Private Tales Vintage

[Gerra]

A country estate lay several miles east of the resplendent azure walls of Annuakat, within the verdant delta of the Baal-Duru, and sat on a bluff overlooking that great river.

Vineyards stretched along the back of the slope. Several serfs worked the vineyards, checking the growth of the grapes.

Gerra stood upon the patio of the estate, staring out at this blue-green paradise in the midst of the desert. There were only two guards posted at the entrance to the estate and they had orders to let a certain dark elf pass.

A dark elf who had been summoned by Gerra specifically to discuss matters of business.

 

[Fieravene]

Said certain dark elf rode upon a curious dark horse through the country side all by her onesie. The picturesque and quiet scenery disturbed only by the hoofbeats of the horse and her whistling tune, one of which at least two men in this world would be irritatingly familiar with.

She admired the rolling hillsides and the view of the horizon from the bluff with a curious, carefree gaze. As the pair made their way slowly, casually across the stone roadway they cut a stark silhouette against the setting sun. Orange blazed hot against the deserts surrounding this strange oasis of green and blue, casting a curiously fiendish glow about her dark figure as she arrived at the entrance. The Guards both saw and heard her coming, one moving to intercede on his Master's behalf.

"State your name and business."

The whistling came to a stop, pursed lips twisting into something of contained amusement. Just two guards. Two little birdies sitting on the wall. The elf blinked doe-ish eyes at him, head tilting just slightly to one side, "Fieravene, here at your Master's personal request. I have his missive." A black-gloved hand reached towards her forward saddlebag, withdrawing a rolled parchment featuring Gerra's seal with a broadening smirk. She offered it to the guard, lofting a brow as he removed his swordhand from the handle of the sheathed weapon to take it.

Straightening herself and taking the moment to survey the estate, the elf hooked her gaze on the second guard who she caught staring at her steed.

"Miss," said the Guard, "something's wrong with your horse. When's last it rested?"

"Oh?" she replied, leaning to eye her horse, "do you suppose he looks a bit knackered? We've come such a long way..."

"Checks out," the first Guard handed the scroll back, giving the black horse a look himself and grimacing, "you can have a servant take him to the stables for a proper drink and meal."

"Well that is-" Fi tapped the scroll back into the saddlebag, "just lovely." She disembarked from the animal in one fluid motion, handing him off to an approaching servant before turning her gaze to a second. Straight-backed and highly disciplined, the servant bowed her into the manor.

 

[Gerra]

She find him on the veranda, looking out at the river. He wore a simple black thawb that fell nearly to his ankles. Rubies glittered in his ears and he wore a band of gold for a crown. At her approach, he turned slightly, hands clasped behind his back, and looked down at her.

"Ah. You came. Splendid. I must confess, I had my doubts."

Eyes of molten orange looked up and down her lithe form, assessing, but the dark gray features of the half-giant revealed no more than if he had been carved from obsidian.

He turned away, back toward the river view.

"Is it not beautiful? But such beauty is dependent upon the graces of the great river. What the Duru gives today, it may wash away tomorrow."

Gerra looked sidelong at her, lips curling in a toothless smile.

 

[Fieravene]

If the half-giant could be considered tastefully opulent then Fiera was appropriately morbid. She wore no jewelry of any kind nor color to speak of. Her wardrobe was of a starless midnight sky, her skin the gray of ash spilled across a volcanic landscape, her eyes the crimson magma of the deeps. Not but the skin of her face shown, so covered was she in leather and black metal armor - fitted in such a way as to suggest high appointment at some distant time of her life.

Her countenance was sharp, her posture proper, her movements made with purpose. She showed neither fear nor awe in the man's presence, but instead a measure of expectancy. Enthusiasm.

A half giant, Fiera thought to herself, how novel. She joined him on the veranda, miming his posture by lightly clasping her hands at her back and following his gaze out to said river.

"Indeed? How very poetic. Perhaps it will wash away your doubts, hm?"

Far be it from she to neglect the invitation of a King, even if the invitation in question had come from a rather scrupulous sort.

"I have never been called before a King without first being in irons," the elf offered a mild facial shrug, "not quite what I expected."

 

[Gerra]

A brow arched.

"Mmm," he mused, voice the booming depth of distant thunder, tenor rich as black soil, "Is that so?"

Did sparks of mirth dance in his eyes, or were those the cinders of a sleeping volcano?

He loomed over her like a statue come to life, shadow swallowing her own.

"You also defy expectation. Gideon's tales evoked someone more obstreperous and..."

The half-giant cocked his head, nodding with a smith's appreciation to her well-worked armament.

"...licentious."

 

[Fieravene]

"Gideon?" the elf gave a derisive snort, "An abydocomist who delights in bespawling folly and slander."

A dismissive wave was offered to the half-giant, "Those are your words, for certain. That dalcop couldn't talk his way out of an argument with a deaf-mute." But he could sleep and drink his way into being fully bamboozled. Even the lubberworts had their uses.

"Now, I cannot imagine you've asked me here to toss jibes at inconsequentials. Much as scintillating conversation turns my skirt," that same expectant gaze drifted upwards, a glint of mirth in those bright ruby eyes, "you hardly seem the wasteful type. What is it you want of me, King Gerra?"

 

[Gerra]

Such an extraordinary lexicon.

This was no ordinary thief.

Excellent.

“First,” he gestured toward the door, “I want you to try my wine.”

The half-giant led the way inside. “Business, I find, goes better when paired with a finely aged red. Don’t you think?”

The words dripped from his lips like smooth molasses.

They went down a flight of stairs and the air grew colder before they emerged in a very spacious wine cellar, with bottles racked high on every wall. Some of them over three hundred years old.

“Please, take your pick.”

 

[Fieravene]

"Verily," Fiera replied with a bright and pleasant blink at the offer.

The elf followed the King through his manor in a mutable state of intrigue and appreciation. There was a sense of curious awe at the state of the home - designed with a half-giant in mind. Everything presented on a scale far grander than any human, elven, or dwarven kingdom she'd traipsed through. To be expected yet still a source of novel amusement, some his wine bottles were also plus-sized.

Fieravene took in the collection with a look of scholar stumbled upon a trove of ancient texts. Wandering down the aisle, tapping fingertips across the line of bottle heads, the elf withdrew one at random. "Deluth Barding," a squeak of mirth, "that's my vintage. That name hasn't existed for ... 200 years I gather. Those vineyards were soot in the wind, compliments of Era'kadnmot the Terrible. The irony of the smokey nose on the front gets me every time."

 

[Gerra]

“Oh?” Gerra smiled toothlessly, a touch of envy in his gaze. He did not know of the events Fieravene spoke of, though he could guess at their nature. Once more, he was reminded of just how much he was deprived of, raised in the Molten Halls, where the only admired pursuits were warfare and engineering.

“That would make you older than many of the wines in this room.”

The titan did not doubt that should their conversation dwell on cultural matters her learning would swiftly outstrip his understanding.

“What tales you must have.”

Taking the bottle from her, he stepped over to a small table with two chairs and poured them each a glass, then he took a seat. The chair groaned beneath his weight.

Raising the glass, Gerra sniffed, then took a long sip. It was very good indeed.

Swirling his wine in one hand, the half-giant reappraised the elf.

How many kings had she seen rise and fall? And yet, here she sat.

“What do you know about Dreadlords?”

 

[Fieravene]

The table and chairs were big, much to her chagrin, but Fiera's slight form settled onto the chair with languid ownership of the space. One leg propped over the other, she reclined contently as the King poured his wine and accepted her glass with a gracious nod.

"Dreadlords?" she echoed him, leaning an arm onto the rest at her side and allowing her wine to air just under her chin. Fiera swilled the crystal gently as a smug sort of expression melded onto her face, "Brainwashed little pups that sometimes grow into irksome wolves. Admittedly more trouble than they're worth when opposed but so incredibly useful when aligned."

 

[Gerra]

“Mmm, yes. When aligned. That’s the catch.”

The half-giant took another long sip of the wine. He quirked a brow as examined the red depths.

“I would rather not be beholden to their whims and good graces, as you can well imagine. Gideon has informed me that they have developed a certain type of bow capable of punching through plate like cheese. I wish to acquire one of these bows. Do you think that is within your capabilities?”

 

[Fieravene]

Ah, there it was: the why.

Why was she here, of all places, at the behest of this great King? Why had that rubber-brained dolt uttered her name under recommendation? Why was she sitting in an over-sized chair drinking vintage (she took a sip and, yes, it was quite delicious) in the wine cellar of a half-giant?

He thought her a petty thief.

"Of course it is," she replied promptly, "yet it is not my capabilities you should be questioning, dear King."

 

[Gerra]

"Oh? Excellent choice, by the way," he held up the wine, examining it through the glass in the light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling. "But..."

His gaze returned to her, intense as the heat of a forge.

"Whose capabilities should I be questioning? Gideon's?"

 

[Fieravene]

"Yes, thank you, my taste in wine is rather excellent..." the elf replied idly, smirking into a drink from her glass. Beneath his heated gaze the elf did neither cow nor recoil, but did instead take on that heat and ignite her mettle. Forge - meet dragonsteele.

"You misunderstand me, your Eminence," she implored, "it is my interest you should be questioning, not my nor anyone else's capabilities ... though Gideon really is still on the porch for that one. Honestly, I don't know what you see in that follop."

 

[Gerra]

"He's mildly entertaining," Gerra replied, lips twitching into a smirk.

"But what is your..."

His finger circled the rim of the glass, slowly, as he held her gaze.

"...interest?"

 

[Fieravene]

The elf scoffed into her glass, one brow twitching in what might have been reluctant agreement. Gideon was entertaining. Mildly.

"Ranges," Fiera gestured casually with a gloved hand, turning her gaze to look at the man with a measure of consideration, "like a dragon across the lands. What's on the table?"

 

[Gerra]

"Ah, a shrewd bargainer. Seeing how far I go before naming your own counter. Wondering whether my offer will show respect for your capabilities. Clever, Fieravene. Clever."

He swirled his wine.

"I will pay for your estimated necessary expenses in procuring the item. Five thousand silvers should be an ample advance. Five thousand when the job is complete. And, after my artificers have had a chance to study the bow, you may keep it. I am sure it will fetch quite a sum on the black market. Unless..."

Here he smiled.

"...coin is not all you seek?"

 

[Fieravene]

"I seek no coin," Fieravene responded before taking another drink, "keep your precious metals. What else have you?"

 

[Gerra]

Gerra spread his hands. "What do you seek? More antique wine? An exotic menagerie? The amulets of forgotten kingdoms? What is precious to you?"

 

[Fieravene]

Admittedly antique wine would have been under consideration had Fiera had anywhere to really keep a stash. She had no use for a menagerie while she kept no home to speak of. Amulets of forgotten kingdoms were a silver a dozen.

What was precious to her?

Well, the value of precious only held as much value to her as it did to others.

"Have you ever heard of the Ten Rings of Amon-Thun?" Fieravene watched him over the rim of her glass, gaze unwavering, "The Ring of Sekhem is a curious little thing..."

 

[Gerra]

Gerra chuckled, sipped his wine, then set the glass down forcefully.

So forcefully that he wondered if it had broke - it hadn't.

"No. I see some birds have been singing in your ear. It makes me question their capacity for keeping their beaks shut. Perhaps they need an incentive."

 

[Fieravene]

"Uff," Fieravene waved dismissively at whatever proverbial hackles the man might've been flaring, "don't fuss. I've known about those rings for ages, longer than you've been alive for certain. Twas a guess that a King of your renown and stature, in this area of the world, might have endeavored to make them his own."

He did know about them, that much was obvious, and it seemed she'd touched an appropriate nerve on the subject.

"Pity. So few things catch my eye of wanting..."

 

[Gerra]

Gerra grunted, clearly displeased.

"Unfortunately I do not possess it. It was... appropriated from the palace in Ragash."

His stare bored into the wood table, as if by looking at it he might suddenly set it aflame.

"The thief will be apprehended in time, but the ring is too high a cost."

Molten eyes flicked up to meet her bloody gaze. What did she want, he wondered. What could a wandering ne'er do well desire? Someone who was always on the move, from place to place, adventure to adventure. Never staying in one area for too long. What could someone like that wish?

"If not coin then perhaps you would be interested in land instead. What do you think of this estate, does it strike your fancy? The vineyard on the slope produces excellent wine. And, of course, the view."

 

[Fieravene]

"Mmm," the elf smiled as she took another drink, a pleased cat with a raven's heart as it were, "a fetching parcel of real estate for any discerning eye. Yet views far grander and more exotic than this greet me day to day on my travels, and though I cannot deny a taste for quality local fare, my palate demands ... constant variety found only on those travels."

She finished her glass and gently set it down, moving to place her chin idly on the hand presently propped up on the armrest, "To what fortunes and endowments do such ladies of the King's court enjoy at his noble capital? I would settle for a home by your grand palace, dear King, and a seat at your table whenever I pass through."

 

[Gerra]

"In the city?"

Gerra pondered this for a moment, the sudden fires of irritation in his eyes retreating to a soft glow as he watched her feline movements.

"Yes. There are several of comparable size whose former masters are now," he smiled, "indisposed."

He leaned back in his chair.

"You seem to be tying yourself more closely with my court. Should I be alarmed?"