Vaerun had been beaten before, but few such incidents compared to the vicious thrashing the guardsmen were seeing fit to inflict on him as he knelt, chained to a heavy table that had been bolted to the floor. They had told him that it was a long standing tradition here in the dungeons that the guards would beat him until the iron that would mark his flesh glowed red hot and was ready. They had told him this as they had laughed, and placed the iron amongst some of the darkest, and therefore coolest coals in the small furnace. And so he knelt in a small pool of coagulated blood, most of it not his own as the iron finally began to glow a dull orange. The guardsmen backed off, one of the two men charged with his branding heading to the furnace and moving the brand over to the hotter coals to ensure it stayed hot enough to leave a mark.
"Well, its been fun so far scum, but I'm afraid its time for the main event," the man said, grinning as he picked up the brand once more, the symbol now cherry red with heat.
"Already?," Vaerun said, turning a look of rage on his captors, "I guess its true what they say, no guardsman ever lasts as long as a real man."
Now it was the other mans turn to look enraged. The guard nodded to his companion, who grabbed Vaerun, jabbing a fist into his shoulder and holding him with and iron grip. The guard with the brand approached, raising the instrument dramatically as he lined up exactly where he wanted of to go. The brand descended slowly, as though mocking Vaerun's weak struggles to escape.
A sound like an explosion echoed throughout the dungeon, causing both guards to look upwards with stunned expressions on their faces. Vaerun seized his advantage, his muscles surging with renewed strength as he sensed a real chance to escape. He reached up and grabbed the middle of the brand with his hands, the flesh protesting at the burning temperature but maintaining the grip for all he was worth. He hauled on the brand, driving it into the face of the guard restraining him.
The smell of burning flesh filled the air of the room as the guard screamed in pain, falling back on the floor and thrashing around on the ground. Vaerun lashed out with a foot, slamming his heel into the other guardsmans solar plexus. While the mans armor protected him from the damaging force of the blow, he could not maintain his grip on the brand, caught off guard by burning his friend and Vaerun's attack. The guard recovered quickly however, and surged back in, fists rising to beat Vaerun into submission or death. Neither of them ever found out which as Vaerun nimbly flipped the brand over in his hands and stabbed him in the throat, pressing the brand deeper as the man's scream became a choked gurgle.
Vaerun dragged the body closer, keeping an eye on the other guard who seemed to have passed out from the pain. As he rifled through the man's pockets he came up with the keys he was looking for, swiftly shifting over and unclasping the chains that bound him to the table. He stood slowly, rolling his joints in an effort to ease the pain before searching the rest of the room for any suitable weapon. He finally settled on a pair of nasty looking daggers caked with the blood of others. He considered taking their armor as well but decided it would inhibit him more than it would protect him. He did, however, steal the rings and coins from both men, reasoning that he should get some form of payment in exchange for their abuse.
Now, to go see what all the ruckus upstairs is about.
~~~~~~~
It was like walking through a butcher's shop, only all the meat was from humans. As Vaerun stepped through the shattered remains of the doorway, he let his cold gaze drift over the myriad pieces of what had once been men. It was as though a tornado of sharpened teeth and raging animal fury had burst through them, spreading blood, bone, and flesh everywhere. He might have felt pity for the men, had he not been more concerned with avoiding the same fate himself.
He staled carefully through the remains, scanning for the source of all the death with his eyes. Surely simple prisoners could not have done this... but if not them, then who?
That was when he looked up and saw it. The rent in the sky, perhaps ten or fifteen feet across, like a gaping wound in reality that oozed blood out into the city below. As Vaerun looked closer he realized that what he thought was blood was in fact hundreds of individual forms, most falling towards the city as the rest peeled off, seeming to take flight of their own accord.
What in all the hells was happening?
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No worries. I've been exceedingly busy too. I'll try to get a reply up tonight
Pacific, I'll actually be pretty busy Saturday though except in the morning
I'll have vaerun meet up with your char alchem
So we can go to the writers prom this year? *squeals*
What cha got in mind?
These jokes are just being made in the heat of the moment.
Khaylan looked at the stout woman, a strangely dead look in his eyes. "You're right... I wouldn't."
He turned, the dizziness still present and a pounding in his skull. It seemed a titanic effort to call the other two knights to his side and walk away, throwing a last look over his shoulder at Miranda. what have I done?
He trudged onwards, fighting back the urge to fall unconscious, at least until they could make it back to the horses near the village's tavern. As his brother knights followed at his side, he could almost hear the wheels turning in their minds as they surely began to plot against him. And to think, he had damned his soul to join their ranks. What irony.
Khaylan ran into something barring his path, nearly knocking him from his feet. The fog in his mind was pushed back by a wave of outrage that something was delaying his rest even further until he noticed that he had run into the outstretched arm of one of his companions. Looking past the arm, Khaylan noted a group of four men standing next to three large familiar looking horses. The new group of men all wore traveling cloaks, obscuring much of their forms, but Khaylan could see the scars of burns given to those who had been found guilty of robbery on more than one of their faces.
"Good evening gentlemen," one of them said, approaching Khaylan. "Am I right to assume these are your horses? Its your lucky day my friends, these horses were about to run off but we fine folk stepped in and held them for you"
The man grinned at Khaylan, already eyeing his sack of gold. Khaylan's strength was slowly returning, and with it came his anger for the witches... and his own... actions.
"Then we thank you noble sirs, if our horses had run off, we might have had to walk him throughands roving with outlaws," Khaylan said dryly, clearly not buying their stories. "It is such a bother to kill so many men just for a walk home. Unfortunately many only see our oversized coins and not our swords."
The man's companions shifted uncomfortably at Khaylan's words, no longer as certain as they once were. The man who approached him, however, seemed in control of the rest and was unfazed. He'd likely heard such boasts a thousand times before.
"Ah well, if my lord wishes, we will relieve him of the burden of so many coins then. After all, it is our civic duty to help those in need, is it not?" The man said, making a small gesture with his hands. His three companions drew their weapons, two appeared to be holding short swords, not a very big threat to a knight, but what made Khaylan shift uncomfortably in his armor was the contraption the third man held. A crossbow. At this range it would pierce his armor like paper.
Khaylan considered his next move carefully, then seemed to slump his shoulders in submission. He reached for the sack at his waist, untying it and holding it out for the other man to take. The outlaw grinned, victory in his eyes as he stepped forward and moved to take the bag.
Khaylan smiled, throwing the bag up into the air and drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The steel blade crashed through the sack of gold, splitting it open and spreading coins everywhere as it continued its arc, slicing deeply into the other man's forearm and bringing a shriek of pain and rage.
Swords clashed as his fellow knights rushed forward, Khaylan kicking his opponent in the chest and sending the man sprawling to the ground. Shouting a battle cry, he charged the man with the crossbow, nimbly ducking under a hastily aimed and panicked shot.
"You only had one shot and you wasted it friend," Khaylan growled as he closed the distance sword descending in an arc of fury for the outlaws neck. The man wisely abandoned the crossbow, throwing it at Khaylan and buying himself the half second he needed to draw a crudely made dagger from withinhis cloak. Steel rang on steel as the sword was barely deflected by the man's desperate defense. The outlaw stood no real chance however, not against a knight.
Khaylan laughed and cut downwards once more, this time anticipating the man's defense. As the dagger came up to catch the sword, Khaylan stepped closer, placing a leg behind his opponents and grabbing the mans shoulder with his free arm. Khaylan twisted throwing the man bodily over his hip and slamming the outlaw onto the ground. His sword followed a moment later, burying itself in the man's heart.
Khaylan stood, and a spear of pain inflamed his chest as an impact nearly spun him around, dropping him to his knees. He gasped in pain as a crossbow bolt seemed to sprout magically from his shoulder, blood pouring from the wound. He blinked in surprise, his mind trying desperately to catch up with what he was seeing as his lifeblood seep end from the rent in his armor....
He turned, the dizziness still present and a pounding in his skull. It seemed a titanic effort to call the other two knights to his side and walk away, throwing a last look over his shoulder at Miranda. what have I done?
He trudged onwards, fighting back the urge to fall unconscious, at least until they could make it back to the horses near the village's tavern. As his brother knights followed at his side, he could almost hear the wheels turning in their minds as they surely began to plot against him. And to think, he had damned his soul to join their ranks. What irony.
Khaylan ran into something barring his path, nearly knocking him from his feet. The fog in his mind was pushed back by a wave of outrage that something was delaying his rest even further until he noticed that he had run into the outstretched arm of one of his companions. Looking past the arm, Khaylan noted a group of four men standing next to three large familiar looking horses. The new group of men all wore traveling cloaks, obscuring much of their forms, but Khaylan could see the scars of burns given to those who had been found guilty of robbery on more than one of their faces.
"Good evening gentlemen," one of them said, approaching Khaylan. "Am I right to assume these are your horses? Its your lucky day my friends, these horses were about to run off but we fine folk stepped in and held them for you"
The man grinned at Khaylan, already eyeing his sack of gold. Khaylan's strength was slowly returning, and with it came his anger for the witches... and his own... actions.
"Then we thank you noble sirs, if our horses had run off, we might have had to walk him throughands roving with outlaws," Khaylan said dryly, clearly not buying their stories. "It is such a bother to kill so many men just for a walk home. Unfortunately many only see our oversized coins and not our swords."
The man's companions shifted uncomfortably at Khaylan's words, no longer as certain as they once were. The man who approached him, however, seemed in control of the rest and was unfazed. He'd likely heard such boasts a thousand times before.
"Ah well, if my lord wishes, we will relieve him of the burden of so many coins then. After all, it is our civic duty to help those in need, is it not?" The man said, making a small gesture with his hands. His three companions drew their weapons, two appeared to be holding short swords, not a very big threat to a knight, but what made Khaylan shift uncomfortably in his armor was the contraption the third man held. A crossbow. At this range it would pierce his armor like paper.
Khaylan considered his next move carefully, then seemed to slump his shoulders in submission. He reached for the sack at his waist, untying it and holding it out for the other man to take. The outlaw grinned, victory in his eyes as he stepped forward and moved to take the bag.
Khaylan smiled, throwing the bag up into the air and drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The steel blade crashed through the sack of gold, splitting it open and spreading coins everywhere as it continued its arc, slicing deeply into the other man's forearm and bringing a shriek of pain and rage.
Swords clashed as his fellow knights rushed forward, Khaylan kicking his opponent in the chest and sending the man sprawling to the ground. Shouting a battle cry, he charged the man with the crossbow, nimbly ducking under a hastily aimed and panicked shot.
"You only had one shot and you wasted it friend," Khaylan growled as he closed the distance sword descending in an arc of fury for the outlaws neck. The man wisely abandoned the crossbow, throwing it at Khaylan and buying himself the half second he needed to draw a crudely made dagger from withinhis cloak. Steel rang on steel as the sword was barely deflected by the man's desperate defense. The outlaw stood no real chance however, not against a knight.
Khaylan laughed and cut downwards once more, this time anticipating the man's defense. As the dagger came up to catch the sword, Khaylan stepped closer, placing a leg behind his opponents and grabbing the mans shoulder with his free arm. Khaylan twisted throwing the man bodily over his hip and slamming the outlaw onto the ground. His sword followed a moment later, burying itself in the man's heart.
Khaylan stood, and a spear of pain inflamed his chest as an impact nearly spun him around, dropping him to his knees. He gasped in pain as a crossbow bolt seemed to sprout magically from his shoulder, blood pouring from the wound. He blinked in surprise, his mind trying desperately to catch up with what he was seeing as his lifeblood seep end from the rent in his armor....
I think I can arrange something. *plots in an evil manner*
Interested. May want to be careful with the mages being able to boost power by consuming a crystal though. Could lead to god modding. Rest looks awesome though.
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