Private Tales Wrapped in the Wyrms Coil

[Ashuanar]

He sat at a long and wide wooden table. About him were stacks of tomes and scrolls.

Torchlight flickered around him, lighting the area just around him. Everywhere else was dark, and rows of tall bookcases cast long shadows.

He turned a page. Upon, a familiar marking, and a familiar creature. He turned another, and then many more, gazing upon them each with intent. He came upon another marking, this one unfamiliar, and an unfamiliar creature. Upon one page a place, and the next page, another. Spells. Curses. All manner of thing that might direct him on the right path. For hours he lingered there, long enough that the Sun's light peeked through the windows. And then on through the day.

It wasn't until night fell again that he left from the library, but he did not leave from there empty handed.

The answers he sought were proving aloof and difficult to find. And so, he could think of no better creature to aid him in such a task as one who was as equally aloof and difficult to find. However, unlike the former, the latter had a way of knowing when they were sought. It was only a matter of whether or not she chose to be found.

Down into the streets of Annuakat, he wandered. On down a busy street, and then on down one more quiet.

A quiet breeze brushed by, and his eyes were drawn toward...

The quick flick of a tail, then a lazy sway. A gentle purr. A lifted paw, leisurely cleaned. His eyes fell upon a black cat, who he could tell without a doubt had noticed him but took to no alarm. In seemed even, to expect him. He approached it, and only once he came near did its paw fall to the ground and it quietly peered up at him.

It wore no collar, and so the parchment in his hand had no place to be tucked.

He was about to lift it up when the letter dispersed right there in his grasp, wisping away into a black smoke that whirled around the cat and then vanished.

It meowed, and then departed, leaving him there with a half confused look on his face, which soon settled into an understanding grin.

Spoiler: Ashuanar's letter

Fieravene,

I would not write to you like this were it that I had any other option. Dark times descend on Amol-Kalit, and I fear that neither my guidance, nor the guidance of the whole Divan as it is, to be nearly enough. The dread of the great dragon's demise is upon us, and the Empire as we know it shudders and shakes, its foundations nearly broken.
But in these days, I am reminded...
It was you who invited me unto the darkened veil, who showed to me what lies beyond that which the eyes alone can see.
But unlike before, when you offered it freely, now I must ask.
Fieravene. I need your help.

 

[Fieravene]

In two days time Ashuanar would find a response.

A simple, neatly folded piece of parchment bearing the black wax seal insignia of an open eye.

Along with the note was the carcass of a dead mouse and a shattered crystal water glass on the floor by his desk. Wet paw prints dotted the polished tile floor leading from the puddle to nowhere in particular.

~~~
In ten days, look to the east.
Follow the red of my gaze in the night sky.
~~~

The red comet had come from nowhere, appearing as a distant streak across the sky during the day and growing molten and large as nighttime approached. When the sky was blanketed in midnight stars, its tail had grown into a vibrant fan and its eye sat like a charged molten orb. Never had such a sight graced the skies before.

Many took it as an ill-omen. They would not be so wrong.

In following the trail of the comet to where it lead the way across the distant sands, one would find themselves arriving upon a meager campsite just beyond the silhouette of a desert ruin.

Within the light of the campfire a black horse stood nearby its rider; an unassuming dark elf of dark hair, dark robes, and red eyes.

She tended the fire with the calmness of a spider tending its web.

Somewhere in the middling distance, a deep bellow sounded from the open expanse beyond.

"Waste not, want not," she replied.​

 

[Ashuanar]

In ten days look to the east.

And in ten days, upon the falling of its night, he did.

A wry smile crept across his features, the sign all too obvious to him. And only him. For none could have expected such a thing, and yes, even he though it a bit.. grand. But there again, was there any other so worthy of such grandiose display?

He thought, perhaps not.

---

Footsteps in the sand, light despite his frame. He appeared in the dim light of the campfire, his eyes upon the dark one just there.

As before, as she ever had since that day, she appeared first to him as a figure wreathed in shadow like fire, with eyes blazing as bloody red. And then with a blink, she was as all others saw her. More to her, than met the eye. Many had always surmised, but he knew.

Somewhere in the middling distance, a deep bellow sounded from seemingly nowhere.

His eyes cast off and away as he drew near, and then turned again to her as he came near the fire, dismissing it as something to be dealt with when need be.

Her presence was far more potent, at present.

"Fieravene," he declared, pausing for a moment of quiet respect, then saying, "thank you for coming. I am..."

Compromised....

"...glad you've come."

 

[Fieravene]

"You say that now..." replied the dark elf, her tone equipped with a lingering hint that perhaps he might not be so glad. Given enough time in any one single area and less than gladly things were sure to follow. But what a rude hostess she would be without acknowledging a call answered.

She looked to him finally with a glance over her shoulder, ember eyes gazing upon him with a fresh perspective. Had he always been so...blue?

"Hm," the elf made a noise alluding to her own pleasure for the company and lifted a hand to pat the open spot of sand beside her, "come. Sit. I would pour you a glass of wine ... sadly, I'm all out."

Her more recent travels since her long departure from the Kalit had not been nearly so luxurious as her days spent among the Empire. Gods how she missed fresh olives. Instead she had a pot of coffee brewing off the side of the fire. Its aroma lingered in the immediate area about her like a cheap perfume.

 

[Ashuanar]

"You say that now..." she said.

For an elf, of any sort, Ashuanar was young. Not yet five decades old. But, his had been a life full of experience. He'd grown up quite quickly in his time... and Fieravene had had no small part in that.

"I do," he replied, a resolute and yet respectful tone in his voice. He did not falter, despite her looming presence. He would not be so easily towered over. But in this, he knew, and silently lamented, he still sought to impress. He still sought to prove himself - to her, especially it seemed. Even more-so than Gerra.

More-so than Medja, even.

What was it about her?

She patted the sand beside her, and he hearkened to her. He wanted to, of course, and so he did. He even smiled at her gesture before drawing near.

"Coffee will be fine," he replied, eyeing the pot inquisitively, "although I did not think you enjoyed it?"

Then again, if anyone spent much time in the cities of the Empire, coffee would quickly find itself on one's menu. It was one of their best exports, after all.

 

[Fieravene]

Dark brows lofted high over red eyes blinking back at him in disbelief. Fieravene? Not enjoy something?

Feeling rather put-upon by the suggestion, she poked at her fire with purpose.

"Ours is a world of many flavors," Fieravene noted with all the wisdom of one who had spent a great deal of time traveling and savoring those many flavors, though her eyes did narrow faintly as her brows lowered upon giving her present option consideration, "not all of them good."

"But one learns to make-do with what one has without complaint," at this she offered him a glance of humor that was horribly self-aware. The kettle began to pip and so she plucked it from the coals with her poker to pour them each a tin cup. Fieravene rather liked coffee. Good coffee. But this was certainly not of the calibre that the Kalit was made famous for. Despite the lack of richness it was indeed quite strong. There would be no sleeping tonight.

A gentle breath passed through pursed lips, billowing the steam of her cup where she held it just under her chin. From over its rim she eyed the comet above in a silence unsettled only by the crackling of the fire. Aside from the otherworldly presence presently streaking across the sky in a crimson blaze, the evening was relatively pleasant.

No silence quite like that of the desert night. She almost missed it.

But mostly she missed the olives.

 

[Ashuanar]

"Indeed, one does," he replied, subtly glancing down at his hidden affliction.

He sipped from the coffee. It was not from Kalit, that was obvious from merely its scent, just there before his nose, but still... he liked it. Coffee was one of those things for him. He strayed away from it, for no matter what make it seemed to be, what flavour it seemed to bear, he enjoyed the sensation well beyond the taste.

That held true for many things, it seemed, at times.

"But sometimes what one thinks is good, another disagrees," he sipped again. It was quite hot still.

And he had grown to enjoy the simple pleasantries of life. When at one time he'd have cut to the chase, he instead chose to dolly for as long as she'd allow. No doubt she knew he'd called upon her for purpose, but these moments, in this world, in these times... they were few and far.

He sipped from the coffee.

"Alliria?" he asked.

 

[Fieravene]

"Oh," an impressed chirrup flew from red lips, the guess garnering him an amused glance, "yes. From a village called Wilteschire."

"Lovely little place. Apple orchards for miles..." to that point, she leaned to a black saddlebag settled nearby, fished through the pockets and withdrew an apple which she tossed to the Vizier. "A far cry from Rings of Power, magical bows, or amulets that call upon ancient beasts of yore but much better for the belly."

Feast and famine came in many forms. Sometimes that of sustenance, other times that of deliverance. The two were not mutually exclusive.

"It has not healed, has it..." her words shifted tone with the same sudden intensity of a fast-moving squall. The glance she gave him this time was pointed and honed upon his wrapped arm.

 

[Ashuanar]

Far cry or not, he'd not had an apple in some time. He was in fact quite delighted when it fell into his palm. Paired with the small measure of pride that his keen sense had garnered him, a smile lingered on his lips while he set the apple just beside him.

His demeanour dimmed with her shift in tone, the spring in his gestures withdrawn and reduced.

With a long breath the smile on him faded, but he was not exactly dour.

He was not shocked at her perception, but he was surprised at just how perceptive she truly was. But there again, that was why he had called to her. The affliction upon him and even the whole of the Empire was of something... beyond. If anyone could perceive such things, it would be her. This much he counted on.

"Only enough so that it does not bleed," he glanced down at the hidden wound, lifting his arm to regard it, "and still, it does not spread. The draconic curse should have taken me by now, but this," he gestured to the armband on his left, "it spares me, but for how long?"

 

[Fieravene]

"Spares you," she echoed, the words hollow of meaning as her poise shifted, body twisting to face him while molten rubies settled squarely on his own forlorn gaze, "or holds you back?"

The darkness of intrigue lingered within the crimson where the firelight danced. For too long now had Fieravene lamented the blind eye of the Empire's greatest. Medja sat upon her false throne, all the power of the sands at her fingertips and yet the barest trace of a memory holding her back.

Ashuanar, given all the opportunity to seize the many seeds of power fate did deign to grant him and yet failing to understand how to sow. Where was the ambition they once held? Peace and complacency had made them content to settle. Taken away their will to fight. To sacrifice.

She hoped for his sake that this was not true, elsewise this had been a long journey wasted and Fieravene did not like it when the value of her time and efforts did not balance out.

Granite became her visage as she stared at him, "Show me."

 

[Ashuanar]

He did not fully understand what it was she meant, by holding him back.

His gaze fell to the armband then, a look of contemplation etching deeply into his features. If it was not merely sparing him of the plague, what then would it be keeping him from?

Frowning, his eyes lifted meet hers, and then he did away with the wraps which covered his maimed arm. The scar there was closed, yes, but it was far from any natural wound. It was marked clearly with the signs of infection, but rather than the reds and pinks of flesh it appeared greyish and pale, and the valleys formed in the afflicted flesh seemed almost luminous.

And now, spindly lines like black web splayed from its edges, reaching out only so far. But those little details had only recently developed, and were new to his eyes. He said nothing, only peering down at the wound with an odd sense about him.