Story The Tales of the Desert

[Melpomene]

(Just a little place for me to develop this character since I cannot get far with them in RPs )

Chapter I​

They shall look upon our works sister, they shall look upon them and despair.

The etching in the wall seemed to bleed red despite the black stone it was set into. The battle scene, one man embracing another as they fell into mortal toil against the ghastly discontent which had taken over the land. It was a curse that was put upon them, a test laid by the ancients as they were drawn farther and farther into the depths of despair and hatred. To all that looked upon that cursed image of father and son, embraced in death while their daughter and sister looked on in despair, it bled red. And all who sat upon the satin cushions refused to turn their eyes to it, rather keeping their heads level with one another, glancing up at the dais which held their now Queen. The Queen was the only one who dared let her dark gaze fall upon that cursed image, lips parted in a silent protest against it.

Dahlia sat high upon her dais, purple silks falling over her shoulders to come and connect in the middle, leaving her sides exposed before flowing into an elegant skirt. Jewels rested on her wrist and neck, along with a silver band upon her brow, from which a single amulet hung down upon her forehead.

"My radiance?" It was a question. She pulled her eyes from the etching and looked over them. They had begun to fall into mindless drivel and she had yet learned to pay attention to their squabbles. Or at least seem to. At the end they always had what would actually be of use to her. Listening to irrelevant babble had never been a skill, yet her father said it was a skill that was unnecessary if it could even be called such a thing.

Manahi dropped his head as she looked upon him. He was her Eye of the Storm, the chieftan of war. Just as he had been her father's, and likely would have been her elder brother's. He lapped at his cracked lips, eyes glazed over yet still resting upon her, sharp and steady. "They come to surround us. The army is being spread thin."

"We need more men... and stronger forces." Dahlia murmured.

"Yes. But more than that, we will need resources--"

"Everyone is still in disarray about--"

"Yes. It has been hard to ensure the miners continue their duties, but I believe with only a little effort we shall still be able to hold the desert well. Unfortunately, your promised proved a coward." Dahlia felt her lip twitch, but she said nothing more. "But you can still seek a new marriage--"

"The only people who can help us now are the elves and you know good and well they won't do it." Dahlia said haughtily, though she quickly pulled back to return to serenity, letting out a breath through her nose. "I apologise, I did not mean to lose myself, I only think we have been through this one too many times."

"Her radiance speaks correctly," A wiry man stood, his grey hairs had overtaken his black and his eyes were overcome by wrinkles. The hand upon his cane shook with effort, but he still spoke proudly. "The knife-eared bitches to the North care not for what we do. And they certainly care not for a marriage proposal."

"Calm yourself, Unah, they have not actually done anything to us, yet. I would like to keep in good relations." She said as she glanced to the dark elf that sat closer to her dais. He had only grimaced at the crude words of the Hand of Swords. But he simply shook his head as a serene smile returned to his lips.

"My radiance," he said as he stood gracefully, his lean body tilting forward in a bow." Dahlia only managed to look up as her guard, Jardir, stifled a grumble, his hand tightening about his spear as he stepped closer to her. The elven man was newer to court, and despite the fact he had been among them for years, after recent events they had a hard time trusting all who had not been there forever. At the very least Dahlia knew there was no species war going on within her court, only one of the elders and the newly indoctrinated.

"As the Master of Foreign Relations, I believe you do speak correctly. The elven kingdom does not wish to get involved in any battle, with anyone. And all of their princes have been married off, I believe, though I have no doubt they would be happy to have you as their wife."

"Are you done kissing her arse? We have a war to fight." Manahi said as he sat up straighter, the lines about his face deepened as he frowned. "They shall soon break through our second barriers. They fight longer than most... And they navigate the desert better than most.--"

"Pardon, sir, but I do have something else to add." The elf spoke again, then he turned to Dahlia. "I have composed a letter, perhaps we may try negotiating with them--"

"Negotiation? With those mindless brutes?!" Unah cried, his eyes narrowed. "I think it is more likely I shit gold."

"We could attempt. Their leader is a reasonable man, I am sure."

"One set on taking over the desert," Dahlia drawled. "He shall want to get as far as he can before he allows for negotiation if that. He shall attempt to take over as much as possible and leave us desperate and bleeding and then he will ask for us to negotiate with him. Negotiation is for people that wish to avoid war, or find themselves in nor place to continue waging one. He believes in neither. Unless you wish to surrender--"

A chorus of passionate disapproval met her ears. Dahlia dipped her head to the side, a piece of hair fell over her shoulder.

"As I thought. Then we shall not surrender. There will be no letter sent, there shall be war now. That is what he demands and that is what we return. We will strengthen our men, go through the houses and find more to train, they will be more than happy to protect their village, their nation, their very Gods and then they shall die with honor." Truly, all men in the desert wanted nothing more than to know they have met death with honor. "Then, we shall hold against them. We shall fight them with every will of God we have within us. We shall meet their might with our own. We shall overtake them and crush them. We shall send them back to their land and yell for them to remember the desert always burns those that don't know the path to salvation, it always burns those who are unruly and unfit."

Then she tilted her chin up, her lips pursed as she shook her head.

"And if they do come. If the palace is sieged, if they make it here and they hurt my villages and strike my people, then they shall find me upon the throne. Waiting. They shall find me sitting with my head held high and neck bared. They shall find me, not running, but waiting, as none can sit in the throne while I still live. None can dare think to take what is the desert's while I still live. I am the desert, I am the protector of the sands and keeper of the sun. They shall know that when they come. So let them come. The Ancients test us now, and we shall walk out victorious or with the highest of honors." Her hands tightened upon the edge of the dais. The men in the room fell silent. Then solemn nods met her words.

"Either way, we shall be honored." Manahi stood, pressed his hand to his lips, then bowed low towards her. The rest of the men followed. Then the room was left empty. Only she and Jardir remained.

Jardir remained silent. His lips worked but now words came out. He knew her better than any, he had been picked as her guard when he was only twelve and she had just been born. After vigorous training, he was shoved to her side and told to never leave.

"Dahlia... do you believe--"

"If the Ancients will it--" Her voice grew shaky now, as did her hands. How had her father and brother both done this? So boldly so bravely? She lacked their spirit and their wit in battle. Yet now, here she sat.

"If the Ancients will it." Jardir finished. Then he held out his hand. She took it in silence. And in silence, they walked back to her chambers to await the next bout of news which would send them into action.

 

[Melpomene]

The pool was deep. Flowers floated upon the surface, preserved by a magical spell made by Navir, mixed with an alchemical solution created by Dahlia. Their perfume was sweet, rising from the cool waters and sweeping across the wide room. It was richly decorated with gold and jewels, wide openings on either wall to allow in air, though they were covered by thin curtains to ensure little sunlight was able to stream into the room unfiltered by the purple silks. The high ceiling was painted gold, leaving for dim, yet extravagant, lighting within the room at all times. And as Dahlia floated upon the surface of the waters, her face having become wet and her eyes sealed closed, feeling only the gentle warmth of the outside upon her face as the rest of her was cooled by the water, she almost felt at peace. There were no cried of indignation, no reminders of war within that room. Once again, childhood had returned when something such as this was one of the best things she could do with the spare time she had, and now it seemed to be a necessity.

Barriers had been broken. The desert was in disarray. The sands had been lifted in a mighty storm as the intruders crossed, demanding capitulation in their greed. They had heard naught from the Queen, her head remained high and her gaze sharp against the imposing threat that crept closer. Like a snake, they squirmed about in the sands, their head raising with every battle fought, fangs bared as they inched towards the throne, curling about the legs before preparing for the final attack upon her neck. Filled with their venom she would die upon the throne.

Dahlia the Black, perhaps is what she would be called. Dahlia the Short-lived. Dahlia the Unready.

And they would be correct.

"Dahlia?" She did not respond immediately, eyes remaining closed as she knew it was only Jardir that stood at ready. More news to be brought, no doubt. More summons to see to. More death to face.

"Your radiance?" There was a ripple in the water, a gentle splash. As Dahlia raised her head, she felt a hand circle about her bicep and begin to tug her to the side.

"I was coming."

"Slowly. You shall wish to hear the news that is being brought."

"By whom?"

"Denrop Xerces." Dahlai lifted her head higher, mouth parting in brief question, then in a flury of water, hair and wettened silks she had risen. Xerces. She had thought him among the dead when the letters ceased coming. His council had been missed and his advice seeming to become nothing more than echoes locked within the back of wearied minds. Though in one hand he held a cane, in another he held a book and within that book he held knowledge beyond.

She did not make him wait long. Dried and dressed in her chambers, a board was set before her. Xerces stepped in, his eyes falling to first appraise her, then the pieces upon the board before her. A slender silver piece that resembled the body of a woman stood tall within the middle, surrounding it there stood pieces of the same color, tall and broad. But surrounding them were unyielding pieces of black.

"I need to do no explaining." Then he sat upon a cushion, his violet eyes seeming to ripple with the very magic that ran through his veins. The jeweled top of his cane glittered in the light, his voice was rough, but he was not old yet. Only in his forties, he still had many years left to go on. Although, her father had not been too much older. "You understamd well the peril that awaits." He unbuttoned his tunic, allowing air to flow over his chest. A servant came, placing down dates stuffed with cheese and goat and a sweetened wine.

"Someone has been unhonorable," she said lowly. "Someone has given them the secrets of the desert."

"And you're a fool to think that was not bound to happen. As was your brother, as was your father." He leaned, looking upon the board. Dahlia bit her tongue, hiding the fury that had built within at the simple statement that fell from his lips as though calling her kin idiots was nothing more than a statement of truth.

"How have you ordered the men to fight? I know you left much to the generals, but--"

"Their armies survived the desert treks better than we thought, I ordered when they siege the men hold fort, even with little men that would give them somewhat of an advantage. Attempt to keep the places they can come in limited, ensure they can only have so many attack at a time. Yet still--"

"Still we fall, as their numbers are far greater than we thought."

"I wanted to flank them, yet--"

"The fighting continues on outside. I know. I had to use magic to get here and the city still faces attack as we speak."

"We are holding out against the siege but--" Dahlia let out a shuddering breath as she leaned forward, her eyes straining to keep from watering, her lips quivering in fear. Xerces stood, his mouth pressed into a line as crackle of magic came from his jewel. For a moment, his resolve broke. Dahlia looked up. Xerces came to sit yet again, his hand heavy upon her shoulder, warm and sure.

"Dahlia. I wish for you to think of an escape."

"And why is that?"

HIs lips pursed. She narrowed her eyes. "You have looked into the future, haven't you!" she accused.

"And what if I have, girl? You have as well! Look at the army outside! Look at your own! Look at how we struggle even while they are down so many men! Look at the state this desert has been left in! We shall not surrender, no one of the desert would dream to do that, and unless you wish to be called Dahlia the Coward, you never will let such words spill from your lips. But that does not mean we must sit here, Dahlia. What do you think they shall do when they have you? What do you think brutes do with women they capture?"

Dahlia bared her teeth, eyes sharpening as she slammed her fist against the table.

"So because I am a woman, I should run?! Father, brother, they stood steady until the end!"

"And look where that has brought them! Give yourself a chance, woman! Allow yourself to rebuild in another place-- Allow the desert a chance to have a true ruler. They shall reject him, you know that, and he shall fight to keep his claim, as all will refuse to bend the knee after this. They bent the knee to you, girl, don't act as though fate only wishes--"

"The walls!" Xerces grimaced again. A young boy came in, his face flushed from exertion as he slipped upon his own sweat on the slick floor. "The walls! They have crumbled!"

Dahlia felt her lip wrinkle, her eyes first flutter in shock, and then narrow towards Xerces once again. She pulled her arm from him. She stood.

"Calm yourself, boy." Dahlia faced him for only a moment. His eyes widened as he closed his mouth a again, face going redder. "Go inform the others. Women and childern should have already began to evacuate but ensure all, now, all get into the passages." He nodded, then ran. Dahlia fell silent. Then her eyes turned to Xerces.

"You knew." was all she said, then she rolled her shoulders back.

"And you're still as stubborn as a fucking mule." Xerces stood. Then a breath escaped his nose. "Just as your father was."

"I must prepare."

"For what?"

"When they come I will be upon the throne, as I promised. And I will be dressed in my most beautiful clothing and jewelry. And I shall bare my neck to them when they come. And if they wish to sit in the throne, they shall kill me," she murmured. "We shall not capitulate. What is wanted will not be given, but taken. They shall prove their worth to me and themselves. Perhaps the people shall rebel, perhaps they shall not bend the knee. But he should have thought of such a thing before he stepped foot in the desert."

Then she left Xerces behind to prepare herself. A fine silken burnt orange cloth to fall in a V over her chest, leaving her inner breast exposed before it tapered into a slitted skirt would do, connected by golden chains. A fine jewed had to adorn her bosom, and golden snakes her arms. Her crown would be perched upon her head, the single jewel of amethyst falling between her brows.

She was the beauty of the desert as she waited upon that throne for the siege to reach its climax as they entered to greet her. Her neck was bared, her eyes were alight with fire. And she waited.

 

[Melpomene]

"Let them come."

Those were the words Dahlia;s father had spoken before the unification of the desert. He stood with his gaze toward the desert, his back straight and his head lifted as the folds of his clothing blew with the winds. His gaze seemed to go on for leagues and leagues, seemingly lost in the tranquility of the nothingness of the horizon. But men came to find soon afterward that it truly only hid the clarity of which he saw his growing kingdom. His gaze drifted, some said, across the vast expanse of the ocean, looking upon all the riches which lined the distant lands, thinking of how to expand his own empire with the ease of holding out his palm and taking it into his awaiting hand. He was fearless, unyielding. With barely any men had he managed to take the other half of the desert, forcing Zardal of Ishnor to capitulate, handing over his daughter's hand in marriage as well as his concubines, some happy to serve her father while others preferred death to such dishonor.

"Let them come and I shall burn them to the ground."

They had the tactical advantage, in truth. They had every chance of winning with the power that backed them. And never once had her father lost. Their men had thought the enemy to be nothing. But there was something about them which they could hardly come to expect.

She placed one leg over the other as she leaned against the cushions of the small study.

They would only attack at night, seeming to all but disappear during the day. Brutal and strong they always managed to slice their way through brute force. Men called of them ripping others throats out with only their teeth. Others claimed they had managed to go impossibly fast. Only the most nimble of fighters had managed to combat them, only the archers that hid within the shadows were able to see their bodies fall to the ground in agony.

Yet no bodies were ever brought back, as few as there were. And still they knew nothing more of the enemy. Nothing more of the declaration of war which had come from across the seas out of, seemingly, nowhere. Never once had she heard the name Silas Blackwood before the day her father had received note. Never once had she thought of it as any type of threat until her father laid dead at her feet.

Heartbreak they said.

Heartbreak for a man with no fear. Heartbreak as though he would not be fueled by anger and vengeance at those who killed his son.

"The King has arrived, your radiance," a maid called, her head bowed as she clutched her hands to the apron that adorned her body. Dahlia said nothing for a moment, then she raised a hand, crooking her fingers before letting it fall again, blankly staring out of the wide window as the moon continued to rise, letting the dim silver light touch upon her cheeks along with the warmth of the fire which roared in the pit.

They were no normal men, that much of a conclusion, Dahlia had managed to come to. What they were was unknown. They were not elves, for their men would have recognized that. They were not dwarves or orcs for her men would have recognized that. They only attacked in the night, was that stealth or an aversion to the sun?

Then he stepped into the room, standing tall against the light of the fire his body seemed to be briefly casted in shadow.

And then all too soon a bitter clarity came to Dahlia's vision.

 

[Melpomene]

Silas Blackwood

Familiar yet so foreign. The simple name spoke of nobility and it seemed she had known him forever the moment his name rung in her ears. And the army which he had built fought with the strength of one which had stood tall and solid for thousands of years, if not more. A new king would have been heard of already, even if it was from the West. A new king would have caught her attention. A new King, coming to power and in need of treasures and gifts to be sent to him, to recognize him as the new leading party and to show solidarity. Or perhaps to mock whomever had taken the throne for the rumors which marked their name. An usurper of this magnitude would have been known long before now, one wreaking havoc across the land and taking all in his path for his own.

Yet he had managed to remain an enigma in all of this. To avoid the delicate game for so long until now when he stands before them in a trembling glory already holding his trophy in triumph, perhaps coming to see what treasures would be offered for her to bow her head in submission, to capitulate and let their lands be united with him as the new ruler, or with him putting who he pleases upon the throne as the new rulers.

The Ancients would not like that. Never would they like that. They chose who sat on the throne and never would foreigner do. A foreigner would only lead them to destruction, famine, plague.

"They say you slaughtered over a hundred men upon your lonesome," Dahlia said, the shadow cast upon the far wall was long. The man behind it, she did not know. And she did not turn to look. Whether it was out of fear or simply a prudent pride, she did not know. But she did not turn her head to look upon the man behind her. Instead, she took a chalice into her hand, glancing down at the contents as her lip pulled into a snarl, her eyes narrowing at the red liquid that sloshed within. Her knuckles turned white as she grabbed it, had her hand been strengthened perhaps it would have broken in her grasp. "Come Silas Blackwood of nowhere and of no family. I feel you have much to speak with me of," Her hand raised towards the open seat before her as she tilted her head back, closing her eyes, letting the wine slip down her throat before she placed the chalice on the floor.

He was as silent as a mouse, his steps were not heard. Before she had even fully looked up he already stood before her, so close yet with a face cast in shadow from the cloak over his face. Only his mouth was visible. His back was to the flame, yet she thought she could see something shine in the measly light that touched his face. Dahlia fought the start as the wine seemed to catch in her throat. She turned her head and feigned a natural cough into her closed fist as her other hand tightened in the sheets, closing tightly as they bunched in her hand.

"My apologies," he spoke quietly. And sincerely, for there was not a hint of derision in his tone. "I did not mean to startle you." he held out hand, one which was gloved in black leather. Dahlia watched it for a moment simply wondering what he wished her to do with it. It was custom in the West for men to clasp arms, perhaps, but among the desert such was folly. Then he reached, grasping her own hand in his. His movement was brief, he pulled it up and placed a chaste kiss to her hand. Which was how women were treated to in the west, Dahlia realized soon after, but she did not wish to follow his customs when he stood upon her soil.

Then she felt a sharp pain in her hand. Her wrist. All at once it had burst with a stabbing pain that exploded in white behind her eyes. She felt the warm blood flow from it as the sound of blood hitting a metal cup. Her body shivered as she attempted to yank her hand away, only feeling his grip tighten, nearly to the point of breaking bone.

"Unhand me!" she managed to hiss through gritted teeth, the wine filled chalice in her other hand immediately to swing at him with her full force. He did not even seem bruised by the blow she had casted on him. Even as the wine spilled he kept his place there, solidly, never losing his balance. Until she felt something warm lap at her wound, and then it was bound. The moment he let her go she stood, dizzy and barely able to move far before collapsing, holding her injured wrist close to her body as Silas took his seat, a chalice in hand. A chalice filled with her blood.

"Apologies," he said again. Again he sounded sincere.

"Fuck your apologies," she spat, attempting to stand again.

"Please, do not. I have taken much blood. I thought it only fair we both enjoy beverage. And I wished to know you are who you say you are."

"You think me so cowardly to put someone else in my place?"

"Some would argue that such a thing would not be cowardly but wise. Nonetheless, Dahlia, you are she, the Queen of Isendor. I am glad. For I must speak with you."

Dahlia stood back still, holding in what little sat in her stomach, a cold sweat having broken on her brow as she shuddered. A brisk desert breeze swept pass them. Her eyes fell closed as the pain in her wrist throbbed, yet less so than she thought it would.

"My saliva has regenerative properties. The wound is fine. But you are weakened, a state which, I admit, I wished you to be in. I was told you could be quite... Volatile when provoked and I feel there will be a lot of provocation today. Of which I do not mean to cause harm or offense."

Dahlia let a bitter laugh escape her lips, tears pricking the corners of her eyes before she turned her head away. Her lips pursed before she managed to stand again, feeling as though her skin had turned as pale as a sheet.

"Sit down, please, Dahlia. I wish to discuss," he sounded exasperated. His head was bowed. He had dark hair. Long dark hair which now spilled from beneath his cloak. Not quite black, dark brown. Straight and silky, dusting over his thighs as let a gloved hand rub his temple. "And it is not about any capitulation."

"Then why do so many of my men lay dead by your invasion," Dahlia laughed bitterly. "So speak, usurper, speak what it is you demand so I can wave them away and let you know that I shall not capitulate out of spite for you."

"I do not ask you to capitulate, woman. I do not find any... reason to have such a land. But as of now, I need it. And I need you to act as an ally."

"Then why did you not demand it before this? Quite frankly I saw no note before--"

"But your father did, for he sent me an apt reply. And I decided should you not ally with me willingly you will ally with me by force. I admit, when he lived the original plan was to seize the castle, specifically your brother, to hold as ransom. Then he died. And then it was you. And then your father died as well. By forces I know all too well. So unfortunately, Dahlia, you are all that is left to act as my ally."

Dahlia stared at him, brows furrowed as her hands clasped at her own arms, barely able to continue standing.

"Remove your cloak," she demanded. Then she raised her chin. Her suspicions needed to be confirmed. Even if it was not needed.

He raised his gloved hand wordlessly. He pulled the cloak from his face letting it be fully illuminated by the fire. Skin as pale as parchment was the first thing exposed, so pale he seemed to glow. High cheekbones shaped his features seeming to make him look aristocratic. His eyes were black, seeming to be drained of all color while framed by black lashes. But what caught Dahlia's attention most were the fangs that poked from his slightly parted mouth, thin and sharp.

"Yes. Yes, my Queen. I am sorry for my choosing to start this with dishonesty. Though you have seen through the charade easily, I know. Allow me to introduce myself in full."

He stood again, at his full height towering far above Dahlia as he pressed his hand to his chest.

"I am King Silas Blackwood, of the Vampire Kingdom."