Fable - Ask Re-secured Assets | The Empire

[Medja]

Mehmed's "decorations" were well appreciated by the courtier. Would that she had more than a few moments to admire his handiwork, but the group needed to press on.

Medja nodded to Uvogin, ready to make the final push at last. The first step would be getting to Ashuanar's cell and ensuring his safety. It wouldn't be a difficult task. The visions the smoke had granted her alongside her own magic would make navigating the ruins child's play.

The sorceress dove inside, running her fingers along the walls as she traveled down the ancient corridors. Every room was made known to her, and every vibration of every unfamiliar footfall indicated an area to be avoided if possible. Of course, the immortals and herself could likely take any would-be interlopers with ease, but doing so would deny them vital seconds that they had to reach Ashuanar.

The advance scouts that the they had sent ahead, namely Fiera and Mehmed, had proven to be both competent and reliable. A series of quietly assassinated sentries led a trail like breadcrumbs through the dilapidated fortress, which Medja followed with punctilious focus. As the group dove deeper into the ruins, however, she felt and heard the disturbance ahead: shouting, shoving, heavy footfalls. Someone else was making for their intended destination, ahead of their group.

Time was almost out. A fork in the path presented itself. Medja stretched her senses out...to the right, a room full of soldiers. To the left, a dead end...but one that could be manipulated into a short cut large enough for her to slip through.
"Uvogin, I will need to go alone from here." She looked to the Immortal captain, faith in him apparent in her expression. "More soldiers will likely come...I will need a distraction. Leave the doppelganger to me."

Without another word, Medja slipped off down the left path and into a collapsed room. Working quickly, she began moving and twisting the rubble within into a tunnel. She had no time to do so quietly; her actions would more than likely alert those nearby to her presence. It did not matter any longer. Moments later, the rubble was a storm of stone and dust which she moved through, descending further into the fort and defying its architecture.

When the storm finally came to a halt, she found herself in a room, large and open, save for a barred cell bearing the battered form of Ashuanar...and the clone behemoth that was Arreg, who was almost to the cell himself. Not a moment to spare...

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar watched the doorway carefully. The footsteps drew near, and then the doors once more flung open. Marching down the great hall toward him were five figures. Four were undoubtedly his own Abtati brethren, traitorous as they were. The fifth, was the taller one - the one he knew as Gerra's imposter. The sight of him sickened Ashuanar - but as they approached he grew even more apprehensive. He guessed their intent - he'd been little use to them, and if their ploy was coming to and end then they likely wished for him to fall with them.

He straightened himself as they came near. If the opportunity to fight, or struggle, presented itself... but alas. They took up a formation around him, and the four Abtati revealed their hands as they wove together their magic and prepared to attack him.

Then, Medja appeared...!

Two of the Abtati attacked her with their magic. Paltry attempts against the courtier by his estimation, but it would no doubt entertain her. The other two however had hurried over to Arreg, and placed their hands upon him - strengthening him. Afterward those two also moved to attack Medja as Arreg came upon him, smashing his cell open with the swipe of his hand and took a few heavy steps forward, reaching out to grab him with one of his massive hands.

"Join me now, Ashuanar... or die."

Iesha leapt away from the darkness that had found her. Long strides carried her far, but while the others may have started on her way to Arreg's side, she chose another route.

Her part in this was done, and if she could get away from this maybe she could enact some other scheme.

She bound through one corridor and then the next, leading her to what seemed like a chasm in the depths of the temple. She leapt down into it, several meters deep. Her feet landed in shallow water, and she bound across the chasm - which at one point had been a level floor in the lower level of the temple. At the far end was a dark corridor - an escape route. After a hundred meters or more she'd find herself in the outside world again to make her escape.

If she made it that far.

 

[Fieravene]

Iesha would make it down that dark corridor unhindered. She'd find her escape route to the surface unimpeded. There, at the end of it all, the silver light from beyond poured in through the narrow opening. Just beyond, standing off to the side pressed against the outer wall, the same dark figure that had haunted Nak'Ehim's final hours stood silently in wait.

Muffled footsteps, shallow breaths, a rapid heartbeat. It felt all these things on the air, in its veins, seeped into its bones. Iesha had unknowingly inhaled black mist upon first encounter, and now it was within her. As she stepped out into sand bathed by moonlight, the realm seemed to slow, seemed to still. It had nothing to do with the bending of time and everything to do with that darkness seeping into her mind like a bad dose of spice.

Sand shifted beneath black clad boots behind her, soundless. The mass that stepped into Ieasha's footprints reflected not, gleamed not, sang not. The void greedily devoured all light around it, all energy, all sound.

But the very peculiar ringing of an obsidian blade freed from its sheath did strike a devastating chord within her bones. Two red eyes opened, balefully glowing in the fathoms. Time's up.

 

[Medja]

Arcane bolts whipped through the air at the Abtati warriors' command. Paltry magics, unfit to grace the same room Medja occupied. The Fists of Aramekh spun about, effortlessly swatting the bolts from the vicinity in front of her. The sorceress thrust a hand upwards and a wall of sand swept up between her and the warriors. She needed a moment to breath, one moment only.

Medja turned quickly to face Arreg as he reached for Ashuanar and extended her arm, palm open. She had seen beforehand what the creature was made of: nothing more than clay and sand like any golem she herself had made. That would be his downfall...the construct would suddenly feel his entire body seize up, unable to move of his own accord any longer as Medja's earth magic wracked his form.

"Oh, you poor, poor thing. Still haven't figured it out yet, have you?" She taunted the beast, wicked smile forming. She balled her hand into a fist and swung it towards the wall of sand she had created. Arreg was flung from the cell, through the sandy barrier, and smashed heavily into a surprised looking Abtati on the opposite side. The force of the impact sent the warrior barreling back into a wall where he smashed his skull upon the stone.

"None of you seem to understand: you're all doomed." Medja announced. She began to wave her arms about elegantly as though she was conducting an orchestra and the slaughter began. Screams filled the air as the Fists grabbed one of the warriors around the chest and waist and promptly snapped his spine backwards. Arreg's arms were forcibly shoved into another warrior's chest cavity, whereafter he was made to rip the man in two. The final soldier attempted to flee the room and was promptly smashed between two slabs of rock as the door frame slammed closed around him.

All that remained now was tending to Ashuanar and detaining this wretched clone. The Fists of Aramekh seized the brute by the wrists and pinned him to a wall at Medja's direction, then she floated gracefully to where the man knelt on the floor within his cell. She went about breaking his bonds...magical though they were, they were designed to suppress the victim, not to resist her own brew of destructive magic.

"I apologize for the wait, dear vizier." She whispered softly, offering him a drink from her canteen.

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar readied himself for the doppelganger's grasp, and was surprised to see it's hand stayed by the courtier's magic. Arreg groaned out against it, but was powerless despite the arcane augmentations of the Abtati. They were nothing next to her sway over ther very fabric of the imposter's being.

To say it delighted him to see the creature used as a puppet for its own minions' demise... was an understatement.

Despite his fatigue, he reveled in the slaughter that ensued following Medja's arrival. Watching his tormentors dismantled with such brutality was a feast for his wearied soul. When it was done, and Arreg stood drenched in the blood of his own foolish follower, Ashuanar nodded his head approvingly, however weak it was.

One bond loosed.

And then the other.

One arm reached down and steadied him where he knelt.

"I apologize for the wait, dear vizier."

His hand trembled as it reached, and as it brought the water to his parched lips. He drank, but it pained him, so he took only a few small sips to start and slowly he rose to stand. Then, eyes that were sharp enough to pierce - not Medja, not her no. No, he offered all the ease he could for her, but there was something yet that plagued him - something that drove the gears in his mind to turn with a frenzied fervor. This was not yet over - and he would see it done before his mind find rest.

"where, is my sister."

Iesha

​

It had taken a few moments, but even when it enveloped her its effect was not something she fully understood. She perceived the darkness around her, and she thrashed out at it to no avail. While she tried to move, something hindered her. And behind her, someone, or some thing drew closer to her. She could not bear to look as the fear gripped her, instead yearning and urging harder to get herself free.

But even as the dark one came upon her, she refused to fully surrender. She fought for all she could.

 

[Fieravene]

Slow, steady movement brought the fiend closer to Iesha. It approached her not with caution, but with patience and purpose. The elf flailed as the darkness in her mind sent her reeling, the world about her spinning and heaving. A bad ride, a worse high. One of her arms nearly took the fiend's head off, the shadow curved to the side to avoid. An elbow followed by a fist came sailing next, it leaned back out of reach.

Iesha struggled with herself more than anything, twisting and flailing and striking at assailants that weren't even there. Fieravene waited for the other woman to swivel, leaving her backside open, and struck out at the base of her skull. Black armored fingers ensnared with woman within a painful grasp, digits curling around the back of her neck where the wisps of black began to lick at her. Iesha would feel the instant erosion of her lifeforce as it was pulled into oblivion, leeching all manner of energy, thought, and feeling.

What did it feel like to have one's soul slowly sucked from their mortal coil? Fieravene thought she recalled the reverent agony of the process but, truthfully, she could not pick it out of all other such memories. She was almost jealous of the clarity Iesha would have of this very moment.

A moment that ended just as suddenly as it began. Fiera released her with a shove to the ground.

The fiend waited a moment to let the elf gather her bearings, catch her breath, comprehend the horror of what just happened to her. Then that hideous blade sang through the air and cleaved her feet from her legs right at the ankles.

 

[Iesha]

Iesha froze stiff when Fiera's grasp took hold of her. Then, it felt as though the very fibers of her being were being torn in half as the essence of her soul was forcibly removed from her. She collapsed to the ground with a hard gasp, and clawed to get herself away from her assailant.

But before she could manage to get very far, a sharp, burning sensation found her as her feet were promptly severed.

She cried out a horrible, and terrified screech that howled out deep into the night. Still, she tried to pull herself away, but in her heart she knew this was it.

 

[Medja]

"where, is my sister."

Almost as if on queue, a woman's screams began to ring through the halls of the ruins, even above the sounds of clashing blades and a struggling half-giant doppelganger. They weren't the familiar tones of Fieravene, either, which meant that the drow had likely found her target. Medja smirked, both at the sound and the thought.

"I do believe she's being dealt with." She placed a hand on his chest tenderly, keeping him from trying to rise. He looked to be in a sorry state, and any strenuous activity now would likely cause permanent damge. "Rest now, Ashuanar. You have earned that much."

Medja felt across the ground with her fingertips. All throughout the ruins she could sense the discord she and her allies had sown. The Immortals cleaved through the ranks of rebels like a scythe through wheat. Fiera dragged an incapacitated Iesha down a hallway. Arreg was left helpless by her own hand.

All in all this had been markedly more easy than she had expected it to be. Such is the result of choosing one's allies carefully, she decided. The sorceress ran her fingers through the soft hair atop Ashuanar's head to comfort him and smiled. This ordeal was surely drawing to a close.

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar's heart nearly leapt out of his chest for joy at the sound of that distant agony. It was a twisted thing, even in this moment he knew, to take so much pleasure in the misfortune of his own blood. But attached to the thought was no remorse, no guilt. Those things had been stolen from him. And if his will be done, they would die along with the memory of his sister in this god forsaken place.

He surrendered to Medja's touch, gently urging him to remain where he was. While in spirit he did not wish to, his body was all to willing to obey. He was indeed in a pitiful state, covered in cuts, gashes, bruises and blood - both dried and still dripping. He was weak, but with the comfort that came from Medja's presence his breathing grew soft. But as the tension began to ease his body felt the pain, and stiffened once more.

He grimaced, frustrated with his condition. He wished to exact his own vengeance, by his own hand. But by the hands of these loyal friends he would certainly be content with.

Across the chamber, the fabrication struggled against the bonds of Medja's magic. Obviously Nak'Ehim had been a fool and underestimated the prowess ofvthe courtier's abilities. Ashuanar had made that mistake once - thankfully he had been wise enough to see the folly in that misconception.

In fact he quickly had come to see quite the opposite - and this operation was a perfect example of what he'd come to percieve. He was unsure of what his station would come to be - no doubt his position had been filled, but regardless: he would personally see that Gerra is well apprised of all that had occured here this night, and recommend the courtier's elevation within the Divan. Perhaps to even take his place.

He let out as pleasant a hum as his hoarse voice could at her touch through his hair. He felt somewhat ashamed for her to see him in this state, but those thoughts would soon be forgotten.

His eyes rose to meet hers, "then we have but this... Imposter, to deal with."

Arreg's dismay was on full display. His very own body worked against him, and no matter how hard he struggled he could not defeat whatever force it was that bound him. He roared out in protest, strained himself as far as he could - but all the while the words resonated within him.

"Oh, you poor, poor thing. Still haven't figured it out yet, have you?"

He had gotten the feeling some time ago - it was strange. It was as though he had known that Nak'Ehim had perished. But, it had been but a fleeting thought, dismissed as nothing more than speculative. But... he had felt so sure. And now he felt that this sorceress had more control over him than could be possible.

Imposter...? he thought to himself, No... I am the god of these sands... as was foretold!

Wasn't he?​

Medja | Fieravene ​

 

[Fieravene]

That same hand, the one that had dared to siphon away everything that made the elf what she was, reached for her again and grabbed her by the scruff of her clothing. Mere proximity to the ghastly armor was enough to continue stealing away her life energies, as such it would continue to drain her as the fiend picked her from the ground and dragged her back into that dark and silent tunnel.

There whatever sounds she made would echo like wailing banshees off walls of stone, out into the night air and back into the temple complex. Perhaps her cries would haunt this place for the remainder of its standing years. Fiera would not linger to find out, nor had she any intention of returning to this crumbling site.

Upon reaching the entrance to the narrow escape route Iesha found herself deposited in the doorway. She'd left a trail of blood from her bleeding stumps all the way in along the hall. No telling just how much blood there was left to leak, but that was no longer the fiend's concern. Its duty was done here, the Vizier was saved. Now there were simply some loose ends to tie up; several abtati traitors making a break for it out the back. She'd watched them slip away on their horses, hoping to find refuge elsewhere, sow seeds of dissent in places and minds anew.

Not if she had anything to do about it.

Red eyes turned down to Iesha, searching her figure for a weapon and finding a nicely crafted elven dagger at her hip. Fiera reached down to relieve her of it, forcefully took up one of Iesha's arms by the wrist, and held it against the nearest stone wall. To ensure the traitor would not be going anywhere while left unattended, that dagger was plunged through her wrist with one swift and decisive movement, sinking the blade into the stone.

Straightening herself, Fiera's baleful gaze turned back down the hall that lead further into the complex. Her elfish ears could pick up the sounds of voices. Iesha's captors would be arriving shortly. Without further ado the dark elf turned and departed from the scene, back out the escape route, back out into the night. She mounted her black steed and rode off, after those who so believed they were free of their consequences.

 

[Medja]

'then we have but this... Imposter, to deal with."

Medja smirked knowingly. She turned to acknowledge the doppelganger and delighted in his apparent confusion. It seemed that he himself had been made to believe a lie about his very existence.

"The impostor is dealt with already. He was bound to your subordinate's life force, a life force which I snuffed out. He will crumble to dust in a matter of days." She stood and took flight once again. She meandered over to Arreg's bound form and pondered over him, placing a contemplative hand on her face. "Perhaps I will keep the amulet that serves as your core as a trinket. You can live the rest of your meager existence in a glass case. How does that sound?"

She laughed triumphantly, then traced the shape of a rectangle in the air. The segment of wall that Arreg was bound to loosed itself and floated after her. It would be both easy and safe to transport the foul imitation this way. She quickly cast a similar spell in Ashuanar's direction to raise the section of floor he was lying on up, this time more for his comfort and safety than anything else. She would not have him injured further during their return travel.

"Come, Ashuanar. I have a gift for you. From the moans of agony, I do believe it is near and ready."
With a come-hither motion she directed the stone slabs to follow her, leading both to the pained cries of Iesha nearby. Fieravene was truly an incredible woman. She had done everything Medja had asked and far, far more. She could hardly wait to shower the she-elf in rewards and affection.

It didn't take long to find the source of the pained crying among the bodies littered about by the Immortals. Ashuanar's sister was in a sorry state. Iesha would likely die of exsanguination soon...that wouldn't do at all. Medja let some of her bandages slip free from her form. They slithered along the ground like serpents and wrapped themselves around the stumps where Iesha's feet once were.

"I give you your sister, dear vizier, to do with as you please. Just as long as you don't let her go, of course." Medja announced, pride and self-satisfaction practically dripping from her tone. Victory and vengeance were positively delicious.

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar watched as Medja taunted Arreg. It would be a lie to say he wouldn't prefer to do it himself... but watching Medja work was something he found himself taking a great satisfaction in. A smile crept across his lips as she teased keeping the doppelganger's remains as little more than a paper weight. A fitting end to this heinous perversion of his revered Emperor's visage.

It startled him at first, the sensation of the stone beneath him rising into the air. But that was quickly exchanged for a sense of relief - he surely did not feel up to the challenge of carrying his own weight out of this damned place.

Speaking of which, he would see to its leveling when all this was done with. Personally.

"I give you your sister, dear vizier, to do with as you please. Just as long as you don't let her go, of course."

Let her go?

A humorous prospect.

Ashuanar carefully slid himself from atop the stone slab. He betrayed a little weakness in his step, but in his eyes burned a strength - so hot he could almost sear the image of his sister into the very ground on which she laid, reduced to utter ash with his fury. He came next to her, knelt down, and forcefully her grabbed her jaw in his bloodied hand. He stared deeply into her eyes, and forbade her from looking away.

"No, no...she may never leave..." he squeezed her cheeks, threatening to proceed in finishing her here and now, "...but you will live a long life yet...

...my dear sister."

​