May 17, 122PW
The morning beckoned Emil awake, along with the smell of breakfast on the stove. He usually liked to wake up early, but last night he had dreamed of his childhood, of a time before treason. Emil Adalius did not dream often, and even now that he had risen, he felt strangely as if he had remained in his dream. He did not find the feeling agreeable.
He yawned, and stretched the rigidness of sleep out of his body. He opened the window and the door, and let the light breeze bring him back to reality. It was an exceedingly beautiful day outside the second-story window. It was a week day, and already the streets were beginning to fill with people. From the door to his room came the sound of feminine laughter. There was a pair of voices: one was his sister, Adriana, gentle and youthful, and the other was their sole servant and maid, Sarah. The two got along well, one of the reasons Emil had kept the older woman in his employment thus far.
Emil dressed himself in dark azure wool with yellow threads. The collars of a fitted, white cotton shirt remained unbuttoned as he sat in front of his desk, reading the pages of a publication called the Vitiable Paragon. It began with an earnest warning from the mysterious, unnamed editor. It contained three articles, none of which whose authors were named. The entire thing very well may have been written by a single man, the one who called himself The Editor. The first article lambasted the Judges' decision to build walls in Marn. The second called out the city guards, especially the Captain. His name was... yes, Camulous Smithson. A veteran of the city guards, the youngest captain in memory. A force to be reckoned with, and the Vitiable Paragon insulted him along with the Judges. Was this stupidity, or confidence? He read the rest of the paper thoroughly.
Emil smiled. He was overjoyed. The treasonous papers that laid on top of his desk were delivered to him by a courier from the Hall of Justice. Study it carefully, he had been told. Emil had been anticipating it. Which of his contacts was it? No matter, he would find out sooner or later. Still, its contents were unpresaged. The Judges must be dying to be rid of the source of this publication, and they had included him in their efforts. He sobered up immediately. If the Judges were forced to involve a civil magistrate, then perhaps the Vitiable Paragon, whoever it represented, was a formidable force after all.
Even better, he thought as he put on his boots and buttoned up his collar. He wanted it to be as big a problem as possible. He'd take them down decisively, and show the Judges what he was capable of. This might even save him years of agonizing flattery to the minor players of Marn. He slid his pistol into its holster on the inside of his coat, and carried the coat with him downstairs.
"It smells lovely in here, sister."
Adriana beamed Emil a radiant smile. She had long, dark hair and a handsome, cheerful face. With childish excitement, she exclaimed: "Good morning, brother! Come down, and join us. Sarah's taught me her recipe for quiche, you must try it."
Emil sat down, and the three began their breakfast. As was his custom, Emil frequently gazed adoringly toward Adriana. Adriana for her part, smiled back. She did not dislike her brother's gazes, but felt that she was obligated to return his affection. When Adriana had paused to drink water, Emil reached out and touched her on the back of her hand, which startled her.
"Adriana, rejoice! Our happiness draws nearer."
"But brother, I am already happy," she protested, smiling.
"Yes, of course. But we deserve more, Adriana. You deserve more, princess. "
Emil looked away for a moment, and Adriana took the chance to shoot a quick look toward Sarah. She knew all about her noble background. Emil did not let her or Sarah forget it. The maid put up with it because Emil was not unkind. For Adriana, however, it was an awkward situation. She had practically lived her whole life in Marn. She was no different than her friends in the neighborhood and at the University, and nothing like the nobles who lived in Marn. They were the princesses, not her. But Emil had raised her. He was not only her brother, but a father. So she tried to put on her best act in front of him. Just, sometimes, it became so tiresome.
Fortunately, Emil had not spent much time at home lately. Ever since he became a civil magistrate over Marn's downtown, things had changed. They moved to a larger house. Sarah came around twice as often. Adriana could buy almost anything she fancied at the markets. She knew it was all thanks to her brother, and she loved him for that. Still, she admitted, it was also nice to have most of the day to herself. Not Princess Adriana Adalius, just a simple student at Marn's university. That reminded her.
"Emil, I'm going to see some friends at the library after classes. Frank and Elaine, you remember them, don't you?"
Emil did remember them. His sister did not have many friends, and he made it a point to know who they were. Frank and Elaine were both students at the university. Frank's family owned an art store in downtown, and Elaine's mother worked at the hospital. It did not please Emil that neither of them were children of nobility. It would have been most convenient.
"Yes. Please be careful, Adriana. Here," Emil reached into a pouch on his person and took out nearly half its contents, "take this with you. I imagine the library won't be the only place on the agenda for you and your friends."
Sarah eyed the pile of bishani enviously. She had known the Adalius children for many years, one of the reasons she was so trusted by the sibling pair. The maid knew Emil could be counted on for his generosity. She did not care about his delusions of nobility; she wished she had a brother like Emil. He had always had expensive tastes, but since he had become the civil magistrate, he had spared no expenses for his sister, to her great joy.
"Why, thank you Emil! You do know me well," replied Adriana, laughing as she pocketed the bishani.
Emil leaned forward and lightly kissed his sister on her forehead.
"I must be off to the court. Take care, dear sister."
Civic Opportunity
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Emil Adalius
- Outsider
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:57 am
- Name: Emil Adalius
- Race: Human
Civic Opportunity
Last edited by Emil Adalius on Fri Jan 27, 2012 10:37 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Emil Adalius
- Outsider
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:57 am
- Name: Emil Adalius
- Race: Human
Re: Civic Opportunity
Despite the intensity of the sun's blinding rays, the breeze was chilling. Emil made a point of greeting as many people as he recognized, especially the wealthy and prominent citizens, as well as the guards. He did not slow his pace for them, but gave each a courteous acknowledgement. In his head, he was thinking.
Who was behind the Vitiable Paragon? There must be wealth. There must be power. One does not remain anonymous in a city such as Marn without substantial influence. One of the Judges? He didn't know enough about them to decide, and it wasn't likely. No, he had to remain open to the possibility. More likely it was a member of nobility. Or a foreign influence? It wouldn't be obvious, or else the Justice Hall and the City Guard would have taken care of it already.
Were they testing him? Was he under suspicion? No, he knew what kind of relationship the government of Marn had with its citizens. The Vitiable Paragon was real, and the Justice Hall wanted it gone. He was sure of this.
It was a short walk from his house to the Civic Court, and Emil found himself there before he knew it. The guards recognized him and Emil stopped briefly to chat with them before heading up to the third floor. He greeted his secretary as he walked into his office.
It was a simple room, with dark, somber furniture. He hung his coat on the coat-rack, pistol and all, and sat down behind his desk. Shelley, the secretary, promptly brought in a box filled with papers.
"The usual, Shelley?"
"Yes, Magistrate Adalius. Mr. Farthis, the owner of the furniture shop in downtown, stopped by earlier to remind you about his complaint against the ruckus made by the tavern next door."
"Alright Shelly, I'll look into that. That will be all then?"
Emil dismissed her with a warm smile. She was an ordinary woman on her way to getting old. Widowed early, a plump, conservative woman, tidy and thorough. She liked Emil Adalius. He was a bit young for a magistrate, but well-mannered and a hard worker. He was the only one in the civic court to compliment her on the finer points of her secretarial work, the sort which takes great care and effort, yet often goes unseen. She was greatly endeared to him for it.
In truth, Emil had little interest in Farthis or any other mundane work piled on top of his desk, day after day. He looked through them absently. None of them were from the Justice Hall. He passed the time impatiently filing out the paperwork for the day.
Who was behind the Vitiable Paragon? There must be wealth. There must be power. One does not remain anonymous in a city such as Marn without substantial influence. One of the Judges? He didn't know enough about them to decide, and it wasn't likely. No, he had to remain open to the possibility. More likely it was a member of nobility. Or a foreign influence? It wouldn't be obvious, or else the Justice Hall and the City Guard would have taken care of it already.
Were they testing him? Was he under suspicion? No, he knew what kind of relationship the government of Marn had with its citizens. The Vitiable Paragon was real, and the Justice Hall wanted it gone. He was sure of this.
It was a short walk from his house to the Civic Court, and Emil found himself there before he knew it. The guards recognized him and Emil stopped briefly to chat with them before heading up to the third floor. He greeted his secretary as he walked into his office.
It was a simple room, with dark, somber furniture. He hung his coat on the coat-rack, pistol and all, and sat down behind his desk. Shelley, the secretary, promptly brought in a box filled with papers.
"The usual, Shelley?"
"Yes, Magistrate Adalius. Mr. Farthis, the owner of the furniture shop in downtown, stopped by earlier to remind you about his complaint against the ruckus made by the tavern next door."
"Alright Shelly, I'll look into that. That will be all then?"
Emil dismissed her with a warm smile. She was an ordinary woman on her way to getting old. Widowed early, a plump, conservative woman, tidy and thorough. She liked Emil Adalius. He was a bit young for a magistrate, but well-mannered and a hard worker. He was the only one in the civic court to compliment her on the finer points of her secretarial work, the sort which takes great care and effort, yet often goes unseen. She was greatly endeared to him for it.
In truth, Emil had little interest in Farthis or any other mundane work piled on top of his desk, day after day. He looked through them absently. None of them were from the Justice Hall. He passed the time impatiently filing out the paperwork for the day.
Re: Civic Opportunity
Judge Vincas had spent a good deal of time deciding if he was going to offer the prisoners a chance at parole or keep them behind bars until their trial. However, that time could hardly compare to the time spent deciding on who they should report to. Investigating the Vitiable Paragon was to be a delicate procedure, only those that could be trusted should be involved.
He spent his time looking over each and every one of the civil magistrates, he had his options but many of them were lacking in one regard or another. Thomnas Oslun and Camulous Smithson both appeared on the list; both were well respected in the community, known for upholding the law and distrusting magic users. Neither of them would do, they wouldn't take kindly to babysitting known criminals and with the caption's recent popularity among the journalists who worked for the Daily Tattler, they'd quickly be fingered as informants.
What he needed, what they all needed, was a person who went by unnoticed by the general population. He needed somebody with so little recognition that they wouldn't feel obligated to ask questions as to who it was making orders or why they wanted him to gather information for them. He needed somebody with a skewed sense of self-worth that he could use to his advantage.
It was for the good of the city, the old man told himself.
Near the bottom of the list he found the name Emil Adalius. Emil was young, the youngest civil magistrate Vincas could ever remember being in office. He was a foreigner too. He was new to the job and as such he had been handed only the most minor of cases to handle. Some citizens had not been pleased over seeing a foreign-born man take a well paying government position which only added to the fact that the Judges tended to ignore him in favor of the more respectable, more experienced magistrates.
"Adalius, that could work."
Vincas had little in the form of information on the criminals in question. One was a citizen of Marn, but no record of his birth could be found with the hospital. He didn't appear to have attended public school either. A few notes had been written down by members of the Guard having warned the young man for loitering, but no actual criminal record existed. The other young man was a foreigner, so there were no records to be had.
What Vincas did send Emil, by means of a messenger, consisted of a letter that he was to be looking over two prisoners who were to aid him in an investigation into the identities behind those involved with the Vitiable Paragon. The crimes these two were accused of commuting was not disclosed, but a note was made that he was to keep a close eye on their whereabouts. Justice Hall wanted this matter to be looked into, but word was not to spread that they were backing an investigation. Vincas did not sign his letter, it instead ended with a statement that such a favor would help his career in the long run.
He spent his time looking over each and every one of the civil magistrates, he had his options but many of them were lacking in one regard or another. Thomnas Oslun and Camulous Smithson both appeared on the list; both were well respected in the community, known for upholding the law and distrusting magic users. Neither of them would do, they wouldn't take kindly to babysitting known criminals and with the caption's recent popularity among the journalists who worked for the Daily Tattler, they'd quickly be fingered as informants.
What he needed, what they all needed, was a person who went by unnoticed by the general population. He needed somebody with so little recognition that they wouldn't feel obligated to ask questions as to who it was making orders or why they wanted him to gather information for them. He needed somebody with a skewed sense of self-worth that he could use to his advantage.
It was for the good of the city, the old man told himself.
Near the bottom of the list he found the name Emil Adalius. Emil was young, the youngest civil magistrate Vincas could ever remember being in office. He was a foreigner too. He was new to the job and as such he had been handed only the most minor of cases to handle. Some citizens had not been pleased over seeing a foreign-born man take a well paying government position which only added to the fact that the Judges tended to ignore him in favor of the more respectable, more experienced magistrates.
"Adalius, that could work."
Vincas had little in the form of information on the criminals in question. One was a citizen of Marn, but no record of his birth could be found with the hospital. He didn't appear to have attended public school either. A few notes had been written down by members of the Guard having warned the young man for loitering, but no actual criminal record existed. The other young man was a foreigner, so there were no records to be had.
What Vincas did send Emil, by means of a messenger, consisted of a letter that he was to be looking over two prisoners who were to aid him in an investigation into the identities behind those involved with the Vitiable Paragon. The crimes these two were accused of commuting was not disclosed, but a note was made that he was to keep a close eye on their whereabouts. Justice Hall wanted this matter to be looked into, but word was not to spread that they were backing an investigation. Vincas did not sign his letter, it instead ended with a statement that such a favor would help his career in the long run.
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Emil Adalius
- Outsider
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:57 am
- Name: Emil Adalius
- Race: Human
Re: Civic Opportunity
Emil worked quickly and efficiently through the pile of paperwork on top of his desk. Petty disputes between the numerous stalls, shops, apartments, and the like in the downtown area; in other words, a waste of time. Most were pre-processed by the numerous city clerks under him, and required a simple signature to complete. Emil was impatient, and he took it out on the papers in front of him. He completed them ruthlessly, utilizing the cold focus of his intelligence to brutalize his way through dozens of paperwork until in a surprisingly short amount of time, he had gone through the entire stack.
Boring, boorish work. It was almost an insult, to be responsible for such mundane and mindless tasks day after day. It was the political equivalent of eating scraps off the floor. A dog of Marn's government, loyal, unquestioning, infallible servant. The heir to the Adalius name, reduced to this! Emil's thoughts were accompanied by a grim smile. Patience! He needed patience. Walezy had been patient, picking apart the Adalius family's estates and assets, in stripping them of their land and people. Emil would be patient as well--ah! But he was not Walezy. He would not wait so long. It would not be long before Emil marched into his family's former estate, not long before he had taken back what was rightfully his, and Walezy would fear the Adalius once more. If not Fennever, if that old lord had died, then his wife, children, if not them then his people, his crops! They would burn.
Emil stood up and gazed out his window. He watched impassively, guards, clerks, and citizens all. No rage in his face, no desire reflected in the carefully crafted veneer over the pupils of his eyes. The snake had retreated into its lair, as quickly as it had come, baring fang and poison.
There was a knock on the door to Emil's office, and then it was a gentle, serious, professional smile as Shelly brought in a piece of paper to him with a look of uncertainty. Her face told him everything. As far as he knew, his secretary had never been more than a simple administrator, a low-level assistant. She'd been working at the Civic Courts a long time, knew most of the standard letter forms by heart, could tell the source and contents of government documents by their size and weight. If there was a letter form Shelly did not immediately recognize, unmarked and unsigned, Emil thought with a certain sense of delight; well, well, well.
"Magistrate Adalius, a letter for you."
Her voice held a barely restrained curiosity. Unfortunately for her, Emil courteously but firmly dismissed her as soon as she handed the letter to him.
Emil read the letter, once quickly, a second time, more slowly. He put the letter down on his desk, turned to his window, and resumed watching the people going about their business below him. A few minutes later, he picked up the letter and read it several more times. What sort of expression adorned his face? One of mysterious apathy, the very face of ennui, a countenance which was a puppet with strings cut off. What sort of thoughts churned behind this facade? A furious storm of calculation, one consideration leading to ten more, all possibilities being explored as they were discovered, taken to their logical conclusions and then discarded for a new potentiality. A meditation of perfect clarity, undertaken a midst unspoken passion.
Would they be dangerous? Most likely not; there were several strategies he considered based on this assumption, but the specifics would have to wait. No, there were a few things he could begin to plan right away. The evaluation of the prisoners, its method, and his reaction to the possible outcome of the evaluation. If they were intelligent? He would need to tread carefully, though Emil preferred this outcome. Intelligent creatures were easier to predict, easier to manipulate. If they were incompetent? That had its uses, as well as its dangers.
In the end, he would have to wait and see the prisoners for himself.
Boring, boorish work. It was almost an insult, to be responsible for such mundane and mindless tasks day after day. It was the political equivalent of eating scraps off the floor. A dog of Marn's government, loyal, unquestioning, infallible servant. The heir to the Adalius name, reduced to this! Emil's thoughts were accompanied by a grim smile. Patience! He needed patience. Walezy had been patient, picking apart the Adalius family's estates and assets, in stripping them of their land and people. Emil would be patient as well--ah! But he was not Walezy. He would not wait so long. It would not be long before Emil marched into his family's former estate, not long before he had taken back what was rightfully his, and Walezy would fear the Adalius once more. If not Fennever, if that old lord had died, then his wife, children, if not them then his people, his crops! They would burn.
Emil stood up and gazed out his window. He watched impassively, guards, clerks, and citizens all. No rage in his face, no desire reflected in the carefully crafted veneer over the pupils of his eyes. The snake had retreated into its lair, as quickly as it had come, baring fang and poison.
There was a knock on the door to Emil's office, and then it was a gentle, serious, professional smile as Shelly brought in a piece of paper to him with a look of uncertainty. Her face told him everything. As far as he knew, his secretary had never been more than a simple administrator, a low-level assistant. She'd been working at the Civic Courts a long time, knew most of the standard letter forms by heart, could tell the source and contents of government documents by their size and weight. If there was a letter form Shelly did not immediately recognize, unmarked and unsigned, Emil thought with a certain sense of delight; well, well, well.
"Magistrate Adalius, a letter for you."
Her voice held a barely restrained curiosity. Unfortunately for her, Emil courteously but firmly dismissed her as soon as she handed the letter to him.
Emil read the letter, once quickly, a second time, more slowly. He put the letter down on his desk, turned to his window, and resumed watching the people going about their business below him. A few minutes later, he picked up the letter and read it several more times. What sort of expression adorned his face? One of mysterious apathy, the very face of ennui, a countenance which was a puppet with strings cut off. What sort of thoughts churned behind this facade? A furious storm of calculation, one consideration leading to ten more, all possibilities being explored as they were discovered, taken to their logical conclusions and then discarded for a new potentiality. A meditation of perfect clarity, undertaken a midst unspoken passion.
Would they be dangerous? Most likely not; there were several strategies he considered based on this assumption, but the specifics would have to wait. No, there were a few things he could begin to plan right away. The evaluation of the prisoners, its method, and his reaction to the possible outcome of the evaluation. If they were intelligent? He would need to tread carefully, though Emil preferred this outcome. Intelligent creatures were easier to predict, easier to manipulate. If they were incompetent? That had its uses, as well as its dangers.
In the end, he would have to wait and see the prisoners for himself.
Re: Civic Opportunity
They didn't move Anther and Talion under the sun. But the moon was still welcome, still dazzling. Anther reached for it, blinking, and there was a hand on the back of his neck that collared him back to reality. He didn't like the feeling of skin on his own, and he jerked and stumbled as the hard fingers flexed. He was corralled. Pent up, cursed for a doom he hadn't agreed on.
It wasn't my fault!
Had he told that to the strange grasping human-daimons who'd gabbled and smirked in their knowing sick way? He'd meant to. Did it matter? When it came to the soul. . .
"I hate magic," he muttered. "Theogios -- "
"Shut up."
They shook him, and the world spun. Anther felt his lips part in a sloppy smile, his eyes jangling blurred colors and lines until everything settled and he was walking forward on his leash of flesh and bone.
"Want to dance?" He asked, but no one heard him.
They walked. Anther tried not to gawk at the normal buildings arranged just so on the normal streets, but their shadows spoke volumes, dark and dirty, and Anther tried not to step on them. He was tugged back onto the invisible line, marching forward. Was his soul tainted? Was he really and truly cursed? His heart rate sped, and he reached out to touch one of the shadows to see if it would take him, but he wasn't really brave. It didn't really occur to him until he'd been yanked out of reach, and he was giggling to himself when their escort presented him in front of a door.
The door was unremarkable in its strangeness. It didn't promise anything foul, but Anther knew that appearances were deceiving, oh yes. . .
It opened, and light at once brighter and softer than the moon's spilled out.
"No, I've no want t'fuck. Stop touchin' me," he said, loud and crude. A moment later he was cuffed on the back of the head, and he stumbled down to his knees still all jumbled and dizzy from lack of sleep. His head lolled back on his neck, and he spread his lips from his teeth in a grimace that was supposed to match the grin he'd given to his mates, long ago.
"Hullo."
It wasn't my fault!
Had he told that to the strange grasping human-daimons who'd gabbled and smirked in their knowing sick way? He'd meant to. Did it matter? When it came to the soul. . .
"I hate magic," he muttered. "Theogios -- "
"Shut up."
They shook him, and the world spun. Anther felt his lips part in a sloppy smile, his eyes jangling blurred colors and lines until everything settled and he was walking forward on his leash of flesh and bone.
"Want to dance?" He asked, but no one heard him.
They walked. Anther tried not to gawk at the normal buildings arranged just so on the normal streets, but their shadows spoke volumes, dark and dirty, and Anther tried not to step on them. He was tugged back onto the invisible line, marching forward. Was his soul tainted? Was he really and truly cursed? His heart rate sped, and he reached out to touch one of the shadows to see if it would take him, but he wasn't really brave. It didn't really occur to him until he'd been yanked out of reach, and he was giggling to himself when their escort presented him in front of a door.
The door was unremarkable in its strangeness. It didn't promise anything foul, but Anther knew that appearances were deceiving, oh yes. . .
It opened, and light at once brighter and softer than the moon's spilled out.
"No, I've no want t'fuck. Stop touchin' me," he said, loud and crude. A moment later he was cuffed on the back of the head, and he stumbled down to his knees still all jumbled and dizzy from lack of sleep. His head lolled back on his neck, and he spread his lips from his teeth in a grimace that was supposed to match the grin he'd given to his mates, long ago.
"Hullo."
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Emil Adalius
- Outsider
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:57 am
- Name: Emil Adalius
- Race: Human
Re: Civic Opportunity
With his paperwork done hours before the end of his work day, Emil had plenty of time to himself even after he had fully dissected and mulled over every angle of the letter from Vincas. He had Shelly bring him a cup of tea to sip while he waited, and amused himself by giving her no hint of what the letter contained when she brought it to him.
Still refraining to ask him directly - an inappropriate question to be sure - her inquisitiveness was apparent in her eye contact and the way she lingered for more than a second after placing the delicate porcelain cup on his desk. He thanked her with thin lips pulled into a practiced smile that she knew all too well meant that she shouldn't bother hoping for details.
He found himself waiting well into the evening for the arrival of his new task. Justice hall should be more efficient in its dealings than this. With no specified time of arrival, Emil debated leaving at sunset regardless of whether they showed up or not. The thought that Vincas' sloppiness could interfere with his routine offended him.
A scuffle outside was his first indication that they'd arrived. Sounds of shuffling, muffled voices, and the sudden entry of a man who fell to his knees after being hit on the back of the head came next. Bereft of experience or training in dealing physically with the brutish sort of creatures that had just entered his office, it was Emil's willpower that kept him looking authoritative. He managed a sneer to cover up his start. At least he knew it had to to be them.
"I see you've arrived. Have a seat."
Still refraining to ask him directly - an inappropriate question to be sure - her inquisitiveness was apparent in her eye contact and the way she lingered for more than a second after placing the delicate porcelain cup on his desk. He thanked her with thin lips pulled into a practiced smile that she knew all too well meant that she shouldn't bother hoping for details.
He found himself waiting well into the evening for the arrival of his new task. Justice hall should be more efficient in its dealings than this. With no specified time of arrival, Emil debated leaving at sunset regardless of whether they showed up or not. The thought that Vincas' sloppiness could interfere with his routine offended him.
A scuffle outside was his first indication that they'd arrived. Sounds of shuffling, muffled voices, and the sudden entry of a man who fell to his knees after being hit on the back of the head came next. Bereft of experience or training in dealing physically with the brutish sort of creatures that had just entered his office, it was Emil's willpower that kept him looking authoritative. He managed a sneer to cover up his start. At least he knew it had to to be them.
"I see you've arrived. Have a seat."
Re: Civic Opportunity
They might have waited until after sunset to move the prisoners but after spending an undermentioned period of time locked in a cell, Talion could hardly tell the difference between the small cell and the open sky.
He was disoriented and confused. They had woken him in a hurry and pushed him forward without much direction. "Move," was all the men spoke to him. Not where, not why, just move. When he tried to slow his rushed pace or stop to regain his bearings by familiarizing himself with landmarks, he'd receive another shove to back of his shoulder.
When it dawned on him that he, and the crazy pickpocket, were being separated from the others he started to panic. Voices in the dark basement had whispered of the terrible things that happened to those that disobeyed. There were those that spoke of torture and others that simple cried or screamed. Then, there were those that left and never returned.
They were being taken away.
They turned another corner he could feel a tightness building in his chest. He felt uncomfortably warm, despite the slight breeze. He wanted nothing more than to run and hide. Being surrounded as he was, there was no way that was going to happen, not with his twisted leg.
I'm going to die. The thought repeated itself in his mind. I'm going to die. They are going to take us out of town and beat the life out of us. They will leave us to die and this time I will not get away.
It didn't help that the other guy was spewing more of his mad ramblings. He wanted to yell at him to shut up. He wasn't helping.
This was not how he wanted to die.
A door opened in front of them and the light from within spilled out into the street. He was shoved forward one last time as he shut his eyes against the blinding light that he was no longer accustomed too.
He was disoriented and confused. They had woken him in a hurry and pushed him forward without much direction. "Move," was all the men spoke to him. Not where, not why, just move. When he tried to slow his rushed pace or stop to regain his bearings by familiarizing himself with landmarks, he'd receive another shove to back of his shoulder.
When it dawned on him that he, and the crazy pickpocket, were being separated from the others he started to panic. Voices in the dark basement had whispered of the terrible things that happened to those that disobeyed. There were those that spoke of torture and others that simple cried or screamed. Then, there were those that left and never returned.
They were being taken away.
They turned another corner he could feel a tightness building in his chest. He felt uncomfortably warm, despite the slight breeze. He wanted nothing more than to run and hide. Being surrounded as he was, there was no way that was going to happen, not with his twisted leg.
I'm going to die. The thought repeated itself in his mind. I'm going to die. They are going to take us out of town and beat the life out of us. They will leave us to die and this time I will not get away.
It didn't help that the other guy was spewing more of his mad ramblings. He wanted to yell at him to shut up. He wasn't helping.
This was not how he wanted to die.
A door opened in front of them and the light from within spilled out into the street. He was shoved forward one last time as he shut his eyes against the blinding light that he was no longer accustomed too.
Re: Civic Opportunity
Anther was hauled up and propelled all tipsy turvy to a chair, where he was pushed down into it. His mind echoed what'd been said, and he mouthed them words to himself. Have a seat. He was sitting. It was all buck-eyed stupid, and he choked a giggle into a gurgle. They was gettin' on to him then, waiting for him to mess up. He hadda be on guard. He tried to pull in the laughin', but it floated away from his control, and he found himself snorting and choking on it until it was much too loud.
"Do you need a hand with them, Magistrate?" Someone else said, and after a beat or two Anther lifted his own hands and flopped them towards the standing men, one all prissy house-ownin' smart and the other creased with the beat. Guard. Anther didn't like guards. He bolted up, sudden fear slicin' clean through the laughin'.
"Wassn' me, mister. Wassn'," Anther blurted into silence, his eyes red-rimmed, blood-shot and wide as he could make 'em.
"Do you need a hand with them, Magistrate?" Someone else said, and after a beat or two Anther lifted his own hands and flopped them towards the standing men, one all prissy house-ownin' smart and the other creased with the beat. Guard. Anther didn't like guards. He bolted up, sudden fear slicin' clean through the laughin'.
"Wassn' me, mister. Wassn'," Anther blurted into silence, his eyes red-rimmed, blood-shot and wide as he could make 'em.
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Emil Adalius
- Outsider
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:57 am
- Name: Emil Adalius
- Race: Human
Re: Civic Opportunity
"These men are here for parole, not custody. If I needed a hand with them, they wouldn't have been sent to me." Emil tempered his tone with the standard Marnian honorific. "Be on your way, noble guardsman. If they try to run off, I'm sure you'll hear about it."
It was apparent to Emil that the two men were out of sorts. They didn't look right at all. He wondered how much of their mental incapacity was the result of tampering by the judges and scryers of justice hall. If ever there was a good reason to obey the law, it was to avoid having ones mind warped by magical interrogation.
He waited for the guardsman to grapple with the idea that Anther was, in effect, a free man so long as he obeyed the conditions of his parole. With a bitter resignation on his face, full of knowledge that the political system was once again failing the people by letting a cretin like Anther go free, the guardsman left the room. Orders were orders.
"Now then. Please do have a seat. Anther, is it?" Emil lacked a physical description of Anther with which to identify him, but his cursory understanding of linguistics suggested that Talion must be the elf. "You're both free men as long as you follow the law and do what I tell you. Unless you want them to put you back in a cell for the rest of your life, however short they make it, you'll sit down and listen."
Emil gave them time to settle. There were no weapons, and no guards, in his office. Windows were unbarred and it looked like a place of study as opposed to another prison. The air was warm and pleasant with the aroma of tea.
"You're here because the judges would like to release you, but they don't yet trust you. They've brought you to me so that I can assess your credibility for custodial rel-" he stopped abruptly to simplify his language. "They brought you to me to make sure you're not dangerous."
"I need you to watch some people for me and tell me what they're doing. Do this for me, and the guards will leave you alone."
It was apparent to Emil that the two men were out of sorts. They didn't look right at all. He wondered how much of their mental incapacity was the result of tampering by the judges and scryers of justice hall. If ever there was a good reason to obey the law, it was to avoid having ones mind warped by magical interrogation.
He waited for the guardsman to grapple with the idea that Anther was, in effect, a free man so long as he obeyed the conditions of his parole. With a bitter resignation on his face, full of knowledge that the political system was once again failing the people by letting a cretin like Anther go free, the guardsman left the room. Orders were orders.
"Now then. Please do have a seat. Anther, is it?" Emil lacked a physical description of Anther with which to identify him, but his cursory understanding of linguistics suggested that Talion must be the elf. "You're both free men as long as you follow the law and do what I tell you. Unless you want them to put you back in a cell for the rest of your life, however short they make it, you'll sit down and listen."
Emil gave them time to settle. There were no weapons, and no guards, in his office. Windows were unbarred and it looked like a place of study as opposed to another prison. The air was warm and pleasant with the aroma of tea.
"You're here because the judges would like to release you, but they don't yet trust you. They've brought you to me so that I can assess your credibility for custodial rel-" he stopped abruptly to simplify his language. "They brought you to me to make sure you're not dangerous."
"I need you to watch some people for me and tell me what they're doing. Do this for me, and the guards will leave you alone."
Re: Civic Opportunity
He was led blind into the bright room and pushed down into a chair. His heart beat so loud that it made it hard to hear what was being said by his captors. A firm hand remained on his shoulder. Thump, thump, thump... It felt as if somebody had ripped a hole in his chest and inserted some kind of drum that they now beat in anguish. With his nose still broken, he was having a difficult time breathing. With each passing second the pain seemed to intensify.
Talion could not remember ever feeling so completely helpless as he did then. His head spun, he felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. Had he eaten anything he may have vomited again, but luckily for him he had been without a meal for some time now.
I'm going to die. They are going to kill me this time, he thought. He'd rather return to the dark than undergo this.
He would give anything to return to the cold, the dark, the lonely cell if only they would spare him. He was a coward. He had nothing to live for and yet, he was unwilling to let himself die.
It took all the remaining strength he had just to open his eyes to those that held him. If he were going to die, he would force himself to look at his executioner. What he did see, through the blurry daze, was an all too familiar green and purple lizard digging his razor-like claws into the desk of a man who looked more a scholar than the burly, half-naked, axe-wielding brute he had expecting.
The sense of relief that washed over him was enough to bring the slightest degree of a smile to his face.
Talion could not remember ever feeling so completely helpless as he did then. His head spun, he felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. Had he eaten anything he may have vomited again, but luckily for him he had been without a meal for some time now.
I'm going to die. They are going to kill me this time, he thought. He'd rather return to the dark than undergo this.
He would give anything to return to the cold, the dark, the lonely cell if only they would spare him. He was a coward. He had nothing to live for and yet, he was unwilling to let himself die.
It took all the remaining strength he had just to open his eyes to those that held him. If he were going to die, he would force himself to look at his executioner. What he did see, through the blurry daze, was an all too familiar green and purple lizard digging his razor-like claws into the desk of a man who looked more a scholar than the burly, half-naked, axe-wielding brute he had expecting.
The sense of relief that washed over him was enough to bring the slightest degree of a smile to his face.
Re: Civic Opportunity
Two words. Three words. Distrustful words. Not-believin' words.
free men
leave you alone
Could it be? No ways. Anther wrinkled up his nose, felt the oily sweat slick on his forehead, on the tips of his fingers. Sounds popped up out of his throat, an realizin he was still laughing fit to choke on a ball-chain. Gag him up with slop an' promises, would they?
But woulda give to return, t'run with Yoger 'n shit, even Rue. Even Rue, even if she ran free past the beatsticks an' back to where they was sposed to be. Could he? Should he? The words were runnin' out past the fancypant's mouth, spillin into the air and glowing ready to be picked and taken and claimed. Mine. Mine. Freedom.
"Yeah," he gasped wet like a swimmer free of the muck and mire. Drowned man hanged man, what's the difference? "I'll do it, yeah. Keep 'em out, spinnin' free o' me an my crew and yeah. I got stories if you ain't tellin me tricks an' dreams. Do it, then. Do it!"
Hyena laugh, cackles screeching up to the ceiling. He was so tired. Theogios save him, he just wanted to go home. And sleep. Could he? Free of the circlin' daimon dream stealin' beggar cusses, slinkin behind the shadows, behind his eyes.
He waited, watched, and his eyelids drooped. Stark ravin' madman.
free men
leave you alone
Could it be? No ways. Anther wrinkled up his nose, felt the oily sweat slick on his forehead, on the tips of his fingers. Sounds popped up out of his throat, an realizin he was still laughing fit to choke on a ball-chain. Gag him up with slop an' promises, would they?
But woulda give to return, t'run with Yoger 'n shit, even Rue. Even Rue, even if she ran free past the beatsticks an' back to where they was sposed to be. Could he? Should he? The words were runnin' out past the fancypant's mouth, spillin into the air and glowing ready to be picked and taken and claimed. Mine. Mine. Freedom.
"Yeah," he gasped wet like a swimmer free of the muck and mire. Drowned man hanged man, what's the difference? "I'll do it, yeah. Keep 'em out, spinnin' free o' me an my crew and yeah. I got stories if you ain't tellin me tricks an' dreams. Do it, then. Do it!"
Hyena laugh, cackles screeching up to the ceiling. He was so tired. Theogios save him, he just wanted to go home. And sleep. Could he? Free of the circlin' daimon dream stealin' beggar cusses, slinkin behind the shadows, behind his eyes.
He waited, watched, and his eyelids drooped. Stark ravin' madman.
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Emil Adalius
- Outsider
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:57 am
- Name: Emil Adalius
- Race: Human
Re: Civic Opportunity
Emil's oratory and diplomacy skills didn't seem to be getting through to either of them. They looked patently miserable, both physically and mentally. Bloody, filthy, and apparently stupid. It should have been so simple. Why couldn't they see that a bit of cooperation would get them their freedom?
Just as Emil was about to resign himself to several hours or days of grooming and manipulating them, Anther spoke up.
Yeah, he said, but Emil's initial smile faded away when Anther began cackling and sputtering gibberish.
Emil looked between the two of them, from Anther to Talion and back again. He couldn't decide which one was more sensible. Talion hadn't said anything yet. That was promising.
Dealing with thugs was an occasional hazard of Emil's position. Politics could be just as dirty as street crime, and he wouldn't have made it where he was without being at least somewhat personable with the lower classes. These men needed something to dull their pain. He slid his chair back and opened a cupboard beside his right foot in order to withdraw a dark green glass bottle and a pair of stubby glasses.
"You two need to realize that I don't care what happens to you. That means I don't care if you go back to jail or not." He poured two fingers of brandy into each of the glasses and re-corked the bottle. "As far as I'm concerned you can tell me to shove my dick in the Serpent's Coil and walk out the door. My job is to tell you the ropes. If you do what they ask, you'll get paid and keep your freedom. Otherwise it's back in justice hall."
He stood up and brought a glass to each of them as an offering. It smelled sweet, but strong. Emil decided to focus on Talion, who seemed to understand a bit more about what was happening. He ignored the blood dribbling down Talion's chin, looked him in the eyes, and rephrased things as plainly as he could to make it clear.
"The judges want you to spy on someone for them and they put me in charge of you. Can you do that? And can you keep tabs on eachother so you don't do something stupid?"
Just as Emil was about to resign himself to several hours or days of grooming and manipulating them, Anther spoke up.
Yeah, he said, but Emil's initial smile faded away when Anther began cackling and sputtering gibberish.
Emil looked between the two of them, from Anther to Talion and back again. He couldn't decide which one was more sensible. Talion hadn't said anything yet. That was promising.
Dealing with thugs was an occasional hazard of Emil's position. Politics could be just as dirty as street crime, and he wouldn't have made it where he was without being at least somewhat personable with the lower classes. These men needed something to dull their pain. He slid his chair back and opened a cupboard beside his right foot in order to withdraw a dark green glass bottle and a pair of stubby glasses.
"You two need to realize that I don't care what happens to you. That means I don't care if you go back to jail or not." He poured two fingers of brandy into each of the glasses and re-corked the bottle. "As far as I'm concerned you can tell me to shove my dick in the Serpent's Coil and walk out the door. My job is to tell you the ropes. If you do what they ask, you'll get paid and keep your freedom. Otherwise it's back in justice hall."
He stood up and brought a glass to each of them as an offering. It smelled sweet, but strong. Emil decided to focus on Talion, who seemed to understand a bit more about what was happening. He ignored the blood dribbling down Talion's chin, looked him in the eyes, and rephrased things as plainly as he could to make it clear.
"The judges want you to spy on someone for them and they put me in charge of you. Can you do that? And can you keep tabs on eachother so you don't do something stupid?"
Re: Civic Opportunity
"Lisssen."
"Don't be a fool."
"Do you want to die like thisss?" The lizard hissed at him, his long black tongue trailed out of his scaly mouth to lick the pleasant air.
For the life of him, Talion could not look away. He followed the shifty demon as he circled the top of the desk. Over stacks of papers and around a cup of tea, the thing twisted its powerful tail.
"You will do as he says, The Master demandsss it."
He could not turn away, he not look behind him, but he could feel the presence of another back there. Not the guards who had brought them in, but another. A familiar presence. A darkness sat upon his shoulder and though he could not see it, he felt one boney hand dig its claws into his shoulder. The other hand sat atop his head, encouraging the boy into a nod.
"Don't be a fool."
"Do you want to die like thisss?" The lizard hissed at him, his long black tongue trailed out of his scaly mouth to lick the pleasant air.
For the life of him, Talion could not look away. He followed the shifty demon as he circled the top of the desk. Over stacks of papers and around a cup of tea, the thing twisted its powerful tail.
"You will do as he says, The Master demandsss it."
He could not turn away, he not look behind him, but he could feel the presence of another back there. Not the guards who had brought them in, but another. A familiar presence. A darkness sat upon his shoulder and though he could not see it, he felt one boney hand dig its claws into his shoulder. The other hand sat atop his head, encouraging the boy into a nod.
Re: Civic Opportunity
Anther sat, alla his whooping cries spilt out of him. He watched them drown in vacant silence. He took the glass and held it, stared at it. "Yeah, I says, yeah," droopy, goin' down the midden. Here was the daimon's sweet slick offering, poison in the glass. Poison in his veins. The glass tipped in his fingers as he watched it. Drip, drip, drip.
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Emil Adalius
- Outsider
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:57 am
- Name: Emil Adalius
- Race: Human
Re: Civic Opportunity
Emil stared blankly as Anther dribbled his drink out of the glass in awe of the liquid itself, and Talion seemed not to notice the offering at all, although he did nod in response to Emil's question. It was the sort of placating nod you gave to a crazy person when they said something that made no sense... except Talion was the one giving the nod, all wide eyed and confused.
Lunatics. These two weren't just criminals, they were lunatics. The manifestation of insanity brought on by too much magical tampering. How could Vincas expect him to do anything with these madmen? What chance in hell did they have of infiltrating the Vitiable Paragon if they couldn't even convince Emil that they knew what time of day it was?
"Drink it. It's good brandy," he said, and held the glass for Talion until it was taken.
Emil paced back to his desk and thought. Perhaps they needed more time. He was rushing things by expecting them to recover so quickly from their abuse. He concluded that if they intended to run away at the first chance they got, there was nothing he could do about it tonight. Emil would blame his impossible situation if he was held accountable for that contingency.
He pulled open the top left drawer of his desk and withdrew a pouch that emitted the familiar light clinking of bishani. If alcohol didn't work, maybe money would.
"I'm going to pay you now so you have a place to stay the night. You do understand money, right?" Emil asked, and started taking coins out of the pouch. "I don't suppose you have a pur- no of course you don't. Just take mine."
"Twenty bishani. Ten for each of you." The last part came out as a warning - he expected them to be greedy.
He tossed the pouch into Talion's lap. "If you come back to me tomorrow, you'll get twenty more."
It was a good amount of money. He wanted them to understand that working for him was worthwhile. He had his fingers crossed that neither of them would start eating the money.
Lunatics. These two weren't just criminals, they were lunatics. The manifestation of insanity brought on by too much magical tampering. How could Vincas expect him to do anything with these madmen? What chance in hell did they have of infiltrating the Vitiable Paragon if they couldn't even convince Emil that they knew what time of day it was?
"Drink it. It's good brandy," he said, and held the glass for Talion until it was taken.
Emil paced back to his desk and thought. Perhaps they needed more time. He was rushing things by expecting them to recover so quickly from their abuse. He concluded that if they intended to run away at the first chance they got, there was nothing he could do about it tonight. Emil would blame his impossible situation if he was held accountable for that contingency.
He pulled open the top left drawer of his desk and withdrew a pouch that emitted the familiar light clinking of bishani. If alcohol didn't work, maybe money would.
"I'm going to pay you now so you have a place to stay the night. You do understand money, right?" Emil asked, and started taking coins out of the pouch. "I don't suppose you have a pur- no of course you don't. Just take mine."
"Twenty bishani. Ten for each of you." The last part came out as a warning - he expected them to be greedy.
He tossed the pouch into Talion's lap. "If you come back to me tomorrow, you'll get twenty more."
It was a good amount of money. He wanted them to understand that working for him was worthwhile. He had his fingers crossed that neither of them would start eating the money.