Mule looked up to the high dome of The Pit, its black marble 'sky' was dotted with white and blue streaks that almost reminded him of the night sky. Were it not for the bright lights that reflected off the white stone walls, white stone pillars, and white stone floors of the interior chamber it would be.
This was a place of politics, ironically named The Pit, by the Zecair nobles. And as he looked around he could tell why. On the face of every man and woman that had shown up for this trial, he could read the desire to see blood. Even the deep maroon rug that they stood on, that covered the whole of this bottom stage, the only touch of color in the room, made this just another arena to them. He glanced across the lower pavilion, the stage for The Pit, and saw his charge, the elf lady Riyarra not thirty feet away. She stood plainly, one of three slave girls in matching uniforms and collars. He was glad to finally see her whole and in one piece.
Riyarra itched at her collar. When the guards stormed their room so early in the morning, they had taken them by surprise. No time, and no ceremony was given to allow the ladies to dress and clean properly, they were slapped with the slave collars and marched from their room. She looked to her left, and found The Deliquescent and The Alluring holding hands. The Alluring's face was stern and strong, she was being the pillar of strength. Whereas The Deliquescent's resolve had melted much earlier that morning, her gaze never left the floor -- it was the downtrodden gaze of the condemned.
The elf felt eyes on her, and she glanced across the room to see Mule staring at her. She hadn't seen him in some time, but he hadn't changed much. Like her, he was dressed in a plain uniform, a servant's robe, and wore a magic collar that painfully suppressed defiance. It was his eyes that bothered her, she had seen that same look this morning when they had been brought before The Unkillable. The bastard was busy suiting up in his polished black scale when they had arrived, his face wasn't angry, or fretful, just cold steel -- he was preparing for war. She saw that look in Mule's eyes as well despite the chains and shackles on his hands. To his right stood a Zecarin in a black dress lined in purple feathers. The lady's red hair was short and spiked with sap. It gave her a fearful appearance. It was Her, the demon bitch, The Majestic...
The Majestic's face was the most tranquil of her company. Her eight guards were visibly nervous, and even her personal servant wouldn't stop fidgeting with her sleeves. She knew she should be angry, furious at this public spectacle, perhaps even worried about its outcome, but deep down she knew better. She had the favor in this matter, and if The Unkillable was able to sway the court against her, she was content to die if such a travesty of justice could occur.
When she received the summons that morning, she didn't stress over it and simply had her servant prepare her for court. She knew this was the opportunity she had been preparing for -- Mule was her trump card. The mystery that surrounded him would confuse the court, and make them pliable to suggestion. He had served her well, and dutifully, there was no reason to mistrust him anymore. Today he would take a name, per their laws, and become a noble of her house. Once given rights, she could use him as a weapon against her enemies...the ultimate weapon. And today her weapon would take down a General.
Her eyes casually drifted to The Unkillable. He stood proud in his polished black scale armor and helmet with the visor up. A pale blue cloak hung from his shoulders, and he held onto a two handed greatsword planted, still in its sheath, tip first into carpeted floor. As befitting a General, he was stoic, keeping his feelings hidden and his mood unreadable. But to The Majestic, who knew this man that had married her sister well enough, that shroud of coldness meant he was concerned.
"The Loud," The Unkillable said as he turned his head. The Alluring looked up -- it was the new name he had given her that morning when she protested the lack of courtesies she and her sisters had been given.
"Yes, Lord?" She answered dutifully.
"You swore to lend me your voice against our enemies," The Unkillable said with an iron tone. "Uphold it, and I will permit you, and your sister to be nobles in our house. You may even keep --that- as a pet." He stuck his thumb out at the Eltharian. "You will never need to fear me again, so long as you do not betray our house. Betray me now, and I will slaughter all three of you on this floor."
The General returned to his stoic posture and said no more.
Worry ate at The Loud's stomach like stale food. She hated this bastard that stood before her, but she had promised to serve him, and promised to swear against The Majestic -- at Mule's instruction. She didn't know what to do now, Mule told her to promise that, but didn't say whether to actually do it. If she did swear, The Majestic and Mule would most likely be killed right here, and she would be trapped under The Unkillable's heel -- slave or not. If she didn't, The Unkillable would wet his blade on her, her sister, and Riyarra before engaging his enemy. Like it or not, she had only one choice really.
"I have no loyalties to The Majestic or her daemon." The Loud whispered. She was speaking more to herself, but those around her had heard her.
"Good." The Unkillable responded. But it was the look Riyarra was giving her that upset her more. It was confusion -- the same confusion that she felt. Their own fates were now uncertain, and they were both powerless to try and save themselves.
The High Patriarch finally arrived, entering the room from a side door below the first tier of balcony seats. The council members -- the heads of the ten great houses, Zecarin men and women alike -- sat on this first tier and watched below. Nobles and commoners filled the seats on the tiers above, some of them were even non-Zecarins. All Zecarins immediately stood and recognized the High Patriarch. His entrance was demure, but his appearance was anything but. He wore layers of blue and green silk that blended the two colors back and forth, and even seemed to changed from one to the other as he walk. It formed a sort of robe that floated in the air as if in a perpetual breeze. More impressive were the hundreds of polished and cut gemstones that orbited his person magically like tiny moons. The air became electrified as the power of this person could be felt by even the least trained in magic. His hair was short and stark white to match his wrinkled complexion, and sagging ears -- a man that wasn't afraid to show his age.
He took a seat on the council throne, an intricately decorated chair of wood and velvet -- expensive commodities in the underground city. The whirling silk settled with him, casting a tranquil aura on the whole room. Everyone but the two parties before him sat down. A hush fell on The Pit.
The door opened again, and two more Zecarin elves in full battle regalia entered the room. They looked like the Unkillable in their brightly colored, polished scale and the intimidating weaponry they held in their hands and that hung at their hips. One of the knight's mail was a deep, dark purple with a matching belt and sheath. A dark crimson cloak hung from her shoulders, and a plume of red feathers adorned the top of her helmet. Even her eyes matched her colors, as two purple dots amid her grey face. The other knight wore a mix of olive and grey piecemail, splotted and messy, there was no symmetry to his armor. But like his face, it was a ruin of war, repainted to mask the marks and dents of battle. A gruesome jagged spear amid a steel shaft rested comfortably in his hand and leaned against his shoulder. They took up flanking positions next to the High Patriarch, and the room grew silent again.
"Generals and nobles," The Patriarch began. He didn't move while he spoke and the whirling gemstones around his presence didn't stop. "For the duration of this trial, The Unkillable's rights and privileges as a General are temporarily suspended." The room remained silent. Even The Unkillable seemed to expect this. "First, this Trial will address a rumor. The Slavers reported seeing a fight in the streets between a soldier of The Unkillable's house guard, and an unmarked slave. The soldier was killed, and upon death was revealed to be a Veldain Chameleon -- a race forbidden to impersonate Zecarin officials while in servitude." The Patriarch's glance turned to The Unkillable. "How do you answer this rumor?"
"I do not deny employing Veldain Chameleons in my house guard." The Unkillable responded loudly to the audience and the Patriarch. "In fact, my entire house guard is comprised of non-Zecarins." The onlookers gasped and murmured disapprovingly at this incriminating admission. "However, they are but the first line of defense in my home. They are also the only visible line of defense. Another force, one of pure blooded Zecarin's who answer only to me, lurk in the shadows of my compound. They watch the Veldains as well as my guests and household. The Veldains are but fodder, drawing out the true enemy for my elite force to slaughter at their leisure. This spares any pure-blooded Zecarin from unnecessary harm." There was a murmur of approval from the nobles above. His cunning tactic had some merit. The two knights flanking the patriarch turned then and conferred with their Lord regarding this admission. After a few moments of deliberation and discussion, they resumed their positions facing the defendants.
"The Generals approve of this measure. You are granted clemency." The Patriarch announced. "Such a tactic requires secrecy of its use to be effective. This admission of such a secret, will no doubt ruin its effectiveness. Therefore, we are confident the Veldains will no longer be necessary as guards, and the law will continue to be abided." The Unkillable bowed to one knee at hearing the ruling.
"Now, to the claim made to this council," The Patriarch began again. The Unkillable rose and resumed his warrior's stance. "There is this matter of murder at the Arena. Why was blood shed so openly in our city? The Majestic, answer this!"
"I do not know, Your Grace." She said sweetly, and bowed before the court and the witnesses above. The Majestic kept an equally cool demeanor. Any sign of anger or frustration -- a wavering of confidence - would be an admission of guilt. "I was the victim in that attack. Were it not for my servant, this human, I would be dead." The Majestic's face was confused, but cold. She was playing the part of the victim. The crowd murmured at this, and all eyes fell to Mule. The High Patriarch turned to The Unkillable, and the General did not need to be prompted.
"She was found to possess the most forbidden of living property -- an Eltharian." The Unkillable announced. The crowd gasped in shock. "Her execution was mandated by law. Even so, I took the chance to question her about it first, during the arena games. She started to speak blasphemies about using Eltharian's as pleasure slaves. I confronted her on her treason, but The Charmer came to her aide and drew his sword to threaten us. I killed him with his own weapon and threw the Majestic into the pit to her death." The witnesses above shouted angrily. They called for The Majestic's death. "I even have witnesses." The Unkillable turned to The Loud and The Quiet and gestured to them with his hand. "Having saved their lives from The Charmer, I took them as household slaves. Upon proving their worth and loyalty, I will make them nobles in my house."
