( Starting Cambot Listing MaxChar
In one of the great audience chambers of the Sabaoth, mighty ruler of the Babelites for, purportedly, two millennia, time seems to be frozen in the instant that a multitude of rebellious citizens storm into the palace, to find the potentate sitting upon his throne, dressed in full regalia, while members of his personal harem lurk about, hiding behind statues and fountains and buttresses.
The sound of Brishen's challenge echoes through the room. Although the sounds of chaos continue outside, for a few seconds, a hush falls upon the chamber as words have been spoken that no one would have dared speak out loud … not for so many centuries, and perhaps never before that, either.
Nonetheless, the Sabaoth shows no look of surprise. No shock. His eyes are calm, as if set in stone, as he looks back at Brishen.
Exhausted, Brishen lets the tip of her sword drag along the floor, her wings slightly spread, her hair cast about in a wild tangle. Her eyes are dark as she stares at the Sabaoth, rimmed with tears of anger. "We're tired. Tired of you, tired of the shackles you've placed us in, and tired of your war… "
The Sabaoth doesn't say a word. He just continues to stare at Brishen. A slight movement of his wings betrays that, yes, he IS breathing.
Brishen's grip tightens on her sword, held in both hands at her side. The tip traces a lazy arc in the air as she raised the blood-spattered blade. "… Are you just going to sit there?"
This last challenge at last seems to stir the Sabaoth into action. With slow, deliberate movements, and straining so much that the veins on his forehead and in his ears bulge, he rises from the throne, holding a large blade of some unknown material that looks far too large for anyone of his size – let alone health – to wield. But wield the dark blade he does. Through gritted teeth, he responds, "Have at you, then, traitor!"
Brishen's eyes widen desperately, nails clicking on the floor as she scrambles backwards. Her sword arcs up, nearly carrying her into the air behind it. It's obvious she has little skill in actually using it.
Mustering up reserves of strength that would seem beyond the frail ruler's ability, he lets out an ear-piercing battle-cry, swinging his dark blade through the air. It crackles, seething with unnatural energy … but misses its mark, instead cleaving through a stone statue of an Eeee warrior, sending its broken torso toppling to the floor. A couple of the harem girls screech in alarm, scattering, bits of wine spattering from the ornate goblets they carry.
Brishen's ears turn ashen pale. She holds her sword out in front of her, gripping the hilt tightly as she crouches, spreading her wings. To the ears of the Eeee around her, her desperate gasping is clearly audible.
Turning back around to face Brishen, the Sabaoth staggers, but brings up the weight of the sword again. All the other Eeee in the room just stand, keeping their distance. The Sabaoth grins. "Just come on, one at a time, and I'll deal with you a – " This last sentiment breaks off into a severe hacking, and he coughs up blood. Still, he stands, his eyes burning angrily. "Prepare to DIE!"
Muscles tense for an instant, then the brightly-clad courier claws her way into the air, wings flapping hard. If that blade can carve through stone, her own sword won't stop it.
The Sabaoth's gaze tracks Brishen's movement, as he tries to follow suit with his own sword. His ornamental armor covers all of his form – even finely-fit pieces covering his wings – except for his head. His helmet still sits beside the throne.
Above, Brishen screeches, her eyes wide and bright. She draws her wings close, arcing down towards the armored Eeee, then cups a wing slightly as she spins about behind him. Her sword is very bright.
The courier's sword slashes at the Sabaoth, at first bypassing his defenses, and tracing a red ribbon across his forehead. However, the Sabaoth's parry – late as it is – is irresistible. The dark blade sends sparks flying as it cuts through Brishen's sword, leaving her with only a stub protruding beyond the crosspiece held in her hand.
Brishen hisses, cradling her right arm as she flutters back into the air. Her breathing, quick and loud, carries the hint of a sob.
There's a glint in the Sabaoth's eye, and he smiles a predator's grin, looking sure of the kill … moments before his right eye is blinded by the result of Brishen's wound. He hisses in anger and pain, and flails around wildly again. A young member of his own harem who has been huddling too close to the fallen statue falls to his blade, simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time…
"Foolish batling!" taunts the Sabaoth. "There are two kinds of people in this world – Those who are blown about by the winds … and those who fly in the face of the storm to seize that which they please! This city is full of your kind! Never will I be supplanted by such inferiors!"
The courier winces, holding her arm as she darts higher into the air. Then, she draws her wings close, plummeting towards the Sabaoth. It's a desperate, foolish act, her eyes bright with tears and very frightened. For the courier, everything seems to slow down, her arm moving in a slow arc as she spreads her wings. The remnants of her sword continue, shattered, but still bright.
Brishen cries out, holding her arm close as her wings take her up, and over the Sabaoth.
The broken sword sails through the air. In that split second, the Sabaoth looks scornfully at Brishen and her attack, as if such things could not even touch immortals such as he.
But even a broken chitin blade has its sharp edges … such as on its jagged cross-pieces and pommel. As it spins through the air, one of the cross-pieces finds its mark. The Sabaoth's eyes go wide and he lets out a strangled sound as his sword continues its arc through the air. Sparks fly … and the sword drops, imbedding itself in the floor, as he reaches up with one hand to grab at the broken weapon at his throat.
But the Sabaoth's blade has not gone without finding its mark. The courier crashes out of control into statuary, still conscious, but with pain wracking through her left wing.
The crowd watching lets out a collective gasp…
Brishen stumbles, trying to land, then spins like a fallen leaf. Everything crumbles and goes dark.
When the darkness recedes, unfortunately, the pain does not. Not entirely. There is a painful throbbing in Brishen's left wing, and she can smell the pungent aroma of medicine and healing unguents. By the feeling of the bandages, it would seem that the bulk of it has been applied to herself.
She doesn't open her eyes, not at first, the ears of the young bat straining to catch a glimpse of the world around her. The pain in her wing, a sharp reminder, keeps her very still.
Brishen is staring at the ceiling of the audience chamber, lying on a bedroll – or something used to serve the purpose – that has been set out. A couple of bats in the garb of physicians tend to Brishen. The elder one looks up. "That is all that I can do for now. Only magic can do more."
About the room, Brishen can see the forms of the members of the Sabaoth's harem … prone on the floor, or slumped against various fixtures. The ornate goblets lie scattered about the floor. The Sabaoth's blade is still imbedded in the floor, but there is no sign of the leader, save for the stains on the marbled tiles.
Brishen rasps, her voice a very quiet squeak. "Is he… ?"
"He is no more," the younger physician answers. "Dead by your hand. And if we had been summoned any later, so would you have been slain by his."
Dark tears trail along her cheeks as Brishen slowly opens her eyes. She can't help but slowly turn her head towards the wing that hurts so much.
Beside Brishen is a bundled package, wrapped in medicine-soaked bandages. It lies where Brishen's wing should be.
Brishen's ears grow just a little more pale, under dark fur. Her eyes are wide as she looks towards the physician. "N-no… "
Heavy footsteps sound in the halls of the palace immediately outside of the room, many of them, as if guards were moving through the palace. The measured beat is a heavy counterpoint to the sounds of the chaos that the small courier bat brought with her in her challenge.
The physician frowns. "I'm sorry. We've done the best we can to preserve – " And then he looks up at the sound of the approaching footsteps.
Brishen trembles, her lower lip quivering. "No… " Dark tears stain her face as she sobs helplessly. "I c-can't fly… "
In the door sweeps a procession of guards and courtiers, and two particularly notable statesmen… Thath, white-furred black-haired former advisor to the Sabaoth, exiled to his own estates, and Boghaz, a fierce-looking dark gray young bat wearing a brownish skedat-shaped breastplate. The shields the guards carry have been draped over with a dark red cloth, covering up what would normally be the Sabaoth's All-Seeing Eye sigil, and none of the nobles are wearing anything that would indicate their ties to his rule.
As they enter the door, Thath murmurs to Boghaz, "Three times, my Prince, has change been brought to the great city of Babel by those from without. The first, at the hand of a healer who asked for too much. The second, by an ambassador's foolish slave, and now the third, a blow struck by the hand of a small courier that the Sabaoth found… interesting. Were I superstitious, I would suggest that the gates of Ashdod the city be closed. But as I am not, I can only suppose that it is long past time for such changes."
Boghaz nods solemnly, and walks over to the physicians. "Will she live?"
He is answered with a silent nod. They do not bother commenting on the obvious loss she still suffers.
Brishen stares up at Boghaz. "I-I'm sorry I… c-can't stand." For now, she tries not too look too hard at Thath, focusing her attention instead on a strange face.
Thath joins Boghaz, looking down upon the courier. "She is a symbol now, milord," the former advisor says softly. "As I played one in opposing the Sabaoth publicly, as you were one when fighting the war from afar. Symbols have power." He fiddles with the ornate sash that he wears, an emblem less weighty than full robes.
Boghaz looks up to Thath. "Well, right now, I think the city needs a better symbol than my father's broken body. If the riots keep going on out there, there won't be any city left to save."
Brishen reaches up gingerly to pat her face, discovering along the way she doesn't have the energy to actually rub at her tears. Though part of her listens, ears wide open, most can only think of one thing. Her wing…
Boghaz narrows his eyes. "Well, the Sabaoth is finally gone. So what do we do now? It would seem your exile is no longer in effect."
Locks of black hair drape over the stark white bat's face as he bows his head. "It is possible, milord. Many things are now possible. But you must take power, demonstrate to the people that you are the new ruler of our city, and Ashdod beyond. Perhaps you could begin your rule by a demonstration of compassion and generosity… " He gestures to the courier's severed wing. "This was thoughtfully preserved by the physicians. You could command our life mages to join in restoring Lady Brishen's flight to her."
Something screams in the back of Brishen's mind. Why – Why can't I feel my wing? It just h – Abruptly, she finds the courage to look at Thath.
Boghaz nods. "Fair enough. After all, she's spared me the trouble of dealing with my DEAR father myself." He claps his hands together. "Someone summon the life mages!" Looking back to Thath, he says, "And as another generous act, I'll extend to you your former position. Since I won't be threatening you with the loss of your head for disagreement with me, I hope your advice will serve me better than it did the previous occupant of the throne."
Thath bows his head. "It is my honor to serve, Prince. I must confess… I have always felt that the Sabaoth had overstayed his time. But it was never possible to act toward this goal openly. Now that you have come to take up your rightful place, I am sure that Babel will again be a land of peace and prosperity." He glances toward Brishen, as if measuring her place in this future land.
Servants shuffle out of the room, competing with each other to show their eagerness to serve the heir-apparent to the throne of the Sabaoth.
Several courtiers murmur among themselves. "But I always thought that was just a… " "Shh!"
Brishen whispers, her voice a quiet rasp. "Rei – Reico? Is he – " Her lower lip begins to tremble anew. "P-please let him be alright."
"And do something about all these bodies!" Boghaz adds, with a tint of anger to his voice … but a disturbed look that he fails to conceal. He gestures to the prone forms of the harem girls. "They've gone on with their Sabaoth."
Some of the servants move to lift the fallen harem girls and drag them away, keeping clear of the fallen goblets and the wine stains on the tiled floor.
Brishen finds a little more of her voice. "Reico?"
Thath whispers to Boghaz, "You should choose a new title for yourself. The Sabaothship has come to mean one… distant from his people. Might I suggest 'High Prince', to suggest the height to which you will raise our civilization?"
Boghaz nods. "I like that. Your wisdom already shows itself. Besides, 'Sabaoth' was as much name as title."
Thath smiles thinly, then glances toward the messenger bat, as if confused for a moment, then snaps to a servant, "Find the one of whom she speaks. He will be rewarded well for his service to Babel and the High Prince."
Yet another servant bows his head and rushes away. "At once!" With a squeak, the winged attendant flaps down a wide corridor in search of the other courier.
Meanwhile, a bat with fur dyed in all the colors of the rainbow – and robes of similarly wild hue – walks into the room. To Brishen's eyes, however, the effect is just that of mottled bands of gray. "I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!" the mage protests, wiping stray locks out of her hair that have fallen free from her braided coif. "Oh! I'll need some HELP with this one … " she remarks upon seeing Brishen's sad state.
Brishen manages a weak smirk, "I'm… a puzzle. Aren't I?"
Thath considers, steepling his many-ringed fingers against each other, then suggests, "Milord, you require time to prepare yourself after the emotions of the hour, I am certain. Shall we say that a proclamation of your new rulership will be issued at sundown? The word will spread quickly, and all of Babel will be present to hear you when you greet them as the High Prince… Beginning a new night for us all."
"Uhm … " The mage lets out a giggle, then covers her mouth as her ears blush fiercely. "Yes, yes, quite, but we have all the pieces, don't we now, dear? All right … you just … ah … stay right there. Ah … Your worship, is it acceptable for me to mark up the royal floor? It will wash away, of course, but … "
Brishen tries not to look at her wing, her thoughts straying towards Reico. He'll be okay. He has to be. He has the only part of her that isn't here – Her heart.
Boghaz off-handedly nods and waves away the life-mage. "Of course. At sundown, it will be done. Maybe one of the court writers can produce a suitably inspiring speech… " The young prince rambles on about preparations and strategies of where to seat various nobles according to their likely allegiances…
"Very good – but of course, it will be necessary for me to supervise them closely," Thath says. "They are used to the florid, meaningless style that the Sabaoth found so appealing. You are an Eeee of a new generation, and your speech will call for wording that calls to the young heart. Speaking of which… " He glances back toward the messenger as the procession of nobles and guards begins to trickle away from the harem. "Perhaps it is time for us to mend our skies with Rephidim. I have a candidate in mind… "
The life mage, meanwhile, begins setting up runic circles around the prostrate form of Brishen, muttering a chant to herself as she does so.
Brishen squeaks quietly, her eyes wide as she stares at the Life Mage, her attention torn between the ritual, and Thath.
At sunset, there is a gathering as large as any there has been for a speech by the Sabaoth in even the most dire times … but instead of the Sabaoth, there is a new face, and the nobles struggle to refer to him as 'High Prince' instead of the old term.
Seated amongst the nobles is a courier Eeee, her left wing intact, but bandaged and splinted, and adorned in silken cords interwoven with wooden beads upon which are inscribed runes inlaid with copper inks. She has been sternly warned not to so much as fly, or the new muscles will tear free. The gaudy dress she has been put in should help prevent against THAT problem for at least the duration of the ceremony…
As the young prince is crowned the new ruler of Babel, he takes the time to give his rehearsed speech to the crowd, and to express his thanks to those who served him well … and to demonstrate said thanks by giving certain awards of lands and properties recently vacated by their former owners.
Reico, alas, has been seated quite a distance away … but at least Brishen got to see him briefly, and got a promise to see him again at a big party to be thrown by some young 'nobles' afterward. Boghaz goes through a lengthy recounting of thanks, and comes to a name that catches the courier's ears. "And it is time to mend our skies with the city in the sky, Rephidim. Toward that end, it is time that we had a new ambassador to that city. I can think of no better candidate than Brishen Kara, the heroine you have all come to know and love."
Brishen's eyes trail down to her dress, her wings gingerly folded behind her. How do I end up in these things – This one doesn't even have sleeves. Her ears remain perked, however, her eyes growing wide as she catches the words of the High Prince.
Boghaz goes right on, however, with further thanks and commendations for others. A few nobles and attendants nearby quietly offer their congratulations to the courier-turned-ambassador, at least.
Brishen looks up, her eyes locking with Reico's, far away. Me?
Thath, seated near the High Prince and surrounded by a bevy of the older nobles who have been lucky – and distant enough from the Sabaoth to disavow any relationship – glances inscrutably toward Brishen.
The young ambassador blinks as it finally sinks in, a faint smile spreading across her face. Lady Brishen. Ambassador Brishen. Well, well, well… I think I can play this game. Oh, yes…
