Drabbles: Iris

Theme: Reign

Music:

The enclave that was the Greyspire Fortress sparked dread upon all that beheld its formidable structure.

It was not the edifice itself that struck trepidation into the neighboring kingdom, despite its towering complexity of flint and darkened sulfur - but the woman who claimed dominion over this behemoth of a castle. The unrest of the villagers led to prognostications of the woman's ire, and thus an alliance of blades was formed. A solitary group of four; a brutish farm-raised warrior and his trusty axe, a talented magician taught by the kingdom's own magical academy, a sister of the church familiar with divine healing, and the kingdom's own prince all banded together. They pledged that they would defeat this woman and claim Greyspire in the name of their king.

Iris Xildeth was the infamous woman whom the villagers feared, and the sole inhabitant of the sepulchral lair. Entryway into Greyspire was met with no resistance; no mechanical traps waiting to be sprung, no assault by hired guards would lie in wait. This was a place where even the most hardened outlaws and highwaymen feared to tread. The alliance made their first steps into the fortress, watching over their shoulders for any possible sign of ambuscade. Their paranoia proved to be indefensible, as Iris was in plain view at the other end of the hall.

She sat upon an erythraean throne, elevated by a sloped column of steps. The sun's rays struck and refracted through the stained glass overhead, giving off a lateritious hue. Iris did not speak a word to the alliance, for she already knew of their futile ambition. Instead, she marched forward with ceremonious grandeur; the sound from each footstep echoed off the tapestry-covered walls like heartbeats. In the center of a room was a corpse of a previously failed challenger; a sword embedded into the body, standing upright in triumph as a monument of the challenger's failure - as well as a warning to those that would come after.

Iris pulled the sword from the body and kicked the corpse aside, pointing the weapon at the alliance. The young prince drew his own blade and made his declaration, "We know who you are, Phoenix Gladiator! Today, your stronghold shall be conquered for the true king of the land!" The alliance shouted their warcries as they raced at her, with the prince and the warrior attempting to strike at opposite sides, only to have their weapons caught clashed with her single sword. Even with their combined might, they could not cause her stance to yield. The two would withdraw a distance to allow their mage to incite a verbal incantation, and a cesious projectile was launched from his hands and successfully made contact with Iris.

The woman was now encased in ice, frozen by the mage's spell. However, this would not last as from within the frigid prison, Iris' eyes flashed and the ice was shattered. Without missing a beat, the enraged gladiator darted past the prince and plunged her sword into the priestess while simultaneously clamping the grip of her other hand over the mage's mouth so that he would be unable to cast his magic. Her approach was deliberate in its execution, calculated and methodical, knowing where and how to strike. The alliance was now without their healer.

Letting go of her sword, she grappled the mage by the waist from behind, and arched back to drive his body headfirst into the stone floor at lethal speed. There was only two now. The prince and warrior charged forth again. Iris would feint to the side when the prince lunged, grabbing hold of his arm and forcing him to strike his remaining ally with his own weapon. The young prince pulled away from her grasp and gazed into the intense and unforgiving eyes of the Phoenix Gladiator. Iris stared back, watching as if she were expecting the prince to back down and retreat. Foolishly, he refused to let his father down.

The prince grabbed the sword that was planted into the body of the fallen priestess and made a final bound. The blade pierced through and impaled Iris, as blood trickled past her lips. Having thought to vanquish his foe, the prince smirked in victorious pride. To his mortification, the woman would still not fall. She grabbed the sword that was lodged in her body and forcefully extracted it with her hands. In seconds, the wound closed up as if the blow had never reached her. The prince's arrogant smile turned into a gasp of disbelief, and then... a sharp, breathtaking pain. He looked down to find Iris' arm gouged through his chest and out through his back - holding his still-beating heart in her hand. The prince fell, and Iris returned to her throne. With the prince's death, the kingdom was sure to be in an outrage, and with that, there would be war.

She stood waiting, waiting for the day when the next challengers would dare to storm the castle.