Open Chronicles A Flame Defeated

[Orival Theodric]

Drip.

His wrists were wore to nearly bone. The Dreadlords had shackles unlike anything he'd seen before. It felt as if he'd been rubbing flesh to rusted iron for years. In truth only three months had passed maximum.

Drip.

His eyes were milky. Not from blindness but rather utter disappointment and questioning. The beard that had attached itself to his face and the weight he'd lost would also give way for one to think he'd been in here longer than anticipated.

Drip.

He'd been thinking about death a lot. After all the torture, the Dreadlords not believing he was some young vigilante and rather part of a major group led to him being beaten day in and day out, he awaited the day they planned to take his head. The shackles had removed his only form of communication and so the mute was forced to sit in true, honest silence.

Drip.

That was except for the nightmarish sound of water hitting the ground beside him. A leak. His thoughts of execution and knowing he'd never see his mother again being the only accompaniment he'd know.

Orival sat in this cramped cell. His magic torn from him from the shackles. He was emaciated and tired and growing ill.

How two months in Anirian cell would feel like an eternity in whatever Hell one believed in.

There were other prisoners. One to a cell. Today had been quiet on the guard front. He couldn't figure out why.

 

[Navaia]

Navaia roved the halls of the prison, slithering slowly between the cells as her purple eyes slowly grazed over the prisoners that had been taken here.

Vel Anir was a dangerous place, especially for someone like her. In Alliria she was an oddity, something to be stared at, something to be wondered about and perhaps even watched. Here she was a monster to be slain, a creature that could bring nothing but horrors.

At least for the commoners.

Yet it was not they who brought her here. It was their betters, the nobility that could not resist their own desires. Men and women who could not resist their basest impulses. People who would give a part of their soul for just a taste of their dreams.

It was they that had demanded Navaia's attention, they that had called her presence. The Warden of this prison had been one of them, and she had left her mark upon his flesh just as she had so many others. His price had yet to be paid, but it would be in time.

The Gorgon slipped through the dank halls of the prison, catching the scent of those who might strike a bargain.

Orival Theodric

 

[Orival Theodric]

Another sound drowned out the sound of the falling and grotesque water that dripped into Orival's consciousness. A sound of flesh crawling, gliding across ground. A new and unknown horror.

Perhaps three months prior the pyromancer would have been perturbed. Now that the numbness had settled in whatever this creature was he could care less. A lifelessness remained in his eyes. Something stolen from his very essence. A lack of fire, if you will.

As it approached he looked towards it with low effort. His eyes had adjusted to the dark down here. He wondered what the sun would even do to him.

A gorgon was before him. Not a creature he'd encountered nor knew much about besides to avoid at all costs.

It didn't matter in truth. With his hands bound they could not communicate.

Come whatever may.

 

[Callarn]

Although Callarn's step was unwavering and his eyes trained on the door that would lead to the stairs, in his thoughts he was already deep in the prison. Under those low vaults his rapier would be sheathed and his face masked, and in his hands would be a scalpel and a tome on human anatomy. The assignment, quilled in dispassionate red, was to make a silent man sing. Suffice to say, he had a plan, as dispassionate and red as the letter.

The thought of torturing a man did not sit well with Callarn. The thought of seeing the prisoner as a man, and not a prisoner, did not sit well. But what was he to do? Turn his back to the Dreadlords, the Houses, their centuries of tradition and lore? He'd be crushed, spared not even a thought, against such power. Better serve for a time so the day would come when Callarn would set things right.

Tall as the foundations for that day stood there was one more body to be broken, and over the mangled carcass he would swear to put an end to torture.

The Warden, that sleaze, was not on his post. Was that typical to him? It certainly was for those trained outside of the Academy. The brass bitted key opened the prison's door as well as the Warden's, the unbolting of the door and its opening echoed in the silent dark.

Over the sweat, the blood and piss, even the shit, Callarn picked up on a smell. Sweet, saccharine, the kind used to hide other smells. What was there to hide here? The aftereffects of some brand new kind of torture?

Chilling.

The lone Dreadlord carried unlit, the rasping of his boots sounded off the stone floor.

 

[Navaia]

The Gorgon sniffed the air as she wandered by Orival Theodric's cell, her eyes narrowing for a brief moment, and then slowly her head turning.

The flower in her hair seemed to shift slightly, the odd blue glow that surrounded it pulsing as she observed the chained man. A slight frown appeared on her lips for a brief moment, the two snake bites beneath her lip twisting ever so slightly. "I smell magic."

She said with a calm smile.

Boot steps echoed down the hall a few seconds later, and purple snake like eyes shifted as they turned towards the Dreadlord wandering down the hall. She seemed not the least perturbed by the man's presence, after all why would she be?

The Warden himself had allowed her to be here.

"Who is this one?" Navaia asked the approaching Dreadlord, assuming that he was a guard of some sort, or at least someone who would know.

 

[Callarn]

Spicy vanilla.

That was the perfume that mellowed Callarn, eased the migraine in the back his head. But of course, as a Dreadlord, he was learned in poisons and fine chemicals, he knew that this was the smell of snake venom. Or lacquer.

So which was it, renovation or assassins?

The answer appeared in the flesh, impossible to tell apart the snake from the woman. If the beast had surprised Callarn, perhaps even scared him, it didn't show beyond a slight rise of his chest. And the rapier pointed at her heart, an inch away from disaster.

"You are a damn fool to surprise me like that." he sheathed the blade, drawn to her eyes. He began to doubt whether it was wise to put away the sword "He's a nobody." and only then he did look at the broken man, a sordid wretch with shackle-bitten wrists "But not for long." he said almost like a promise. His attention returned to the intruder, and those eyes.

"You should leave."

 

[Orival Theodric]

"O', this lout?" The Warden banged the hilt of his sword against Orival's cell a couple times, rousing nearby inmates as well.

"Quiet down ya sorry fuckin' sacks. Ain't no one comin' to yer rescue." He cleared his throat and spat at a huge wad of phlegm on the ground.

"This fucker was in the Falwood wastin' Dreadlord apprentices like they were fish n' a barrel. Our dearest Pirian level two took him down without much a fight. Oi!" The Warden called towards Orival. "Blink twice if ya can hear me."

Orival didn't even offer the pair a second glance. He figured he knew what was coming. That was until the third voice arrived. He looked up to see Callarn speak sternly with the gorgon. Bold move, but he'd seen bolder.

He was the man here to torture him again. What a poor waste of energy that'd be from him.

"Fuckre' you expecting from im'? Kid's a fuckin' mute." The Warden snapped back at Callarn.

 

[Navaia]

Navaia only blinked as the man brandished his rapier at her, though she did not seem at all perturbed. A quirked eyebrow was all that he received in answer, lips pursing as she shook her head at his ignorance. She mused for a moment, then turned her gaze back as the Warden spoke.

The man was utterly intolerable.

Something about his voice made her want to tear her ears out of her head, something that not many were able to achieve. Her fingers flittered at her side for a moment, and then she took a break. "Perhaps he was never shown how to speak properly."

The Gorgon mused.

Navaia ignored the Dreadlord for a moment, deciding that with the Warden here there wasn't much anyone could do to remove her.

"What do you plan to do with him?" She asked. "There are few who would deal with such..."

The gorgon thought on the word. "Outcasts."

 

[Callarn]

Ah, so here was the Warden. Callarn found him despicable. The way he carried himself, so certain of his place in this world where all were subjects to people that were born better, did he not know that he could just easily wake up the next day shackled and in squalor? At least Callarn had ambitions that went beyond his condition, or himself.

"I am at liberty to take whatever measures are necessary to see this man to his fate. Whatever that may be, however, is already known by those who need to know. Truth is that I'll have to slice you groin to gullet should you press on for details, so move." he pushed the man aside, kneeling next to the prisoner.

His glove hand seized his jaw, forcing it open to see the teeth, the tongue. His thumbs would pull down the lower eyelids, see how the veins rayed, how bloodshot were the eyes. Perhaps the mute had been handsome once, but not with this beard, these bruises. Callarn knew them.

He whistled over his shoulder, calling the warden's attention. "Bring water. Clean. And return the gorgon, I won't have runaway slaves here." he said, hand in his pouch and looking for something that could ease the pain. Or the scalpel.

 

[Orival Theodric]

Orival made no movements when he was clenched by the hand of this newcomer. Not who'd tortured him before, that was for sure. Quite the tongue for one staring down the eyes of a gorgon and a pyromancer. Granted Orival wasn't much a threat at the moment.

Still, there was a fine line between bravery and foolishness. Especially when one was outnumbered.

The Warden rolled his eyes. So sick of the Dreadlords thinking they're all high and mighty just because they were taken from their families as children.

"Look, yer irking me here." The Warden called out. "You come down here with a shit attitude and a sense of blind authority but th'truth? This is MY fuckin' prisoner. Ain't yours. Now this lovely lady here has promised a helluva lot more than you've had the nerve to, Dreadlord, so if anyone should be movin' their arse it's you, bub."

 

[Navaia]

Navaia did not move from her place as the Dreadlord stepped into the cell, her eyes lingering for a few moments as she watched the man begin to undo the chains.

A frown flickered over her features for just a brief moment as he referred to her, but she said nothing still. Instead she simply slithered back just a little bit, moving to the other side of the hall as the Warden began to rebuke the other man.

Humans were such curiously ignorant creatures.

She wondered if any of these men knew that, even the one who was still in chains. Her fingers flittered at her sides for a brief moment, her eyes flaring with an odd light. A black mark formed on the inside of her wrist, a slight shimmer forming over her flesh.

Navaia was not a creature of violence, but she could feel it's breath within the air.

Any fool would have.

 

[Callarn]

Callarn's wrist rested on Orival's shoulder. "You had to put up with this pig-hound? Now that's torture." there was no rise in his voice, no warning, before the Dreadlord socked the Warden in the testicles. It was a disarming strike, a gelding strike, practiced to perfection. The Warden was not the first man Callarn destroyed nor would he be the last, yet this one felt special. "My attitude is my business only, but my authority is that of House Urahil."

"So, here are your new orders." he kicked the man in the ribs with a steel-tipped boot, hurling him rudely out of the cell "Pick the prisoner least likely to kill you, share in his cell and throw the keys away. Do anything but that, and I will see you thrown to the dogs." he flashed his teeth with something that could have been called a smile "Maybe I'll eat you myself."

It was gone when the Dreadlord drew his rapier at the silent gorgon, unwavering. "You are much too curious, gorgon, but I am not without my questions. Why do you care for this nobody and why strike deals with men such as this filth?"

It was his duty to have her shackled too, but monsters in Vel Anir did not last long. Neither did prisoners.

 

[Orival Theodric]

The Warden keeled in immediate agony. Falling over before he could even hear what was being said to him. The demands of Callarn resonated but they wouldn't be processed in his head for a while.

Orival felt a shot of the milk in his eyes flicker. This Callarn fellow as well as the Gorgon's appearance was slowly snapping him back to reality in tid bits. There was confusion displaying now. The young mute sat there witness to this congregation of abstract bastards with a befuddled curiosity.

He rose his arms slightly only to remind himself that he was chained. The shackles rattling loudly. The next image in his head was that of his mother. The only thing keeping him from wanting to die here.

Something crossed in his brain. A development? No, more the first time he'd ever thought to do this.

Orival stood up and slammed his shackles against the hard concrete and shot sparks up into the air. With a hearty blow from his mouth he got the most he could out of them.

He wrote too words in thin drawn flame for the two to see.

"Sparks. Talk."

 

[Navaia]

Again with the rapier.

Humans were such base creatures. They did not understand things more complex. A sigh escaped her, and the odd metal fingers on her fingers seemed to click together as she reached up and ran a hand along her jaw in thought. "I make the bargains because it is within my nature."

She told him bluntly.

"Just as violence is seemingly within yours." Purple eyes peered down at the Dreadlord, her tail slowly twirling behind her as she raised herself up slightly. Even at just half her height she towered over the man, purple eyes peering down through black strands of hair.

"A bargain holds a price." She explained further. "That price is what holds value to me, not the man."

Her eyes rolled over towards Orival as sparks flew into the air, two words appearing within the darkness of the room.

A smile touched her lips, and she purred quietly. "How interesting."

The Gorgon began to reach out, then glanced at the Dreadlord. "May I?"

She was not sure he wouldn't try to kill her if she moved too fast.

 

[Callarn]

Hear those gasps, whimpers? They were like a fine waltz to Callarn. It was easy to swear off brutality — but to carry it out, to savour its fruits? His enjoyment went beyond mere conditioning. It terrified him.

Not that he'd allow it to show. Outwardly his expression remained as deadened as before, save for a glint in his eyes. A reflection of the shackled man's fire. Then came a sigh of relief. Torture was a certainty no longer, merely a possibility.

All the same violence was in his nature, the beast was right in that regard.

"Is a woman such as yourself asking me permission to touch and prod an half-mad firecaster?"

Perhaps they were lovers, he thought grimly... His silence fell to a sigh.

"Have at it."

 

[Orival Theodric]

The swing of his heavy iron wrists into ground caused him to buckle after his breath into the sparks. He collapsed heavily onto the ground.

Aside that, the Warden had stood up again and wandered into a random cell. His keys falling at Callarns feet. Amazing how obedient someone was after a strike to the groin.

Orival stood back up as fast as he could. It wouldn't be wise of him to keep his eyes off of the unruly duo presented in front of him. He wanted to spell more out to them but he'd eaten hardly anything for the past three months, his strength was all but gone. If he couldn't form his own flames he was at their mercy.

He tried to concoct a plan to evade them both but that would require water to help his brain. His shackles gone. And faith that he could handle them both.

Orival had none of those things.

 

[Navaia]

"Well I wouldn't want to get stabbed." Navaia said with a smile, her expression almost genuine as she slithered forward into the cell.

Her movements were liquid, her form slipping passed the Dreadlord and into the Cell as thought he were not there at all. Her tail flicked around him for just a brief second, and he would note the odd purple lines that seemed to sect through her scales.

A hand reached out towards the pyromancer, gently settling on his shoulder as she leaned down. "Ordinarily A bargain would need to be struck."

She whispered in his ear.

"But I suspect I may need you to leave here." Orival would feel a slight prick against the flesh of his shoulder, as her nail dug into his flesh. Just the slightest pinprick of blood appeared, and then suddenly the young man would feel a spike of energy.

It was a surge, like someone had forced a cocktail of drugs down his throat.