roneal | (no subject)

They used to call him Necromancer, the Malkuth Empire's most notorious soldier, the Emperor's right hand, and more besides. Not that any of those titles hold meaning anymore. His country had fallen, his emperor is dead, and Kimlascan technology had taken his own powers away from him. Jade supposes he's lucky to still be alive. Freedom is something that can be regained; death is the end.

He's quiet (docile, almost) during the trip through the desert. He's just as quiet as they walk through the sprawling manor that will be his new prison, but his eyes are watchful, carefully tracking their path through the golden halls.

The Kimlascan dignitaries lead him to a man he recognizes from military reports: Zakrian, one of Kimlasca's more notable suppliers during the war. Jade tries to recall what he knows of the man, but his knowledge is regrettably limited: Kitaryl, some sort of young genius and - judging by the splendor around them - a man who quite enjoys his luxuries.

The dignitaries talk, sweet words of thanks for Zakrian's aid during the war, using many words to say very little. Jade listens in on the conversation, but most of his attention is on Zakrian. He doesn't bother to conceal the way he's studying the man, a scrutiny in his red eyes quite at odds with his status as a slave.

"As a token of our appreciation," one of the dignitaries is saying, "We would like to present you with this slave. He was one of Kimlasca's greatest enemies, but he is quite harmless now, and quite the trophy to possess."

Hands push at him, and Jade sinks to one knee, seeing little point in resisting. He probably doesn't look like much, with his hands chained behind his back and dressed in nothing but a plain white tunic, but at least the Kimlascans had taken pains to make him presentable. He is well-groomed, his skin unblemished, all the ugliness of war wiped away under the skilled hands of Kimlascan healers.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Zakrian stays lounged where he is as everyone talks at him, platitudes and gratefulness and flattery. The intense heat means while the officials speaking to him may be dressed neatly and formly, he himself is in a thin robe -- light and pale in colour to keep cool. A woman standing beside him makes notes quickly, skin translucent and hair a pale, faded greenish sort of tone falling into short curls.

Once they've finished speaking and pushed Jade forward there's a moment of silence, as if he's contemplating the gift, then he looks up toward her questioningly. She leans in and whispers to him in a harsh, clicking sort of language and he nods finally in acceptance.

"A trophy," he says finally, accent heavy on his words. "Was he a warrior, then, mm? A man of battle? He does not look like he puts up much of a fight. Eh?"

He smirks slightly, as if this is terribly funny, and pushes to his feet so he can pad over to inspect Jade.

"I am surprised you keep him alive, your 'greatest enemy'. Perhaps you find him too handsome to kill, mm?"

Reaching down he slips a finger under Jade's chin so he can tilt his face up, get a better look at him. Perhaps to see if the assessment is true, if he might be too handsome to kill.

Well, that told him where Zakrian's priorities lay. Jade tilts his head back agreeably, examining Zakrian even as he himself is assessed. In terms of appearance, they may well be opposites. Jade's skin is pale and fair, sure to burn when out in the sun, although he appears at ease in the desert heat. He has sharp features, matching the sharpness in his eyes as he studies Zakrian.

It's not often he has a chance to meet a Kitaryl. Jade makes it a habit to keep himself informed about things, especially where Malkuth's enemies were concerned, but not even he can know everything about every race in existence. There's a measure of curiosity in his eyes as they roam over Zakrian's face, down his body, trying to pick out what facts he can: general disposition, hobbies, athleticism, skill at combat... There's a lot bodies can tell you, if one knew where to look.

The dignitaries are exchanging glances, no quite sure what to say. Jade ignores them for the moment. "Oh, I wouldn't ask what they think." His voice is pitched low, but light with his usual brand of amusement. It's a mask, of course, but a mask he's worn for so many years that it had become reality. "Kimlascans are notorious for being blind to beauty."

Zakrian laughs at that, ignoring whatever slight offence the dignitaries might find in that.

"You are funny!" he declares, "I like that. I accept this. Amijah, take these kind guests and offer them some food and drink as thanks. See they are looked after well, give them a tour of the gardens. If that is all?"

He has plenty of other things to do, after all, and a new companion to assess.

There is a flurry of ornate robes, one last round of honeyed, flattering words, and finally they are left alone. Jade takes advantage of this brief moment of quiet to assess his new life. Zakrian does not seem like a cruel man - if anything, he's flippant, but one does not become head of a powerful trade empire without some measure of ruthlessness.

Regardless, it seems as though his stay here will be tolerable. Although he's still on his knees, Jade regards Zakrian as he would an equal, not the slightest hint of fear on his face.

"I must admit, my knowledge of your people is regrettably lacking," he says, with the tone of someone making casual conversation. "May I ask how you would prefer to be addressed?"

"Addressed?" he echoes, and smirks in amusement as he waves for Jade to stand. "Ahh, politics. I think, in your head, you call me plenty of names -- no? Things you would not say out loud. But titles, they mean nothing. People come to me and say, I am a king, a noble, a ruler of my country. What does it mean to me? All it tells me is how many people they think should be listening to them. They want something, they all have to negotiate to get it. They call me Speaker of the Kitaryl. I will tell you what this means. This means people have decided I should speak for us. If I do it poorly, someone else will take my place. If I die, someone else will take my place. But, titles." He swishes a hand vaguely, clicking his fingers to get the attention of what is presumably a servant standing patiently and quietly so she nearly blends into a wall. "I have no patience for them. I am plenty vain enough without adding to it, no? My name is Zakrian, it is who I am, people should know what it means without adding extra words to it."

Speaker, he calls himself, and Jade wryly thinks that it is an apt title. He certainly does a lot of speaking, and the words flow out of him fluidly, with an ease that reminds him of the afternoons he had spent listening in on Peony's council meetings.

"Zakrian, then." He smiles, getting to his feet. "I'm Jade Curtiss."

It is not often that he introduces himself without his own titles, but Zakrian is correct when he says that they mean nothing. Nowhere to go but forward, as they say, and Jade intends to do exactly that.