Dreadlords Breaking the Silence

[Luthen]

Cortos - Unknown Location

Five Thousand Three Hundred and Twenty Eight Days.

Not more. Not less.

He knew that number, and he knew that number to be true, because he had counted, and his count was right.

There was no doubt in that number. There was no possibility that it was wrong. The very thought had never entered his mind, and it would not as long as he stayed within the tiny dark dungeon his captors had left him in. Yesterday the number had been one less, tomorrow the number would be one more. The count always changed, but it was always right.

Luthen knew that, just as he knew he was still alive, and still a captive.

It had been nearly fifteen years now, he had done the math, and although his grasp on the hours and minutes slipped away, the Dreadlord was sure he was right about the days. His count at first had been based on the easiest of things; the sun, but as the Solar Choire had taken and dragged him beneath the earth he'd needed to rely on other things.

First the changing shifts of the men guarding him. Then the echoes of birds as they sang their morning songs. But as the Radiant Church buried him deeper and deeper within the earth his methods became far more interesting. Eventually it came down to something even he had not expected; worms.

They came out every night. Digging up through the dirt floor of his cell, searching and seeking for the scraps of the bare meager meals he left behind. Luthe knew about these worms, but only because of a classmate he'd had at the Academy. Funny that he still remembered her, she had always been a funny little thing, obsessed with the dirt and what lay beneath it. Tialla had been a treasure, bright and chirpy even in all the trials they had faced.

She never made it off the tower.

Five Thousand Three Hundred and Twenty Eight Days.

That was how long it had been, and tomorrow it would be Five Thousand Three Hundred and Twenty Nine Days.

He had wondered often enough why they had not simply killed him. Had wondered why none of the guards who so rarely visited did not simply poison his meals or slit his throat in his sleep. He had never broken under torture, and even if he had...anything the Dreadlord had to offer was long since out of date. Entire Anirian armies had been made and disbanded by now. So why keep him?

A trophy perhaps. The Grand success of Bishop De'armign; a captured Dreadlord who had nearly been Archon. The thought made Luthen chortle, though only as he conjured the image of the Bishop's sniveling face as he explained how Luthen's capture had somehow been a 'success' after he and his squadron had succeeded their mission. A prize perhaps, but certainly no success. He and his had done what they came to Cortos for, and that was all that mattered.

His duty was do-

The sound of screeching metal echoed down the hall and into his cell. Even the thick steel door blocking his way could not keep the sound out. It's terrifying cry echoing out as though someone were physically tearing at the upper levels of the prison. Luthen frowned for a moment, hearing the echoes of a thudding crash, then the sound of ringing steel followed by a harrowed scream.

His fingers drew slowly through the dirt beneath him, a small smile slowly drawing onto his lips.

It had been Five Thousand Three Hundred and Twenty Eight Days.

Five Thousand Three Hundred and Twenty Eight Days until they finally came for him.

 

[Trix]

A Knight, a Black Guard, and a Vigilite walk into a Church...

It ought to have been the start to a good joke, but the man writhing in the air before Beatrix was far from laughing. Tears ran down his cheeks as he clawed at the vine around his throat and his legs thrashed uselessly against the swaying plant. From the stain on his pants and the pungent smell in the air, he had pissed and probably shit himself the moment he had realised who they were. Who had sent them.

"P-please. I don't know a-anything. This is a place of worship, sanctuary--"

"Torture, rape, murder," Trix finished for him with a lazy wave of her hand and a bored sigh. She was perched on one of the upturned pews, one long leather clad leg draped over the other. She reached inside the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a cigarette. "Mon Cherie, I am not here for a copy of your resume. All you have to tell me is where the door is hidden. Then my friends here can stop tearing the place apart," she gestured to the two other women who were busy with their own search.

The information the Vigillite had acquired had been able to give them the name of the church, and three others like it. Had told them of the deep, magic-warded prisons beneath where they had kept their most prized trophies. One of which, the little bird had sung, had been a Dreadlord. Trix hadn't had to ask why the higher ups cared about a Dreadlord languishing in a prison for the answer was simple; Dreadlords were not trophies. It was an insult to them all.

"I d-d-don't know," the Priest wheezed as the vine tightened lazily about his throat, a small leaf tickling his cheek like a mother might brush at her child's to soothe away nightmares. Trix lit the cigarette and took a deep inhale.

"I really do not like liars Padre," he licked his cracked lips nervously as she stood up in one fluid movement and walked closer. "Isn't lying one of the more abhorrent sins your God punishes you for?" She mused as she brought the cigarette to her lips again then paused, inches from his face, to examine it absentmindedly. "I'm sure he won't mind me starting the job," she shrugged then brought the cigarette up and plunged it into the mans eye.

A minute later, Trix put out the same cigarette with the toe of her boot over the top of the revealed metal door. Anti-magic runes were etched across its surface and seemed to pulse as the three girls stood around it.

"Well, Mon Amis, shall we get this over with?"

Noel | Samantha Black​

 

[Noel]

Four more nails zipped through the air. Another wooden plank fell off the wall. A self-proclaimed holy man pleaded for his life.

They were hiding something here and the trio of Dreadlords were going to find it.

Noel peaked her head into the hole she’d just created, another section of the chapel had been torn asunder yet they weren’t any closer to finding the secret prison they sought. Just a lot of cobwebs and empty space inbetween the walls.

At least the priest had stopped screaming.

She assumed Trix had come to the conclusion he wasn’t going to give them anything. Or she’d gotten bored.

There were more nails ripped from the walls, more falling planks, and a few metallic ornaments thrown aside as well. She was basically just trashing the place until her focus centered on an object.

Far away from the door near the chapel’s pulpit sat a large object clearly intended for sacraments to whatever false gods the Cortosi held in their hearts. The best part about the little altar though was its composition, an alloy of metals she was familiar with.

A loud screech of metal upon metal rang out as Noel’s magic wrapped around the large altar at the forefront of the sanctuary. It resisted her pull at first, not because of any enchantment but because the centerpiece had a set of unseen locks keeping it in place.

Without a doubt this was the entrance they had been seeking.

Noel tugged hard, drawing a bead of sweat from her brow, until the two locks finally snapped and the holy symbol was thrown, crashing into the far wall to reveal the door plastered with runes.

”Is the priest still alive?” she glanced at the smoldering ruin that was once his eye socket before shifting her gaze towards Sam, ”I don’t know if the father will be of much help.”