Private Tales Of Fire and Shadow

[Fieravene]

Following the Match Fight.

Vizier Jerik's manor.
Annuakat Limits.

Vizier Jerik had been triaged and attended to by the Annuakati Healers and Medics immediately following the match. After ascertaining the man would indeed not die and, instead, live to fight again, his unconscious form had been blessed and released for rest at his private home.

Fiera arrived with the twilight hours, bringing with her the stars, moon, and the forgiving coolness of the dark. A reprieve, perhaps, for a flame that had burned too hot this day. Though recognized well enough as the only dark elf frequenting the city, she had no official title nor claim other than the favor of the God-King and neighbors of nobility. The Guards barred her path at the entrance.

"The Vizier is resting and not to be disturbed."

"I am here on official business of the God Emperor for an important mission that requires the Vizier's attention," Fiera's red eyes, presently glowing like soft embers, blinked down at the men from above. Neither Guard moved and those same eyes faintly rolled skywards as she deftly plunged a hand into the forward shoulder pack of her horse's fittings, "I have the missive here."

An official dispatch, signed by Gerra, informing of her journey for a mission of high priority.

"This says nothing about an audience with the Vizier."

"Are you questioning the God-Emperor's confidence in my abilities to ascertain what is and is not necessary for this mission? Would you like me to return to him to tell him his Guards have interfered with my progress?"

No. No that would not do. The Guard to her left shook his head and handed the missive back to her. They moved aside to watch the dark elf ride by on a particularly queer looking abtati stallion. Something strange about it's eyes...


A short while later soft steps echoed through the manor, the elf followed an attendant to the Vizier's bedchambers where he rested in the open evening air. Fiera excused the Nurse in attendance for some privacy and closed the chamber doors behind her before striding over to the bedside and quietly taking a seat on the edge.

Seemed a shame to wake him from his rest and break him from his peaceful state. A faint look of expectancy curled across her features as she wondered what it was the man dreamed of. A gloved hand moved to gently push wild hair from his unmasked face, a low hum sounding from her lips.

Did the Fire Champion dream of Soothing Rains and Cold Shadows?

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Jerik's private home.

It was the only place he could get any sleep. He, of course, had been allocated his own bedchambers within the Palace, next to Gerra's. But there was something about the place, its elaborate decorations, bright lamps, rich fittings, it all reminded him of the extravagance of a dictator. It reminded him of Cerak At'Thul. Then again, who was he to judge, when he'd killed so many to earn Gerra that throne?

He'd ordered for a home to be procured on the outskirts of town, away from any major part of the city, and away from any busily populated areas. He liked the quiet, or as much as he could buy himself. He could afford that now, with the status and power that Gerra had so graciously provided him with. It had simple walls, since he'd asked for anything unnecessary to be stripped down, the home being bare for all to see. He didn't want anything special, he just wanted a place to rest his head, and hopefully get a little sleep.

He was completely out since the fight. It was a dreamless sleep. Although he could feel himself being picked up on the stretcher, the healers working their magic on his muscles and body, making sure that he wasn't on the brink of death. Even he knew this wouldn't kill him, he'd been through far worse.

His mind was at ease the entire time, mostly from his fatigue, but when his body was put on his own bed, in his own home, he felt he could truly rest.

Until, of course, he could feel her walk in. Fieravene. He could sense her through some unintentional magic, but he knew her presence. He felt his hair pushed to the side, the low hum of her voice a soothing sensation in his ear. His eyes slowly opened.

"Guess I didn't win." Disappointment in his voice.

 

[Fieravene]

"No," the elf replied, voice low and a wry smile twisting her lips, "you lost in spectacular fashion. But..." the hand at the side of his face smoothed down to his front, fingers tapping lightly at his chest where it came to rest, "you did give him a good wholloping for his efforts."

The gaze she fixed down upon the man was an easy one and would have likely suited a woman in her own domain better than an outsider intruding upon a Vizier's private bedchambers. Red embers panned to the table at his bedside, one of the few furnishings in the room, and a tray set with a pitcher of water and cups. She reached with her other hand to pour a cup.

"Word has it the people feel Toruuk wouldn't last a blink in the ring with you and your fire. The fervor for their Vizier is palpable in the city, to say the least. Water?" Fiera held the cup out for him.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Fieravene.

It was odd. He wasn't sure what to think about her. He respected her, of course, and she definitely had a way with men - or at least himself. He'd only wished he'd met her again sooner, then maybe his current position could have been avoided. But so is fate, he thought.

"Please." He was very thirsty.

"You're wrong about the people's ferv- fervour." He was coughing through his words, as he could feel old scar tissue being pushed off his larynx.

"Toruuk isn't even human, and he's heralded by the people as a hero." He could feel himself clench the fist he didn't even have. He looked at Fiera, who was fetching him a cup of water.

"I thought... I thought I was broken; a tool Gerra would use to reap his justice on the world with. But today... I..." He felt uncomfortable, like the words that wanted to leave his mouth were forbidden, or that he hadn't said words of that ilk in so long, that he had forgotten how.

"I was going to kill him, in front of everyone. I would have thought nothing of it yesterday, but I... he made me feel something. I wanted to fight him again. And I-" He looked down at the bed he laid on, at the arms he no longer had.

"I knew you were watching."

 

[Fieravene]

Content to let the man have his words, Fieravene simply listened, cup of water held at ready for when he needed it. Seemed the man had his own devils to deal with, much like most weathered warriors she'd met. A killing life was impossible to live without creating a few demons - something that was a cautionary hazard on her own journey.

As Jerik fell silent into the weight of his admissions she leaned forward with the cup, offering once again to treat him as she had in the bathhouse.

"You need not censor yourself on my account," watching or not, Fieravene held no power here. No clout. Her word held as much value as the lowliest street rat, even if she did happen to live among the nobles.

"My presence is of no consequence to you, or any. Much like Toruuk's. Hero for a day, hm," a faint show of wonder as she cast her gaze about, "what that must feel like. But the peoples' hearts are as fickle as the wind and their hero. He's not called the Wandering Champion for nothing."

Her gaze flickered across the man's scar-ridden features, seeking out the silent stories across the canvas before her. "And you, Fire of Lions, do you not seek your own justice in the arena where your doubts dissolve and your passion ignites?"