Alea Iacta Est

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Two days. Two days since coming to Necia with the Phressian Satrap, Csephion Draxus. Two days since being a part of the proceedings that doomed four of her crewmates. Two days since agreeing to leave with Captain Mako on a journey southward.

And in those two days, Ariadne Fyrian had come to seriously reconsider all that she had once followed. She questioned all that her father had done, all that she had grown up believing of those that held civilization as a precious thing. There still lingered a kernal of resentment at knowing the truth behind Draxus' motivations behind his actions, but in two days time she found herself as enthralled with him as he was with her.

Such a cruel thing, fate. To bring her to this place, and in the arms of a man that for all outward appearances was nothing more than an emotionless soldier and statesman. In her short time with the Satrap, Fyrian had found herself growing fond of the man, and she had come to eagerly anticipate hearing his voice every time he opened his mouth.



Stretching languidly, the Glaucan woman nestled her naked body in the coverings thrown over the Satrap's bed. It was the morning of the third day now, and she breathed in deeply of the air around her, her eyes still closed. She could smell Draxus, his scent an unmistakeable one.

Rolling to her side, Fyrian reached for the half full glass of wine that had been left on an ornate bedstand, and taking it up, she hungrily finished its' contents.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus was already awake, and discussing the finer details of his daily wardrobe with two slaves who were arranging several items for him to choose from.

"I want something austere but yet able to catch the eye. No purple though. Wait, perhaps, no. No purple. Do you have anything slightly purple? Maybe on the hem? I don't want it to be the first thing somebody sees."

The Satrap padded over to an ornately-carved chest of drawers, and retrieved correspondance that he had been reading the evening before. He unfurled the scroll, standing bare-cheeked naked as his slaves awaited instructions. He read a few lines of the document, momentarily forgetting the issue of the day's clothing. He peered over his readings at Ariadne, and smiled.

"Bring the lady some breakfast. Figs, cheese, mushrooms, and honeycomb."

He glanced at the slave as he rushed off.

"Figs for myself also."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Emptying the contents of the glass, Fyrian finally sat up in the bed. She gave to the Satrap a decidedly sultry look while gather the covering around her, and very briefly she wished that he'd not asked her to travel with Mako. Never before had she felt cushions so soft and inviting; they were addicting.

That he was so concerned with what to wear for the coming day was no surprise; she'd easily become used to his morning ritual in the very short time in his presence.

Fyrian returned his smile, not bothering to pay attention to the slaves that he'd just ordered out to fetch them food.

She blinked slowly and tilted her head as she regarded him before her.

With a barely audible laugh, the Glaucan leaned back against the wall. Again she breathed in a long breath.

"You are up far too early for my liking."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus eased back onto the bed, still browsing the scroll he had plucked and still without the burden of clothing.

"A soldier's habit that is hard to lay down as a civilian."

He glanced out of the window, and squinted.

"It's light out. This is a decidedly late rising for me."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian reached over and pulled the scroll from his hands, a conspiratorial smirk on her features.

"Be that as it may," she set the scroll on the nightstand beside her now empty glass without taking her eyes from him, "I still think that it is too early to be going about fussing over your daily wardrobe."

[Csephion Draxus]

He smiled at her stubborn determination to dedicate the day to laconic interests.

"We have a busy day ahead of us. The Satrapy has given you a mandate, and of course there is that issue with the pirates that has to be settled."

He thought about it, and shook his head.

"If you don't want to attend, I understand completely. It is a vulgar spectacle, and I am compelled to be conspicuous during it. I leave that to you."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

His words brought her reality crashing back down, and Fyrian sat up a little straighter. She had hoped that he would offer her the chance to stay, as the Glaucan wanted no part in the execution of her comrades. But, at the same time... to see their faces at least one more time...

She looked into the distance for a moment before casting green eyes to him.

"The girl; you were able to have her spared?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"I was."

The slave returned with breakfast, and Draxus partook of a fig as he continued to browse his documents.

"There's no stomach for doing mortality work on a child, thankfully. I didn't even have to resort to subversion to broker her freedom. That much was guaranteed. I'll have her delivered to your ship when you depart."

He treaded lightly on account of her noticeable unease with the notion of death sentences.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Pleasing news in an ocean of overall misfortune, and Fyrian allowed herself some sort of thankful prayers to Denetion for that much.

She leaned over and gave a light kiss to the Satrap's cheek.

"Thank you."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus allowed a smile, and wondered at Ariadne's peculiar steak of compassion. She was a strange creature.

"She'll officially be transferred from the state to you as slave and property, though from that point, it is up to you what will be done."

He didn't mention that he had bankrolled the sale, as it wasn't worthy of mention.

"You are sure this child will have sway over the sea?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I am sure."

There was a conviction in the tone of her voice that held little room for doubt. From her own personal experience, Erifa-Nimshi was undoubtedly gifted in magic. Whether she was truly a daughter of Denetion was questionable, but the Glaucan was content to let that matter be.

But, he had been true to his word, and Fyrian was not about to pry into the details. She kept her eyes on Draxus for a moment longer before pulling her body from beneath the bedsheets.

"I will come with you today."

A dreadful thought to be sure,the happenings of the coming day, but it was necessary in her mind to at least be present in some form.

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap moved to speak in rebuttal, and then paused.

"Very well then."

It was her decision, and he respected it even if he thought that perhaps it might be something too crass for her to experience. Not that the spectacle didn't have its uses. For all of his disdain for it, the practice of public and memorable executions was a way to keep Necian citizens in constant reminder of the supremacy of the State, and the consequences for insurrection against the law.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Sliding her legs over the edge of the bed, Fyrian stretched once more. Her muscles felt refreshed, and her body on the whole felt rejuvenated despite the knowledge of the day's events.

With her back to the Satrap, she stood, making her way to the chest of drawers that he had been at earlier. Taking an ivory comb from the polished wood surface, she pulled her fiery red hair over a shoulder so that she could begin the morning chore of straightening it out. The entirety of the raven upon her back exposed, it was now easier to discern the myriad of patterns and markings contained within the body of the tattoo itself, and the time that it must have taken to make it.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus paused from his reading as he watched her, and found his eyes drawn to the intricate pattern tattooed into her flesh that ran the length and breadth of her back. It was a barbarian custom, but one that was admittedly interesting. In particular, Draxus found one symbol in the tattoo to be intriguing, but thought nothing of it and continued to read.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian kept up her morning ritual until she was able to easily pass her fingers through her fiery mane. She replaced the comb in favor of a linen wraparound, and tying it off around her waist, the Glaucan turned to once more face Draxus.

"The Satrap is quiet this morning."

[Csephion Draxus]

At that, Draxus gleefully discarded the document in favor for Ariadne's attentions. He plucked another fig and bit half of it.

"Yes I am poor company this morning. I should make amends to my wretched behavior."

The garment slaves returned with some other fashion and Draxus waved them off.

"Have Pascias choose something. He understands better than I can explain."

They hustled off, leaving the Satrap and his guest with brief peace.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She gave a wide smile at that, and stepped forward to take the uneaten half of the fig from his fingers.

"Knowing what horrid deeds will be done today, it would be good to offset them with something far more pleasurable."

Delicately chewing, Fyrian swallowed while lowering herself to sit beside Draxus.

"Don't you think?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"Absolutely."

The Satrap poured from a small amphora of wine that was arranged at the nearest table, and half filled a bowl, which he broke fresh bread and dipped into. The wine was sweet with honey and a good way to greet the day.

"At least the event will be somewhat more cosmopolitan than simple executions. Games, athletic events, fights with beasts, erotic pantomime. It's all a great festival that just so happens to contain executions on the bill as well. We believe in a very comprehensive form of entertainment I suppose."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I fail to see how watching a man die can be seen as entertaining."

She sat back a small bit, angling her head at the Satrap.

"It seems something like that would be considered below the lofty civilized standards that you've been praising Necia for having."

[Csephion Draxus]

"People know to appreciate a good death."

Draxus sipped at his wine and continued.

"Displays of lethal conflict are the ultimate in competitions after all."