To understand your enemy

Areka

Preface: Aarbrok found a shard of anaxagorite in Xaanhal, and brought it to Areka both due to her status with Dhar, as well as her experience with metal.

Well-lit study adjoined to the archives.

This chamber has been adjusted to serve two needs - that of a formal archive, as well as a more secluded office. A circular room primarily, the circumference is lined with book shelves, and sectioned off into categories and segments, with some cases bearing locked doors while others are more open for perusal. The southern edge protrudes into a squared half-chamber, within which a desk and small hearth are positioned, and through threshold in the corner, what appears to be a smaller chamber with a cot and chest can be glimpsed. Across from the hearth, a painting has been hung in a rough frame. A war-torn scene stretches across the canvas, filled with warrior women in various stages of undress engaged in heated combat. Long hours of work have called for further modifications to the space, with a kettle often hung over the flames and a bread-board upon the desk similarly bearing needed vittles.

A low rumble emanates from the depths of the earth, shuddering and quaking fretfully. The painting on the chamber wall abruptly tilts haphazardly to the side as detritus and debris rains down in a fine shower atop you.

Areka utter a displeased little grunt and move to correct the hanging of the painting, righting the war-scene and the unfortunately-unjostled ladies on the ladies depicted within.

Knight Areka Morrog says, "I swear, if the tower falls for a third time, I'm going to relocate the Hall to a tavern and be done with it."

With a whisper, the Earthen Lord appears behind Areka in a coalescing vortex of dirt and debris that rested on the floor.

Father Ivoln says, "I could arrange for that, Pentarch."

He is an Immortal of colossal height and breadth, His weight such that the ground buckles beneath His feet. His body is a study in geology, a humanoid shape emulated in hewings of striated rock. Ribbons of limestone and shale race across the planar slopes of the God's earthflesh, mingling with greater layers of basalt, granite, and mica. Ripped across His breast is a deep crevasse, housing a pulsing heart of amber that hangs in the dead space, emanating puissant force. His head takes the appearance of a leering skull, misshapen as if melted by a blast of heat, stuck in a permanent glower. Set into a deeply recessed socket, His left eye blazes with bright, gritty light. A gigantic, war-torn cloak is slung around His shoulders, which tends to flap about as the large God ambulates with power and terrifying speed.

                     (displayed on one arm) : an earthen wyrm armband

                            (over the head) : a shattered bone helm

                     (draped over His body) : a tattered cloak

She is a typical Azudim, tall and smoldering. Towering over most mortals, she is broad-shouldered and athletic, strong limbs scarred and calloused. Her dark, charcoal-coloured skin is marred by the creases of her joints and palms, which glow as if she were kin of the deep-earth's fire. This warm, forge-like glow is echoed within the cracks of her lips and set deep within her oddly bestial eyes. Their ridging and colour reminiscent of cooled lava, two horns sprout from her crown and curve back along her head, their tips sharpened and capped in engraved gold. Coal-black hair, long enough to reach her mid-back, has been twisted into a slightly messy bun against the back of her head, and bound in place by vibrant red cording. Despite her odd colouring, her features and build echo her Trollish heritage.

(boldly splayed along the crook of the neck): a woven, triangular scar

          (piercing the bridge of her nose) : a golden spike-tipped barbell

            (heavily looped about her neck) : a heavy necklace of Anaxagorite links

               (draped about her shoulders) : a natural-weave ivory burnoose

         (braided and looped into her hair) : an ivory bone comb

         (meticulously polished to a gleam) : full plate emblazoned with a woven chevron

Areka's posture straightens with the sound behind her, though she gives the painting a final nudge before turning about-face to face Ivoln. "I believe You already have before, the first tower fell when meph-things were attacking citizens." The Azudim states, any emotion that might be paired with the words lost with her near-monotone speech.

Ivoln gives a rasping chuckle and shake of His head. "That was hardly My doing, Pentarch nor My intent," He begins, taking pause to survey the chamber with a narrowed eye before jerking His head back to regard you with an unwavering stare. "I am here to claim what is Mine, troll. Where is it?"

Areka politely gestures to the chair across from her desk as she approaches her own, and the broadboard atop it. "Biscuit?" She offers, before straightening the seat of her armour enough to allow her to sit. "I would need to know what 'it' is, before I can tell you an object's location." The Knight states, no hint of cheek or disrespect implied upon her evenkeel timbre.

Wearily, you wonder what it is with Divine thrusting statements outward without enough information to comply, though you reluctantly acknowledge that may-be they simply forget the brevity of mortal grasp and knowledge.

Barking out a rough laugh, Father Ivoln says, "You offer Me a biscuit of all things, troll? Why? Look at ME--do I look like I would enjoy a biscuit? Your frivolity is maddening."

Sharp gaze roving over the Immortal's form but briefly, Knight Areka Morrog says, "I do not know what Divine utilize, apart from essence, to supply their energies. I meant but to be hospitable, as much as I can be, given things, however if You wish to derive insult from such, I can do naught but offer my apologies for my ignorance and make note to not repeat such mistakes in the future."

Ivoln falls silent, seemingly at a loss for words and looks crestfallen at the biscuit in question. Without a word, the Earthen Lord picks it up and sullenly chews on it.

Easing back into her chair, Areka's joints creak in protest as much as the reinforced wood of her seat. With a nod of her horned head, the Azudim continues. "What is it of Yours that I have? If it does not imperil those I am responsible for or serve, I will return it to You without hesitation."

With renewed vigor, Father Ivoln says to Areka, "A shard of anaxagorite. It is Mine, rightfully so."

Areka's face is drawn with deep, glowing furrows as she frowns, and fishes from within the pouch that hangs upon her waist a folded piece of hide. "This is not just any shard. I recognize forge-craft, even when not mortal-made." The woman utters a little smoky, huffed breath, and looks up to Ivoln. "If I were to ask questions regarding this, would You answer me honestly?"

Father Ivoln says, "I may, Pentarch--but I promise you this: I will take it back."

Ivoln takes up the Earthen Blade, which contorts and flows around His fist, the stone joining seamlessly with His arm.

With a slow nod, Areka concedes, "Yes, that is within Your power, though if it comes to that I but ask we step into the bailey so as to not break things unnecessarily." Gingerly, Areka unwraps the hide from around the glowing shard, and leans to prop her arms onto the desk so that it is exposed. "Does this come from His blade now, or a previous one?" She begins her inquiry, following the first with, "Will your possession of this piece create threat to Him or those I am responsible for? The last incident I've seen the ramifications of with Your" - a gesture towards the sky, a general divine Your - "weaponry was the debacle with the Axiom."

A shattered fragment from the blade of the Underking, this shard of anaxagorite is a faint silver that glimmers with an incandescent light all its own in the mortal realm. The shard of anaxagorite burns the very air around it and, to the touch of the undead, sears deeply to the bone.

After a moment, Knight Areka Morrog says, "Please understand that I merely wish to be informed, as I am responsible for whatever comes of willingly returning this to You, or my assured defeat if it comes to You forcing it from my death-grip."

Wood creaks once more as Areka shifts upon her seat, falling to patient silence as her gaze drifts from the shard to Ivoln and back.

Ivoln reaches a hand outward as the shard is revealed to Him, practically quaking. "Neither, Pentarch," He utters in a low voice. "Give it to Me."

Areka studies Ivoln for a few moments, her lips drawn into a tense, downward-turned line for a few moments. With a nod, the woman says, "Very well." in her husky alto before passing a shard of anaxagorite to Ivoln.

Ivoln holds the shard aloft as it smolders within His grasp in turgid wisps of dark smoke. The Earthen Lord casts a wary gaze to Areka, the vestiges of His boldness seemingly vanished as He mutters in a low voice. "I had hoped to kill one of His own with this, you know. Foolish of Me.. how very foolish of Me."

Areka tactfully holds her tongue, though her studious gaze does not leave Ivoln and the shard. After a few moments, she says, "His do not fear His halls. It may inconvenience Him and the Cause, and create setbacks, and be unfortunate, we have accepted our inevitabilities."

His attention turned to the shard, Father Ivoln says, "He would have hardly felt a thing, Pentarch. Much less witness the Underhalls. Why do you remain so loyal to Him, mm?"

Knight Areka Morrog says, "I value life and the Cycle, bettering the self for those who come after us. I find mortals turn to undeath because they fear their own brevity or seek power to sate their egos though the latter is certainly something that arises among the Living."

Drawing a circle in the air, Areka says, "He is vital to those base values, even if He and I do not see eye-to-eye on all things."

Voice barely above a rasping whisper as He turns the shard over and over, Father Ivoln says, "Nor did We."

Light glints off of the gold caps that tip Areka's horns as the woman nods, her hands clasping atop the table, quite at a loss for words.

Father Ivoln says, "You have surprised Me, Pentarch."

You say, "How so?"

Ivoln looks to you, His reverie broken. "You trusted Me."

Knight Areka Morrog says, "I used to be of Spinesreach, I remember some of my lessons of You, when in lesson with the Scholars. You will either follow through with what is taught of You, or turn as at least some of Your siblings."

Knight Areka Morrog says, "And I will learn something either way."

Ivoln lowers the Earthen Blade, its jagged rockscape flowing loose from His arm and leaving it bare.

With a shrug of her broad shoulders, Areka adds, "You in turn humoured me and gave me a chance to ask my questions, rather than simply refting the shard from me the moment You entered."

Father Ivoln says to you, "He would rather kill Me than ever listen to Me. It would seem you... ah. It is nothing. Thank you, Pentarch."

Areka nods curtly.

With trepidation lingering in His voice, Father Ivoln says to you, "If you see Him.. tell Him I am sorry."

Ivoln mightily stamps the ground, forming a huge gash in the earth, through which He drops. The tear closes itself, leaving no trace of the God's departure.

Emelle

I loved this! Areka's character is fantastic, and Ivoln eating the biscuit made me laugh out loud. Thanks for sharing!

Teani

I agree with the previous statements. "Sullenly chewing down the biscuit" made me laugh out loud enough to draw funny looks from those around me. Great read! You were both awesome.

Areka

Thank you @Emelle and @Teani! And yes, I almost named it 'Ivoln has a biscuit.' That made my day.