Open Chronicles A Hell On Arethil

[Talus]

Blackgate Prison - Unknown

Talus had never really felt fear before. At least not in years anyway. The first thing that the Proctors had tried to take was the instinct itself. The idea of being scared, the very concept.

At the time he had seen it as a measure of control.

A way for them to take away even more power. Later he had seen it for what it was; a way to make them into weapons. A sword wasn't afraid of cutting, a crossbow bolt wasn't afraid of killing. Fear had stood in the way of what it meant to be a Dreadlord, so they had tried to take it away. Until now he'd always thought they had been successful.

Yet standing within the Central Courtyard of Blackgate prison he realized they'd failed.

This place was something he had never encountered before, something he could not have even imagined in his nightmares. It was a Prison designed for people like him, for mages, monsters, and everything in between. The high walls stood above everything else, the Black Templar guards watched everything carefully.

A collar sat around his neck, it's heavy weight binding his very soul.

The magic that had been with him since he was five years old sat out of reach, some sort of magical machination keeping him from his power. All around him were men and women that even the worst horror story would struggle to survive. Necromancers, rogue mages, even Werewolves roamed the yard.

All of them were stuck here, all of them were being kept as prisoners. Talus had heard the rumors, he'd heard the stories, but it had always seemed too farfetched.

Now he stood here after a mission gone wrong.

No one knew what he was. There were no Dreadlords in Blackgate, at least none that anyone knew of. Vel Anir did not make prisoners of it's enemies. Those who faced the Fortress City ended with execution. The only reason Talus found himself within the walls because his mission had failed in an independent Baronies lands.

He'd been lucky to get rid of his armor before capture. As far as the Black Templar were concerned he was simply another rogue mage, simply another piece of scum.

Talus sat quietly on a small outcropping of the inner wall, his gaze flickering over the Black Templar high up on the wall. They seemed to peer back at him, their black armor and golden robes glinting in the light of the sun. They were the faceless guards of this place, those who kept some of the most powerful beings in Arethil in check.

The Apprentice felt his stomach tightened as he gazed at the guard, his thoughts a run of panic.

 

[VigiloConfido]

"Stand up."

The Black Templar stood in the doorway of Anima's cell, two others behind him. She sat in a small heap in the corner of the cell, knees up to her chest and her arms lightly around her legs, head sloped downward and eyes glassy and distant. She looked like a beggar, dressed in the meager tatters and rags afforded her, her normal armor stripped away the moment she was processed into Blackgate. The collar about her neck strangled her magic, but the walls around her suffocated her soul, for she had no one in which to bask, no emotion or object of obsession in which to savor or fixate on. Cold walls. Harsh and callous. Like the winds of the tundra where she had met Luna.

Anima didn't stand. Her eyes merely drifted up to the speaker, the Black Templar. They gave her nothing. Like the walls and the winds.

"Stand. Up."

She stayed in her corner. Her body entire caught in a swamp of lethargy, a consuming and sinking tiredness that kept her pinned to the floor. Her thoughts slow. Sluggish. And she said, "You will enjoy...what comes next...won't you?"

Anima smiled. A weak smile that took concentrated effort, but a smile.

And the Black Templars stormed into her cell, truncheons in hand, and beat her into the welcoming and silent dark.

* * * * *​

Her bare feet dragged along the floor of the prison. Anima held up and carried along by two Black Templar, one on each arm. A leather muzzle secured firmly to her face, covering her nose and her mouth, breathing a struggle just barely surmountable. This, as she slowly regained consciousness and opened her eyes.

The hall was coming to an end. A heavy doorway ahead. Just above the doorway, a sign. It read:

Grace to those who enter
And blessings from All​

Anima shut her eyes and opened them again. No. The sign did not say that. Something else. Something far less interesting than the strange trick of her eye and her memory.

Two other Black Templar beside the heavy door undid the locking mechanism and opened it, a wash of sunlight spilling in. Those Black Templar who carried her stepped outside for but a moment and tossed her down to the dirt of the Central Courtyard.

"You will be summoned for Visitation when ready," one of the Templar said. Then the two of them reentered the prison and the door was shut and sealed after them.

Anima stood, her motions ponderous and feeble. She walked with an awful limp, held her left arm at the elbow with her right hand, and drifted along the perimeter of the courtyard filled with other prisoners. In her mind she had one foot in Arethil, the other in some distant plane of fantasy, counting what small treasures and cherishings she could readily remember.

She wandered. Aimless.

 

[Rowan Burnes]

They poked him, prodded with fiery pain and silver tools to bring out the other side of him. To make sure it was only the shining light of the moon that drew out the side of his being that raged and aimlessly slew friend and foe alike. Not that the simple farm boy had many enemies to speak of. More of unassuming victims before he had been caught and shackled.

it was a strange thing to be bound, kept alive to be examined rather than fall to the fate of the blade as most his kind had. The werewolf that had ruined Rowan's life hadn't felt that sting as far as he knew, but how he wished he'd killed him rather than leave the deed half done as he shivered against the iron manacles about his scrawny form.

The were wrapped around him in a strange way, one arm always to his chest while the other could move freely. The chain attached to either manacle running through an eyelet behind his back, pulling one wrist close when the other was grabbing something.

It made eating and drinking for the first week unbearably frustrating and confusing.

Those around his legs were almost the same in design, allowing just enough for one leg to be comfortable while the other was half bent. Only a few minutes he could stand to be on one leg or the other before cramps set into the bent leg. It was hellish trying to have both legs half bent, and found sitting the best option, even when the manacles dug into his skin.

He was allowed outside, but the manacles never came off, even when it was a new moon. Always a chance that he had withheld a transformation. Even when he was sobbing in his cell after a session of trying to force a change. He didn't know what they wanted. Never was asked questions or given demands. Those unblinking eyes and unfaltering hands never seemed to get what they wanted.

Didn't have any idea what they were after. Did they want to see if he would ever change under stress? Was it just some sadistic pleasure in the effort? He never got answers, no matter how loud he yelled at them. No matter how much he begged.

He sat silently beside the inner wall, enjoying the fresh air and lack of attention.

 

[Kalavan]

Kalavan sat on a cushioned bench under a pergola. Leafy vines climbed up the supports and coiled over the roof, creating a comfortable shade for the elven price to idly bide his time under. Servants tended to the rows of painstakingly kept flowers and plants. Councilmen and women strolled through the courtyard, some discussing business, some gossiping, and others discussing topics unrelated to that of the realm completely. Perhaps a recipe for supper. Kalavan could not tell, nor did the aloof prince particularly care.

Times were peaceful then; Kalavan spent his days engrossed in literature rather than that of militaristic manuals. He strolled through the palace and courtyards rather than training his sword arm. The discussions he had were with his betrothed rather than his advisors. Ah, yes. That beautiful cascading raven hair, with eyes like the sky. His betrothed was a woman as beautiful as she was wise. Kalavan had once been truly blessed.

~
​

Kalavan's eyes fluttered open from the distant dream. He expected to see light, or at least a faint image of the walls but instead gazed into blackness. The elf could not move his arms or legs, nor could he open his mouth to breathe. It was a cruel reminder that his reality was far from the opulent palace raised by his ancestors. Vivid images of his life centuries ago often haunted him like it had prior to his awakening mere moments ago. The once-prince struggled to breathe through his nose. A nearly insufferable aching plagued his posterior, though he could not move his body an inch to ease the minor suffering.

Straps, chains, and iron cuffs bound the elf to a crudely built chair. His forearms were encased in a single stone restraint covered in runes. From the elbows up he was unrestrained. A tight metal collar pressed into his neck. He was muffled and blinded, but could still smell the staleness of his cell. After two decades, it was conditions he could almost bear.

Above him, he could feel the movement of living beings. It was a daily occurrence; the inmates were being given time in the yard. Though, he was only allowed a handful of hours of freedom per fortnight.

A metal door somewhere in front of him screamed against the floor as it was pushed open. Keys jingled rhythmically as Kortanaer, the Black Templar responsible for overseeing the underground block, stepped into the cell and around Kalavan. The Black Templar picked through the keyring as he unlocked one restraint after another. Kalavan was able to stand, but his arms remained bound and he was still muffled and blinded.

With a rough prod and a firm grip on his shoulder, Kortanaer guided the elf out of the cell and from the underground block. The two soon stood in silence on a small lift that carried them for one hundred and twenty-eight counts. Only the creaking of the lift's mechanisms broke the silence.

From the top, it was a short distance to the yard. To fresh air. The sun.

He heard the unlocking of a door in front of him. Then the constraints that robbed him of his senses were removed. The elf had to raise his cemented arms to his eyes to shield himself from the sunlight. He was not pushed out but was instead allowed to walk into the yard on his own volition. Inmates like him, those that have been imprisoned for countless years, were treated with an odd respect. At least the beatings and torture stopped a century ago.

Now, he only coped with the insanity that loomed from his seclusion.

Gradually, Kalavan lowered his arms and took a deep, deep breath in. Without wasting another moment, the elf made his way to a spot that was always left vacant in his absence. An old tree stump, one of the only places to actually sit in the yard aside from the ground. As he walked, it seemed as if any that would have been in his way moved aside, opening a straight path to his destination. The elf’s arrival seemed to silence the yard, and as he strode through the group of inmates, eyes followed him.

Kalavan sat with all the comportment of royalty, and all the activity prior to his entrance resumed. He began to survey the courtyard with golden eyes.

 

[Talus]

Talus had only been in Blackgate for three days now, but he'd already begun to see a pattern.

The people in the prison were of all different sorts. In the courtyard alone he had seen everything from Elves to Dwarves with a sprinkling of Nazrani. It was a rather diverse crowd, though that didn't seem to occur to anyone else.

Unlike in typical prisons were gangs formed, it was an interesting twist of Blackgate that here most people seemed to stick to themselves.

Even those of a like species tended to avoid one another. Perhaps it was a result of the Black Templar's watching. Any signs of cooperation was met with quick retribution, and violence was enough to get you put into the lower levels.

Talus watched as more people were thrown into the courtyard.

He did not recognize any of them of course, though the second to appear seemed to cause a ripple of silence to fall through the prison itself. His head cocked to the side, watching as the man walked over to a stump in the middle of the courtyard.

A frown touched his lips. I don't know enough.

The realization struck him, and then slowly he made a decision. If he was going to get out, he needed to know more. Gazing around himself, Talus spotted a figure sitting by the wall. A younger man, not near his age but not much older.

A breath filled him, and channeling some of his inner charm Talus wandered over to Rowan Burnes. Without a word he placed himself besides the werewolf on the wall, sitting down and gazing out over the courtyard.

He would be the first, Talus decided.

 

[VigiloConfido]

It happened in Elbion. No, it didn't happen in Elbion. It happened in Alliria. No, it didn't happen in Alliria. Luc? Where was Luc? She lost her brooch. No dreams in a long time.

The lethargy did not only bite into her body. Her mind like an upturned face in a pit of quicksand, all else subsumed.

Anima was allowed out into the courtyard with the regularity of most other prisoners. But this did not matter, for they who populated the yard where little better than the walls or the winds. They, like the guards themselves, gave her nothing. She could not bask in those who were numbingly banal or in those--like Udalof in Iron Lake or Nayella during the journey to Elbion--who closed themselves off to her.

A strange hush in the courtyard. Less the cessation of conversation, more the cessation of motion. Anima herself stopped, shoulder touching the perimeter wall. She looked.

An elf. Blonde and beautiful was his hair. And he she had not tried to speak to yet. She had not even seen him yet, or if she had seen him had not noticed him. Which, she did not know. Or if perhaps she had spoken to him before, and simply did not remember. The linearity of time had been dispensed with once the lethargy had set in firmly once she arrived in Blackgate.

He sat down by a tree stump, the elf.

A tiny crackle of energy in Anima, but only just. Like the far distant sight of heat lightning, lacking thunder and ceremony, small and brief.

She hurried, as much as she could with hardly the strength to stand. A frail and oddly demure sway in her trembling steps, her limp pronounced. Even in her 'hurry', it took a considerable amount of time to cross the courtyard and reach the tree stump.

Anima plopped down and sat on her heels not quite directly in front of the elf, but at a slight angle from such. She placed her hands in her lap. Stared. Smiled behind the muzzle strapped to her face, the gesture concealed.

A moment passed. She said nothing. Merely drank him in with her eyes.

Then, "Hello." Her voice muffled by the muzzle.

Another pause she was quite comfortable with.

"You are eager, aren't you?"

 

[Rowan Burnes]

The serene peace the courtyard offered to those holed up in the cells was bothered only by the pointless chatter of those that mingled. It was a sound that most became used to, learned to ignore in the short time that they were allowed outside.

His eyes opened slightly, sight falling on a man coming towards him.

A trick by the guards? Not likely, they were rather straightforward about what they did. Someone looking to cause trouble? Also not likely given how miserable they would be after the fact. Confusion riddled his thoughts as to what they wanted.

Caution warred in his mind, but wonder also twisted his thinking. None had bothered to talk to him since he was still the favorite dog under leash at the moment. The other werewolves, which he figured out where here on accident, were still giving him a wide berth.

Taking a deep breath, the silence irritated him for some reason suddenly. The air between he and the other man almost a physical buzz on his skin of something coming. Maybe he had become paranoid, or insane. It was getting harder to count days, keep track of time.

"Hmm?" He grunted, voice dry and gravelly not from lack of water, but from screaming.

 

[Talus]

For a brief moment Talus did not respond to the man, instead he watched those around them.

Most were dejected in a way. Fallen pieces of themselves who had long ago forgotten or give up on what they were. The Black Templar upon the wall watched them, surprisingly vigilant of their charges even after all these years.

Lips thinned, and he wondered if the task he had set himself up for was an impossible one. If he would end up stuck here for decades. "I need to get out of here."

Why lie?

What was the other man going to do? Sell him out to the guards perhaps, but that was hardly the worst thing that could happen. He would get tossed into solitary, beaten, but Talus had endured the like before.

He had never been good at beating around the bush, and he figured that the direct approach would be the best to take. The Apprentice shifted slightly, never looking at his nearby companion, but always keeping his eyes flittering over those nearby.

 

[Kalavan]

It all returned to him; his senses did. First, as always, it was the overwhelming light that would make him squint for minutes. Next, the smells, the smells of others, the smells that the breeze carried, the smell of nature. The elf would take time separating them- identifying them. By the time his eyes adjusted to the daylight, his senses wholly returned.

It was routine now to be deprived of the outside world for so long. The sun's warmth filled him with fleeting strength. Kalavan felt the pain in his rear subside, and the skin on his face seemed to glow with some ethereal radiance. As did the luscious golden locks that cascaded onto his shoulders.

The elf saw many newcomers. Though, one stood out. A whelp. He was like a young, domesticated dog. Tall, strapping, and with all the bearing of a killer. The pup wore a stern, purposeful expression and was full of life. Kalavan saw many like him come; the types that were resolved to seek freedom. They would immediately begin concocting a plot for a daring escape.

Though, none ever did. It would eventually come as a surprise, how shrewd the Black Templars could be.

The whelp wandered over and sat down next to the cub. He knew of that one. Always brooding and alone. Kalavan closed his eyes and focused on the two. A low grunt, hoarse and deep from a damaged throat.

"I need to get out of here."

Kalavan felt rather smug over how accurate his impression of the whelp had been. Before he could listen further, he was interrupted.

A greeting.

Kalavan's head turned, slowly, to the woman that squatted not quite in front of him, but oddly off to the side. Hawkish eyes looked down the bridge of his nose towards the woman. A whelp, a cub, and now a pup. Another he recalled seeing. She was fox-like; an odd one he could never quite figure out from a distance. She'd never approached him until then.

"Perhaps I am eager, child," The elf had a voice like silk. It was rich and resonant, but also cold and condescending. He had an elegant manner of speaking, as one would expect from an elf of his age. "To bathe in sunlight is a luxury."

 

[VigiloConfido]

Not as inviting as she would have liked, his voice. A certain coldness. But not much. Like ice cupped in the hand, as opposed to the whole of the body being entombed in such. Even this better than the those of the Black Templar guards, those others in the yard she had before approached.

Meager treasures. Drips of water from a summer rain, landing on the parched tongue of a desert wanderer.

To bathe in sunlight. A luxury, he had said. For Anima it was not enough to simply know. She wished to bask in the elf's radiance as he did in the sun's, to let him infect her with the thrumming emotion his elegant tone kept concealed. A lovely contagion.

She may yet even dream of him, of being him, should she tease out what she so desired. There was no courtyard to her now, no Blackgate, no prison guards, no other prisoners. Only him and her.

"A luxury..." she said. She crossed her arms and placed her hands upon her shoulders, slowly running her hands down her arms. "These small delights. Like this warmth caressing your skin. One of a number of things cherished."

Her palms cupped her elbows. Gentle squeezing. Little embraces.

"And there are more, aren't there? Things cherished. Jewels in the mind. Yes, there are."

A tiny lull of her head to one side, gaze sliding away and down. Staring intently at the dirt as she had at him.

"You wish only to share..."

The reverse motion of her eyes, gliding back up to the elf's own.

"Don't you?" A miniscule note of hope in her voice.

 

[Kalavan]

The elf's brow raised into a dark arch at the inquisitive pup. Fox-like, indeed. Subtle changes in body language. The lilt in the pup's speech. Unlike the other insipid convicts that surrounded him, this one earned his curiosity by way of mere idiosyncrasies.

One leg was thrown over the other, and lithe stone-bound arms rested in his lap. The treestump was far from the throne he'd become accustomed to centuries ago, but it was far better than the chair amidst darkness he would soon be reunited with. At least here, the sun shone on him. With every passing moment, his complexion became revitalized.

His brow's arch flattened as the woman spoke. She was not far from the truth. The elf did cherish numerous things: memories, and distant ones at that, many of which he was not eager to share with others. However, he had naught to pass the time. When she looked up at him with such expectancy, he only felt roused to entice the pup. Though, he wouldn't allow her to catch a glimpse of his stirring emotions. The elf maintained all of the bearing that a disgraced prince could.

"Is it not common practice for a jeweler to keep their wares close? Locked deep in a vault, where only the brave or reckless would dare intrude upon to line one's pockets? Perhaps, instead, the jeweler is proud and displays his stock for all to see?" A sonorous voice filled the silence between them.

"The pup has wandered into my store, curiosity the scent guiding her forward. 'What jewel of the mind does she seek to acquire,' the storeowner asks himself."

The elf graced her with a winsome smile.

"My name is Kalavan, pup. Do tell me yours."

 

[Rowan Burnes]

Rowan did not look towards the man speaking to him. Did not dare to give him the incredulous look that he deserved for suggesting, or even thinking of trying to get out of this place.

"Many say that. Yet they are all still here." He stared at the bindings around his wrists and ankles. It would be nice to get out. To not endure this place any longer.

But the walls were high, the guards vigilant, and the others certainly did not owe each other anything. Leaning back against the wall, his chin dipped towards his lap.

He didn't want to stay here, but getting out of here seemed like an impossible task by itself. Never mind staying out of here.

"You have to be careful around here. They pay attention and hardly falter." He said, eyes to the floor but his head gave the smallest nod to the guards above them.

The enigmatic and hypervigilant guards were always on his mind. It was a poor idea to try and escape. It was a worse one to not even try to get away from this hellish place.

"What are you thinking?" He gave a reply shortly after some thought. He had taken the bait.

 

[Talus]

That had been far easier than he'd thought it would be. His assumption was that most people here would be paranoid, angry, and in need of convincing. Black gate wasn't exactly the best place in the world to make friends, so he couldn't help but be a little shocked when the man actually already bought in.

At least a little anyway.

Talus considered the fact that he wasn't told to immediately fuck off to be a victory. There was still much left to do, but every step forward was another step towards getting out. "Right now?"

He chewed on his words.

"I don't Know." The words were probably not too encouraging to hear. Yet Talus knew what he had to say and what he had to do. "I don't know enough yet. About the Guards, the Walls, these collars."

His hand brushed against the silver metal about his neck. "I need help learning about it all."

Only then could he start to plan.

 

[VigiloConfido]

"Kalavan."

She said his name slow. Tasted it. The sound of it on her tongue, the dancing of breath in her mouth as she pronounced it.

And a smile. She adored smiles. Her own was kept locked away behind the leather muzzle she was always forced to wear around other prisoners. A terrible shame.

Anima leaned up and off of her heels. Some, not by much. She knew of the watchful eyes of the Black Templar guards, and wished not to draw their ire again by leaning in close to another's ear, as was her nature. This little lean would have to suffice. Yet was not craving for that which proved elusive the most powerful foundation of desire?

"A voice whispers in your ear: Anima..."

She sat back down on her heels. Expectant hands clasped together in her lap once more. Eyes gorging themselves on the mere sight of his hair, his lovely hair. Anima did not know the true length of her duration at the prison thus far, but she knew well the things she was denied. Closeness. Emotion. The tide of another, washing over her. She missed Luc, her loving obsession with him like an open wound on the mind, bleeding ache and longing down her spine and corroding her heart in its ceaseless drip.

But here, in this moment, she had Kalavan. Kalavan and his luscious hair. And he might well prove a delight indeed.

"You are here," Anima said, "in this prison. And here you languish. You know well the things you are denied. Yes, you do."

A little flick of her eyes, down from his hair and back to meet his own.

"There is more than merely the touch of the sun's light, isn't there? A longing. A yearning. And there is an ear to listen, is there not? You are not alone. You have company. Listen, and be heard. Know, and be known. Sweet is the sharing of a heart's profound desire."

She lifted a hand to her cheek, fingers touching the skin just above the thick leather strap of the muzzle.

Her voice distant, elsewhere in Arethil, "You long for the taste of cherries...for the love that inspires it...and you see that face...that beautiful face."

Back to Arethil. Back to Kalavan. Voice and eyes and all. "It haunts you, doesn't it?"

 

[Rowan Burnes]

Rowan didn't scoff at the lack of a plan. He would give the other a few more weeks before the idea of escape slipped his mind. If it didn't though, he wasn't going to be idle for it. His eyes drifted up and spied Anima and Kalavan.

"The one on the stump likely knows a bit. They don't let him out often though." Rowan was about to comment on the pair across the way being odd, but everything and everyone here was odd.

Elves, werewolves, mages. All of it.

"I'll find what I can, but nothing garaunteed. Everyone sees differently, sees different things after all." It sounded cryptic to his own ears, but thinking about it made sense. Everyone was in their own place, treated differently and run down different halls.

Someone had to know something.

 

[Kalavan]

All was enigmatic about the squatting woman from her mannerisms to her name. Like a blooming flower amidst weeds. A stroke of paint on an empty canvas. Kalavan could sit and draw upon endless comparisons. He leaned back, still smiling, clearly entertained by the human. At that moment, all consideration for his surroundings disappeared. Blackgate ceased to exist.

Yes, when was the last time he smiled, let alone spoke to another being so freely? Fifty years? A hundred? It was a wonder that his words came so clearly.

When the pup began to speak of languish, the corners of the elf's mouth twitched suddenly, as if suddenly yanked down by strings. Kalavan watched and listened in silence with a pained half-smile on his face. Anima spoke vaguely, yet every word spoken by the pup hammered his smile into a sneer. Her muffled rhetoric harshly reminded Kalavan of distant memories- the same that plagued him in his dark solitude.

There was a brief flash of wrath in radiant, golden eyes. The elf's head dipped. An exhausted sigh followed the sudden gesture. When he rose to meet her gaze again, he wore no sneer, but instead another smile. A sad, sad smile.

"There is never a face."

The elf's struggling to remember his love's features began several years ago.

"Cascading locks, darker than the night sky. It possessed an opulent shine. Not even the finest silken sheets could be compared to it. All of that returns to me, but never a face."

The disgraced prince looked directly up. He found a sanguine gap of blue among a large grey cloud and settled his gaze there for a moment.

"She, too, was the sun. Oh, how strong I was when she shone on me. I now walk under an eternal night sky, for my sun has set and will never again rise."

Golden eyes fell back onto the squatting woman.

"I will forever remember the warmth that my beloved once bestowed upon me, though I shall never see her face again. I may be in the presence of your company, but I am quite alone."

 

[Talus]

Talus listened to the man for a moment, then glanced over in the direction of the two people that he'd pointed out.

The man he recognized instantly for what he was; an Elf.

For some reason that shocked him. There were plenty of other species in Blackgate. Dwarves, orcs, goblins, he'd even seen a few halflings. For some reason though he had never quite expected to see an Elf. Their species was supposed to be more...noble.

He couldn't imagine what sort of crime had been committed for one of them to end up here. "Thanks."

Talus offered Rowan.

"I'm Talus." It was time to utilize another one of his points of training. Dreadlords were meant to be weapons, killers, spikes on the battlefield. Yet there was more than one way to win a battle. Fen had taught him that.

Making friends, allies, was almost as important as the fight itself.

He would begin with this man, and then...well, perhaps he'd have to speak with another Elf.

 

[VigiloConfido]

There. That minute twitching of the mouth. Something in that malformed smile gracing his countenance. A smile that became a sneer, a succulent sneer. It was without context, yes, but it was brimming--near bursting--with potential.

Oh, the mere mention of potential! Quick and powerful, a specter of form unseen, there and gone in Kalavan's eyes. Far too quick for Anima to be certain of what she saw, only to know that it was intense. And that intensity, the sheer thought of it, locked behind his eyes and stirring in his heart like fire in a bottle, warmed and tingled her skin in cascading waves. It had been long, hadn't it?

Kalavan dipped his head. Sighed. Looked at her again and there in the sight of his smile an explosion of black tea, the taste of it powerful enough to leap from her tongue and fill her mouth entire.

And she listened. Greedily. Each word Kalavan spoke like another drop of water down the throat of a woman suicidal, blissful choking upon the shape of each sentence, the quivering anticipation of drowning the lethargic woman who sat in a cell with no one in which to bask.

Kalavan finished by saying, but I am quite alone. And in that immediate moment she wanted to reach out, as much for herself as for him, and cradle him to her bosom and run her hands through his hair, his luxurious hair. Bite into him. Let him bleed into her. Carry that eternal piece of Kalavan as she carried so many others. Lydia, Peter, Emilia, Luc, yes, all of them. Joyous was the journey taken in company.

The guards would come. She knew they would.

A spreading smile beneath her muzzle.

It would be a delightful pain, graciously endured, wouldn't it?

Anima rose up off of her heels once more, slow at first but with a gathering rapidity. And she fell forward into Kalavan, hands clasped tight onto his shoulders, leaning the side of her face against his and her mouth (in so much as she could, with respect to the cumbersome muzzle) close to his ear. She had desired to do this before. But now she dared. Oh yes, she dared.

Her fingers she curled and her nails she stabbed liked honeyed knives into him, seeking to pierce cloth and find flesh.

And Anima whispered, "You need not be. Hold the hand that knows your own. It leads to a beating heart..." Sounds behind her. Her voice even quieter, as if sharing some great and terrible truth, "...and all that lies within."

 

[Rowan Burnes]

"I won't say your welcome until we are out of here." He replied quietly. "Rowan. Good luck."

He hoped the other man Skuld have some decent luck. It was driving the wereeolf crazy being here. Getting out would be a god send. But he very much doubted anything good would happen before they got out.

 

[Talus]

The response to Anima's and Kalavan's embrace was immediate and hostile.

It was doubtful the Black Templar's knew exactly what was really happening, but any touch in the yard such as that was enough to draw the attention of the ever vigilant guard. As soon as they moved together a bell rang somewhere.

Three gates opened on each side of the courtyard, and guards came streaming onto the open field. Prisoners immediately went prone, practically hopping onto the ground.

Dozens of Black Templar moved into the courtyard. Some were dressed like ordinary soldiers, sergeants and corporals who had less authority. Others however wore the distinct black armor of the Chapter Main, their golden robes hooked into steel.

They moved far faster than they had any right to, movements almost matching those of Talus' fellow Dreadlords.

All of them dashed swiftly towards Anima and the Elf shouts of "GET ON THE GROUND" Ringing through the entirety of the Keep.

Talus watched the response with a dread fascination, knowing that this would be what he had to face.

 

[Rowan Burnes]

Rowan kept still, not moving a muscle as he watched the guards work with their devilish efficiency. It was alarming just how quickly they moved, how alert they always managed to be of all the prisoners in their care. Someday's that bell never went off, others it seemed like that is all it did.

"I think that is the only bell they have, but then again, can't tell from my cell." Rowan whispered, keeping his gaze just shy of the sight before him.

 

[Kalavan]

Were his hands not bound by rune-enhanced stone, he would have opened his arms to Anima. The pup’s claws that dug into his shoulders were a welcome discomfort. The sensation was oddly stimulating.

She spoke softly, but he could make her words out over the ringing bells and rising commotion.

“Should we see each other again,” Kalavan whispered back, “I would wholly indulge myself in what you have to offer me.”

The elf turned his face to where the muzzle dug into Anima’s neck under her jaw and leaned towards the exposed skin. His lips brushed against the woman in a motion too peculiar to be called a kiss. It was a swift and fleeting moment of intimacy.

The Black Templar were quick to separate the two. Many wielded long poles, man catchers, to subdue to the two.

Kalavan, having not complied with their commands, received the full force of a bludgeoning tool above his brow. It sent the elf to the ground, blood flowing like a river down his cheek.

He felt cold iron snap against his neck and legs, then the full weight of guards as they pushed down on him.

Nasty tools, those man catchers.

 

[VigiloConfido]

And here it was. Closeness. The touch of another. The validation of being. This small reprieve from the starvation and languishing of spirit crystallizing into a cherished gem, gleaming and lustrous, hers to keep. A talisman by which to banish the solitary stagnation in her cell. And beyond those miserable confines, for it was hers forever.

The warm elation of her heart and the dancing, tingling sensation in her neck were, like many things wished for and pined for, fleeting. The Black Templar were upon them, shouting their commands. Anima didn't resist, but as well she didn't comply. The iron of a mancatcher clamped about her neck, that cold metal born of Arethil come to steal away Kalavan's warmth, his touch.

She was yanked away, roughly so, as Kalavan received his bludgeoning. Dragged against the ground by the clamp of iron around her neck, pulled some distance apart, and the Templar preemptively beat her legs and her arms with their truncheons, destroying any world in which she might conceivably fight back or such much as stand under her own power.

The intense, pulsating pain a delight, weathered for the sake of a simple touch. Anima laughed there on the ground as the clamp around her neck came loose and slipped away; a weak and devastated sound, but a laugh nevertheless as she turned and writhed feebly.

A Templar took one of her arms, a second took her other, and she was hoisted up once more, carried back toward the gate in which earlier she'd been introduced to the courtyard. The gate opened for them.

And Anima and the Templar who carried her away disappearing as the gate closed and sealed once more.

 

[Talus]

The state of the Courtyard quieted almost immediately as the Black Templar did their work.

It surprised Talus that they moved with such ruthless efficiency. Every action they took, every fist that moved, every bit of magic that sparked from them was almost perfect. He wondered how these men would fare against Dreadlords.

His gaze cast upward towards the bell tower, lips thinning as he glanced high. "They move fast."

Too fast.

There was no way he could overwhelm a response like that, not if the rest of the prisoners just laid down and did nothing.

"We'll need more help." Talus told Rowan as two of the armored Black Templar looked up from Kalavan and glanced around the yard. The Dreadlord Apprentice could feel himself freeze as the helmet's visor froze on him and his Werewolf companion.

 

[Kalavan]

Kalavan managed to let out a tired sigh despite having several men force his body into the dirt. The guards beat on him further, and while it did hurt, the Elf's face showed no evidence of it. Without any resistance, Kalavan allowed himself to be hoisted up. He watched Anima's back as she was dragged from the courtyard then twisted his head around, surveying the state of the courtyard. The prisoners close by had all dropped to the ground, and those farther away remained standing, though had put considerable distance between them and the commotion.

Eventually, Kalavan's gaze fell to Rowan and Talus. Golden eyes flicked between the pair and settled somewhere between them. The elf wore a stoic expression as the Black Templar pushed him away. How would they fare, the elf wondered.

As he was taken inside the prison and back down the shaft to the underground unit, thoughts of the human woman occupied his mind.

They would plague him until he would be let free again.