merikuru: (Shiny shinies)
[personal profile] merikuru posting in [community profile] 12months_challenge
There was no master list for our June challenge, so let's move on.

July's challenge is:


Do you like history? Dream of the past? Ever wished you could stick a few characters in a time gone by? This is the challenge you want! Have at the history!

This theme challenge will end on July 31st, 11:59 PM Central Standard Time.

Dynasty 3; Continuity

Date: 2016-07-28 05:52 am (UTC)
taichara: (Desert's Jewelbox -- tiny)
From: [personal profile] taichara
One by one, they fell. Bullock or human -- on four legs, or two -- it did not matter. All that mattered was the slice of the broad rippled blade across a lowing throat, the swing of the pale egg of the mace against the dome of a skull. One by one, lives ended and blood flowed freely into the pristine white limestone troughs built into the courtyard for that very purpose.

Nejerikhet lowered his weapon, gazed impassively down at the tangle of limbs that had been a man while attendants closed in to deal with the corpse. Blood soaked his hands, splattered across his broad chest and the snowy linens of his kilt; it clung in droplets to the thick mass of his hair, and stained the pointed lappets of the khet that hid most of his mane.

Blood, and life, for awakening the great complex that rose to the heavens around him, and burrowed deep into the earth below. More to the point, this day, for sustaining the fluttering shades of the past that Netjerikhet has had sealed within his own palace of eternity.

He would be eternal, the office would be eternal, they would be eternal.

His craggy, leonine face tilted towards the sun. Grey eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

This had taken less time than I expected.

It was less that the moments passed by quickly, than that they passed with a sense of familiarity. It was the core of his duty, after all, to both sacrifice and to accept sacrifice. Still, Netjerikhet mused, it would be worthwhile to assure himself that all was as it should be before rinsing the red life's stain away and returning to White Walls.

Now the flinty gaze settled on a lean figure in a long shift-kilt, conferring with the ritual attendants.


"My lord."

The response came immediately, as was expected. Netjerikhet ignored the abasements of the attendants, strode closer to close the gap between himself and the subject of his attention. Imhotep stood ready to move, staff resting lightly; the tension in the man put Netjerkhet in mind of an arrow, nocked and ready.

"The chambers have been sealed."

Not a question, but a statement. One that Imhotep denied with but a heartbeat's hesitation, the shake of his head almost imperceptible.

"Not entirely, my lord, may you live forever. The masons work quickly, but wait they must until the last of the gifts were received."

An amusing ephemism, that. Netjerikhet rolled the bloody mace shaft between palm and thumb.

"I will inspect the chambers. Those of the names, and the blue palace chambers."

Feathery brows lifted like black wings, the only outward sign of Imhotep's surprise. Good on the man; he still was not completely cowed. That was what Netjerikhet wanted from the one who oversaw the great edifice's construction.

"My lord. If that is your desire, may you live forever. I will assign --"


Netjerikhet was immovable as stone, implacable as the desert that surrounded them.

"I go alone."

"As your will commands, my lord. May you live forever."


Striding through the earth's embrace, wrapped in the cool darkness of stone and dust, was an entirely different experience watching the pale rocky steps of his monument rising impacably towards the heaven above. Entirely different, and -- to Netjerikhet's mild surprise -- electrifyingly invigorating.

The blue chambers, he had spent little time being concerned over. The walls, the roofing were all but complete, the luminous blue-green tiling of the brilliance-stone creating coils and walls of reedwork that would last forever. The six panels with their images that the reedwork framed were little more than ghostly outlines, nearly untouched. Netjerikhet ran his hand across the cool smoothness of the tiles, assured of the work, and moved on.

Tiny points of lamplight had guided him down, down the endless gullet of steps, deep into the earth below. The way was smooth and unerring, driven with precision and smoothed to a delicate fineness, and Netjerikhet found himself nearly as pleased with the work of the nameless artisans that carved the passages as he was when his gaze raked across the chambers piled with his predecessors' haunting remnants.

They have done well. I shall have to reward them.

But that was for a later time, and the bright light of day. Now was for the shadows of the earth, and the shades of those who came before. Netjerikhet strode past the roughly waiting stones, the wooden scrapers, a handful of precious copper chisels, and crossed the threshold of the chamber. All around him, piled like amphorae filled with blood-violet wine, were a thousand thousand vessels carved from all the bones of the earth. They all but glowed in the fluttering light of the tiny lamps; milk white of alabaster, smoke black of obsidian, and all between.

Stooping to pluck a gently-swelling egg of a siltstone vase from the mass, he ran fingertips still stained with blood over the skin-smooth surface, across the scratches of the inscriptions added one by one to the curve of the shoulder.

Narmer. Aha. Djet. Blood from his hands caught in the scorings, turned the pale signs ruddy. A touch of the scarlet libations poured to their names under the bright heavens above.

All around him it was the same, name after name whispered into the darkness, the fluttering of those before him making the tiny lamp fires shiver in the dark.

I am eternal, you are eternal.

We continue on forever, without end nor interruption.

So shall it always be.

Re: Dynasty 3; Continuity

Date: 2016-07-29 11:08 am (UTC)
taichara: (Desert's Jewelbox -- ^_^)
From: [personal profile] taichara
Thank ye kindly ~


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