Jump to content

DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

Meeting Old Friends (An SG Chosen RP)


Quibby
 Share

Recommended Posts

"Why must you lie to me? I abhor liars." The man may have been one of the Blood of Seanchan, but he screamed just like any other man would. Asmodean wasn't as talented at the stimulation of the pain centers of the brain as Semirhage was, but he was good enough for something this simple. All the man would know is that the man standing before him would reach out at touch his forehead, and there would be pain. A lot of pain. "You primitives couldn't lie to save your lives. I know that she's here somewhere, High Lord. Where is she hiding?" Asmodean had to give the man credit; he had held up for the past two hours, but he was going to break. Reaching out to the Air-bound man, Asmodean touched his temple, spinning a web of all five elements and touching it on the man's pain centers. The screams came immediately, pleading, begging, and promising anything. Asmodean didn't think anything about increasing the stimulation. The man's pleading changed into wordless howls of agony. It sounded almost musical...

 

There was an ocean between him and Semirhage, but Asmodean wouldn't feel safe until the Dark Lady was dead. That was part of the reason why he had chosen Seanchan. If she did what Asmodean expected and fled to a stronghold somewhere else, he would need an army to see to her. And a Seanchan army? She might not even die. How Asmodean would gloat if he could stand over her and see her broken and leashed. The chaff whittled away, the strong core left. And Asmodean would be at its head.

 

It took a moment for Asmodean to realize that the agonized screams had changed into a name. The name of a High Lady. Perfect, Asmodean thought, letting the weave dissolve. "You've done well, High Lord. Thank you." Asmodean's bow was mocking. Dark eyes glittered in their deep-set sockets. "As payment for your services, I won't kill you." The High Lord relaxed visibly against his bonds of Air. Asmodean began to spin again. Compulsion was not a Talent for him, but there were some things within his power. As the web settled upon the man, Asmodean said, "Okay, listen well. You will leave here, mentioning nothing of what has happened, and you will go before the Seekers of the Truth and confess to them that you are a Darkfriend. And you will go now." The man's eyes widened, but once the weave locked in, he had no choice. Even the basest delving by one of these damane and their sul'dam handlers would reveal the weaving, and the man would know exactly what happened, but he would have no choice. He was dead. In the most technical sense, Asmodean hadn't lied. Now to go meet an old friend...

 

******

 

Getting into Graendal's stronghold wasn't nearly as difficult as Asmodean had thought it would be. Aside from the guards on the door, he met no resistance except for the guards at the door. Getting in to meet her, on the other hand... "Please state your business, Bard," the doorman said in that strange, slurred accent of the Seanchan.

 

Asmodean smiled the same smile he'd given his mother just before severing her. Even three thousand years couldn't dim that memory; she had been the first to surmise what he had become. But now wasn't the time to reminisce over days long dead. "If you could, tell the High Lady that an old friend named Joar is here to see her. Tell her that it feels like an Age has passed since we last saw each other." In truth, it hadn't been nearly that long, but she would get the picture.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Running the towel over her hair one last time, Graendal looked over her shoulder to see her most recent playmate still staring blankly at the ceiling. Rolling her eyes, she dropped the towel and grabbed a hairbrush to apply the finishing touches. That man just cannot hold up to his usual standards anymore. I may need to replace him soon. 21. I wonder if anything of purport has happened today. This place is getting stale. 45. I must definitely do something to break this boredom of mine. I have had my eye on that High Lord. Perhaps I have incubated his ambition long enough. 78. I shall talk to him today. However, if he is not ready, his friend is cute. Perhaps I can work on my collection if nothing else. 100.

 

After she finished the one hundred strokes with her brush, Graendal sat it back down and went to her closet. Nearly ten minutes later, she came back out wearing a partially transparent blue dress, that shielded only the most important parts from view. That man is still laying there like a fool. "Dear, you really must get off that bed. Go clean yourself up, it's too late in the day to be laying around naked!" As she finished her statement, she turned to hear some voices outside of her front door. Someone whose voice sounded vaguely familiar was talking to her door guard.

 

Walking to the front door, Graendal gently pressed her ear to it to hear more. "If you could, tell the High Lady that an old friend named Joar is here to see her. Tell her that it feels like an Age has passed since we last saw each other." Sighing to herself in disappointment, she backed her head away from the door and casually opened it, smiling out at her 'old friend Joar'. "Come in, Joar!" she said, the sarcasm almost dripping into a puddle at her feet. "I was just getting ready to go out for the day. Please have some tea with me. I'll have a servant cook us something to eat." Her smile, though it was always pleasant, seemed to be somewhat forced this time. Backing out of the door way, she opened it further and extended her arm behind her gesturing for him to enter. "Thank you, dearest for performing such a spectacular job," she said to the doorman with a wink as she closed the door behind her and 'Joar'.

 

With the door closed, she wove something quick and simple to muffle any sound that might travel back outside and turned to say, a little less warmly, "What are you doing here, Asmodean?"

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Despite knowing what kind of risk he was taking by coming here, Asmodean couldn't help but laugh. Graendal would never change. Still, he had to make a conscious effort not to openly appreciate what he was seeing. "What do I want? I want to rule, to live forever. But as to how that pertains to this meeting..." She would read into everything he did, worse than those Cairhienins did. And she would be right, generally. She would know that he was a bit nervous, there was no helping that. As calmly as he could, Asmodean took a seat. "As for the more immediate concern, I want to disappear again."

 

Even in the chambers of another one of the Chosen, Asmodean couldn't forget who he was. Idly, he took a harp out of the small shoulder bag he'd been carrying. Plucking at the strings, Asmodean continued, "I doubt that any of the others keep you well-informed, so this may come as a bit of a surprise to you. Our mutual acquaintence Semirhage nearly married the King of Murandy. However, fate intervened." Even as he spoke, the idle plucking of the strings became something intense, dramatic. "At her wedding, Semirhage was thinking of nothing but the power she would soon be wielding. She never saw the lowly gleeman who carefully crept his way to the front of the audience."

 

Asmodean silently cursed as he remembered the events of that day. He had been so close to finishing her. The tone changed again, into something comical. "Unfortunately, our brave gleeman failed to remember some of the basics of nature, and as he hurled Power-wrought lightning at the Dark Lady, the weave centered on the gold of her wedding ring, still in the king's hand." With a shrug, Asmodean quit playing and said, "To make a long story short, I failed to kill her, she failed to kill me, and now I'm avoiding any, shall we say, personal meetings with Semirhage."

 

He had obviously succeeded in gaining Graendal's attention. Raising his hands defensively, Asmodean said, "Hey, I'm not here to kill you. It'd be a bit foolish for me to try anything in here; as far as I know, you've got the whole room warded in the event that anybody but you spins a hostile web. I'm only here because I know you, and I want to strike up a bargain." Treachery was as easy as breathing among the Chosen; Asmodean had been forced to learn the game by virtue of being supremely overpowered by his 'comrades.'

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Crossing her arms, Graendal prepared herself to listen to his story. He must really need my help if he's coming all the way here and tell me this story. Smiling as she saw a hint of sweat on his forehead, she affirmed her beliefs and continued listening. "I doubt that any of the others keep you well-informed, so this may come as a bit of a surprise to you. Our mutual acquaintence Semirhage nearly married the King of Murandy. However, fate intervened." Graendal raised an eyebrow. Semirhage? Marry? Was she going soft? That was one of the cunning actions Graendal had put on her list to never expect from Semirhage. Fate must have intervened in more ways than one, I don't think I would be half as sane if she had gotten married. Graendal began to tap her foot a bit now, impatient with the man's music and extravagant story-telling.

 

"Unfortunately, our brave gleeman failed to remember some of the basics of nature, and as he hurled Power-wrought lightning at the Dark Lady, the weave centered on the gold of her wedding ring, still in the king's hand." Smiling, Graendal noticed how cute Asmodean could be when he was admitting his own faults. However, she found it best to ignore that. "To make a long story short, I failed to kill her, she failed to kill me, and now I'm avoiding any, shall we say, personal meetings with Semirhage." Resisting the urge to heave a sigh of relief, Graendal uncrossed her arms and said, "A wonderful story. Perhaps sometime I might get to see how this gleeman handles his performance in a tavern. I imagine weddings are not his strong point." She smiled a knowing and viciously beautiful smile at Asmodean. There goes another drop of sweat.

 

Asmodean raised his hands as if to show he was harmless and replied, "Hey, I'm not here to kill you. It'd be a bit foolish for me to try anything in here; as far as I know, you've got the whole room warded in the event that anybody but you spins a hostile web. I'm only here because I know you, and I want to strike up a bargain." Graendal smiled and sat down across from him, crossing her legs casually. "I agree, that would not exactly add to your list of spectacular ideas. Believe me, the thought hadn't crossed my mind either. So I take it you are here in order to hide from the mourning Semirhage? What does that have to do with me, my old friend Joar?"

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Graendal seated herself across from Asmodean, a somewhat pleasant smile on her face. "I agree, that would not exactly add to your list of spectacular ideas. Believe me, the thought hadn't crossed my mind either. So I take it you are here in order to hide from the mourning Semirhage? What does that have to do with me, my old friend Joar?"

 

Returning her smile, Asmodean said, "I know you, Graendal. You're comfortable here." Looking around, Asmodean noticed the man in the bed for the first time. His lips twisting into an amused grin, he added, "Very comfortable." Returning his full attention to the woman, Asmodean continued, his head tilted to one side as he spoke. "You've heard of this 'Return' over which these primitives are so worked up. I don't recall you ever holding a single battle command in the War of Power." Even had the man on the bed decided to eavesdrop on them, Asmodean knew he wouldn't understand a word of it. What these primitives dubbed 'the Old Tongue' was more than likely beyond his comprehension.

 

"I'm here to offer that a large part of the Seanchan remain leashed and unable to revolt on you. Let me take control of the Return, and you can stay here." Asmodean would be a fool to call Graendal a coward. Her method of fighting the war was far different from the rest of the Chosen. However, she did like her comforts. "Think about it. Not only do you stay here in comfort, but a lot of these High Lords and Ladies will be leaving with the Corenne. Plus you get rid of me." Shrugging, Asmodean added, "I stay out of your way, you stay out of mine, everything stays friendly."

Link to comment
Share on other sites

"So you mean to say that you want to take the glory for all the work I've been doing here, my dear old friend?" Graendal smiled as she posed the question. Now it was time to see just how much he could sweat. "You need to borrow an army from me to fight your dear comrade Semirhage? How does having you out of my hair serve as a repayment? You're safe for now but I think I could get some people to help me brush you out of my hair." With a stern demeanor she finished the last words of her threat. For a few seconds she merely stared at him until she could hold it in no longer and burst out in laughter. She put a hand over her mouth and leaned forward, curling up a bit to try and cut off her laughter.

 

"Oh I can't believe I managed that with a straight face. What do you take me for Asmodean? I have no problems with you making my job easier. With the army here gone and most of the High Lords and Ladies with them, Seanchan will surely be reduced to nothing. It would be all to easy. I see you controlling the 'Return' as a more efficient use of their soldiers anyway." Asmodean seemed a bit more relaxed now, but she could tell there was a new tension growing in his mind. This was what she wanted. "As a matter of fact, is there anything you'd like me to do to help you get your job done quicker? I am looking forward to the moment they launch their attacks. If not, I will gladly stay out of your business. I will never be within 20 feet of you."

 

This was just the effect Graendal was wanting to have on him. She had planted the seed of doubt in his mind, the image of a Graendal that was less than amiable to his problems. And problems she knew they were. This was just his way of fixing them. Casually, she got up from her seat and went to pull out a couple of wine glasses. Very carefully, she filled them halfway with her favorite red wine and took a sip from one of the glasses, making an audible sound of satisfaction with the taste. "Here, have a glass of wine my loyal partner in crime." Winking at him, she felt a sudden rush of emotion, a mixture of triumph and her strong dislike for his presence in Seanchan. She would make sure to make his stay hell if he got in the way, as she knew he undoubtably would. At least in her mind, the first battle had been won by her. She thought she had succeeded in making him feel uncomfortable here and proving to him that he was by no means safe.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

To say that Asmodean was shocked by the ease at which Graendal had acquiesced to his request would be an understatement. Right away, his mind began to seek how she could use this agreement against him. One could never be too careful when dealing with another of the Chosen, especially Graendal. Of all the Chosen, Asmodean felt that he was the only one that gave her the credit that was due to her. Even her casual appearance as she stood to pour two glasses of a fine red wine was probably calculated to bring about a measured response. What was sad, to Asmodean's mind, was that it was working, and he knew it. He was just as on-edge as he had been when he had stepped through the door. Maybe even more so.

 

Accepting the proffered glass graciously, Asmodean raised his glass to the woman seated across from him. "No, Graendal, this one is all to you and your gracious hospitality. I thank you for allowing me to stay here for the time being." Which will be until the moment I've planted a few suggestions in the right places, after which I'll be as far from you as I can possibly get. Graendal was far above poisoning; Asmodean sipped at the red wine, occasionally pausing to enjoy the aroma. She had good taste, that much was certain.

 

"So, High Lady, I trust that you have plans already in place for when these fool Seanchan have departed." Asmodean paused, again noticing the man on the bed. Great Lord, was he naked? Graendal had changed so much from the famed psychologist she had been in what these primitives dubbed the Age of Legends. At one time, Kamarile Maradim Nindar would never have been caught in the same room with such. Idly, Asmodean wondered whether Graendal ever missed her name. He did; Joar Addam Nessosin had never truly died. He was the Shadow's creature through-and-through, but there was part of him that still clung to what had been. At least there won't be dead children all over the place wherever this army goes. "Don't answer if you don't want to; I was merely attempting to make idle conversation. It's been too long since any of us truly did such, don't you think?"

 

With the question still in the air, Asmodean finished the last of the wine in the glass and stood. "I'd say that it's been a pleasure seeing you again, but you and I both know that that's not true. Likewise, I'm sure you'll be heartbroken upon my departure." Placing his harp back in the satchel he had brought, Asmodean gave Graendal a small bow. "Have fun now," he said, slightly mockingly as he made for the door.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

 Share

×
×
  • Create New...