Gilgamesh: WORLD TOUR Interlude 05 - Play it again, Gil
Who: Gilgamesh, Tepet Tilis Tirana
Where: Tower of Karazhan, Azeroth
When: May 6th 2009
What: Awaiting the the deadline he has announced to Saber (Along with the rest of the IPA, likely) Gilgamesh must in the meantime endure the proclivities of the young Exalt he kidnapped. Through the nebulous power of song, Tirana gains an unexpected window into the servant's self few have seen, potentially to her despair.
Watch For: King of Peeping Toms. Also, Gilgamesh playing an ancient Sumerian lyre. No, seriously.
SPECIAL NOTE: This was an awesome, awesome scene and I find no small amount of pride in it. Much kudos and thanks to SpiralPegasus for playing off Gil perfectly and for Basiliskgaze for throwing in a cameo-of-sort for Saber at my chaotic whim when she'd only come by to watch. I don't know if anyone has really been following all this, but if you'd like to see a potential explanation of how and why the King of Heroes became such an ass, give this a look!
All in all, the King of Heroes was rather proud of himself.
He'd had to through a bit of bothersome effort, but he was sure the King of Knights would answer his call now. Musing from his steel throne (One crafted together by an assortment of blades from his own very Gate, in fact!) Gilgamesh surveyed the gold and red-hued luxury in which he had decorated the top floor of the Tower Karazahn, using his convenient position in relative to the leylines of the area to transform this one floor on the physical and spiritual level. Ancient Sumerian tapestries hand upon the shining walls, a line of enormous stone guard line both sides of the high dais leading to his throne. Sitting upon it, he looks ever bit the King he must have once been in his first life.
Two days...he needed wait only two more days, and he would at last have the moment he craved, to face Arturia at her full power and crush her until she submitted to him. A vindictive smile drew across the servant's face merely at the thought. Now then, he just had to make it those two days without ridding himself of his hostage.
Since she'd been -so- very insistent on singing, the King had crafted a form of confinement he felt fetting: A largen golden cage, as if meant for a giant bird, hangs from the ceiling by a chain no less than twenty feet from the ground. It is in this rather ironic prison the Tepet shall spend the next forty eight hours, if Gilgamesh so has a mind for it.
Well, it beat being chained to the floor.
Then again, being on the floor would have made it easier for her to get food and water. Not to mention the lengths she's gone through to make sure that her personal bits remain personal. For what has to have been the thirtieth time so far today, she pulls her skirt taut under her rear as she sits on the cage floor. Twenty feet or not she was not going to let anyone get a free shot at realizing she's not entirely everything she claims she is!
Her modesty assured, the girl reclines into the corner with her hands in her lap, and starts into what has now become a familiar routine: A sad stare of pity at the King on his throne as she starts to sing, "All together now, all together now, all together now, all together now, all together now, all together now o/`" Leave it to the Beatles to make songs so easy to remember.
Fortunately Tirana can remain confident in the security of her much-touted secret; Gilgamesh barely deigns to even so much as glance in her direction, and is remarkably unlikely notice such a detail anyways, as uncaring of those besides himself as he is. Really, the Tepet would likely to get the distinct impression that he didn't even see her a human more than an object or tool to achieve some kind of objective. The fact that she'd die without food and water was an afterthought the Ancient King has considered only by the girl's fragile luck, if it could be called such in this situation.
Of course, her singing is one nefariously good way to get his attention. By the blasted Bull of Heaven itself, why she -insist- on that? Gritting his teeth in consternation, the Golden King tried to ignore it for as long as he could...and when that didn't!
He casually picks up a heavy, jewel-encrusted goblet and hurls it at the cage in a brief flash of ire, resulting in a cacophonous claning the shakes and swings the precariously hung cage for several moments until it settles down. "Blasted songbird.." The Tyrant mutters. This was beginning to be more trouble than it was worth.
Tirana was rather curious as to when the fiendish gloating would begin. All that work and trouble to bring her here and he just stares into the darkness? No taunting? No laughter? Some madman he's turned out to be. It would have a little depressing, if she had thought about it.
The situation was too depressing as it was. Karazhan was never noted for its cozy atmosphere and its not that much better from way high up. She's finding herself curling even further into the corner as the song progresses, a natural reaction to the encroaching darkness. Yet she forges on, dealing with her predicament the best way she knows how! "All together noooOOoooowwwwwwww!"
No, that was not how Paul taught her to end the song, that was the princess clinging to the side bars for dear life as her prison heaves to and fro. Once everything is stable and level again, she sags with a sigh of relief. That was rather close. "One would think that a king would appreciate an elegant performance," she remarks rather earnestly. "Perhaps you would prefer conversation instead?"
Oh, Gilgamesh knew all about entertaining performers. As King, he'd seen every kind of would-be bard, magician and wonder worker waltz through his court. Some had actually been worth attention; Others much less so. "I will appreciate your performance when you provide one worth of appreciate." The King of Heroes offers testingly. He admitted to himself that the Exalt's voice was not unpleasaing, but the songs to which she chose put that talent were anathema (hurrr) to his sensibilities.
"A King does not converse with a peasant any more than is necessary." He offers stoically, lifting from his sword-carved throne and walking across the dais, "You have but one purpose here, and that is to bring the King of Knights hither. There shall be no deviation from this, and your silence is the most assured means by which you will keep your worthless life." Charming as ever, Gilgameh quits his fleeting attention on Tirana to focus on a sight the girl may have wondered about: A perfectly circular mirror, six foot in diameter, hanging through unknown means in the sky. Rimmed with white inlays studded with sapphires and opals, the surface seemed to ripple like the surface of water."
"Yata no Kagami." He addresses the powerful noble phantasm by its name, moving a gilded hand across its surface, "Obey the command of the King thusly: Find the Lion of the green plains, she who whispers in my mind and wanders in my dreams." Eyes closed, voice unquavering, he seems intensely focused on the matter, "If a price must be paid, than accept this." He offers a lone strand gold hair, of her hair, "As two souls entwined.." He plucks a hair of his own unflinchingly from his own head, entwining it with Saber's and casting it into the mirror's embrace, "Let my desire guide your power. Show her to me."
(Player's Note: Why the hell didn't Gil use this thing before he tore apart a bunch of worlds looking for Saber, you ask?! THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOW C_C)
Through the Yata no Kagami, Gilgamesh would gradually be able to see a rare moment that even those who have come to know her would not normally see. She's asleep, her petite form clad in a long white camisole, pale hair unbound and cast carelessly about the pillow like a halo. It's a sound sleep of a Servant using almost every means available to her to restore her prana as quickly as possible; silent and deep. If her dreams are troubled, it does not show. An otherwise unremarkable scene, save for one interesting detail.
He might recognise the object in her arms: the toy lion she had tried to reach for while she had been wandering through the Marketplace.
Ah yes, he is from his world's rather distant past. If the elders of the Beatles' time thought they were rather loud, then she can only imagine what someone from three thousand years in the past might think. "Well, then I am open to requests," she answers the criticism with a weak if affirmative nod. "Mind you, I may not know the tune but if you hum a few bars I might be able to pick it up!"
Or there is that. It has not been lost on Tirana that she has been unharmed to date. For someone who has had no compunction with mass murder, he does seem to have a problem with dealing with his 'bait'. Not that she should press her luck, but there are certain matters that cannot be left uncountered. "I am a Prince of the Earth," she corrects yet again. Its her standard reply by now, one she knows will fall on deaf ears but Dynast standards demanded it be repeated. "I will comport myself as I see fit. Besides, I am bored silly."
Fortunately, someone brought entertainment! Of course he would have a magical mirror, Tirana notes to herself. She can only imagine the questions he asks of it: Who is the handsomest one of all? Who has the most swords of all? Who has the highest body count- There's a subtle wince. No, she's definitely not going there. What he does ask is something that on second thought she should have expected. There's nothing more than a startled gasp from the cage, and it rattles slightly as she slides away from the mirror. "What manner of king would be a, um, a- a Peeping Cynis!?"
The King of Heroes makes no audible or visible reaction when Saber's sleeping visage appears in the mirror. His back turned Tirana, whatever expression he has upon his face is unknowable...but at the least he seems intently focused upon it, enough so that he seems not to even notice the young Exalt's criticism of this terrible invasion of privacy. He wonders, at least to himself, how such a defiant and fiery woman could appear so peaceful in her sleep, so unthreatening. But the Yata no Kagami's generosity is not limitless, the lucid image shimmering and fading away to show only the Hero-King's perfect reflection.
"Tch." An annoyed sneer...he perhaps saw something he disliked, for Gilgamesh soundly dematerialized the powerful artifact with a harsh gesture, a foul taste of some sort suddenly sampled in the back of his throat. Very soon, he wouldn't have to use that blasted device to see her, not ever again.
"Silence." He'll offer only belatedly to the girl he now shared unwilling company with, his voice carrying a vaguely bitter tone. The flash of something streaks across the room in that instant, cast from the Sumerian's hand right between the gilded bars of Tirana's cage, striking above her and clattering to the steeal floor: A roll of parchment of some sort bound between two sticks, miraculously written in a language she can actually read. From sampling, it's apparent the scripture is some sort of epic, a poem written in a narrative form ancient by most standards...yet works of this kind were frequently meant to be recited by song.
"If you insist on singing, you will sing that which is worthy of being sung." The First King proudly declares, a complex harp-like instrument of some sort as tall as he appearing upon the dais as he speaks. "Follow my lead, you had best catch on quickly." He offers her a threatening sidelong glance, lest she get the wrong idea, "Mangle this work, brat, and I will kill you outright. I do not care what Saber will say." That was certainly some kind of incentive.
Then, without further ado, the servant's fingers shall pluck across the strings of an instrument not touched for millenia as if he'd never stopped playing it at all, bringing out the vibrant, solitary and independent notes of the first story ever told.
To be honest, Tirana is rather glad she didn't see his expression. She has nightmares enough, she does not need any additional fuel of leering faces for the nights to come. The King truly is obsessed with the Knight, and not in any very healthy ways! There's a twinge in her own heart, and the girl gnaws her lip silently as she contemplates the man below her. So this is what happens when True Love goes rotten. How horrible.
Something goes fwing, and for a brief instant the Dynast fears that her luck may have run out. It is not a sword that falls in her lap, however, but a scroll - and one written in High Realm she finds out as she unravels it in her hands. "It, um, it is your Epic." There's a beat as she glances back down with a feeble grin, "I studied up on it some time ago, it reminded me quite a bit of the sagas of Creation."
What comes next might be unexpect. An upturned nose, a disappointed frown, hands folded in her lap, and the faintest 'hmph'. Mangle? Mangle!? You besmirch the honor of a true artist! There's the faintest shift of essence as she begins to sing, her pride demanding recompense from her Exalted charms. The resulting performance is truly worthy of a King, or perhaps an entire hall of them. Sure, the lines do not rhyme and there's not much of a rhythm, but by the dragons she will make this as honored and lilting a reciting of the Epic as ever given.
"He who has seen everything, I will make known to the lands.
I will teach about him who experienced all things alike.
Anu granted him the totality of knowledge of all.
He saw the Secret, discovered the Hidden,
he brought information of the time before the Flood.
He went on a distant journey, pushing himself to exhaustion,
but then was brought to peace.
He carved on a stone stela all of his toils,
and built the wall of Uruk-Haven,
the wall of the sacred Eanna Temple, the holy sanctuary.
Look at its wall which gleams like copper,
inspect its inner wall, the likes of which no one can equal!" o/`
What necessitated charms and the chanelling of essence on Tirana's behalf was, for Gilgamesh, a skill evoked simply by his own existence. Within the archaic melody his flawless plucks produce lies the basis for the art of music itself, comingling eloquently with the verse sung by Tirana in a perfect replication of the world's first work of literature that has not been heard in over five thousand years, and indeed, may not be heard ever again. "You studied well." The King of Heroes murmurs in reply, the faintest compliment he shall give, at least for the moment. It seemed, as with Saber, assaulting this one's pride was the best way to get a desirable result. He'd note that for the future.
The hot, arid wind of Uruk rushes by the Golden King's face anew as the gifted songstress lays out the beginning of his tale. Again he knew the struggles and toils of his life, again the journey borne out by the cruelty of the gods. Peace? He had remembered no peace...who had put there? "Mongrel.." He voices dimly, lost in the pattern of the song, "Should have executed them.." His body performs the task perfectly and nigh involuntarily; This was atalent he'd nearly forgotten he possessed.
The eternal walls of the first city rise before him again in his mind, and he remembers. He recalls the enlightenment visited upon him as he looked up at all he had wrought, wisdom no God could have implanted in his mind but gained only after a journey that brought mind, body and soul to their breaking point and beyond. The story of a man's life, the works he left behind, the legend passed down in future generation. He had realized the true source of eternal life on that day, so many eons ago. Let the snake have mere physical immortality; Gilgamesh had transcended such a petty thing.
Unwavering, the King continued, nodding lightly at the girl's ability to follow him. But there was more, so much more.
"Take hold of the threshold stone--it dates from ancient times!
Go close to the Eanna Temple, the residence of Ishtar,
such as no later king or man ever equaled!
Go up on the wall of Uruk and walk around,
examine its foundation, inspect its brickwork thoroughly.
Is not (even the core of) the brick structure made of kiln-fired brick,
and did not the Seven Sages themselves lay out its plans?" o/`
The first time she had read the epic, she did not dwell too hard on it. Gilgamesh was just another Exalted, a man of great deeds and heroic exploits. Only he was not from Creation and his world had ceased to exist untold millenia ago. To that end she had felt a twinge of pity for him, a man truly out of time.
Now that she has had a chance to meet the man in person, and to recite his Epic before him, the bricks slowly fill in t place. He truly was a great hero once, a man who had conquered everything the land, the people, and even the gods had thrown at him. One Exalted against the world. He had mastered everything before him and what was left? Even brought to the modern day, it was not as if he had any great challenges before him. Money, check. Power, check. Love? Now that was the last thing. Perhaps the only thing. His last great challenge.
Her melody may not let up, not with the stride she has hit during this bravura performance, but it slowly dawns on her: This is what happens when you no longer have any challenges to face. All ego and bluster and power, having lost any shred of humanity he may have started his epic with. This is a Solar at the end of time.
Was Brother Ashen really right?
"One league city, one league palm gardens, one league lowlands, the open area of the Ishtar Temple,
three leagues and the open area of Uruk it encloses.
Find the copper tablet box,
open its lock of bronze,
undo the fastening of its secret opening.
Take and read out from the lapis lazuli tablet
how Gilgamesh went through every hardship." o/`
The sun rose and set over Uruk hundreds of times. For the King who had everything, what else was there? Plagued by a destiny already fulfilled, by a kingdom already conquered, Gilgamesh's wild whims had turned upon his own people. Then, much as now, he had gone about and done as he wished, exercising cruelty for cruelty's sake, doling out judgement without justice, power without humility, pain without compassion. The people and Kingdom suffered, but in their own proud devotion called out to the gods not for his usurpation, but a challenge worthy of him, seeing the source of Hero's ailing even if he could not see it himself.
Though the crescendo of Tirana's performance may fall, the tune does not falter even once. It remains unchanging, undeviating, the same as it ever was. Shaped and molded by its human architect and guided by the hand of legend, that same beauty and power was the song's prison. It could not change. It could not be any different than it ever was, even if it was beauty and eloquence beyond compare. Something stirred in the King of Heroes as he continued, a surmounting annoyance, an irritation.
He remembers the priests locking the stones away after his death, though he is not sure why. They would not be found again for millennia, and worse off for the passage of time, as was the human race that inherited that legacy. Gone was any trace of the proud, willfull people who had once been worthy of his rule. Gone, never to return, the world a lesser place for their absence. Gone also was...
The power of the Dynast's charms could not be underestimated. He remembered a wedding...a beautiful young bride and a stalwart groom, the King's lust coming between them. As he stood to claim his right, a shout came from the doorway. Turning, he beheld man....no, a beast...or was it both? No, the eyes that looked at him filled with fury, defiance and challenge had definitely belonged to a man. They had been green eyes, the color of the plains. And then...
And then...
...
"Enough." The supposedly perfect chord breaks with a sharp note; The playing has stopped. Gilgamesh stares obstinately at the polished, wooden contraption before him, a growing sense of dark dissatisfaction plain on his face. "ENOUGH!!!" He shouts if it was not heard loud enough before, ending the song with finality as a conjured stone hammer swings down mercilessly upon the ancient instrument, shattering wood and string into the air like the fragments of a crushed foe. Five thousand years of masterwork antiquity perfectly preserved was now gone forever, destroyed in a single whim of anger.
Without mirth or compliment, the King of Heroes flings the heavy weapon behind him forgetfully, where it shall vanish from whence it came. "It is nothing more than a ridiculous song." The comment thrown callously over his shoulder remains even after Gilgamesh has stalked out of his opulent abode.
It would be some time before he returned.
She had given it her all, and then some. Her throat was a little more ragged, but the Exalt had every right to be delighted. That came out far better than she had any right to expect. Perhaps, however, this was the no-win situation. Perfection was of no consolation to the King, it seems. She recoils, not out of horror of bodily harm but of the horror of seeing such a fine instrument wasted in such a pique, and dulled blue eyes follow the King on his long march out of the room. There's no mirth in them, nothing left but a single tear that she quickly wipes away. Even she in her open empathy never expected to truly feel this way about the man who had caused so much pain and grief, but there it was. Sadness. Pity. Sympathy.
The children of Sextes Jylis were taught that a gardener prunes and cultivatges their garden to maximize its health, beauty, and harvests. Tirana lived by that mantra. The worlds were her garden, she was merely doing her best to ensure that it was the most beautiful garden possible. For all his teachings, however, Sextes Jylis never considered this problem: What do you do with a truly magnificent flower that leaves the land around it barren?
The princess sinks back into the corner of the cage, her gaze never leaving where the King had disappeared to. "What can I do?"
Where: Tower of Karazhan, Azeroth
When: May 6th 2009
What: Awaiting the the deadline he has announced to Saber (Along with the rest of the IPA, likely) Gilgamesh must in the meantime endure the proclivities of the young Exalt he kidnapped. Through the nebulous power of song, Tirana gains an unexpected window into the servant's self few have seen, potentially to her despair.
Watch For: King of Peeping Toms. Also, Gilgamesh playing an ancient Sumerian lyre. No, seriously.
SPECIAL NOTE: This was an awesome, awesome scene and I find no small amount of pride in it. Much kudos and thanks to SpiralPegasus for playing off Gil perfectly and for Basiliskgaze for throwing in a cameo-of-sort for Saber at my chaotic whim when she'd only come by to watch. I don't know if anyone has really been following all this, but if you'd like to see a potential explanation of how and why the King of Heroes became such an ass, give this a look!
All in all, the King of Heroes was rather proud of himself.
He'd had to through a bit of bothersome effort, but he was sure the King of Knights would answer his call now. Musing from his steel throne (One crafted together by an assortment of blades from his own very Gate, in fact!) Gilgamesh surveyed the gold and red-hued luxury in which he had decorated the top floor of the Tower Karazahn, using his convenient position in relative to the leylines of the area to transform this one floor on the physical and spiritual level. Ancient Sumerian tapestries hand upon the shining walls, a line of enormous stone guard line both sides of the high dais leading to his throne. Sitting upon it, he looks ever bit the King he must have once been in his first life.
Two days...he needed wait only two more days, and he would at last have the moment he craved, to face Arturia at her full power and crush her until she submitted to him. A vindictive smile drew across the servant's face merely at the thought. Now then, he just had to make it those two days without ridding himself of his hostage.
Since she'd been -so- very insistent on singing, the King had crafted a form of confinement he felt fetting: A largen golden cage, as if meant for a giant bird, hangs from the ceiling by a chain no less than twenty feet from the ground. It is in this rather ironic prison the Tepet shall spend the next forty eight hours, if Gilgamesh so has a mind for it.
Well, it beat being chained to the floor.
Then again, being on the floor would have made it easier for her to get food and water. Not to mention the lengths she's gone through to make sure that her personal bits remain personal. For what has to have been the thirtieth time so far today, she pulls her skirt taut under her rear as she sits on the cage floor. Twenty feet or not she was not going to let anyone get a free shot at realizing she's not entirely everything she claims she is!
Her modesty assured, the girl reclines into the corner with her hands in her lap, and starts into what has now become a familiar routine: A sad stare of pity at the King on his throne as she starts to sing, "All together now, all together now, all together now, all together now, all together now, all together now o/`" Leave it to the Beatles to make songs so easy to remember.
Fortunately Tirana can remain confident in the security of her much-touted secret; Gilgamesh barely deigns to even so much as glance in her direction, and is remarkably unlikely notice such a detail anyways, as uncaring of those besides himself as he is. Really, the Tepet would likely to get the distinct impression that he didn't even see her a human more than an object or tool to achieve some kind of objective. The fact that she'd die without food and water was an afterthought the Ancient King has considered only by the girl's fragile luck, if it could be called such in this situation.
Of course, her singing is one nefariously good way to get his attention. By the blasted Bull of Heaven itself, why she -insist- on that? Gritting his teeth in consternation, the Golden King tried to ignore it for as long as he could...and when that didn't!
He casually picks up a heavy, jewel-encrusted goblet and hurls it at the cage in a brief flash of ire, resulting in a cacophonous claning the shakes and swings the precariously hung cage for several moments until it settles down. "Blasted songbird.." The Tyrant mutters. This was beginning to be more trouble than it was worth.
Tirana was rather curious as to when the fiendish gloating would begin. All that work and trouble to bring her here and he just stares into the darkness? No taunting? No laughter? Some madman he's turned out to be. It would have a little depressing, if she had thought about it.
The situation was too depressing as it was. Karazhan was never noted for its cozy atmosphere and its not that much better from way high up. She's finding herself curling even further into the corner as the song progresses, a natural reaction to the encroaching darkness. Yet she forges on, dealing with her predicament the best way she knows how! "All together noooOOoooowwwwwwww!"
No, that was not how Paul taught her to end the song, that was the princess clinging to the side bars for dear life as her prison heaves to and fro. Once everything is stable and level again, she sags with a sigh of relief. That was rather close. "One would think that a king would appreciate an elegant performance," she remarks rather earnestly. "Perhaps you would prefer conversation instead?"
Oh, Gilgamesh knew all about entertaining performers. As King, he'd seen every kind of would-be bard, magician and wonder worker waltz through his court. Some had actually been worth attention; Others much less so. "I will appreciate your performance when you provide one worth of appreciate." The King of Heroes offers testingly. He admitted to himself that the Exalt's voice was not unpleasaing, but the songs to which she chose put that talent were anathema (hurrr) to his sensibilities.
"A King does not converse with a peasant any more than is necessary." He offers stoically, lifting from his sword-carved throne and walking across the dais, "You have but one purpose here, and that is to bring the King of Knights hither. There shall be no deviation from this, and your silence is the most assured means by which you will keep your worthless life." Charming as ever, Gilgameh quits his fleeting attention on Tirana to focus on a sight the girl may have wondered about: A perfectly circular mirror, six foot in diameter, hanging through unknown means in the sky. Rimmed with white inlays studded with sapphires and opals, the surface seemed to ripple like the surface of water."
"Yata no Kagami." He addresses the powerful noble phantasm by its name, moving a gilded hand across its surface, "Obey the command of the King thusly: Find the Lion of the green plains, she who whispers in my mind and wanders in my dreams." Eyes closed, voice unquavering, he seems intensely focused on the matter, "If a price must be paid, than accept this." He offers a lone strand gold hair, of her hair, "As two souls entwined.." He plucks a hair of his own unflinchingly from his own head, entwining it with Saber's and casting it into the mirror's embrace, "Let my desire guide your power. Show her to me."
(Player's Note: Why the hell didn't Gil use this thing before he tore apart a bunch of worlds looking for Saber, you ask?! THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOW C_C)
Through the Yata no Kagami, Gilgamesh would gradually be able to see a rare moment that even those who have come to know her would not normally see. She's asleep, her petite form clad in a long white camisole, pale hair unbound and cast carelessly about the pillow like a halo. It's a sound sleep of a Servant using almost every means available to her to restore her prana as quickly as possible; silent and deep. If her dreams are troubled, it does not show. An otherwise unremarkable scene, save for one interesting detail.
He might recognise the object in her arms: the toy lion she had tried to reach for while she had been wandering through the Marketplace.
Ah yes, he is from his world's rather distant past. If the elders of the Beatles' time thought they were rather loud, then she can only imagine what someone from three thousand years in the past might think. "Well, then I am open to requests," she answers the criticism with a weak if affirmative nod. "Mind you, I may not know the tune but if you hum a few bars I might be able to pick it up!"
Or there is that. It has not been lost on Tirana that she has been unharmed to date. For someone who has had no compunction with mass murder, he does seem to have a problem with dealing with his 'bait'. Not that she should press her luck, but there are certain matters that cannot be left uncountered. "I am a Prince of the Earth," she corrects yet again. Its her standard reply by now, one she knows will fall on deaf ears but Dynast standards demanded it be repeated. "I will comport myself as I see fit. Besides, I am bored silly."
Fortunately, someone brought entertainment! Of course he would have a magical mirror, Tirana notes to herself. She can only imagine the questions he asks of it: Who is the handsomest one of all? Who has the most swords of all? Who has the highest body count- There's a subtle wince. No, she's definitely not going there. What he does ask is something that on second thought she should have expected. There's nothing more than a startled gasp from the cage, and it rattles slightly as she slides away from the mirror. "What manner of king would be a, um, a- a Peeping Cynis!?"
The King of Heroes makes no audible or visible reaction when Saber's sleeping visage appears in the mirror. His back turned Tirana, whatever expression he has upon his face is unknowable...but at the least he seems intently focused upon it, enough so that he seems not to even notice the young Exalt's criticism of this terrible invasion of privacy. He wonders, at least to himself, how such a defiant and fiery woman could appear so peaceful in her sleep, so unthreatening. But the Yata no Kagami's generosity is not limitless, the lucid image shimmering and fading away to show only the Hero-King's perfect reflection.
"Tch." An annoyed sneer...he perhaps saw something he disliked, for Gilgamesh soundly dematerialized the powerful artifact with a harsh gesture, a foul taste of some sort suddenly sampled in the back of his throat. Very soon, he wouldn't have to use that blasted device to see her, not ever again.
"Silence." He'll offer only belatedly to the girl he now shared unwilling company with, his voice carrying a vaguely bitter tone. The flash of something streaks across the room in that instant, cast from the Sumerian's hand right between the gilded bars of Tirana's cage, striking above her and clattering to the steeal floor: A roll of parchment of some sort bound between two sticks, miraculously written in a language she can actually read. From sampling, it's apparent the scripture is some sort of epic, a poem written in a narrative form ancient by most standards...yet works of this kind were frequently meant to be recited by song.
"If you insist on singing, you will sing that which is worthy of being sung." The First King proudly declares, a complex harp-like instrument of some sort as tall as he appearing upon the dais as he speaks. "Follow my lead, you had best catch on quickly." He offers her a threatening sidelong glance, lest she get the wrong idea, "Mangle this work, brat, and I will kill you outright. I do not care what Saber will say." That was certainly some kind of incentive.
Then, without further ado, the servant's fingers shall pluck across the strings of an instrument not touched for millenia as if he'd never stopped playing it at all, bringing out the vibrant, solitary and independent notes of the first story ever told.
To be honest, Tirana is rather glad she didn't see his expression. She has nightmares enough, she does not need any additional fuel of leering faces for the nights to come. The King truly is obsessed with the Knight, and not in any very healthy ways! There's a twinge in her own heart, and the girl gnaws her lip silently as she contemplates the man below her. So this is what happens when True Love goes rotten. How horrible.
Something goes fwing, and for a brief instant the Dynast fears that her luck may have run out. It is not a sword that falls in her lap, however, but a scroll - and one written in High Realm she finds out as she unravels it in her hands. "It, um, it is your Epic." There's a beat as she glances back down with a feeble grin, "I studied up on it some time ago, it reminded me quite a bit of the sagas of Creation."
What comes next might be unexpect. An upturned nose, a disappointed frown, hands folded in her lap, and the faintest 'hmph'. Mangle? Mangle!? You besmirch the honor of a true artist! There's the faintest shift of essence as she begins to sing, her pride demanding recompense from her Exalted charms. The resulting performance is truly worthy of a King, or perhaps an entire hall of them. Sure, the lines do not rhyme and there's not much of a rhythm, but by the dragons she will make this as honored and lilting a reciting of the Epic as ever given.
"He who has seen everything, I will make known to the lands.
I will teach about him who experienced all things alike.
Anu granted him the totality of knowledge of all.
He saw the Secret, discovered the Hidden,
he brought information of the time before the Flood.
He went on a distant journey, pushing himself to exhaustion,
but then was brought to peace.
He carved on a stone stela all of his toils,
and built the wall of Uruk-Haven,
the wall of the sacred Eanna Temple, the holy sanctuary.
Look at its wall which gleams like copper,
inspect its inner wall, the likes of which no one can equal!" o/`
What necessitated charms and the chanelling of essence on Tirana's behalf was, for Gilgamesh, a skill evoked simply by his own existence. Within the archaic melody his flawless plucks produce lies the basis for the art of music itself, comingling eloquently with the verse sung by Tirana in a perfect replication of the world's first work of literature that has not been heard in over five thousand years, and indeed, may not be heard ever again. "You studied well." The King of Heroes murmurs in reply, the faintest compliment he shall give, at least for the moment. It seemed, as with Saber, assaulting this one's pride was the best way to get a desirable result. He'd note that for the future.
The hot, arid wind of Uruk rushes by the Golden King's face anew as the gifted songstress lays out the beginning of his tale. Again he knew the struggles and toils of his life, again the journey borne out by the cruelty of the gods. Peace? He had remembered no peace...who had put there? "Mongrel.." He voices dimly, lost in the pattern of the song, "Should have executed them.." His body performs the task perfectly and nigh involuntarily; This was atalent he'd nearly forgotten he possessed.
The eternal walls of the first city rise before him again in his mind, and he remembers. He recalls the enlightenment visited upon him as he looked up at all he had wrought, wisdom no God could have implanted in his mind but gained only after a journey that brought mind, body and soul to their breaking point and beyond. The story of a man's life, the works he left behind, the legend passed down in future generation. He had realized the true source of eternal life on that day, so many eons ago. Let the snake have mere physical immortality; Gilgamesh had transcended such a petty thing.
Unwavering, the King continued, nodding lightly at the girl's ability to follow him. But there was more, so much more.
"Take hold of the threshold stone--it dates from ancient times!
Go close to the Eanna Temple, the residence of Ishtar,
such as no later king or man ever equaled!
Go up on the wall of Uruk and walk around,
examine its foundation, inspect its brickwork thoroughly.
Is not (even the core of) the brick structure made of kiln-fired brick,
and did not the Seven Sages themselves lay out its plans?" o/`
The first time she had read the epic, she did not dwell too hard on it. Gilgamesh was just another Exalted, a man of great deeds and heroic exploits. Only he was not from Creation and his world had ceased to exist untold millenia ago. To that end she had felt a twinge of pity for him, a man truly out of time.
Now that she has had a chance to meet the man in person, and to recite his Epic before him, the bricks slowly fill in t place. He truly was a great hero once, a man who had conquered everything the land, the people, and even the gods had thrown at him. One Exalted against the world. He had mastered everything before him and what was left? Even brought to the modern day, it was not as if he had any great challenges before him. Money, check. Power, check. Love? Now that was the last thing. Perhaps the only thing. His last great challenge.
Her melody may not let up, not with the stride she has hit during this bravura performance, but it slowly dawns on her: This is what happens when you no longer have any challenges to face. All ego and bluster and power, having lost any shred of humanity he may have started his epic with. This is a Solar at the end of time.
Was Brother Ashen really right?
"One league city, one league palm gardens, one league lowlands, the open area of the Ishtar Temple,
three leagues and the open area of Uruk it encloses.
Find the copper tablet box,
open its lock of bronze,
undo the fastening of its secret opening.
Take and read out from the lapis lazuli tablet
how Gilgamesh went through every hardship." o/`
The sun rose and set over Uruk hundreds of times. For the King who had everything, what else was there? Plagued by a destiny already fulfilled, by a kingdom already conquered, Gilgamesh's wild whims had turned upon his own people. Then, much as now, he had gone about and done as he wished, exercising cruelty for cruelty's sake, doling out judgement without justice, power without humility, pain without compassion. The people and Kingdom suffered, but in their own proud devotion called out to the gods not for his usurpation, but a challenge worthy of him, seeing the source of Hero's ailing even if he could not see it himself.
Though the crescendo of Tirana's performance may fall, the tune does not falter even once. It remains unchanging, undeviating, the same as it ever was. Shaped and molded by its human architect and guided by the hand of legend, that same beauty and power was the song's prison. It could not change. It could not be any different than it ever was, even if it was beauty and eloquence beyond compare. Something stirred in the King of Heroes as he continued, a surmounting annoyance, an irritation.
He remembers the priests locking the stones away after his death, though he is not sure why. They would not be found again for millennia, and worse off for the passage of time, as was the human race that inherited that legacy. Gone was any trace of the proud, willfull people who had once been worthy of his rule. Gone, never to return, the world a lesser place for their absence. Gone also was...
The power of the Dynast's charms could not be underestimated. He remembered a wedding...a beautiful young bride and a stalwart groom, the King's lust coming between them. As he stood to claim his right, a shout came from the doorway. Turning, he beheld man....no, a beast...or was it both? No, the eyes that looked at him filled with fury, defiance and challenge had definitely belonged to a man. They had been green eyes, the color of the plains. And then...
And then...
...
"Enough." The supposedly perfect chord breaks with a sharp note; The playing has stopped. Gilgamesh stares obstinately at the polished, wooden contraption before him, a growing sense of dark dissatisfaction plain on his face. "ENOUGH!!!" He shouts if it was not heard loud enough before, ending the song with finality as a conjured stone hammer swings down mercilessly upon the ancient instrument, shattering wood and string into the air like the fragments of a crushed foe. Five thousand years of masterwork antiquity perfectly preserved was now gone forever, destroyed in a single whim of anger.
Without mirth or compliment, the King of Heroes flings the heavy weapon behind him forgetfully, where it shall vanish from whence it came. "It is nothing more than a ridiculous song." The comment thrown callously over his shoulder remains even after Gilgamesh has stalked out of his opulent abode.
It would be some time before he returned.
She had given it her all, and then some. Her throat was a little more ragged, but the Exalt had every right to be delighted. That came out far better than she had any right to expect. Perhaps, however, this was the no-win situation. Perfection was of no consolation to the King, it seems. She recoils, not out of horror of bodily harm but of the horror of seeing such a fine instrument wasted in such a pique, and dulled blue eyes follow the King on his long march out of the room. There's no mirth in them, nothing left but a single tear that she quickly wipes away. Even she in her open empathy never expected to truly feel this way about the man who had caused so much pain and grief, but there it was. Sadness. Pity. Sympathy.
The children of Sextes Jylis were taught that a gardener prunes and cultivatges their garden to maximize its health, beauty, and harvests. Tirana lived by that mantra. The worlds were her garden, she was merely doing her best to ensure that it was the most beautiful garden possible. For all his teachings, however, Sextes Jylis never considered this problem: What do you do with a truly magnificent flower that leaves the land around it barren?
The princess sinks back into the corner of the cage, her gaze never leaving where the King had disappeared to. "What can I do?"