Band of the Phoenix

The hoods were removed.

Zern covered his eyes. The green and blue luminescent stones trapping the Ip's lightened the room like no other, it would've been dark outside but inside it was as busy and bright as day. He let his eyes readjust and fell on to the Zyneri'i in front of him.

His throat went dry. It was Vashniel, Raj of Zyneria, holder of the pearl throne, head of the Zayntor house, one of the most powerful clans of the Hamashasa, and direct descendant of Hamash himself. The Raja had regal purple robes which contrasted with the pearl white throne he sat on, he had orange and black fur which seemed to ripple with authority.

He turned to the side and saw the three others including Wenor, although he didn't know the names of the other two. They were the last survivors. Only four in over fifty had survived. It made sense now, they weren't supposed to have survived that, that thing had been tasked with defeating the champion of slaves Wenor. Now this was to be their punishment, what was it to be just plain old execu–

"His great and magnificent majesty, Raja Vashniel of the pearl throne," one of the several translators said all in relative unison. "Has granted you the great and most extraordinary gift of granting you his presence and his goodwill. As a commendation for your effort in the most recent of games his magnificent majesty has granted you each a single boon, however let it be known you are not free, at least not completely, more will be explained after his magnificent majesty rejects or accepts each of your boon."

Without a second thought Wenor shouted his boon, "I wish for my wife back, magnificent majesty."

The several Zyneri'i advisors relayed the message to Vashniel who stood as still and expressionless as a monolith. As he heard the request he stared straight forwards as another advisor whispered in his ear, he sat still and listened before saying something in his language which was eventually translated by the advisors.

"His magnificent majesty cannot grant your request, due to the fact your wife is dead," the translators said, seemingly uncaring.

Wenor stood stunned for a moment before kneeling down in disbelief, unable to move or respond.

"His magnificent majesty will hear the next boon."

"Plate armour," the thinnest of the survivors said, "a beautiful one, like no other, worth more than men could imagine, but lighter than all others."

The advisors whispered amongst themselves, communicating back and forth between themselves and the king before agreeing to the man's request.

The survivor with a long gash and burn across his face went next. "The eye of Yahor."

A gasp came amongst the advisors but after a few minutes of discussion they reluctantly agreed to the man's request. Whatever the eye was, it seemed to be important.

Zern bit his lip he couldn't think of anything but he needed to do so soon, lest he be rewarded with nothing. Think of something, anything, just something–

"I'm going to kill you!" Wenor screamed, jumping forwards towards Vashniel.

It didn't take much for the guards to restrain him and throw him towards the ground. Wenor sneered and screamed towards the Raja. Zern and the rest were effortlessly restrained by the guards around them, although Zern did not resist.

The Raja stared down at Wenor and sighed saying something which the advisors translated. 

"You have strained his magnificent majesty's generosity," the advisors said. "Earn your penance in exile."

The guards pulled him so forcefully he fell backwards, before they once again trapped him in darkness.