Fable - Ask Re-secured Assets | The Empire

[Iesha]

Rebel Base

West of Ragash - Amol-Kalit

[Image]

​

Iesha watched carefully out onto the horizon, green eyes scanning across it with intricate care. She had expected Nak'Ehim some time ago, and was concerned to find that he had not yet arrived at the base. The derelict temple, though suffering from various deficiencies and disrepair was still quite sound, and had served as a formidable headquarters. Most of their regime had gathered here now - with the vizier in hand and their extraction well underway, it was only a matter of time before a lethal blow could be dealt to the Empire and their false king. But it had to be done carefully, and without suspect.

Their primary concern at this point was the dragon. Even if he were to be fooled by the guise that had been conjured he would still most likely prove to be difficult, if not outright hazardous. As vizier, it was Ashuanar's duty to prepare such a contingency. Perhaps that armband which clung to him harder than skin had something to do with that. As of yet she was still unsure - the vizier was quite stubborn. Though she was not terribly surprised: such things often ran in the family. She could even recall a time when she looked up to Ashuanar with admiration in her eyes. He was much more than he was now back then - he wasn't a traitorous coward.

A voice came from behind, "Iesha, Arreg requests your presence. The vizier is ready to see you."

A sadistic smile crept across her face as she turned and entered into the temple. Never keep your family waiting long, that's what father used to say at least.

Medja Fieravene Uvogin Audun​

 

[Medja]

Elsewhere...

Prepped for combat and garbed in her Warmage Robes, Medja of Ragash makes her way west into the Kaliti wastes.

The time for talk was long over. With both the Imperial Vizier of War and her own protege missing, Medja had set out alongside Uvogin and a retinue of the captain's finest Immortals to track down Nak'Ehim and put an end to this rebellion once and for all. To that end, the Ragashi courtier had employed Fieravene to uncover the treacherous Abtati's plot. By day's end she would see these insolent fools crushed beneath her heel.

Medja had been given little to work with thus far beyond a vague location in which the rebels might have been hiding. Geomancy had been her primary guide for much of the trek. Cover your tracks as you like, but the earth does not lie; the ground had been disturbed by many a fallen boot in this forsaken region, each foot fall a clue for the sorceress to follow. Still, much as she trusted her dark elf ally, Medja had been growing increasingly concerned about the lack of contact from the woman beyond the initial hint of the rebel base...

...Until now. She had sensed a disturbance among the wastes, a collection of bodies gone still among the sand and stone. The most exciting and perhaps disturbing thing about this revelation was the way they had been placed. Medja sensed it from afar long before they had actually seen the bodies: they spelled her name.

Tracking up to their location on a flat, she had never expected to see what lay before her now: an untold number of Abtati corpses strung about the ground as predicted, but with one nailed by his every limb to a cactus. Nak'Ehim. Fiera had left both a trail and a gift for the sorceress, it would seem. She felt her heart flutter in her chest.

Medja drifted purposefully towards the carnage before her. She wished to examine the body of the man who had caused her so much strife. An ear was severed, his skin was cut and ripped head to toe, and he was covered in beetles that seemed to gorge on his magic. It was almost a shame that Fiera had done all this to him without letting her obser--wait. Nak'Ehim's chest shifted in and out subtly, Medja was sure. He still lived.

A surge of emotion rushed through her. On one hand, she was overjoyed. She would have to personally reward Fiera for this gift in many ways later. On the other hand, she wanted to make this man's last moments as agonizing as physically possible. She reached out and grabbed his face, lifted his head, and dug her nails into his cheeks.

"Wake up, dear lieutenant. Your life is not yet over." She narrowed her gaze and tightened her grip, beginning to draw blood from Nak'Ehim's cheeks. "Nor is your suffering."

 

[Nak'Ehim Akanamar]

"Wake up, dear lieutenant. Your life is not yet over."
"Nor is your suffering."

His eyes shot open, and slowly the pupils shrunk in on themselves until they were but pin needles at the center of dark brown pools. There was an emptiness in his eyes, it screamed of a ceaseless torment. He stared into her eyes with his hollow soul, and with his mouth clamped shut he began to shake with a throaty chuckle. His suffering...

The blood ran down his cheek, and his eyes crew wide with what could only be described as lust. Perhaps the torment that the dark elf had put him through had indeed broken him. He seemed to revel in that Medja caused him, as though it elated some far worse turmoil he suffered from. But this façade was quickly undone by the maniacal sound that followed.

"You wretched... wretched thing," he hissed, "dirty, foul creature!"

He lifted his head to the sky and his laughter once more ensued.

"My suffering... hah!"

It had been one of the things that had sustained him - the thought of his once-superior Ashuanar, and the torment he endured. No, perhaps it was not the same as the tragedy that was Fieravene that had descended upon him - but to the vizier it was likely even worse than such a fate. Oh how he'd come to despise Ashuanar, and the favour he had garnered from Gerra. It was he who should have been gifted the armband, he who should have been given the appointment.

Ashuanar was a tribesman and a fool. Just look at where he was.

"It is nothing!"

He cackled at her, "for next to that fool Akrep, it is but a mere bruise!"

 

[Ashuanar]

Meanwhile...

The Sunken Cathedral​

Darkness. That's all there was for him in this empty hall. A once great chapel no doubt, left barren and distraught from the decaying ebb of time. At one point there must have been a great earth shake, which broke the foundations of this place allowing its weight to slowly drive it down - into the desert. He was kept at the farthest point, at the back of the enormous sanctuary. Back there, he hung, chained by the wrists to the stone wall behind him, atop a cracked and heaved platform of stone - where an Imam, or a Priest would likely have stood.

There was but a single strand of light that poked through the ceiling - and at a particular time of day it shone down directly on him. It was at this time, the doors of the great chamber were flung open. A bloodshot eye sprang open - the other far too swollen shut. Those steps. He knew them.

He had not the strength to lift his head, but instead only hung there. He fought for the strength to stand, to relieve the strain on his wrists - the gnawing of the steel ground against his flesh, tearing at it.

Now, with the light ftom above and pouring in from the door he beheld a terrifying sight. Beneath him, were shreds of skin and thick pools of blood. All his. As a draft came in through the opening, his body screamed at its touch. But he had not the strength to even wince. In fact by now, he knew not what drove him to live... perhaps it was, that gentle pulse, that hum - emanating from the Band. Sustaining him until he be killed outright. If that was so, he almost loathed it for such aid.

At this point, he almost rather be dead.

"Nak'Ehim, brother. Where is he."
​

His body began to tremble and almost writhe for all the movement it could produce, then quietly his hoarse chuckle could be heard.

"You are doomed."

 

[Fieravene]

Broken Temple in the Valley of Kal'Daarin
A deep, dark crack in the foundation of stone.

In the quiet of the ruin a long, trailing wisp of black fluttered slowly through an open crack. Amorphous only in the manner that fog could be, it held no particular shape but coiled in a manner reminiscent of serpents. Moving along the edges of a darkened hall, melding in with the shadows cast by the lancing sunbeams, it snaked around the crags of stone following the muffled sounds of voices.

Nak'Ehim, brother. Where is he.

Oh, sister, if only you knew. Some things were better left unknown. The wisp continued forth, finding at last an opening to the chamber where two lone figures stood in stark contrast of one another. Well, one of them stood, anyway.

You are doomed.

The words reverberated quietly within the confines of the chamber yet somehow felt profound for as weak as they were. Shadow shifted, folding into a high and dark corner, awaiting the time when the ailing elf would be alone again.

 

[Ashuanar]

It would be some time - not so long as an hour but near to it. She was less fervent in her desire to cause him agony during this visit, opting more for a phycological approach. She baited him with stories of their parents, of their family...

"You know how our eldest brother died, Ashuanar?" It was a grueling tale of torture, and abuse. From what she told him, he never made it past the age of fifteen.

"Or our sister, Mashia," tales of her terrible trials. They seared Ashuanar's spirit, and invoked rage in his heart. But for all the fire that blazed within he could muster only a few gentle shakes, and a few anguished and pitiful roars.

Her questions were all closely related to Aivrid at almost every turn, demanding to know how to defeat him. Where his lair was. What his relationship with Gerra was truly like. That one was of particular interest, the frequency with which she returned to it was evidence of that. But even as her anger began to swell and violence was exacted upon his broken body, he would not speak. Only taunts. Only threats. It was clear that by now, whatever heart he still had for her when he had first come, had been crushed, into nothing but oblivion.

As Iesha's frustration grew to much, she delivered a final kick to his stomach before turning to leave. Before she managed to slam the door behind her Ashuanar called out - a strength in his voice that should not have been, "Father... would be proud..."

There could be nothing farther from the truth.
​

The great doors closed with a tremendous slam, leaving him shackled there where he once more fell limp. Whatever strength he had just mustered vanished as quickly as it arrived. And now once more, for as far as he knew, he was once again alone.

Fieravene ​

 

[Fieravene]

For as long as the interrogation took, the amorphous mist clung to its corner as silent and patient as a spider might wait for a meal to find its web. Such titillating story unfolded below - delicious lore of a Vizier who had remained vastly an unknown. When it was all over there was a sentiment of kinship lingering within the mist. It shivered at the slam of the door and shifted across the darkness of the ceiling, billowing outwards until it nearly filled the entire upper portion of the chamber.

At the middle a snaking coil of black fog whispered down, coiling about the stone structure upon which Ashuanar presently drowned in his misery. It pooled in the air before him, stretching and elongating until its mass took the measure of a particular dark elf. There, within the roiling fog, two glowing eyes appeared.

Hello Vizier.

The voice was not in the chamber but in his mind, a tone he might perhaps find familiar.

 

[Ashuanar]

Hello Vizier.

Whatever twisting nether his mind had lost itself in froze and parted as his eyes cracked open once more. At first, he thought that he was - actually - losing his mind. With his gaze pointed down toward the floor he did not at first notice the wispy figure before him. No first he realized the dark. It was darker than usual - the single beam of light had been shrouded by something.

His cheeks were bloodied, his neck, back and chest torn to shreds from his sister's brutal lashings. And blood from his wrists, bound to hold his arms up and out slowly descended down him in various, tiny streams. He let out a terrible sigh, and forced his head upright. Though exhausted, his elven eyes cut through the dark to reveal the figure before him. For all the fatigue, his mind was slow to work, but eventually the connection was made - and he knew that he was in fact, still sane.

"Fieravene," he whispered, and swallowed, his head sinking down again, "they... have gotten...nothing, from me..."

It was in this moment, he might have expected her to kill him. He truly did not know what had transpired since he'd first been kidnapped. And worse yet, he knew not how long it had been. The abuse had been so terrible - more-so the knowledge of who inflicted it than the act itself - that he had truly let himself slide into a darkened pit of despair.

Perhaps there was no chance of ever being rescued, he had thought of that. The longer it had gone on and the more he was dealt these blows, these terrible truths of his own beloved sister's hate, he grew to desire a relinquishing from these bonds. To indeed be set free. To break the spell which was cast upon his armband, visible in the form of a shimmering, bulbous mass which enveloped it - and summon his mighty beast to lay siege to this petty ruin.

And crush all of these insurgent cowards.


But... he was glad to hear the dark elf's voice. Even if it was to be the last one he would hear.

Fieravene ​

 

[Fieravene]

The shadow fiend before him shivered in delight as he managed to look up. Oh good, there was still some fight left in him. Medja would be terribly distraught if she'd come all this way just to find him expired. Despite having no face to speak of, there was a curious suggestion of a smile drawn by the narrowing of the fiend's glowing eyes.

And I took everything from Nak'Ehim.

It regarded him for some moments more, seeming to consider options within the silence. He was weak and withered and she hadn't a good grasp on just how much longer it would take Medja to arrive. Fieravene dashed any thoughts of storming the temple on her own - she wasn't a hero, but perhaps she could provide him some semblance of hope.

Your reprieve is forthcoming, Vizier.

A shadowy had lifted to stroke along the side of his face, a sensation like a bitter breeze.

Now turn your head and cough.

A joke, maybe. The foggy limb snaked across his face and he'd feel, quite suddenly, that rush of bitter, poignant cold surging into his nostrils and over his tongue. Like a long inhale he just couldn't stop until every wisp of the figure before him was gone, leaving only the mass in the ceiling above. The chill saturated his being from the inside, a different sort of discomfort than what he was already experiencing. It did not heal, it did not soften his pain, and it did not set him free.

What it did was provide him a measure of fresh strength to continue carrying on. A second, ghastly wind.

 

[Ashuanar]

And I took everything from Nak'Ehim.

For the first time since he'd been here, a genuine smile found his lips. He was unsure at first, perhaps he had been delayed. But no, hearing the words from her was so much sweeter than his hopes. He attempted a pleased nod, likely a pitiful sight - thankful she would deliver this news to him before the end. In the following silence, he collected his thoughts. He fancied himself ready to die, he had done quite well. Vizier of the Imperial Army was no small feat, however embarrassing this kidnapping may be.

Your reprieve is forthcoming, Vizier.​

So.

They would come for him after all. If relief was the intended aim of her statement than she succeeded. Yes, he wanted this hell to end - more than anything he'd ever wanted before did he want it to end. But then after that, came the other. The thing that made him endure. Vengeance. To be by his hand would be sweet indeed - but another's would do just as well.

...cough? ​

The sudden sensation he felt was, indescribable. It was both terrible and beautiful, painful and soothing, all at once, and as it forced its way into his lungs it spilled over to fill every portion of his body with a newfound vigor. It was almost a fearful experience. His eyes opened wide and his head craned up, and he did turn his head and cough. He gathered himself, and he stood on his feet and relieved the incessant gouging the shackles had caused to his wrists. He stretched his back out, and though his body still screamed in pain to him with every movement, the rubbing of his tattered flesh, the aches of grievous wounds, they were nothing compared to the feeling of hanging there - pitifully.

But... not yet broken. The rage that boiled within mended any chance of that.

He looked up to the swirling dark cloud above, and expressed a wordless gratitude. Indeed, with everything he'd been through and the weakness he had felt, the simple ability to stand on his own two feet again was a tremendous blessing.

Fieravene ​

 

[Halul]

“Ya lahwy,” Mehmed whispered under his helmet as he looked upon the carnage left in Fieravene’s wake. The Immortal rode up next to Uvogin, who had followed close behind the sorceress up until she approached Nak’Ehim.

Nak’Ehim’s voice clearly traveled over still sands.

“Fan out,” Uvogin commanded to the six other Immortals, then looked to Mehmed, “with me, Lieutenant.”

The two Immortals rode up to Medha, who had the aforementioned snake within her grasp.

“That is no way to talk to a woman,” Mehmed playfully remarked as the pair came within earshot. A pair of crescent-shaped blades dangled on either side of the Immortal’s waist, and unlike the rest of their ilk, a hood was drawn up over his mask.

 

[Medja]

Medja's eyes narrowed on the Abtati traitor. Such fervor for one who had endured so much. Perhaps the pain had driven him mad with rage. The courtier glanced over him looking for some sign of a message left by Fieravene. Almost as if on queue, the long, purple grub creature snaked its way out of the bloody hole in the side of Nak's head where once there had been an ear. Ahh, of course; why leave a note when knowledge in its purest form was far more useful?

The sorceress quickly formed a little cage out of pebbles and encased the worm within it. The fact of the matter was that Nak'Ehim's was now a completely useless existence. Fiera had let him live solely so that Medja could deal the finishing blows. By the hundreds would that woman be rewarded by the end of this.

"My suffering... hah! It is nothing!"

An overwhelming, base feeling washed over the sorceress. She squinted, a wicked smile beginning to curl across her lips. It had been a few weeks at least since last she'd felt this...hunger. She giggled, playful and sadistic.

"Dear lieutenant. If you truly feel that way..." She brushed a hand tenderly across the traitor's face. Boundless anger and cruelty welled within her, but her face portrayed a nearly salacious expression. "I am more than willing to prove you wrong."

Grains of sand began to run off of her fingers and onto the man's face. Slowly they began to crawl across his face like endless fleas, each one making its way towards the man's eyes. Hundreds of tiny, abrasive pellets began methodically scraping across the surface of the man's eyeballs, while others pinned themselves between his lids and skin to prevent him from wrenching his eyes shut.

"I may not be as versed in the art of torture as the lovely Miss Fieravene, but do not mistake me, Nak'Ehim..." Her smile was slowly twisting into a snarl. "I know EXACTLY what causes the most pain to the body!"

Instantaneously, a six inch pillar of stone shot out from the ground on either side of each of Nak'Ehim's thighs, slamming into his legs at blinding speeds. Each pillar struck at such an angle and place to cause the man's femurs to snap with a sickening *crunch*. All the while, more and more sand continued to rip at his face and eyes.

Mehmed had been right: that had been no way to speak to a lady.

 

[Nak'Ehim Akanamar]

Nak'Ehim could do little more than writhe in tremendous discomfort as the grub dug itself out of the wound that was once his ear. Indeed, each had been lobbed off by that horrifying shadow, but he could still hear. At least in one ear. He growled with angry disgust as the thing wriggled free - and felt a peculiar emptiness at its departure. Almost like he halfway had forgotten... everything.

He recoiled from Medja's touch, even biting at her like some crazed animal would - to no avail.

"You are but a pitiful human," he started as the sands began to crawl across his skin, "and my creature will crush you in my - ah! Ah!!

Ahhhhh!"
​

It was slow. It was dreadfully painful. His eyes were torn to shreds in their sockets, snd the sand continued to burrow, drowning his screams and anguished cries as each of his legs were shattered, and made as jelly.

And there would be nothing more from him. Only muffled terror that faintly, slowly, growing quieter. He wished to shout fir mercy, but he could not. He wished for it to end, but he also wished to live!

Within the grub, unknown to its victim: a wealth of Nak'Ehim's considerable knowledge. All he had aspired to do, his associates, their strategies, his greatest secret. The false idol.

All of it. All of him. To be known completely by another.

And with its consumption, his failure was finally nearly complete.

 

[Medja]

"You are but a pitiful human,"

"Pitiful?! I am the greatest sorceress Amol-Kalit has ever known, you worthless wretch!" Sand began to whirl around her free arm as she shouted at the dying bastard. She pulled her arm back and poised to strike as the sand condensed into a spike. "Die, Nak'Ehim! Die knowing that you have failed, and that all you have worked towards will FALL. TO. ME."

She was beyond finished with him. With a grunt, Medja drove the stony spike forward into the man's chest. She watched his blood spill out, felt the spike pierce his heart, and reveled in the satisfaction of feeling it spasm with him until at last it went still.

With the traitor dead, she wrenched her spike from his chest and willed it to turn into a blade, wickedly sharp despite its composition. With one clean swipe she severed his head from his body and watched it tumble to the ground. Her smile was gone.

Medja turned to the Immortals who followed her, emerald eyes blazing with determination.
"Put the cur's head in a sack and bring me a flame. We are far from finished."

As she moved away from Nak's body she produced the little cage she had made for the creature which had stolen his memories. It almost sickened her that she'd have to take in anything belonging to that disgusting cretin, but there was satisfaction in knowing that his most well kept secrets were hers for the taking. All that was left now was to extract what he knew, eradicate this little rebellion, and to fulfill her promise to Ashuanar...

 

[Halul]

Mehmed and Uvogin shared a glance. With a nod from the captain, Mehmed dismounted his horse, retrieved a small sack from one of his horse's saddlebags, and bagged the head. He pat the horse’s neck, which had grown slightly agitated from the now-dead Nek'Ehim's screams, and returned to the sorceress.

"Well, now," Uvogin said, sliding off his horse and approaching the courtier, "what is that?"

He held his hand out to Medja, and a small ball of flame the size of an apple appeared there. A simple cantrip, with its use being limited to giving off light or to start a fire.

 

[Iesha]

Iesha's frustrated stride echoed through the stone corridors. Her irritation with Ashuanar was growing to be... difficult to manage. He had a formidable will, and she was beginning to believe that there would be nothing unveiled from him. They'd played many cards, and each hand had come up short.

Torches lined the walls, lighting her way. Given the state of the temple, there were many collapsed openings that barred any light. Much of the interior was shrouded in utter darkness all throughout the day. Some of the higher levels were still exposed, providing suitable vantage points for defending archers.

She rounded a corner and pushed open a large set of doors, whose hinges groaned under their weight. Within, a large lit room adorned with marvelous tapestries, suits of armor, and other likely valuable items. At it's center was a large, long table. At its head, in an obviously oversized chair - sat the product of Nak'Ehim's machinations. Arreg - the God Emperor's... replacement.

There were several of the rebellion's commanders sat with him, who promptly stood to leave upon her arrival. She stood patiently as they filed past her, and only once the doors were closed did he address her.

"Well," his voice boomed throughout the lesser hall, "does the scorpion speak?"

"He is as stubborn as he is foolish," she snapped, "he has revealed nothing other than flaunts of how quickly Gerra will crush us," her tone had grown to a playful one, "is there any more use for that... disgrace."

"A shame, to squander such a vibrant spirit. Any who could withstand your questioning could be..."

"... better off dead. Shall I?"

A lingering silence.

"No. Let him hang a while longer... you may needn't lift another finger - yet. I will have my final words with him."

Iesha was not particularily impressed by this, expecting him to likely also take the kill for his own, as some form of rite perhaps. For, she knew what Arreg was - but she was not certain he did. Maybe, finishing off the vizier for himself would remove any doubt - in his mind at least - of Nak'Ehim's plans, instilled upon him.

"Very well, send for me when you're ready."

Then she departed, heading to take up her place on watch. It was not that she was assigned to do so - no there were others who were. No she did as she pleased, and right now this would please her.

Fieravene Medja Uvogin​

 

[Medja]

Flame at the ready, Medja began to levitate the vessel containing the grub. It began to screech as she held it out over Uvogin's fire.

"what is that?"

"This, dear captain," She replied as the worm began to writhe within its bonds. "Is the key to finding our missing vizier."

Heinous, violet smoke began to pour from the cage as the creature immolated. Medja began to whisper an ancient chant as she closed her eyes and leaned her face into the column of smog. She inhaled the fumes as they rose and in turn was blessed with sight.

All was revealed: the temple hideout's location and layout; the rebels' numbers, their locations within the temple and their spies within the Empire; all of their plans, their desires; Nak'Ehim's summoning of some strange, twisted copy of Gerra, and the creature's nature; but perhaps, most enlightening of all...Iesha's involvement in all of this.

As the wave of memories rushed over her, two distinct lines of thought did as well. The first, that eradicating this uprising in its entirety would now be a much simpler task. Knowing the exact names, faces, and locations of every contact Nak'Ehim had would turn a process that would've lasted months into one that would only take days. Gerra would have no choice but to recognize her efficacy, her greatness.

On the other hand, the thought of Iesha's betrayal was sickening. Enraging, even. Medja had never even met the woman and she was furious. To squander one's own family in such a way...when the courtier had never even had one! She couldn't even imagine the pain Ashuanar must have been experiencing. Pain that Medja would alleviate.

When at last the worm had been burned away to ash, Medja scattered the stone cage to the wind and made to leave the area.

"All has been made clear. Let us be on our way."

 

[Halul]

"Oh," Mehmed, very quietly, exclaimed under his mask as the courtier leaned into the rising vapors and inhaled them. The captain, however, watched in uncomfortable silence until she finished the ritual. Though, at this point in knowing the sorceress, he was not a bit surprised in witnessing her inhalation of grub-fumes. Those that intensely studied in magic always were rather eccentric, or at least that was the conclusion Uvogin came to after years of dealing with those types.

As Medja scattered the cage, Uvogin closed his hand over the flame, snuffing it with a subtle hiss. He turned to the other Immortals that were spread around the gruesome display left behind the dark elf Fieravene and signaled for the soldiers to regroup.

"What did you learn?" Uvogin said as he mounted his horse.

 

[Medja]

"What did you learn?"

There was no need to share everything that she had picked up from her visions in the smoke, but sharing vital tactical information would be key in making sure this rescue was a success.

"It would be easier if I showed you." The sorceress stated flatly. She extended a hand and began to draw sand and stone alike from the ground beneath her. Shortly, the material began to form a scale replica of the rebels' hideout. It levitated alongside her as it came to completion. Then, she split it in half vertically so that the inside could be seen.

"A reconstruction of where we are headed. There are patrol paths here..." Medja took the next several minutes to educate Uvogin on the ins and outs of the rebel base, its defenders, the bizarre copy of Gerra, and any other useful information she could share. Forming a strategy for the raid would be his job, however. While Medja was fully capable of both fighting and scheming, battle tactics were something she felt was best left to the Immortal Captain.

"I am both willing and able to combat this mimic of Gerra as well as Iesha, their leader. However, I am counting on you and your men to give me the opening I need to confront them."

 

[Iesha]

Iesha's feet brought her back to the entrance of the temple. She exited, and came to stand by a couple of sentries who stood near a lit torch. They only nodded their greeting, breaking their vigil on the surround only enough to do so. Iesha more or less ignored then, except running her nails gently across the back of their necks as she went by.

They were all like pets to her.

Even Nak'Ehim had been little more than tool for her to use. If he did not return then, well... things with Arreg may not work out. Those were all his plans anyway. In the end, she had different intentions for how it all would go. She'd changed her mind before, and she'd do it again.

She came to stand back where she had been before, looking out to see the sorcerer's coming. But, she began to feel as though he would not be coming. Her brother's reaction was an indicator of this, as well as a gut feeling. As irritating as he could be, he was punctual. He'd likely been found out at this rate, but luckily getting information out of him was likely impossible.

He was such an ornary, obstinate elf that Nak'Ehim. No matter, if he were indeed out of the picture then that left her with the shots to call. All of them.

And luckily she knew of Arreg's unfortunate binding to Nak'Ehim. She had arranged for some... other donors.

About the temple, there were some hundred or so militant occupants. Many of them had divided themselves into groups of various number, ranging from 5 to 20. The smallest of those groups patrolled the interior, while the larger patrolled the perimeter. Archers were stationed at higher vantages, and a half a dozen sorcerers bolstered their defenses with wards and spells. But, none of them were quite so affluent as Nak'Ehim. Novices, really.

Despite all their heart, they were little more than a rag-tag group of miscreants. But they displayed a formidable grasp of their duties, and for all their inadequacies they would fight for Iesha with a fiery passion. They believed Arreg the true king, the true prophesied djinn - and her and Nak'Ehim his devout followers and messengers.

While she had her own schemes, their zealous loyalty blinded them to her beguiling ways.

 

[Halul]

Uvogin removed his helmet as Medja showed him the detailed image of the hideout. It was a feast of information, with every detail being spoon-fed to the captain. The eight Immortals were severely outnumbered, though, with the knowledge shared by the sorceress, their numbers meant nothing.

"Immortals!" Uvogin called for his men, and when they gathered, he repeated the information to them. "Commit this to memory," he commanded.

In the coming months, the Madrasa of War would finally bear fruit. The Immortals, which initially numbered in the tens, would soon grow at an exponential rate. Gerra would, one day, have a formidable fighting force comprised of only the most devout, fearsome, and loyal soldiers that Amol-Kalit has ever seen.

However, only former mercenaries stood around Uvogin at that moment. They were the best he could find- cold, efficient, and professional killers; it was something that was often forgotten about the Immortals, due to their primary task of guarding the Emperor. To be forgotten- underestimated- was a boon. Uvogin and his killers were overlooked, and by the time the rebels realize the danger they possess, it would be far too late.

The captain studied the courtier, a woman devoted to appearances, and then back to the etchings in the sand.

"Consider it done," he said to her, "when we are finished, all you will need to do is walk in."

He turned his attention to his second-in-command, "Mehmed, you will take Yousef and ride ahead of us. You know the vantages of the temple. Cut their eyes out, see that we may approach unobserved."

"Yes." And with that, two of the Immortals rode away.

Uvogin figured that by the time the rest of them arrived, all that would need to be dealt with are the sentries on the ground and within the temple. However, they knew the paths that patrols regularly took. Their obedience and discipline would prove to be their undoing.

"When we arrive, we operate in groups of two. Head off the patrols, ambush their sentries. Caglar, see to it that their wards are rendered useless."

Uvogin finally rose and clapped his hands, "Yalla! We leave now."

 

[Medja]

The courtier was confident in the abilities of Uvogin and his men. Since their little tryst she had done quite a bit of research on the captain and learned of his service record. He would've made a fine agent in her network was he not already the owner of such an illustrious position and title.

Medja made her way back to her own chariot. The ride ahead would take some time, and she had some things to prepare on the way...

Later...

Uvogin had been right: all she had to do was walk in to the ruins. As the sorceress approached the entrance to the ruins she could see that the ground was littered with corpses, all that remained of the sentries and patrols that had guarded the exterior of the rebel base. A mere eight men had slaughtered dozens upon dozens of rebel soldiers. These former mercenaries were exceedingly skilled. It was almost frightening.

The information that had been drawn from Nak'Ehim was invaluable. The Immortals had been able to exploit their every weakness, their exact timing. There was no need for a loud entry, no need to storm the walls with the force of the earth at her side. Now she needed only to deal with any she encountered along the way to Ashuanar's prison...though she had a feeling that Fieravene had likely dealt with a great many of them.

Earthen Fists followed her as she silently reached the entrance to the ruins. She stared up at the massive latticework of stone above the archway, contemplative.
You're next, Iesha...I shall make you regret ever coming up with this scheme.

 

[Fieravene]

In Ashuanar's cell the roiling mass of black fog remained silently churning along the ceiling for quite some time. Then, after several hours, it began to shift and slither. Dozens upon dozens of black tendrils slowly descended the walls around him until the entirety of the mass billowed across the floor. Filtering across the sand and stone, it pressed through cracks in the door and out into the hallway.

It crept along all dimensions of the narrow corridor, vines of effervescent mist traveling past guards standing at attention, seeking out the one who would so boldly claim to be in charge.

Iesha.

It found her after a short search, and with a frenetic purpose did suddenly billow around the elf, prickling and cold as the abyss of oblivion. Soon she would be surrounded and find herself quite ... disheveled and disoriented.

Couldn't have her running off now that the cavalry had arrived, could they?

 

[Iesha]

​

Iesha had kept watch for a time. As the night drove on it became apparent that he was not coming. Arreg had came to her, and mentioned that he felt... different. Iesha of course knew what this meant. Nak'Ehim had been kidnapped - but also killed. Arreg percieved this through the binding of his creation. In little more than a month's time he would be reduced to dust - but the residual magics Nak'Ehim had bound to some artifact of his, and crafted Arreg around, would maintain him in the interim until hopefully another suitable mage could be acquired. She had one in mind, but she'd need to leave this place with haste.

So as she walked through the torchlit hall, it took some time before she realized that she had not encountered any patrol for some time. Her mind had wandered while the darkness crept in around her, and as it began plume up around her, she screeched out some elven curse and thrashed out with sharpened nails, to no avail...

"You are doomed."

She hollered out, and from where she had spoken to Arreg out came a couple of Abtati. One of them was a sorcerer - a meager one at that, but he attempted to dispel the dark mist all the same with some conjuring of light and wind.

Frustration enveloped her as she realized that this was likely only the beginning of had been started. She yelled back through the mist and the hall back to Arreg.

"Kill the vizier!"

So much for that...

​

Ashuanar did little more than stand quietly, and wait. From time to time he had called upon the Band of Serqet to summon his monsters and break these chains, but whatever spells had been cast upon it kept his voice from reaching it. No matter, for the moment.

Fieravene had afforded him a welcome reprieve. Though his body was pained greatly, and not a part of him seemed spared from the lash, or the rod, or the fire. Burns here, tattered skin there. But he took comfort in that since he'd been able to hold his head up, the swelling around his eye had gone down and he could see well again - for all there was to see in this dark hall. But... he could hear.


The distant clang of steel in the night...

He heard shouting...

Heavy footsteps, drawing near...

​

 

[Halul]

Bodies, limp and lifeless, hung above the temple's entrance, suspended by ropes. Walking past the cold, ruthless carnage, one could see that all of the guards died in a similar manner; a single, decisive killing blow. The captain approached Medja under the entrance.

"We will follow your lead," Uvogin said, eyeing one of the hanging bodies. Mehmed, aware of the sorceress' nature, left them hanging only for her viewing pleasure. "Any more of the rebels that we encounter along the way will be dealt with."

His lieutenant would likely be inside, hunting what rebels remained deep within the temple.