Visions of Petra

It was too late for prayers, the priests were brooding at his approach, it would not do for a royal to be so lacking towards the gods. Especially one so close to fall , His long robes swayed about his hurried stride, his limbs were old but he could still hold himself high, the few greying hairs at his head did not slow him, As He approached Obodas, a small crowd came away, and He was let to settle down in front of his favorite deity.
It has happened again, They've come once more, I know not if tis for punishment or warning, The red robes I fear are everywhere, they claim this whole city now, I am merely a puppet, one that they would like to tear into nothingness, Please help me, Lord. They're plague in thine city is endless, I have always been respectful, submitted to your every rule, and had no regrets, Grand Obodas, You are all, You over all, Please, Rid us of they're greed. Take them away.
It was those last words he spoke aloud that made him grit his teeth in helplessness, For his hollow voice did not have the fierceness it used to , he did not hold much strength with a sword as he used to, By the gods...He was too pampered for all that now, too weak and helpless, and he doubted any of his men would stand behind him now, not against this, not against Rome.
Yes, the creme de la creme of all was after his little stone city, Hmph...they did not care a whit for it before its prosper, They did not care when it was a measly crack in the sands.

Ah, But now...Now, all wanted his grand sculpture, But they did not merely want it, No. They were out for possession. And of course they were expected to let down they're gates and welcome them in with open arms for fear of combating they're armed legions. Yes, He had to admit it. It was suicide to go against those masked men, He was in the age of lions and he was merely a fat lamb they wanted to take in.

All eyes were upon his front at his approach and at his back at his leave, they knew it was a matter of days before they're dear sire disappears, All were ready to give in, if it was for the safety of they're children and women...what whit would anyone care for a pampered king? Of course he'd be over thrown. At best he'd be a puppet king, one that the bigger force could twist around they're little finger.

Yes, Possibilitie; but all were dire in war. Suggestions that would all lead to they're downfall and so to they're decline.. They would not speak they're Aramaic tongue anymore, but be forced to change they're formations into Latin. They're children would never speak they're mothers tongue but be Roman slaves like all nearby cities.

"Can't be helped, King Aaron know's its for the best." Said the elderly monk to his fellow priests, "They'd want him dead for sure, he's not puppet material like Heera's sultan." replied another younger fellow, " But what would happen to us? I have children." replied another in an overly emotional tone. "Us?! Were safe of threats since were not military men or royalty, its those with the power that are in real danger. Ironic, but true."said a middle aged man with a stoic posture.

Ironic, Yes.
There was a time when he was a force to be reckoned with, at least to his subjects, now he was gossiped about like some fool.
He raised his chin and stepped between the crowds, his robes pulled over his shoulder, the color of his clothing melted with the city's pink stone, and it seemed for a moment that he was one with these walls.

He raised a hand to what few alliances he had, and asked if they would open the gates to welcome they're adversary.
Soon every tongue was robbed of words, and every man,woman, and child retreated far back to the sidelines, allowing a clear view of the distant army.
As he had foreseen a sea of crimson and steel was marching his way, to him. It was death and it was approaching quickly, he swallowed again and again, sweat trickled down his spine as he heard the Bam,Bam,Bam of they're footsteps, so hard and sure.

Soon they halted just a few feet away, and a tiny man stood out between the large warriors, he held out a scroll and began reading it, one would describe him as plain ugly, but there was something sinister in the way he looked about the city, his mouth parted and gave away to a crooked tooth smile, it was nerve racking, his leer over his treasures was obvious, he was definitely the Legate. The senior officer of the Roman Legion in which he's appointed as the governor of a roman province.
In this case Petra was at a turning point to be just that.

"Greetings, I am Dante Severus, I come baring a message from the great emperor of Rome."Said the Legate.
"His eminence commands the patrons of the stone city to relent at once, The area surrounding you is already governed by our esteemed emperors rule, you are the last to join. My compliments on your decision to spare your people, very wise." said Dante with a smirk

King Aaron looked on, he was quiet and reserved yet to say a word to speak his mind, and he did not plan to. To speak the mind one has to be free of the imaginary chains that seemed to lick at his neck.

The Legate could not keep his escalated excitement from showing, he held a hand to the hilt of his sword, and flicked his fingers with the other, at the mere sound of it two brawny warriors stepped into view and stepped up the short stairs to King Aaron, they held his hands fastened behind his back, and pulled him into the darkness behind the opened doors of the palace, Nobody seemed to protest instead they clutched at they're robes and children with shivering awe.

Make it swift.
He prayed with deep breath, he tried to ignore his fears, tried to ignore that he was fastened and dispositioned, all he could hope for now was a swift death, just a swing of a sword and it would be all over.

He could hear the slow footsteps that followed him, It seemed that the Legate had all the time in the world to make him suffer a bit more, "Lovely." He said looking up at the shaded walls decorated with carved ornaments.
"You know tis not usual for a leader to be granted a grand favor, leaders like you are simply beheaded outside they're city's walls and buried out to be forgotten." Dante continued tapping a finger at his lips, "I think I shall enjoy a bit of change...perhaps a public audience? Very poetic."

It would not do to clutch ones fist and grit ones teeth at the suggestions the Legate was thinking, But Aaron did not think, he did it anyway.
There was one thing he was thankful about. His lack of wife and children.
If he had any, those pigs would relish torturing the hell out of him with something like that at they're disposal.
Which brought something else to mind as well. All that he had lived for, and relived for, and tackled, fixed, and built, was all for naught, It was all a pawn now, something he had invested all his life and youth into just to be taken away so simply.

He cursed himself, his own weakness for what had been brought down at him, Nothing was worth anything after all.
He was not worth anything.
He was a stone, unoriginal and easily replaced.

They knew where to pick at him, hurt him where it hurts the most, but he still stood quiet, what use would it do to speak? What use would it do to protest? What use would it be to try to fight they're iron grip.
All for nothing.

He heard they're whispers in latin, he understood enough that it was soon time, he was tired and weary, it would do him good to just let go of this misery.
Soon.

People outside were looking about themselves, women held they're children to they're breasts, men stood in silence onlooking, elders were beginning to protest only to be pushed back to not be heard.
This was not a bloodfest, if they stood docile they'd be treated like the silent lambs they are.
But only one Baa would cost them all they're life.

Soon the tall, broad doors parted and soon he was pushed out by the same burly warriors that had taken him in, he walked on shivering feet, his eyes to the sun, blinded by its brightness, for it did well to block the red robes from the corners of his eyes.
Death was ideal now, a step to climb on the central platform, a swish of a sword, and all would be over.

His stride unbalanced but he managed to hold him self high, his tall frame helped him accomplish it, his hair unkept with the sudden gust of wind that tore by him, his robes seemed to wrap about his legs and then fasten around his waist, yet fall again in a usual fashion.
Then he stood, a dark vision blocking the light, Vercingetorix dressed all in black, heaving a large hefty axe hammer, he spoke in a guttural tongue and pushed him down to his knees.

Hands flew over mouths, astonishment flickered through every eye, green, blue, hazel, black, all shades of them were awestruck.
He was the embodiment of Death, Azreal come to take his life.

And with a braced arch, his axe hammer cut through his cords, and his lifeless head fell to the ground in an echo where it rolled to silence.

That same sound echoed through the valley of stones, down to the treasury up to the mount of Aaron, and onwards resonated through the cries of his people.