Fable - Ask The daughter of Soleiman..

[Nym]

The windows only served as a torment to her.. They were more like paintings, now, a decoration of the walls from which the sun streamed like a flamboyant guest, not waiting for an invitation. Her bare feet could feel where the rays warmed the cool tiled floors as she paced, back and forth, a caged animal losing it's mind in captivity. Again she insisted on torturing herself by returning to the window, she'd lost count of the times she'd leaned out of it to stare across Ragash from the great gold-tipped monoliths of the palace. The birds traveled past, buffeted by the winds that whistled through the towers, as if to remind her that she was in their space now.

Fine, she'd been deprived of no necessities and her chambers were comfortably befitted and decorated with the most sumptuous of silks and marble. She had an open porch at the front of the room, held up with most ostentatiously detailed pillars, painted in gold leaf. But they might as well have been bars, a prison was what it was to her, a beautiful prison.

A litter of silverware, fruits and smashed bottle of wine lay by the locked door. She had the temper of her father at times, and she'd been demanding to see her family for too long now. She rubbed gingerly at her hands, bruised from battering them against the door, but she persisted and returned every so often to scream out at the men who stood guard outside to no avail.

She'd stopped eating almost two days ago. Yet still servants came to her with trays of food which she used instead as projectiles, and each time the door opened she ran for it only to be restrained and shoved back inside by men much taller than she.

"Am I to stay in this room forever?!" Nym screamed again, her voice broken with rage. "Let me out! I demand to see my family!" she banged on the door with each word as though they were exclamation marks of what she had to say, fuelled by primitive rage. "You cannot keep me here!" she growled and turned her back to the door and slid to the floor, her heart thudding against her ribs.

 

[Gerra]

The door flew open and an Immortal stared down at her. All gender and identity hid behind a scowling mask and a suit of blackened armor and robes an equal shade of night, revealed only when he spoke - voice surprisingly young, but full of that zeal that comes with youth.

“Stop your shrieking. Your family is being well cared for, but you cannot see them yet. The emperor has decreed that you may roam the palace. Don’t try to escape, you’ll just end up back here.”

The man’s hand rested casually on the hilt of his scimitar. An unspoken threat.

“Understand? Go on then... your highness.”

He stood aside to let her pass.

 

[Nym]

The young woman pulled herself backward across the tiles to stare up at the ominous figure with a look of defiance, and she pulled herself to her feet, smoothing out her well fitted silks and lifting her chin. Permitted was she? Her jaw clenched and she moved past the enforcer with a scowl “Wonderful. A larger prison...how kind of the Emperor..” she stopped and glared for a moment, dropping her gaze to the scimitar and the not so subtle hint “Why must you all look so ghoulish?..” she muttered though did not wait for an answer, and strode out of the room, stepping over the mess the various edibles that peppered the floor.

Eyes were on her, in doorways, on the steps, under the archways, by the fountain.. She was on a mission however, and would not stop her ‘shrieking’. Her voice carried easily now with the acoustics of the palace, echoing in the domes and archways and along corridors as she called out for her family “Mother?!....MOTHER!?!?” she yelled furiously, banging on more doors, her feet carrying her between them as quickly as they could without breaking into a run.

 

[Gerra]

A door finally opened. In the archway stood a figure whose frame towered so high his head was nearly level with the door frame. Eyes like simmering coals stared down at her from a face with obsidian skin and hair the pallor of fire. He wore no crown, but he did not need one.

None could mistake him for any but Hasuras na-Gerra, Lord of Fire, God-Emperor of Amol-Kalit.

His features were as expressionless as carved stone or marble. Austere. Regal. Save for the gaze that smoldered with intensity.

“Ah, Soleiman’s daughter. I had hoped to meet you,” he rumbled, voice rich and fathomlessly deep. “But not in these circumstances.”

 

[Nym]

Nym had been told countless stories about the Lord of Fire. But it suddenly occurred to her that they'd been entirely true as the imposing giant stood in the doorway and without meaning to, she backed straight into the closed door opposite, her fingers splaying on the wood as though trying to find something to grip. "Gerra.." she breathed out before she could stop herself. Nym wasn't easily unnerved. She was stupidly defiant at times..

That unfamiliar sort of fear coursed in her veins, but it never made it to her facial muscles, her expression set to casual indifference as she regarded the man and lifted her chin. "And in what circumstances would you have preferred exactly?" her voice betrayed not her fear, but her rage, and she found her splayed fingers curled back into tightly knit fists and she considered throwing them at the man, but what good would that do? Her jaw clenched, and the fury bled into her emerald gaze, turning it glassy. "I wish to see my mother and brothers. I'll assume you know where they are being held." she frowned at him, her chest rising and falling quickly as her lungs recovered from their screaming and shouting, though her heart took over the race and picked up pace.

 

[Gerra]

Gerra’s expression softened.

“I am sorry, princess, but I cannot allow that,” he said, not unkindly. “It is too dangerous to have you all in one place. The rebels still wish for your heads. I restrain them, but they pull at the leash.”

He reached out and rested a large hand on her shoulder.

“I do not want to see you come for harm.”

 

[Nym]

She bit down on the inside of her lip, her features exuding an acid like animosity - burning, slicing, potent. Her cheeks were hot with suppressed rage, and when the large hand fell upon on her shoulder, she swung around and mentally snapped. "Don't touch me." she stepped back and glared up at him. "Is that why I am held here against my will? So that you can protect me from harm?" she laughed under her breath. "We were tricked here, we could have gone anywhere, but here you can keep your fiery eyes on us."

She silenced for a moment, having trouble bringing the question to her dark lips.. "I hear whispers of what happened in the hallway but nobody will speak with me. Are they true?". Her father was dead, she'd known that, but whispers of betrayal and garish stories of how her father met his end had preyed on her mind. Her father had not been a pleasant man and she knew that, but he was her father and their relationship had been a loving one..

 

[Gerra]

His fingers slipped from her shoulder as she stepped backward. Gerra watched her, expression sorrowful.

"Yes. Slain outside the walls by the very necromanced undead he had paid to protect him. I wish I could say his death was swift. Painless."

The emperor sighed.

"It was not. Harrier's minions tore him apart, then she fled. I am sorry. Truly, I am. I would have liked to meet your father. I will not lie to you and say we could have become friends... but there is much I would have liked to discuss with him."

He shook his head.

"Harrier stole that opportunity from me, as she stole your father's life. This is why you must be protected. There are forces outside this palace that are a danger to you. And some inside as well, I fear."

 

[Nym]

Every word he spoke stung, only fuelling the fire seed she’d swallowed, and it grew in her belly and shook her stoney expression from sorrow to fury. Her heart ached for her tyrannous father, a carousel of fabricated images of his realisation and demise spinning in her mind, each one more terrible than the last.

A tear fell. She wiped it quickly with a fingertip, quietly hissing at his words and she looked away from him. She knew well what happened to the families of usurped rulers, there was no one other than her mother and brothers that she could trust and she craved the comfort of them. “Yes I expect there will be.” she scowled and looked up at him. “But we are safe with you, Gerra, are we not?” She spoke with a hint of disdain, clearly not believing her own words “And so surely my mother and I can meet in your company.” she frowned.

“Are they really safe?......” she asked after a long pause, her mind racing with yet more disturbing thoughts.

 

[Gerra]

A hand reached out and cupped her face. A gentle thumb stroked her cheek, wiping away the wetness of the tear.

“They are,” said the emperor softly. “I would not lie to you.”

 

[Nym]

Nym growled quietly at his persistence to grip her face and she looked up at the giant. She'd learned so far that those who made a point of telling her they wouldn't lie to her, were generally lying to her. "Then show me. And perhaps I'll hush about it." her jaw clenched. It was the last time she was going to ask so politely, he was avoiding it for some reason, and she didn't believe they were alive at all.

"And my father's men. Were any of them spared?.." she lifted a brow. She'd known many of her father's army from birth, some were as much family to her as her own blood.

 

[Gerra]

He felt the muscles of her jaw writhe in anger beneath his hand, tightened by the depth of her rage. Gerra knew that emotion well. An overwhelming grip on the heart that brought catharsis when unleashed.

"There were prisoners," Gerra said, tone still soft, "But they are under the care of the rebel leaders who now run the city before Ashuanar's return. It was part of the terms of their joining the empire. I do not know how they are treated..."

The emperor dropped his hand, brows knitting.

"Perhaps you would be happy to know that I executed the mercenary captains that betrayed your father. Their loyalty was too easily purchased by coin. Come, walk with me. We are near the Room of the Golden Pond."

 

[Nym]

Her eyes closed for a moment as he spoke of her father’s men as prisoners and she sighed deeply. Everything was a mess.

She dipped her chin with a nod as he spoke of her fathers traitors “That pleases me somewhat. If what you say is true.” she lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, and turned on her heels to walk with him as per his request.

Once again he had avoided her request to let her see that her mother and brothers were safe. “And what of us, Gerra. My family and I? How long are we to be kept here under your protection? And what then. You will just let us go free?” Her arms folded, her brows raising in question.

 

[Gerra]

They passed through the halls of the palace, feet trodding on many-colored tiles of blue and white and gold. Above them, vaulted ceilings rose and fell in rippling waves, intricately carved in mesmerizing patterns.

“No princess,” Gerra shook his head. “I cannot let you go. You know this, in your heart. You knew it before you asked. I do not want you or your family to be my hostages, but if I let you go you know as well as I do that in ten years or less you or one of your brothers would return to Salitra with an army, intent on reclaiming their birthright.”

They turned a corner, golden light shimmered across the walls, like an ocean of liquid gold.

“So I will keep you safe and well cared for... until I can find a better solution.”

 

[Nym]

Nym paused for a moment, his words rendering her mind too flooded with panic to allow her feet to move and there was a distance in her eyes. A better solution?

She started walking again and caught up with him. "I can assure you, my family and I want nothing more than to be far from this place without intention of returning." she told him, but they both knew the minds of men and how little boys strived to follow in their fathers' footsteps. She couldn't speak for her brothers, but she didn't want it. Nym had been a well kept secret and a well cared for prisoner for most of her life. What she wanted was freedom.

She stepped up onto the wall that surrounded the golden pond and turned to him, even then she had to look up. "Safe and cared for...Why? What sort of solution?" she frowned, she felt like a lamb being fed for slaughter. Nym could think of no other solution to quell his fears other than to snip the loose ends to ensure they wouldn't strangle his hold on his kingdoms in future. It is what her father would have done.

 

[Gerra]

“No return? I doubt that very much.”

The half-giant stared down at his reflection in the pond.

“And the solution? I’m not yet sure.”

 

[Nym]

Nym frowned, clenching and unclenching her hands as she thought for a moment. She glanced around the room before stepping along the wall to stand in front of him.. "Perhaps.. If I swore my loyalty to you.." she lifted a hand to place it on his chest, trying not to look as afraid as she felt as she stood so close to him, staring back at his molten gaze.. "I could do your bidding for you."

Soon her body pressed against him too, her head tilting suggestively, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. Nym had been relieved of her weapons when she'd been brought in, but they hadn't bothered to check her hair, and the bejewelled spike she'd worn to keep it drawn back from her face. Her hand lifted to remove it, letting her wavy dark hair fall onto her shoulders with a smile, as though the sole purpose was to please him.

Without a flinch in her expression, she lifted the spike to slam it hard into the emperor's chest, where she could only assume his heart should be.

 

[Gerra]

The emperor frowned as she pressed against him, her body warm, her look inviting. He opened his mouth to speak, then felt the sudden flash of agony as she drove a spike into his chest.


He grunted in pain and pulled out the spike, staring as hot blood dribbled down its length and onto his fingers. His knees felt suddenly weak, his fingers numb.

The spike slipped from his grasp and he fell face forward into the pond with a splash. In seconds, the shimmering surface grew dark with his blood.

 

[Nym]

She let out a gasp as the spike met its purpose, staring at him wide eyed as he realised, and she stepped out of his way as he crumbled forward into the golden pond.

She watched as the water darkened, no longer reflecting the good of the ceiling as the emperor’s blood spread through it. The splash had been heard and there were footsteps from so many directions, echoing, but she struggled to tear her gaze away from the pool.

She reached down to pick up the bloodied spike with a trembling hand, stepped back, and turned to run.

 

[Gerra]

...And nearly ran into the masked Immortal blocking the door way.

His scimitar rasped from its sheath and he held it out before him with an unwavering hand.

“What have you done,“ he growled from behind his mask.

More Immortals emerged from the opposite end of the room, two ran to the pond to help their fallen lord.

“Drop the weapon. It’s over.”

 

[Nym]

Nym's bare feet skidded across the tiled floor as she faced the immortal. Fuck. She glanced behind her to see the others pulling Gerra out of the water and looked back to her more immediate threat, and twirled the spike in her hand. She was going to die for what she did unless she could make it out of that door, so she might as well try to live whilst her number was even.

Her weapon was outmatched, but she was fast, she'd just need to hope she was fast enough. Her head shook in response, eyeing the weapon with careful consideration. She moved forward again with speed and agility, one hand reaching to stay the man's arm whilst the other raised her spike to jab it into the eyes of the mask that he wore as she attempted to dart passed him...

 

[Gerra]

The Immortal screamed as she drove the spike through the eye hole in his mask. A piercing, blood curdling cry that resounded off the ceilings and floors. The cry of a wounded animal. He dropped to the floor, whimpering.

As Nym ran, the sound of loosing bowstrings came from behind her. Three shafts hissed through the air, their steel tipped heads expertly aimed and loosed toward her legs.

They wanted the assassin alive.

 

[Nym]

She was almost there...almost. And suddenly searing hot pain quickly shot to her mind and she screamed out as she fell and slid to a stop on the tiles. Agony choked the air out of her lungs , erasing every thought from her head and paralysing her body for a moment. She writhed, gritting her teeth hard and groaning loudly as involuntary tears ran from her eyes.

She looked down at the arrow shafts, one had gone straight through her left thigh, another her right calf. "Fuck!!!" she screamed and slammed her fists on the floor, her chest heaving as she tried to regulate her breathing and think, but all there was, was pain.

 

[Gerra]

Legs appeared in her vision. An immortal loomed over her, features hidden behind another one of those damned, leering masks.

“Take her to the eastern dungeon... and send for Captain Uvogin.”

 

[Halul]

After assessing the wounds, the young soldiers decided that immediate treatment was unnecessary and dragged the would-be murderer through the palace, a slick trail of red staining the beautiful floors.

Medja would have been furious at the mess.

After binding the princess, the Immortals staunched her wounds and stood guard until, minutes later, a caped and lightly armored figure appeared in the dungeon’s entrance. The dungeon was dimly lit, and standing in the doorway, the man cast a long shadow across the floor, the horned silhouette and still cape creating the apparition of a demon rather than a man.

Footfalls echoed in the dungeon, coming closer and closer until the man stood in the doorway. In his hand, he held a long, wide rolled-up belt of leather.

“Leave us,” he ordered, and the two Immortals standing guard promptly obeyed.

“I am Uvogin, Captain of the Immortals,” he politely introduced himself. There was an old wooden table there, and he unrolled the belt. Metal tools rattled as he flattened the roll. “That...” he removed his helmet and placed it on the table, “was not wise, Princess Nymeasha.”

“Which hand was it?” he turned to her, his seething contained behind a well-maintained veneer of composure, “the hand that you used to stab him?”