- Messages
- 1,852
- Character Biography
- Link
"What is the first to break?"
A sharp pain struck through Alistair's back as he blocked out the monologue from the man who stood over him. He wasn't even sure why the so-called priest was still at it, as Alistair had gone numb to the physical blows weeks ago.
"Is the body, or the mind?"
False thoughts filled his brain, foreign but yet they were his own. Right? He was a follower of the Radiant Church. Of course, he would want to assist the great plan. All they needed to know was a few troop positions and which Dreadlords were currently stationed on the frontlines. That was rather simple to answer.
His mouth parted to speak, before a swift bite down drew blood from his tongue, as the part of him that had been trained to survive such tactics finally won out. This was nothing for him. He could hold out for as long as he needed.
"Or maybe it is neither, maybe it's something far more important that breaks."
What had Alistair done to deserve this? His mind traced back to how he had gotten here. It had started as a simple reassignment as the Vigilite needed someone with a successful track record to slip behind enemy lines and report back to Vel Anir. The first weeks had been easy enough; in fact, they had been too easy. Alistair should have seen the signs; maybe it had been his own hubris at his recent successes in life, but it had almost felt like the Church had known he was coming.
His memories then slipped even further away to times long ago, events that certainly would have sent his karma in a negative direction. Was it the brutal treatment of former classmates as he was tasked with hunting down deserters? Was it the burning of homes and killing of innocents during his first campaign at the Canal? Or maybe it was all the way back to the night he had murdered his father?
Yes, Alistair certainly deserved all of this. It had just taken time to catch up with him.
"Or maybe something was already broken? We can help you put that back together, you know?"
Alistair only now looked up to meet his jailor's eyes. He could not see him, of course. He was afraid to activate his runes, as every time he did, security measures caused him great pain. And, inside this cell, his eyes would not work. Not a sliver of magical aura for him to find. Even so, he knew what was before him. The old man with a kind smile went directly against the bloody work he performed.
Father Ezekiel looked like he had walked out of a children's nursery rhyme rather than the nightmares of some twisted and demented mother fucker was must have taken as much joy in torture as they did in breathing. If the Dawn Lord, of whatever it was these fuckers believed in, truly had crafted each of them, then that god must be seriously fucked in the head.
Evaine Ispir Sione
A sharp pain struck through Alistair's back as he blocked out the monologue from the man who stood over him. He wasn't even sure why the so-called priest was still at it, as Alistair had gone numb to the physical blows weeks ago.
"Is the body, or the mind?"
False thoughts filled his brain, foreign but yet they were his own. Right? He was a follower of the Radiant Church. Of course, he would want to assist the great plan. All they needed to know was a few troop positions and which Dreadlords were currently stationed on the frontlines. That was rather simple to answer.
His mouth parted to speak, before a swift bite down drew blood from his tongue, as the part of him that had been trained to survive such tactics finally won out. This was nothing for him. He could hold out for as long as he needed.
"Or maybe it is neither, maybe it's something far more important that breaks."
What had Alistair done to deserve this? His mind traced back to how he had gotten here. It had started as a simple reassignment as the Vigilite needed someone with a successful track record to slip behind enemy lines and report back to Vel Anir. The first weeks had been easy enough; in fact, they had been too easy. Alistair should have seen the signs; maybe it had been his own hubris at his recent successes in life, but it had almost felt like the Church had known he was coming.
His memories then slipped even further away to times long ago, events that certainly would have sent his karma in a negative direction. Was it the brutal treatment of former classmates as he was tasked with hunting down deserters? Was it the burning of homes and killing of innocents during his first campaign at the Canal? Or maybe it was all the way back to the night he had murdered his father?
Yes, Alistair certainly deserved all of this. It had just taken time to catch up with him.
"Or maybe something was already broken? We can help you put that back together, you know?"
Alistair only now looked up to meet his jailor's eyes. He could not see him, of course. He was afraid to activate his runes, as every time he did, security measures caused him great pain. And, inside this cell, his eyes would not work. Not a sliver of magical aura for him to find. Even so, he knew what was before him. The old man with a kind smile went directly against the bloody work he performed.
Father Ezekiel looked like he had walked out of a children's nursery rhyme rather than the nightmares of some twisted and demented mother fucker was must have taken as much joy in torture as they did in breathing. If the Dawn Lord, of whatever it was these fuckers believed in, truly had crafted each of them, then that god must be seriously fucked in the head.
Evaine Ispir Sione
