Bonesplinter Ravine [M] Viva La Vida

Herod’s amusement drained away as he listened to the Prophet speak, each word heavy with veiled warnings. The lion's eyes narrowed, flicking between the woman and Hasdrubal, while a profound sense of affront simmered beneath the surface—bruised by the mere suggestion of yielding to the phantom pressure of an outside force. His thin patience was now balanced on the edge of a knife, held taut by the boy’s defiance. How galling it was for his Prophet, his own chosen voice among this rabble, to dare question him in this moment of victory.

Yet, in the crowd, he sensed it: the subtle but unmistakable tremor of unease. Doubt, in this place, among his faithful. A faint murmur, hushed yet telling, seeped into the silence. Herod’s nostrils flared, and after a pause he forced himself to smile, a concession to the crowd. He inclined his head ever so slightly, flicking a paw as if swatting away a gnat.

Very well, he purred, his voice sliding into a low, dangerous timbre that promised ruin. Since our beloved Prophet finds himself suddenly enamored with mercy, I shall indulge this plea. He moved forward, his shadow casting long and sinister over Eset as he leaned down, his voice barely more than a rumbling whisper. You shall be afforded an audience, half-breed. Let us see if your purpose proves worthy of our time.

Then, with the thunderous grace of a sovereign, he parted the crowd, moving through them as though Moses through the Red Sea, until he reached his chamber. There, he seated himself, his cloak settling behind him with an ominous swish, a storm cloud gathering in his wake.

Release our… guest, he ordered, flicking his paw in a dismissive wave. His gaze remained fixed on the Prophet. Climb to the vantage point. We shall see how long we have until this Pharaoh’s supposed army dares to encroach upon my dominion.

He waited, his hawk-like stare unbroken as the guards complied. His gaze weighed upon the woman, studying her with a glint of thinly veiled suspicion, digits tapping a measured beat against the stone. She did not carry herself with the bearing of a mere messenger.

When they were alone, he regarded the Prophet coldly, a gleam of dark amusement curving his lips. Very well, Prophet, he murmured, voice dripping with sinister elegance. If you insist upon hearing her speak terms, then let us indulge her… if only to savor the spectacle.

His gaze fixed upon the cowbird like a serpent coiling around prey. Speak, if you must, if only because our Prophet has granted you this brief reprieve. But mark my words, boy, he added, his eyes narrowing on Hasdrubal once more, his voice a menacing murmur, I tire of these games, and you grow far too comfortable with your place in my favor. You presume upon it, as if you believe yourself irreplaceable.

Should this creature speak in riddles or lies… well, I shall heed your advice, Prophet, and deny her the mercy of an army’s rescue. She will pay for her sacrilege and serve as our next sacrifice.