002

Wild Flowers

“Remember tonight...For it is the beginning of always.”

Ifrel, Riseleraneo
West.

Ifrel was a small city by the Annis Sea; a settlement just by the perimeter of the coast's cliffs nicknamed Traitor's Edge. The landscape was rather bland with nothing but water to the West and spanning marshlands and sparse forests here and there to every other side. Even the climate was insipid with it's all year round blusters and weak drizzles.

Chilly winds coming in from across the sea left the stench of salt on the highlands. Half a mile from the coast stood a large enclosed municipality. Of its civilians, none of which were actually civil; the town was a hotbed for refugees in exile, deserters of high ranking officials and an array of colourful criminals.

Entering the familiar bailey, a boy in his late teens, scrawny and fervent in his yelling, dashed through the muck that had not yet dried from the last rainfall. The clank of iron being struck over an anvil was almost drown out by the chatter of local men carrying stolen goods from one end of the structure to the other. Running straight through the open gates with his arms flailing, the  newcomer yelled for someone of importance. "A letter from the city!" Slamming to an abrupt halt, the boy in drab rags bounced back off a wall of a man. Sloshing around in the mud, the messenger wheezed as he held the script up to the giant.

Chewing on a sprig of barley, the burley blonde known for being one of the two local Captains held out his shovel of a hand for the lad that had ran into him. Grabbing the bony limb, the blonde pulled the youngster up to his feet with no trouble at all. Taking a coin from the pouch dangling from his belt and hanging over his hip, the Captain chucked it to the messenger with a smile and sent him on his way before turning around.

Ducking under the threshold of the dingy tavern, dark and damp, he ran a hand over the light stubble covering his strong jaw and advanced for the back table of the establishment. Without saying a word, the new messenger took a seat on a rotten wooden chair facing the leader. Holding the note up to flickering candle light, the brusque man sent a lopsided grin. "Josselyn~" His gruff tone was completely contrary to his light hearted attempt a singing.

Accepting the small scroll with the hand that wasn't holding a pitcher to her mouth, the young woman with a thick brazen mane reaching her rear chugged down the savoury booze. Letting the jug clank off the unstable top, the full figured female that was doused in leather and flimsy cloth eyed the few words scribbled down on the parchment. Moments passed of silence from the pair, only the rowdiness from outside and the barkeep dropping another barrel of regional drink onto the counter proved time hadn't stopped.

Sat just like any man, with her legs open and her elbows on the rough table top, the striking woman nodded more to herself than to her company. "Gather the men." Finishing of the lick of pungent intoxicant, the redhead stretched leisurely. "We're going to Central."

Rising from his seat with one fist neatly behind his muscular back and the other resting over his heart, the Captained inclined his head. "As you wish, Commander." Heavy footsteps clonked off the trampled floor as the man made for the door.

"And Merek?"

Pausing and looking back, the addressed waited for the continuation. "Yes?"

Shaking her head twice, the woman stood up to reveal her true height. "Don't tell them where we're going just yet." The leader told with a knowing smile and Merek nodded in response before leaving the dive. Once the blonde was out of earshot, the redhead rested her hands on the table for support while humming. "You can come out now..." Near silent footsteps padded behind the female, yet she didn't need to turn around to know who'd been lurking in the shadows. "Vinashri."

Holding the same formal pose that Merek had when he'd received his orders, a shorter man of deeply tanned skin and hair as black as oil kept his kohl lined eyes on the ground. "You're going to take on Ancleo?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper, or even that of a woman's.

Coughing a brief laugh, the redhead straightened up. "Don't worry so much." Shrugging her shirt into a more comfortable position, she reached for her sword which had been propped up against the stool next to her. "It's not like we're going to war." Attaching the weapon to her left hip, the Amazonian locked eyes with her other Captain. "Go and help Merek." Scrunching the note into a ball, the female flung the news into the fireplace as she watched the foreigner bow his head and follow in the footsteps on the blonde.

Kahrnak, Ancleo.
Central.

Ancleo was a Kingdom known of only in fairy tales thirty years ago. During his forty year reign of terror and tyranny, King Otto D'Haran had built his city of gold from nothing but dust. And of course, the corpses of both his enemies and his allies. Now, his son King Bastian ruled over the land much like his Father had done before him. Although, there was much more glam and faux-guile to his plans of grandeur, it wasn't all skull crushing, rivers of blood and making thrones from the bones of legendary leaders. The guy was quite the simpleton, really.

The buildings were high and annually being outdone by the architects employed by His Highness. Thanks to the River Llios, the water supply was always clean and the streets were without waste aside from the plentiful festivals the city endured. Ships from across the world travelled to the Central Kingdom to trade and live healthily. There was even an entertainment district - Nothing like the Red Light Slums of Glaztonia. Daily plays were watched by viewers packed to the rafters and public houses stocked only the finest drinks from as far as The Orient. It was like an all year round party for those who could afford it. Anything a person could want could be found in the Trade Centre of Malrep, which was a few miles from the castle. Whether it be exotic perfumes, scriptures from faraway lands or even a highly skilled doctor, if you had the gold, it was yours.

Everything in that city, however, came with a steep price.

Not many people were able to live out their entire lives in such a place; most civilians went bankrupt after a couple of years and thus, a circulation of strange (but exceedingly rich) people were an ever-flowing event.

On this day, a celebratory send-off for the King himself caused the outer castle walls to throb with loyal subjects. After hearing a song from a court clown about a dragon's lair in the New Hezmeln mountain range, the young Monarch found himself stuck in a state of need for fantastical adventure. And thus, being so fickle of character, King Bastian proclaimed his great news to his people. Completely sure of himself (for baseless reasons), "Your King is soon to become a dragon slayer," he told the entire court and they had no choice to cheer and clap like idiots.

And now, just before noon on the day of his leaving, Bastian stood on the stone steps of his ashlar limestone castle waving courageously at his underlings. Scarlet and gold banners flew high and flower petals drifted through the humidity as joyous songs filled the tacky air. He was a fool; the man had never even been to war and yet he was setting out to fight mythical beasts with a good portion of the Goddamn army. The King finished his pretentious words, and after around thirty minutes of tomfoolery, turned back to enter his home where a feast had been set out in wait.

Watching the farce from a bay window on the third floor, an ashen woman scoffed in distaste at the sight as warm sunlight streamed through the leadlight panes. Seeing that her husband was on his way back inside, the young blonde dressed in a simple leisure gown shifted on the window bench fluffed with the most expensive of silks and duck down cushions. Letting her bare feet touch the Eastern burgundy rug, the Queen Consort rolled her neck and took a deep breath. As she poured herself a glass of Nectar that had come all the way from the South-West archipelago, the creak of the bower door caused celadon irises to peer up.

At the door, a tall and slender male with sharp features held what appeared to be a gown in his arms as he waited for permission to enter. "My Lady Kahlan." He bowed factiously, knowing the woman hated all the formality.

Huffing at the brunette, the woman brought her drink to her lips. "Good of you to hunt me down, Rowan." The blonde's tone was rough and a tad condescending, but it wasn't because of her status but rather, because she enjoyed irking the man as much as he did her.

"I brought you a dress." The woman's company held up the white and cobalt gown before placing it on the spare lounger by the door.

Rolling her eyes with a scoff, the blonde fiddled with the bottles and glasses on the small round table in front of her. "You bring me a blue gown when everyone else is wearing red?"

"I'm wearing blue as well." Licking his lips with a smirk, the older male played. "Maybe we should all wear blue except for my dearest brother. Don't you think it'd be a sight?"

Swigging the drink not like any other Lady of the Court, but more like a solider out on the field, Kahlan poured herself another drink and hoped she'd be able to shake off her soberness in time. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

Striding towards the Queen Consort as if he'd know her their entire lives, Rowan grinned. "What's not to enjoy?" Dropping down casually on the highly polished chair in front of the blonde, the male poured himself a cup of the expensive alcohol. "There will be booze, singing women and my brother will soon be gone."

"Then when we toast," She raised her glass in mock seriousness. "know that I'm praying to all the Gods that he won't return."

Pulling the corners of his lips down, Rowan wobbled his head in the same jest. "That could be taken as treason."

Staring her company in the eyes, unfazed by the remark, Kahlan flapped her hand. "It's only treason if I do it myself."

Eying the woman from the corner of his sight, the King's brother played dangerously. "I should tell him you said such things."

Chuckling at the joke she knew would turn into a threat if she annoyed the man, the younger female quirked her brow and kept her smile. "You never would because you dislike him as much as I do." Finding an opportunity in the turn of conversation, the blonde spoke her mind. "Besides, you'd get the throne and I'd be able to go home."

"You know as well as I that I'm never going to get that seat." Rowan stated, not seeming all that bothered by the fact.

Also knowing that the title of King was all he wanted, Kahlan cracked her neck and hummed playfully. "I thought you had more ambition than that."

Suddenly facing his host, the brunette furrowed his brows. "Even ambition has a limit when common sense and truths come into play."

Placing her once again empty glass on the small round table, the blonde leaned in closer towards her guest. Resting her elbow on the stand and then her chin on her upraised palm, the girl stared into company's eyes with a smirk. "Shall we make you King?" A brief laugh danced through the incense filled room.

Privy to the games his Ladyship played, Rowan asked with his same humorous tone. "And why would we do that?"

"I just told you I want to go home."

Taking the liberty, the brunette refilled the two glasses before peeking up. "Once he's gone, I may just take you for my wife instead." Eyes turning up into devious crescents, the older male popped a hard boiled sweet into his mouth.

Barking a laugh, the woman slapped her thigh at the hilarious thought. "I'd kill you in your sleep on the first night if you tried it."

Feigning a downcast scowl, Rowan shook his head slowly. "You really do hurt my feelings."

Choking down her laughter and then the booze that might as well have been liquid gold, the blonde stood up. "Leave the dress and be gone." Shooing her hand, Kahlan shuffled towards the lounger as her guest walked towards the door. "I should hurry and change before His Highness starts to throw a fit."

Pausing, Rowan tried to conceal his smile. "I can help you change."

Not turning around to scold the man or even send a displeased glare, the blonde untied her hair and ruffled the waist length locks. "I'm not an invalid. I can put a dress on all by myself, thank you."

"As you wish," Still grinning something wicked, the guest bowed his head and left as he was told to. "My Lady."

Updated: 3rd Jan 2014 - 19:19