Beyond the Dark Sun
Author's note: I've been seeing a bunch of Planeswalker SIs lately and decided to add my own two cents in. This one involves a protagonist who is an "occultist" in our world – that is, someone who (somewhat successfully) dabbled in the supernatural before being transported elsewhere. Story will also posted on SB.
Hope you enjoy!
Prologue – Lilac and Gooseberries
The tower prison cell was a definite improvement to the earlier accommodations. The room was deceptively opulent, with the large stained glass windows providing a spectacular view to the bustling metropolis below. The living space was covered in expensive furs and silks with a prominent black and white motif – a design feature present everywhere from the expensive-looking rug and furniture and luxurious draperies to the clothing worn by the sorceress currently examining herself in the bedside mirror. The woman in question was strikingly beautiful, and radiated an aura that was captivating and menacing in equal measure. Not a single flaw marred her perfect skin. Not a single jet black hair was out of place. She possessed a youthfully perfect, pale triangular face with shapely lips and cold, violet eyes: the kind of inhuman, hauntingly flawless symmetry that could only be achieved as a result of High Magic rituals. Her equally flawless shoulders and shapely neck were accentuated with a diamond-encrusted choker necklace in the shape of an inverted pentagram – an undoubtedly powerful magical focus that was doubling up as a tastefully understated fashion accessory.
The sorceress sighed as she turned away from her reflection. The room may look opulent – a comfortable prison – but she knew it was a prison nonetheless. Only the Emhyr's good graces and her apparent usefulness kept her surroundings comfortable, but she knew that she was in no position to refuse the Emhyr's hospitality.
A knock on the door interrupted the woman's reverie. The sorceress finished fastening the straps of her black leather boots and stood up. Even in high heels, she wasn't impressively tall, barely reaching 5'4, and yet she had a certain strength of presence, and aura of expertly restrained power that frequently caused noblemen and seasoned war veterans alike to instinctively move out of her way. She opened the door to reveal the stoic figure of the Emhyr 's Chamberlain.
"I trust the Lady Sorceress is well rested. His Imperial Majesty requires your services. The Lady will follow."
The Chamberlain spoke in a confident, neutral tone that brokered no opposition – they both knew how things stood, and that she was in no position to refuse the "request." The sorceress allowed herself to be led, and was surprised when, instead of a throne room, the Emhyr chose to hold the meeting at an outdoor courtyard adjacent to the tower.
His Imperial Majesty was a tall, imposing man and held himself in a confident manner befitting a ruler of the largest Empire in the world. He currently had his back to the doorway and was calmly watching the spectacular sunrise over the ocean.
The Chamberlain cleared his throat and began the formal introduction:
"His Imperial Majesty, Emhyr var Emreis, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd, King of Cintra, Lord of ..."
Without turning around, the Emperor sharply raised a single finger, cutting off further formalities.
"Leave us."
The tone brokered no disagreement, and the command was obeyed instantly and without hesitation. Now alone with the emperor, the sorceress involuntarily swallowed, her tension palpable. Their mutual history was complex, but whatever the reason for this meeting was, it was in regard to an important subject matter – so important, in fact, that Emhyr was not willing to risk being overheard.
She approached cautiously, waiting to be addressed first, as the protocol dictated. After a tense few seconds that felt like an eternity, the Emperor finally spoke.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" And it was; the view from the Imperial Palace truly was breathtaking. "I find myself humbled at times, knowing that Nilfgaard rules half of the known world … and by what must come to pass. Knowing that my own grandchild is destined to rule all of it. Knowing that all that we have achieved will be nothing in comparison to what the next generation shall accomplish."
The sorceress involuntarily stiffened, her complexion growing more pale than usual as the blood drained from her face. If what she suspected was indeed true, it would certainly explain the need for secrecy, but surely he couldn't mean…
"She is back." The Emperor turned to meet her eyes, and the Sorceress knew that her suspicions were accurate.
"Ciri..." she whispered, before composing herself and meeting the Emperor's gaze. "When?"
"My wayward daughter appears to have arrived several days ago. I knew the minute she entered our plane, of course – as you know, the mages I have gathered can cast some of the most powerful scrying spells in the world, and it is absolutely imperative to locate and protect her quickly. However ..."
The sorceress was only half listening to the Emhyr's words as the full impact of his statement washed over her, and her intellect raced ahead to connect the dots. Days. He knew that Cirilla was back for days and he was only telling her now. Why? She had an attachment to the girl and treated her as an adopted daughter, and Ciri's Elder Blood made her a target wherever she went. Did Emhyr think her feelings would compromise her ability to perform? He never intended to tell her until Ciri was safe in the Capital. He must have used his access to dozens of high-level mages in order to attempt to locate Ciri without her assistance. But he was telling her now – that means the efforts failed. Oh gods, the something must have gone wrong! What… The train of thought cut off as the Emperor's words soon confirmed her suspicions.
"...We've had… complications. Walk with me."
They were walking now, slowly descending the stairs to the dungeons. They stopped in front of one of the lower cells usually reserved for "special" guests and the sorceress involuntarily shivered at how close she herself had come to occupying a cell like this one.
The Emhyr continued while one of the torturers hurriedly struggled with the chains binding the door.
"It was summoned as a result of one of the experimental rituals. The ritual in question was supposed to summon a spirit of knowledge – instead, it seems to have produced a fully corporeal, human summon. The mages in question – now executed, of course – didn't wish to report their apparent failure, so they quietly passed the summon over to the torturers for interrogation."
The door squeaked open to reveal a ghastly sight. Chained to the wall and bound from head to toe in what must have been Dimeritium alloys was the dirty, bruised, burned, and utterly broken, but unmistakably human body.
"The incompetent whoresons tortured the wretch for two days before the chief interrogator figured out that it didn't speak a lick of Nilfgaardian."
The sorceress gasped as the prisoner's single remaining eye met her own, and the dungeon filled with a raspy sound of what could only have been laughter.