Tussaint
21-02-2005, 20:04
Port-Tussaint, Toussaint
The last rope jerked with the finality of death – the death, in fact, of the last rebel ringleader. They now hung in the middle of the town square, jerking randomly on their ropes, squirming and kicking as they died. Their executioner stood at the gallows – not masked, as a Tussentian executioner should be, in custom, but rather, with his face uncovered, pearly-white teeth bared in a sadistic smile, which the dark skin of a drow made only the more obvious. To those standing near it, it seemed that they could see his eyes glow an evil shade of red beneath the sunglasses that shielded the being from the sun.
Upon the balcony of the Royal Palace stood a slender, beautiful girl with large, innocent hazel eyes and long, flowing brown hair, her brow decorated with only a slender golden bracelet – the mark of Queen Fiona Aelen Riannon, the Fa’ern-Val’sharess, Uniter of the Kingdom, The White Fire That Dances on the Enemies Tombs. My grandmother could not have imagined me standing here today, thought the girl. She did not think about her mother.
Fiona’s mother – Queen Raellene, and her father – King Elrin the Fifth – have perished in a storm when she was but a baby. She was raised, and her kindgom ruled by, her elderly grandmother. As a child, Fiona has been a gifted child, if only not for her interest in the arts of the mage and warrior, unseemly for a girl, yet one of such descent. They turned out useful.
On Fiona’s thirteenth birthday, her grandmother died- some said, was assassinated. The Kingdom fell into a turmoil, as the followers of the elderly Queen-Regent were massacred the morning after. Fiona escaped. She reappeared two years later, and her arts have grown beyond measure – the young girl now was a good rival to any of the Kingdom’s archmage.
She united behind her an unlikely alliance of disgruntled noblemen, peasant hordes, and, most surprising of all, drow elves of the kingdom. Within a year and a half, the kingdom was united, with the Underdark below it and the Isles of Dentin near it added to its fold as well. It seemed all was well – except to those who knew the Queen and saw her face closely.
Even now, as she watched her enemies squirm upon a rope, the young Queen was smiling – not a smile of grim satisfaction, or even a twisted smile of a sadist – that would be scary enough.
It was the open, happy smile of a child.
The last rope jerked with the finality of death – the death, in fact, of the last rebel ringleader. They now hung in the middle of the town square, jerking randomly on their ropes, squirming and kicking as they died. Their executioner stood at the gallows – not masked, as a Tussentian executioner should be, in custom, but rather, with his face uncovered, pearly-white teeth bared in a sadistic smile, which the dark skin of a drow made only the more obvious. To those standing near it, it seemed that they could see his eyes glow an evil shade of red beneath the sunglasses that shielded the being from the sun.
Upon the balcony of the Royal Palace stood a slender, beautiful girl with large, innocent hazel eyes and long, flowing brown hair, her brow decorated with only a slender golden bracelet – the mark of Queen Fiona Aelen Riannon, the Fa’ern-Val’sharess, Uniter of the Kingdom, The White Fire That Dances on the Enemies Tombs. My grandmother could not have imagined me standing here today, thought the girl. She did not think about her mother.
Fiona’s mother – Queen Raellene, and her father – King Elrin the Fifth – have perished in a storm when she was but a baby. She was raised, and her kindgom ruled by, her elderly grandmother. As a child, Fiona has been a gifted child, if only not for her interest in the arts of the mage and warrior, unseemly for a girl, yet one of such descent. They turned out useful.
On Fiona’s thirteenth birthday, her grandmother died- some said, was assassinated. The Kingdom fell into a turmoil, as the followers of the elderly Queen-Regent were massacred the morning after. Fiona escaped. She reappeared two years later, and her arts have grown beyond measure – the young girl now was a good rival to any of the Kingdom’s archmage.
She united behind her an unlikely alliance of disgruntled noblemen, peasant hordes, and, most surprising of all, drow elves of the kingdom. Within a year and a half, the kingdom was united, with the Underdark below it and the Isles of Dentin near it added to its fold as well. It seemed all was well – except to those who knew the Queen and saw her face closely.
Even now, as she watched her enemies squirm upon a rope, the young Queen was smiling – not a smile of grim satisfaction, or even a twisted smile of a sadist – that would be scary enough.
It was the open, happy smile of a child.