Far Away Ancient Machinations Have Adapted

Cinder Fall felt a growl of frustration build in the back of her throat, but shame, shame! Quashed it before it could be born.

Gritting her teeth, her hand clutched her other arm in a **** grip with her nails digging into her skin at the guilt that struck her for feeling.

It was all the fault of this magnificent sculpture!

That description was woefully lacking, breathtaking masterpieces practically littered the halls of the castle. All of them were part of Salem's extensive collection of elven statues, treasures and luxuries that the Queen of Grimm had somehow amassed from the mythical, elusive race that existed in fairy tales.

But, one in particular Cinder found herself frequently returning to.

Lifting her head, she hadn’t even realized had hung in shame to gaze upon the sculpture. Looking at it again with fresh eyes.

It was of two elves, a mother clutching her dead son weeping in mourning at his mortality. However, such a pithy comment couldn’t possibly convey the true splendor and tremendous presence it had.

Cinder couldn’t help admiring the sheer artistry, talent and breathtaking superlative skill that must have gone into it. Cutting through her seething loathing for stirring those weak emotions within her heart.

The whole scene had been carved from a single block of pristine marble, metals, gems and other stones had been wrought into a piece of artwork that looked, and physically felt beyond human means.

Each of the figures' features were awe-inspiringly detailed.

The mother brought to her knees in sorrow as she held her dead son, cradling his still, limp form, his head resting on her bosom as she must have done when he was a babe. Her chest frozen in sob, the lines of tears from her eyes were a mixture of silver and diamonds that perfectly emulated real tears, the gems catching and shining even in the perpetual dusk of the castle, sparkling with melancholic light reflecting off the dark violet crystal of the castle.

Jealousy, envy and yearning stroked Cinder’s heart together with heartache in unwilling sympathy for the elven woman’s loss, and the constriction of her throat made it all the more intense. The outpouring maternal love the statue extruded crashed against Cinder, something she’d never had or been given, yet pined for affections of a statue.

However, faced with the curvaceous body of the elven woman, Cinder's eyes were magnetically drawn to admire the overwhelming natural sensual attractiveness of the mother, a heat in her abdomen blossoming within her cold body.

The sculpting of Elf’s body was fantastically thorough as her long hair cascading down her back was so finely carved that Cinder wondered if she couldn’t run her fingers through those pure white locks, and her skin of white marble was so lifelike that any moment it seemed like she could finish the heaving sob at any moment. Clothing her figure was shockingly clingy dress of translucent alabaster richly decorated with precious stones and golden clasps that held it to her form, barely hiding that the sculpture had gone so far as to include nipples, and from the glimpse of pinkish stone from between the statues legs, a very intricate modeling of the elf’s womanhood.

Warmth flooded her cheeks, and a molten heat bubbled in her abdomen that made Cinder touch her thighs involuntarily together. This damn stone woman would be featuring in her fantasies once more as feeling far less… familial than the motherly aura it emitted stirred within her body every time she laid eyes on it.

Her tongue wet her lips, and her fingers tapped across her arm as goosebumps flashed across the breath of her skin, and sinful creeping fingers of anticipation climbed her spine.

Cinder wouldn’t mind comforting the elf intimately, just to taste those intoxicating lips~

Damn it! Cinder winced as she caught herself falling into weakness for a damn statue.

To distract herself from those wonderful fantasies her eyes shifted to the son clutched in the mother’s embrace.

The son in his mother’s arms looked as if he was serenely sleeping, yet the artist had dispelled any chance for such a mistake.

Unlike the mother whose stone likeness seemed a hair's breadth away from life. The son’s carved figure possessed an eerie stillness that tickled the lizard brain telling her that the passionate soul and brilliant mind within that body had left the mortal coil. His limbs were limp, lacking any of the vigorous life his handsome, lithe muscular form should possess.

Where the mother was a picture of youth, the son had little signs of age, smile lines, crow feet and other wrinkles did nothing to detract his regal face, all of it subtly conveying the story of why he was now grieved over.

Passing away through old age.

Cinder felt more than a simple passing, something far greater had come to pass with this one ****, an age or era.

“Poignant isn’t it?” A wistful voice broke through Cinder’s study of the statue.

Nearly jolting in surprise, Cinder turned to see lady Salem standing several steps behind her, eying the statue as a nostalgic glimmer flickered in her baleful red eyes. Clutching a crystal wine glass filled with a rich red wine that possessed a near ambrosic scent in her flawlessly unblemished white hand, while of all things a Seer floated beside her carrying wrapped in its tentacles was a lavish wine decanter filled with the wine. No doubt from the scent alone it had to be from one of Salem’s personal collection of elven wines.

“My lady, forgive my distraction if I seemed to be ignoring you.” Cinder offered in placation to her mistress, having picked up that if the Queen of Grimm was indulging extravagantly in her elven luxuries, then it was time to tread lightly.

Salem joined Cinder, absently swirling her wine as she gazed at the statue reminiscing. “None needed, ‘Twilight of the Dawn’ has been leaving human kings and emperors of nations that put to shame the modern day pretenders, all of them gawking like simple farmers, since times mythical by the time I was born at the majesty of Imryll’s gravitas… and assets.” Salem playfully tacked onto the end, causing Cinder’s face to sizzle with heat as she found that her eyes had trailed back to back the elf’s lovely hips.

“You sound familiar with the mother, my lady.” Cinder plucked the one piece of information to distract from her foolish distraction.

Salem barked a laugh, her mood somewhat brightening. “The mother.” Salem echoed, savoring it. “Fascinating is it not? How the elves without a single written word, or anything to explain, yet they can perfectly explain and convey the intention of their art so deeply to move the hearts and minds of onlookers, humans more so. Beware that.” The Queen of Grimm elaborated, before taking a dignified sip of her wine.

Cinder stayed silent, knowing her mistress was being rhetorical, but what Salem said was true. It could have easily been a husband and wife or a daughter and her father, however, Cinder knew as if instinct whenever she was looking at it, that it was unmistakably a mother and her son.

Humming thoughtfully, and sending a burning envious glance at the statue. “Oh yes, we shared... a mutual pain for a time. Hrm, the poor thing, if you dare call her that; she rules Suramar to this day since she founded it with her clan. The only one of the Motherless to my knowledge alive in the present day.”

Cinder’s eyebrow raised in surprise, since if she considered what her mistress had just said, that meant. “She’s older than you, my lady?” Cinder marveled, what secrets did those kissable lips possess?

Curse them! Cinder scolded herself for losing the trail.

Taking a deep breath Salem sighed. “Much older, a matter that I’ve always felt the sculptor overlooked. You can feel it in your bones, can’t you Cinder? That the grand concept of the statue is life and ****?” Salem said, and at Cinder’s acquiescing nod continued. “I’ve felt for eons that the true subject that is missed by the elves who think it a reason to celebrate the gift of life, is that of immorality and mortality.” Salem shared her thoughts.

Now Cinder’s eyes widened. “Like yourself, my lady?”

Salem throatily chuckled at Cinder’s interest. “Oh, not quite, place a sword into the heart of the eldest of the elder race, and if they’re polite they might die, a fact king Leto discovered to his downfall. But, the bodies gifted to them by their creator god mean they suffer no ravages of illness or time meaning nothing short of great **** can kill them. The first borns’ strength far exceeds their children, Imryll would have made our recent uninvited guest look like a youthful prank.” Salem extolled, deep in reminiscence.

Cinder shivered at the memory of a recent incident, her mistress's realm had been thrown into utter chaos for a day and glancing through a nearby window letting in the dim light of the realms eternal dusk, the landscape in the distance bore great gouges scaring the earth. It’d been heart seizing to behold, she’d caught just a glimpse of the bewitchingly beautiful dog-eared elf whose prepared defenses had withheld an **** of enough grim to tear down one of the rare cities beyond the heartlands of the kingdoms.

Such power sent a searing trail of yearning through Cinder’s spine, a lust for something so powerful. Information on the elusive race was rare; Salem being by far the greatest font of knowledge on them.

“How generous their god must be to grant them such boons.” Cinder said, sensing an opportunity for power. Under Salem, she would secure the powers of the fall maiden, but if a being were willing to grant her desires...

For Salem, it seemed a bitter thought soured her mood. “Yes, what a generous god Jaune is, as any elf would go ad nauseam on about. How oddly conceited they are in extolling his foibles, proud that they can lie, deceive and fool him in their very scriptures. You’d think such zealots would think such a thing blasphemy, yet they embrace it.” Salem scoffed, a wry amusement on the mistress of grimm’s lips as she stared into the rich red of the wine.

A hunger grew in Cinder, if he could be deceived, then couldn’t she wring power from him?

Salem resumed her chain of thought, a vindictive pleasure strumming through her. “Though I suppose their beliefs are superior, no delusions of omniscience and a firm understanding of bargaining with him. Why, they believe that bringing back the dead is a trivial matter for him; _if _given enough tribute, meaning any elven family’s greatest heirloom is their family tree.”

If her eyes could sparkle, Cinder had no doubt hers would be filled with them as she suppressed any tell of her piqued interest. “Truly my lady? Such a generous god must be popular.”

Giving a light nod of acknowledgement as she gazed at the statue of Imryll, Salem answered. “Beyond the fervor of his children, the worship of him spread, finding fertile grounds among many humans, a forgiving god who would grant blessing despite your imperfection? Tempting indeed. Some corruptions of that worship are still found among current mankind, ignoring those humans thralled under elven rule.”

“What could possibly be valuable enough to convince him to do that?” Cinder feigned musing aloud.

Flowing gracefully over to Cinder, a sinister smirk on the Queen’s lips as she gazed with her pitiless eyes down at Cinder as she placed a hand over her abdomen, the queen’s fingertips pressing pointedly into her flesh through Cinder’s dress. “Why, a child of course!” Salem savored Cinder’s surprise flashing across her face. “For him to plant his seed into a feminine petitioner's womb is considered appropriate, a life for a life after all~” She delighted in enlightening Cinder of the price.

A haunting chill crept up Cinder’s spine from the delivery of those words, however. Seducing a god, hrm… Yes, if Salem’s words were true then he was a man, and men were simple creatures. If she could wrap him like she did any man around her finger, how much power could she extract from him? The price of her body was a low one, and the reward more tangible.

Then Salem’s fingers dug admonishingly into her dress, sending a ripple of fear through Cinder reminding her where exactly they were. “That is… If, if you are even granted an audience, the elves are very particular about those they present to him after all.” She tore down the forming plans. “As low their opinion is of mankind, my voice holds sway with them. Perform satisfactory with our business in Vale, and as I smooth over the ruffled feathers in Weldenvarden which the battle with the Arch-cardinal incurred, then I may petition for an audience for you. As all your desires, will only come true through me child.” Salem said, her soft sinister words reminding Cinder of her place.

Her throat felt tighter as she swallowed. “Yes my lady, though is it really necessary to placate them? Your power is irrepressible, do the elves prose such a threat?” Cinder sought to shift the topic away from the doubts of her loyalty.

Slowly retracting her hand and mulling herself with the wine, Salem hummed pleased by Cinder’s flattery. “I’ve found over the eons that it’s simply far more advantageous to be on amicable terms, as while their interest in the affairs of the kingdoms of mankind is scant, their memories are long, their patience endless and express their displeasure most terribly for those who’ve run afoul of them.” Salem explained, then added. “Especially those who would tarnish their creator.” Those cold words carried their severity across to Cinder.

The chill of them was enough for Cinder’s body to tense involuntarily. “Understood my lady, I shall strive to exceed your expectations.” Cinder replied, bowing her head in suppliance to the queen of Grimm.

Her mind filled with the possibilities Salem had enlightened her to. Calculations of the temptations of power swam in her mind, weighing the lengths and resources she might have to expend to earn the favor from Salem for such a recommendation.

Was appeasing this god with her body worth it? Was this Jaune even an actual god? Salem words meant that at least the mythical elves believed it, and the queen herself didn’t appear to be outright dismissive of it.

“Then I beg my leave, my lady. To go forth and enact your will.” Cinder asked for permission to leave.

Giving her a small roll of the wrist Salem dismissed Cinder, though even as she left, Cinder couldn’t help throwing a glance at the statue of Imyrll and those kissable lips.

Mentally cursing as her face heated, Cinder stalked away. She had an ‘appointment’ with a maiden to keep, and a thirst for more perhaps.

Watching the most recent addition to her inner-circle leave, Salem tutted dryly amused as she returned her gaze to her dear friend, how long had it been again?

“You always made a woman question her tastes.” Salem fondly teased the statue, which as always mourned silently in favor of answering.

From the shadows of the empty hallway a leg emerged first, followed by a tall, quite conventionally attractive limber man that shadows seemingly melted off of his form, as if he’d been submerged within them like water as he released his shadowmeld. What leaped out to the eyes more than his entrance, were inhuman features, his eyes had a very faint light glow from within as they glanced the way Cinder had left, his skin a shade of purple and his ears had faint points to them denoting his Night elf descent.

"An interesting woman, how easy she is to manipulate as she pound on you dangle a meeting with that absent god as a reward." He mused aloud as he moved to stand beside Salem at the foot of the statue.

Shrugging lightly Salem found nothing to worry about. "She works best if given a goal with the promises of power at the end, no matter if they're real or an illusion. Now, tell me Praetexta, my child, what is on your mind?"

"A detour to Suramar would only add a few days to the trip, honored ancestor. It hasn’t been since the days of my great, great grandfather you last paid lady Imryll a visit.” His smooth baritone voice bore his comforting devotion as only a human with magic could possess and give.

Humming, Salem considered it then sighed wistfully. "No. No matter how I wish to keep this treasure a little longer out of our friendship, we have to ensure that the earth elves will not move against my plans. If it means I must part with it, then I will do so decisively." Indulging in a sip of the ambrosic wine to calm the pain in her heart with the flood invoked by the taste of her of her memories enjoying the hospitality of the elves.

She looked to the part-elf and cupped his cheek, a soft smile on her lips as she traced his jaw.

He had the jaw of his clan's originator, Salem had enjoyed that night elf's time as a consort greatly. "Your concern is touching my child, you've come so far since that sweet shy little boy who hid behind his mother's leg when we first met." Salem teased him as only a grandmother could, enjoying the embarrassment radiating off of him.

Her white hand move to his shoulders as she admired him, one of the finest of his generation, of a better humanity better than the one lost. A humanity free of the damnable brothers, as their gift of magic couldn't be revoked from them like the brother of destruction had at the pools of creation. Yes, Osma was a fool to blindly refuse her idea, and the long period spent with the elves had been wondrous, so she'd taken it into her own hands and the results in the flesh here and now were most pleasing.

"Thank you, honored ancestor." He muttered exactly like the shy boy he'd been, causing Salem to cackle mirthfully seeing that.

"However, a change in the situation may grant you the time." Preatexta said, shifting the topic elsewhere before she started any further down memory lane.

Furrowing an eyebrow curiously at him. "Has something change?" She urged him to expound.

"Word from our ambassador in Weldenvarden is that the debated headed by the factions and powerplayers seeking to unseat the archbishop haven't been on the agenda for the last couple weeks, rumbling are still strong, but apparently they've been set aside in favor of debating something else entirely as the news of calling a grand conclave has been announced, sparing the archbishop from being disposed from her position. Why? We are trying to find out, but whatever it is, it seems big." Praetexta gave his report, his magic conferring his truthfulness.

Turning thoughtful Salem considered the short list of reasons the archbishop could be clinging to her power. "Maybe she did manage to use her divination to find the answer to when they're god would return, certainly would explain why despite breaking those taboos and proscriptions she isn't locked into a battle to avoid being unseated. How interesting." Salem said, humming in curiosity.

Perhaps her diplomatic visit for handing over her favorite statue might be something other than a morose affair of handing over her favorite statue to soothe the egos and bristled earth elves, when they'd invaded her domain.