- Messages
- 98
- Character Biography
- Link
"What is he here for, starving? This poor bastard looks like he hasn't even laid eyes on a crumb in weeks, let alone eaten one."
The wretched heat that baked the city of Dornoch with the fury of a particularly harsh summer sank through the shoddy walls of the makeshift jailhouse that Alyxander Quellchrist stood in with the jailor and two equally armored men from his assignment. Every pore of his body seemed to bead with sweat under the unrelenting waves of humidity, and it didn't help that he was donned in his armor. Every inch of his body was concealed with shining steel of the highest quality, granted to him by his status as a Commander. His helmet was tucked under his arm, his jet black hair combed and resting softly over one side of his head, a decent workaround to stuffing it all in the tight-fitting helm. His piercing gaze locked onto the emaciated figure laying inside the cell, a man, but barely that. He'd finally gone to sleep, but according to the men who brought him in it was only after a group of five had dragged him here, along with a novella's worth of insults thrown at each man's mother and wives. How in the world this frail stick could cause so much trouble, Alyxander had no idea.
"Caught him digging through our confiscated items. No idea how the hell he got in, and we can't find the man who was supposed to be watching the place. This little prick won't tell us anything, of course, so all we can do is guess."
Alyx clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth at the Jailer's explanation. Small little jailhouses like this were becoming more and more common. as certain members of the Dynast had taken to the practice of arresting more and more people for the smallest offenses against the city's law. The dungeons were almost constantly at capacity as of last year which constituted the conversion of old ramshackle buildings long since abandoned into prisons. Of course, there were scant good men and women available to work these prisons, and that led to messes like this one.
"So you mean to tell me..." The raven-haired warrior began as he turned to look at this excuse for a warden, his eyes narrowed in contempt. One could almost see the jailer shrink under Quellchrist's judging gaze. "That you requested military aid for a drunkard? Because he put up too much of a fight for you and your underpaid guards?"
"Sir, I... I mean some of the things in our possession are illegal contraband! We're under orders to report the theft of any contraband directly to The Matriarchy!"
Alyxander felt sorry for this stammering sod, truly he did. Were it his choice, he would have been let off with a warning to be more vigilant. Unfortunately, Alyx had been deployed with orders to decommission this jail for its failure to protect what the city saw as its own confiscated property. That included the dismissal of those working here. Quellchrist had protested the decision vehemently, but there was little point in arguing with and angering his superiors. It didn't help that the one who'd ordered him to do so wasn't a particularly huge fan of men working as jailors when many of the criminals they'd been encountering in this latest little crime wave were of the same sex. If they had chosen not to report the theft committed by this drunken thief, they would likely have lived on. It was with no pleasure that Alyx gestured his soldiers to take the jailer away.
"Take him outside. I will join you shortly for his debriefing."
The jailer's eyes went wide. He knew damned well what that word meant in this context. This was the only means of work the aging man likely had.
"You lapdog! You know I did right! You're taking away my living for doing as I've been told?! Curse you! Curse this damned city!"
A sigh left Quellchrist's lips as he took another look at the passed-out drunkard, a flash of sadness behind his eyes. He'd thought serving in the military would earn him some sort of honor, and yet here was cleaning up after petty squabbles from booze and midnight.
After arranging for a wagon to haul the prisoner off to another location, Alyxander stood outside the old building near the edge of Dornoch, explaining the relief of duty process to a still simmering ex-jailer. He would no longer be serving the city in his current capacity and would need to find work elsewhere. He was not to come within a certain distance of the prison, and any attempt to contact his former employers would be met with further punishment. Honestly, Alyx doubted the man heard him, but for his own good he prayed such guidelines were followed.
"I understand your frustrations, sir. You must understand that--"
Screams interrupted him from further down the road. Turning his head to find the source, he saw the wagon that had taken the lone prisoner only moments earlier, now turned around and careening back in the other direction, towards the city exit. shards of wood and torn fabric hung from its sides; the cart had already collided with several stalls and sideswiped buildings.
And in the front seat? That drunkard, eyes wide and a half-toothed grin on his face as he flew past Alyxander and the Jailor, only missing the two of them because Quellchrist brought them both to the ground.
It'd all been a setup! That moron had the confiscated goods in that wagon, and he was making a break for it!
Pushing the Jailer away and scrambling to his feet, Quellchrist ran to his horse and slid atop it with ease, rearing up to ride.
Finally, a little bit of excitement.
The wretched heat that baked the city of Dornoch with the fury of a particularly harsh summer sank through the shoddy walls of the makeshift jailhouse that Alyxander Quellchrist stood in with the jailor and two equally armored men from his assignment. Every pore of his body seemed to bead with sweat under the unrelenting waves of humidity, and it didn't help that he was donned in his armor. Every inch of his body was concealed with shining steel of the highest quality, granted to him by his status as a Commander. His helmet was tucked under his arm, his jet black hair combed and resting softly over one side of his head, a decent workaround to stuffing it all in the tight-fitting helm. His piercing gaze locked onto the emaciated figure laying inside the cell, a man, but barely that. He'd finally gone to sleep, but according to the men who brought him in it was only after a group of five had dragged him here, along with a novella's worth of insults thrown at each man's mother and wives. How in the world this frail stick could cause so much trouble, Alyxander had no idea.
"Caught him digging through our confiscated items. No idea how the hell he got in, and we can't find the man who was supposed to be watching the place. This little prick won't tell us anything, of course, so all we can do is guess."
Alyx clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth at the Jailer's explanation. Small little jailhouses like this were becoming more and more common. as certain members of the Dynast had taken to the practice of arresting more and more people for the smallest offenses against the city's law. The dungeons were almost constantly at capacity as of last year which constituted the conversion of old ramshackle buildings long since abandoned into prisons. Of course, there were scant good men and women available to work these prisons, and that led to messes like this one.
"So you mean to tell me..." The raven-haired warrior began as he turned to look at this excuse for a warden, his eyes narrowed in contempt. One could almost see the jailer shrink under Quellchrist's judging gaze. "That you requested military aid for a drunkard? Because he put up too much of a fight for you and your underpaid guards?"
"Sir, I... I mean some of the things in our possession are illegal contraband! We're under orders to report the theft of any contraband directly to The Matriarchy!"
Alyxander felt sorry for this stammering sod, truly he did. Were it his choice, he would have been let off with a warning to be more vigilant. Unfortunately, Alyx had been deployed with orders to decommission this jail for its failure to protect what the city saw as its own confiscated property. That included the dismissal of those working here. Quellchrist had protested the decision vehemently, but there was little point in arguing with and angering his superiors. It didn't help that the one who'd ordered him to do so wasn't a particularly huge fan of men working as jailors when many of the criminals they'd been encountering in this latest little crime wave were of the same sex. If they had chosen not to report the theft committed by this drunken thief, they would likely have lived on. It was with no pleasure that Alyx gestured his soldiers to take the jailer away.
"Take him outside. I will join you shortly for his debriefing."
The jailer's eyes went wide. He knew damned well what that word meant in this context. This was the only means of work the aging man likely had.
"You lapdog! You know I did right! You're taking away my living for doing as I've been told?! Curse you! Curse this damned city!"
A sigh left Quellchrist's lips as he took another look at the passed-out drunkard, a flash of sadness behind his eyes. He'd thought serving in the military would earn him some sort of honor, and yet here was cleaning up after petty squabbles from booze and midnight.
After arranging for a wagon to haul the prisoner off to another location, Alyxander stood outside the old building near the edge of Dornoch, explaining the relief of duty process to a still simmering ex-jailer. He would no longer be serving the city in his current capacity and would need to find work elsewhere. He was not to come within a certain distance of the prison, and any attempt to contact his former employers would be met with further punishment. Honestly, Alyx doubted the man heard him, but for his own good he prayed such guidelines were followed.
"I understand your frustrations, sir. You must understand that--"
Screams interrupted him from further down the road. Turning his head to find the source, he saw the wagon that had taken the lone prisoner only moments earlier, now turned around and careening back in the other direction, towards the city exit. shards of wood and torn fabric hung from its sides; the cart had already collided with several stalls and sideswiped buildings.
And in the front seat? That drunkard, eyes wide and a half-toothed grin on his face as he flew past Alyxander and the Jailor, only missing the two of them because Quellchrist brought them both to the ground.
It'd all been a setup! That moron had the confiscated goods in that wagon, and he was making a break for it!
Pushing the Jailer away and scrambling to his feet, Quellchrist ran to his horse and slid atop it with ease, rearing up to ride.
Finally, a little bit of excitement.