Path of Exile Talent Competition

VIOLENT DELIGHTS

Grand Arena, Theopolis
1607 IC, Jius. Acrik.


Lady Piety of Theopolis held a distinct resemblance to Lunaris: a strong feminine cast features with a hint of the ethereal lurking behind her eyes. Convention dictated that a woman of her colouring would acquiesce to wintry hues and noble cuts but in their place, she donned darker wine reds and sharper trims than fashionable convention would dictate.

“A moment of your time, gladiator.” It was a command and not a question. Steeling himself, Elias turned to study the owner of the smile in detail.

The teeth in her smile invoked the large predators of the continent to his mind -the ones that had survived- than incense and pillow talk. To say nothing of her fearsome reputation either.

“I’m not a gladiator,” Elias said, although the sweat cooling on the stretch of his shoulders and forearms weighted a little colder. A small reminder of the Grand Arena they were standing right next to.

“Oh?”

“A humble enthusiast – with limited options.” Elias flashed a crooked grin.

“Quite dedicated for an amateur. And such a frequenter of the Grand Arena.” Her words belied a question he had answered many times before, and he reached for it with the automatic reflex of a warrior reaching for a sheathed sword.

“Simple necessity. The minor Arenas don’t entertain me.” Piety cocked her head and studied him: unsatisfied or disbelieving, he couldn't discern either emotion in her dark eyes.

“What if I knew the real reason?”

“Please, enlighten me.” Crossing his arms, Elias shifted his weight onto the heel of his feet, feeling impatience settle into his bones and an eagerness to relieve himself of his weight.

“First, a little story. There was once a powerful family in lower Sarn, a merchant family. Not the Perandus, but a transporter of grains and domestic foodstuffs. They were hardly anyone, but they were everything to the peasantry.’

‘But that only lasted until someone wanted what they had. Enter, a brother of the night. Exit, the -”

“You’ve made your point. What of it?”

Piety leaned forwards and whispered conspiratorially to Elias. “What if I knew how to get you to him?”

All too easily, the fatigue in his hands and arms was forgotten and the roar of the Grand Arena filled Elias’ ears.
“I’m listening.”
But her laughter chilled his enthusiastic headlong rush of success. ‘Of course, it’s never that easy.’

“I only tell my friends secrets, but there is something someone of your particular talents could do to earn my favour.” Elias felt the ground slipping away from him as his options disappeared. He couldn’t afford to be indebted to her, but what other choice did he have?
“Never let it be said I wouldn’t help a woman in need.” The words felt thick and cloying as Elias spoke. Spiteful resignation weighted heavily on his tongue. Not that it bothered Piety – who sympathetically cooed.

“Now now; it isn’t all bad. Come, walk with me and let me tell you of the foe you’ll be cutting down.” She linked their arms together and more by force of habit than desire, Elias strolled with her along the pale corridor overlooking the bloodied sands of the Arena.

In other circumstances, Elias fancied he would have enjoyed the company.
As they passed a burning lantern, the flames licked the air – shadowing Piety’s face in a ghoulish relief.
“What do you know of the Gemling Queen and her King?”



Residential District, Theopolis
1610 IC, Glin. Seventh of Uul.

In retrospect, when a thaumaturgist asks one of the ancient eldritch past, it is a good idea to begin walking in the opposite direction. Despite the fatigue from his dirty work as Piety’s butcher and their carnal pursuits once the sun had set, Elias felt uncertainty in his stomach.

Sliding out of the blankets, he stepped lightly to the wide windows overlooking the district and lost himself in the light of the moon. Until the air changed. Whether it was the awareness that Piety had awoken or distillation of what had been bothering him.

“Why me?” He asked, unmoving from his place in the limelight of the moon. It took some time for Piety to reply and when she did, her voice was raspy.

“Do you think you were the first? You’ve just been the most successful – in many aspects.” Her words rung a hollow drum in his chest. Beating out the march of the damned. Those she condemned and those he killed in her name: all for the sake of his family pride and honour.

But he couldn’t stop now – not when he was so close. Returning to the warmth of the bed, his lunar whimsical mood remained. “Sometimes I wonder which is the last face I’ll see.”

Next to him, Piety stilled and any warmth that remained disappeared entirely.




South Dock Port, Sarn.
1611 IC, Jius. Prard.


Never before had the sound of a body falling from the tip of his rapier been so euphoric – and so damning. It had been fitting that such a familiar scene should be his greatest triumph. Even if it lacked the adoring crowd.

But it seemed that someone with a similar sense of maudlin poetry thought it an appropriate downfall. Elias didn’t have to look far to see her face, or what he could make of it. Piety stood out – the half-and-half helmet easily identifiable.
There was no pitying curl along her lips, her face was marblesque – until he felt her eyes meet his under the visor.
Black armour solidified from Lunaris’ shadow as the Ebony Legion swarmed in from the darkness.
One of their number separated and walked towards Elias. His mouth was moving, but the talking noises didn’t reach Elias’. A thin film of seething rage churned over his ears; knuckles whitened under the rose latticework guard.

“- in the name of Innocence and the High Temp-”

“Spare me your sanctimony.” Elias’ eyes lingered on the still sheathed weapons. They weren’t planning on killing him yet then. That left…

“Let it be known that Elias Theobore stands guilty of public heresy as well as murder,” Elias noted with some small amusement that the de fact commander of the troops stepped directly in his line of sight to Piety.

“Noted, Captain Arteri.” Although he didn’t need to see her mouth move to shape the words, it still stung a little to know how involved Piety was.

Then Arteri brought out a pair of cast iron manacles – at the crux of each, a ruby shone, even though the rain. “Elias Theobore, you are hereby sentenced to exile – or death, whichever comes first.”

The choice was easy, as they had all been leading up to this point. And part of him wondered what would have changed. Or if anything could have.