bony digits at the princess to emphasize his statement.
"And where has all of this lead? Right back where I wanted it to. The moment the Empire withdrew the bulk of their forces, I took the strings back from the so-called 'God-Emperor' and continued my planning. I took your mother and siblings as extra insurance of my own. I made further alliances with those who'd see me in the throne over that gods forsaken half-giant," He gestured at the brightly armored warrior woman near Settra, then flashed Nymeasha a wicked grin. "The only loose end that's left...is you."

With a snap of his fingers the golems shifted, sand shrugging from their joints, and began to move once more.

 

[Settra]

Dark eyes watched every errant twitch the sorcerer made. The moment Navran pressed his fingers together to snap, Settra's eyes flashed violet and magic washed over his weapons. No sooner had he done so that he threw both of his tri-daggers, one directly at Zalika, the other at the golem to his left. Each one sung out in a warbling whistle as they spun through the air.

Zalika was, of course, ready for the one that was thrown directly at her, raising her twin swords to parry the strike just as she had done several times before. What she was not prepared for, however, was the fact that the blade that was thrown directly at her was a feint. As the statue lifted the haft of its glaive to deflect the other tri-dagger, it became wreathed in violet light and shifted directions, flying preternaturally quickly to carve into Zalika's back.

There was no way for the woman to defend from both sides, and with the nature of Settra's magic, any attempt to didge would be fruitless. Her fate was sealed here, this Settra knew as he watched the dagger tumble towards the nape of her neck. Yet, the moment before the spinning blade shredded its target, another brilliant flash of light filled the space, this one a pale yellow-white. An ethereal, ring-shaped barrier apparated mere inches from the point of contact; Settra's dagger spun into it for a few seconds, sending multicolored sparks in a shower behind Zalika but otherwise blocking the attack from harming her.

In another moment, both daggers bounced off of the warrior woman's defenses and returned to Settra's hands, just in time for him to dodge another set of heavy blows from the animated statues.
"You're a mage." He announced flatly. Killing her like that would've been too easy, he supposed.

"My kind are so much more than that, assassin." She taunted in reply. With another flourish of her swords, she rushed back in to continue her onslaught.

 

[Nym]

It was too much for her to process. She knew the wash of confusion on her face was providing him with some form of twisted entertainment, but she couldn't help it. He spoke of an entire plan, and entire world that she had not been privy to when she had so naively believed herself to be her father's most trusted.

'That imperial witch..'

Of course, Medja had known, but in this moment Nym couldn't help but to allow a flare of anger to have it confirmed to her. The vizier had surely been well aware of what Navran was capable of, and she knew that Nym didn't have the magic to match. For all any of them knew, Nym had just walked herself and Settra to their deaths.

Her green eyes glared venomously, her jaw clenched and teeth grinding with every sneer and laugh, his corruptive and perpetual grin. She sneered in disgust at his mirth, watching his unnaturally long, thin fingers, each like the tendril of a parasitic plant, conducting his performance like some grand finale.

Nym was no fan of Gerra, and yet as her uncle spat his mention of the half-giant, she found her hatred of him supersede that of the Emperor. She had found the only living being in this world that she despised enough to make her side with Gerra of Molthal.

As those bony digits clicked, Nym's attention swiftly returned to the golems as they moved toward her once more. She ducked under the swipe of a spear, and narrowly avoided another gargantuan foot aiming to crush her, instead she made it through it's legs by running at it and skidding onto her side.

"What a coward you are to wait until there are none to threaten you before you slither out from under your rock!" she dove out of the way of a giant blade, her voice straining with exertion. "Congratulations on overpowering the woman and three young boys - truly a feat." Nym spat. "I assume that is why your younger brother sat on the throne of Salitra, whilst you skulked away in the shadows."

She circled around the two golems as quickly as she could, giving them little time to aim let alone hit her. She moved like water, fluid and fast, the obstacles of rubble in her path simply leapt over, and used to her advantage as she used it to propel herself into the middle of the pair who spun to face her.

Nym's gaze widened as she looked up between the pair, and suddenly she leapt to grip hold of the massive spear being lifted into the air whilst the other drew up it's sword. A stupid move, perhaps, but she hoped the old man wouldn't have enough time to stop the golems from smashing one another apart in their pursuit of killing her. She held on until the sword came slashing toward her and dropped back to the ground.

 

[Navran Soleiman]

"You call it cowardice, I call it intelligence!" Navran cackled as he watched his constructs march about, taking their swings at his niece. So shortsighted! So typical for one so young not to see the long game. "In my line of work it's far easier to make enemies than friends, child. Putting a figurehead on the throne to look the part while I run the show from the safety of anonymity is simply the most intelligent play!"


Nimble as she appeared, she was only human. It was a matter of time before she tired from all the jumping, sliding, and parrying she was doing, and then she would start making mistakes. His golems, meanwhile, were iron, blood, and sand; they never tired, and his own deep well of magic would far outlast this girl's stamina. He was utterly confident of that.

Then the girl leapt between the two statues that assailed her. His grin widened to reveal wickedly white teeth; she was trapped like a rat. Both golems wound back to smash her into paste, and Navran tensed his fingers in anticipation of her demise...only to watch her nimbly leap off one of the two constructs and harmlessly back to the ground, each metal warrior burying its weapon in the other simultaneously.

The statues tumbled to the ground in a heap, more blood and sand draining from their shells in messy piles on the palace floor. Navran snarled with anger, though trepidation was starting to build within him. What were once insurmountable odds for this girl and her friend were quickly becoming even. That would not do.

"Bah! You're an uncultured boor, just like your father. I'm quite bored with this farce." He growled with a snap of his fingers. The two golems that had been supporting Zalika now turned to support Navran, and the one that had been standing in front of him began to trudge towards Nym as well. Meanwhile, what little of the spilled blood had not been ruined began to trickle across the floor back towards the sorcerer. He'd need of much of it as he could get now.

 

[Settra]

Much as Settra had acclimated to the nearly autonomous assault of the golems, their sudden absence left the assassin feeling at a distinct advantage. Though he couldn't see her face to get a read on her, the subtle changes Zalika exhibited at their departure were easily picked out by the likes of Settra. The mysterious warrior's charge became not quite so aggressive, her strikes suddenly becoming more careful. She wasn't leaving herself as open now, but ironically enough that might've been exactly what the Onyx Hand needed...and with three more golems now closing on Nym, he couldn't finish this soon enough.

For the first time, Settra began to put the woman on the backfoot. The assassin slowly went from parrying three strikes, then riposting to parrying once, then riposting. Within seconds, Settra's flurry of blocks and strikes were just strikes. Zalika began to give ground under the assault, slowly walking backwards and continuing to deflect blows with her blades; this wasn't enough.

Settra's eyes and tri-daggers began to glow. He uncurled his fingers, then the weapons started to spin, though they remained stuck to his palms. Now whirling razors began to shower the room with sparks as they collided with Zalika's swords. The warrior woman was even forced to use her barrier magic to stop the occasional blow instead of deflecting the strikes with her swords.

Perhaps out of desperation, Zalika abruptly lurched forward, planting a weighty kick directly into Settra's chest. The assassin slid back on the floor, giving Zalika a brief reprieve but refusing to relent. Once again he tossed the triple-bladed weapons and listened to them sing as they whirled through the air, one at her front, the other at her back, his eyes blazing violet all along; and once again, Zalika stopped both daggers, one with her swords, the other with her magic.

"Is this it? Are you out of tricks alr-" The woman started to mock Settra before cutting herself off with a loud "URK!"

She slowly looked down to see the long, segmented, tail-like weapon that had been hiding beneath Settra's cloak, now buried deep into her gut. The moment she thought herself confident enough to taunt the Onyx Hand, Settra willed it to surge forward like lightning and spear her where she couldn't guard. With a grunt of exertion, he forced the scorpion tail to puncture all the way through her, then ripped it back out.

With a gurgling cough, Zalika's magic faded, her swords clattered to the floor, and the woman fell to the ground in a heap. Settra's daggers whizzed back to him, then he turned to face the real threat: Navran. Though Settra was winded, Nym was no longer in this fight alone.

 

[Nym]

The brief moment of reprieve that followed the two golems' collapse was spent on one knee, her lips parted as she dragged in desperate lungfuls of air. She ignored his words, she was done listening to him, done wasting her breath with retort. It was quite simple, in that either he would die here, or she would, and so there was nothing more to be said.

Her eyes rose slowly as she heard the other golems turn their attentions and move toward her, her heart sinking in her chest.

Are you fucking kidding me?..

Three down, three to go, but she was so fucking tired. Her reactions were slowing and her muscles and lungs were burning, her heart pounding so hard against her ribs that she felt them rattle. Sweat glistened on her caramel skin as softly as a new spring rain, soaking a deeper hue into her garments. Stray, dark tresses stuck to her face and she brushed them away as her frustration grew to infuriation amidst unrelenting onslaught of attacks.

Again she looked for a way to get to her uncle through the barricade of metal hell bent on destroying her. The sound of Zalika's cry stole her attention and robbed her breath, her heart jumping into her throat as her gaze fell on Settra. He'd beaten her. He was alright. And her attention had not returned to the bloodthirsty obstacle ahead of her in time for it to have taken full advantage.

With all the power of an anvil, the golem's back handed blow sent her flying through the air, her body smashing into a pillar. She had no air in her lungs to let out the sound that she tried to make as she hit the cool tiles. Her back arched as she tried to pull the air back in only to cough it back out as she rolled to her side, her arms trembling as she tried to push herself back to her feet.

 

[Navran Soleiman]

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Zalika was something of an ace in the hole for Navran, and she was presently drowning in a half-inch deep pool of her own blood. At most the fresh supply she was leaking would allow for one last boost to the sorcerer's abilities, but at the rate his puppets were dropping perhaps sticking around wasn't such a good plan. He began to carefully step backwards, until he saw one of his statues finally connect with his 'dearest niece.'

That was all the boost of confidence that Navran needed to overstay his welcome.
"Yes...hahaha, yes! Crush her! Skewer her onto the column!" Navran shouted at his golem even as he willed it onward with a taloned hand. He directed his other claw towards Zalika's collapsed form. She might've been savable, but it was for the best that he finished her off, really; with her gone, he'd owe no debts to his...benefactor.
"Your life has met the end of its use, now serve a greater purpose in death!" He called as the warrior woman's lifeblood began to slither its way across the floor and coalesce into a sphere as it collected in Navran's palm.

The process was middling at best, but with the three remaining statues buying time Navran was confident he'd be able to extract what power there was to be had and deliver a finishing blow to this meddlesome duo.

 

[Settra]

There was no time to stop to breathe. Settra watched in horror as his charge was battered aside by the weighty blow of one of the sorcerer's pawns.
"Nym!" He cried out instinctively, desperate to come to her aid. All three of the remaining metallic behemoths bared down on her, each leaving cracks in the tile floor as they lumbered on. There wasn't much time to think, and even less time to act. Settra dashed forward, tossing one of his tri-daggers into the heel of one of the two golems ahead of him. Sparks showered off of it and it slowed for a moment to balance itself, giving Settra a window to slip between the two.

No sooner had he done so, than he caught sight of the third statue stepping forward to heed Navran's order and run Nymeasha through. It lofted its glaive high above its head and reared back, poised to strike. Settra shifted into a higher gear, throwing his daggers at the statue in front of him and running even harder to get between the still recovering princess and her assailant. Once again sparks showered from his target, but the golem seemed unfazed, the daggers clattering back to the ground ineffectually. It began its downstroke, aiming the blade of its polearm directly for Nym's chest.
"No!"

Settra's palms flashed with his magic's violet aura the moment he came between Nym and the golem. Time grew still in those waning moments, the assassin still not totally sure what he was doing, acting only on instinct and adrenaline. His magic let him manipulate metal objects, but the efficacy of the ability was drastically reduced on objects with which he hadn't had time to bond with. He wouldn't be able to stop the golem outright--hell, he'd barely be able to alter the course of the glaive. He settled for what he could manage.

With a yell of exertion, Settra clapped the blade of the glaive between his hands, surrounding it with his magic and halting the blow midair, if only for a moment. Sweat poured from his brow as he struggled to maintain the hold. Not enough. The dull edge of the blade began to slowly sink into his armor, then wedge its way into his chest.
"AGHH! Nym, get up! GET UP! FIGHT!" He shouted, fighting back the golem with all of his might, even as its twins drew in to finish the job...

 

[Nym]

This really was how it would end, Nym thought to herself as the golem's weapon rose and her body refused to move or breathe. She stared into it's lifeless face, listening to that heinous laughter that rattled free of her uncle's throat and watched it's weapon rise, ready to skewer her.

She was so tired that even as she tried to move quickly, she couldn't will herself to get out of the way. Her body rebelled and her legs failed her as they buckled and she fell back to the ground. Nym pulled in the breath that she expected to be her last but then, he was there. Her brow furrowed as she watched, half dazed with pain and exhaustion, his voice muffled in her ears.

Get up.

His cry of pain dragged her back into the room and she blinked, her heart leaping back into motion, powering her body with whatever adrenaline she had left. Get up. She moved, crawled at first, her body barking in protest and she knew something somewhere was broken, but she had to put the pain to the back of her mind and move.

She looked up, her ardent gaze flicking from one golem to the next, to Settra and the weapon housed between his palms, and then to the fallen golem and its discarded weapon only a few feet away.

"Let go! Now!" Nym barked at Settra as she suddenly pushed herself to her feet and propelled herself forward, dodging the massive crushing foot of another golem before sliding across the floor and grabbing hold of the spear in one smooth motion. At once, she was standing despite the grievance of her body, and the spear twisted as it whistled through the air, aiming straight at her uncle's chest.

 

[Navran Soleiman]

Navran was many things: intelligent, cunning, powerful, confident yet cautious...he had poured himself into his work for decades, quietly pulling his strings from the shadows to gain what political pull he could, all the while honing his incredible and unique mix of blood and sand magic. He was a brilliant mind, that much he knew, a power beyond what Salitra had ever seen. He was a master strategist and an ideal leader. A visionary, to be sure.

Yet, as he heard the singing of one of his statues' spears as it flew towards him, as he saw the head of the hefty weapon burst through the orb of blood that had been forming in his hand, as the ichor sprayed into his face and the spear began to rip its way into his frail body, and as time slowed to a standstill in these waning moments, he realized what he was not: invincible.

In mere seconds, countless years of plotting and scheming were undone by the simple toss of a spear. Just as he'd tried to skewer his niece but moments earlier, Navran gasped as the pointed blade pierced through his chest, shattering ribs and puncturing heart and lung alike before driving him weightily back and pinning him to the wall of the throne room behind where he'd stood.

He tried to speak, to incant a spell that would save his life perhaps, but blood filled his throat and mouth and he could only hack and cough. His eyes widened in shock and outrage, his breaths shallow, as he grasped the handle of the spear with a hand and feebly tried to wrench it free. His blurring vision briefly caught sight of Nymeasha and he reached a defiant claw out towards her to direct his golems onto her one more time, to at least exact a mutual destruction upon her before he expired.

Alas, as darkness began to close around the edges of his vision and cold sweat pooled across his withered face, he realized that the golems had already fallen, unable to maintain their forms as he began to perish. His breaths rapidly grew more desperate and shallow as his one functioning lung and destroyed heart tried their very best to keep him alive. The sorcerer tried as hard as he possibly could to curse Nymeasha with his last, dying moments. In his last wisps of life, all he could manage was a gurgling croak. At last, Navran Soleiman slumped over, lifeless and undone.

 

[Settra]

"Let go! Now!"

Settra didn't hesitate. He didn't even look. He trusted Nym explicitly. With all his remaining strength he pushed the spear head to the side--or, more accurately, shoved himself sidelong--and rolled out of the way of the impending blow. Stone shards exploded from the pillar where both the princess and the assassin had once been, the statue's attack unsuccessful in ending their lives as Navran had intended.

The Onyx Hand tumbled forward and stood again, weak but ready to continue the desperate fight to the bitter end. Only, he didn't have to. Through weary eyes he watched as the statues shook unsteadily, then furrowed his brow as sand and blood alike began to seep from every joint on their bodies. In seconds each one crumpled to the ground, little more than oversized, hollow suits of armor.

At the sound of wretched hacking, Settra whirled around to witness what Nym had wrought on her treacherous uncle: a swift end. Within moments the old codger went from cackling confidence to a contemptable corpse. Deafening silence filled the room in the following seconds, broken only by the heaving breaths of exertion from the pair of Imperial assassins.

Stunned silence gave way to worry quickly after. Settra rushed to Nym's side, aware that she'd suffered several weighty blows. She was standing, sure, but how much of that was adrenaline? It made no difference; he'd catch her if she fell, and he'd be there for her to lean on if she needed to. He stood beside her, ready for whatever would come next.

 

[Nym]

Nym dug deep. The cry of exertion that tore itself from her chest told a clear story of her exhaustion and pain, the sound of it carrying and resounding in the domed ceiling, swiftly followed by the sickly squelch and the dull thud of her weapon lodging itself in the stone. Deathly silence fell as she stared, holding her breath, seeming to wait for him to get out of it, to reveal his next trick.

Her breath loosed when she heard the golems fall, but she didn't take her eyes off of the dying man for a second. This wasn't how she'd wanted it to go. It was too quick for him, to easy, she thought as he curled his skeletal fingers toward her. Nym pooled everything she had to remain standing, to hide the agony from her face, to lift her chin and curl her lips into a triumphant smirk, ensuring it would be the last thing he saw before he perished.

She savoured those dying rasps, allowing them to soothe that rage that thrummed through her with every violent beat of her racing heart. He'd lost, and seeing the realisation of that on his face would have to do. She wouldn't have survived another round with the golems. It would have to do.

The second the lights left his eyes and he gurgled his last breath, she fell, caught by Settra a mere few inches before hitting the ground. Nym let out a shuddered breath, grimacing in pain as she felt her ribs shift under her skin and agony lance through her spine. She held onto him, staring through hooded eyes at the corpse pinned to the wall for another moment before she looked up at Settra and pressed a shaking hand to his bleeding chest.

"Thank you." she grit out and forced a tight lipped smile, before giving in to her exhaustion.

 

[Settra]

The last breath left the sorcerer's lungs, and with it all sound left the room. Where there had been chaos mere moments before, now there was silence. The Salitran royals would no longer be bound by Navran's magic binds now, and no other stray servants stood to challenge the duo's victory. For the moment, Settra could only smile as he felt Nym's unsteady hand press softly to him. He gazed down upon her in warmth, in admiration...in love with the woman who had come so far in so little time. For a time, he cradled her, content to feel her safe in his arms, breathing softly.

They would need healers, he told himself. He was not quite out of strength yet, and he certainly wasn't going to let the princess lie injured, in his embrace or not. With a grunt, Settra carefully lifted her and carried her out of the wreckage of the throne room.
"Rest now, my princess...my Nym." The assassin murmured softly to his charge, trudging slowly down the hall as he carried her back into the light of day. "We've got a long road back home."