Being lifted from the bed jostled her enough that she rose from her deep slumber and into a steady waking dream. Within this dream, she could fly - and this proved to be all the better, as one of her legs hung limp and useless.
She could fly because she was a bird, a fluttering mockingbird which mimicked the songs of all the other birds with startling precision. Her tail fluttered in the breeze and helped her balance; she used her strong wings to glide and catch the wind currents which kept her aloft. Far below her, a wizened owl wished her luck and farewell, and she almost felt rude for gliding away without so much as a goodbye. And yet, she felt distinctly that she had no choice here. For she wasn't flying at all, oh no; she had been captured in the talons of a hawk, and was being carried.
She wasn't soaring as she'd thought; where before she'd felt the wind beneath her feathered wings, now she felt them clasped tightly to her sides by the talons surrounding her small body. Naked fear made her entire body stiff with shock; clutched in the predator's claws she was helpless and unable to move, only able to watch the forests and mountains pass as they soared toward its nest.
With the sudden certainty of an animal about to die, she realized that she was to die at this hawk's beak, ripped apart and fed to its offspring. As the nest rose closer, she flailed her useless legs and turned her head to snap at the hawk's tawny feet. The hawk paid no attention; it was focused on its family, ever closer and hungry.
Even worse, her human mind was aware of what was to come, and it feared. Please she begged her subconscious. Don't put me through this. Don't make me feel this. This is too cruel...
As the hawk neared the nest where its chicks sat waiting, beady eyes fixed upon their meal, she was passed from one man to another. The switch served to bring her seconds away from awake, but still, her body refused to wake up fully. It forced her under, forced her to wait until it was inches away from the nest and she realized that these chicks were no hawks at all, but eaglets. No...even closer, and their forepaws swiped at her, and she looked up into the feral eyes of a wild gryphon...
The woman gasped and jolted as terror shocked her into wakefulness, tensing her entire body with the strain. Even her subconscious would not allow her the horror of being ripped apart by a family of gryphons. But the dream lay fresh and clear, and her eyes were wide with shock until the last of the fear slipped away, and she was left alone with...the guard from before.
She stared at the guard for several long moments, taking in his features and mesmerizing him by nature. She'd not had a chance to get a good look before, and she liked to know the features of those around her. At least she would remember them later, if need be.
She considered greeting him, asking where they were going, commenting on the weather. A part of her wished she wasn't wearing the sorry clothes of a beggar with nothing to her own name. But in the end, she simply turned her head to watch where they were headed, overcome with the sadness of her destiny. She was convinced that she would die before the year's end, perhaps even the month's. She knew beyond doubt that nothing she could do or say would change this. And although she was still considering ending her own life, she wasn't sure that she had the conviction of spirit to make such a move.
Perhaps later. When it wasn't just desperate, but hopeless. When she'd gained her bearings, perhaps learned about this town. She didn't even know the town's name. Before all of this, she'd never been the type to take one step without knowing where she was headed; now she couldn't afford the luxury of such time management.
She craved to speak with someone, anyone at all. This guard was all she had available, and perhaps he'd care little enough that it wouldn't matter. At least she would be throwing a sentence out into the void, acknowledging the burning pain in her chest which had nothing to do with her injuries.
She spoke.
"Once upon a time...there was a woman who had hopes and dreams. A husband, a family, a quaint little house. Maybe some crops and a creek running through a field. But that woman went away, and now she's dead and gone. And perhaps someone would call that a tragedy."
The streets passed by, and she felt her death draw closer. She closed her eyes and felt the story moving within her, and ignored the sorrow crowding around her lids.
"But that woman lived outside of those hopes and dreams. She told stories and shared adventures. She had friends and a gift of a wooden bird which sang lovely songs. In the end, who wouldn't want that? Perhaps...perhaps it wasn't such a waste of life."
Here her eyes burned, but she was exhausted enough that even tears would not come.
"The only regret she'll have, I think, is that she never saw her family again. But at least she saw them before. Some don't even get that, do they?"
Just statements and questions to the void. She hardly felt that a man held her; just an automaton with a man's face, doing his duty and delivering her where she needed to go.
The Moral Equation
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
The ever present sound of the hoof-beats, accompanied by the rough bouncing of his horse in tandem, were the only constant sounds Camulous could hear until she spoke. His armor, so well fitted and exquisitely designed, made no sound at all. The city streets were unusually quiet, with half as many people as would normally be milling about. No doubt more than a few citizens suspected something was afoot, and made the wise decision to go home for the evening. It was still cold and damp, and rain continued to fall lightly, but it hadn't gotten any worse.
Normally he wouldn't listen to stories from prisoners, female and helpless or otherwise. It wasn't his business, he didn't care about what they had to say in most situations, and in fact didn't want to hear the lies they constantly told to get out of trouble.
This situation was inherently different. He wanted to help this woman, even if he wasn't willing to set her free.
"You sound very convinced they're going to give you the death sentence. What I saw doesn't justify that... What exactly did you do that they want you so badly?"
Normally he wouldn't listen to stories from prisoners, female and helpless or otherwise. It wasn't his business, he didn't care about what they had to say in most situations, and in fact didn't want to hear the lies they constantly told to get out of trouble.
This situation was inherently different. He wanted to help this woman, even if he wasn't willing to set her free.
"You sound very convinced they're going to give you the death sentence. What I saw doesn't justify that... What exactly did you do that they want you so badly?"
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
With her eyes closed, she felt safe from the world, hidden and invisible. With her speech completed, she had expected nothing from the guard. Just the quiet passage of time to the horse's footsteps. And so his voice startled her, enough to make her jerk in his grip, and she turned her head and opened her eyes to look at him. She remembered that this man had surprised her once before, when she'd asked him to stop Lucian's pain and he had complied. He had compassion about him - the type she had never dreamed to find within the ranks of a town's guard.
But she didn't dare to hope.
She looked away again to eliminate the humanity in his features, focus instead upon the steady clomp of the animal. For a moment she marvelled at the sensation of moving without walking. She'd never ridden a horse before, and the sensation of gliding through air was unnerving, and perhaps a little thrilling. She considered the man's question, and how to respond. The part of her which wanted to survive screamed at her to lie, to tell him a story of herself as pure victim who'd never done a thing wrong in her entire life. But the little girl's spirit deserved better. She could as least honor the girl's death with the truth.
She told the story as best she could. As this man was used to stark and even brutal honesty, she was used to weaving stories to try and retain the attention of her audience. And so she told her story with a lilting style, and perhaps a bit of brogue - for she was, after all, a bard.
"I travelled with a dryad for a while. Magical being - she took to me because of my music. We were together nary a year - I tired quickly of the magically inclined - but during that year, she gave me a guitar. A living being of a guitar, forged from honed sapling wood and perfectly tuned. And as a musician, I loved it - a guitar which took care of itself and was always ripe for a song? It was any bard's dream. Wouldn't you say?"
She trembled a little as the memories came, though they were never more than a thought away.
"We came upon a shop, where we could hear a tussle inside - screaming, roaring, th' like - and we went inside to see and perhaps help. T'was a little girl, tiny thing, couldna have been more'n eight...and she...her face was grotesque. Downright sinister. I think...I think she was possessed."
She closed her eyes and winced. She hated this more with each telling, but no amount of driving the memories down seemed to work. Telling others...it seemed to ease the ache. If only a little.
"She tried to kill us. Moved furniture, attacked. I'd never seen anything like it - but I wanted to help. Inside that beast, there was still a little girl, helpless and alone. I could s-sense her inside of it, feel her pain. She wanted to be f-free."
The trembling had started again, light but steady. She told herself she was chilled. It wasn't the warmest day.
"But the guitar...it was alive. It...attacked back. F-fought. Wrapped its cords...it killed her. Strangled...the shopkeeper, h-he saw the whole thing. Called me a witch, and me without a drop of ability to my name...he s-said I did it, I killed her...and I was afraid. So I ran."
She turned her head away from him and swallowed hard. This was the criminal they'd been chasing all this time; a frightened woman who was no more than a coward. She opened her eyes to stare at the ground as they passed through the streets, not wanting to see his face or his judgement which she was certain would reflect through his features. The scowl, or the narrowed slits of eyes. Flared nostrils, even pursed lips. She'd seen it all before.
"I kept running. The family wanted me dead. Of course they did. I'd...killed their little girl. She was dead, and that was my fault. The guitar wouldn't leave me though. It was connected to me, wouldn't go away. I'd leave it somewhere, it would return. I could burn it to cinders, smash it to splinters...it would always return. Damnable thing! I was terrified it would hurt again, trying to defend me. It's just a guitar; it doesn't know the difference between...between a little girl and a real threat. It just attacks and kills, and I never w-wanted..."
She took another deep breath here, to try and stop herself. She was ranting and she knew it, and this man wouldn't care one way or another. On with the story.
"I came here for anonymity. I didn't think I'd be recognized, be known. It's been over a year since...but there was an assassin. He...he found me, tried to attack me."
I saw you with him at the tavern.
Memory snapped into place, and she gasped and opened her eyes with the enormity of what she'd just realized. This man had been with him at the tavern. He had been with him...
"You...you were with him in the tavern...you were there, talking...oh god...you're taking me to him, aren't you? You're...delivering me!"
The shaking was very potent now as she came to an inescapable conclusion and shoved herself forward, trying to tumble from the guard's arm onto the road. She didn't care where she went, or if she'd snap her neck on the way down - if she had to die, it would not be by that assassin's hands. She was panicked, but her body had given out and had nothing left to give. She was weak, and exhaustion and some lagging pain in her knee took any strength she might have had. She was left panting and terrified with no chance of escape. Fight or flight - she had neither option. One arm gripping the horse's saddle, the other braced against the guard's armor, she looked up into the guard's face, finally, and her fear shone bright from her eyes.
"Please don't take me to h-him. I'll...I'll do a-anything. Please. I'll testify my guilt, burn at the stake, anything, I don't want to be k-killed by him. Not him."
But she didn't dare to hope.
She looked away again to eliminate the humanity in his features, focus instead upon the steady clomp of the animal. For a moment she marvelled at the sensation of moving without walking. She'd never ridden a horse before, and the sensation of gliding through air was unnerving, and perhaps a little thrilling. She considered the man's question, and how to respond. The part of her which wanted to survive screamed at her to lie, to tell him a story of herself as pure victim who'd never done a thing wrong in her entire life. But the little girl's spirit deserved better. She could as least honor the girl's death with the truth.
She told the story as best she could. As this man was used to stark and even brutal honesty, she was used to weaving stories to try and retain the attention of her audience. And so she told her story with a lilting style, and perhaps a bit of brogue - for she was, after all, a bard.
"I travelled with a dryad for a while. Magical being - she took to me because of my music. We were together nary a year - I tired quickly of the magically inclined - but during that year, she gave me a guitar. A living being of a guitar, forged from honed sapling wood and perfectly tuned. And as a musician, I loved it - a guitar which took care of itself and was always ripe for a song? It was any bard's dream. Wouldn't you say?"
She trembled a little as the memories came, though they were never more than a thought away.
"We came upon a shop, where we could hear a tussle inside - screaming, roaring, th' like - and we went inside to see and perhaps help. T'was a little girl, tiny thing, couldna have been more'n eight...and she...her face was grotesque. Downright sinister. I think...I think she was possessed."
She closed her eyes and winced. She hated this more with each telling, but no amount of driving the memories down seemed to work. Telling others...it seemed to ease the ache. If only a little.
"She tried to kill us. Moved furniture, attacked. I'd never seen anything like it - but I wanted to help. Inside that beast, there was still a little girl, helpless and alone. I could s-sense her inside of it, feel her pain. She wanted to be f-free."
The trembling had started again, light but steady. She told herself she was chilled. It wasn't the warmest day.
"But the guitar...it was alive. It...attacked back. F-fought. Wrapped its cords...it killed her. Strangled...the shopkeeper, h-he saw the whole thing. Called me a witch, and me without a drop of ability to my name...he s-said I did it, I killed her...and I was afraid. So I ran."
She turned her head away from him and swallowed hard. This was the criminal they'd been chasing all this time; a frightened woman who was no more than a coward. She opened her eyes to stare at the ground as they passed through the streets, not wanting to see his face or his judgement which she was certain would reflect through his features. The scowl, or the narrowed slits of eyes. Flared nostrils, even pursed lips. She'd seen it all before.
"I kept running. The family wanted me dead. Of course they did. I'd...killed their little girl. She was dead, and that was my fault. The guitar wouldn't leave me though. It was connected to me, wouldn't go away. I'd leave it somewhere, it would return. I could burn it to cinders, smash it to splinters...it would always return. Damnable thing! I was terrified it would hurt again, trying to defend me. It's just a guitar; it doesn't know the difference between...between a little girl and a real threat. It just attacks and kills, and I never w-wanted..."
She took another deep breath here, to try and stop herself. She was ranting and she knew it, and this man wouldn't care one way or another. On with the story.
"I came here for anonymity. I didn't think I'd be recognized, be known. It's been over a year since...but there was an assassin. He...he found me, tried to attack me."
I saw you with him at the tavern.
Memory snapped into place, and she gasped and opened her eyes with the enormity of what she'd just realized. This man had been with him at the tavern. He had been with him...
"You...you were with him in the tavern...you were there, talking...oh god...you're taking me to him, aren't you? You're...delivering me!"
The shaking was very potent now as she came to an inescapable conclusion and shoved herself forward, trying to tumble from the guard's arm onto the road. She didn't care where she went, or if she'd snap her neck on the way down - if she had to die, it would not be by that assassin's hands. She was panicked, but her body had given out and had nothing left to give. She was weak, and exhaustion and some lagging pain in her knee took any strength she might have had. She was left panting and terrified with no chance of escape. Fight or flight - she had neither option. One arm gripping the horse's saddle, the other braced against the guard's armor, she looked up into the guard's face, finally, and her fear shone bright from her eyes.
"Please don't take me to h-him. I'll...I'll do a-anything. Please. I'll testify my guilt, burn at the stake, anything, I don't want to be k-killed by him. Not him."
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
The captain listened to her story and not once did his face change from the stoic mask that it was so trained to remain. Jaw set, he watched the road ahead and kept the horse going at a steady pace like a machine. Trained over years to have all traces of empathy and humanity removed from his soul, it was as if he wasn't even human.
This was not the case. He was very human, as are all men. As she told the tale he didn't judge her the way perhaps she expected him to. He listened passively, imagining her circumstances and reaching his own, not quite unique conclusions brought on by a lifetime of worshiping Theogios and the culture of a soldier in Marn.
If she had no magic of her own, she was not corrupted. It sounded more like she was cursed to be followed by a demon because of her mistakenly, naively trusting a dryad. A curse veiled as the perfect gift that she was burdened to shoulder until somehow she was freed.
She was weak, even for a woman. The more weakness she let herself have, the worse things would get and there was nobody else, not even the dryad, who could be held responsible for that. Her path to salvation was clear to him.
Then she mentioned the assassin, Dennison. Terrified, she started struggling weakly to get free, begging Camulous to let her go. He only gripped her more tightly and made it clear that wasn't going to happen.
"No. He was arrested before you on much more serious charges. He's got no jurisdiction here even to apprehend, let alone kill you. If he has magic, the judges will treat him at least as harshly as you, if not more so."
He sounded quite confident of this. The assassin was a nuisance and no match for the battlemages. He refused to believe that some corrupted assassin could waltz into his city, disregard their laws and even use magic, without any documents signed by any authorities, and only on his dubious word have the city extradite her as a criminal. It was unthinkable.
"I'm taking you to Justice Hall, not to him. They may kill you if they discover magic and you lie to them, but in your own words that doesn't frighten you."
This was not the case. He was very human, as are all men. As she told the tale he didn't judge her the way perhaps she expected him to. He listened passively, imagining her circumstances and reaching his own, not quite unique conclusions brought on by a lifetime of worshiping Theogios and the culture of a soldier in Marn.
If she had no magic of her own, she was not corrupted. It sounded more like she was cursed to be followed by a demon because of her mistakenly, naively trusting a dryad. A curse veiled as the perfect gift that she was burdened to shoulder until somehow she was freed.
She was weak, even for a woman. The more weakness she let herself have, the worse things would get and there was nobody else, not even the dryad, who could be held responsible for that. Her path to salvation was clear to him.
Then she mentioned the assassin, Dennison. Terrified, she started struggling weakly to get free, begging Camulous to let her go. He only gripped her more tightly and made it clear that wasn't going to happen.
"No. He was arrested before you on much more serious charges. He's got no jurisdiction here even to apprehend, let alone kill you. If he has magic, the judges will treat him at least as harshly as you, if not more so."
He sounded quite confident of this. The assassin was a nuisance and no match for the battlemages. He refused to believe that some corrupted assassin could waltz into his city, disregard their laws and even use magic, without any documents signed by any authorities, and only on his dubious word have the city extradite her as a criminal. It was unthinkable.
"I'm taking you to Justice Hall, not to him. They may kill you if they discover magic and you lie to them, but in your own words that doesn't frighten you."
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
"Arrested."
It was an affirmation of what he'd said, as she plunked it into her mental capacity and contemplated what it might mean. She remembered the guards from before, in the streets, but most of the entire incident was clouded by the remembered sense of confusion as a body slammed against hers, and then staring into those cold, blue eyes.
She folded her arms over her chest as she considered this new piece of information, calming herself. The guard was still speaking. She perked up to listen to his words, immerse herself in conversation. It was hardly a normal conversation, and if given a chance she would run, but she hadn't had a normal human being to speak with in so long. He was straightforward, no riddles or pretty language to foul his meaning. All business. It was, in many ways, refreshing.
She wondered where Lucian was.
"As harshly as me. How comforting."
There was a hint of tartness in the remark. It was no comfort to know that this guard thought that an assassin and herself could be treated comparably, but she doubted the guard would understand her humor over the situation. Instead of commenting further, she leaned forward a bit to take note of how high off the ground they were, and watch the horse's hooves beat into the road.
"I don't want to die...but some ways of dying are a tad worse than others. And having one's life spin completely out of their own control...I wouldn't imagine you could know how that feels."
She glanced at the armor, in and of itself a symbol of strength. No, a man like this could never understand her position. She decided to focus exclusively on something else- like the beast upon which they sat. She tried to sit up a bit, both to ease her sore neck muscles and get a better view. She was intrigued by this new mode of transportation, and had been unconscious for the last ride. She was curious. She sang songs about riding great stallions into war, and one where they rode straight into the sea. But she'd never ridden herself.
As she shifted, it occurred to her that she might be making the ride that much more unpleasant for the guard, which was after all trying to control the animal. She fought to still herself, but she'd realized that the reigns were the guiding force, and longed to take them from his grip and try herself. She fought not to remind herself that it was merely one more thing she might never have a chance to do.
"I'm sorry I'm so fidgety. I've never ridden a horse before."
It was an affirmation of what he'd said, as she plunked it into her mental capacity and contemplated what it might mean. She remembered the guards from before, in the streets, but most of the entire incident was clouded by the remembered sense of confusion as a body slammed against hers, and then staring into those cold, blue eyes.
She folded her arms over her chest as she considered this new piece of information, calming herself. The guard was still speaking. She perked up to listen to his words, immerse herself in conversation. It was hardly a normal conversation, and if given a chance she would run, but she hadn't had a normal human being to speak with in so long. He was straightforward, no riddles or pretty language to foul his meaning. All business. It was, in many ways, refreshing.
She wondered where Lucian was.
"As harshly as me. How comforting."
There was a hint of tartness in the remark. It was no comfort to know that this guard thought that an assassin and herself could be treated comparably, but she doubted the guard would understand her humor over the situation. Instead of commenting further, she leaned forward a bit to take note of how high off the ground they were, and watch the horse's hooves beat into the road.
"I don't want to die...but some ways of dying are a tad worse than others. And having one's life spin completely out of their own control...I wouldn't imagine you could know how that feels."
She glanced at the armor, in and of itself a symbol of strength. No, a man like this could never understand her position. She decided to focus exclusively on something else- like the beast upon which they sat. She tried to sit up a bit, both to ease her sore neck muscles and get a better view. She was intrigued by this new mode of transportation, and had been unconscious for the last ride. She was curious. She sang songs about riding great stallions into war, and one where they rode straight into the sea. But she'd never ridden herself.
As she shifted, it occurred to her that she might be making the ride that much more unpleasant for the guard, which was after all trying to control the animal. She fought to still herself, but she'd realized that the reigns were the guiding force, and longed to take them from his grip and try herself. She fought not to remind herself that it was merely one more thing she might never have a chance to do.
"I'm sorry I'm so fidgety. I've never ridden a horse before."
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
"I will put a few words in for you." He began to speak but paused when he realized he didn't know her name. It didn't matter much. The red haired witch was unique enough. "But if they do find magic on you, nobody will be on your side."
Justice Hall came into view ahead, a huge palace of white marble standing alone without so much as a tree around it for several meters. It looked extravagant and dwarfed the closest thing to it, a nearby inn, and probably everything else in the city. The sprinkling of rain made it glisten in the blue-gray light. The structure was modern, devoid of statues, symbols, or fine external details. Its beauty and wonder came from the simplicity of its design, the likes of which were unique not just in Thar Shaddin but across most of Pal Tahrenor. It was designed to a machine aesthetic, and stood out all the more for it.
Camulous had always liked the place despite its purpose and those working inside it. He appreciated its functionality and its directness.
He didn't seem to hear the comment about horse riding.
"If your life is spinning out of control you should stand your ground, not run away as you have been. If that's really what you're afraid of, you've got no reason to run away from me or the judges."
Justice Hall came into view ahead, a huge palace of white marble standing alone without so much as a tree around it for several meters. It looked extravagant and dwarfed the closest thing to it, a nearby inn, and probably everything else in the city. The sprinkling of rain made it glisten in the blue-gray light. The structure was modern, devoid of statues, symbols, or fine external details. Its beauty and wonder came from the simplicity of its design, the likes of which were unique not just in Thar Shaddin but across most of Pal Tahrenor. It was designed to a machine aesthetic, and stood out all the more for it.
Camulous had always liked the place despite its purpose and those working inside it. He appreciated its functionality and its directness.
He didn't seem to hear the comment about horse riding.
"If your life is spinning out of control you should stand your ground, not run away as you have been. If that's really what you're afraid of, you've got no reason to run away from me or the judges."
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Lanya glanced again at the armored guard's outfit and sighed. No doubt he was the type who stood firm in his beliefs. It would be easy to look on someone such as herself, powerless and afraid, and see only weakness. And useless to argue that from higher up the lattice of ability and standing, the world looked like a much nicer place, if corrupt in its own way.
Where the guard saw the towering structure as solidarity, she saw a prison and captivity. She wouldn't bother to make any further comment on her circumstance for she wasn't the type to fight a losing battle. But she did feel the need to at least give him reason.
"Perhaps you've forgotten the tree that burst into flames, back in the woods. I'm not sure how you would react to such a thing, but I hardly find it to be a sign of good will."
She paused a moment, thinking back further.
"And in the tavern - the assassin threw something at me. I couldn't see it, but it was deadly, pinned my cloak to the door. And then out on the street - some men with throwing knives, and the skill to match. At what point should I have stood still? Only to have my throat sliced open...standing my ground was an easy way to die."
She glanced at his armor again, then snorted quietly and looked away.
"I've been attacked and done nothing wrong in this city, and you've arrested me and are taking me into custody for judgement. Forgive me for lacking faith in your city's judicial system."
She didn't know this guard's name or rank, but that was fine. Just another faceless type who would no doubt hand her over to yet another.
Where the guard saw the towering structure as solidarity, she saw a prison and captivity. She wouldn't bother to make any further comment on her circumstance for she wasn't the type to fight a losing battle. But she did feel the need to at least give him reason.
"Perhaps you've forgotten the tree that burst into flames, back in the woods. I'm not sure how you would react to such a thing, but I hardly find it to be a sign of good will."
She paused a moment, thinking back further.
"And in the tavern - the assassin threw something at me. I couldn't see it, but it was deadly, pinned my cloak to the door. And then out on the street - some men with throwing knives, and the skill to match. At what point should I have stood still? Only to have my throat sliced open...standing my ground was an easy way to die."
She glanced at his armor again, then snorted quietly and looked away.
"I've been attacked and done nothing wrong in this city, and you've arrested me and are taking me into custody for judgement. Forgive me for lacking faith in your city's judicial system."
She didn't know this guard's name or rank, but that was fine. Just another faceless type who would no doubt hand her over to yet another.
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
"If someone is trying to kill you in my city," He replied without looking at her, "you should come to me about it, not try and sneak around like a common thief. As I recall you ran away from me as well. Your would-be assassin did the opposite, and so he gained the upper hand."
He guided the horse up to the entrance and slowed it down to a trot until it reached the wide stacking of steps leading up to the massive front entrance. There were no guards. Nobody around at all, in fact. The porter controlled everything. There was no need.
"Debating this is pointless. Unless you do have magic, and are lying to me about everything, you have no choice but to go in there and convince the judges of everything you've told me."
He looked down at the steps and considered his options.
"Can you walk yet?"
He guided the horse up to the entrance and slowed it down to a trot until it reached the wide stacking of steps leading up to the massive front entrance. There were no guards. Nobody around at all, in fact. The porter controlled everything. There was no need.
"Debating this is pointless. Unless you do have magic, and are lying to me about everything, you have no choice but to go in there and convince the judges of everything you've told me."
He looked down at the steps and considered his options.
"Can you walk yet?"
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
She couldn't help but bristle at his admonishment.
"Come to the authorities? Oh yes, why didn't I think of that? Perhaps because I was attacked within minutes of entering your wretched city!"
It was the most temper she'd shown in weeks, and she was long to rise to such an edge. She wanted to get down and walk on her own. She could feel that the strength had returned to her body, though her knee still ached for the internal damage and would continue to do so until the ligaments within were healed. She ignored the challenge that the steps would represent within mere minutes to focus on her annoyance now. She used her anger to fuel her limbs into movement and action, ready to be down and away from this guard. His words were only making her angry; he didn't understand at all.
While she waited to be let down, she huffed and tried to calm herself. But she so hated this condescension; she could take pity or judgement, but not this willful lack of information. She wasn't debating any longer; she was ranting, and channeling the strength behind her fury into bracing her legs for her own weight.
"That tavern where I was first attacked was the first building I walked into, and it was within minutes, minutes of coming into this area. You saw me on the second day no more than ten hours later, and what exactly did you think I was going to do? I was happy to see a guard, to go to the authorities - but that chance was ripped away from me before I could even open my mouth. So please, spare me your lecture."
"Come to the authorities? Oh yes, why didn't I think of that? Perhaps because I was attacked within minutes of entering your wretched city!"
It was the most temper she'd shown in weeks, and she was long to rise to such an edge. She wanted to get down and walk on her own. She could feel that the strength had returned to her body, though her knee still ached for the internal damage and would continue to do so until the ligaments within were healed. She ignored the challenge that the steps would represent within mere minutes to focus on her annoyance now. She used her anger to fuel her limbs into movement and action, ready to be down and away from this guard. His words were only making her angry; he didn't understand at all.
While she waited to be let down, she huffed and tried to calm herself. But she so hated this condescension; she could take pity or judgement, but not this willful lack of information. She wasn't debating any longer; she was ranting, and channeling the strength behind her fury into bracing her legs for her own weight.
"That tavern where I was first attacked was the first building I walked into, and it was within minutes, minutes of coming into this area. You saw me on the second day no more than ten hours later, and what exactly did you think I was going to do? I was happy to see a guard, to go to the authorities - but that chance was ripped away from me before I could even open my mouth. So please, spare me your lecture."
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
When the captain said there was no point in debating the issue, he meant it. He simply stopped and wasn't going to be convinced by anything she said. She should have come to him, and he wasn't interested in why she didn't. Even if he could be convinced, it wouldn't make any difference.
"I'll take that as a yes." His interruption was callous, as if she wasn't even speaking.
With his hands hooked under her arms, he lifted her up and helped her slide down one side of the horse. His strength was laudable. Leaning over, he didn't let go until she was only inches from the ground. His feet hit the dirt after her, and he jerked the horse to a pole and tied it there by the reigns.
"My name is Camulous, for when they ask you questions. Tell them everything, unless you want more trouble."
His hand clutched her upper arm the same way it had done when they first met in the woods. He wasn't going to give her any chances to run and guided her up the stairs like that to the pair massive metal doors leading to the hall. They were as flat and featureless as the rest of the structure. Spotless, modern, alien.
He didn't have to knock. They opened themselves. Standing behind them was a dapper, haughty looking man with eyes even bluer than the captain's own, and a blemish free face so perfectly shaped and well groomed it might have belonged to a mannequin. He had the features and gray hair of an old man but the skin of a 20 year old, smooth where it should be wrinkled.
"We've been waiting for you, captain..."
"I'll take that as a yes." His interruption was callous, as if she wasn't even speaking.
With his hands hooked under her arms, he lifted her up and helped her slide down one side of the horse. His strength was laudable. Leaning over, he didn't let go until she was only inches from the ground. His feet hit the dirt after her, and he jerked the horse to a pole and tied it there by the reigns.
"My name is Camulous, for when they ask you questions. Tell them everything, unless you want more trouble."
His hand clutched her upper arm the same way it had done when they first met in the woods. He wasn't going to give her any chances to run and guided her up the stairs like that to the pair massive metal doors leading to the hall. They were as flat and featureless as the rest of the structure. Spotless, modern, alien.
He didn't have to knock. They opened themselves. Standing behind them was a dapper, haughty looking man with eyes even bluer than the captain's own, and a blemish free face so perfectly shaped and well groomed it might have belonged to a mannequin. He had the features and gray hair of an old man but the skin of a 20 year old, smooth where it should be wrinkled.
"We've been waiting for you, captain..."
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
The woman limped with each step, wincing at the pain as it shot up her leg. Although the salve had healed the external damage completely, the internal damage remained, and her kneecap had come fully from its position, severing all of the ligaments and tendons which held it in place. Walking would be an ordeal for a long time coming - and she had lost her walking stick.
His name slipped into place, though she had some trouble fitting it to the guard. It was an odd name, antique-sounding, and she didn't like it. Of course, she mused, she might be biased.
She was not impressed by the structure, barely even registering its ominous and pristine appearance. But even a magic-lacking human such as herself could feel the power thrumming through the place. She'd decided mere days ago that she hated magic in all shapes and forms, and rather than being impressed or daunted by the doors as they moved, she could only feel annoyance and defeat. She'd come to this place to be invisible, to blend in and cause those pursuing her to lose the trail. This man didn't care one way or another; he was doing his duty, and couldn't care less about her personal situation or that she was just a passerby. It was all a mistake, and nothing she could do or say would change the outcome. This man spoke like a trained soldier, cold and hard; she was just a human woman who could sing.
She didn't fight his grip or dig in her heels like a spoiled puppy, though her limp made her slower to move than he probably would have like. The steps proved to be slow agony as she was forced to apply her weight on the injured leg, and it was everything in her not to beg to just sit on them and rest, if only for a moment. She didn't understand that he'd grabbed her to keep her from running away, which was still quite impossible for her to do - instead, she assumed that he was trying to keep her up. She'd had a few hour's rest in the past several days, and no food in the past three. She was worn and tired, had just been through an extensive healing no more than an hour ago which involved being drugged into unconsciousness, and would pass out on her feet save for the anger which she clung to in order to give herself the strength to move. She wasn't really angry with him, and she didn't actually feel like justifying herself to a complete stranger. She was no fighter or debater, and high philosophy was beyond her. She just wanted to take the next step and not fall flat onto her face, and arguing gave her the will to move on.
She was so intensely focused on maintaining her balance and consciousness that the greeting he received fell on deaf ears. Already she could see the black stars swimming around her vision, and she rubbed her eyes in an attempt to rub them away. This logic was a bad sign, and she realized that soon she would fall into those stars again.
She fought the internal battle, but her body had been through too much and was in full rebellion. Back in the hospice it had felt the bliss of actual sleep for mere minutes, and it was screaming for this bliss to be returned. The woman swayed on her feet with her eyes closed, perilously close to a faint once more. Her anger was gone, and with it all of her will-power to keep upright. Her head drifted forward and down as sleep settled over her like a quiet blanket. She tried to focus on something, anything to stay above water. She'd been unconscious for the better part of the day, and she didn't want to fall asleep. Not now. Not here.
This last thought was already lost in the dreamscape as she had lost consciousness once more, falling into herself with startling ease as her body removed all the stops and forced her down under the black stars.
His name slipped into place, though she had some trouble fitting it to the guard. It was an odd name, antique-sounding, and she didn't like it. Of course, she mused, she might be biased.
She was not impressed by the structure, barely even registering its ominous and pristine appearance. But even a magic-lacking human such as herself could feel the power thrumming through the place. She'd decided mere days ago that she hated magic in all shapes and forms, and rather than being impressed or daunted by the doors as they moved, she could only feel annoyance and defeat. She'd come to this place to be invisible, to blend in and cause those pursuing her to lose the trail. This man didn't care one way or another; he was doing his duty, and couldn't care less about her personal situation or that she was just a passerby. It was all a mistake, and nothing she could do or say would change the outcome. This man spoke like a trained soldier, cold and hard; she was just a human woman who could sing.
She didn't fight his grip or dig in her heels like a spoiled puppy, though her limp made her slower to move than he probably would have like. The steps proved to be slow agony as she was forced to apply her weight on the injured leg, and it was everything in her not to beg to just sit on them and rest, if only for a moment. She didn't understand that he'd grabbed her to keep her from running away, which was still quite impossible for her to do - instead, she assumed that he was trying to keep her up. She'd had a few hour's rest in the past several days, and no food in the past three. She was worn and tired, had just been through an extensive healing no more than an hour ago which involved being drugged into unconsciousness, and would pass out on her feet save for the anger which she clung to in order to give herself the strength to move. She wasn't really angry with him, and she didn't actually feel like justifying herself to a complete stranger. She was no fighter or debater, and high philosophy was beyond her. She just wanted to take the next step and not fall flat onto her face, and arguing gave her the will to move on.
She was so intensely focused on maintaining her balance and consciousness that the greeting he received fell on deaf ears. Already she could see the black stars swimming around her vision, and she rubbed her eyes in an attempt to rub them away. This logic was a bad sign, and she realized that soon she would fall into those stars again.
She fought the internal battle, but her body had been through too much and was in full rebellion. Back in the hospice it had felt the bliss of actual sleep for mere minutes, and it was screaming for this bliss to be returned. The woman swayed on her feet with her eyes closed, perilously close to a faint once more. Her anger was gone, and with it all of her will-power to keep upright. Her head drifted forward and down as sleep settled over her like a quiet blanket. She tried to focus on something, anything to stay above water. She'd been unconscious for the better part of the day, and she didn't want to fall asleep. Not now. Not here.
This last thought was already lost in the dreamscape as she had lost consciousness once more, falling into herself with startling ease as her body removed all the stops and forced her down under the black stars.
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Camulous Smithson
- Guardsman
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 12:59 am
- Name: Camulous Smithson
- Race: Human
The witch passed out right there on the steps of Justice Hall with Camulous holding her up by her arm. He wheeled around and caught her before she hit the steps, and hefted her into his arms, this time being more courteous than before and not simply tossing her over his shoulder.
Seeing the porter made the captain's skin crawl. Such an entity only brought up all the bitter bilious hatred he kept down. His suspicions resurfaced.
"I expect her to be treated in accordance with the laws, Porter."
As he spoke, he carried her inside the massive antechamber.
The porter watched, expressionless. "Of course we will, good captain. Why would we..."
Camulous interrupted, something nobody did to the porter. "Don't politic with me, just do it. If you find no magic on her, she gets returned to our custody."
The porter's eyebrows raised in the appropriate response of surprise. He did not protest. "Yes, of course. Had a change of heart about her?"
He walked her over to the altar, the only place he could think of placing her in the empty antechamber, and set her limp body down on the gray stone before looking at the porter.
"I've never had a change of heart about our laws." The captain's conviction was palpable. "Don't overstep your bounds. I'll be following this one."
"As you wish..." The porter's tone was meek.
Camulous didn't buy it. The porter was not a person, it was a thing, and it wasn't going to placate him one bit. He walked out of the antechamber and to his horse without looking back.
Seeing the porter made the captain's skin crawl. Such an entity only brought up all the bitter bilious hatred he kept down. His suspicions resurfaced.
"I expect her to be treated in accordance with the laws, Porter."
As he spoke, he carried her inside the massive antechamber.
The porter watched, expressionless. "Of course we will, good captain. Why would we..."
Camulous interrupted, something nobody did to the porter. "Don't politic with me, just do it. If you find no magic on her, she gets returned to our custody."
The porter's eyebrows raised in the appropriate response of surprise. He did not protest. "Yes, of course. Had a change of heart about her?"
He walked her over to the altar, the only place he could think of placing her in the empty antechamber, and set her limp body down on the gray stone before looking at the porter.
"I've never had a change of heart about our laws." The captain's conviction was palpable. "Don't overstep your bounds. I'll be following this one."
"As you wish..." The porter's tone was meek.
Camulous didn't buy it. The porter was not a person, it was a thing, and it wasn't going to placate him one bit. He walked out of the antechamber and to his horse without looking back.
As soon as Camulous was beyond The Hall's invisible perimeter, massive doors closed themselves behind him, cutting off the fresh air and wavering blue daylight. The sound of falling rain ceased, replaced by the echoing shuffles of a pair of orderlies who appeared from beyond a partitioning wall to the side of the altar. Young, fair skinned and fair haired young men, practically boys, dressed all in white with demure postures obeyed the porter's commands.
The porter did not need to speak to them. They knew his thoughts. Like worker ants they followed them with immaculate precision. Never arguing, barely conscious of their own existence. Their eyes were vacant, repressed unnecessary thoughts and feelings. They were the battlemage's internal servants, human husks otherwise as artificial as The Porter.
They carried Lanya together away from the altar, behind the partitioning wall and down a spiral staircase into the first sub-ground level of The Hall. Nobody was around, the shuffling of their soft-soled shoes the only thing to be heard. Lighting was entirely electric, and brighter than usual when it reflected off the shiny, white marble walls.
They left her in a single empty cell, surrounded by other identical ones. The whole cell block was vacant now, and the blood from Chrishton's brief stay already cleaned up. Sterility in the cell block was beyond anything to be found elsewhere on Pal Tahrenor. There was nothing. Cold, white, glossy stone made up every wall of every cell. There was no chair, no bed, and no toilet. The only things in the room that broke the monotony were the steel bars that made up the cell doors and a single electric light, hidden behind a glass bowl in the center of the ceiling.
The orderlies left, and there was complete silence, save for the light's barely audible buzz.
The porter did not need to speak to them. They knew his thoughts. Like worker ants they followed them with immaculate precision. Never arguing, barely conscious of their own existence. Their eyes were vacant, repressed unnecessary thoughts and feelings. They were the battlemage's internal servants, human husks otherwise as artificial as The Porter.
They carried Lanya together away from the altar, behind the partitioning wall and down a spiral staircase into the first sub-ground level of The Hall. Nobody was around, the shuffling of their soft-soled shoes the only thing to be heard. Lighting was entirely electric, and brighter than usual when it reflected off the shiny, white marble walls.
They left her in a single empty cell, surrounded by other identical ones. The whole cell block was vacant now, and the blood from Chrishton's brief stay already cleaned up. Sterility in the cell block was beyond anything to be found elsewhere on Pal Tahrenor. There was nothing. Cold, white, glossy stone made up every wall of every cell. There was no chair, no bed, and no toilet. The only things in the room that broke the monotony were the steel bars that made up the cell doors and a single electric light, hidden behind a glass bowl in the center of the ceiling.
The orderlies left, and there was complete silence, save for the light's barely audible buzz.
You corporeal beings are so touchy.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
It was early morning before the woman even roused enough to realize she'd been moved. She remembered falling into the deep sleep on the steps, with the guard's hand wrapped tightly around her arm, and then...
Nothing. She hadn't awakened at all for several hours running, not even enough to realize she was being moved by the two young boys. Even now it was a slow and nearly painful process to lift herself above the murk of her subconscious and try to process the information within her surroundings.
This effort was made easier by the sheer blankness of her cell. There was nothing to be found; not a stool, not a privy, and it seemed to her not a speck of dust either. She was lying on the floor on her back, staring at the starkest ceiling she'd ever seen, and there was nothing to divert her attention.
Her body was still too heavy and drowsy for boredom to set in just yet. She didn't feel the rushing impulse to move; rather, she felt the need to close her eyes once more and drift. This she did for an hour or more longer, enjoying the sensation of never -ending free fall.
She didn't dream.
She shifted in the early morning onto her side, and realized why it was that her entire body seemed level: she wasn't resting on a cot, or a mat. She was on the bare floor. Nothing stood between her and the surface on which she rested.
This realization served to snap her attention into focus, and she opened her eyes under some personal protest to once again take in the nothing that surrounded her. This time she processed and kept the information that she took in. She was waking up.
She closed her eyes and sighed, longing for the bliss of a dreamless sleep once more, then slapped her palm against the ground and pushed herself up with effort. Her leg ached, but it wasn't close to the pain from a day before, and for that she was grateful. Despite the healing, it was stiff and needed to be massaged. She glanced around her cell once more and decided that she had nothing better to do as it was.
With even more effort yet without a sound, she pushed herself against the pristine wall, sighed once more as her body settled into its more relaxed leaning state, and began massaging her knee, occasionally pulling it up to work the muscles and test how far she could move it. Not very far - the swelling wasn't gone and the interior would be mending for at least three weeks.
She worked quietly and kept her thoughts to herself. She didn't fancy calling out just yet to see if someone were there; she hadn't decided whether receiving an answer or not receiving an answer was more terrifying.
Nothing. She hadn't awakened at all for several hours running, not even enough to realize she was being moved by the two young boys. Even now it was a slow and nearly painful process to lift herself above the murk of her subconscious and try to process the information within her surroundings.
This effort was made easier by the sheer blankness of her cell. There was nothing to be found; not a stool, not a privy, and it seemed to her not a speck of dust either. She was lying on the floor on her back, staring at the starkest ceiling she'd ever seen, and there was nothing to divert her attention.
Her body was still too heavy and drowsy for boredom to set in just yet. She didn't feel the rushing impulse to move; rather, she felt the need to close her eyes once more and drift. This she did for an hour or more longer, enjoying the sensation of never -ending free fall.
She didn't dream.
She shifted in the early morning onto her side, and realized why it was that her entire body seemed level: she wasn't resting on a cot, or a mat. She was on the bare floor. Nothing stood between her and the surface on which she rested.
This realization served to snap her attention into focus, and she opened her eyes under some personal protest to once again take in the nothing that surrounded her. This time she processed and kept the information that she took in. She was waking up.
She closed her eyes and sighed, longing for the bliss of a dreamless sleep once more, then slapped her palm against the ground and pushed herself up with effort. Her leg ached, but it wasn't close to the pain from a day before, and for that she was grateful. Despite the healing, it was stiff and needed to be massaged. She glanced around her cell once more and decided that she had nothing better to do as it was.
With even more effort yet without a sound, she pushed herself against the pristine wall, sighed once more as her body settled into its more relaxed leaning state, and began massaging her knee, occasionally pulling it up to work the muscles and test how far she could move it. Not very far - the swelling wasn't gone and the interior would be mending for at least three weeks.
She worked quietly and kept her thoughts to herself. She didn't fancy calling out just yet to see if someone were there; she hadn't decided whether receiving an answer or not receiving an answer was more terrifying.
Moryldar descended the spiral stairway slowly and with one hand sliding along the outside wall for support. As always he was dressed in his official robes. Long and black, they hid his legs but did little to hide his protruding gut. Age was catching up with him, but it gave him a harder stare.
He crossed the stone floor to stand in front of Lanyas cell and looked down at her with cold, glassy, green eyes. He did not look the type of person who had sympathy hidden away somewhere.
"So you're the girl who's brought all this trouble to Marn."
He crossed the stone floor to stand in front of Lanyas cell and looked down at her with cold, glassy, green eyes. He did not look the type of person who had sympathy hidden away somewhere.
"So you're the girl who's brought all this trouble to Marn."
Let the tomes be your guide.