Fable - Ask A Royal Execution

[Fieravene]

Annuakat
Palace
The Hall of Light
Evening

Contrary to its name, the Hall of Light was not a bright place at all at this hour. Filled during the day by grand, golden beams of sunlight from an open hexagonal pattern of the domed roof, tonight the clouds had obscured the moonlight and left it bleak and oddly cold. There were shadows of bodies standing in attendance, the Nine Princes left of Annuakat stood at the upper tier of the hall looking down upon a retinue of masked Immortals as they brought forth a man in chains.

From the Nine one man walked forward to stand at the center, the violet of his eyes within the glow of only a scant few torches an easy hint as to his identity. When he spoke, his deep voice boomed through the chamber like thunder; Prince Mago read the Abtati his charges, words unbroken by the chorus of pleas from the guilty party.

"You are hereby sentenced to eternal damnation, stricken of your rights to meet your Gods in the afterlife."

A shadowed figure stepped forward, peeling itself out of the darkness in a set of armor so black it claimed what little light was shed through the chamber. The torches went out, the Abtati fought against his restraints. No one saw what happened next but the sound of his wailing would wake children from their sleep and turn the bones of those laid peacefully to rest in their crypts.

Silence then settled with a sickening quickness, the guards felt their quarry's weight fall limp in their tethers.

"Master Mortician," Mago then turned as a single torch was relit and set his gaze upon a man of platinum hair and dour countenance, "thank you for attending on such short notice. As discussed, no word of this is to reach the ears of the people. The Priest's transgressions against the God King and his Divan must be broached to the public at the appropriate time. The Executioner will accompany you to ensure ... authenticity of his passing."

Mages were notoriously hard to kill, it seemed, or perhaps the Prince who bore no magical abilities of his own was simply being extra careful.

The Executioner stepped forward, its presence causing the torch's flame to wilt, and stared with balefully glowing red eyes at the Mortician from within a masked cowl. He would not see the growing blade of a sneer behind the armor.

 

[Gaheris]

Gaheris did not understand the least bit of these bizarre Kaliti rituals, but it was what it was. He stood idly in the darkness, occasionally rubbing his temple, smelling of cinnamon and mild impatience. Simply put the man in a noose and let gravity do the work. All this pageantry left room for error.​

​

Or so he thought, until the screaming and squelching began. Once that was over and light returned to the room, the dour mortician swallowed and adjusted his mask - a small cloth thing that obscured the lower half of his face.​

​

He was poised to assure Prince Mago that the executioner's observance would not be necessary, but the sight of the dark-clad figure made him reconsider. It was not exactly a visage one expected to be open to negotiation.​

​

"Of course, your Highness," was all Gaheris said, dipping his head respectfully.​

​

He motioned to the two junior morticians that had accompanied him, similarly masked and plainly garbed. They carried a crude stretcher, bringing it to a rest beside the twisted corpse of the priest and beginning the arduous process of undoing the bindings.​

​

When Mago was no longer looking, he offered the executioner a distrustful glare before joining his assistants. Not helping, of course, but observing. He had, on his person, a physician's rod, and dutifully prodded the corpse's neck.​

​

Always start with the simple tests.​

 

[Fieravene]

The Princes waited a few moments as the Mortician and his team went about their business before departing. Mago was the last to leave, lingering in the arched doorway with a look of marked concern for only a moment longer. Silence fell within the chamber, broken by the clattering of metal restraints as the junior morticians worked to place the body on the stretcher.

It was rather clearly dead and the Executioner might have excused themself if it weren't for a newfound intrigue by way of the Master Mortician. The black-clad fiend followed the team out in eerie silence, its presence on their heels like nothing more than a ghost.

 

[Gaheris]

As per his usual procedure, Gaheris continued to prod the corpse in the limbs and torso. No major fractures, despite his awkward position laying on the ground. Absent of those major complications, they would have the dear priest back up and running again in no time. In a manner of speaking.​

​

Once that and the bindings were settled, the attendants moved the corpse onto the stretcher and silently carried it forward. They headed in the opposite direction of Mago and his cabal - through a dusty and abandoned wing of the temple and down into the catacombs.​

​

They arrived at a forlorn chamber, Gaheris pushing aside a wilting door so his attendants could go through first. But before the Executioner could follow, he stepped in front of them.​

​

"Thank you for your diligence, but that will be all."​

​

He smiled in his usual manner: weak, insincere, impatient.​

 

[Fieravene]

Oh ho ho, was that a smile? The man looked positively sick with fabricated emotion, what in the Thousand Eyes was he doing here playing pretty for Gerra?

The Executioner lifted a shadow-clad hand to its cowl, fingers prizing off the faceplate and breaking the effect of the all-consuming ether of darkness to reveal the ashen face of the dark elf beneath.

"Even your feigned courtesy is a treat, Gaheris."

Fieravene pushed back the hood and removed the rest of her helmet, pointed ears springing into place and tousled black hair falling free. She fixed the man with an earnest mirth-laden smile, affixed the faceplate back on the helmet and tucked it under her arm, "Come here often?"

 

[Gaheris]

Gaheris sucked in a mouthful of air - a muffled, startled gasp. This was not someone he had expected to see. Or, altogether, desired to see. Fieravene was a renegade, a tormentor. She was completely unpredictable.​

​

And considering her showing up here was the last thing he could have predicted, he should have predicted it. In hindsight. Twenty-twenty.​

​

"Ah, well," Gaheris blinked. His eyes darted to the left, to the right, then back to the sinister Elf. Devising a plan, an escape route. Debating whether a slam of the door was in order. "I... You're an executioner... Now...?"​

​

As if he needed another reason to be concerned with her presence.​

 

[Fieravene]

"I dabble," Fiera replied, eyeing the man from head to boot and back again. Still dressed as though he were on his way to a funeral, drab colors that would drown the joy out of any room. Black and greys and muted tones with a little bit of icing at the top.

The man's hair was far too pretty for a mortician. She couldn't wait to wring her fingers through it.

Intrigue and delight simmered within those molten coals, expression lightening as she drew in a breath, "Join me for dinner. Please?"

 

[Gaheris]

Dabble. Dabble exclusively in mischief and mayhem, more like. Executing turbulent priests certainly fit that description, as did harassing maligned necromancers. Gaheris swallowed audibly. The door creaked audibly as he shifted it forward the slightest inch.​

​

"Where and when?"​

​

He had to know - if only to make it easier to avoid the appointed place and time. How long would it take him to find a dinghy? How long to row it all the way to Tyria?​

 

[Fieravene]

The elf's smirk turned to an easy smile. Since when had this man become such a mess of discomfiture?

Her eyes caught the movement of the door and her hand caught the door edge, "My place, now."

Red watched him with the calmness of a sated cat who'd just finished a bowl of cream, "I can assure you my diligence won't leave behind a body to attend to in a few hours." The very essence that made up everything that made up the Priest had been devoured fully and she'd not spared a single drop. His husk was already starting to break down as the Mortician's juniors would find.

"I think that leaves you free of responsibilities for the evening."

 

[Gaheris]

Now. Got it. That left him approximately enough time to do... Nothing. Except scream, internally, which he did. Gaheris furrowed his brow at the mention of her diligence, and checked over his shoulder to see his poor attendants gaping at the crumbling corpse.​

​

Wisps of shadows erupted, small chunks flaking off and crumbling to an ashy substance. Compared to the bewitching visage waiting for him when he looked back to Fieravene, though, it was only the second most disconcerting presence in the general area.​

​

"It would appear you are correct," Gaheris said, in a tone that implied his words were being filtered through closed teeth, "Lead on."​

​

 

[Fieravene]

"Lovely," the elf stepped back, released the door and waited for the man to follow. She walked in silence for several long moments, wondering internally at the workings of the world. What had been the chances of the man showing up in Annuakat, of all places? She'd expected him to be hunted down by the dragon. What a pleasant turn of fate.

For her.

"You're looking well since our previous adventure. What became of the other fellows ... the clever one and the smelly one."

 

[Gaheris]

He swallowed audibly once again, turning to offer parting orders to his bewildered attendants: "Watch the decomposition and then dispose of whatever's left."​

​

Every other week, it seemed Gaheris had cause to envy the dead. First the Emperor getting handsy with him, and now this. Although, to be sure, he would appreciate Fieravene getting handsy a great deal more, just...​

​

Gaheris was not actually sure where that thought was going. But he didn't like it. Or he didn't like that he liked it, which was its own problem.​

​

But he followed her out anyway. Not unlike a lemming, in his estimation.​

​

"One of them went to start a farm in the Reach, the other moved to one of the free cities to do... Something," he replied, scratching at the cloth over his nose. "I don't remember which did what."​

 

[Fieravene]

"Ohh," she cooed brightly. How utterly lovely for them, galavanting off to retire. Or something.

"And then you somehow ended up here in the heart of the Empire dressing Gerra's dead bodies for trade," a wistful smile edged across her lips like a cat silently slinking through the shadows after its prey. They traipsed down an ungodly amount of stairs and through several rising walls washed in silver moonlight. Soon enough they were within the royal's district where all the important people of Annuakat made their beds. Fieravene wasn't exactly an important person here, she'd just managed to weasel her way in.

Or something.

"Following a dream or simply an order?"

 

[Gaheris]

It was only a short walk to the royal district from the Hall of Light. Once they were out in the open air, he tugged his mask off.​

​

Gaheris had not expected to be led to the royal quarter. Even as a member of the court, he had only been given a modest apartment in the palace. If the surrounding structures were anything to go by, Fieravene had somehow obtained a mansion.​

​

He could only imagine what foul deeds were committed for such a reward.​

​

"It's a matter of my trade, yes," he answered, coolly and with some reluctance. "The Red Guild brokers my services to anyone with the coin to pay for them. Sometimes they are merchant princes, and sometimes..."​

​

Gaheris sighed warily.​

​

"They are God-Emperors."​

 

[Fieravene]

"Indeed?" Curious the man was still selling himself to the Red Guild. Were his services owed to them? She would have thought the fortune he'd made off with from the dragon's lair would have been more than enough to pay his way to freedom and retirement like his two companions.

"Tell me, what's the draw of employment under the Red Guild? Someone of your talent should hardly need their backing."

 

[Gaheris]

"Connections, largely," Gaheris droned, "All of the wealthiest customers have come through the Red Guild. Including this one. Work is steadier this way."​

​

The less Gaheris had to worry about marketing himself and hunting new employers, the more he could focus on perfecting the work. Which was only slightly more important to him than, say, swimming through a mountain of gold and other luxuries.​

​

"The safehouse network and protection isn't so bad either..."​

 

[Fieravene]

Connections.

Fieravene couldn't fault him for that. A large part of her own travels were spent forming connections with the people who mattered the most, those who mattered not at all, and a healthy collective of those who fell somewhere in between. Hard to say where Gaheris fell, but the pleasure of his curiously macabre company was a welcome one.

"I suppose, given the general taboo nature of your trade, security comes at a premium." A necromancer mortician - though she had to wonder which part of his trade was public and which was need-to-know. Hideous line of business to be in according to most people, but Fi found she rather liked the scent of cinnamon and the general air of malaise he comported himself with.

"Oh, to be so ill of life that you make a career of death." The elf bit into a knife-shaped grin, "We are not so dissimilar in that regard."

She paused at a walkway leading through a gate and to an oversized flat that had once housed one of the many Princes of Annuakat. Empty as it had been after his untimely death, the unmarried Prince's home had proven a perfect form of payment for her first foul deed for the God-King of Amol-Kalit. In comparison to the other royal manors it was smaller in size but one could hardly call it quaint. Fieravene led the Mortician inside where they were greeted by attendants dressed in white with small accents of gold.

"M'Lady, ...M'Lord, we have prepared a fine roast duck for the evening. May I know your refreshment of choice?"

"The Mera Varil," Fiera answered, looking to Gaheris, "dry red to your taste?"

 

[Gaheris]

Fieravene smiled at him, and this got the usual reaction of a barely suppressed shudder. Although this time he smiled back - less like he appreciated the observation and more like he was trying to placate an unpredictable entity.​

​

One of the more modest abodes turned out to be her's. Still, he was clearly gawping at the decor once they entered. Gaheris hardly even noticed the servants until one of them started talking. Not to him, of course, but to their master.​

​

"Ah," he blinked when she asked him to weigh in. As if he normally didn't just eat and drink whatever swill was put in front of him. "Yes, that's... Fine."​

​

To his taste, even.​

 

[Fieravene]

"Very good M'Lord," the attendant bowed her head and strolled off to the right.

Whatever decor presented itself for gawping at was whatever had been left in the house from its previous occupant. Fieravene was not a collector of baubles and decor, as the God-King himself knew first-hand, and she hardly cared for what things looked like. The lavish abode had been prior-to adorned in an array of fineries only befitting a Prince of Annuakat. Priceless antiques, artwork, and craftpieces tastefully balanced the spaces between live greenery and potted plants. The floor was tiled mosaic, the columns alabaster with hand-painted gold leaf.

On and on it went, through various open rooms and into a courtyard filled with trees and the sound of running water from a large fountain.

"This way," Fiera called him from his gawping and lead him off to the left.

Their footsteps echoed within a hall of white-washed walls and hanging masks. Moonlight slashed through tall, open windows, carrying the tune of peepers and twilight insects. She lead him into a sprawling room sectioned by hanging curtains and bronze shadow-panels. A glance of a large canopied bed toward the back was the man's first clue this was her bedchamber.

"Have a seat," the elf gestured to a small seating area with a table at the center set with a fresh charcuterie board. Moonlight and lanterns lit the area in a dichotomy of stoic silver and dancing gold.

"I suspect my style of execution won't leave you with much work," Fieravene and her dastardly armor stepped behind a folding screen where a sudden, bright flash of red light followed, "but perhaps if you have need of fresh bodies to use for raising an army of dead I could be convinced to alter my technique..."

 

[Gaheris]

A bed. In the room. A large bed. This was a bedroom. A nice one, too. Easily among the nicest he had ever been in. What had happened the last time Fieravene had guided him to where she slept? Nothing he liked to remember. His lips flattened, and he looked rather like he just tasted something bad.​

​

He dutifully hovered around the seating area for a moment, regarding the charcuterie board with skepticism. Gaheris had seen these things before during his time in several Allirian courts, but they hadn't been for him.​

​

Very carefully - like he expected it to explode - he took a small slice sausage and popped it into his mouth.​

​

It was rather good. If he were lucky, it was poisoned and his death would be instantaneous.​

​

There was no death, only a flash of ominous red light behind a privacy screen. Gaheris nearly coughed up his sausage. He took that to mean she was changing in an altogether more eldritch fashion than he could conceive.​

​

He sat himself down and, after clearing his throat, answered tentatively. "There are other places to get corpses. I wouldn't, ah, worry."​

​

Gaheris glanced around. Where was that wine?​

​

"Although I'm sure the Emperor would... Appreciate it."​

 

[Fieravene]

"So you don't deny you're raising an army of dead," Fiera returned from behind the screen, gently pulling a measure of black material that presently hung over the top.

The same attendant from before arrived with perfectly impeccable timing, leaning to place an empty crystal glass on the table before Gaheris and pour him a measure of wine. "Is the selection not to your liking, M'Lord?" she asked him, indicating the charcuterie board, "I can bring something else."

"Cheeses and fruit, Vadira," Fi said after giving Gaheris a moment to respond.

Vadira bowed her head, poured the second glass of wine and carried it back to the screen. She returned to set the bottle down on the table and took her leave.

"I'm certain the Emperor would appreciate a good many things," the dark elf stepped out. She was barefoot, trimmed in a black dress, and quietly padded her way across tile and ornamental rugs to join him at the lounge area. She leaned to pluck an olive from the board, a pointed brow lofting as she smirked at Gaheris.

"Like me handing over his silly rings of power without a fuss, hm," she popped the olive in her mouth and moved to take a seat next to her guest, "would that it were so ... simple."

 

[Gaheris]

"It is not what the Emperor considers a matter of public discussion," Gaheris dourly admitted. "But if you know, you know."​

​

Fieravene had seen him use necromancy firsthand, there was little point in denying what she could likely piece together in an afternoon. Gaheris hoped by admitting flatly to the pending scandal, he could at least avoid being spied on.​

​

The attendant materialized again, pestering him. Gaheris' brow knit together. "No, this is... Fine."​

​

It just happened that Fieravene being in this close proximity, in a rather sleek and sophisticated black dress, had a dampening effect on his appetite. As it happened, his jaw went slack. But for different reasons: her casual mention of the rings of power.​

​

He shut his mouth with an audible clack, only to speak again. "You're the one who got the rings?"​

​

Gerra had originally asked the Red Guild to do so. But their coterie of mercenaries and thieves made for poor treasure hunters. Most of the expeditions hadn't come back.​

 

[Fieravene]

"Well ..." Fiera's dark legs slipped into display as she folded one over the other, the split of the fabric falling to either side of her knees, "it's not something the Emperor considers a matter of public discussion but," she gently brushed a speck of dust off her wine glass, "yes, I am."

The elf smirked into a sip of wine.

 

[Gaheris]

Gaheris shifted in his seat, pretending he did not notice. Not even a little bit. Not at all.​

He failed to smile back, on account of either nerves or his own furtive thoughts regarding the rings. Gaheris had the glass in hand now, swirling its contents but not drinking.​

“And how did you... Get them?”​

 

[Fieravene]

"I don't want to bore you with the details," Fiera went for another olive, "but I'd already had them for forty years or so, stored in safe keeping."

When one lived for... well, forever, it behooved them to find things to do to fill their time.

"Learning that Gerra had the missing two was what brought me to Amol-Kalit again. I knew they'd surface eventually and now," she leaned back into the cushions, "we just might witness what happens when all ten are brought together. Isn't that exciting..."

Probably one of the most exciting things to happen in the last century. Well, that and Pandemonium ... and her stealing the Faleen Grimoire from the Elbion College vaults. What a frenzy that had stirred up - she still couldn't go within fifty miles of that city without being arrested.