[center][url=http://www.infinitelooper.com/?v=cFm3wMhjmJ8][b]Château de D'Aubigne Cellar Depths - Noble's Quarter[/b][/url][/center] [hr] Following formalities, Conqvist turned back towards the tormented prisoner, whom had since begun to witness as blood dribbled down his nose. An itch provoked the Lord Sovereign to biefly scratch his nose until a soothing sensation overpowered his senses before he smiled and recalled, "Ahh! I almost forgot you were there! Where were we?" "You... you saith.." Uriel shakily spits, spewing the mucus mixed with blood off his lips as much as possible. "... you said... w-whargh... what... "elemental powers"...?" Uriel blinked hard, squinting as he visibly struggles to clear his head, to think. The pain for his sleep-deprived and dehydration-induced headache alone left him unclear, difficult to think; the demons wracking his soul and perhaps even flesh inside of him scattered what vague thoughts he could collect amidst a breeze of crackling embers, jagged rock and volcanic glass like breezes from Hell. His hair was plastered to his face, tiny bits of dirt and grit running down in sheening beads of sweat from his forehead. His fingers especially twitched, as though conflicted between a desire to strangle Conqvist yet bound by shackles, to writhe in pain and lose some small manner of agony for expressing it, and to collapse, unmoving, to give into crushed, broken despair. His gaze fell to the floor, then slowly brought his hazy, glaring gaze back up."I never... even graduated as an apprentice magi of any one type before I was banished or my teacher left me... I don't... understa-anrgh... and..." Uriel shook-yet this time, he looked more as though he were cold, shivering. Alone, isolated, conflicting with the seething spite that had oft been in his gaze. As the young half-breed spoke again, his voice cracked, and for his voice one could hear him daming himself as much as those around him as his eyes watered. His tone spoke of abandonment, confusion, resentment, pride. Being lost. "... no one, none of you... ever cared about me before," he said, failing to keep his voice from slightly moaning, pleading. "... why now... what... am I...?" "You ask the wrong questions and seek pointless answers. The true matters concern how can you [i]repay your debts[/i]. You realize that my mercy ensured your survival, Uriel and yet you truly cannot fathom how much you may channel your latent potential. Chevalier, bring in the armorer. I feel a discussion is long overdue." “Yes, Lord Souverain,” the Chevalier announced. Smirking, the Conqvist poured himself another glass just as the sounds of battle echo from above. Once they'd conducted themselves, there was time enough for the demonstrations and adequate rewards. He almost pitied departing on such short notice, given the Ecuyer's rather extensive wine collection, however; matters of business and state took precedence over rare drink selections. A short time later, a young girl wearing a bright dress and flanked by the Chevalier and an Inquisitor entered the room as the cellar walls rattled and peppered dust and wooden grains upon the armored dwellers. The shrouded darkness and flickering torchlights only dimly illuminated their enclosed surroundings whilst veiling the inhabitants faces. “This lady was commissioned to forge the armor you now wear and … took great pains to fit your specifications. To waste your talents would be an insult to her honor as well as mine.” Smirking, the Lord Sovereign stepped towards an opening along the cellar walls. Footsteps clattered into cellar grounds, where upon, an arriving group of men and women wearing servant attire, orator attire, and performer dress. Conqvist's eyes and ears throughout Valania proper had done their work as disguised performers and servants alike and the time to retire could not have proven more evident. Their paths crossed alongside various armed Crown Watchmen, whom unveiled cloth covered sections along the cellar to unveil armor and weapons stands. Within minutes, the new arrivals had donned armor and weapons, shed their clothing and belongings, before tossing the disguised articles into a neat pile near a particular wine cask. One particular Crown Watchman twisted a valve along the cask to release wines upon the clothing. Another struck flint upon the pile and within moments had set the clothing pile a blaze. "Fortunately," the Lord Sovereign mused, "Divinity must come before honor, does it not, oui Mademoiselle Khavad?" Biting her lip nervously, Corisande looked at the scene that played out before her. Even though she had not known what to expect upon being brought down here, this was far from anything that she had imagined. She flinched slightly at every sound that came from the combat above. Though fighting was something she was no longer a stranger to, very few people were in this part of the city and it was something she would forever be terrified of. Her hazel eyes glanced between the various people in the room, resting on the chained man for a few moments. It was obvious that he was some kind of prisoner. Clearly he was no ordinary one, and she did not entirely understand why he wore armor that she had made. The man speaking was some form of nobleman. Of course she did not know who exactly - she had very little knowledge of those affairs. He must be important, for no petty nobleman would have so many people who she assumed were either guards or informants. Those who had changed clothing were most likely the latter. Automatically she moved slightly in a direction that was away from the burning clothing. She did not particularly want to be near something so dangerous. She turned to face Conqvist. Her expression was one of both confusion and curiosity, both more evident than the fear she felt for many reasons. "In most cases yes, my Lord," she responded quietly. "Indeed, and a woman such as yourself bears gifts so worthy that they would bring a condemned man bearing your work to redemption. It should note that in these times, there is no room for error. The strife happening above our heads is evidence enough, but the [i]heresy[/i] that this man, Uriel Delacroix, bears is such that demonic entities would threaten to shake the very doorstep towards our beloved Valania proper!" The cellar walls suddenly shook again, peppering the assembly with saw dust and dirt. The Crown Watch Shocktroops stood at attention without flinching, however, shuffling boots announced the robed Chevalier return. His soured face spoke more volumes than words and through harsh whispers into the Lord Sovereign's ear, a firm nod and sigh brought the regent to forwards. “Mademoiselle Khavad," he addressed, "Your services have undoubtedly elevated Valania's safe-keeping and have warranted merits that are worthy of service under the Valanian realm. I've found the title [i]Mother Maker[/i] most appropriate. Should your assistance continue to impress, there will be greater opportunities to serve and earn ...” the man paused in dramatic effect as a smile crept to his face before reserving the time to carefully choose his words and utter, “[i]...adequate rewards.[/i]” “As for you, Miseur Uriel. [i]If[/i] you desire a chance for redemption, there is a manner in which you may prove your innocence to the realm [i]and[/i] once again serve in Yadin-Hamon's favor. This cannot be done without channelling the thirteen demonic entities now lingering within your body. You must find a way to command the gifts Yadin-Hamon has granted to serve Valania and expunge the foes that would dare threaten his holy father's graces." "The Mademoiselle's craft has ensured that the demonic entities are temporarily restrained from gaining control and consuming your body, however, should you attempt an escape, not only will you will find your armor lacking the Inquisition's fortuitous blessings, but the demonic pains you earlier endured consuming your heretical existence. Naturally, your demise and betrayal towards our holy father's benevolence would prove [i]most[/i] disappointing, however, should your resourcefulness deliver you to my palace, perhaps we will discuss terms to further his holy father's blessings.” “We are short on time, Mademoiselle Khavad,” he calmly ordered as he ushered the girl towards the cavernous opening. A simple hand gesture was all that proved necessary to direct the Crown Watch into tight formation that would surround the pair. The gesture came just before the cellar walls rocked again as faint screams and cries for help echoed from above. Simultaneously, flames began to lick against the rum barrels before quickly bursting into a flaming inferno that almost completely engulfed the only underground path leading out of the Chateau. “Our esteemed Chevaliers and Crown Watchmen shall escort us to the surface and from there where we may discuss terms as is required to ensure your services are maximized to the most … [i]promising[/i] direction.” As the flames began to engulf the entire cellar, the Lord Sovereign took one last moment to refill his cup under a nearby wine cask before succinctly draining the cup, “Mmmm … another interesting vintage, D'Aubigne reserves. Pity! A shame we cannot share another drink, but stately matters call for stately measures.” As smoke completely occupied the cellar and thinned the air, a glinting object hurled straight over the flames before clanging a short distance from the prisoner's shackled feet. “If you cannot conquer pathetic chains and a blazing hearth, Yadin Hamon's infernous creations will ensure your demise whilst demonstrating that it was his decision all along to exact punishment against your treacherous heresy. [i]Adieu, Miseur Uriel![/i]” [hr] Uriel watched helplessly as they left while a new frustration plagued his limbs and mind. The armor they had just put on him was there explicitly to detain and force down the demons-yet he expected him to use their magic to free himself?! He clenched hsi jaw and leaned his face down as far as the chains allowed-a few meager inches and far, far from reaching the key. As it dangled there in front of him, the helpless futility finally boiled over as his anger erupted into a scream of rage-then was cut short by a spasm in his wrist with a flash of energy. Whirling his head to stare up at it, the youth's mind began to race while a feverish, painful heat took over his hand Weighing, analyzing, calculating, his thoughts dashed over themselves as he frantically considered-then the sound of fracturing wood and the roar of fire struck louder. There was not time to calculate; thus, Uriel exhaled softly as he closed his eyes and began to reach inward. The bastard-royal's hand began to twitch and spasm-ar more violently now, like when he was taken by the demons' claws and fangs and every few moments, a flicker of pain washed over his face before relaxing into it again. And slowly, faint as a whisper among the infernal din, he felt something rise, something deeper than the pain as heat washed over his hand. Burning, beyond searing, liquid fire that seeped deep inside and began to seek release, contained within him as the pressure continued to rise-and with it, the screaming pain. Even so, he willed it further, drove it deeper and higher, summoned more of it and more of it and more of it as he felt himself near ready to explode... Uriel opened his eyes after the sound came, the eruption of plasma and force echoing through the fiery halls. The shackle had been blown apart-some pieces wrent and broken, some half-melted slag-and his spasming, curling hand was free. Immediately he twisted down to stretch his hand to the key, to somehow grasp it for his uncooperative fingers and lift it back up to ram it into the other metal binding. Several minutes later, another lone figure with glints of armor under a cloak that did not match it-seemingly a discarded garment of another taken up from the floor-fled the burning cellar, clutching a twitching hand as he gradually forced it down with a whispered promise off of his lips. "I will play your game-for now. However, only so long as I need you. Then, I am going to make you pay. I am going to [b][i]win[/i][/b]."