Xillia
zєηιтн νιχєη
From within the dark confines of Ferendal's prison, sounds of the hustle and bustle of common folk could be heard, wisping in through a small crack in the wall, ten meters high, opposite the tightened, reinforced barring that held one elf in particular. Across the way, as the jailers made their rounds, and scorched torchlight mocked the sunlight that just narrowly seemed to glimmer in from the outside, indicating it was yet day. Sounds of distant lyres and flutes held as a band, likely composed of the Hillward Dwarves Four, who were now making their weekly march through town, a sound that almost felt too distant to be real. The creaking and groaning of metal doors, and occasional screams of distress or defiance echoed out, but the jailers in Ferendal were quick, staving all issues within moments.
And those issues never seemed to resurface, nor did the ones taken for causing the ruckus. An odd, ominous air seemed to hang, and the sun kept the insides of the prison boisterous and hot, letting the dust that hung in the air almost seem to take form in its wetness. Yet, in the next block over, emerald eyes, wide as saucers peered out from behind the shadowed confines of her bar. Sharp ears jutted out from the sides of her head, mouth agape and features tight from malnourishment, the light-auburn haired elf watched, as one of her friends was taken, just across the walkway. Forcibly beaten by men in their white surcoats, bearing the insignia of cross swords with a shield and lion's mouth in the center. "Stop!" She called out, her accent thick, likely taken from the countryside, just along the outskirts of Ferendal's walls.
"Please! Don't take him, please!" Her words held tears, and choking them back, she was forced to watch as the young human man was dragged by his hair, screaming and kicking against all odds, taken to the end of the hall, up the spiral stairs, and only ceased when the metallic clanging of the door gave way, muffling all sound from the outside. Slipping down to her knees, the elven girl let her hands drop from the bars, her shoulders drooping, with her tears absently hitting the floor in silence the outside world could not hear. "He's going to a better place, Eddy, you're going to a better place, just be strong..." Her fingers tightened against the hem of her dress and the urge to scream arose. For weeks now, she'd been watching helplessly as person after person was taken from their holds, never to be seen again. Her eyes would only be treated with a new face, but the look of despair on her own would disquiet them almost immediately, they were all on borrowed time.
En masse, they had been stripped from their happy, former lives, tested to ensure that they had whatever those heathens were looking for, then held captive, being taken away after so much time to be executed. Ferendal was a fairly large city, and the prison, it was always chalked full of their kind, people now known as the "Accursed" by the jailers, a name they had become quite used to hearing. It had been so long, Rain had nearly forgotten her own. She whispered it out into the open as if it were to help. Lowering her gaze, she wept for a few moments more, until the steel from one of the guard's boots nearly pierced through the iron grating and straight into her skull. She fell back like it had anyway, her chest rising and falling to accompany the rapid pace her heart had been set into.
"Quiet, miserable bitch, you'll get what's coming to you. So surprised to see you even last this long in peace."
. . .
In the cell block over, where Varis was being kept, a swarm of guards approached from the top of the stairs. Not an uncommon sight, but what was odd, was their abrupt stop in the cell opposite his own, one that had seemed vacant for quite some time. Of course the shadows never really deigned presence impossible, but most people made a sound or shuffled to it for their last meals. This one, however, was always silent, and no shuffling, nor sight had ever been seen. Yet, they unlocked it anyway, and the gruff voice of the commander called in, "Out. It's time to seek retribution in the eyes of the goddess."
It was there, the first time he'd see her, blonde locks than ran wild down to her lower back and ocean-blue eyes that screamed with rage. The tattered figure of a young woman, human by the looks of it, emerged, two guards on her flank, weapons drawn and had them held tight to her neck, her garments, however, were most bizarre. She wore no dress, as was common of the flowers of Ferendal, yet she wore a loose white shirt, and dark leather breeches, tightened to fit her form with calf-high leather boots. She bore the esteemed presence of a noble-figure, of a beautiful angel that had been wrongly placed, which could only draw to what her actual crime was. Another guard moved behind her to secure clasps around her wrists, tightening them so to the point where the woman grunted, her terrifying eyes whipping around, nearly frighten the jailer out of his boots.
"Watch i--" was all she managed to get out before she then had a muzzle placed over her face, clamping on tight. A groan escaping into the hot blackness.
"Careful with her men, don't want any tricks out of her, I want constant eyes on her at all times. Is this understood?"
"She's not going anywhere." One of the guards coyly chuckled, pressing the tip of his blade further up her neck in order to angle her head. "Pretty young thing like this, you'd wonder why the duke would want her dead so bad."
"She wasn't good for business, mercenary from what I've gathered, she went on a sting operation, ultimately set up to fail, but she survived, and when the scavengers went in to rip the treasure and gold off of her company, she managed to kill them, along with the count."
"Holy..." One of the guards breathed, taking a step back, "Does this mean she has that Accursed power?"
"The tests confirmed it, but the duke aims to have her execution be a little more public, to cut down a power that threatens Arendal before it really takes hold."
"Tch, whatever, a wench none the less, I say we take her up and have some fun watching this little swan parade around before she loses her head to the duke's blade."
A cluster of chuckles followed but in the still of the torchlight, Varis could see something lock into the woman's eyes, deadpan aggression that took hold moments later, and what would soon become the liberation of himself and many others from that Accursed prison. Her slender arms made no move to fight against the restraints, but her feet did a little more. Slipping up, her boot found itself lodged firmly in the crevice between one of the soldier's legs. He hissed and whinnied as he dropped for a moment, taking one of the blades off of her neck. She rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the thrust aimed to drop her. As she hit the ground, she slammed her arms beneath her tucked legs, moving them in front of her and made a bee-line for the downed soldier. A glimmer of steel and slash in the air forced her to stop, backstepping and teetering from leg to leg as the guards rushed her, slashes and thrust pressing her further and further back.
Defenseless, and running out of hallway, Varis might see someone simply cut down, but the woman was crafty, the further and further back she played, the more she got into her element. She was a mercenary, supposedly. Vigilance was key as one of the guards took a misstep and lunged too far at her, letting his blade scrape off the wall, and was met with a shoulder that definitely did not match the physique the woman bolstered. As slender as she was, it was like running into a brick wall. The guard staggered back, clutching at his helm where the connection had occurred. And while airborne, the woman snagged the blade with both hands, poising it in front of her as the other guards halted their assault and seemed to form a defensive stance.
It was too far down the hall for Varis to see, but the sounds of their screams and deathly heaves as blades, steel and flesh met, inevitably meant the guards weren't winning the battle. One of them came back through the hall, sprinting in the direction of the stairs, screaming as loud as he could, "Help, one of the prisoners is--!"
THUNK
One of the swords whirled through the air from the far end of the hall, colliding into his back and forced him down. Gasping for air, he began crawling, but the footsteps approaching from behind spelled doom. In the gloomy torchlight, the mercenary, drenched in splatters of blood, gripped at the sword, withdrawing it from her target, only to plunge it back down moments later. And all was silent. But the cries of the other prisoners didn't allow that silence for long. As the woman scavenged around for the keys to her cuffs and muzzle, the iron door at the top of the stairs opened and shut with a loud bang. Followed by loud, methodical thudding, the clatter of armor. Down, at the end of the hall, not twenty meters from the woman, emerged a man so large he should have been jailed up for intimidation alone. He wore a round bascinet with steel-plate along all corners of his body. Pulling the massive, two-handed mace out from behind him, he slammed it on the ground, rattling the cells in his actions.
"Claire Crucix, had anyone tried to escape from my prison, I had assumed it to be you. And seven of my guards there..." He trailed off, glancing over the bodies that lay on the ground, "I must admit, excellent work, but now you--" He paused, eyeing the woman who was now fumbling around with the muzzle, trying to get it undone, "Are you listening to me!?" He thumped his massive mace twice more on the ground, letting the dusty crags of the ceiling leak out from the cobblestone. At last, the woman introduced as Claire let the mask fall to the floor, rubbing at her jaw with intent.
"You just gonna keep talking or come kill me. Either way, neither of those things are going to work out in your favor, I have choice words with your duke for ordering that little fiasco." Her voice was graveled, tough, very unlikely for the beautiful way that she looked. Her hand clasped around one of the steel swords on the ground and hoisted it up, "I don't have all day, so I'd really prefer it if we got on with this."
The large unit dipped his head, sighing. "Finally get someone with the balls to try and break out, get some chance at entertainment and you won't even give me some half-witted remark in defiance." The man hoisted his mace above his head, bringing it crashing down on the ground in front of him, and the move wasn't just for sure, a decent-sized dent filled the hole when he lifted it. "Alright then." The man cocked, marching forward, his armor glimmering with scratches in the torchlight. "You can die like the rest of them."
The woman's brows narrowed and she kicked off in a charge towards the man, though not before hiding something extra in her initial movement. The same keys that she'd used to free herself of the mask were jarred to her right, landing right in the grasp of a dwarven man, who scooped them up and hastily set to the locked door.
The battle ensued and amongst the clanging of steel, the sounds of creaking doors opening were almost entirely hidden. The woman's blade seemed like taking a stick to a stone monument, nearly shattering in the first clash and sent the woman into the wall, a gasp escaped her, but she recovered before the whirling momentum of the mace could crush her skull. Diving beneath the strike, she threw up her blade in a thrust, bouncing off of the armor. The man laughed immensely, coiling his weapon around and raising it over his head, but the woman was faster and the steel that was in her hand found the way to the side of his bascinet, causing a ringing so awful it was like being beneath the church bells at noon. The jailer stumbled, falling to his knees and clutched the side of his head. His extra movements now proving to be a major waste, as the woman lunged, dragging the bent sword low and thrusting upwards, finding the sweet spot she'd been aiming for, just below his neck.
It was a brief battle, but amongst warriors, seemed to last forever. The jailer slumped over, blood now pooling from beneath his armor as his body twitched and writhed. The woman, standing up straight, slung her weapon to the side, finding a less broken sword against the ground and hefted it over her shoulder. The dwarf that had initially freed himself, was now opening all of the other cell doors, and the hallway was filled with a cacophony of cheers.
. . .
In the next cell block over, Rain perked up her head, something was going on, she could hear it, cheering? But the sound was muffled and dampened by the thick walls that separated them.
And those issues never seemed to resurface, nor did the ones taken for causing the ruckus. An odd, ominous air seemed to hang, and the sun kept the insides of the prison boisterous and hot, letting the dust that hung in the air almost seem to take form in its wetness. Yet, in the next block over, emerald eyes, wide as saucers peered out from behind the shadowed confines of her bar. Sharp ears jutted out from the sides of her head, mouth agape and features tight from malnourishment, the light-auburn haired elf watched, as one of her friends was taken, just across the walkway. Forcibly beaten by men in their white surcoats, bearing the insignia of cross swords with a shield and lion's mouth in the center. "Stop!" She called out, her accent thick, likely taken from the countryside, just along the outskirts of Ferendal's walls.
"Please! Don't take him, please!" Her words held tears, and choking them back, she was forced to watch as the young human man was dragged by his hair, screaming and kicking against all odds, taken to the end of the hall, up the spiral stairs, and only ceased when the metallic clanging of the door gave way, muffling all sound from the outside. Slipping down to her knees, the elven girl let her hands drop from the bars, her shoulders drooping, with her tears absently hitting the floor in silence the outside world could not hear. "He's going to a better place, Eddy, you're going to a better place, just be strong..." Her fingers tightened against the hem of her dress and the urge to scream arose. For weeks now, she'd been watching helplessly as person after person was taken from their holds, never to be seen again. Her eyes would only be treated with a new face, but the look of despair on her own would disquiet them almost immediately, they were all on borrowed time.
En masse, they had been stripped from their happy, former lives, tested to ensure that they had whatever those heathens were looking for, then held captive, being taken away after so much time to be executed. Ferendal was a fairly large city, and the prison, it was always chalked full of their kind, people now known as the "Accursed" by the jailers, a name they had become quite used to hearing. It had been so long, Rain had nearly forgotten her own. She whispered it out into the open as if it were to help. Lowering her gaze, she wept for a few moments more, until the steel from one of the guard's boots nearly pierced through the iron grating and straight into her skull. She fell back like it had anyway, her chest rising and falling to accompany the rapid pace her heart had been set into.
"Quiet, miserable bitch, you'll get what's coming to you. So surprised to see you even last this long in peace."
. . .
In the cell block over, where Varis was being kept, a swarm of guards approached from the top of the stairs. Not an uncommon sight, but what was odd, was their abrupt stop in the cell opposite his own, one that had seemed vacant for quite some time. Of course the shadows never really deigned presence impossible, but most people made a sound or shuffled to it for their last meals. This one, however, was always silent, and no shuffling, nor sight had ever been seen. Yet, they unlocked it anyway, and the gruff voice of the commander called in, "Out. It's time to seek retribution in the eyes of the goddess."
It was there, the first time he'd see her, blonde locks than ran wild down to her lower back and ocean-blue eyes that screamed with rage. The tattered figure of a young woman, human by the looks of it, emerged, two guards on her flank, weapons drawn and had them held tight to her neck, her garments, however, were most bizarre. She wore no dress, as was common of the flowers of Ferendal, yet she wore a loose white shirt, and dark leather breeches, tightened to fit her form with calf-high leather boots. She bore the esteemed presence of a noble-figure, of a beautiful angel that had been wrongly placed, which could only draw to what her actual crime was. Another guard moved behind her to secure clasps around her wrists, tightening them so to the point where the woman grunted, her terrifying eyes whipping around, nearly frighten the jailer out of his boots.
"Watch i--" was all she managed to get out before she then had a muzzle placed over her face, clamping on tight. A groan escaping into the hot blackness.
"Careful with her men, don't want any tricks out of her, I want constant eyes on her at all times. Is this understood?"
"She's not going anywhere." One of the guards coyly chuckled, pressing the tip of his blade further up her neck in order to angle her head. "Pretty young thing like this, you'd wonder why the duke would want her dead so bad."
"She wasn't good for business, mercenary from what I've gathered, she went on a sting operation, ultimately set up to fail, but she survived, and when the scavengers went in to rip the treasure and gold off of her company, she managed to kill them, along with the count."
"Holy..." One of the guards breathed, taking a step back, "Does this mean she has that Accursed power?"
"The tests confirmed it, but the duke aims to have her execution be a little more public, to cut down a power that threatens Arendal before it really takes hold."
"Tch, whatever, a wench none the less, I say we take her up and have some fun watching this little swan parade around before she loses her head to the duke's blade."
A cluster of chuckles followed but in the still of the torchlight, Varis could see something lock into the woman's eyes, deadpan aggression that took hold moments later, and what would soon become the liberation of himself and many others from that Accursed prison. Her slender arms made no move to fight against the restraints, but her feet did a little more. Slipping up, her boot found itself lodged firmly in the crevice between one of the soldier's legs. He hissed and whinnied as he dropped for a moment, taking one of the blades off of her neck. She rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the thrust aimed to drop her. As she hit the ground, she slammed her arms beneath her tucked legs, moving them in front of her and made a bee-line for the downed soldier. A glimmer of steel and slash in the air forced her to stop, backstepping and teetering from leg to leg as the guards rushed her, slashes and thrust pressing her further and further back.
Defenseless, and running out of hallway, Varis might see someone simply cut down, but the woman was crafty, the further and further back she played, the more she got into her element. She was a mercenary, supposedly. Vigilance was key as one of the guards took a misstep and lunged too far at her, letting his blade scrape off the wall, and was met with a shoulder that definitely did not match the physique the woman bolstered. As slender as she was, it was like running into a brick wall. The guard staggered back, clutching at his helm where the connection had occurred. And while airborne, the woman snagged the blade with both hands, poising it in front of her as the other guards halted their assault and seemed to form a defensive stance.
It was too far down the hall for Varis to see, but the sounds of their screams and deathly heaves as blades, steel and flesh met, inevitably meant the guards weren't winning the battle. One of them came back through the hall, sprinting in the direction of the stairs, screaming as loud as he could, "Help, one of the prisoners is--!"
THUNK
One of the swords whirled through the air from the far end of the hall, colliding into his back and forced him down. Gasping for air, he began crawling, but the footsteps approaching from behind spelled doom. In the gloomy torchlight, the mercenary, drenched in splatters of blood, gripped at the sword, withdrawing it from her target, only to plunge it back down moments later. And all was silent. But the cries of the other prisoners didn't allow that silence for long. As the woman scavenged around for the keys to her cuffs and muzzle, the iron door at the top of the stairs opened and shut with a loud bang. Followed by loud, methodical thudding, the clatter of armor. Down, at the end of the hall, not twenty meters from the woman, emerged a man so large he should have been jailed up for intimidation alone. He wore a round bascinet with steel-plate along all corners of his body. Pulling the massive, two-handed mace out from behind him, he slammed it on the ground, rattling the cells in his actions.
"Claire Crucix, had anyone tried to escape from my prison, I had assumed it to be you. And seven of my guards there..." He trailed off, glancing over the bodies that lay on the ground, "I must admit, excellent work, but now you--" He paused, eyeing the woman who was now fumbling around with the muzzle, trying to get it undone, "Are you listening to me!?" He thumped his massive mace twice more on the ground, letting the dusty crags of the ceiling leak out from the cobblestone. At last, the woman introduced as Claire let the mask fall to the floor, rubbing at her jaw with intent.
"You just gonna keep talking or come kill me. Either way, neither of those things are going to work out in your favor, I have choice words with your duke for ordering that little fiasco." Her voice was graveled, tough, very unlikely for the beautiful way that she looked. Her hand clasped around one of the steel swords on the ground and hoisted it up, "I don't have all day, so I'd really prefer it if we got on with this."
The large unit dipped his head, sighing. "Finally get someone with the balls to try and break out, get some chance at entertainment and you won't even give me some half-witted remark in defiance." The man hoisted his mace above his head, bringing it crashing down on the ground in front of him, and the move wasn't just for sure, a decent-sized dent filled the hole when he lifted it. "Alright then." The man cocked, marching forward, his armor glimmering with scratches in the torchlight. "You can die like the rest of them."
The woman's brows narrowed and she kicked off in a charge towards the man, though not before hiding something extra in her initial movement. The same keys that she'd used to free herself of the mask were jarred to her right, landing right in the grasp of a dwarven man, who scooped them up and hastily set to the locked door.
The battle ensued and amongst the clanging of steel, the sounds of creaking doors opening were almost entirely hidden. The woman's blade seemed like taking a stick to a stone monument, nearly shattering in the first clash and sent the woman into the wall, a gasp escaped her, but she recovered before the whirling momentum of the mace could crush her skull. Diving beneath the strike, she threw up her blade in a thrust, bouncing off of the armor. The man laughed immensely, coiling his weapon around and raising it over his head, but the woman was faster and the steel that was in her hand found the way to the side of his bascinet, causing a ringing so awful it was like being beneath the church bells at noon. The jailer stumbled, falling to his knees and clutched the side of his head. His extra movements now proving to be a major waste, as the woman lunged, dragging the bent sword low and thrusting upwards, finding the sweet spot she'd been aiming for, just below his neck.
It was a brief battle, but amongst warriors, seemed to last forever. The jailer slumped over, blood now pooling from beneath his armor as his body twitched and writhed. The woman, standing up straight, slung her weapon to the side, finding a less broken sword against the ground and hefted it over her shoulder. The dwarf that had initially freed himself, was now opening all of the other cell doors, and the hallway was filled with a cacophony of cheers.
. . .
In the next cell block over, Rain perked up her head, something was going on, she could hear it, cheering? But the sound was muffled and dampened by the thick walls that separated them.
