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.
