MaiusImperium
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 16, 2005
- Posts
- 667
OOC: Closed thread for myself and Erin_. Enjoy ^^
A figure moved across the bustling plaza, the crowds parted and flowed around the shadowy outline, heedless of its presence. The figure was unremarkable, wreathed in black cloth and with cloak billowing, it was of about man-height, yet if anyone were to study the figure's movements they would see it flowed with an oily, liquid grace, weaving and trickling through gaps in the thronging noonday crowds.
The noonday market was subdued. For it was marked in the calendar as the Day of Repentance in the city of Mors Utharin, capitol of Utharin. Once a year the great market plaza of the capitol was lined on its square borders with gallows holding the dead or dying bodies of enemies of the state of Utharin. The crowds bustled, yet there was little vivacity and each citizen walked with hooded cowl snatched tightly about their head, as if that alone could drown out the soft, hopeless moans of the dying and the occasional thud of bench being kicked from under a new victim of the gallows, followed often by the sickening snap of neck breaking. It was a stark, inescapable reminder of the fate that awaits enemies, traitors and criminals of the Utharin Empire.
The dark figure moved onwards, flowing between carts and hawkers alike, stalls and trading tents that festooned the square plaza, moving towards the dark tower that stood at the head of the plaza, beyond a great circuit wall crafted from gleaming black stone. The Sightless Tower it was called, and it was the seat of the Emperor Uthar XIV, lord of all the lands west of the Emerald Mountains, known as the Utharin Empire. It was a tall, imposing construction, so great that it's furthest peak faded into low-lying cloud and mist high above the plaza. It was black, gleaming, fashioned from the same material as its protective walls. Not a seam, or groove could anyone find in its construction, as if the black, gleaming stone had been grown or hewn by giants, rather than constructed brick by brick in the normal fashion. It's towers and crenulations were sharp and stabbed cruelly into the firmament of the sky above. Dark, silent sentries stood on the obsidian battlements, unmoving, deathly sentinels that maintained a sleepless vigil upon the city that surrounded it.
The dark figure was moving towards the tower, the people of Mors Utharin scurried like ants in its shadow, tiny and insignificant in the presence of its dark majesty. The tower's protective wall opened before the dark figure as it approached, the seams of the door in its construction only visible now as the featureless, smooth walls parted with a gentle hiss and a loud thud. The wide doorway in the walls opened outwards on hingeless doors, a faint, yellow light guttered from the opening in the dull, overcast afternoon daylight. The figure moved through the door, the crowds before the doorway seemed to pick up their pace as the door opened and scurried this way and that, melting into the surrounding marketplace, as if trying to escape from the dull light that emanated from the grounds of the tower beyond the walls.
The doors shoot behind the figure with a loud, thunderous crack, leaving no trace of their ever having existed in the face of the smooth, dark walls. Beyond the walls the figure continued to move under the sight of its deathly sentries, tall, dark-clad and armoured figures, who's insect-like black armour glistened in the weak sunlight as hey watched the cloaked figure move up the empty stairway before the black tower.
The figure moved into the tower without a word to the sentries at the doorway. On closer inspection the cloaked figure was plain save for a golden emblem blazoned on the left breast of his black tunic, a single golden eye surrounded by a halo of starpoints and a single winged thunderbolt beneath that marked him out as one of the Emperor's imperial guardsmen.
In quick time the black figure came to a great antechamber. It's vaulted hallway was crafted from the same black stone as the tower itself, yet here it was inlaid with cold, white marble scrollwork and great floor panels fashioned from the same material, in contrast to the black stone that formed the foundation of the tower's insides. Here the opulence of the imperial court was in abundant evidence, each and every hallway was lined with gleaming gold-inlaid furniture and satin velvet, tapestries spun from the finest silkworm and glowspiders bedecked the walls. The antechamber that the cloaked figure stood in now, before a pair of the armoured sentries was vaulted, above him braziers glowed like far-flung stars in the gloom far, far above. The heady, cloyingly sweet smell of incense was heavy on the air.
The figure waited, unmoving save for the faint draught of air that caught the bottom of his cloak. It stood before the sentries at the doorway, no words were spoken between them. There was silence, for long, long heartbeats the figures waited in silence. The figure wreathed in shadow stood, poised, body tense, coiled like a cat ready to spring into flight or fight at a moment's notice. Suddenly the armoured guards parted and the door into the emperor's throne room creaked open. The heavy, carved wooden doors swing outwards, cold, white light sprung into the darkened antechamber. The shadowy figure stepped over the threshold and beheld the imperial court.
The throne room was bigger still than its antechamber, long and broad, it's vaulted ceiling so tall it faded into darkness above. Great, tall, narrow stained-glass windows let in the cold noonday light in great, multi-hued shafts that slatted across the dark obsidian paving beneath the figure's soft leather boots.
"Come, my son. Kneel before your emperor and present yourself." A wizened voice rasped, like dead leaves on a gentle wind as the figure moved before the golden throne before him and prostrated himself. The figure lifted his cloak, casting back his shadowy raiment. He peered up at the old man stood by the golden throne, and the opulently-robed figure who sat on the throne itself.
He was young, in the primacy of his manhood, his skin was pale, his hair was dark and ruddy, swept back from his porcelain skin and came to an end in waves by his nape. The man's eyes were cool green, like emeralds set in fine china, his face was impassive, cold, his expression did not waver one way or the other, not at all. He knelt before the old man; the Emperor's Vizier, an ancient, gnarled old man, wreathed in jet black robes, a circlet of silver crowned his thinning grey hair, and another lay about his chest, festooned with heavy golden symbols of the city's chief deities. The imperial vizier extended a hand, and the young man kissed the heavy golden sigil set upon the old man's knuckle.
"Welcome to the imperial court, young Davion." The old man gestured for Davion to rise to his feet. Davion unfolded himself smoothly and stood before them, cowl bunched over his shoulders, she stood straight now, strong and his attention shifted from the vizier to the emperor himself.
The emperor had remained silent throughout the ceremony. He sat atop his ornate, golden throne, impassive. He was a man of middle years, his short, black hair was greying at the temples, his brow was furrowed only slightly, his ice-blue eyes were cold, unmoving, similar to Davion's, but age had clearly embittered this man, and they burned like cold, merciless blue coals.
"Your emperor has a task for you, think of it as ah..a chance to prove yourself worthy of that emblem you wear upon your breast, youngling." The old man licked his lips, his eyes darted about nervously for a moment, from Davion to the emperor and back again.
"You are going to recover my daughter, guardsman." The emperor Uthar interjected, his tone was hard, unforgiving, much like the man, so Davion surmised, if even a quarter of the rumours about the man were true. For his part, Davion's expression changed not a jot, he was careful not to show any outward emotion, all Utharians were, it did not bode well for anyone to show fear or weakness in Utharian society, not since the founding of the empire had weakness been tolerated in any form.
"I am at your service, Emperor." Davion's tone was confident, unrelenting and unforgiving. He would prove himself worthy of the emblem he now wore. He was one of the imperial guardsmen now; it was a title born of tradition that stretched back to the founding of the empire. In reality the Imperial Guard were not the guards of the Sightless Tower, nor were they even the Emperor's personal bodyguards. The Imperial Guard was an elite branch of the Empire's military, a clandestine group of hunters, loremasters and rangers, who operated abroad, far from the Empire's borders to further the interests of the Empire. They were assassins, diplomats and skilled warriors, often they were all three of these things. Davion was one such agent, and newly raised to the Imperial Guard at that.
"This will serve as adequate proving for your new position in the Imperial Guard. The Emperor's daughter, the princess, has been taken from us, kidnapped by merciless terrorists, enemies of the state. You will retrieve her." So the vizier spoke, his tone full of disdain. Davion's eyes widened a little, whoever had taken the Emperor's daughter had been bold to the point of madness; the Empire's arm was long-reaching and only the most foolhardy would attempt such a theft.
"So the Emperor commands, so will I obey, Vizier." Davion bowed low and clasped his fist to his breast in salute. "i will depart at once, my Emperor." Always Davion address the emperor himself, though the vizier was the one who replied.
"We have a horse waiting for you at the gates, we have very little information to aid you in your task. Speak to Marius, master of the guard on your way to the city's gates. Our scouts last reported the Emperor's daughter leaving in the company of two cloaked figures, they were heading towards the Karach pass in the Emerald Mountains. We surmise they are heading into the lawless lands beyond the empire's eastern borders.
"I will make for the Karach pass, my Emperor. They will not elude me, I will bring your daughter back safely." DAvion bowed low once more, the Vizier gestured for him to leave. "See that you do, guardsman." The emperor replied as Davion left, he paused for a moment at the doorwar, a long stretch down the throne room, before the heavy doorways opened before him. He set off after his quarry.
A figure moved across the bustling plaza, the crowds parted and flowed around the shadowy outline, heedless of its presence. The figure was unremarkable, wreathed in black cloth and with cloak billowing, it was of about man-height, yet if anyone were to study the figure's movements they would see it flowed with an oily, liquid grace, weaving and trickling through gaps in the thronging noonday crowds.
The noonday market was subdued. For it was marked in the calendar as the Day of Repentance in the city of Mors Utharin, capitol of Utharin. Once a year the great market plaza of the capitol was lined on its square borders with gallows holding the dead or dying bodies of enemies of the state of Utharin. The crowds bustled, yet there was little vivacity and each citizen walked with hooded cowl snatched tightly about their head, as if that alone could drown out the soft, hopeless moans of the dying and the occasional thud of bench being kicked from under a new victim of the gallows, followed often by the sickening snap of neck breaking. It was a stark, inescapable reminder of the fate that awaits enemies, traitors and criminals of the Utharin Empire.
The dark figure moved onwards, flowing between carts and hawkers alike, stalls and trading tents that festooned the square plaza, moving towards the dark tower that stood at the head of the plaza, beyond a great circuit wall crafted from gleaming black stone. The Sightless Tower it was called, and it was the seat of the Emperor Uthar XIV, lord of all the lands west of the Emerald Mountains, known as the Utharin Empire. It was a tall, imposing construction, so great that it's furthest peak faded into low-lying cloud and mist high above the plaza. It was black, gleaming, fashioned from the same material as its protective walls. Not a seam, or groove could anyone find in its construction, as if the black, gleaming stone had been grown or hewn by giants, rather than constructed brick by brick in the normal fashion. It's towers and crenulations were sharp and stabbed cruelly into the firmament of the sky above. Dark, silent sentries stood on the obsidian battlements, unmoving, deathly sentinels that maintained a sleepless vigil upon the city that surrounded it.
The dark figure was moving towards the tower, the people of Mors Utharin scurried like ants in its shadow, tiny and insignificant in the presence of its dark majesty. The tower's protective wall opened before the dark figure as it approached, the seams of the door in its construction only visible now as the featureless, smooth walls parted with a gentle hiss and a loud thud. The wide doorway in the walls opened outwards on hingeless doors, a faint, yellow light guttered from the opening in the dull, overcast afternoon daylight. The figure moved through the door, the crowds before the doorway seemed to pick up their pace as the door opened and scurried this way and that, melting into the surrounding marketplace, as if trying to escape from the dull light that emanated from the grounds of the tower beyond the walls.
The doors shoot behind the figure with a loud, thunderous crack, leaving no trace of their ever having existed in the face of the smooth, dark walls. Beyond the walls the figure continued to move under the sight of its deathly sentries, tall, dark-clad and armoured figures, who's insect-like black armour glistened in the weak sunlight as hey watched the cloaked figure move up the empty stairway before the black tower.
The figure moved into the tower without a word to the sentries at the doorway. On closer inspection the cloaked figure was plain save for a golden emblem blazoned on the left breast of his black tunic, a single golden eye surrounded by a halo of starpoints and a single winged thunderbolt beneath that marked him out as one of the Emperor's imperial guardsmen.
In quick time the black figure came to a great antechamber. It's vaulted hallway was crafted from the same black stone as the tower itself, yet here it was inlaid with cold, white marble scrollwork and great floor panels fashioned from the same material, in contrast to the black stone that formed the foundation of the tower's insides. Here the opulence of the imperial court was in abundant evidence, each and every hallway was lined with gleaming gold-inlaid furniture and satin velvet, tapestries spun from the finest silkworm and glowspiders bedecked the walls. The antechamber that the cloaked figure stood in now, before a pair of the armoured sentries was vaulted, above him braziers glowed like far-flung stars in the gloom far, far above. The heady, cloyingly sweet smell of incense was heavy on the air.
The figure waited, unmoving save for the faint draught of air that caught the bottom of his cloak. It stood before the sentries at the doorway, no words were spoken between them. There was silence, for long, long heartbeats the figures waited in silence. The figure wreathed in shadow stood, poised, body tense, coiled like a cat ready to spring into flight or fight at a moment's notice. Suddenly the armoured guards parted and the door into the emperor's throne room creaked open. The heavy, carved wooden doors swing outwards, cold, white light sprung into the darkened antechamber. The shadowy figure stepped over the threshold and beheld the imperial court.
The throne room was bigger still than its antechamber, long and broad, it's vaulted ceiling so tall it faded into darkness above. Great, tall, narrow stained-glass windows let in the cold noonday light in great, multi-hued shafts that slatted across the dark obsidian paving beneath the figure's soft leather boots.
"Come, my son. Kneel before your emperor and present yourself." A wizened voice rasped, like dead leaves on a gentle wind as the figure moved before the golden throne before him and prostrated himself. The figure lifted his cloak, casting back his shadowy raiment. He peered up at the old man stood by the golden throne, and the opulently-robed figure who sat on the throne itself.
He was young, in the primacy of his manhood, his skin was pale, his hair was dark and ruddy, swept back from his porcelain skin and came to an end in waves by his nape. The man's eyes were cool green, like emeralds set in fine china, his face was impassive, cold, his expression did not waver one way or the other, not at all. He knelt before the old man; the Emperor's Vizier, an ancient, gnarled old man, wreathed in jet black robes, a circlet of silver crowned his thinning grey hair, and another lay about his chest, festooned with heavy golden symbols of the city's chief deities. The imperial vizier extended a hand, and the young man kissed the heavy golden sigil set upon the old man's knuckle.
"Welcome to the imperial court, young Davion." The old man gestured for Davion to rise to his feet. Davion unfolded himself smoothly and stood before them, cowl bunched over his shoulders, she stood straight now, strong and his attention shifted from the vizier to the emperor himself.
The emperor had remained silent throughout the ceremony. He sat atop his ornate, golden throne, impassive. He was a man of middle years, his short, black hair was greying at the temples, his brow was furrowed only slightly, his ice-blue eyes were cold, unmoving, similar to Davion's, but age had clearly embittered this man, and they burned like cold, merciless blue coals.
"Your emperor has a task for you, think of it as ah..a chance to prove yourself worthy of that emblem you wear upon your breast, youngling." The old man licked his lips, his eyes darted about nervously for a moment, from Davion to the emperor and back again.
"You are going to recover my daughter, guardsman." The emperor Uthar interjected, his tone was hard, unforgiving, much like the man, so Davion surmised, if even a quarter of the rumours about the man were true. For his part, Davion's expression changed not a jot, he was careful not to show any outward emotion, all Utharians were, it did not bode well for anyone to show fear or weakness in Utharian society, not since the founding of the empire had weakness been tolerated in any form.
"I am at your service, Emperor." Davion's tone was confident, unrelenting and unforgiving. He would prove himself worthy of the emblem he now wore. He was one of the imperial guardsmen now; it was a title born of tradition that stretched back to the founding of the empire. In reality the Imperial Guard were not the guards of the Sightless Tower, nor were they even the Emperor's personal bodyguards. The Imperial Guard was an elite branch of the Empire's military, a clandestine group of hunters, loremasters and rangers, who operated abroad, far from the Empire's borders to further the interests of the Empire. They were assassins, diplomats and skilled warriors, often they were all three of these things. Davion was one such agent, and newly raised to the Imperial Guard at that.
"This will serve as adequate proving for your new position in the Imperial Guard. The Emperor's daughter, the princess, has been taken from us, kidnapped by merciless terrorists, enemies of the state. You will retrieve her." So the vizier spoke, his tone full of disdain. Davion's eyes widened a little, whoever had taken the Emperor's daughter had been bold to the point of madness; the Empire's arm was long-reaching and only the most foolhardy would attempt such a theft.
"So the Emperor commands, so will I obey, Vizier." Davion bowed low and clasped his fist to his breast in salute. "i will depart at once, my Emperor." Always Davion address the emperor himself, though the vizier was the one who replied.
"We have a horse waiting for you at the gates, we have very little information to aid you in your task. Speak to Marius, master of the guard on your way to the city's gates. Our scouts last reported the Emperor's daughter leaving in the company of two cloaked figures, they were heading towards the Karach pass in the Emerald Mountains. We surmise they are heading into the lawless lands beyond the empire's eastern borders.
"I will make for the Karach pass, my Emperor. They will not elude me, I will bring your daughter back safely." DAvion bowed low once more, the Vizier gestured for him to leave. "See that you do, guardsman." The emperor replied as Davion left, he paused for a moment at the doorwar, a long stretch down the throne room, before the heavy doorways opened before him. He set off after his quarry.