The Empire Upon the Banks of the Sleeping Sister

[Gerra]

Thousands of tents dotted the northern bank of the Sleeping Sister, the river which separated the Empire of Amol-Kalit from the Kingdoms of Cortos to the south. A very large crimson tent bearing the gold winged sun of the Empire sat near the center of the encampment. Inside, the Emperor held his war council.

Swaddled in fresh bandages, Gerra loomed over a massive table in the center of the room and stared down at the map, which bore carved figurines representing Imperial and Cortosi forces.

"-it is fortunate that the son of King Andal survived," the half-giant was saying, looking to his left where a young, dark haired man stood, "We will avenge your father's death Prince Indar, and reconquer Alcazar."

"There's nothing left," said the boy, his eyes staring at nothing, "I have 24 knights. We are all that's left."

Gerra frowned. "The people of the city remain. We too suffered losses. The pikes of the Cortosi are a much greater threat than any of us foresaw. But naptha hurlers should solve them well enough."

The Emperor looked at the gathered council. "However, I have other news. Medja's agents informed me that the destruction of Alcazar's outer walls was not due to Torleon mages, but because of a dreadlord." Gerra pointedly did not look at Douglas Haley.

He pointed toward the Cortosi coast and tapped a spot on the map somewhat inland. "Once again Vel Anir reaches out and causes devastation. Their... revolutionary government likely seeks to spread their fanaticism. I will not abide this. I will not slaughter uprisings of my own people due to Anirian preachings."

The wounded half-giant stared at each of his advisors in turn.

"That is why we will strike first. This will not be a campaign of conquest through Cortos. We will push straight through," he picked up an imperial figurine and slid it across the map, "All the way to Vel Anir."

Medja | Ashuanar | Xaviera | Cyra Al-Dushar | Noelani | Nym | Mirielle Merlon | Ahmad ibn Fadlan | The Empire

 

[Rhydian Fairwater]

Rhydian was amazed by the grandeur of the company before him. He never thought the affairs of the Empire would call him back to Amol-Kalit. Having been adopted by the Abtati, he was content with his place as a welcome nomad, but he now had a responsibility to his God: Tuli’agh of the Desert Sands, and Amol-Kalit was his home.

He felt the strength of Tuli’agh’s power through him. The sands would listen to him, the sun would aide him and the earth would support him. He was grateful to the Empire for allowing him to practice his freedom of religion, and he could sense there may be a place for him in the battles to come.

With a sigh, the priest stepped further into the encampment. Trepidation filled him at the prospect of meeting the Emperor. He was wary of expectation, but continued forward until the Emperor’s tent was in sight.

Tuli’agh grant me strength to do your bidding. He whispered the prayer under his breath and felt the warm breeze kiss his face.

 

[Nym]

"A rider from Salitra, Emperor.."
​

One of the guards at the threshold of Gerra's tent announced the arrival, following which he moved aside to usher the sand-beaten man inside. He'd never laid eyes on the half-giant before now, but the stories in which he'd heard hadn't quite prepared him for being in his presence. Sol was a particularly large man himself, but now he had the good sense to feel somewhat anxious, and he cleared his throat to ensure no trepidation made it into his words.

"Gerra." he said, quite casually, about to hold out the scroll in his hand when a soldier stepped up to him.

"That is the God Emperor that you address, it is courtesy to kneel and--"

"Forgive me." Sol interrupted with a frown of feigned confidence. "But I was strictly instructed not to kneel, and to call him by his name and nothing else.. My Queen assured me that he would...understand." his brow quirked, and he passed the scroll to the soldier who glared at his audacity. The scroll was snatched, and delivered into the Emperor's hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Gerra.

I might have known you'd be off rallying for another war. I received word of your 'summons' and I've been strongly advised not to tell you to fuck off, and it's for this reason alone that I respond so politely. I'm currently busy trying to rebuild my city. The one that you helped to tear down? I've sent you three thousand Salitran soldiers - please, send some of them back, they're not your fucking fodder.
​

Yours ever sincerely,
Nymeasha Soleiman,
Sultana of Salitra.

P.S.
It should likely be quite obvious that many of these men were once loyal to my Father, and that you are not winning any popularity contests amongst some of them. I can't promise that some won't betray my instruction and try to murder you in your sleep, but that's not really my problem now, is it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
​

Sol cleared his throat again, and swallowed his nerves. "They will arrive in three days, My-- Gerra."

 

[Musah]

Cyra sat silently near the wall of the tent with her advisor, during this war council. She had briefly looked to the map that Gerra stood above, but the best she could tell was which pieces were the good guys and which ones were bad. Her education growing up had not involved standing army military strategy, that was why her advisor was here.

Cyra kept from making a face when Gerra mentioned the naptha hurlers. Really? The hurlers? Cyra and her abtati horse archers could wipe out Cortosi pikes if she was just given some space. The pikes were so slow. It would be like archery practice.

The final declaration made by Gerra seemed to cause her advisor to tense. It must not be something as simple as Gerra was making it out to be. Still, if it is what the God-Emperor demanded then the Abtati would help him achieve it.

------------------------------------------------------------​

Sefu stood directly behind Gerra's left shoulder. His face hidden behind his golden mask. While his eyes were unseen by the others in the room, they consistently looked over each member of the war council. He tried to be aware of any signs of danger, while also attempting to read each members reaction to his master's plan.

He had read about the Dreadlords of Vel Anir during his training, and when he first started his education, he wondered if he could become something like that. Unfortunately, such educated magics seemed beyond him. He was content to be the blade that protected the God Emperor.

Sefu's hands dropped to his twin scimitars and he prepared to spring forward when the rider arrived, but he stopped himself just in time when he realized the nature of the sudden appearance.

 

[Ashuanar]

Standing just the other side of the table from Gerra, the Vizier of the Sun burned with frustration. Their defeat at the hands of the Cortosi defenders was not wholly unexpected, but it still infuriated the grand general to have the Imperial Army's reputation tarnished.

Or was it his own that he lamented?

The stillness of his tongue offered no insight, but perhaps a keener eye could tell.

Still, Gerra's proclamation roused a reaction from him, and his eyes left the table to look upon the emperor. He was serious.

A long and quiet breath first entered and then exited him, and at a time when he should have likely offered his counsel, he remained silent. Instead he waited until Gerra read whatever message had been sent to him from the Salitrans.

Sol cleared his throat again, and swallowed his nerves. "They will arrive in three days, My-- Gerra."​

Another breath.

 

[Rhydian Fairwater]

Rhydian stepped into the Emperor's tent behind the rider from Salitra. Luckily, the Sultana's letter took attention off of him as he clung to the shadows. He knew that the company inside would register his presence, but he did not want to impose upon the party. Not while such formal matters were being discussed.

His unease abated slightly as he registered the presence of Abtati in the tent. He noticed a young Abtati warrior sitting near the tent wall with her advisor. Was her name Cyra Al-Dushar?

He recognized her, though he did not know her.

However, he was happy to see the Abtati taking arms for the Emperor. If they were here, then he was where he was meant to be. The Abtati were the only family he had ever known, and he would take their side in a fight, if it came down to it. These were his people after all, and his loyalties were with them.

Though Rhydian was blind, the sun, his sun, allowed him to see through vibrant shades of orange, red and white. He could follow the happenings in the tent as if he had never been born without sight.

On home turf, Rhydian's sun communion happened naturally.

Behind his blindfold, his eyes moved from the Abtati woman to the Emperor as he digested the Sultana's message.

 

[Medja]

Sol would not be the only courier to visit Gerra this day. Ever long was the reach and sight of Medja's Hands, and the Emperor's affairs were certainly not beyond her. While diligent sapphires worked tirelessly to acquire information and sow what discord they could among the ranks of the Empire's enemies, quartzes delivered that information where it was most needed. Where one particular quartz hand was needed most now was in Gerra's own war tent.

A perfectly unassuming and drab man pushed his way into the tent, bearing only the insignia of the Imperial Hands and a cloth wrapped object, no bigger than a loaf of bread. Silently, the quartz hand bowed his head in respect to the God-Emperor, then unfurled the contents of the package onto a table in front of Gerra to reveal a large, elongated crystal. With a few taps upon runes inscribed upon the crystal's surface, it began to shimmer and float.

In moments, the familiar (and now starkly regal) visage of Medja of Ragash appeared within the crystal. The sorceress turned her attention from a document she'd been reading to face the emperor.

"Ahhh, I was beginning to wonder when this glass would reach you. Good day, your grace. You've been quite busy." Medja greeted the emperor with a smile. "I'm mostly up to speed with how things are progressing here, and I understand they could be going more smoothly. As I'm sure you're already aware, my Hands have begun seizing what tactical information they can and delivering it to your generals. However, I'm aware that you are likely in need of some more...tangible assistance."

With pleasantries disposed of, it was time to move on to the meat of the matter.
"I've been experimenting with manufacturing golems, to some success. I've sent you a full company of heavy infantry, and a compliment of four seige golems. I'm sure you and Ashuanar will be able to make the most of them."
She smirked, both in pride of her work and in thinking of Ashuanar's possible reaction to his new toys.

"They can't really think for themselves, but they fight well, obey orders to the letter, and don't know fear or hesitation like a person does. Consider them something of a gift, your grace, alongside the incense that accompanies them."
Medja concluded, and the quartz courier politely placed a little basket of incense sticks upon the table next to Medja's crystal to cap the point off.

Meanwhile, the golems would already be marching in lockstep into camp. The standard ones looked like Immortals, though nine feet tall and constructed of a mix of metals and stone and bearing glowing, red eyes within their helmet-resembling heads. The seige golems were much, much larger, cresting thirty feet in height and resembling lumbering apes in their posture; they appeared as huge, living mounds of stone, bearing pillar-like appendages for arms meant for smashing defenses, and mounting ballistae on their backs.

 

[Harlot of Mardiakhor]

Perched on one of the support pillars of the Emperor’s pavilion tent was a pale brown owl. Its large red eyes seemed to broil like a frothing sea under a crimson sunset as it watched the war council. It fluttered its dark spear tipped wings and tilted its head from side to side. When the emissaries finished the reading of missives and the Imperial Consort’s message from within the crystal was relayed the owling batted its wings in a heaving flap and leapt down. As it did a voice emanated from its body, like a breathe from within but not spoken.

“Now this brings back some memories,” the voice echoed as its permeated through the tent like a mist pouring over dune summits.

The owling burst into a sickly emerald cloud that dripped onto the earth like a spilled inkwell. Droplets splashed and then of their own momentum wept their way to for a single puddle that rose up into the form a lithe but muscular pale elf. She was tall, white haired adorned with a mane of braids. Green hem eyes glared out and thin pallid lips cracked into a smirk as she rose upright. Her body was clad in a black kaftan held at the waist by a leather girdle belt. She stepped forward presented herself to the war council beside the central table with its maps and icons.

“Back in my days as the Arch Sorcerer for Shah Fayzan in Ragash,” the elf continued. “Gruesomely fun times. Burning of Annuakat, the Sea of a Thousand Sabers…almost made him Supreme Sultan of all Amol-Kalit.” She then coughed into her fist and shrugged, jeering, “Until of course I betrayed him and slaughtered his House to install the Ghulam Shahs. Good days. Lost days.”

She paused and then rolled her green stare to the Emperor. “Well, well. You asked for me so here I am,” she said bluntly. The elf waved her hand to the rest, providing a limp introduction to them, “You may call me Harlot. Harlot of Mardiakhor.”

Gerra | Medja | Rhydian Fairwater | Ashuanar | Cyra Al-Dushar | Sol ( Nym )​

 

[Gerra]

The emperor stared at the letter from Nym, then lifted a hand and rested it upon Sol's shoulder. He looked down at the man.

"I understand," he said, then he lifted his hand.

No need to make an example of a messenger. The Sultana was another story. He had been too lenient with her. His attempts to show her mercy had met with daggers. Literally. But that was a matter for another time.

Next, he turned his attention to the message from Medja. A slight frown creased his brow as she spoke, but when she finished he nodded.

"Thank you, Regent. I know you look to the well-being of the Empire and the healing of our lands."

Outside, he heard the stomping of the enormous golems, then an owl in the corner abruptly turned into a she-elf. Causing Gerra to wave off his companions.

"Cyra, Sefu. It is alright. You are welcome, Harlot. Although I do not know that it bodes well to speak of slaying former employers. You could understand that we would have misgivings," he nodded to Sefu, behind him, whose scimitars were so-ready to be drawn.

Turning his attention back to the table, once more he tapped on the location of Vel Anir.

"For centuries, Anirian warlords ravaged the Falwood, waging campaigns of extermination against the elves who dwelt there, or enslaving them.The blood of the elves cries out for vengeance. Let it be known that war upon Vel Anir shall be a holy war, blessed by Abtatu."

The Emperor's gaze settled on Rhydian Fairwater, to see how he would react.

 

[Rhydian Fairwater]

Rhydian had noticed the owl before Medja had delivered her message, and her gift. He could sense the magic in the bird and was not surprised when Harlot of Mardiakhor appeared before the Emperor. He had heard tale of her hand in the blood feuds of Ragash over a century prior from the Abtati, but she was before his time.

I do not think she can be trusted, but something tells me that the Emperor knows this. Rhydian thought to himself.

Suddenly, Rhydian noticed the Emperor's eyes on him. He felt a great quiet and sudden stillness, and was compelled to step forward. Humbly, but stock-still and confident, Rhydian stood in front of the Emperor and his company for the first time ready to integrate himself into the affairs of his homeland.

"Emperor Gerra," Rhydian bowed his head in respect.

"You have been a bastion of your people and the Elves that call Amol-Kalit home. Although I am of foreign blood and not an Elf, the Abtati have instilled the value of family in my heart. Hearing you prepare for battle on behalf of the Elves of Liadain has inspired great confidence in me and many others.

Tuli'agh of the Desert Sands has brought me to you, and agrees that this is indeed a Holy War."

The priest sighed.

"Tuli'agh compels me to your service and the service of Abtatu, for your desires are one in the same. Vel Anir does not escape the divinity of Abtatu or the Annunaki Pantheon. As Tuli'agh's high priest, I am blessed as the vessel of His infinite divine magic. Desert magic. I do not fear the Dreadlords of Vel Anir.

At your command, Emperor, I will aide in the magical defense of our people and our culture as a steward, a shepherd and if you wish... a weapon. "

 

[Cahir]

In all of his muscly and unnaturally tall glory, Cahir made his way through the busy hive of rank-and-fike soldiers. Some of them glanced at him with curiosity and silent dread.

He measured roughly 2.5 meters from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Yet he dressed humbly and wore little more than pants and a pair of jackboots, his powerful torso adorned with sprawling, crimson markings running all the way up to the scruff of his bull-like neck.

"Coming through," announced the massive man, his voice gruff and a tad unpleasant, perfectly matching his mottled, marble-colored skin. It appeared gaunt and thick, not unlike the boiled leather used to craft blacksmith gloves.

Cahir shifted while moving forward, re-adjusting the position of a large, mahagony box resting just under his armpit. Golden ornaments, carved in the likeness of evil beasts, festooned its outlines. And it was those same ornaments, in conjunction with various precious gems, that raked across his naked flesh, making the situation all the less comfortable.


Once inside, Cahir coughed, both to clear his throat and to attract Gerra's attention. Forsaking the formalities, he moved the priceless container away from his torso.

With his arms outstretched, he placed it within the line of sight, its many embellishments shimmering with supernatural radiance.

"Deepest apologies for the intrusion, but I have something for you, emperor."

Gerra
Medja
Ashuanar
Rhydian Fairwater
Cyra Al-Dushar
Nym

 

[Jaliah]

Two dozen ships of varying size dotted along the coves at the mouth of the river, slowly disappearing from view of the ship that was racing upriver as fast as the rowers and sails could make it so. On the stern of the ship, a man leaned over a looking glass, watching as a signal lantern flashed a coded message. Before long, the other ship disappeared from view. The man straightened and rubbed his eye, then glanced over his shoulder at the slender woman who was gazing expectantly at him. "Well?" she asked, her voice like crushed charcoal: silk and smoke. "What the fuck happened?"

"Two ships lost, Your Majesty," said the man. "Three more unaccounted for. The largest and slowest of the three. The flotilla spotters lost sight of them as the storm overtook them."

The woman wrapped her cloak around herself tighter and stifled a grimace. The man was looking at her for some kind of verdict, perhaps some reassurance. "The Behemoth and her sisters were piloted by men who knew how to handle them. We cannot wait to deliver the rest of the flotilla to the God-Emperor; we can only trust that the captains will catch up."

"As you say, Your Majesty," the man said, then bowed. "I'll inform the Captain."

"Tell him to make haste. We have kept the Emperor waiting quite long enough."

It had been a long year for Tyria. Its queen -- Jaliah's granddaughter -- had disappeared while on an inspection tour. Intelligence had confirmed that Xaviera was a guest of a dreaded pirate captain, and in her absence, Jaliah had been forced to take the reigns of power for herself. Reluctantly, as far as anyone else knew. Some in the court wondered whether Jaliah was as dedicated to her policy of not negotiating or paying ransoms to pirates as she let on, or whether she just had gotten too used to the feel of power.

Jaliah was convinced of Xaviera's safety and, if not comfort, then at least health. She had paid for it, after all.

"Wake me when we come in sight of the camp," she instructed the man quietly, jerking her chin at the captain at the front of the ship. "I don't want that stammering idiot being our first impression to the God-Emperor.

Almost two hours later, Jaliah was setting out on a small skiff. She was escorted by a small retinue, which she was prepared to leave behind when she reached the Emperor's tent, where she was admitted in the wake of a towering creature. He seemed to have something to offer to the God-Emperor, who himself was already engaged in conversation, so she would wait her turn. The flotilla would be some time, in any event.

Gerra Medja Ashuanar Rhydian Fairwater Cyra Al-Dushar Nym Harlot of Mardiakhor Cahir

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar watched the emperor's exchange with the messenger with interest, noting Gerra's charity. The Vizier could not say for himself if he would abide in such behaviour - at least not in a place like this. But... Ashuanar was also not a god-emperor. Still, he did detect an air of frustration despite the displayed benevolence. He needn't even guess the author of that letter, and he wondered now what Gerra's course with her would be.

But his ponderings faded away as Medja began to speak. He could not look upon her face from where he stood, but to hear her voice was pleasant enough for now. And though he showed no outward reaction, any gift from her was likely to be of great use, and he was looking forward to seeing what these new creations of hers were capable of. His eyes cast down onto the table again, just as the owl chose to appear, and speak. He'd seen this before, but what happened next was unexpected - the sudden appearance of the one who called herself Harlot of Mardiakhor. His eyes moved between her and the emperor as they too had an exchange, albeit brief. And then they rested again on her for a moment.

He wasn't particularly impressed by her intimidation tactic. But to her benefit, she likely still needed to realize these weren't those lost days she spoke of.

These were the days of the Empire.​

Rhydian pledged his support to Gerra, as Ashuanar expected. Why else would he have been invited? As with any of these others of course, but then another entered who aroused suspicion in not only him, and Ashuanar took immediate offense. Why he was allowed inside at all was beyond him, holding a strange case no less.

"Deepest apologies for the intrusion, but I have something for you, emperor."

Ashuanar nearly scowled when he presented the peculiar box to Gerra.

"And you expect him to just open it? Without so much as a name? No explanation?"

He began to make his way around the table.

"Do you have any idea who you're speaking to?"

A look. Several Abtati began to step forward, reaching to their swords.

---

Gerra | Nym | Cyra Al-Dushar
Rhydian Fairwater | Medja | Harlot of Mardiakhor
Cahir | Jaliah
​

 

[Cosmo]

Sefu was not pleased, to say the least, at this situation. First off, the sudden influx of late members to this council each brought with them the potential for new threats to Gerra. Punctuality was a virtue, some said.

The Harlot of Mardiakhor was a moment away from being dead if Sefu had his own way, but Gerra moved too quickly. he slowly took his hand off of his left blade, but he did not remove his right hand. The masked figure just stood there unmoving.

That was until Cahir arrived. Ashuanar and the Abtati reacted quickly to protect Gerra, but he stepped forward in between Gerra and Cahir, to take control of this situation. This was his role, to protect the God-Emperor.

His voice came out deep, but smooth and calm given the sudden circumstances. "I'm sure you will not protest the God-Emperor's guard inspecting the gift?" He held out his own hand to take the box.

Gerra Nym Cahir Harlot of Mardiakhor Rhydian Fairwater
Medja Jaliah​

 

[Gerra]

"I welcome your services, Rhydian. Shepherds are always needed when the wolves are about."

He glanced at Jaliah as she entered behind the enormous Cahir, though his attention settled upon the horned titan.

Silently, he nodded to Sefu and Ashuanar bidding them inspect the box before it came near him. For all he knew it was some magical device that would spray acid everywhere as soon as he touched.

 

[Cahir]

"Of course not. I understand the precautions taken to ensure his majesty's continued survival. "

The box he handed over, his enquiring gaze resting on Sefu's featureless form. Cahir's eyes, which were a strange mix of ebon and ivory white, not unlike a yin-yang symbol, flickered as the ever devoted sand elves gripped their bladed weapons with alarming fervor.

"Careful," he uttered, a single, breathless word slipping past the fleshy curtains that were his lips.


When and if Sefu removed the various latches keeping the box tightly shut, he'd have seen the gruesome sight of three humanoid heads resting inside, each with their eyes scooped out.

Three heads, two human and one elf, their lifeless, vacant eye sockets gazed back at the masked man. Albeit disfigured, the heads still retained distinguishable features pointing to the genders of their respective and now deceased owners. Two males, one female.

All three appeared slightly shrunken, dried out even, with unnaturally leathery and wrinkled skin. Some of the teeth were missing, undoubtedly removed, likely forcefully, by whoever had slain the three of them. The gums, much like the skin, had receded drastically, stretched to their outmost limit, giving the disembodied heads an eerie, almost vampiric appeal.

And they smelled funny. Not quite foul, but pickled and brined, like a head of cabbage left submerged in a saline solution for many months.

"Two Cortosi knights. One human, one elven, and a renaged mage from Vel Anir, who happened to find herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. "

Cahir paused, flickering his tongue which moistened his dry and cracked lips.



"A captain from the Bronze Claws company instructed me to hand them over. They are...were, as I've heard, enemies of yours."



Gerra
Medja
Ashuanar
Rhydian Fairwater
Cyra Al-Dushar
Nym
Sefu
Harlot of Mardiakhor

 

[Cosmo]

Sefu nodded in thanks before accepting the box and choosing to move off to the side. This way if the box did explode, Gerra was the furthest away from the impact. Of course, that meant he was putting others in more danger, but his job was not to protect them.

When Sefu finally did open the box, he showed no signs of hesitation, disgust, or anything really. Of course, the mask kept others from seeing his facial expression. He inspected each of the heads, and once he was satisfied that the heads were safe, he politely nodded to Cahir before handing the heads over to Gerra.

He might see the gift as a little barbaric, but different cultures and backgrounds prized different things, so it was only proper that he act in a respectful manner towards the gift.

---

Everything was happening so fast for Cyra that she sat back but had already reached out to gather magical energy, just in case. Her own guards did tense around her, but she was not worried. Why should she be? Gerra's own abtati and several of the strongest warriors in the Empire were currently in this room. This might be one of the safest places in the world right now.

Her grip on her magical energy slipped away when she got a look at Cahir's gift. She looked at the heads in disgust and could swear there was a smell coming from the box. Some vomit threatened to travel up her throat, but she held it down. Importantly, she also held down any remarks she might have.

Gerra Medja Cahir Ashuanar Rhydian Fairwater Nym
Harlot of Mardiakhor Jaliah​

 

[Ashuanar]

---

"Careful," he uttered, a single, breathless word slipping past the fleshy curtains that were his lips.​

---

​

Fair enough warning coming from a creature of his size, but as of yet it was unwarranted. Though the Abtati drew near with hands on their swords, they'd only draw at Ashuanar, Sefu, or Gerra's command. They came only so close, allowing a wide enough berth between they and the gargantuan so they could move should he choose to become violent with them. Ashuanar stepped around to the front of Cahir to come alongside Sefu and look inside.

Upon inspection of it, he arched a brow.

He acknowledged the contents of the box as a benevolent offering to Gerra. He wagering that his gift afforded him a chance at trust, "then the captain did not lead you astray," he said, and then he turned his eyes one way and then the other, and the Abtati who had drawn near on his command now backed away, but only so much. Only once the emperor was content would they truly be at ease.

---

Gerra | Nym | Cyra Al-Dushar
Rhydian Fairwater | Medja | Harlot of Mardiakhor
Cahir | Jaliah​

 

[Jaliah]

Jaliah leaned around the broad creature in front of her, allowing her curiosity to overtake her observation of the rules of decorum. The sight of three severed heads -- each somewhat shrunken and worse for wear but not, so far as she could tell, reflecting much decomposition. Her eyebrows furrowed and she glanced at Gerra darkly. Not for the first time she wondered what kind of man (for lack of better word) to whom she was tying her fortunes, Xaviera's future, and the fortunes and future of her beloved Tyria.

A man who collected trophies like these. A man thirsty for blood and for war.

But, again not for the first time, she suppressed these thoughts; the only evidence of her hesitation being the faint exhalation through her aged nostrils. It made no difference now; there was no going back. The die was cast now. The only thing that remained was to see it to through to the end.

Once the prior gift had been presented, Jaliah saw her moment and stepped around the being that had preceded her into the tent. She sank into a curtsy the likes of which ought to have hobbled a woman of her years, trying to ignore the crackling of her joints. My fucking knees can creak as much as they like as long as they lift me back up again, she thought darkly. By the grace of the gods, the older queen dowager managed to straighten. "Your Majesty," she began in a breathless rumble, raising her gaze to the god-Emperor's visage. "If I may follow this generous example with a humble offering of my own, on behalf of the Queen of Tyria and its people. As we speak, over two dozen ships of Tyria's merchant fleet and navy are sailing upriver, transporting supplies, materiel, and fifty Tyrian hoplites. They will be at your command."

She dropped into another curtsy -- shallower this time, lest her accursed knees not cooperate once more -- then stood back demurely.

Gerra | Ashuanar | Nym | Cyra Al-Dushar | Rhydian Fairwater | Medja | Harlot of Mardiakhor | Cahir​

 

[Gerra]

An eyebrow shot up at the vicious display of desiccated, decapitated heads. Gerra looked from them to the offeror, who rivaled him in size. The Emperor suspected him capable on the field of battle.

"These stand in proof of your prowess, if you wish to join our campaign, I welcome you. Ashuanar, have one of your men mount the heads on pikes outside the camp."

Gerra nodded to Sefu, a simple acknowledgement for the warrior doing his part to protect him.

Finally, the half-giant's stony visage turned toward Jaliah.

"The journey must have been difficult, Queen Mother." He extended a hand toward a side table that bore several goblets and a bowl of chilled wine. "Please, help yourself. Your ships are well needed. The campaign ahead will be long and arduous. Is..." He hesitated only slightly, "the Queen planning to join us?"

 

[Ashuanar]

"Of course," came Ashuanar's reply, and he nodded to one of his men.

The robed Abtati he silently beckoned came forward to cordially take the case from Sefu, and then depart outside to do as commanded. The other Abtati all returned to their original places, appearing more at ease now that Gerra had accepted Cahir's tribute and welcomed him.

Ashuanar too was content with this, and moved to return to his own place. He offered a brief greeting to Jaliah as he passed, nodding his head low.

Then, once he was again looming over the table, he placed either palm against its edge and leaned over it some as he examined the pieces set out atop it. His features curled into a frown as he imagined leading their forces - once gathered - straight into the heart if Cortos. With the might of the whole army in his hand he could deal swift vengeance...

But such would not be so.

His attention turned eastward, toward the heretic Anirians.

 

[Jaliah]

Jaliah inclined her head in gracious thanks to the god-Emperor, sweeping towards the table in her Tyrian finery. She helped herself to a goblet of wine as she listened to his commentary. Naturally he asked after Xaviera; she suspected that he was not expecting to see the old bat of a woman there. After all, she sealed all the state papers with the royal seal of Tyria; she did not expect that he would notice any subtle differences in tone or form of the official correspondence between the two thrones.

She matched his minor reticence, then cleared her throat and took a whiff of the wine before answering: "Of course my granddaughter the Queen sends her compliments and best wishes, but she is -- indisposed, you might say. It is a matter I had hoped to discuss with you, Your Majesty, though I recognize of course that there are other more important and pressing matters at hand that may bore the others. Perhaps we can discuss it later."

Jaliah smiled broadly at the others nearby and raised the goblet in a toast to Gerra. "Your good health, Majesty."

In truth, she wasn't terribly concerned at boring the others. She didn't wish to air Tyria's dirty laundry in front of them, nor did she want to give any of them -- and some among them were surely astute political infighters -- any ideas about whether her family continued to be suited to the Tyrian crown. Besides, things were under control -- more or less -- and she thought she could convince the god-Emperor to help. It would put Xaviera in his debt and it would cost a whole hell of a lot less to the Tyrian treasury than if Jaliah paid the ransom.

Well. It would cost Jaliah less, and that was what mattered at the end of the day.

"Your good health, friends. Majesty." She lifted her goblet to Gerra before stepping back and sipping from it.

Even all the way out here, it's a decent vintage, and cool. Impressive.

The Empire

 

[Cahir]

An eyebrow shot up at the vicious display of desiccated, decapitated heads. Gerra looked from them to the offeror, who rivaled him in size. The Emperor suspected him capable on the field of battle.

"These stand in proof of your prowess, if you wish to join our campaign, I welcome you. Ashuanar, have one of your men mount the heads on pikes outside the camp."

Gerra nodded to Sefu, a simple acknowledgement for the warrior doing his part to protect him.

Finally, the half-giant's stony visage turned toward Jaliah.

"The journey must have been difficult, Queen Mother." He extended a hand toward a side table that bore several goblets and a bowl of chilled wine. "Please, help yourself. Your ships are well needed. The campaign ahead will be long and arduous. Is..." He hesitated only slightly, "the Queen planning to join us?"

Cahir nodded in acknowledgment. Gerra's lighthearted compliment struck true, causing something akin to a smile to unfurl across the giant's stony features.

Sliding sideways, he helped himself to one of the goblets, wrapping his meaty, calloused digits around the cool, metallic frame. The chilled surface leeched at his bodily warmth, sapping it away, prompting Cahir to curl up his upper lip ever so slightly.

"You could certainly say so," he commented, absentmindedly, and sniffed the wine. Cahir didn't handle alcohol all that well, and the crispness invoked a sense of confusion within him. Magic must've been at play to bring the wine to a palatable temperature.

The first sip, surprisingly pleasant, reassured him that the beverage wasn't maliciously tampered with.

"I am a mercenary, as you might've imagined, but the heads weren't meant for you, least not in the beginning."

Cahir pursed his lips, visualizing the right words with which to delineate his business affairs.

"It was originally an Allirian nobleman who hired me to eliminate the two of them. Regrettably, he passed away just as I was wrapping up my work, leaving behind no immediate successors. "

Another sip was due. The wines enthralling flavor had seized him by the taste buds and Cahir could already detect a fiery, heated streak blazing across his prominent cheekbones.

"The illicit nature of our mutually beneficial contract ensured that I could invoke no law, no legal clause with which to demand the due payment. And so I thought to repurpose the heads and, perhaps, cut my losses. "

 

[Cosmo]

Sefu returned to his position behind Gerra, once again assuming his role as sentinel. He seemed to be staring directly ahead, but his eyes constantly moved beneath the cover of his mask. His hands no longer rested on his sword hilts and instead were relaxed by his side. He made sure not to tense up his hands as that would only slow his reaction time.

---

Cyra had remained silent for most of this meeting so far. She was not sure how to exactly interact with all this new information. She had been flustered for a brief moment, but she reminded herself to breathe. She could only focus on retaining all of what she heard. She could then think about it all when she was freer to do so.

When the others began taking goblets of wine, she looked down at her own goblet that sat in her hands. It still remained full even though she had been given it several minutes ago. Cyra had a bit of a secret to admit. She absolutely hated wine, but everyone else was taking some and she did not want to seem sophisticated in front of any of these high-ranking officials of the Empire.