Luneshale Pass emotional torture

@Rashepses perhaps? @Siatum also welcome :eyes:

The days dragged on and little did Zaahira make her voice heard. Silently, she stood guard; silently, she ate; silently, she took swigs from bowls of lukewarm liquor and waited until the buzz lulled her to sleep.
But today was different. Today, she sought to assert herself; her position, her promise. With hard eyes she calls upon the dark prince to walk with her, accompany her on a patrol of the region, if he so wished.
There was much to be learned from them, these men.

Rashepses was not a political mind. He had always dreaded the drudgery of his father’s morning assize and the war room bickerings. Ironic then that he should find himself now in competition that would elevate him to the role of Pharaoh. But he had his own ideas. He had seen how kingdoms fell and he understood assembling his keys would be critical for success; as the master of two kingdoms, as well for the wealth of the regime.

Perhaps this was fresh in his mind as Zaahira sought his presence and he beckoned her forward, to join him and his men in a conversation of the pass, that which was provisional for the Queen’s coming. The troops were making quick progress, the outpost was claimed, temporary dugouts served as den spaces and the water source, while meager, was sufficient. 

There remained topics left to discuss: diplomacy with neighboring settlements and which direction to take their next excursion, but the riverprince released his men to speak first with the Akashingo mazoi.

“Zaahira, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” His look did not forget the infraction on the day of his arrival but he remained receptive of her word.

can be skipped unless tagged <3

a silent spectator to the assemble of furred wretches, she watched, she listened, she absorbed. learned of the way they moved, of the way they spoke. 

perched atop a stray cacti she stood as a sentinel, keeper of the lowlands, heart of the desert. though she may be small of stature, her spirit could reach the heavens. 

her focus was set upon the one who held midnight as a pelt, his presence one that commanded authority. she thought him the head of this invasion, and so it was he that would capture her scrutiny.

He comes forth. Oblivious to the prying non-wolven eyes upon their shoulders, her head raises in a show of calm strength. I invite you to talk with me while we patrol, studying, calculated; blistering gaze as she watches his form, the flex of muscles beneath skin. I would like to get to know you. You are courting my Queen, after all. and he would, one day, perhaps, be pharaoh, though she would sooner die before she said it. Either way, she would have to grow accustomed to his presence within her homelands.
She leads him along a stretch of sun-baked sand, the scrub and sagebrush a guide. Stride heavy and yet graceful, tail in a rigid flag, and never once does her gaze wander. Tell me of yourself.

Her expression was one of plain distaste, and so the riverprince would believe her to be looking only to validate existing ideas of him rather than earnestly seeking to learn new ones. He would regale her anyway and push Eastward toward the higher elevations to gain a better vantage point of this yet uncharted region of desert, offering a sway of tail to his owl before she winged out of sight.

“Ask me your questions, mazoi, and I will answer. You will do the same. Do you wish for your Queen to be wed?”

Rashepses knew of her feelings to some extent, and she was sure the suspicion was painted across her features as he fired his own question at her. He must think himself so intelligent!
I wish for her to be happy, her nostrils flare sharply in response. she is my friend, and I want only the best for her. You have to understand why I am worried. I am not singling you out. For she only would if necessary.
My question for you, sphinx, She gives a raise of one eyebrow as their direction turns away from the sun; a metaphorical test of the air with a reptilian tongue. Can you provide her the best? Will you love her, or only what she can do for you?

“I was summoned by Akashingo to meet with their Queen, to make her the Great Royal Wife of Pharaoh.” To be principle wife to the king, to create future generations with the union of divine blood, this was the role of royals as it had been for a hundred years. This was not a custom drawn into question in Ta-Senet, as it was for Akashingo. He wondered then why the mazoi did not raise grievances with her Queen if she felt such heavy unrest on the matter.

“I am disinterested in bringing ruin to your kingdom and unhappiness to your Queen, Zaahira. Our union will be for what we can do together. I believe a couple can grow into love though not before being tested. But perhaps we should first meet, no?” They were simple answers, they were true ones. He had none of her ire. He was looking not to condemn the mazoi, but collect information from her.

“Tell me what your Queen seeks in her Pharaoh. Tell me what you believe the best is for her?” He wanted to know what Zaahira saw as the ideal godhead seated on the throne.

Well.
If you take her hand, her tongue flicks, and she comes to a lurching halt; eyes bright, burning, sincere; warning. you are not just taking her. You are taking her people. People who love her, who depend on her. Who would defend her with their lives. the ruff of her nape bristles, spikes up in a flurry. She is young. Sweet. I cannot tell you what exactly her taste is, but I can tell you what she deserves. And that is someone who would cherish her. Protect her, and who and what is important to her. Shares her values. A kind man, a strong man. One who grows to love her just as we have.
Silence, before she sucks in a breath; I was not born of Akashingo's soil. I believe that Ra showed me the light by guiding me to her. I would do anything, her teeth grit, pressing together with a clack; anything for her.
And no man who claimed the throne of pharaoh would rid her of the loyalty that fired within her synapses, ran down to the coding threads of DNA that made her who she was.

And if it were up to her, there would be no man upon the throne at all.

Youth. Sweetness. Kindness. A mortal’s fleeting delights. A mortal will marry for looks, for laughter or status. Possibly, even, for love. If Rashepses chose in this way, he would have wed his priestess, or the first man he’d ever taken to his bed. But the Gods marry for blood.

“Your Queen will marry an eternal son,” his voice was prophetic. “This is a half-life for her. It is transitional, a short period before moving into the next. Your Queen is deathless,” the riverlord postured in kind. His smile commiserates the mortal condition.

“Any man can learn to offer mortal joys, Zaahira. Our names will live on through centuries. We will become like Iset and Horus and keep watch over the mortal generations to come; your children’s children, and their’s.”

Vein for vein his line was pure. His father was God, his brother was God, Rashepses was God, and when he put a son in Toula, he would be also a God. Because the Gods marry for blood.

“Do anything for her, Zaahira. Serve her with loyalty undying because she is your Queen- but remember, she is my Goddess.”

Iset and Horus. Zaahira's throat burns with something spiteful. She could not help but ask herself what madman deluded this marionette into thinking he held the same grace as the Gods.
The scoff is swallowed; he would never know her true disdain; and her gaze is returned to their path. The hemet-nekheb would never be so arrogant as to compare herself to those she worships.
Decidedly, these imbeciles who traipse across their land did not deserve her. He bores the mazoi with his feigned complexities and the wishy-washy silver-tongued attempt at making himself appealing; his image of regality only a mirage.
He is no God; he is no pharaoh. Gladly would she press her claws into his irises until they pop if Toula were only to let her.
Where do you come from, Rashepses?

The notion displeases, as he would expect it to. Every servant bridled against their own mortality, only few in high favor would be blessed by their rulers with an afterlife.

“It is not for arrogance. It is the way of life for our people. Akashingo, and also the portlands of Ta-Senet. This is where I come from.” He stalked forward, eyes moving to trace over Zaahira’s searing gaze, “you are not born of this soil. Does your homeland believe in the Gods, mazoi?”

Jodai, soon, she wanted to correct; though she cannot imagine that word will sound any better coming from his silk-rotten voice. I train under hem Akhtar and the Queen herself in the worship of our Gods, is her answer, drawn through husky breath. He knew nothing of anyone beyond his own realm, and so she would not indulge.
I know them well. and that is what matters. She veers north and then west as their path circles back toward the settlement; her body facing outwards, catlike as she slithers beside him. He would have her protection regardles of how her lifeblood begged her to do otherwise. What did you do in Ta-Senet? Are you priest? Warrior? or simply another ruthless, corded mammal?

“Then you are quite well trained, I gather. You will know all about their divine power, and also of their divine wrath,” His lips set into a line, but the ends curled.

“In Ta-Senet I was chief architect to Pharaoh. It is a position I intend to take up again here, in the two kingdoms once we are settled. Tell me of your aspirations, soldier. Do you wish to rise in your rank?” This was apparent in how she held herself, but he asked it regardless.

Was he trying to convince himself? Yes, she answers, eyes sweeping the smarmy grin that now tacked his inked face. they are as merciful as they are ruthless. and of all, they do not favor you.
He asks of her aspirations and she knows better than to answer in direct. She wished to keep the head upon her shoulders — nor did she care for dishonest work. Her promotion would be one to come from duty, not of persuasion. That is between I and the Queen, sphinx, and her voice lightens to something of playfulness; her own smile now upturned keenly. I am a woman of many things, yes?

“You make your character known,” he answered Zaahira in short and slowed his tread, revolving in the sand until he was facing her. “Now, allow me also to be clear: I could build your kingdom, it could be great. I could be the best man to rule, and the best husband to your Queen.”

“Yes, it angers you,” he whispered now between them, eyes smoothing over her own inflamed, “you wish for me to be your villain. You don’t like me, mazoi-

but you will bow to me.”

A full grin now. Unless stopped he would make his way back to his encampment and their plans for progress.

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You disgusting, disgraceful prick.
Her gaze traces down to his paws, and then to his feathered neck; up to the crown of his head. I see no crown upon your head, no? No jewel of marriage?
I will bathe in your blood.
Coy, tiny smile. Until there is one, I do not owe you shit.
Silence, after, until their return is made.