Endless Skies III

[SoHee]

Iris Evenhand

She threw daggers of her own at the hooded figure using her eyes. He merely gave a quick raw laughter in return, untouched by her look. And once again she found herself being half dragged half pushed through what seemed like endless passages, corridors and even wine cellars.

Then, finally, they stopped. One knocked on the door and after a quick reply which she could not understand an ounce of, the doors flung open. She had to squint her eyes as light hit her. One last push and she found herself inside a room, a large chair facing her. It smelled of old books, a smell she wasn't very fond of. But, she had to admit, it was better than the rotting smell and the blood.

"Welcome Iris."

She looked at the Scythian before her and to her own surprise she found tired she had become as she followed his advice to sit down. It felt like her energy, held up by her anger, was slipping away.

Asgeir. She turned around as she heard his name at first looking releaved to see him unharmed followed by annoyance as she saw the clothes he was wearing. The messenger.

"What is this?" she demanded to know, completely ignoring Eustachio presence. "You tricked me from the start? Played me like a fiddle?"

"Why?" she continued, feeling her anger return. "What is going on?"

[Torroar]

Torroar Berrokele of Pettra

The cold steel of the emperor’s voice came as a welcomed respite to the coming torture that awaited him. The tingling anticipation of pain melted away leaving his heart beating rapidly, heavy painful breaths and the fire that shot molten shards cauterized pain up his spine from the smoldering hole given by his enthusiastic torturer. Immediately his bindings were removed and he found himself carried away by the elite guards not resisting at all if anything he allowed himself to be whisked away somewhat limply.

A pinch of satisfaction came to him while the emperor spoke of spoke of the Gods and their sense of humor. Torturing a Berrokele is unheard of in Foucia, such horrible disgrace would be brought upon any house for disrespecting the monastery dwelling warriors that they would never have the chance to employ any Berrokele. But he is in another land with different laws, rules and customs. Besides all that his life is on the line the humans are more xenophobic then he could have expected, imprisonment, interrogation and just a hint of torture.

Now he is being offered a stay at empty royal chambers, a doctor, and a chance to clean himself up. He wondered now what the emperor wanted out of him first he is treated badly now he is being offered service. If that wasn’t suspicious enough now he is being guarded as well. Up, up and up the guards and Torroar went they kept the hood over his face; unable to tell where he was going Torroar only picked up excited or shocked voices many of the voices were women never had he heard so many women in one spot. The human explorers hadn’t been telling a false tale when they spoke of being more women then men in their lands.

When they arrived at the chambers the two elite guards shoved Torroar unceremoniously into the chambers shutting the large heavy door behind him quickly. Torroar threw off the dark hood across the room with a growl he touched the torn silk jacket he chose to wear, it is a nice fit buttoning from his left shoulder down to his right hip. It is died a flowing myriad of azure and pearl colors with scrolling embroidery along the buttons and sleeves. Now his threads are covered with blood, mud, grease, body odor and tears. He threw that across the room on top of the black hood, sighing the warrior left the luxurious and spacious bedroom into an immaculate washroom.
The washroom came with a chamber pot a large stone basin used for washing a mirror, a large wooden bucket some candles, candle holders and an oil lamp. Everything was unlit giving a dim view of his reflected features. Dark blue eyes that have just a hint of mixed in green stare at the charred line of flesh that the smoldering metal drew across his chest. The smell of burnt hair still lingered as Torroar drew a finger around the throbbing wound, he rubbed his soft multicolored velvet. It’s a dark color nearly that of ink but as he draws his fingers across; it shines a blue purple color. Across his chest and down his abdomen the color of his velvet dramatically shifts into pale silver. Sporadically dotted across dark velvet are half as dark amber colored leopard spots. The spots grew in density across his shoulders down his back and around his hips.

He walked out of the washroom back toward the large bedroom painfully limping as the cauterized hole only grew more painful with each passing breath. He laid himself down on the luxuriously oversized and elegant bed complete with thick satin sheets and heavily embroidered blanket. The bedposts spanned high and thick stained a light bronze, gilded and covered in amazing carvings. Torroar for a moment lost himself in the decadent luxury of the room, never had he been in such a lavish accommodation. His life has consisted of militant monistic living, the shock of having royal service definitely made him wonder what the emperor had planned.

A knock at the door came and a tall thin man who is well groomed, wearing stately attire and carries himself with an impeccable professional bearing followed by dried up ancient dust ball of a man. The stately man closed the door behind him giving a polite smile “Torroar I presume, my name is Rajoule this is Dan the physician.” He gestured to Dan who waved an old crooked hand at Rajoule as if shoeing him off. “Dan will be taking care of your wounds and I will ensure that you are properly cleaned and dressed in well mannered attire. You won’t be looking like some sort of ruffian while in royal chambers. No no it won’t do. But its late so the clothing can be taken care of tomorrow.”

Dan quickly went to work applying poultices over the burns and wrapping them in clean dressings; the old crone wordlessly did his work and moved on giving a dismissing wave of his hand to Rajoule as he muttered something about going back to bed. “Is there anything else I can do for you Torroar?”

“Can you come back tomorrow. All I want to do is sleep” Torroar said while rubbing at his bandages.

“If the emperor wishes it” Is all Rajoule said before departing. Torroar crawled to the head of the bed giving a sigh. For him it is normal to sleep with another Berrokele, it isn’t anything sexual but rather strengthens comrade and it is always good for someone to have your back in war camps. For the Jirroh attacking an opposing army while they are sleeping is perfectly acceptable if someone is weak enough to be caught off guard then they get the death that comes, and because of this Torroar did not find sleep easily this night.

[GourmetItalia]

= Izeraph Moss Underways =

<<< Earlier >>>

A rear escort tailed the elf has he was led blind folded through narrow corridors. They ensured that no one tailed them as they transported their capture to their secret safe houses. It was cold this evening and there was only one lamp to share amongst the 7 rear escorters.

The lamp was passed down at every stop and each escorter was fussy about passing small thing. It was the only thing that kept 1 warm and the one closest to it received the most heat, making the lamp's presence a privilege and a commodity. It was also quite eerie to travel without the lamp in one's hand. Each escort, though determined and resolute, remained a bit jump with the past events fresh in their heads.

When time came for the lamp to be passed, the holder refused to let it out of his grasp, preferring to stay close to the warmth. "Time's up, Fane, pass up the lamp, will ye," asked one of the escorts. "Adveho in vir! I've been travelin' all evening in this cold! I don't want to catch a cold, mi fratello." "And neither do we, buono fratello," said another escort, "You'll have your chance again once we ..." "Quiet," hissed the escort's leader, "I think I just saw something."

Everyone fell silent when the leader snatched the lamp. Bringing it to his eyes, the leader squinted as the lamp eerie rocked left to right. Out in the distance he saw an unrecognizable pair of red eyes scampering on four legs. He had never seen anything like this before and it frightened him.

The escorts noticed it too and they began to huddle near the light, afraid of being left in the dark. "What do we do, sir," asked a bumpy faced escort? Pointing shakily towards the thing, the escort leader turned his head and muttered, "Flagrante delicto." Upon hearing this, the front escort leader grabbed the elf and disappeared down a flight of stairs. The rest of the front escort dispersed into different tunnels, disappearing from sight.

Flagrante delicto was the secret warning for tailing enemies and each resistance member knew their roles when the warning went out. The rear escort's leader whispered a few commands so some of the escorters could draw the thing's attention while the others dispersed. When the others began to follow his instructions, he handed the lamp to one of the escorts and disappeared with a few other rear escorters behind a trap door. A handful of escorters took cover behind the piles of crates that shielded the trap door and notched their bows. After a moment, the escorters fired a barrage of arrows at the thing and began to disappear one by one into the different tunnels.

= Asgeir =

"What is this?" she demanded to know, completely ignoring Eustachio's presence, "You tricked me from the start? Played me like a fiddle?" "Why?" she continued, feeling her anger return. "What is going on?" Asgeir did not speak, but merely kneeled and lowered his head. The short bearded Scythian patted the elf on the shoulder, gave the engineer her weapon, and tapped her head with a rolled piece of parchment. "One should not speak to one that has just saved her life," Eustachio mocked, shaking his head with a smile.

He clasped his hands together and shook his head, then circled around back behind his table where he turned his back against the other two. "As you may already know, I am Eustachio and I work for the Kilanthian resistance. Asgeir and I made an agreement of mutual understanding after we learned that he is actually a Kilanthian Royal Sentinel. The markings on his shoulder make no mistake that he is in the Emperor's royal guard and he has given his full support to the resistance, isn't that right, Asgeir?" The elf nodded once, but made no other motion.

The Scythian smirked and said, "We Kilanthians do not believe the Scythians have the right to own this city ... and so, as citizens of the Kilanthia Empire, we have raised arms against the savage beasts until either we or they are in complete control of Izeraph." The Scythian raised a finger, turned around, shuffled through a cupboard, and then retrieved a dusty bottle of wine. From its markings, it was a rare vintage and a treasured possession. Eustachio pulled the cork. "Wine," he asked?