Macardil
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
He didn't allow himself to feel relief just yet. Although part of him breathed more easily now he knew the guards had not decided the unthinkable and had come to punish him physically for what he had done to Amathen, he was still wary. Not wary of possible physical aggression, but of her reasons. Why was Karis Ziranphel here? Had she come of her own volition, or had she been sent? And regardless of whose idea it was, what did she think she would gain by visiting him?
She seemed to be reading his mind, offering some explanation. Macardil didn't move away from his standing position near the wall, and his expression hardly changed. Yet, he soaked up the words. Hearing a voice - any voice - that wasn't his own in this cell, was... He couldn't quite think of the right word, other than perhaps... comforting. He had been well liked, he'd had comrades, friends - a mother who was still alive and well in the city. He missed other people's voices, perhaps more so than even the daylight. Now a voice had finally come.
The meaning of the words spoken by that voice, therefore took a moment longer to register than it would have done before his imprisonment. He did not believe she had come to see how he was being treated. He could believe she was curious as to his condition, and based on what he knew of Karis' character and her own past, he also believed this particular Ranger would not want to find him in a bad way. She would want the guards to treat everyone here fairly. But all that would not be the primary reason for her visit, no.
When he realized she had brought him supplies, his eyes flicked to the wrapped bundle she held out to him. He drew in a deep breath, held it for a few heartbeats, and had to focus to let the air out again in a measured way. Fresh food. He immediately wanted to reach out for it, but he caught his hands right as they lifted into the air. For a split moment in time, he stood frozen. Then his hands continued their upward trajectory, only to cross his arms loosely in front of him. He did not want to seem... eager. Nor did he want to owe her anything. Despite of how wonderful it would be to have a dry set of clothes for when the other set had just been washed. Despite of how much he was looking forward to the smell and the taste of freshly baked goods. Despite the appealing prospect of actual fruit...
"I am being treated well enough," he allowed. His voice cracked a little from disuse, and he scraped his throat. He truly was being treated well enough, he supposed. No one had been doing him any favors, but Macardil would never expect anything of the sort. He was, quite simply, a prisoner. "I am provided with water. I am given enough... sustenance." Food was perhaps too positive a word to use. The things he missed the most were other people. Other people, and heat. Both fell under the denomination warmth for him. "Warmth is somewhat lacking." And, obviously, the freedom to live his life.
"Where did you acquire the clothes, Karis?"
It was probably too much to expect she had retrieved them from his mother. Perhaps the Ranger in front of him didn't even know his mother lived in Minas Tirith. But on the off chance that Karis had spoken to her... Macardil had to check himself as to avoid the questions tumbling from his lips. The need to know how his mother was doing, wrenched his heart. The woman lived alone, and he knew his visits lit up her days. He could not imagine what his fallen reputation, leave alone his fate in the dungeons, had done to her... his most enthusiastic and devoted cheerleader. Hopefully, her neighbours would help her, and his own crime would not saddle her with undue consequences.
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Karis Ziranphel
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
Ziran listened intently to Macardil’s answer after noticing that he didn’t allow himself to take the bundle she carried. She tried to listen to how he answered and not just what he said.
So the food was sufficient but not great, and he was cold. Perhaps if she was allowed to come again she would bring him a proper blanket. When he asked about where she had acquired the clothes, she sensed more behind the question.
His mother. The quiet sigh that accompanied that thought couldn’t quite be held in. It had been both good and challenging to meet her, because it gave an insight into the man’s life that had been completely missing for Ziran before, but she also sought answers that Ziran did not know herself. She touched her tongue briefly to her lip in hesitation and a thoughtful look crossed her face before answering. “From your home. Your room in the barracks was cleared and your effects returned there after you were brought here.” She paused and then decided to give more explanation. “I left the city shortly after our return and traveled west to my former home in Anfalas, and then took the long way back through the Gap of Rohan. I only recently returned and was surprised after my inquiries to find that no one had been in communication with you since, and could not tell me of your disposition. I asked and received permission to talk to you, so looked up your home of record to retrieve some clothing for you…and encountered your mother there.”
Ziran’s gaze sharpened, and she tilted her head slightly to the side. “It hasn’t been easy for her, although she didn’t complain, and she naturally had many questions, but not ones that I could answer. Mostly what and why.” Another pause as she glanced down. She had trusted him more than the commander at the end, as he had proven to be of seeming good character and leadership throughout their campaign, and the events of the last battle were still bewildering. She would have sworn that he was true through and through, and yet there were others she knew that had seen his actions and told her it was intentional.
Ziran swallowed, and continued somewhat hesitantly, glancing up as the words came to her lips. “I admit to my own desire for answers if you are willing and able to give them... What happened, Macardil?” It seemed so strange to be standing and asking that question here, with the flickering candle light and stark shadows, but also oddly intimate as if the rest of the world did not exist.
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
Ziran listened intently to Macardil’s answer after noticing that he didn’t allow himself to take the bundle she carried. She tried to listen to how he answered and not just what he said.
So the food was sufficient but not great, and he was cold. Perhaps if she was allowed to come again she would bring him a proper blanket. When he asked about where she had acquired the clothes, she sensed more behind the question.
His mother. The quiet sigh that accompanied that thought couldn’t quite be held in. It had been both good and challenging to meet her, because it gave an insight into the man’s life that had been completely missing for Ziran before, but she also sought answers that Ziran did not know herself. She touched her tongue briefly to her lip in hesitation and a thoughtful look crossed her face before answering. “From your home. Your room in the barracks was cleared and your effects returned there after you were brought here.” She paused and then decided to give more explanation. “I left the city shortly after our return and traveled west to my former home in Anfalas, and then took the long way back through the Gap of Rohan. I only recently returned and was surprised after my inquiries to find that no one had been in communication with you since, and could not tell me of your disposition. I asked and received permission to talk to you, so looked up your home of record to retrieve some clothing for you…and encountered your mother there.”
Ziran’s gaze sharpened, and she tilted her head slightly to the side. “It hasn’t been easy for her, although she didn’t complain, and she naturally had many questions, but not ones that I could answer. Mostly what and why.” Another pause as she glanced down. She had trusted him more than the commander at the end, as he had proven to be of seeming good character and leadership throughout their campaign, and the events of the last battle were still bewildering. She would have sworn that he was true through and through, and yet there were others she knew that had seen his actions and told her it was intentional.
Ziran swallowed, and continued somewhat hesitantly, glancing up as the words came to her lips. “I admit to my own desire for answers if you are willing and able to give them... What happened, Macardil?” It seemed so strange to be standing and asking that question here, with the flickering candle light and stark shadows, but also oddly intimate as if the rest of the world did not exist.
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Macardil
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
He gritted his teeth and dropped his gaze to the stone floor when the Ranger in front of him explained she'd gotten the clothes from his parental home, since his room in the barracks had been cleared. That... must have been so difficult for his mother. Macardil knew that, rather than being shocked and upset at what he had done, she would simply refuse to believe it. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat when Karis paused, but to no avail.
Thankful for the lack of light, perhaps for the first time since he was here, he pressed his lips together to keep his eyes from watering. While it was almost healing to hear so many words from another soul at once, the meaning behind them stung - Ranger Ziranphel had no hurtful intentions, he thought, but the facts wounded him all the same. He had already assumed they would have returned his belongings to his family, but hearing it said out loud by someone who had seen that his mother hadn't had it easy, and that she had many questions...
Wrapped up in his concern, it caught him strangely off guard when he heard the hesitation in Karis' voice, followed by one question: What happened, Macardil?
The simplicity of those three words struck him. Emotionally. It was a question he had asked himself many times, and the answer was as gloomy as his cell.
He shut his eyes, in an attempt to collect himself. His composure cracked as he uncrossed one arm and rubbed a hand over his face, starting at his bearded chin and moving up, until his thumb and index finger rubbed across his eyes, from the outer to the inner corners. He stood motionless for a moment, his thumb and index finger pinching the sides of his nose.
Several of the Rangers had asked him one version or other of those words, on the way back to Minas Tirith from the Poros. He hadn't answered them then. He hadn't been able to answer them, his tongue tied - his voice restrained.
Meanwhile, he'd had months to think. To go over the battle, again and again. To go over his duel wih Barguzlaam - endlessly. To relive the moment he had drawn that knife, one motion at a time. It was as if the visuals of the blade, sinking into that small exposed bit of skin, had been etched into his corneas. And every time he thought of it, it chipped away a sliver of his sanity.
Steeling himself, he dropped the hand from his face, once again crossing his arms. He leaned more heavily against the wall, almost casually crossing his feet. One thing he had never been good at, however, was hiding what he felt from those blue eyes of his. Perhaps she would take little note of it in the limited flicker her candle provided.
"What does it matter, Ziranphel?"
His shoulders shrugged almost imperceptibly.
"Facts are facts." The intensity of his gaze would have made most people uncomfortable. "No?"
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
He gritted his teeth and dropped his gaze to the stone floor when the Ranger in front of him explained she'd gotten the clothes from his parental home, since his room in the barracks had been cleared. That... must have been so difficult for his mother. Macardil knew that, rather than being shocked and upset at what he had done, she would simply refuse to believe it. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat when Karis paused, but to no avail.
Thankful for the lack of light, perhaps for the first time since he was here, he pressed his lips together to keep his eyes from watering. While it was almost healing to hear so many words from another soul at once, the meaning behind them stung - Ranger Ziranphel had no hurtful intentions, he thought, but the facts wounded him all the same. He had already assumed they would have returned his belongings to his family, but hearing it said out loud by someone who had seen that his mother hadn't had it easy, and that she had many questions...
Wrapped up in his concern, it caught him strangely off guard when he heard the hesitation in Karis' voice, followed by one question: What happened, Macardil?
The simplicity of those three words struck him. Emotionally. It was a question he had asked himself many times, and the answer was as gloomy as his cell.
He shut his eyes, in an attempt to collect himself. His composure cracked as he uncrossed one arm and rubbed a hand over his face, starting at his bearded chin and moving up, until his thumb and index finger rubbed across his eyes, from the outer to the inner corners. He stood motionless for a moment, his thumb and index finger pinching the sides of his nose.
Several of the Rangers had asked him one version or other of those words, on the way back to Minas Tirith from the Poros. He hadn't answered them then. He hadn't been able to answer them, his tongue tied - his voice restrained.
Meanwhile, he'd had months to think. To go over the battle, again and again. To go over his duel wih Barguzlaam - endlessly. To relive the moment he had drawn that knife, one motion at a time. It was as if the visuals of the blade, sinking into that small exposed bit of skin, had been etched into his corneas. And every time he thought of it, it chipped away a sliver of his sanity.
Steeling himself, he dropped the hand from his face, once again crossing his arms. He leaned more heavily against the wall, almost casually crossing his feet. One thing he had never been good at, however, was hiding what he felt from those blue eyes of his. Perhaps she would take little note of it in the limited flicker her candle provided.
"What does it matter, Ziranphel?"
His shoulders shrugged almost imperceptibly.
"Facts are facts." The intensity of his gaze would have made most people uncomfortable. "No?"
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Karis Ziranphel
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
His voice may have been harsh and his words rather dismissive, but she had seen an uncertainty and an almost hopeless resignation…perhaps despair? in his gestures, and the contrast frustrated her. Her own answers to that question frustrated her and welled up to steal her voice a moment.
Normally quiet and composed, she felt like grabbing his shirt and shaking him, but her hands were otherwise occupied. She lifted the bundle and then lowered it ineffectually, and looked away from that intense gaze as the words welled up. Her voice was full of quiet frustration when she finally spoke. “Because it matters. Because You matter, and why matters to me.” Admitting that even a little bit was stingingly painful as a blade along bone, and she mentally flinched away from it. “Facts and truth aren’t always the same, and truth matters.” She had seen armies of dead swarm the Pelennor a few years back, and wyrms that should not have existed, fly. Theoden King was said to have been possessed, and he had fought with their King in honor at the last. Facts were funny things when the impossible happened.
Ziran looked back at him then, and the struggle for calm was almost completely lost. She really didn’t like to be wrong about people, and this had never sat well. Anything else, well she shoved that away as dangerous. “It doesn’t make SENSE.” The bundle lifted as she stepped forward and she did thump him in the chest with it this time. “You were the one I trusted. You were the one I followed through all that, and I can’t put the facts they saw together with you.” A slight shove followed that, but not hard. “How could that not matter?” Her dark eyes were questioning.
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
His voice may have been harsh and his words rather dismissive, but she had seen an uncertainty and an almost hopeless resignation…perhaps despair? in his gestures, and the contrast frustrated her. Her own answers to that question frustrated her and welled up to steal her voice a moment.
Normally quiet and composed, she felt like grabbing his shirt and shaking him, but her hands were otherwise occupied. She lifted the bundle and then lowered it ineffectually, and looked away from that intense gaze as the words welled up. Her voice was full of quiet frustration when she finally spoke. “Because it matters. Because You matter, and why matters to me.” Admitting that even a little bit was stingingly painful as a blade along bone, and she mentally flinched away from it. “Facts and truth aren’t always the same, and truth matters.” She had seen armies of dead swarm the Pelennor a few years back, and wyrms that should not have existed, fly. Theoden King was said to have been possessed, and he had fought with their King in honor at the last. Facts were funny things when the impossible happened.
Ziran looked back at him then, and the struggle for calm was almost completely lost. She really didn’t like to be wrong about people, and this had never sat well. Anything else, well she shoved that away as dangerous. “It doesn’t make SENSE.” The bundle lifted as she stepped forward and she did thump him in the chest with it this time. “You were the one I trusted. You were the one I followed through all that, and I can’t put the facts they saw together with you.” A slight shove followed that, but not hard. “How could that not matter?” Her dark eyes were questioning.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
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Macardil
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
After months of solitude, watching someone else's reactions was more than interesting - it was fascinating. Now that he had regained his composure, starved as he was for human contact, Macardil followed everything he could in this light - Karis' every movement; every thought that she allowed to play on her face.
Although the harsh lines of his facial expression hid his apprehension when she lifted and immediately lowered the bundle she had brought, he tensed slightly in preparation of what she might do. Perhaps she would throw it at him, and leave, unlikely as though that seemed. Some of the tension once again left his muscles when she looked away and he heard her tone.
Uncertainty crept up on him as she spoke. He had grown convinced he was too inconsequential to deserve any more attention than simply locking him in here. He had accepted they had denounced him. He had convinced himself that the best he could hope for, was to simply be forgotten, rather than being recorded in shame.
And yet, now this person in front of him claimed that he, as a person, did matter. That the why, the how, actually mattered. It stood in such stark contrast to what he had come to believe, that it shocked him.
Frustration. It was clear as day when she re-established eye contact, stepped forward and pushed the bundle of supplies she'd brought against his chest. He didn't move, nor did he change his expression. If the guard had been watching them, he surely would have flinched at her proximity, he thought wrily.
While her next words threw him, he didn't look away. Her second shove seemed to have more behind it than the slight pressure he felt. First, he'd thought he understood what she was getting at. For some reason, now he wasn't all that sure anymore.
Instinct more than anything else drove him to put a hand under the bundle she kept pushed against him. She seemed sincere. He was as certain as he could be that she was. In that light, it would be rude to keep up his dismissive behaviour. And there was only so much that months of incarceration would excuse.
If she was using an interrogation technique, part of his mind mused, it was bloody brilliant.
"It seems to me..." His voice softened somewhat as he put his other hand on top of the bundle. "That you are just about the only one who thinks it matters."
A painful idea. His entire life, he had worked hard to show his ideals and his values through his actions. Apparently, that had not been evident. Or, if it had been...
"A lifetime was swept away by a single moment." A lifetime of loyalty. A lifetime of proof. Wiped out. "Granted - by murder."
The murder of his commanding officer. The murder of the man who had handpicked him to be his second. That grizzled veteran who had been such a do-gooder underneath his gruff exterior. Macardil had seen a side of Amathen the other Rangers had not.
"Whether it makes sense or not, they saw - as you say - and they saw right. Amathen died by my hand." His blue eyes pointedly flicked around the cell before returning to Karis' face. "It is too late now. The sentence is passed."
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
After months of solitude, watching someone else's reactions was more than interesting - it was fascinating. Now that he had regained his composure, starved as he was for human contact, Macardil followed everything he could in this light - Karis' every movement; every thought that she allowed to play on her face.
Although the harsh lines of his facial expression hid his apprehension when she lifted and immediately lowered the bundle she had brought, he tensed slightly in preparation of what she might do. Perhaps she would throw it at him, and leave, unlikely as though that seemed. Some of the tension once again left his muscles when she looked away and he heard her tone.
Uncertainty crept up on him as she spoke. He had grown convinced he was too inconsequential to deserve any more attention than simply locking him in here. He had accepted they had denounced him. He had convinced himself that the best he could hope for, was to simply be forgotten, rather than being recorded in shame.
And yet, now this person in front of him claimed that he, as a person, did matter. That the why, the how, actually mattered. It stood in such stark contrast to what he had come to believe, that it shocked him.
Frustration. It was clear as day when she re-established eye contact, stepped forward and pushed the bundle of supplies she'd brought against his chest. He didn't move, nor did he change his expression. If the guard had been watching them, he surely would have flinched at her proximity, he thought wrily.
While her next words threw him, he didn't look away. Her second shove seemed to have more behind it than the slight pressure he felt. First, he'd thought he understood what she was getting at. For some reason, now he wasn't all that sure anymore.
Instinct more than anything else drove him to put a hand under the bundle she kept pushed against him. She seemed sincere. He was as certain as he could be that she was. In that light, it would be rude to keep up his dismissive behaviour. And there was only so much that months of incarceration would excuse.
If she was using an interrogation technique, part of his mind mused, it was bloody brilliant.
"It seems to me..." His voice softened somewhat as he put his other hand on top of the bundle. "That you are just about the only one who thinks it matters."
A painful idea. His entire life, he had worked hard to show his ideals and his values through his actions. Apparently, that had not been evident. Or, if it had been...
"A lifetime was swept away by a single moment." A lifetime of loyalty. A lifetime of proof. Wiped out. "Granted - by murder."
The murder of his commanding officer. The murder of the man who had handpicked him to be his second. That grizzled veteran who had been such a do-gooder underneath his gruff exterior. Macardil had seen a side of Amathen the other Rangers had not.
"Whether it makes sense or not, they saw - as you say - and they saw right. Amathen died by my hand." His blue eyes pointedly flicked around the cell before returning to Karis' face. "It is too late now. The sentence is passed."
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Karis Ziranphel
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
He hadn’t actually answered her. The words slipped by, but he had avoided it yet again by going back to his sentencing and abandonment here. He may have said she was the only one that cared, but she didn’t quite believe that herself. Perhaps the only one to do anything about it, but it had to matter in some way.
She sighed quietly but audibly. To not think about what had caused a good and upstanding officer to do what he had done was an utter failure. She had her own reasons for caring, but that was still present in her mind and the reason she had given for visiting. Her mind slid away from her response to his voice, and after glancing down to see that Macardil held the bundle, she released it and backed up a step.
Why did it matter to her? There had been kindness in his actions up until that point, and as strict as he had been it always seemed fair. A man of good character she would have said, and she had never lost trust in her judgment before. Something was off, and she wasn’t sure what it was.
There was something in what he had not said when he avoided fully answering. Dwelling on the facts of what was seen, but not saying why. Ziran half turned away and bit her lip in thought, and then turned back and stepped close again. “There is always some hope for appeal while you yet live if there is more to the story.” She paused and searched his gaze, lifting her hand to tap him lightly on the chest to emphasize her question. “What I want to know is did you…intend…to kill him?” That was the crux of the matter. If so, why, but first of all, did he intend it? They had been in the midst of a fight after all. She had been otherwise occupied and never saw his demeanor or the actions they described.
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
He hadn’t actually answered her. The words slipped by, but he had avoided it yet again by going back to his sentencing and abandonment here. He may have said she was the only one that cared, but she didn’t quite believe that herself. Perhaps the only one to do anything about it, but it had to matter in some way.
She sighed quietly but audibly. To not think about what had caused a good and upstanding officer to do what he had done was an utter failure. She had her own reasons for caring, but that was still present in her mind and the reason she had given for visiting. Her mind slid away from her response to his voice, and after glancing down to see that Macardil held the bundle, she released it and backed up a step.
Why did it matter to her? There had been kindness in his actions up until that point, and as strict as he had been it always seemed fair. A man of good character she would have said, and she had never lost trust in her judgment before. Something was off, and she wasn’t sure what it was.
There was something in what he had not said when he avoided fully answering. Dwelling on the facts of what was seen, but not saying why. Ziran half turned away and bit her lip in thought, and then turned back and stepped close again. “There is always some hope for appeal while you yet live if there is more to the story.” She paused and searched his gaze, lifting her hand to tap him lightly on the chest to emphasize her question. “What I want to know is did you…intend…to kill him?” That was the crux of the matter. If so, why, but first of all, did he intend it? They had been in the midst of a fight after all. She had been otherwise occupied and never saw his demeanor or the actions they described.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
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Macardil
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
Her sigh resonated through the cell. Dimly, Macardil wondered if he might seem enveloped in self-pity. Perhaps he was. He couldn't quite say. He hadn't intended the reference to his sentence to come off that way; in his mind, he had simply been stating a fact. It was of little import how it had come across, he supposed.
When she took a step back and partially turned away, he looked down to the floor. That would be it - he had danced around the answer one time too many, and he had forfeited the right to be with company. He didn't blame her. He lowered the bundle, tucking it loosely between his right arm and his side. If it contained the promised food, at least he would have a meal later that would seem like a feast compared to what he had grown used to.
Macardil was expecting her footsteps to move away to the door of his cell, rather than seeing a foot step closer and then hearing her voice so nearby. He frowned as he raised his gaze from the floor to look at her face, and listened. There was always some hope? He wasn't sure whether to snort or laugh, and it only deepened his frown. The look in his eyes could only be decribed as... distressed.
Ranger or not, and a former Captain or not - Macardil was surprised that Karis Ziranphel would first shove him - light as it had been - and now stand just an arm's length away. Even if Amathen's murder did not make sense to her, people she knew and trusted had seen him drive that knife home. He didn't register her actions as aggressive at all, but he would not call them smart. If he had been a different man, she could have been in trouble.
Her question about intent and the tap of her hand against his chest, made him want to step back, but the wall blocked him. He clenched his jaw instead. She had no idea how difficult a question that was.
But it would be interesting to see whether he could find a way to answer it.
Time passed. They just stood there, staring each other down, as he tried to figure it out. But when he opened his mouth and tried to do so in a straightforward manner, the words stuck in his throat.
He clenched his free hand into a fist and almost grunted with frustration. Instead, he let out a laboured breath, as if he'd just tried the impossible, and had failed. He shook his head - once to either side, and he frowned at her hand on his chest. Was she trying to intimidate him in some way? Or trying to get a reaction, even if it was just him pushing her hand away?
"I would tell you." His words were strained."The question is whether I can." Silence enveloped the statement for a long moment, wrapping it in mystery.
"But I will try."
"Come," he said as he stepped to the side, out from between her and the wall. He gestured, as if they were in a living room instead of a house, and he was inviting her to sit in a comfortable arm chair instead of on a thin mattress over hard, cold stone. He sat down first on one end himself, cross-legged, and placed the bundle in front of him. He unwrapped it, causing the smell of the fresh rolls to spread through the small space. She hadn't been lying. He hadn't thought she had, but part of him couldn't be truly sure until this very moment. At some point, it became harder to believe that good things would happen to him.
In spite of everything, a hint of a smile found its way to his face. He held one of the rolls out to the Ranger who had come to find him, looking for answers. Almost expecting a polite refusal, he tried to beat her to it. "Please. I cannot eat alone."
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
Her sigh resonated through the cell. Dimly, Macardil wondered if he might seem enveloped in self-pity. Perhaps he was. He couldn't quite say. He hadn't intended the reference to his sentence to come off that way; in his mind, he had simply been stating a fact. It was of little import how it had come across, he supposed.
When she took a step back and partially turned away, he looked down to the floor. That would be it - he had danced around the answer one time too many, and he had forfeited the right to be with company. He didn't blame her. He lowered the bundle, tucking it loosely between his right arm and his side. If it contained the promised food, at least he would have a meal later that would seem like a feast compared to what he had grown used to.
Macardil was expecting her footsteps to move away to the door of his cell, rather than seeing a foot step closer and then hearing her voice so nearby. He frowned as he raised his gaze from the floor to look at her face, and listened. There was always some hope? He wasn't sure whether to snort or laugh, and it only deepened his frown. The look in his eyes could only be decribed as... distressed.
Ranger or not, and a former Captain or not - Macardil was surprised that Karis Ziranphel would first shove him - light as it had been - and now stand just an arm's length away. Even if Amathen's murder did not make sense to her, people she knew and trusted had seen him drive that knife home. He didn't register her actions as aggressive at all, but he would not call them smart. If he had been a different man, she could have been in trouble.
Her question about intent and the tap of her hand against his chest, made him want to step back, but the wall blocked him. He clenched his jaw instead. She had no idea how difficult a question that was.
But it would be interesting to see whether he could find a way to answer it.
Time passed. They just stood there, staring each other down, as he tried to figure it out. But when he opened his mouth and tried to do so in a straightforward manner, the words stuck in his throat.
He clenched his free hand into a fist and almost grunted with frustration. Instead, he let out a laboured breath, as if he'd just tried the impossible, and had failed. He shook his head - once to either side, and he frowned at her hand on his chest. Was she trying to intimidate him in some way? Or trying to get a reaction, even if it was just him pushing her hand away?
"I would tell you." His words were strained."The question is whether I can." Silence enveloped the statement for a long moment, wrapping it in mystery.
"But I will try."
"Come," he said as he stepped to the side, out from between her and the wall. He gestured, as if they were in a living room instead of a house, and he was inviting her to sit in a comfortable arm chair instead of on a thin mattress over hard, cold stone. He sat down first on one end himself, cross-legged, and placed the bundle in front of him. He unwrapped it, causing the smell of the fresh rolls to spread through the small space. She hadn't been lying. He hadn't thought she had, but part of him couldn't be truly sure until this very moment. At some point, it became harder to believe that good things would happen to him.
In spite of everything, a hint of a smile found its way to his face. He held one of the rolls out to the Ranger who had come to find him, looking for answers. Almost expecting a polite refusal, he tried to beat her to it. "Please. I cannot eat alone."
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
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Counsellor of Gondor
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Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 3:52 am
Karis Ziranphel
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
Ziran refused to lower her hand right away, in the hopes that keeping contact would force him to answer. The silence lengthened as she searched his gaze, and then she watched his struggle to answer. No simple answer then. For some reason that sparked a faint tickle of hope. It could have been a simple yes or no, but this…seemed different. A “yes” and she would have to accept it and abandon her idea of who he was. A “no” was another story as well. Yet the confused struggle she saw had no explanation that she could yet fathom.
The sigh that seemed laden with frustration and clenched fist made her wary, but she didn’t move. He shook his head and with a sinking heart she almost thought he was going to refuse to answer, but her heart felt like it stopped when instead he said he would but wasn’t sure he could. Confusion and hope both clouded her brown eyes, and her forehead creased in thought. He would try.
Ziran spread her fingers and let her hand drop as Macardil stepped to the side. Progress. She blinked and tried to breathe calmness into her heart again despite her racing mind. What could he mean? His gesture and words of invitation helped her pause the thoughts as she watched him move over to his thin mattress on the stone floor.
A brief hesitation froze her before she followed his lead to move over to the other end of his thin pallet and fluidly sank down to fold her limbs. It was hard and not very comfortable, little better than the bare stone, but considering his cell it was a grand gesture. She set the candle down beside the mattress and was thankful that it lit the area enough to see him clearly despite the shifting shadows. She wanted to be able to read his expressions and see his eyes.
The scent of the rolls freshened the air and lent an odd note of hominess to the dark cell, furthered by his slight smile and invitation to eat. Ziran’s face relaxed into an answering smile, and she murmured “Thank you, Macardil.” She didn’t need the food as he did, but it felt impolite to refuse, and she knew just how good the rolls tasted. She accepted the roll, her fingers brushing against his, and then broke off a small piece to taste. Her eyebrows lifted in silent question of whether he was going to eat or was watching to see if she had tampered with the food, or just delaying further speech. But a promise of a tale was worth her waiting to listen, especially if he was hungry. Perhaps it would ease his tale. “May this food bring the strength of Aran Einior, the peace of Elbereth, lady of the stars, and the healing of Estë to your soul.” Her words were a quiet murmur before she put the piece in her mouth and slowly chewed. Would he speak?
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
Ziran refused to lower her hand right away, in the hopes that keeping contact would force him to answer. The silence lengthened as she searched his gaze, and then she watched his struggle to answer. No simple answer then. For some reason that sparked a faint tickle of hope. It could have been a simple yes or no, but this…seemed different. A “yes” and she would have to accept it and abandon her idea of who he was. A “no” was another story as well. Yet the confused struggle she saw had no explanation that she could yet fathom.
The sigh that seemed laden with frustration and clenched fist made her wary, but she didn’t move. He shook his head and with a sinking heart she almost thought he was going to refuse to answer, but her heart felt like it stopped when instead he said he would but wasn’t sure he could. Confusion and hope both clouded her brown eyes, and her forehead creased in thought. He would try.
Ziran spread her fingers and let her hand drop as Macardil stepped to the side. Progress. She blinked and tried to breathe calmness into her heart again despite her racing mind. What could he mean? His gesture and words of invitation helped her pause the thoughts as she watched him move over to his thin mattress on the stone floor.
A brief hesitation froze her before she followed his lead to move over to the other end of his thin pallet and fluidly sank down to fold her limbs. It was hard and not very comfortable, little better than the bare stone, but considering his cell it was a grand gesture. She set the candle down beside the mattress and was thankful that it lit the area enough to see him clearly despite the shifting shadows. She wanted to be able to read his expressions and see his eyes.
The scent of the rolls freshened the air and lent an odd note of hominess to the dark cell, furthered by his slight smile and invitation to eat. Ziran’s face relaxed into an answering smile, and she murmured “Thank you, Macardil.” She didn’t need the food as he did, but it felt impolite to refuse, and she knew just how good the rolls tasted. She accepted the roll, her fingers brushing against his, and then broke off a small piece to taste. Her eyebrows lifted in silent question of whether he was going to eat or was watching to see if she had tampered with the food, or just delaying further speech. But a promise of a tale was worth her waiting to listen, especially if he was hungry. Perhaps it would ease his tale. “May this food bring the strength of Aran Einior, the peace of Elbereth, lady of the stars, and the healing of Estë to your soul.” Her words were a quiet murmur before she put the piece in her mouth and slowly chewed. Would he speak?
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
- Points: 6 920
Steward of Gondor
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Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Macardil
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
He nodded at her thanks. He was the one who should be thanking her for the food, he thought. Perhaps he could circle back to that later. At her words, he raised his eyebrows. "That is a big ask," he mumbled. Either way - it was good that she'd accepted the offer. Perhaps it would create more of a willingness to exercise patience as he tried to search for the right way - for any way - to try and explain what had transpired.
He racked his brain, trying to find solutions he had been searching for for months, and took a bite from one of the rolls. Simply telling her what happened was impossible, he knew. But she wouldn't. He would have to explain that first, perhaps. His blue eyes were thoughtful as he took another bite and watched her as he chewed and swallowed. It remained a strange thing, her presence here, despite the credible explanation she had offered.
"When I first arrived here, I tried... to speak of it out loud - if only to myself," he began slowly, giving much thought to every word and almost as if he were testing whether each one would come out. "To structure my thoughts; to prepare for the interrogation I thought would come.” He broke a piece off the roll without looking down at it. “Which never did. Until now, of course." He raised one hand a bit, to say she needn't confirm nor deny. "It is alright, Karis." He believed her when she said her visit wasn't an assignment, per se. But she would have gotten permission - or at least Macardil thought that she would not simply come down here without it. A quality he could only appreciate, really. He would have done the same.
"Regardless of assignment or intent – we both know you will get questions yourself after your visit here. And we both know you will answer them." He did not believe she would relay a near word for word account, but he figured she was a truthful person, and not one to hide things from the command, especially when she was asked directly. "Whether this is meant to be an interrogation or not…” He spread his hands in the air for a moment, and left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
"When I try to speak of it, I only ever get so far." He frowned. "I can talk about the battle at the lair, about being at the front line, and then I get to the point where I am facing Bagurzlaam..." He breathed in slowly, and closed his eyes as he let the air back out. "And that's where it ends." His blue eyes opened again and a piercing gaze settled on Ziranphel. "Don't misunderstand. It's not because I don't know what happened. I remember perfectly. And I know what I want to say, what I want to describe. The words appear in my mind. But they simply do not come out."
He realized how that must sound.
“I also know that makes me sound like a lunatic.” He dropped his gaze to the rest of the roll as he turned it over again and again in his hands. “Please believe me when I say that is not what this is.”
He shrugged. "I also know what denial feels like, as well as depression." Sadly, he had experienced that years before, as the result of an altogether different circumstance, so he keenly felt the difference. "That is also not what this is."
A sigh, as he shoved those events and the matching emotions firmly back where they belonged. He looked back up from the roll, analyzing her expression as he continued. He needed to see if she could make somse sense of what he was trying to convey. “I keep trying to find ways to explain it. A way that... is open to me." He paused, in thought.
"When we entered that lair, I did not intend…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but at least Ziranphel should be able to fill in that blank easily enough, considering what her rather emphatic question had been just moments before. “When I first crossed the blade of my axe with Barguzlaam’s sword, I didn’t…” Macardil gritted his teeth as he got stuck even sooner. The frustration played over his face.
“I -,” he said empathically, as if he was struggling with something, “- did -“, another breath, “- not.”
He almost panted with effort at getting out those short three words, and part of him couldn’t believe he had managed to do it in the first place. He tilted his head back a bit and looked up at the ceiling. Relief. It hadn’t been a full sentence. But it was the closest he had gotten - in all this time. And someone was actually here to hear it!
Speaking about it, even as little as he had done so far, was exhausting. Yet he felt like he couldn’t let his momentum go to waste. The former Lieutenant looked back at his visitor. “By the time I untangled my weapon from his...” Macardil wetted his lips as he tried to continue, but he was forced to look for a different turn of phrase. When he continued, his words were once again thoughtful and measured, and he clearly was not convinced his approach might work. “… things had changed.”
Amazement at getting out that much warred with concern that his words would be misunderstood. He simply hadn't had a choice. “I want to clarify, Karis, but I…” He dropped the rest of the roll on top of the supplies, put his elbows on his knees and slowly lowered his forehead into his hands, running them partially through his black hair.
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
He nodded at her thanks. He was the one who should be thanking her for the food, he thought. Perhaps he could circle back to that later. At her words, he raised his eyebrows. "That is a big ask," he mumbled. Either way - it was good that she'd accepted the offer. Perhaps it would create more of a willingness to exercise patience as he tried to search for the right way - for any way - to try and explain what had transpired.
He racked his brain, trying to find solutions he had been searching for for months, and took a bite from one of the rolls. Simply telling her what happened was impossible, he knew. But she wouldn't. He would have to explain that first, perhaps. His blue eyes were thoughtful as he took another bite and watched her as he chewed and swallowed. It remained a strange thing, her presence here, despite the credible explanation she had offered.
"When I first arrived here, I tried... to speak of it out loud - if only to myself," he began slowly, giving much thought to every word and almost as if he were testing whether each one would come out. "To structure my thoughts; to prepare for the interrogation I thought would come.” He broke a piece off the roll without looking down at it. “Which never did. Until now, of course." He raised one hand a bit, to say she needn't confirm nor deny. "It is alright, Karis." He believed her when she said her visit wasn't an assignment, per se. But she would have gotten permission - or at least Macardil thought that she would not simply come down here without it. A quality he could only appreciate, really. He would have done the same.
"Regardless of assignment or intent – we both know you will get questions yourself after your visit here. And we both know you will answer them." He did not believe she would relay a near word for word account, but he figured she was a truthful person, and not one to hide things from the command, especially when she was asked directly. "Whether this is meant to be an interrogation or not…” He spread his hands in the air for a moment, and left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
"When I try to speak of it, I only ever get so far." He frowned. "I can talk about the battle at the lair, about being at the front line, and then I get to the point where I am facing Bagurzlaam..." He breathed in slowly, and closed his eyes as he let the air back out. "And that's where it ends." His blue eyes opened again and a piercing gaze settled on Ziranphel. "Don't misunderstand. It's not because I don't know what happened. I remember perfectly. And I know what I want to say, what I want to describe. The words appear in my mind. But they simply do not come out."
He realized how that must sound.
“I also know that makes me sound like a lunatic.” He dropped his gaze to the rest of the roll as he turned it over again and again in his hands. “Please believe me when I say that is not what this is.”
He shrugged. "I also know what denial feels like, as well as depression." Sadly, he had experienced that years before, as the result of an altogether different circumstance, so he keenly felt the difference. "That is also not what this is."
A sigh, as he shoved those events and the matching emotions firmly back where they belonged. He looked back up from the roll, analyzing her expression as he continued. He needed to see if she could make somse sense of what he was trying to convey. “I keep trying to find ways to explain it. A way that... is open to me." He paused, in thought.
"When we entered that lair, I did not intend…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but at least Ziranphel should be able to fill in that blank easily enough, considering what her rather emphatic question had been just moments before. “When I first crossed the blade of my axe with Barguzlaam’s sword, I didn’t…” Macardil gritted his teeth as he got stuck even sooner. The frustration played over his face.
“I -,” he said empathically, as if he was struggling with something, “- did -“, another breath, “- not.”
He almost panted with effort at getting out those short three words, and part of him couldn’t believe he had managed to do it in the first place. He tilted his head back a bit and looked up at the ceiling. Relief. It hadn’t been a full sentence. But it was the closest he had gotten - in all this time. And someone was actually here to hear it!
Speaking about it, even as little as he had done so far, was exhausting. Yet he felt like he couldn’t let his momentum go to waste. The former Lieutenant looked back at his visitor. “By the time I untangled my weapon from his...” Macardil wetted his lips as he tried to continue, but he was forced to look for a different turn of phrase. When he continued, his words were once again thoughtful and measured, and he clearly was not convinced his approach might work. “… things had changed.”
Amazement at getting out that much warred with concern that his words would be misunderstood. He simply hadn't had a choice. “I want to clarify, Karis, but I…” He dropped the rest of the roll on top of the supplies, put his elbows on his knees and slowly lowered his forehead into his hands, running them partially through his black hair.
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
- Points: 1 291
Counsellor of Gondor
Posts: 566
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 3:52 am
Karis Ziranphel
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
She noticed that he was watching her in return, first almost as if to establish she was there, and then for reactions. The silence lengthened as he chewed, and then he broke it with slow, halting words. Her pose was one of unfeigned avid listening once he finally began to speak, as it seemed speaking was almost a struggle. Perhaps his silence earlier had other reasons? She had never noticed any hesitation when he spoke earlier in their mission to the south. A brief nod was all her response to his saying it was okay that she was likely going to answer questions.
Ziran leaned forward, and her brow furrowed with concerned thought when he described first his difficulty speaking, and then seemed to fight for words when starting his story. She no longer pretended hunger, and the roll was grasped loosely in her left hand. Perfect memory but unable to speak about the events? The beginning was with the being Bagurzlaam…she pieced through what he was telling her. So it was that there was something inhibiting him speaking of what happened or at least how he saw it?
Her eyes followed his gaze as they dropped to the roll he fiddled with, and he continued by saying it wasn’t depression. Well she hadn’t truly considered that as a reason, although she would have understood him developing depression since then, but it was interesting to hear his analysis. Denial, well, some others had thought that likely. Her head tilted at the sigh, and sensing his gaze once more, she looked back at him steadily and nodded slightly. She thought she was following him thus far, but wasn’t entirely sure.
His next words brought a chill that was not from the stone surrounding them, even as some hope filtered in with her confusion. He had not intended his action? His following words confirmed that he had meant it even as he visibly struggled for words that would come past whatever was blocking his speech. The supreme effort of his narration had her unconsciously parting her lips in wonder as the words registered and he looked away at the ceiling. It seemed unbelievable that he had not had control, and yet it would explain much of the extreme unexpectedness of his actions and his not answering questions since. It sounded, horribly, like some form of sorcery, mind magic, or spirit influence that was similar but different from what she recalled hearing tales of in regards to Lord Theoden when the vile Saruman had influence over his spirit. Not something that just talking to him would heal, or work for the house of healing. Her mind raced. Gandalf was no longer in Middle Earth it was said, but there had been other Istari had there not? Or perhaps if she brought this matter to the King, he might heal this man’s mind as he had helped heal Lady Eowyn after she was wounded by the foul Witchking?
His last words registered slowly as she watched him drop the roll on the mat and then his head to his hands. Whose blade? It sounded like his fight with that enemy leader had changed something, but it was not clear what it had changed other than that his actions were not ones Macardil had intended. The despair in his gesture had her lifting her hand toward him slightly in unconscious comfort before she caught herself. She lowered her hand again and bit her lip in thought, waiting several moments before she deliberately let herself complete the gesture, telling herself it was to aid in communication.
Reaching out as she leaned forward, she brushed her fingers lightly over his hair until the fingertips located one of his hands and rested her touch there for a silent moment. Taking a breath, she spoke quietly. “If speaking is difficult, let me try to explain what I heard, and you nod if it is correct, or shake your head if I am wrong.” She paused. “You were fighting the one called Bagurzlaam when something changed and your actions were no longer what you intended…or your perception of your actions was different from what was reported?” Ziran waited to see if he would respond or was able to continue with either speech or action. She had more questions, but it was a beginning.
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
She noticed that he was watching her in return, first almost as if to establish she was there, and then for reactions. The silence lengthened as he chewed, and then he broke it with slow, halting words. Her pose was one of unfeigned avid listening once he finally began to speak, as it seemed speaking was almost a struggle. Perhaps his silence earlier had other reasons? She had never noticed any hesitation when he spoke earlier in their mission to the south. A brief nod was all her response to his saying it was okay that she was likely going to answer questions.
Ziran leaned forward, and her brow furrowed with concerned thought when he described first his difficulty speaking, and then seemed to fight for words when starting his story. She no longer pretended hunger, and the roll was grasped loosely in her left hand. Perfect memory but unable to speak about the events? The beginning was with the being Bagurzlaam…she pieced through what he was telling her. So it was that there was something inhibiting him speaking of what happened or at least how he saw it?
Her eyes followed his gaze as they dropped to the roll he fiddled with, and he continued by saying it wasn’t depression. Well she hadn’t truly considered that as a reason, although she would have understood him developing depression since then, but it was interesting to hear his analysis. Denial, well, some others had thought that likely. Her head tilted at the sigh, and sensing his gaze once more, she looked back at him steadily and nodded slightly. She thought she was following him thus far, but wasn’t entirely sure.
His next words brought a chill that was not from the stone surrounding them, even as some hope filtered in with her confusion. He had not intended his action? His following words confirmed that he had meant it even as he visibly struggled for words that would come past whatever was blocking his speech. The supreme effort of his narration had her unconsciously parting her lips in wonder as the words registered and he looked away at the ceiling. It seemed unbelievable that he had not had control, and yet it would explain much of the extreme unexpectedness of his actions and his not answering questions since. It sounded, horribly, like some form of sorcery, mind magic, or spirit influence that was similar but different from what she recalled hearing tales of in regards to Lord Theoden when the vile Saruman had influence over his spirit. Not something that just talking to him would heal, or work for the house of healing. Her mind raced. Gandalf was no longer in Middle Earth it was said, but there had been other Istari had there not? Or perhaps if she brought this matter to the King, he might heal this man’s mind as he had helped heal Lady Eowyn after she was wounded by the foul Witchking?
His last words registered slowly as she watched him drop the roll on the mat and then his head to his hands. Whose blade? It sounded like his fight with that enemy leader had changed something, but it was not clear what it had changed other than that his actions were not ones Macardil had intended. The despair in his gesture had her lifting her hand toward him slightly in unconscious comfort before she caught herself. She lowered her hand again and bit her lip in thought, waiting several moments before she deliberately let herself complete the gesture, telling herself it was to aid in communication.
Reaching out as she leaned forward, she brushed her fingers lightly over his hair until the fingertips located one of his hands and rested her touch there for a silent moment. Taking a breath, she spoke quietly. “If speaking is difficult, let me try to explain what I heard, and you nod if it is correct, or shake your head if I am wrong.” She paused. “You were fighting the one called Bagurzlaam when something changed and your actions were no longer what you intended…or your perception of your actions was different from what was reported?” Ziran waited to see if he would respond or was able to continue with either speech or action. She had more questions, but it was a beginning.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
- Points: 6 920
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 3608
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Macardil
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
The touch of her fingers against one of his hands was unexpected, but he didn't flinch or shake it off. Rather, he accepted the morsel of comfort he might find in it. When she suggested he might affirm or deny, Macardil's eyes blinked back open. Rather than moving his hands, he lifted his head from them to look at her. It was an idea worth trying. He could not believe how lucky he was that someone actually took the time to speak with him thus. Ziranphel had given him the benefit of the doubt, and for the first time in months, he dared reach for the edges of that thing called hope.
You were fighting the one called Bagurzlaam when something changed and your actions were no longer what you intended…
While he had come to think of it as much more complicated, that was the gist, he supposed. He nodded - and found nothing stood in his way to do so.
...or your perception of your actions was different from what was reported?
A shake of his head there. No, that was off the mark. He had realized perfectly what he'd been doing. The thought made him frown. It deepened as he quietly regarded the woman in front of him. Had she just found a way to figure out what happened? He could feel his heart beating faster at the prospect. Perhaps... not all was lost.
Still, it might be very difficult if she had to keep guessing. Besides, he did not have all of the answers. He did not quite understand how he could have done what he had done - he knew the why, but the how seemed beyond reason, didn't it?
Perhaps a combination of what speech he might manage and suggestions or questions from her would yield the best results.
Finally, he lowered his hands and straightened his back. Now that there was a plan of action, he could focus on that rather than his frustration at not being able to simply relay what had occurred.
"Bagurzlaam," he said, with some emphasis. That man was, in the end, the one who had set everything in motion.
Former Lieutenant (served as SinC under the murdered Commander Amathen in the King's Rangers)
Dungeon Cell
The touch of her fingers against one of his hands was unexpected, but he didn't flinch or shake it off. Rather, he accepted the morsel of comfort he might find in it. When she suggested he might affirm or deny, Macardil's eyes blinked back open. Rather than moving his hands, he lifted his head from them to look at her. It was an idea worth trying. He could not believe how lucky he was that someone actually took the time to speak with him thus. Ziranphel had given him the benefit of the doubt, and for the first time in months, he dared reach for the edges of that thing called hope.
You were fighting the one called Bagurzlaam when something changed and your actions were no longer what you intended…
While he had come to think of it as much more complicated, that was the gist, he supposed. He nodded - and found nothing stood in his way to do so.
...or your perception of your actions was different from what was reported?
A shake of his head there. No, that was off the mark. He had realized perfectly what he'd been doing. The thought made him frown. It deepened as he quietly regarded the woman in front of him. Had she just found a way to figure out what happened? He could feel his heart beating faster at the prospect. Perhaps... not all was lost.
Still, it might be very difficult if she had to keep guessing. Besides, he did not have all of the answers. He did not quite understand how he could have done what he had done - he knew the why, but the how seemed beyond reason, didn't it?
Perhaps a combination of what speech he might manage and suggestions or questions from her would yield the best results.
Finally, he lowered his hands and straightened his back. Now that there was a plan of action, he could focus on that rather than his frustration at not being able to simply relay what had occurred.
"Bagurzlaam," he said, with some emphasis. That man was, in the end, the one who had set everything in motion.
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
- Points: 1 291
Counsellor of Gondor
Posts: 566
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 3:52 am
Karis Ziranphel
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
Ziran watched him closely as he lifted his head to answer her suggestions and replied to her questions. A nod to the first, so he hadn’t intended his action, but his following headshake brought a frown of further confused concentration to her brow. Did not intend, but knew what he was doing? How did that work? What question could she ask to clarify in a way that he could answer? Her mind spun with questions that she rejected as not being right, or too complicated for a direct answer of yes or no.
Bagurzlaam. It came back to that one again. Somehow that confrontation had caused Macardil’s action despite his intention. Why and how still eluded her, although it seemed he had figured out part and was unable to speak it. She was silent for a few long moments as she tried to process, and then decided to just start by trying a few more statements and questions. At least she could perhaps eliminate some answers.
She began haltingly, watching for response. “So if I am understanding, you did not intend to kill Amathen, but knew it was him when you struck?” A pause. “Did Bagurzlaam say something to change your view of him…or take control from you?” It was strange to be asking these questions, and it might cause him more frustration, but she didn’t know how else to continue.
Dungeons - Macardil’s Cell
Ziran watched him closely as he lifted his head to answer her suggestions and replied to her questions. A nod to the first, so he hadn’t intended his action, but his following headshake brought a frown of further confused concentration to her brow. Did not intend, but knew what he was doing? How did that work? What question could she ask to clarify in a way that he could answer? Her mind spun with questions that she rejected as not being right, or too complicated for a direct answer of yes or no.
Bagurzlaam. It came back to that one again. Somehow that confrontation had caused Macardil’s action despite his intention. Why and how still eluded her, although it seemed he had figured out part and was unable to speak it. She was silent for a few long moments as she tried to process, and then decided to just start by trying a few more statements and questions. At least she could perhaps eliminate some answers.
She began haltingly, watching for response. “So if I am understanding, you did not intend to kill Amathen, but knew it was him when you struck?” A pause. “Did Bagurzlaam say something to change your view of him…or take control from you?” It was strange to be asking these questions, and it might cause him more frustration, but she didn’t know how else to continue.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
- Points: 6 920
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 3608
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Macardil
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
Macardil's expression was tense as he waited and watched the Ranger mulling things over. Would she give up?
So if I am understanding, you did not intend to kill Amathen, but knew it was him when you struck?
That was a difficult question, although maybe he made it more difficult than it had to be. He had not intended to kill Amathen, no. Macardil had admired the man for his strengths, and had wanted to learn from him. He had not wanted to kill his commander at all. In that sense, he had never intended to kill the man. Perhaps he needn't overcomplicate things. He nodded slowly in response to that question.
Did Bagurzlaam say something to change your view of him…
Macardil shook his head. No. He had looked upon the greying veteran with respect and admiration until the very end.
...or take control from you?
His blue eyes flashed. Yes. That was an accurate description. He gave Ziranphel a nod.
"We fought," he said, slowly, trying again, his thoughts racing. "Until..." An idea struck him. Macardil hesitated, then rose to his feet. He gestured for her to do the same. He held up his right forearm. "If this was his sword," he stated, "and your right forearm was my axe..." He waited for her to raise her arm, then repositioned it slightly with his left hand and held his 'sword arm' against it. They were close, just as he had been with Barguzlaam. "He..." An unsuccessful attempt at further narration. But it seemed like he had found a way around it for now. Macardil put his left hand on her right shoulder, as he remembered Barguzlaam doing, and leaned in towards Ziran. He was looking for a way to continue, and it took a moment for him to find one. "... spoke. Or-" He fell silent, grimaced, then tried again. "Whispers."
He straightened his back, let go of her shoulder and lowered his arms. He opened his mouth again, as if to speak, but then had to close it once more. The words would not come. Maybe in a more round-about way... "Doing to me... what one might do to fix the loose pages of a book together."
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
Macardil's expression was tense as he waited and watched the Ranger mulling things over. Would she give up?
So if I am understanding, you did not intend to kill Amathen, but knew it was him when you struck?
That was a difficult question, although maybe he made it more difficult than it had to be. He had not intended to kill Amathen, no. Macardil had admired the man for his strengths, and had wanted to learn from him. He had not wanted to kill his commander at all. In that sense, he had never intended to kill the man. Perhaps he needn't overcomplicate things. He nodded slowly in response to that question.
Did Bagurzlaam say something to change your view of him…
Macardil shook his head. No. He had looked upon the greying veteran with respect and admiration until the very end.
...or take control from you?
His blue eyes flashed. Yes. That was an accurate description. He gave Ziranphel a nod.
"We fought," he said, slowly, trying again, his thoughts racing. "Until..." An idea struck him. Macardil hesitated, then rose to his feet. He gestured for her to do the same. He held up his right forearm. "If this was his sword," he stated, "and your right forearm was my axe..." He waited for her to raise her arm, then repositioned it slightly with his left hand and held his 'sword arm' against it. They were close, just as he had been with Barguzlaam. "He..." An unsuccessful attempt at further narration. But it seemed like he had found a way around it for now. Macardil put his left hand on her right shoulder, as he remembered Barguzlaam doing, and leaned in towards Ziran. He was looking for a way to continue, and it took a moment for him to find one. "... spoke. Or-" He fell silent, grimaced, then tried again. "Whispers."
He straightened his back, let go of her shoulder and lowered his arms. He opened his mouth again, as if to speak, but then had to close it once more. The words would not come. Maybe in a more round-about way... "Doing to me... what one might do to fix the loose pages of a book together."
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
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Counsellor of Gondor
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Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 3:52 am
Karis Ziranphel
Dungeon - Macardil’s cell
Her heart lifted slightly as he answered with first a shake of the head and then a nod, even though the thought of having control wrested away was horrible. How could she draw out more answers? But then he began to speak, paused, and then stood. She had an inkling that perhaps acting out the fight would help, and perhaps that was what Macardil was planning. After a brief hesitation, she followed his gesture to rise, and let him position her arm.
The next words he attempted as he placed his hand on her shoulder chilled her again. It sounded as if he had begun to say “ordered”. Her hand slowly dropped after he let go and lowered his arms, and she watched him fight for more words. It made the sense of his next statement come more quickly than it otherwise might have. She swallowed the horror and compassion that warred in her heart.
A breath, then two before she spoke in a thick whisper her certainty of what he implied. “He ordered or compelled you, binding you with words to do his bidding to kill Amathen, and you could not but comply.” It was a horrible thought, but also removed the guilt of forethought and intention from his actions. To be under compulsion as it seemed he had been, and in some ways still was, did not erase the action, but it did change his responsibility for the action. She watched him closely for his response to her words.
Dungeon - Macardil’s cell
Her heart lifted slightly as he answered with first a shake of the head and then a nod, even though the thought of having control wrested away was horrible. How could she draw out more answers? But then he began to speak, paused, and then stood. She had an inkling that perhaps acting out the fight would help, and perhaps that was what Macardil was planning. After a brief hesitation, she followed his gesture to rise, and let him position her arm.
The next words he attempted as he placed his hand on her shoulder chilled her again. It sounded as if he had begun to say “ordered”. Her hand slowly dropped after he let go and lowered his arms, and she watched him fight for more words. It made the sense of his next statement come more quickly than it otherwise might have. She swallowed the horror and compassion that warred in her heart.
A breath, then two before she spoke in a thick whisper her certainty of what he implied. “He ordered or compelled you, binding you with words to do his bidding to kill Amathen, and you could not but comply.” It was a horrible thought, but also removed the guilt of forethought and intention from his actions. To be under compulsion as it seemed he had been, and in some ways still was, did not erase the action, but it did change his responsibility for the action. She watched him closely for his response to her words.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
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Steward of Gondor
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Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Macardil
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
He ordered or compelled you, binding you with words to do his bidding to kill Amathen, and you could not but comply.
The relief that one whispered sentence brought, washed over him like a wave from the sea across the sand. For a moment, he felt heard. Understood. He nodded. Yes. By the Valar - yes.
This had gone better than he could have hoped for. Such little time had passed, really, since Karis Ziranphel had entered his cell. And already she had stated the one thing he had wanted to tell people from the start. But back at the scene, immediately after the facts, Macardil had found his tongue tied - and he hadn't been able to figure out a way around it back then, especially with the wounds of his actions still fresh.
And now... he had thought the words so many times, unable to speak them aloud. Even if it had been just a thick whisper, it was almost healing to hear them spoken. Whether she truly believed him or not, did not even matter right now. Macardil knew such thoughts were raw emotion, void of reason - of course it mattered whether Ziran thought his words true. But in this moment, the gift of hearing the statement he had wanted to give for months, was everything. He could care about people believing him, later. At present, he could bask in the knowledge that he had been able to relay it to someone - that someone had understood what he was trying to tell them.
The emotion roughed up his voice as he watched her in turn, and said the only thing he could in response to that statement. In gratitude. "Thank you, Ziranphel." For such a gift.
He wasn't sure how much time passed before he could speak again. His words flowed more freely now, since he could move the conversation away from the circumstances he was not at liberty to discuss. "It does not erase my deed. I will have to live with it, for as long as my King will let me. And I will serve my sentence without complaint."
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
He ordered or compelled you, binding you with words to do his bidding to kill Amathen, and you could not but comply.
The relief that one whispered sentence brought, washed over him like a wave from the sea across the sand. For a moment, he felt heard. Understood. He nodded. Yes. By the Valar - yes.
This had gone better than he could have hoped for. Such little time had passed, really, since Karis Ziranphel had entered his cell. And already she had stated the one thing he had wanted to tell people from the start. But back at the scene, immediately after the facts, Macardil had found his tongue tied - and he hadn't been able to figure out a way around it back then, especially with the wounds of his actions still fresh.
And now... he had thought the words so many times, unable to speak them aloud. Even if it had been just a thick whisper, it was almost healing to hear them spoken. Whether she truly believed him or not, did not even matter right now. Macardil knew such thoughts were raw emotion, void of reason - of course it mattered whether Ziran thought his words true. But in this moment, the gift of hearing the statement he had wanted to give for months, was everything. He could care about people believing him, later. At present, he could bask in the knowledge that he had been able to relay it to someone - that someone had understood what he was trying to tell them.
The emotion roughed up his voice as he watched her in turn, and said the only thing he could in response to that statement. In gratitude. "Thank you, Ziranphel." For such a gift.
He wasn't sure how much time passed before he could speak again. His words flowed more freely now, since he could move the conversation away from the circumstances he was not at liberty to discuss. "It does not erase my deed. I will have to live with it, for as long as my King will let me. And I will serve my sentence without complaint."
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
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Balrog
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The Golden Liar
The Pillory, Second Circle
(Private)
It was noon and his back hurt. It was only going to last a few more hours, a few more hours and he would be free. There was a splinter coming out of the wood around his wrist, it had been bothersome for some hours, then it had gone numb, and now it began to hurt again. There was a crowd, but they were beginning to disperse. The spectacle of watching a child in the stocks, throwing rancid tomatoes at him and jeering at him had lost its novelty, finally. His stomach was still empty, and it reminded him constantly, gurgling and growling and groaning like a feral cat. He hadn’t eaten in two days now.
If he hadn’t been so hungry, he wouldn’t have tried to break into the larder of that house. He was still beating himself up over it, hours later. He’d been so hungry he wasn’t thinking straight. He hadn’t noticed the nightwatchman’s shadow as he’d come back out, arms laden full of fruits and raw vegetables. He should have eaten one of those apples. It was a strange able, with black skin that looked like it shimmered in the darkness. Rich people have such strange and wonderful things. His stomach growled again, louder and more insistent than before. He was so hungry. Only a few more hours in the stocks and they’d let him out.
By then it will be evening, and he could sneak behind the taverns and inns and catch all the bits they toss out. Chefs and bakers always throw out bits without actually seeing if they’re worth using. He and many other orphans and urchins depended on that wastefulness. Frugality was nearly the death of them, starving them to the point where the consequences of breaking and entering didn’t seem so bad. He wasn’t like the others. They had gotten much worse. Half his old friends began to steal and worse to make ends meet and the other half started working for one of the fisher kings, the Ratcatcher or the Antiquarian. Which was worse, he couldn’t say. He was nowhere near that desperate. Not yet. Despite having three trips to the stockades in the last month, he was not ready to start working for some gangster or start hurting people to keep from going hungry.
All he wanted right now was to disappear, to go back to his little hidden spot behind the gardens and go to sleep. Weariness, along with the pain, had been creeping up on him. It was more than just a weariness of his body too, his soul felt tired. How long was he going to have to live like this until he found some way out? How long did anyone have? His parents had died when he was barely a child and he’d been sent to an awful, awful orphanage where the headmistress would have the boys beaten if they didn’t comply with all the rules, even the ones no one but her knew about. He still had marks from willow switches across his back. He’d run away from that hellmouth as soon as he could, stealing a blanket, an extra pair of shoes, and a sack full of raw potatoes.
Earlier in the day he thought it was going to rain, the sky looked grey and overcast, but now, as he looked up, the sun was bright and orange and there was not a single cloud in all the sky. It was hot and getting hotter. Along with being starving, he couldn’t remember when the last time was that he’d been able to drink a full cup of water. They say the fountains and wells are free for everyone, but someone didn’t tell the nightwatchmen that guarded it, who charged a silver piece for a cup. The captain of the guard had offered him a cup when he’d been brought in and he’d drank it greedily, like a vampire. He regretted not savoring it a little longer.
A shadow passed over him and he looked up, his straining against the sun. It was a woman; she was standing in front of him. He winced, preparing for a bucket of piss or something to be tossed on him. The onslaught never came, however.
“You look like you could do with something to eat and drink,” she said.
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."
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Counsellor of Gondor
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Karis Ziranphel
Dungeon - Macardil’s cell
His nod brought a tangle of emotions. Relief that she had guessed correctly, and a sadness that this was something he had endured in silence since then. Compulsion to do something so contrary to what she understood of his nature and then live with it must have been very difficult. She shook her head at that thought, and then again wordlessly at his thanks. She had only listened and put it together, not come earlier as she should have when she had questions.
Macardil’s next words about being willing to serve his sentence without complaint drew a half-smile from her, and she finally nodded. It did fit with what she suspected of his code of honor, but she wanted to bring it to the King’s attention anyway. Perhaps he could do what she could not, and might know how to free Macardil’s mind of this binding.
Stepping closer, she lifted her hands to either side of his face, hoping he wouldn’t startle. She wanted him to see her expression and not turn away, as well as offer comfort in a way that seemed open to her despite her normal reserve. Her voice was quiet but firm. “I am so sorry Macardil…for what happened to you and for not coming sooner.” She continued without listening for any protest. “If you were my soldier I would say you had languished long enough in here, but this is not in my authority. You may be content to stay here, but I will bring it to the King nonetheless. I do not know if he will listen…but I will try.” She was oddly reluctant to leave despite her interest now in finding more answers, and did not make a move to call the guard.
Dungeon - Macardil’s cell
His nod brought a tangle of emotions. Relief that she had guessed correctly, and a sadness that this was something he had endured in silence since then. Compulsion to do something so contrary to what she understood of his nature and then live with it must have been very difficult. She shook her head at that thought, and then again wordlessly at his thanks. She had only listened and put it together, not come earlier as she should have when she had questions.
Macardil’s next words about being willing to serve his sentence without complaint drew a half-smile from her, and she finally nodded. It did fit with what she suspected of his code of honor, but she wanted to bring it to the King’s attention anyway. Perhaps he could do what she could not, and might know how to free Macardil’s mind of this binding.
Stepping closer, she lifted her hands to either side of his face, hoping he wouldn’t startle. She wanted him to see her expression and not turn away, as well as offer comfort in a way that seemed open to her despite her normal reserve. Her voice was quiet but firm. “I am so sorry Macardil…for what happened to you and for not coming sooner.” She continued without listening for any protest. “If you were my soldier I would say you had languished long enough in here, but this is not in my authority. You may be content to stay here, but I will bring it to the King nonetheless. I do not know if he will listen…but I will try.” She was oddly reluctant to leave despite her interest now in finding more answers, and did not make a move to call the guard.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
- Points: 6 920
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 3608
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Macardil
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
The half-smile puzzled him, but she gave him little to no time to think on it. He would have all the time in the world to think on it later, he supposed.
While he didn't flinch away when she put her hands to his face, he was surprised. He could not profess to know her on a personal level, but based on what he had seen of her behavior during their mission, he would not have expected her to physically reach out to him. And it wasn't the first time she had done so, his brain reminded him. He couldn't quite put together why it was so important to her to... comfort him? Or at least, to reassure him... That was what she was trying to do, wasn't it? She looked so serious; the expression on her face so earnest, the look in her dark eyes so... raw. Her tone matched the former, rather than the latter. Perhaps he was seeing things.
He let her speak, although he did think it had not been her task to spontaneously come to him at all - let alone any sooner. What she said next, gave him pause on many levels. He was not content to stay here. But he would dare say he deserved to be here. He should have been stronger. He should have resisted the compulsion.
Not that he would have expected as much from anyone else.
Regarding her expression once more, he thought better than to fight her on her words in that moment. "You may take this information to the King, if you wish. Part of me will be relieved he at least knows the reason behind my actions." His left hand loosely closed around her right wrist to relay the import of the request that would follow. "But more importantly, I would ask a kindness of you. Take it to my mother, first and foremost." He swallowed. "It will make all the difference in the world to her."
A slight frown creased his brow as he contemplated asking her a question of his own, then. It wasn't so much logic that prompted it, although it was a part of it. One of the reasons Amathen had wanted him as his second in the first place, was his skill at reading people - his ability to pick up small cues. And he felt there was more behind her visit than all she had said so far.
"Karis. Why is this so important to you?"
Granted, another of Amathen's reasons of wanting him as his right hand was because he could respond to people with patience, diplomacy, and tact - but months of encarceration and lack of social contact had made him a little rusty on those fronts.
"And do not give me that story about my actions not making sense again. That is not the reason you are here. It wouldn't have made sense to anyone there. Yet you are the only one to come."
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
The half-smile puzzled him, but she gave him little to no time to think on it. He would have all the time in the world to think on it later, he supposed.
While he didn't flinch away when she put her hands to his face, he was surprised. He could not profess to know her on a personal level, but based on what he had seen of her behavior during their mission, he would not have expected her to physically reach out to him. And it wasn't the first time she had done so, his brain reminded him. He couldn't quite put together why it was so important to her to... comfort him? Or at least, to reassure him... That was what she was trying to do, wasn't it? She looked so serious; the expression on her face so earnest, the look in her dark eyes so... raw. Her tone matched the former, rather than the latter. Perhaps he was seeing things.
He let her speak, although he did think it had not been her task to spontaneously come to him at all - let alone any sooner. What she said next, gave him pause on many levels. He was not content to stay here. But he would dare say he deserved to be here. He should have been stronger. He should have resisted the compulsion.
Not that he would have expected as much from anyone else.
Regarding her expression once more, he thought better than to fight her on her words in that moment. "You may take this information to the King, if you wish. Part of me will be relieved he at least knows the reason behind my actions." His left hand loosely closed around her right wrist to relay the import of the request that would follow. "But more importantly, I would ask a kindness of you. Take it to my mother, first and foremost." He swallowed. "It will make all the difference in the world to her."
A slight frown creased his brow as he contemplated asking her a question of his own, then. It wasn't so much logic that prompted it, although it was a part of it. One of the reasons Amathen had wanted him as his second in the first place, was his skill at reading people - his ability to pick up small cues. And he felt there was more behind her visit than all she had said so far.
"Karis. Why is this so important to you?"
Granted, another of Amathen's reasons of wanting him as his right hand was because he could respond to people with patience, diplomacy, and tact - but months of encarceration and lack of social contact had made him a little rusty on those fronts.
"And do not give me that story about my actions not making sense again. That is not the reason you are here. It wouldn't have made sense to anyone there. Yet you are the only one to come."
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
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Balrog
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Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
The Golden Liar
The Pillory, Second Circle
(Private)
Going to the Pillory was like going to the market. It helped that the stocks were actually right by the marketplace too; it was as if whoever was in charge of urban development had done this on purpose. They were probably long dead but Lômibêth felt the urge to send them a gift. She didn’t often venture all the way down to the second circle, but when she did, the opportunities that presented themselves were myriad and marvelous. After doing about an hour’s worth of shopping and perusing through random shops and kiosks, she made her way to the Pillory. There was always something entertaining to be seen. Usually those locked in the stocks were annoying petty criminals caught with their metaphorical pants down. Today’s ignominious offerings were a trio unwashed, hairy man standing for drunken disorder, two women for starting a fight outside a pub, and young boy caught breaking into a rich man’s house and making off with a bag of apples and carrots. They were not strong prospects. The men were as useless as the asses they rode in on, the women were still hissing and spitting at each other as the crowd jeered and egged them on, and the boy looked like he might collapse at any given moment, he was skinnier than starved puppy. She stood near the back of the square and watched for a time, finding the insults colorful and entertaining.
Still, it was not the most entertaining thing she’d ever seen. The boy slumped further and further in his stocks. Throwing the orphans in irons like this seemed cruel, even by Gondorian standards, but apparently the boy was a repeat offender. Funny, she’d never seen him before. Though he was so stained with tomatoes and street-grime he could have been anyone. That gave her an idea. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad prospect after all. She smiled, it was not a cruel smile, but it was not a soft, friendly one either. Did Lômibêth even have a smile that was could be called friendly? She didn’t know.
She rushed off to the guard’s offices and demanded to speak to the serjeant in charge. She put on enough airs that, without actually having to, she looked like she could cause quite a fuss. Wanting to avoid a scene (likely enough they’d had more than one given who they had in the stocks today), the guards lead the young woman to the serjeant’s office. He wasn’t there, they never are when you need them to be. She rolled her eyes and waited. She waited and waited and waited. The wait itself might have only been about fifteen minutes, Lômibêth’s impatience made it seem like it was an hour. When the man finally showed up, she accosted him immediately.
“The boy, in the market, in the stocks. What’s his crime exactly?”
He eyed her, looking her up and down in a most annoying way. “Caught red-handed coming out of someone’s house, bag full of food. He confessed right away too.”
“So, you’re putting him in the stocks? Seems rather extreme to me.”
He shook his head. “He’s been doing this for a month now. Next strike lands him in a cell.”
Lômibêth scoffed. “Gondorian justice. Might as well cut off his hand like they did in the old days. What sort of draconian nonsense is this?”
The serjeant remained silent, but his expression was hard and resolved.
“Fine,” she said, laughing sardonically. “You know what the orphans think about the law in the city, right? They think you’ll sell them to rich people for them to eat.”
That got the reaction Lômibêth wanted to see. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He’d heard the rumors, it seemed. Who started them? Her cousin? His elven companion? Either way it was very effective. “That’s a lie! I don’t know where you heard it ma’am, but I would entreat upon you not to repeat such slander against the Tower Guards or the nightwatchmen. They are hard working folks with families. They don’t need gossipy hens making their jobs any harder than it already is!” spittle was flying as the man spoke, Lômibêth really had hit a nerve. Excellent!
“How much is the boy’s bail?” she asked, looking down at her nails.
“W-What?” that had not been what he’d expected her to say. “His bail? It’s— let me see…” He shuffled through some sheaves of paper and then threw a receipt at her. “Ten silver marks.”
“Ten silver marks?” she laughed incredulously. “How is an urchin supposed to pay that? If he had ten silver marks he wouldn’t be breaking in and stealing food from rich fops.”
“I don’t make the rules ma’am,” he said, straightening.
“Clearly. Here.” She tossed ten silver marks on the table, making sure they scattered in all directions when they landed. He scrambled after them, she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be taking the keys now.”
He nodded, giving her the receipt and a set of keys. “Return them when you are done.”
She winked at him, he blushed.
That business taken care off, Lômibêth strolled back to the Pillory. It was largely empty now; the masses had had their fun and were now moving to find the next source of entertainment. She strode up to the boy.
“You look like you could use something to eat and drink.”
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."
- Points: 1 291
Counsellor of Gondor
Posts: 566
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 3:52 am
Karis Ziranphel
Dungeon - Macardil’s cell
His hand closed around her wrist just when she would have dropped them both after his first words. She paused to listen to his request, and the personal nature of it made sense of his gesture. Of course she would tell his mother that she had been right to trust his nature, although she wouldn’t have chosen to go there first except by his request. She nodded acquiescence. This she would do.
Ziran had just begun to open her mouth to speak when he frowned and asked a question that made her freeze. Her eyes showed her initial surprise at his words, and then she closed them in reaction as he continued. It was her turn to want to hide from answers to what she had not delved too deeply to ask herself. He was direct for sure, and it made her uncomfortable to have that scrutiny turned back on her actions, even though she had done the same moments before on his actions.
A quiet half-laugh and smile of discomfort broke from her lips when she opened her eyes again and offered the answer that she had given herself. “I just really hate being wrong about people, and didn’t want to be wrong about you.”
But then her smile died away. The second part of that was more true, and she owed him honesty in return. “I…didn’t want to be wrong about you.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she took a moment to swallow, although she did not look away. She had not allowed herself to think about her “why” very much, but that was what Macardil was asking for. She could not allow herself to admit more yet, and hadn’t until she got here, as she had attempted to keep her heart and mind uninvolved and impartial before questioning him.
It only really struck her now the different interpretation her gesture could be given, and what it might mean that she had allowed it of herself. It gave her pause, as she was normally very careful in her actions. She looked at her hands framing his face in the flickering light and then back to his eyes. Her voice was a whisper but steady this time as she continued. “I can’t speak for the others, but it became important to me to know whether you were the kind of man I thought you were….that you had a good, and not evil, heart.” For now that was as far as she was willing to admit out loud.
Dungeon - Macardil’s cell
His hand closed around her wrist just when she would have dropped them both after his first words. She paused to listen to his request, and the personal nature of it made sense of his gesture. Of course she would tell his mother that she had been right to trust his nature, although she wouldn’t have chosen to go there first except by his request. She nodded acquiescence. This she would do.
Ziran had just begun to open her mouth to speak when he frowned and asked a question that made her freeze. Her eyes showed her initial surprise at his words, and then she closed them in reaction as he continued. It was her turn to want to hide from answers to what she had not delved too deeply to ask herself. He was direct for sure, and it made her uncomfortable to have that scrutiny turned back on her actions, even though she had done the same moments before on his actions.
A quiet half-laugh and smile of discomfort broke from her lips when she opened her eyes again and offered the answer that she had given herself. “I just really hate being wrong about people, and didn’t want to be wrong about you.”
But then her smile died away. The second part of that was more true, and she owed him honesty in return. “I…didn’t want to be wrong about you.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she took a moment to swallow, although she did not look away. She had not allowed herself to think about her “why” very much, but that was what Macardil was asking for. She could not allow herself to admit more yet, and hadn’t until she got here, as she had attempted to keep her heart and mind uninvolved and impartial before questioning him.
It only really struck her now the different interpretation her gesture could be given, and what it might mean that she had allowed it of herself. It gave her pause, as she was normally very careful in her actions. She looked at her hands framing his face in the flickering light and then back to his eyes. Her voice was a whisper but steady this time as she continued. “I can’t speak for the others, but it became important to me to know whether you were the kind of man I thought you were….that you had a good, and not evil, heart.” For now that was as far as she was willing to admit out loud.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
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Steward of Gondor
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Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Macardil
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
She had not expected a question in return, it seemed. His eyes narrowed in thought when she almost laughed and he caught a smile. She hated being wrong about people, she said. Macardil was skeptical. He had not thought her ego was so important to her. It did not match the image he had gotten from the Ranger before or during the mission to the fort at the Poros.
Upon her reiteration of not wanting to be wrong about him, her smile faded. That she would repeat that part of her earlier statement, made it less about her not wanting to be wrong, and more about wanting to be right about him.
After she fell filent, he deduced he was clearly pushing the limits of what she was comfortable with, and would press it no further. He gently took a hold of her other wrist as well, lowered her hands from his face and then let go. Wanting to reassure her, he smiled slightly as he spoke. "For whatever my words are worth: despite the wounds my heart has borne, indeed it has not succumbed to evil so far." It had been meant as something a bit more light-hearted, but the words sounded much heavier than he had intended. "And your visit has brought hope to at least lighten its worries."
He hadn't shied away from her eyes for a single time since she'd stepped into his cell, nor did he do so now. "And so I am honor-bound to thank you once more. First of all, for coming here. Secondly, for being so considerate to bring me clothes and food. Thirdly, for asking the right questions and for your patience as I tried to answer them as best I could. Fourthly, for agreeing to my request to tell my mother what you have learned here today. And finally, for not treating me like a murderer." His smile deepened. "Not for a single moment, have you made me feel like traitorous criminal. In here, that is a gift in and by itself."
He regarded her a moment longer, and then nodded, reconciling himself with the fact she would be leaving any minute. It would be difficult to be alone again - he would surely feel like a parched man who had been given a single sip of water - but at least he could busy himself with indulging on the food she had brought him. It would be a distraction. Moreover, her visit had given him a lot to think about.
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
She had not expected a question in return, it seemed. His eyes narrowed in thought when she almost laughed and he caught a smile. She hated being wrong about people, she said. Macardil was skeptical. He had not thought her ego was so important to her. It did not match the image he had gotten from the Ranger before or during the mission to the fort at the Poros.
Upon her reiteration of not wanting to be wrong about him, her smile faded. That she would repeat that part of her earlier statement, made it less about her not wanting to be wrong, and more about wanting to be right about him.
After she fell filent, he deduced he was clearly pushing the limits of what she was comfortable with, and would press it no further. He gently took a hold of her other wrist as well, lowered her hands from his face and then let go. Wanting to reassure her, he smiled slightly as he spoke. "For whatever my words are worth: despite the wounds my heart has borne, indeed it has not succumbed to evil so far." It had been meant as something a bit more light-hearted, but the words sounded much heavier than he had intended. "And your visit has brought hope to at least lighten its worries."
He hadn't shied away from her eyes for a single time since she'd stepped into his cell, nor did he do so now. "And so I am honor-bound to thank you once more. First of all, for coming here. Secondly, for being so considerate to bring me clothes and food. Thirdly, for asking the right questions and for your patience as I tried to answer them as best I could. Fourthly, for agreeing to my request to tell my mother what you have learned here today. And finally, for not treating me like a murderer." His smile deepened. "Not for a single moment, have you made me feel like traitorous criminal. In here, that is a gift in and by itself."
He regarded her a moment longer, and then nodded, reconciling himself with the fact she would be leaving any minute. It would be difficult to be alone again - he would surely feel like a parched man who had been given a single sip of water - but at least he could busy himself with indulging on the food she had brought him. It would be a distraction. Moreover, her visit had given him a lot to think about.
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
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Counsellor of Gondor
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Karis Ziranphel
Dungeon - Macardil’s cell
He didn’t challenge her answer, instead lowering her hands from his face and releasing them in a gesture of leave taking. That he didn’t push the issue brought a confusing mix of mild disappointment and a flood of relief. Coward. Her mind whispered at her before she silenced the internal voice. Her more practical side reminded her that she didn’t dare explore why he was important further if there was to be no freedom for him. This visit had only been about finding out the truth.
Instead she focused on his voice and his assurance that he had not succumbed to evil. She nodded slowly in answer to his words and easy smile. This was also her assessment, but she might not be impartial enough of a judge to determine that, and the same went for him. But her lips tilted in the ghost of a smile nonetheless.
Ziran then listened to his recounting reasons he was thankful. It made her somewhat uncomfortable, but it was still good to hear that she had brought him hope. She was glad that she had not waited longer. While the days might flow swiftly for her in freedom, they must pass slowly indeed in this dark. His last comment about not making him feel like a criminal reinforced that, reminding her that his treatment was likely not an easy one. His lack of more clothing and any other amenity to pass the time or give a sense of comfort and normality reinforced that, and reminded her that she shouldn’t waste time now that she had answers from him.
It still felt awkward to acknowledge his thanks, but Ziran spoke softly after his nod. “You are welcome, Macardil.” She glanced down at the candle burning on the stone floor, and noticed that it had burned down about an hour in length, but still had a good amount of wax remaining. She started speaking while watching the flicker of flame. “I will go now to fulfill my word to you, bringing word first to your mother and then the King. If it goes well and I am able to gain an audience swiftly I will return today, but if it takes longer I still promise to return and give you word of his disposition towards you.” Ziran looked back up at his darkly bearded face for a moment before placing her palm over her heart in a gesture of farewell that was not quite a salute. “Farewell.”
Stepping back toward the door, she reached behind her and thumped it loudly twice without shifting her gaze. “Guard!” It felt strange lifting her voice after speaking quietly.
There were footsteps and then the clang of the bolt. When the cell door opened, she finally turned and stepped through after the guard glanced in to see that his prisoner was well away from the opening. The thud of its closing nearly made her flinch, but she steeled herself and followed the guard away, taking comfort that where there had been only darkness there remained a pool of warm light, if only for a time.
Dungeon - Macardil’s cell
He didn’t challenge her answer, instead lowering her hands from his face and releasing them in a gesture of leave taking. That he didn’t push the issue brought a confusing mix of mild disappointment and a flood of relief. Coward. Her mind whispered at her before she silenced the internal voice. Her more practical side reminded her that she didn’t dare explore why he was important further if there was to be no freedom for him. This visit had only been about finding out the truth.
Instead she focused on his voice and his assurance that he had not succumbed to evil. She nodded slowly in answer to his words and easy smile. This was also her assessment, but she might not be impartial enough of a judge to determine that, and the same went for him. But her lips tilted in the ghost of a smile nonetheless.
Ziran then listened to his recounting reasons he was thankful. It made her somewhat uncomfortable, but it was still good to hear that she had brought him hope. She was glad that she had not waited longer. While the days might flow swiftly for her in freedom, they must pass slowly indeed in this dark. His last comment about not making him feel like a criminal reinforced that, reminding her that his treatment was likely not an easy one. His lack of more clothing and any other amenity to pass the time or give a sense of comfort and normality reinforced that, and reminded her that she shouldn’t waste time now that she had answers from him.
It still felt awkward to acknowledge his thanks, but Ziran spoke softly after his nod. “You are welcome, Macardil.” She glanced down at the candle burning on the stone floor, and noticed that it had burned down about an hour in length, but still had a good amount of wax remaining. She started speaking while watching the flicker of flame. “I will go now to fulfill my word to you, bringing word first to your mother and then the King. If it goes well and I am able to gain an audience swiftly I will return today, but if it takes longer I still promise to return and give you word of his disposition towards you.” Ziran looked back up at his darkly bearded face for a moment before placing her palm over her heart in a gesture of farewell that was not quite a salute. “Farewell.”
Stepping back toward the door, she reached behind her and thumped it loudly twice without shifting her gaze. “Guard!” It felt strange lifting her voice after speaking quietly.
There were footsteps and then the clang of the bolt. When the cell door opened, she finally turned and stepped through after the guard glanced in to see that his prisoner was well away from the opening. The thud of its closing nearly made her flinch, but she steeled herself and followed the guard away, taking comfort that where there had been only darkness there remained a pool of warm light, if only for a time.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
- Points: 6 920
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 3608
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Macardil
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
He didn't speak or nod at her words anymore. Instead, he simply watched. When she put her hand over her heart and bid him farewell, however, something wrenched inside him. It wasn't a salute (he would have found that inappropriate given that his rank had been stripped), but... it hinted at one. It referred to the position he had lost, yes, and that was a position of which he was certain he would never regain. But more than that, her gesture spoke of a lingering respect for him. That touched him, and it was evident in his facial expression that it did, although he would not speak of it aloud.
When she stepped back to the door, Macardil stepped back to the wall - he knew what the guard would want, and he was not about to give anyone any excuses to think more badly of him than they already did. He had not done that ever since his own Rangers had taken him into custody. The door slammed closed, trapping him with his loneliness once more. His eyes travelled to the candle, which Karis had left next to his cot. Proof she had been there, along with the food and the clothes. Not a figment of his imagination, nor a dream.
As he sat back down again to eat, Macardil clamped down on the hope that had sprouted in his mind. He clamped down on it hard, in an attempt to avoid too painful of a disappointment later. He was convinced that Ziranphel would advocate for him - though part of him told him that may be naive. Be that as it may - her advocating for him did not mean it wouldn't fall on deaf ears. Macardil did not think King Elessar was not open to mercy, but he understood how his story sounded. It would take an exceptional ruler to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell
He didn't speak or nod at her words anymore. Instead, he simply watched. When she put her hand over her heart and bid him farewell, however, something wrenched inside him. It wasn't a salute (he would have found that inappropriate given that his rank had been stripped), but... it hinted at one. It referred to the position he had lost, yes, and that was a position of which he was certain he would never regain. But more than that, her gesture spoke of a lingering respect for him. That touched him, and it was evident in his facial expression that it did, although he would not speak of it aloud.
When she stepped back to the door, Macardil stepped back to the wall - he knew what the guard would want, and he was not about to give anyone any excuses to think more badly of him than they already did. He had not done that ever since his own Rangers had taken him into custody. The door slammed closed, trapping him with his loneliness once more. His eyes travelled to the candle, which Karis had left next to his cot. Proof she had been there, along with the food and the clothes. Not a figment of his imagination, nor a dream.
As he sat back down again to eat, Macardil clamped down on the hope that had sprouted in his mind. He clamped down on it hard, in an attempt to avoid too painful of a disappointment later. He was convinced that Ziranphel would advocate for him - though part of him told him that may be naive. Be that as it may - her advocating for him did not mean it wouldn't fall on deaf ears. Macardil did not think King Elessar was not open to mercy, but he understood how his story sounded. It would take an exceptional ruler to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Last edited by Arnyn on Sun Apr 10, 2022 1:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
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Counsellor of Gondor
Posts: 566
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 3:52 am
Karis Ziranphel
Dungeons
Ziran had done as she promised, first going to visit Macardil’s mother and sharing what she could of her conclusions. She had needed to tear herself away with her promise to speak to the King and was careful to make no promises to his mother despite the woman’s joy. It was natural to want more hope, but she had none to give.
The report to Aragorn had been in many ways more challenging despite her typically succinct and honest. It was difficult to speak clearly about what should not be possible. But he had listened with grave attention and not dismissed her out of hand. Instead, he considered for a long moment and then told her to return in two hours with Macardil.
She now strode back down the dark tunnels with a disbelieving guard ahead of her and two of Aragorn’s personal Citadel Guards behind her in their imposing outfits. A cloak was slung over her arm, as it had dawned on her that he had been wearing summer gear previously, and even the clothes she had brought were not quite sufficient for the wind that caught the mountain city on a winter day. Her face was carefully impassive when the guard went through the same ritual of yelling before opening the cell door.
Ziran stepped through first, noting in a glance the now much shorter candle, and Macardil standing by the wall. She nodded to him and then addressed him formally in the presence of the guards, lifting the written order she held in her hand, quite unlike before. “Macardil. You have been summoned before the King, and are released into my custody, to accompany me under armed escort to stand before his judgment.” She paused for a moment, to let the words sink in. “Bring all that you have with you, as you may or may not be returning to this place, and it would not do to inconvenience the guards.”
She waited in silence while he gathered the small remnants from her visit and the precious but worn ranger attire, and bound it up in the cloth she had brought before. When he approached, she put her hand out to motion him to stop and then took the bundle from him. She nodded to the citadel guards to bind his hands, and they did so with the shackles they had brought. She had spoken to them on the way here, and for a change they did so without undue roughness. It was her turn. “It is cold out,” were her quiet words before she shook out the cloak and draped it over his shoulders. Her eyes flicked up to meet his blue gaze a brief moment as she fastened it, and then she let them drop and stepped back with a nod. “Follow me.” Turning on her heel, she gave him the honor of not holding his arm to lead, and instead walked ahead out the door and up toward the entrance.
Dungeons
Ziran had done as she promised, first going to visit Macardil’s mother and sharing what she could of her conclusions. She had needed to tear herself away with her promise to speak to the King and was careful to make no promises to his mother despite the woman’s joy. It was natural to want more hope, but she had none to give.
The report to Aragorn had been in many ways more challenging despite her typically succinct and honest. It was difficult to speak clearly about what should not be possible. But he had listened with grave attention and not dismissed her out of hand. Instead, he considered for a long moment and then told her to return in two hours with Macardil.
She now strode back down the dark tunnels with a disbelieving guard ahead of her and two of Aragorn’s personal Citadel Guards behind her in their imposing outfits. A cloak was slung over her arm, as it had dawned on her that he had been wearing summer gear previously, and even the clothes she had brought were not quite sufficient for the wind that caught the mountain city on a winter day. Her face was carefully impassive when the guard went through the same ritual of yelling before opening the cell door.
Ziran stepped through first, noting in a glance the now much shorter candle, and Macardil standing by the wall. She nodded to him and then addressed him formally in the presence of the guards, lifting the written order she held in her hand, quite unlike before. “Macardil. You have been summoned before the King, and are released into my custody, to accompany me under armed escort to stand before his judgment.” She paused for a moment, to let the words sink in. “Bring all that you have with you, as you may or may not be returning to this place, and it would not do to inconvenience the guards.”
She waited in silence while he gathered the small remnants from her visit and the precious but worn ranger attire, and bound it up in the cloth she had brought before. When he approached, she put her hand out to motion him to stop and then took the bundle from him. She nodded to the citadel guards to bind his hands, and they did so with the shackles they had brought. She had spoken to them on the way here, and for a change they did so without undue roughness. It was her turn. “It is cold out,” were her quiet words before she shook out the cloak and draped it over his shoulders. Her eyes flicked up to meet his blue gaze a brief moment as she fastened it, and then she let them drop and stepped back with a nod. “Follow me.” Turning on her heel, she gave him the honor of not holding his arm to lead, and instead walked ahead out the door and up toward the entrance.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien
- Points: 6 920
Steward of Gondor
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Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Macardil
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell and Hallways
After eating his fill, he'd changed into the clothes Karis Ziranphel had brought, and he was glad to find they were indeed his own, and they were much warmer than the ones he'd been wearing. He lay down on the thin mattress then, staring up at the ceiling with a faint frown as he ran through the conversation several times. He speculated on all the different things that his visitor might do, what the worst case scenario would be, as well as the best case scenario.
He ran it all through, analyzing every part of the possible sequences of events.
When he was running the options through a second time, he heard shouts at the other side of his cell door for the second time that day. Quick and lean still, he straightened and moved to the wall, meanwhile considering the options.
Did the guards want to know more about Ziranphel's visit? Were they unhappy he had gotten food and clothes from the outside and had they come to take away what they could?
They would sorely regret it if the latter was the case, he vowed to himself. Prisoner or not, he would not be pushed around like a plaything. He would not let them take the first items someone had brought him. Not that much of the food was left anymore - and perhaps he would have accepted them taking that - but his eyes fell on his ranger clothes and gear. That was his. And his alone.
They could take his rank. They could take his sense of belonging. But they could not take those.
When he saw Karis stepping into his cell again, for the second time that day, some of the tension left his muscles. He needed no explanation for the shift from her ealier behavior, given the open door and more faces behind her. An audience. And it seemed she was here on official business, at least more so than before.
His slight frown changed into an expression of genuine surprise (he was released into her custody?), quickly followed by an uneasiness that settled in the very pit of his stomach (he was to stand before the judgment of the King?). For a heartbeat, he was stunned. The next, he was gathering his old clothes and gear in the cloth. She held out a hand to stop him, without touching him, and took the bundle from him. Two guards in the livery of the Citadel bound his hands at her silent command. Not with rope, but in shackles. Their 'click' rang in his ear in a more uncomfortable way than the sound of his cell door slamming shut earlier. The sound was almost like another sentence was being passed. Armed escort. Shackles. It was prudent, he would admit that much. It was wise. And they did not hurt him. But it did not feel like he would be walking to his salvation.
Had the King decided his version of events was the last straw, and had he mutated his sentence from imprisonment to death?
You may or may not be returning to this place.
It seemed that Ziranphel did not know, either.
She put a cloak on him, and his piercing gaze tried to gauge her as she fastened it and only briefly made eye contact. He had some questions, but felt in his bones this was not the time. He maintained his silence throughout. She told him to follow.
Macardil noted how no one, not Karis, nor the guards of the Citadel, held him by the arm or the shoulder, nor did they brandish any weapons at him. He wondered if they had gotten instructions not to, or whether they had chosen not to. Yet he appreciated it all the same. It left him some dignity as he walked out of his cell, Ziranphel ahead of him, the Citadel guards to either side of him, no more than one step behind.
Former Lieutenant
Dungeon Cell and Hallways
After eating his fill, he'd changed into the clothes Karis Ziranphel had brought, and he was glad to find they were indeed his own, and they were much warmer than the ones he'd been wearing. He lay down on the thin mattress then, staring up at the ceiling with a faint frown as he ran through the conversation several times. He speculated on all the different things that his visitor might do, what the worst case scenario would be, as well as the best case scenario.
He ran it all through, analyzing every part of the possible sequences of events.
When he was running the options through a second time, he heard shouts at the other side of his cell door for the second time that day. Quick and lean still, he straightened and moved to the wall, meanwhile considering the options.
Did the guards want to know more about Ziranphel's visit? Were they unhappy he had gotten food and clothes from the outside and had they come to take away what they could?
They would sorely regret it if the latter was the case, he vowed to himself. Prisoner or not, he would not be pushed around like a plaything. He would not let them take the first items someone had brought him. Not that much of the food was left anymore - and perhaps he would have accepted them taking that - but his eyes fell on his ranger clothes and gear. That was his. And his alone.
They could take his rank. They could take his sense of belonging. But they could not take those.
When he saw Karis stepping into his cell again, for the second time that day, some of the tension left his muscles. He needed no explanation for the shift from her ealier behavior, given the open door and more faces behind her. An audience. And it seemed she was here on official business, at least more so than before.
His slight frown changed into an expression of genuine surprise (he was released into her custody?), quickly followed by an uneasiness that settled in the very pit of his stomach (he was to stand before the judgment of the King?). For a heartbeat, he was stunned. The next, he was gathering his old clothes and gear in the cloth. She held out a hand to stop him, without touching him, and took the bundle from him. Two guards in the livery of the Citadel bound his hands at her silent command. Not with rope, but in shackles. Their 'click' rang in his ear in a more uncomfortable way than the sound of his cell door slamming shut earlier. The sound was almost like another sentence was being passed. Armed escort. Shackles. It was prudent, he would admit that much. It was wise. And they did not hurt him. But it did not feel like he would be walking to his salvation.
Had the King decided his version of events was the last straw, and had he mutated his sentence from imprisonment to death?
You may or may not be returning to this place.
It seemed that Ziranphel did not know, either.
She put a cloak on him, and his piercing gaze tried to gauge her as she fastened it and only briefly made eye contact. He had some questions, but felt in his bones this was not the time. He maintained his silence throughout. She told him to follow.
Macardil noted how no one, not Karis, nor the guards of the Citadel, held him by the arm or the shoulder, nor did they brandish any weapons at him. He wondered if they had gotten instructions not to, or whether they had chosen not to. Yet he appreciated it all the same. It left him some dignity as he walked out of his cell, Ziranphel ahead of him, the Citadel guards to either side of him, no more than one step behind.
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
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Faramir
Posts: 2959
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:58 pm
With visitors, out of cell
@Rillewen , @Ercassie
Shamara cast her glance around the dark hallway, and she could not help but feel that being stuck between these two men was similar to being in the cell. She had no clue who had sent them and why, but apparently she was now drawn into some sort of conspiracy completely not of her own making.
"So... what is it you two want from me exactly?" she dared to ask in mere whisper, toying with the shackles and keeping her eyes cast down so as not to make them think that she would attempt an escape, or resist them in any way. As far as she could see, anything of the kind would be counterproductive, yet she was curious. Would they take her somewhere to use her for their purposes, or would they let her go? She doubted they would let her leave without trying to get any benefit out of it.
Cautiously she stepped forward, though she made no attempt to run.
~ I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren ~
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Balrog
Posts: 3682
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
The Golden Liar
The Pillory, Second Circle
(Private)
Orphans and urchins had to learn who to trust and who to avoid. It was a hard lesson to pass, and often there was only one chance to succeed. Trust the wrong person for even an instant, and you could end up dead (or worse). Something about this woman set off an alarm bell in his head, ringing masses of confusion and mistrust. She was beautiful, but her beauty was strange and unearthly. He’d never seen an elf, but he imagined they looked something like this (only more so). Her features were sharp, her cheekbones alone looked like they might cut him, and her skin was pale, like washed alabaster. Her eyes were piercing, he could only look at them a moment before feeling the urge to look away. His neck hurt, straining to look at this woman. She was rich, that much he could tell. She was trying to hide it by not wearing the latest sixth circle fashions, but an urchin doesn’t live long if he can’t read a person’s demeanor. Rich people and guards were bad enough, fellow urchins and homeless people could be just as bad, people out to survive at any cost or weasels looking to rip the clothes right off your back. He’d had to deal with both. She was hiding something. Her unsettling eyes sparkled when he tried to look at them again. He rapidly looked away.
“What’s it to you lady?” he sounded sharper than he meant to, or maybe he didn’t. There was something off about this woman, a sort of shiver down his spine he couldn’t explain.
She spoke again, her voice was golden and slippery and made him feel like he was being watched. “Oh honey, it’s both everything to me and nothing at all.” She laughed in that nonchalant way rich women laugh, a light airy sound that carried with it a leaden weight of intent. The sound unsettled him. The sun was still shining, bright as ever, but the world felt like it was spinning in the wrong direction. What did her response even mean? Everything and nothing? He was young, but he had no patience for answers like that. Riddles were the caviar of the rich, playing like cats swiping at people who didn’t understand their multilayered threats and comments. He’d heard the rumors about some of the strange appetites rich people had in the sixth circle, a place where morals were as flexible as the young trees to which they might strap him. He grumbled under his breath, then coughed as his dry throat contracted.
“What does a rich lady like you want with an urchin like me?” His neck spasmed just at that moment, sending a lightning bolt of pain that wrapped around his head. Being immobilized as he was, the only thing he could do was endure the pain. He bit his tongue, hoping not to let out any indications of weakness.
“Right now,” the woman said, either not noticing his pain or not caring, “all I want to do is get you out of the divine hand of Gondorian Justice. Is that really so bad?” Something jangled, the sound of keys bouncing against one another. “What say you boy? Food and drink, and a chance to stand up straight?”
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."
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Ent Ancient
Posts: 1875
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Hathaldir with Thea
Second Circle Gaol
At last, after what felt like an eternal day of suffering and strain, they were finally here, at the arching doorway to the city gaol. Carved into the mountain itself, it loomed, a great shadow of impenetrable darkness and creeping passages, inescapable. The metal gate barring the way screeched and groaned, promising a quick alarm if any foolishly dared to try for freedom this way. Hathaldir shoved Thea forward, keeping her upright by his hold on her chained wrists when she stumbled.
The stone structure swallowed up all light and heat with greedy hunger, leaving a bone-deep chill to settle over them. Hathaldir felt immediate relief from his headache as they passed the threshold and into the passage, as if the darkness recognized itself in him and welcomed him home. Even the cool air was easier to breathe. Flaming sconces cast faint glowing puddles every few steps, which seemed to leave the untouched spaces blacker than black.
Down, down, down, they wound around spiraling staircases into the underbelly of the mountain where criminals like her belonged. His thumping footsteps and the clinking chains restraining the girl echoed around them. They came to a hall like all the rest. Mossy trails crusted every crack in the floor and walls where water seeped through, and gritty dirt and grime coated everything else, giving the air an earthy, musty scent. The white rock beneath, cleaned and buffed to perfection in the City, was unrecognizable here, buried beneath layers of aged filth. Cell doors ran along the length of the hall, one after the other after the other. One awaited the thief.
Hathaldir marched forward, guiding her along. She was a twig of a thing, small and pliant, easily led. He came to an abrupt halt, guiding her within inches of the cell door that would contain her. Clamping one hand tighter around her manacles, though there was nowhere to go if she ran, with the other, he unlocked the door and kicked it open.
Hathaldir wrapped his fingers around ratty tendrils of red hair, tipping her head back and forcing her to look around. To see this place, this cell. To see what she had done to herself.
“Well, little mouse,” he murmured in her ear, “home sweet home. How do you like it?”
Second Circle Gaol
At last, after what felt like an eternal day of suffering and strain, they were finally here, at the arching doorway to the city gaol. Carved into the mountain itself, it loomed, a great shadow of impenetrable darkness and creeping passages, inescapable. The metal gate barring the way screeched and groaned, promising a quick alarm if any foolishly dared to try for freedom this way. Hathaldir shoved Thea forward, keeping her upright by his hold on her chained wrists when she stumbled.
The stone structure swallowed up all light and heat with greedy hunger, leaving a bone-deep chill to settle over them. Hathaldir felt immediate relief from his headache as they passed the threshold and into the passage, as if the darkness recognized itself in him and welcomed him home. Even the cool air was easier to breathe. Flaming sconces cast faint glowing puddles every few steps, which seemed to leave the untouched spaces blacker than black.
Down, down, down, they wound around spiraling staircases into the underbelly of the mountain where criminals like her belonged. His thumping footsteps and the clinking chains restraining the girl echoed around them. They came to a hall like all the rest. Mossy trails crusted every crack in the floor and walls where water seeped through, and gritty dirt and grime coated everything else, giving the air an earthy, musty scent. The white rock beneath, cleaned and buffed to perfection in the City, was unrecognizable here, buried beneath layers of aged filth. Cell doors ran along the length of the hall, one after the other after the other. One awaited the thief.
Hathaldir marched forward, guiding her along. She was a twig of a thing, small and pliant, easily led. He came to an abrupt halt, guiding her within inches of the cell door that would contain her. Clamping one hand tighter around her manacles, though there was nowhere to go if she ran, with the other, he unlocked the door and kicked it open.
Hathaldir wrapped his fingers around ratty tendrils of red hair, tipping her head back and forcing her to look around. To see this place, this cell. To see what she had done to herself.
“Well, little mouse,” he murmured in her ear, “home sweet home. How do you like it?”
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Steward of Gondor
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@Pele Alarion, @Ercassie
The "Guard"
In the Dungeon beneath the Gaol, moving up to the Gaol. Second Circle
He watched the man a bit warily as he unlocked the cell. He was clearly very nervous, and that could ruin everything. Mar could hear the keys shaking in his hands, and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "Get ahold of yourself," He ordered, quietly while the prisoner was putting the shackles on. "You mess this up, and I may go kill her myself." He grumbled. Then, pausing, he thought about what might better motivate the man to try harder at making his performance more believable, and to stop being so jittery and nervous. "On the other hand," He added thoughtfully, "if you do everything just right... I might just be able to get your wife back to you." Having dangled that little bit of hope before the fool, Mar hoped to inspire him into greater cooperation. He smiled slightly. "I happen to know exactly where she is."
The easy part was now over, getting to the cell and opening it. Next came the tricky part, the part where the slightest thing going wrong could spell danger for everyone. Especially Mar, which is really the main thing he was worried about. "Alright, move." He addressed this order primarily at Shamara, though it included Lowendir as well. "You're lucky someone wants you freed," He added to Shamara, then wondered just how 'lucky' she really was, as he recalled part of the conversation he'd had with Ark concerning this whole thing. It seemed she was meant to be some sort of unwitting scapegoat or decoy, but that didn't really matter much to him. What mattered was that it would ultimately help him.
Escorting the prisoner along the corridor, with the "lawyer" close behind, Mar started to wonder what other surprises might be awaiting him. Ark was not one to underestimate, but then, neither was Mar. Still, he had better be extra careful, and watch out just in case. Ascending from the dungeon level to the gaol, the "guard" paused, partly so that he could take a look around and reassure himself that there were no true guards lurking around who may stop them, and partly to allow their eyes to adjust to the slightly lighter setting. It had been quite dark down below, and while it was still fairly dark here, there were more torches.
Mar preferred to be able to see all that was around him. And he was glad he'd chosen to pause, once his eyes had adjusted enough to take in the sight of a guard(@Kirinki), some ways ahead of them down the long, dim-lit hallway. The other, real one seemed to have been escorting a prisoner to a cell, and Mar frowned as he watched the guard down the hallway. He remained still and quiet, lingering in the dark by the door that led to the dungeon. Should he wait until the other had gone away? If all went according to plan, there would be no one who might be able to connect him to this prisoner's escape. Raising a hand to silently convey the message to 'wait', he hoped neither Shamara, nor Lowendir, would make any noise to draw the other guard's attention.
The "Guard"
In the Dungeon beneath the Gaol, moving up to the Gaol. Second Circle
He watched the man a bit warily as he unlocked the cell. He was clearly very nervous, and that could ruin everything. Mar could hear the keys shaking in his hands, and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "Get ahold of yourself," He ordered, quietly while the prisoner was putting the shackles on. "You mess this up, and I may go kill her myself." He grumbled. Then, pausing, he thought about what might better motivate the man to try harder at making his performance more believable, and to stop being so jittery and nervous. "On the other hand," He added thoughtfully, "if you do everything just right... I might just be able to get your wife back to you." Having dangled that little bit of hope before the fool, Mar hoped to inspire him into greater cooperation. He smiled slightly. "I happen to know exactly where she is."
The easy part was now over, getting to the cell and opening it. Next came the tricky part, the part where the slightest thing going wrong could spell danger for everyone. Especially Mar, which is really the main thing he was worried about. "Alright, move." He addressed this order primarily at Shamara, though it included Lowendir as well. "You're lucky someone wants you freed," He added to Shamara, then wondered just how 'lucky' she really was, as he recalled part of the conversation he'd had with Ark concerning this whole thing. It seemed she was meant to be some sort of unwitting scapegoat or decoy, but that didn't really matter much to him. What mattered was that it would ultimately help him.
Escorting the prisoner along the corridor, with the "lawyer" close behind, Mar started to wonder what other surprises might be awaiting him. Ark was not one to underestimate, but then, neither was Mar. Still, he had better be extra careful, and watch out just in case. Ascending from the dungeon level to the gaol, the "guard" paused, partly so that he could take a look around and reassure himself that there were no true guards lurking around who may stop them, and partly to allow their eyes to adjust to the slightly lighter setting. It had been quite dark down below, and while it was still fairly dark here, there were more torches.
Mar preferred to be able to see all that was around him. And he was glad he'd chosen to pause, once his eyes had adjusted enough to take in the sight of a guard(@Kirinki), some ways ahead of them down the long, dim-lit hallway. The other, real one seemed to have been escorting a prisoner to a cell, and Mar frowned as he watched the guard down the hallway. He remained still and quiet, lingering in the dark by the door that led to the dungeon. Should he wait until the other had gone away? If all went according to plan, there would be no one who might be able to connect him to this prisoner's escape. Raising a hand to silently convey the message to 'wait', he hoped neither Shamara, nor Lowendir, would make any noise to draw the other guard's attention.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 9:43 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Faramir
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@Rillewen , @Ercassie
Shamara
Shamara observed the interactions with much curiosity, trying to figure out how they all were related, and how she really fit into it all. The guy who had posed as her lawyer now seemed to have lost all composure - or was this yet another part he was acting? He had been all sly and cunning before, both saying just enough and not saying anything at all. He had looked sure of himself and in the part he had played. Her dark eyes locked on the man for a few long moments until the guard told them to move.
"Pfft... perhaps lucky indeed," the Umbarian said quietly, doing her best not to sound rather derisive. For all she knew she could walk out of the dungeons and right into the hands of some enemy. She seriously doubted any of the Gondorians she knew would do this as they really wanted her locked away safely. Relic maybe? In that case, she would not be sure whether the woman would care enough to set her free, unless it was to punish her. That much was clear though: whoever was wanting to get her out knew both of these men, and had the lawyer's wife in their possession.
Even though Shamara's mind was busy trying to make links and figure out all the involved parties, she still maintained a high level of alertness and stopped as soon as Mar's hand went up. She moved further back into the shadows behind him, and once again regarded Lowendir. Yet only her eyes spoke, while her lips remained silent and formed something resembling a smile.
Shamara
Shamara observed the interactions with much curiosity, trying to figure out how they all were related, and how she really fit into it all. The guy who had posed as her lawyer now seemed to have lost all composure - or was this yet another part he was acting? He had been all sly and cunning before, both saying just enough and not saying anything at all. He had looked sure of himself and in the part he had played. Her dark eyes locked on the man for a few long moments until the guard told them to move.
"Pfft... perhaps lucky indeed," the Umbarian said quietly, doing her best not to sound rather derisive. For all she knew she could walk out of the dungeons and right into the hands of some enemy. She seriously doubted any of the Gondorians she knew would do this as they really wanted her locked away safely. Relic maybe? In that case, she would not be sure whether the woman would care enough to set her free, unless it was to punish her. That much was clear though: whoever was wanting to get her out knew both of these men, and had the lawyer's wife in their possession.
Even though Shamara's mind was busy trying to make links and figure out all the involved parties, she still maintained a high level of alertness and stopped as soon as Mar's hand went up. She moved further back into the shadows behind him, and once again regarded Lowendir. Yet only her eyes spoke, while her lips remained silent and formed something resembling a smile.
~ I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren ~
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High Warden of Tower
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Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:37 am
Lowendir aka The Visitor
with Shamara and ‘The Guard’
@Pele Alarion @Rillewen
with Shamara and ‘The Guard’
@Pele Alarion @Rillewen
Provided with a new costume of character now, Lowendir fell to feebly obliging the ‘Guard’, as convincingly as he had ever gone about intriguing the prisoner. That was, as it turned out, as easily said as done. Assuming the guise of a lawyer and speaking to a prisoner, with strong bars to separate their states, that was one matter. To assist in the liberation of that same, dangerous, prisoner was a rather darker shade of illegal which put more than his own freedom at risk. There was no doubt in the actor’s mind who was the most expendable amongst their party and he didn’t put it past either of his ‘accomplices’ to throw him under the proverbial cart. Still, the prospect of reunion with his wife, with the only woman, the only person he could remember, who had ever taken him for who he was .. he would risk all for that. He had risked more and more with every passing day since she had been lost to him.
“I’ve done all that you .. he, all that he has asked of me,” the ‘Visitor’ insisted in a hoarse whisper to try and convince the ‘Guard’ of his devotion. “Please, I ..” he began, and was abruptly cut off. As their armoured escort turned his attentions to the Umbarian slaver, and Lowendir ceased with his thin-voiced pleas.
He might have felt slighted to be so rudely dismissed, save that it was somewhat a relief to be rendered all but shadow to the pair he stalked along the murky passage. At the tail end of their treacherous procession, he tried not to overthink whether this ‘Guard’ was in fact the same man of many faces. Arkadhur (whose name the actor did not know), had got the drop on Lowendir so many times by simply showing up in almost any unknown form and starting up a conversation and then dropping into ‘that’ same threat .. in that same voice …. That voice he would remember until his dying day. But the ‘Guard’ here had not fallen to that same voice, and the Guard was actually here, actually working with Lowendir .. whereas the man who had took his wife, had always always demanded that the actor do all the work FOR him.
Could he trust this new collaborator, this ‘Guard’ then ? It was not as though the blackmailed man could betray the suited escort. Even besides that his wife stood as collateral, he did not know this man’s name either, nor what he looked like underneath all that armour. For all he knew, the man of faces had blackmailed this fellow as well ..
He put the blame to his standing further behind, and in dim light, as the reason he almost walked into Shamara when she stopped suddenly. Lowendir certainly had not been in any position to see the ‘Guard’s raise of hand, so far ahead of him. It was debateable whether he would have done so, if they walked under the beaming light of day of course. Since his mind had been elsewhere. He dearly wished that the all of him could be elsewhere. But soon .. soon .. he clung to the unspoken mantra. For better or worse it had to be all over soon. What was the hold up now ? Inclining his scrawny neck, the actor sought to see around the woman who stood between him and the ‘Guard’. It was, admittedly, more dressed in light at this level, unless his eyes had since adapted to the darkness after what felt like some hours.
When the prisoner turned and smiled at him, as seductive and disarming as a python, Lowendir backed up noticeably. He’d seen how she had draped those fetters about her thin wrists, as though the restraints were but bangles. He had been given the barest of information at the outset, that should serve him in urging the slaver to trust him. But at the time it had felt like ammunition, like that mere knowledge was some power he held over her. By recognising what she was …
Now that same information had up and turned the tables. He knew all too well what she was capable of, and it took all that he had, not to flee in terror back up the passage they had just come from. It did occur that maybe he ought go back and lock himself safely away in that dungeon and be done with it.
But his wife … she was counting upon him .. And so he clung to the keys in his hand for all the symbol that they stood for emancipation.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
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Faramir
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@Rillewen , @Ercassie
Surprise could be clearly seen in Shamara's dark eyes when Lowendir backed away from her as if she had some terribly infectious disease. She was not used to people being exactly afraid of her, perhaps cautious at most, so this came to her as a surprise. She looked the man up and down curiously and supposed that whoever sent him must have intimidated him badly, besides apparently there was that concern for his wife. Shamara shrugged lightly and turned back forward to offer him some space to breathe.
She was not too much in awe of being released before she was ready, yet it seemed a more viable option to being stuck here in the hallway indefinitely. Cautiously she inched closer to the guard and looked over his armoured shoulder, her chin almost touching it. The Umbarian wondered whether he would simply not be able to handle whatever came their way as he would upon passing the guards at the entrance - since there would be such, she assumed.
"Well?" she breathed barely audibly next to his ear. "What's the hold up? You're a guard, are you not?" Could the man not just play his part to the end and be done with? Shamara was becoming impatient, though she was not sure whether she would be in fact released or perhaps just handed over to someone.
Surprise could be clearly seen in Shamara's dark eyes when Lowendir backed away from her as if she had some terribly infectious disease. She was not used to people being exactly afraid of her, perhaps cautious at most, so this came to her as a surprise. She looked the man up and down curiously and supposed that whoever sent him must have intimidated him badly, besides apparently there was that concern for his wife. Shamara shrugged lightly and turned back forward to offer him some space to breathe.
She was not too much in awe of being released before she was ready, yet it seemed a more viable option to being stuck here in the hallway indefinitely. Cautiously she inched closer to the guard and looked over his armoured shoulder, her chin almost touching it. The Umbarian wondered whether he would simply not be able to handle whatever came their way as he would upon passing the guards at the entrance - since there would be such, she assumed.
"Well?" she breathed barely audibly next to his ear. "What's the hold up? You're a guard, are you not?" Could the man not just play his part to the end and be done with? Shamara was becoming impatient, though she was not sure whether she would be in fact released or perhaps just handed over to someone.
~ I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren ~
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Master Torturer
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Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 11:22 am
Thea
She did not put up a fight as Hathaldir escorted her to the city's goal. She never did. A people pleaser by nature it went against everything she was. Today had been her first "rebellion" and look where that had landed her. Pale and trembling she looked around with fearful eyes, pupils dialating as they went from brightness of the daylight to the darkness of the oppressing gaol that was dug into the mountain. She swore she could feel the weight of the mountain adding to the guilt already weighing her down and her head dropped forward as the realisation of where she would likely spend a long time hit home.
Downcast eyes locked on her manacled hands, that were held in a secure grip, as Hathaldir led her further and further into the cool darkness. The scattered torches did nothing to belay her fears, using the rest of her strength to avoid looking into those pitch black corners the fires did not illuminate. Valar knew what lurked in those corners, her imagination fighting her to run amok with terrifying options.
Cries, whimpers, sniffles and hacking coughs greeted the pair as they entered the area with the holding cells, the putrid smell of unwashed bodies and unemptied buckets of filth assulting her nose and almost making her gag. She wanted to cover her mouth and nose, though the guard suddenly stopped and clenched the grip on her wrists and manacles so hard it made her whimper.
She had fought so hard to avoid looking around all to be foiled at the last minute as Hathaldir grabbed her by the hair and forced her head back, making her look around at the misery she would be joining. All notions of suffering with dignity left her as her eyes darted from one cell to the next, the sounds seemingly growing in volume even though they remained the same.
Tears flooded her vision as her shaking legs fought to keep her on her feet. "Pleease! Oh, please don't leave me in here! Please! I beg of you, please, I promise I won't ever do it again! I will repay it all and more! I will work for free for a year! Please, please don't leave me here!" The words poured out of her, with all the desperation and terror that had been building inside of her since she was caught, her timbre reaching a feverish pitch as she fought to grab a hold of the guards hand, eyes pulling away from the horror around her and trying to look at him.
She did not put up a fight as Hathaldir escorted her to the city's goal. She never did. A people pleaser by nature it went against everything she was. Today had been her first "rebellion" and look where that had landed her. Pale and trembling she looked around with fearful eyes, pupils dialating as they went from brightness of the daylight to the darkness of the oppressing gaol that was dug into the mountain. She swore she could feel the weight of the mountain adding to the guilt already weighing her down and her head dropped forward as the realisation of where she would likely spend a long time hit home.
Downcast eyes locked on her manacled hands, that were held in a secure grip, as Hathaldir led her further and further into the cool darkness. The scattered torches did nothing to belay her fears, using the rest of her strength to avoid looking into those pitch black corners the fires did not illuminate. Valar knew what lurked in those corners, her imagination fighting her to run amok with terrifying options.
Cries, whimpers, sniffles and hacking coughs greeted the pair as they entered the area with the holding cells, the putrid smell of unwashed bodies and unemptied buckets of filth assulting her nose and almost making her gag. She wanted to cover her mouth and nose, though the guard suddenly stopped and clenched the grip on her wrists and manacles so hard it made her whimper.
She had fought so hard to avoid looking around all to be foiled at the last minute as Hathaldir grabbed her by the hair and forced her head back, making her look around at the misery she would be joining. All notions of suffering with dignity left her as her eyes darted from one cell to the next, the sounds seemingly growing in volume even though they remained the same.
Tears flooded her vision as her shaking legs fought to keep her on her feet. "Pleease! Oh, please don't leave me in here! Please! I beg of you, please, I promise I won't ever do it again! I will repay it all and more! I will work for free for a year! Please, please don't leave me here!" The words poured out of her, with all the desperation and terror that had been building inside of her since she was caught, her timbre reaching a feverish pitch as she fought to grab a hold of the guards hand, eyes pulling away from the horror around her and trying to look at him.
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Steward of Gondor
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@Pele Alarion, @Ercassie @Winddancer @Kirinki
The "Guard"
Gaol, Second Circle
Pitiful whimpers and pleading echoed down the corridor from the prisoner recently introduced to her new home. Mar tilted his head, listening with intrigue, until he heard the woman behind him whispering right by his ear.
"What's the hold up? You're a guard, are you not?"
The words irked him slightly, questioning his ability to pull this off, but he managed to keep his composure. "Is your impatience what brought you to be in the dungeon to begin with?" He muttered, softly, turning his head slightly toward her. The helmet kept him from actually looking at her, but hoped that he got his point across. Rushing into things would not help anything. After having taken a moment to watch what was happening ahead, he saw that it was merely some guard shoving a prisoner into a cell. He was fairly sure he had never seen that guard before, but that didn't mean much. The two stars above the white tree on his uniform proclaimed to the world that he was a lieutenant, and therefore, ought not be challenged by anyone bearing fewer stars than himself.
Down the gaol corridor they traveled, past cells inhabited by petty criminals barely worth noticing. Until they arrived at the one most recently occupied, where the guard still lingered. Mar took a glance at his uniform, noting the lack of any stars. A newbie, then. He seemed to be relishing in the girl's misery, which brought a faint smirk to Mar's lips. He'd be doing exactly the same, in his shoes. Ironically, Mar thought with faint amusement, if it had been his brother to catch this man behaving like that, he would have spoken up against it. Luckily for the other guard, Ric wasn't here. Holding the prisoner's arm with one hand, his sword drawn in the other, he kept walking without slowing his pace, as he approached. "Out of the way," He ordered, with a wave of his sword to indicate that the lower-ranking guard should step aside to allow him and his 'prisoner' to pass.
As he was moving past the cell, however, Mar caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye. Stopping in his tracks in surprise, Mar turned back toward the cell, momentarily putting the other two out of mind, though he kept his grip on the "prisoner". They would wait... they had little choice after all, and he didn't really care what they might think of this slight deviation from the plan. Was that her? Could it be? He wouldn't have expected to find his fugitive here, of all places, but he couldn't rule it out. This girl looked like her, but.. he wasn't sure. She looked like she might be taller, but his quarry could have grown some since she escaped from him.
"Who is your prisoner?" He inquired of the other guard. Thankfully, the helmet he wore would not only hide most of his face and cast the rest in shadows, but it would also slightly distort his voice slightly. So he need not worry too much about his (or Ric's) voice or face being recognized, later. But he had to check the identity of this girl. "You, stand up." He ordered the red haired girl, his heart racing with hope. She looked a bit too tearful to be the same one, but then again, it could be an act. Perhaps she hoped to soften the guard and convince him to let her go, before he realized she was the same girl in all the posters he'd put out, offering such a large reward. He had to be certain. "What are your crimes?" He demanded, speaking in a stern voice. She looked so alike to the girl he sought, at least in the dim gaol cell, that he needed to hear the girl's voice before he was sure.
The "Guard"
Gaol, Second Circle
Pitiful whimpers and pleading echoed down the corridor from the prisoner recently introduced to her new home. Mar tilted his head, listening with intrigue, until he heard the woman behind him whispering right by his ear.
"What's the hold up? You're a guard, are you not?"
The words irked him slightly, questioning his ability to pull this off, but he managed to keep his composure. "Is your impatience what brought you to be in the dungeon to begin with?" He muttered, softly, turning his head slightly toward her. The helmet kept him from actually looking at her, but hoped that he got his point across. Rushing into things would not help anything. After having taken a moment to watch what was happening ahead, he saw that it was merely some guard shoving a prisoner into a cell. He was fairly sure he had never seen that guard before, but that didn't mean much. The two stars above the white tree on his uniform proclaimed to the world that he was a lieutenant, and therefore, ought not be challenged by anyone bearing fewer stars than himself.
Down the gaol corridor they traveled, past cells inhabited by petty criminals barely worth noticing. Until they arrived at the one most recently occupied, where the guard still lingered. Mar took a glance at his uniform, noting the lack of any stars. A newbie, then. He seemed to be relishing in the girl's misery, which brought a faint smirk to Mar's lips. He'd be doing exactly the same, in his shoes. Ironically, Mar thought with faint amusement, if it had been his brother to catch this man behaving like that, he would have spoken up against it. Luckily for the other guard, Ric wasn't here. Holding the prisoner's arm with one hand, his sword drawn in the other, he kept walking without slowing his pace, as he approached. "Out of the way," He ordered, with a wave of his sword to indicate that the lower-ranking guard should step aside to allow him and his 'prisoner' to pass.
As he was moving past the cell, however, Mar caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye. Stopping in his tracks in surprise, Mar turned back toward the cell, momentarily putting the other two out of mind, though he kept his grip on the "prisoner". They would wait... they had little choice after all, and he didn't really care what they might think of this slight deviation from the plan. Was that her? Could it be? He wouldn't have expected to find his fugitive here, of all places, but he couldn't rule it out. This girl looked like her, but.. he wasn't sure. She looked like she might be taller, but his quarry could have grown some since she escaped from him.
"Who is your prisoner?" He inquired of the other guard. Thankfully, the helmet he wore would not only hide most of his face and cast the rest in shadows, but it would also slightly distort his voice slightly. So he need not worry too much about his (or Ric's) voice or face being recognized, later. But he had to check the identity of this girl. "You, stand up." He ordered the red haired girl, his heart racing with hope. She looked a bit too tearful to be the same one, but then again, it could be an act. Perhaps she hoped to soften the guard and convince him to let her go, before he realized she was the same girl in all the posters he'd put out, offering such a large reward. He had to be certain. "What are your crimes?" He demanded, speaking in a stern voice. She looked so alike to the girl he sought, at least in the dim gaol cell, that he needed to hear the girl's voice before he was sure.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 9:43 am, edited 1 time in total.
I'm looking for someone to share in an Adventure
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Faramir
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Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:58 pm
@Rillewen , @Ercassie
"Impatience would have had me killed," Shamara responded in the same whisper, her dark eyes reflecting amusement that her comment seemed to have annoyed the guard though he attempted not to show it much.
Finally they began to move off again, yet, just as she looked forward in hopes of seeing daylight again, the guard seemed to be more interested in the other prisoner they were passing. He held her arm, so Shamara was forced to go with him when he decided to investigate more.
Since there was nothing else left for her to do, she listened to the conversations and tried to get a better look at the prisoner. It seemed just a young girl, perhaps a thief of some sort for surely there were thieves in Gondor too, and Shamara doubted the lass could have done any other serious infraction. Her heart went out to the girl as she remembered her own humble beginnings, and she would have wanted to share an advice or two to keep her out of these walls in the future; however, this was neither the place nor the time for such manifestations of compassion.
"Seems that Gondorian dungeons are not much different from the Southern," the Umbarian noted, turning towards her 'lawyer'. "Dark, confined spaces overseen by cruel, heartless guards."
"Impatience would have had me killed," Shamara responded in the same whisper, her dark eyes reflecting amusement that her comment seemed to have annoyed the guard though he attempted not to show it much.
Finally they began to move off again, yet, just as she looked forward in hopes of seeing daylight again, the guard seemed to be more interested in the other prisoner they were passing. He held her arm, so Shamara was forced to go with him when he decided to investigate more.
Since there was nothing else left for her to do, she listened to the conversations and tried to get a better look at the prisoner. It seemed just a young girl, perhaps a thief of some sort for surely there were thieves in Gondor too, and Shamara doubted the lass could have done any other serious infraction. Her heart went out to the girl as she remembered her own humble beginnings, and she would have wanted to share an advice or two to keep her out of these walls in the future; however, this was neither the place nor the time for such manifestations of compassion.
"Seems that Gondorian dungeons are not much different from the Southern," the Umbarian noted, turning towards her 'lawyer'. "Dark, confined spaces overseen by cruel, heartless guards."
~ I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren ~
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High Warden of Tower
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Lowendir, aka ‘The Visitor
breaking out Shamara with ‘The Guard’.
@Pele Alarion @Rillewen
breaking out Shamara with ‘The Guard’.
@Pele Alarion @Rillewen
The path now behind them .. loomed, as might an immense arm from the depths, grasping with the growing shadows to drag him back into that more airless gloom. It was, against all sense, rather tempting. Lowendir lifted each of his feet and planted them on the ground, looking down to observe the act as he did so. As though it might ground him in reality. All else about seemed unreal.
The woman seemed as ill at ease as he was with their delay. And it occurred to the aspiring actor that maybe their ‘guard’ friend was now facing his own proverbial wall of comfort to break through. His own particular brand of ‘show’. For there were people ahead. And if they were to pass then the armoured man would need to have it seem natural. Against all odds though, the fellow had elected such a play of self importance, as though they truly were not in any hurry whatsoever. At least that was the only guess that Lowendir could make of it. One minute they were all set to urgently push past, and the next it mattered for who knew why some other prisoner they were but passing .. to recite her malady for the tinman’s amusement.
Unconsciously, the Gondorian took steps backward and leaned against the cold wall, until it bred discomfort and he considered squatting down on the floor instead. A lonely drip somewhere unseen was enough to have him both reconsider, and also to actually visualise the small cold beads of sweat which he could feel fleeing down his back. Or perhaps there was a second drip on its way down from the ceiling, which he’d come to stand beneath and … he didn’t care ! He wanted out.
The Umbarian spoke then, her voice seeping through his best defences, prising his eyes back upon her. He had been as interesting as he could, when she had required entertainment. He had been as intimidated as he could, when the ‘Guard’ had required to be obeyed. Now though he was only done. And beginning to wonder if he’d ever seen the sun or his wife ever again. He watched a potential version of his options run screaming back down the corridor like a madman, and shook his head, to steel against such a fool plan.
“A dungeon is a dungeon,” he returned to Shamara with a shrug that was more forced than nonchalant. “How many dungeons exactly have you known ?” he wondered, suddenly under his breath. And stopped himself from asking aloud how many of those she had escaped from. Barely. It was as much as he could do not to demand they escape from this one immediately ! What was the damned Guard good for if he wasn’t going to walk them out ? For all of his fear, for all of his desperation, Lowendir suddenly wanted to kill the both of them and run .. even deeper into the bowels of the place.
The irony was not lost upon the man. That he'd been here what could only have been an hour or so and already he felt as though he was ready to commit crimes that would see him set up here as a resident. There was nothing like these deep dank holes filled with tears and cruelty to bring a man to either tears or cruelty and a lifetime locked up in such deep dank holes forever after. At this rate, he would find out sooner, or more rather .. much much later. With a sigh, he rolled his false green eyes at the tail end of their little party, where nobody was like to notice.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
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Ent Ancient
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Hathaldir with Thea
confronted by 'the Guard', Shamara and 'The Visitor'
Second Circle Gaol
The little mouse squeaked, her pleas growing more and more high pitched with every word. Hathaldir felt her body tremble as much as her voice, and the sliver of pity Nessa de Argosy dug under his skin, pierced him again, sharper and deeper. The girl was terrified, pure and simple. But she had stolen and confessed. He could not relent. Not now.
Thea twisted in his grasp and he reacted on instinct. Thinking she was trying to foolishly escape or fight and struggle against him in some desperate last-ditch effort to save herself, he shoved her away from himself and did not hold back. Somehow, inside the damp shadowed cell, she looked smaller and frailer than ever. A waif of a thing who would surely fade away to nothing if left down here too long…that damn healer was getting to him again. Criminals belonged behind bars and so here she was.
“You’ve no one to blame but yourself. It’s my job to leave you here.” Hathaldir paced back and swung the cell door shut with a harsh echoing clang. The final say on her fate this day. Chains around her wrists and a cell to keep her in. He lingered outside the door, studying her, assessing her, wondering if she could, or would, give him the information he wanted about the library…
“Out of the way!”
Fredegar off. Hackles rising at the interruption, the words were on the tip of his tongue but he bit them back as he saw the higher ranking guard’s uniform. He silently gave way to the guard and his entourage passing by.
“Who is your prisoner?” Yet another demand from the superior guard. Hathaldir stifled an irritated sigh from hissing through his teeth and shifted in front of the cell. If he got fired on day one, his plans would be ruined. He stood tall, shoulders back and spine straight, in his best effort to appear soldierly and subordinate. Nothing to see here; he was doing his job and he was doing it damn well.
“She’s no one, just a petty thief who stole from the Laundress.” He carefully cultivated a neutral tone, void of emotion. “And now she is a prisoner. I caught her outside the Houses of Healing.”
confronted by 'the Guard', Shamara and 'The Visitor'
Second Circle Gaol
The little mouse squeaked, her pleas growing more and more high pitched with every word. Hathaldir felt her body tremble as much as her voice, and the sliver of pity Nessa de Argosy dug under his skin, pierced him again, sharper and deeper. The girl was terrified, pure and simple. But she had stolen and confessed. He could not relent. Not now.
Thea twisted in his grasp and he reacted on instinct. Thinking she was trying to foolishly escape or fight and struggle against him in some desperate last-ditch effort to save herself, he shoved her away from himself and did not hold back. Somehow, inside the damp shadowed cell, she looked smaller and frailer than ever. A waif of a thing who would surely fade away to nothing if left down here too long…that damn healer was getting to him again. Criminals belonged behind bars and so here she was.
“You’ve no one to blame but yourself. It’s my job to leave you here.” Hathaldir paced back and swung the cell door shut with a harsh echoing clang. The final say on her fate this day. Chains around her wrists and a cell to keep her in. He lingered outside the door, studying her, assessing her, wondering if she could, or would, give him the information he wanted about the library…
“Out of the way!”
Fredegar off. Hackles rising at the interruption, the words were on the tip of his tongue but he bit them back as he saw the higher ranking guard’s uniform. He silently gave way to the guard and his entourage passing by.
“Who is your prisoner?” Yet another demand from the superior guard. Hathaldir stifled an irritated sigh from hissing through his teeth and shifted in front of the cell. If he got fired on day one, his plans would be ruined. He stood tall, shoulders back and spine straight, in his best effort to appear soldierly and subordinate. Nothing to see here; he was doing his job and he was doing it damn well.
“She’s no one, just a petty thief who stole from the Laundress.” He carefully cultivated a neutral tone, void of emotion. “And now she is a prisoner. I caught her outside the Houses of Healing.”
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Master Torturer
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Thea
She flew forward with a squeak of terror as the guard shoved her into the cell. Caught by surprise she stumbled forward, landing hard on her hands and knees, as the horror of the guards words and the sound of the cell door clanking shut almost made her throw up. Coughing she stifled the gags behind her dirty hands, trembling body turning back to look at the guard. Illuminated from behind by the torches, he seemed taller, more sinister. More evil. Her wide eyes were filled with terror, tears blurring her vision as she desperately tried not to panic.
Teetering at the edge of a panic attack, another voice boomed out of the darkness and made her flinch. Was he talking to her? Trembling she shuffled to her feet, her knees aching as she moved off of them. She stood as ordered, trying to see if it was even her that had been spoken to, hearing the guard answer someone.
Just a petty thief.
Her head drooped forward, her shoulders sagged. Tears welled and spilled to her chest, unseen in the dim light. She could not deny the accusation in his voice, she was a thief. Even if it had been her own money, she had taken it without permission. And there was no way on Eru's green earth that Ms Irma would ever drop the charges. A sob escaped and she raised her hands to her mouth to stifle the rest, her body trembling even more with the effort.
"Please.. please don't leave me here.."
Her voice was muffled behind her hands, eyes rising as she looked at the guard, her fingers knitting together in a desperate grasp.
She flew forward with a squeak of terror as the guard shoved her into the cell. Caught by surprise she stumbled forward, landing hard on her hands and knees, as the horror of the guards words and the sound of the cell door clanking shut almost made her throw up. Coughing she stifled the gags behind her dirty hands, trembling body turning back to look at the guard. Illuminated from behind by the torches, he seemed taller, more sinister. More evil. Her wide eyes were filled with terror, tears blurring her vision as she desperately tried not to panic.
Teetering at the edge of a panic attack, another voice boomed out of the darkness and made her flinch. Was he talking to her? Trembling she shuffled to her feet, her knees aching as she moved off of them. She stood as ordered, trying to see if it was even her that had been spoken to, hearing the guard answer someone.
Just a petty thief.
Her head drooped forward, her shoulders sagged. Tears welled and spilled to her chest, unseen in the dim light. She could not deny the accusation in his voice, she was a thief. Even if it had been her own money, she had taken it without permission. And there was no way on Eru's green earth that Ms Irma would ever drop the charges. A sob escaped and she raised her hands to her mouth to stifle the rest, her body trembling even more with the effort.
"Please.. please don't leave me here.."
Her voice was muffled behind her hands, eyes rising as she looked at the guard, her fingers knitting together in a desperate grasp.
- Points: 9 342
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 4487
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
@Pele Alarion, @Ercassie @Winddancer @Lailyn
The "Guard"
Gaol, Second Circle
Just a petty thief.. or was she? Mar peered intently through the bars at the pathetic-looking red haired girl in the cell, trying to decide if that weepy, whimpering behavior was merely an act, or genuine. But when she replied to his question, her voice gave him all the answer he needed. Holding back a sigh of great disappointment, Mar's face, hidden in the shadows of the helmet he wore, twisted into a scowl. Why was he always running into disappointments, false leads, and cold trails? This was getting really frustrating! He scoffed at the girl's plea not to leave her there, and turned back to the other guard. He didn't recognize him, but that wasn't surprising. He didn't really know any of the guards except those who mattered; superiors to Ric, to whom he had to play nice. The lack of stars on the other's uniform told him he was new, and therefore, meant nothing to Mar. "Don't forget to write up the report about your petty thief," He ordered, his voice filled with all the proper authority for one of his supposed rank, although the statement was mostly because he felt he ought to say something in parting, so not to leave him wondering too much about Mar's reason for stopping.
Turning back to his own 'prisoner', since he couldn't help overhearing her words, he kept up the pretense of being a guard escorting a prisoner as he spoke harshly to her, "And you ought to be more worried about your own fate," His voice would sound as if he might have been almost snarling, though his face wasn't visible with all these shadows. Tugging on her arm, he set off again down the hallway, "Don't think the judge is going to be lenient with you, after he hears of your crimes." He added, for Hathaldir's benefit, as their group moved on down the hallway. If the other guard did, for some reason, check into what they were doing, he would only find records that the prisoner was being taken off for a trial, therefore it would help matters if he heard the guard speaking about something of that sort.
Once they had reached the end of the corridor, he paused to glance back briefly, checking that Lowendir was still with them. "You'd better have your 'credentials' as a lawyer ready," he muttered to the man, pausing to check that his own phony papers were still where he had stowed them, rolled up, sealed, and tucked away in a pocket. He had spent some time before now, taking great care to create the forged documents that would give no cause for suspicion when he got to the point of walking out with the prisoner. The only possible concern he had was whether the 'lawyer' would be able to manage his part, because what he had seen of him so far, Mar wasn't terribly impressed. But he took a slow breath to prepare himself for the next step, then pulled out his blade so he could hold it as if to threaten the prisoner, opened the door, and led the prisoner out of the dungeon corridors, and toward reception where he would need to sign them out and present the proper paperwork.
The "Guard"
Gaol, Second Circle
Just a petty thief.. or was she? Mar peered intently through the bars at the pathetic-looking red haired girl in the cell, trying to decide if that weepy, whimpering behavior was merely an act, or genuine. But when she replied to his question, her voice gave him all the answer he needed. Holding back a sigh of great disappointment, Mar's face, hidden in the shadows of the helmet he wore, twisted into a scowl. Why was he always running into disappointments, false leads, and cold trails? This was getting really frustrating! He scoffed at the girl's plea not to leave her there, and turned back to the other guard. He didn't recognize him, but that wasn't surprising. He didn't really know any of the guards except those who mattered; superiors to Ric, to whom he had to play nice. The lack of stars on the other's uniform told him he was new, and therefore, meant nothing to Mar. "Don't forget to write up the report about your petty thief," He ordered, his voice filled with all the proper authority for one of his supposed rank, although the statement was mostly because he felt he ought to say something in parting, so not to leave him wondering too much about Mar's reason for stopping.
Turning back to his own 'prisoner', since he couldn't help overhearing her words, he kept up the pretense of being a guard escorting a prisoner as he spoke harshly to her, "And you ought to be more worried about your own fate," His voice would sound as if he might have been almost snarling, though his face wasn't visible with all these shadows. Tugging on her arm, he set off again down the hallway, "Don't think the judge is going to be lenient with you, after he hears of your crimes." He added, for Hathaldir's benefit, as their group moved on down the hallway. If the other guard did, for some reason, check into what they were doing, he would only find records that the prisoner was being taken off for a trial, therefore it would help matters if he heard the guard speaking about something of that sort.
Once they had reached the end of the corridor, he paused to glance back briefly, checking that Lowendir was still with them. "You'd better have your 'credentials' as a lawyer ready," he muttered to the man, pausing to check that his own phony papers were still where he had stowed them, rolled up, sealed, and tucked away in a pocket. He had spent some time before now, taking great care to create the forged documents that would give no cause for suspicion when he got to the point of walking out with the prisoner. The only possible concern he had was whether the 'lawyer' would be able to manage his part, because what he had seen of him so far, Mar wasn't terribly impressed. But he took a slow breath to prepare himself for the next step, then pulled out his blade so he could hold it as if to threaten the prisoner, opened the door, and led the prisoner out of the dungeon corridors, and toward reception where he would need to sign them out and present the proper paperwork.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 9:43 am, edited 1 time in total.
I'm looking for someone to share in an Adventure
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High Warden of Tower
Posts: 1799
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:37 am
Lowendir, aka ‘The Visitor
breaking out Shamara with ‘The Guard’.
@Pele Alarion @Rillewen
breaking out Shamara with ‘The Guard’.
@Pele Alarion @Rillewen
They were so close now, it was almost over, and there was nothing to manage save for himself. The last few feet that stood between them and freedom were so small and so perilous. "I have my credentials to hand," Lowendir promised the mysterious Guard. He also had the key to the cell in his hand still. And he toyed with it like an anxiety aid. Shamara had been dealt a dose of warning, same as him. But it was likely all for show. They were so close. And there was no reason why this should not be like every other prisoner being escorted out to meet her judge. But it was not only the Umbarian's fate in question for their little party.
All they had to mind was a mere matter of minutes. And then they would be home free. Quite literally, for the prisoner who would be liberated. Quite literally too for Lowendir's wife, who he had been promised would be returned to him at last, if he just kept his mouth closed, his feet strong, and his nerve in both hands. Then it would be all over. A terrible nightmare only that the bright of day could chase away. It was already chasing away the darkness of the cells, as they approached the reception office. And the exit ! And the whole wide world of possibilities that would present if they were but kept on as they had been. It was going to be alright now, he almost sighed with relief. Except that there was honestly not much 'alright' about releasing a dangerous enemy of Gondor back into the world. But that was somebody else's problem. He had enough problems of his own. And he wanted rid of his any part remaining in this one.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
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Faramir
Posts: 2959
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:58 pm
with Lowendir @Ercassie and the guard @Rillewen
"But I..." Shamara said as if to come up with some counter-arguments of why the judge would find her crimes weighty yet did not finish the sentence. Instead she simply followed along, hastening her steps to keep up with the guard so that he would not need to apply more pressure to her arm.
As they reached the reception, she put up the most contrite look and cast her eyes down, keeping quiet as if she were acknowledging her guilt.
Meanwhile, so close to freedom, her thoughts turned to what she should be doing once she was out the door and released. It would be silly to march around the streets proudly, and yet to get out of the city she would have to find some means to make herself unrecognisable. She glanced at Lowendir, wondering if she could get him to help as he was apparently posing as someone else, but then again - it might be better for her to find her own way and not be involved with these two any longer than necessary.
~ I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren ~
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Steward of Gondor
Posts: 3608
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Kaylin
City Goal
Was it curiosity that drove her to come down here? Was it apprehension?
With her left hand on the longsword at her hip, she strode into the goal. The guard who guarded the entrance looked her up and down. With her long red hair, her Ranger uniform and the Hyandaner badge on her shoulder, as well as her frequent visits to several pubs frequented by the city guards, the guard did not have to wonder at her identity.
"Sword Kaylin," he greeted her.
The Hyandaner smiled. Many knew that deep down she still preferred that appelation. "Good day, sir. Do you need to see any credentials?"
"Might as well," the man shrugged. "It's technically required, after we got our asses handed to us about a prisoner escape."
Kaylin wet her lips and sighed. Yes. She knew the one. "Justly so. Not that anyone would really be able to impersonate me," she claimed emphatically, a hand to her chest. She pulled out the small scroll that detailed her purpose in the goal today. "What's your name?"
"Varrel, Sword Kaylin." The guard looked it over and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, that one. He's not untoward. Polite for a prisoner. At times even funny."
A frown settled on her face. "You must assume that everything he does, serves a purpose. He is a dangerous criminal. It would be best if you did not take a liking to him."
The guard bowed. "This way." He led her on.
Arrived in front of Dagen's cell, he nodded his head low. "See you on your way out."
Kaylin nodded. "Thank you, Varrel." Then she turned her attention to the man sitting against the back wall of his cell. She could see him well enough in the light of day that fell in through the high windows of his cell, combined with the torch on the corridor wall.
Dagen looked her over, slowly. "Ahhh." He smirked. "You look a bit different than the last time."
Her expression did not change, even though she was surprised he picked up so quickly where he knew her from. She looked entirely different: armed and uniformed instead of nobly garbed, red hair instead of black, worn differently.
The imprisoned man shrugged. "I'm good with faces, see. And you were more interesting than most, given you were not what you initially seemed. Kaylin."
The use of her name did not surprise her. Pele, Duinion and herself had seen no reason to be careful with the way they addressed each other.
"So, what has brought you to my lovely abode today? I would offer a lovely lady such as yourself something to drink, but I'm afraid I just ran out of anything I could serve you." He nodded at the empty cup standing next to an empty plate, near the bars of the cell. Then his gaze shifted to the chamberpot in a corner. "Unless you have strange tastes."
She almost laughed, and understood now what Varrel had meant earlier. "No, thanks." Slanting her head, she leaned her side against one of the bars. "But I'm curious. Does it really pay that well to take part of Firdaus' earnings? That the Black Hand would send as many as three people after him when he travels?"
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
- Points: 6 920
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 3608
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:34 pm
Kaylin
City Goal
Dagen did laugh. Quietly, but clearly amused. "This is why you are here? Now? To ask me a question you already know the answer to?" He rose to his feet. The bandage around his knee was clean, but he still limped on his way to the bars. He grabbed one of them, about a yard away from the one Kaylin was leaning against. "I think not," he assessed.
Kaylin said nothing.
He raised an eyebrow, amused at something she could only guess at. "You know," he began, moving one bar closer to where she was standing, "I've never thanked you."
She frowned. He was obviously waiting for a question on her part, and she wanted to deny him the satisfaction. But after a moment of silence, she sighed. "For what?"
"My promotion."
Her frown faded in favor of a neutral expression. Then he knew.
"Ah, of course. You're here to find out if the Hand still has a price on your head?" He chuckled. "My bad. I should have realized sooner."
Kaylin drew in a slow breath. That turn of phrase made her uncomfortable. "A price," she repeated. "I didn't think there was ever a price. Just an order."
"An order for some, such as it was for Darudian," Dagen allowed. "But it could be a price for others." He relished in keeping her in the dark for a moment longer. "Worry not, Kaylin Maethyr. You are low on the Hand's list of priorities, as it stands. There is much business to be handled, and you have not crossed us in years. Of course, should the Hand learn you were involved in taking yet another Third from him..." Dagen almost seemed sympathetic.
"That could change things, I imagine." Her tone was dry.
Dagen smiled. "But the Hand has no way of knowing, right?" Something about the way he asked, brought a shiver down her spine. Kaylin shifted her weight back fully to her own feet, no longer leaning against the bars. Dagen came to stand right in front of her, giving her an attentive look. "At least Darudian's life left him with a view."
A jest in bad taste. Darudian had fallen from the bedroom window, from the first floor. "He fell with his back facing the view."
The Third looked amused. "Sure. Now, is there anything else you came to acquire from a man who currently has nothing?"
"You still have your life."
"Aye. And I am very grateful that it was Tirdinen Duinion Raedor and not Hyandaner Kaylin Maethyr who encountered me on that roof. Or surely I would have followed in my predecessor's footsteps."
Kaylin glared. "Only if necessary."
"But here's the rub," he said, takin ghold of the bars and leaning his face against them. "What one person deems necessary is not the same as the next."
"Did you send those letters?" she asked.
Dagen did not respond with anything but a faint smile, and Kaylin knew that her patience was running thing. It would be best for her to leave. And so, using her wits, she did.
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength
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Ent Ancient
Posts: 1875
Joined: Sat May 23, 2020 11:34 pm
Hathaldir with Thea
Second Circle Gaol
Thea sobbed, keening cries wracking her already frail body, begging not to be left in the cell while Hathaldir stood rigid beneath the other guard’s gaze. "Don't forget to write up the report about your petty thief," the guard grumbled.
Hathaldir’s teeth ground together at the man’s insipid reminder and his headache plodded through his skull stronger than before. “Sir,” Hathaldir merely mumbled in acknowledgement. He stepped aside to let the others pass and waited until their footsteps echoed out of range, leaving him alone with Thea and her whimpering. He looked at her, shadows lining her tear-stained face in skeletal relief. She was crumbling away and there was not much of her to lose to begin with. She would not last long in this cold dungeon, not if she refused food as she had done today.
He beckoned her closer and lowered his voice, barely above a whisper. The harsh guttural tone he had taken so often faded into the faint crackling embers of a dying fire, laced with a hint of warmth. “As the guard who dealt with you, I have a prerogative to see that you are placed on a list…it will give you extra rations, fresher food, warmer blankets to improve your stay here. If you cooperate and answer a few questions for me, I will ensure you receive these benefits. Does that sound like something you want?”
A generous offer on the surface. Beneath, his greedy ambition lurked, waiting to use her to suit his own aims, to reach his single minded goal. To find revenge masquerading as justice, righting a wrong in his own eyes.
Kneeling, he brought himself closer to her level, and peered at her keenly as a hawk fixed eyes on his prey. “Tell me, Thea.” Hathaldir used her name with intent, a technique to persuade her to feel more at ease, to talk. “What do you know about the library? Were you a frequent visitor? What can you tell me about the staff who work there?” Needling for specific information about Tandarion or Falaneth, but he didn’t want to say too much and risk leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind for pigeon-brained guards to follow and decipher his true mission or his true identity.
Second Circle Gaol
Thea sobbed, keening cries wracking her already frail body, begging not to be left in the cell while Hathaldir stood rigid beneath the other guard’s gaze. "Don't forget to write up the report about your petty thief," the guard grumbled.
Hathaldir’s teeth ground together at the man’s insipid reminder and his headache plodded through his skull stronger than before. “Sir,” Hathaldir merely mumbled in acknowledgement. He stepped aside to let the others pass and waited until their footsteps echoed out of range, leaving him alone with Thea and her whimpering. He looked at her, shadows lining her tear-stained face in skeletal relief. She was crumbling away and there was not much of her to lose to begin with. She would not last long in this cold dungeon, not if she refused food as she had done today.
He beckoned her closer and lowered his voice, barely above a whisper. The harsh guttural tone he had taken so often faded into the faint crackling embers of a dying fire, laced with a hint of warmth. “As the guard who dealt with you, I have a prerogative to see that you are placed on a list…it will give you extra rations, fresher food, warmer blankets to improve your stay here. If you cooperate and answer a few questions for me, I will ensure you receive these benefits. Does that sound like something you want?”
A generous offer on the surface. Beneath, his greedy ambition lurked, waiting to use her to suit his own aims, to reach his single minded goal. To find revenge masquerading as justice, righting a wrong in his own eyes.
Kneeling, he brought himself closer to her level, and peered at her keenly as a hawk fixed eyes on his prey. “Tell me, Thea.” Hathaldir used her name with intent, a technique to persuade her to feel more at ease, to talk. “What do you know about the library? Were you a frequent visitor? What can you tell me about the staff who work there?” Needling for specific information about Tandarion or Falaneth, but he didn’t want to say too much and risk leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind for pigeon-brained guards to follow and decipher his true mission or his true identity.
- Points: 9 342
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 4487
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
@Pele Alarion @Ercassie
The "Guard"
Gaol reception, Second Circle
He glanced at Lowendir briefly, then paused as he noticed him still toying with the key. That was a close mistake. He reached out and snatched the item from his hands. "Best let me keep that," He glared as if Lowendir had intentionally hung onto it. If anyone besides the guard was seen carrying the key to the prisoner's cell, it might call forth questions and draw attention that they did not want. Besides, he was thinking about keeping it. You never knew when things like that could come in handy, after all. He took a moment to study the other man, then the prisoner, to ensure that everything appeared as it ought to.
"Alright, let's go." This was where it would be the most tricky, the most dangerous. They could get caught for any moment, if someone made a mistake here. Someone like the 'lawyer'... he gave him an extra long look to remind him the gravity of the situation, then pushed open the door. Keeping his blade ready as if she might try an escape at any moment, he marched his prisoner out, leaving the 'lawyer' to follow along. Mar stopped their little procession at the reception and added his false signature to the log to show his departure, or rather, that of the other lieutenant that he was impersonating.
"Hello again, Lieutenant," The man on desk duty greeted him again. "Have any trouble with the prisoner?"
"No, no trouble." Mar assured him. "Need me to sign anything else?" He nodded toward the papers he had left when he came in.
"Just your signature here, and here." he answered, indicating the bottom line on two separate forms. "Your papers all seem to be in order. Do you need any additional guards to escort the prisoner?" The man inquired, glancing uncertainly toward the prisoner. She looked peaceable enough now, but he'd been warned to be wary of her.
"Thank you, but I can manage. I have her well secured, and we aren't going far. And, her lawyer will be accompanying us to court." Mar assured him, with a motion toward Lowendir. He carefully signed the appropriate papers using the same name he had used upon signing in.. someone else's.. and resumed pointing his dagger at her as if to remind her not to try anything. "All clear?" He checked with the guard.
"All clear," The guard agreed, handing over a copy of the paperwork to Mar. "Good luck in court, Lieutenant."
"It's her that'll need the luck," Mar replied, rolling his eyes despite the fact they were well hidden in the shadows under the helmet. "Alright you, come along quietly and don't try anything," He addressed the last bit to Shamara in a stern tone, directing her toward the door. "Would you get the door, sir?" He cast a brief, expectant glance toward Lowendir. "Just a bit further," He muttered to Shamara, low enough that only she ought to hear it.
"Wait a minute," the guard on duty suddenly called after them, just before they made it out.
Mar froze, catching his breath as he slowly turned, tense. Could the man have noticed something wrong? Had he suddenly realized there was no trial scheduled for this prisoner today? His mind raced with various possibilities, as well as how to talk his way out of it.. whether for the lot of them, or just for himself. "What is it?" He spoke coolly as if he had no reason to be nervous.
"He hasn't signed out on the log," the man explained, motioning to Lowendir. Mar slowly released his breath as he turned his gaze toward the 'lawyer', waiting.
The "Guard"
Gaol reception, Second Circle
He glanced at Lowendir briefly, then paused as he noticed him still toying with the key. That was a close mistake. He reached out and snatched the item from his hands. "Best let me keep that," He glared as if Lowendir had intentionally hung onto it. If anyone besides the guard was seen carrying the key to the prisoner's cell, it might call forth questions and draw attention that they did not want. Besides, he was thinking about keeping it. You never knew when things like that could come in handy, after all. He took a moment to study the other man, then the prisoner, to ensure that everything appeared as it ought to.
"Alright, let's go." This was where it would be the most tricky, the most dangerous. They could get caught for any moment, if someone made a mistake here. Someone like the 'lawyer'... he gave him an extra long look to remind him the gravity of the situation, then pushed open the door. Keeping his blade ready as if she might try an escape at any moment, he marched his prisoner out, leaving the 'lawyer' to follow along. Mar stopped their little procession at the reception and added his false signature to the log to show his departure, or rather, that of the other lieutenant that he was impersonating.
"Hello again, Lieutenant," The man on desk duty greeted him again. "Have any trouble with the prisoner?"
"No, no trouble." Mar assured him. "Need me to sign anything else?" He nodded toward the papers he had left when he came in.
"Just your signature here, and here." he answered, indicating the bottom line on two separate forms. "Your papers all seem to be in order. Do you need any additional guards to escort the prisoner?" The man inquired, glancing uncertainly toward the prisoner. She looked peaceable enough now, but he'd been warned to be wary of her.
"Thank you, but I can manage. I have her well secured, and we aren't going far. And, her lawyer will be accompanying us to court." Mar assured him, with a motion toward Lowendir. He carefully signed the appropriate papers using the same name he had used upon signing in.. someone else's.. and resumed pointing his dagger at her as if to remind her not to try anything. "All clear?" He checked with the guard.
"All clear," The guard agreed, handing over a copy of the paperwork to Mar. "Good luck in court, Lieutenant."
"It's her that'll need the luck," Mar replied, rolling his eyes despite the fact they were well hidden in the shadows under the helmet. "Alright you, come along quietly and don't try anything," He addressed the last bit to Shamara in a stern tone, directing her toward the door. "Would you get the door, sir?" He cast a brief, expectant glance toward Lowendir. "Just a bit further," He muttered to Shamara, low enough that only she ought to hear it.
"Wait a minute," the guard on duty suddenly called after them, just before they made it out.
Mar froze, catching his breath as he slowly turned, tense. Could the man have noticed something wrong? Had he suddenly realized there was no trial scheduled for this prisoner today? His mind raced with various possibilities, as well as how to talk his way out of it.. whether for the lot of them, or just for himself. "What is it?" He spoke coolly as if he had no reason to be nervous.
"He hasn't signed out on the log," the man explained, motioning to Lowendir. Mar slowly released his breath as he turned his gaze toward the 'lawyer', waiting.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 9:43 am, edited 1 time in total.
I'm looking for someone to share in an Adventure
- Points: 2 588
Master Torturer
Posts: 3018
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 11:22 am
Thea
Behind glasped hands she hiccuped with stifled sobs, her wet eyes reflecting the desperation that threatened to overwhelm her. Though the guard terrified her, the thought of him leaving terrified her even more, hesitantly taking a few steps towards the cell door as he beckoned her closer. Was he going to taunt her? Rub her misfortune in even more?
Eyes big with fear, she found herself leaning in to hear his whispered words, her breath held. The fear in her eyes battled with curiosity as he spoke of a deal, mind reeling as she tried to figure out what he could possibly want from her. She had nothing of value, no money, no inheritance. She could not even claim what little her father had saved as there had been no body to prove he was dead.
Despite her misgivings and worry that she had nothing to bargain with, she automatically nodded her head. She could at least hear what he wanted, if nothing else it delayed him leaving her here in the dank darkness on her own. She stepped closer to the bars, dirty hands gripping at them as he knelt down. The gesture as innocuous as it was still kindled a small fire of hope in the pit of her stomach. That he was not as evil as she thought he was, that he would help her. That maybe, just maybe he would not leave her here alone.
The grip around the bars tightened as he used her name, making her draw in a ragged breath through her nose and holding it as she waited to hear what he wanted in return. Though she had trouble thinking of anything he could want from her, his question caught her completely off guard. She visibly jumped, a small whimper escaping as she lurched back. How had the guard learned about what had happened?!
Tears flooded her eyes and fell down her pale face, her body trembling as she shook her head. "It was an accident! I swear, I did not know he was there!" The words tumbled out of her as she fought to figure out what this could mean. Had the father reported her? Had Nessa? No, she doubted Nessa would have, however the father had been quite livid. It had to have been him, how else did the guard know?! That the guard had not left her side since she was arrested to be able to talk to the father never occured to her.
Stumbling to the back of the cell, as far from the guard as she could get, she slid down the dank wall and hugged her knees close to her chest as she repeated "It was an accident" over and over.
OOC: Thea is referring to the storyline with the boy Tom where the woman she was with deliberately smacked a door into him and knocked him out. Thea took him to the HoH. The father, a drunk, ended up having a heart attack, the boy a concussion. Thea was arrested running from the HoH, guilt overwhelming her.
Behind glasped hands she hiccuped with stifled sobs, her wet eyes reflecting the desperation that threatened to overwhelm her. Though the guard terrified her, the thought of him leaving terrified her even more, hesitantly taking a few steps towards the cell door as he beckoned her closer. Was he going to taunt her? Rub her misfortune in even more?
Eyes big with fear, she found herself leaning in to hear his whispered words, her breath held. The fear in her eyes battled with curiosity as he spoke of a deal, mind reeling as she tried to figure out what he could possibly want from her. She had nothing of value, no money, no inheritance. She could not even claim what little her father had saved as there had been no body to prove he was dead.
Despite her misgivings and worry that she had nothing to bargain with, she automatically nodded her head. She could at least hear what he wanted, if nothing else it delayed him leaving her here in the dank darkness on her own. She stepped closer to the bars, dirty hands gripping at them as he knelt down. The gesture as innocuous as it was still kindled a small fire of hope in the pit of her stomach. That he was not as evil as she thought he was, that he would help her. That maybe, just maybe he would not leave her here alone.
The grip around the bars tightened as he used her name, making her draw in a ragged breath through her nose and holding it as she waited to hear what he wanted in return. Though she had trouble thinking of anything he could want from her, his question caught her completely off guard. She visibly jumped, a small whimper escaping as she lurched back. How had the guard learned about what had happened?!
Tears flooded her eyes and fell down her pale face, her body trembling as she shook her head. "It was an accident! I swear, I did not know he was there!" The words tumbled out of her as she fought to figure out what this could mean. Had the father reported her? Had Nessa? No, she doubted Nessa would have, however the father had been quite livid. It had to have been him, how else did the guard know?! That the guard had not left her side since she was arrested to be able to talk to the father never occured to her.
Stumbling to the back of the cell, as far from the guard as she could get, she slid down the dank wall and hugged her knees close to her chest as she repeated "It was an accident" over and over.
OOC: Thea is referring to the storyline with the boy Tom where the woman she was with deliberately smacked a door into him and knocked him out. Thea took him to the HoH. The father, a drunk, ended up having a heart attack, the boy a concussion. Thea was arrested running from the HoH, guilt overwhelming her.
- Points: 4 404
Faramir
Posts: 2959
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:58 pm
@Rillewen , @Ercassie
With the Guard and Lowendir
Shamara walked along, her eyes cast down in seeming shame and guilt, especially when they reached the reception area. She could put up quite a show and so she did, not being interested in causing trouble as it would all return back on her own head, no doubt. As if she was afraid of the blade the guard kept pointed at her, she hung her head lower and slightly rounded her shoulders.
She spoke no word, yet her dark eyes followed all the procedures half-secretly; knowing how things were done might come in handy at some point or other. It seemed that everything was done smoothly enough, yet the man minding the reception called after them when they had almost reached the door.
The Umbarian did not turn to look back and simply stood waiting. Yet, she still could not quite figure out who her lawyer was and who had forced him to play the part, and who the guard was - or whether he even was a guard. He certainly seemed much more confident in his role. Yet, she might have to leave these questions unsolved, for if they did manage to get out the door she'd have to concern herself with finding her way safely around the city, and out of it.
With the Guard and Lowendir
Shamara walked along, her eyes cast down in seeming shame and guilt, especially when they reached the reception area. She could put up quite a show and so she did, not being interested in causing trouble as it would all return back on her own head, no doubt. As if she was afraid of the blade the guard kept pointed at her, she hung her head lower and slightly rounded her shoulders.
She spoke no word, yet her dark eyes followed all the procedures half-secretly; knowing how things were done might come in handy at some point or other. It seemed that everything was done smoothly enough, yet the man minding the reception called after them when they had almost reached the door.
The Umbarian did not turn to look back and simply stood waiting. Yet, she still could not quite figure out who her lawyer was and who had forced him to play the part, and who the guard was - or whether he even was a guard. He certainly seemed much more confident in his role. Yet, she might have to leave these questions unsolved, for if they did manage to get out the door she'd have to concern herself with finding her way safely around the city, and out of it.
~ I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren ~
- Points: 2 761
Ent Ancient
Posts: 1875
Joined: Sat May 23, 2020 11:34 pm
Hathaldir with Thea
Thea lurched away and scurried to the corner of the cell, as far away from him as she could get. Hathaldir gripped one of the bars in his fist and pressed his forehead against the cold metal. The heartbeat drumming in his head quieted for a brief moment as he closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath.
“It was an accident!” she repeated over and over and the drumming in his head intensified. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to decipher what the hell she was going on about now. Desperate for the pain in his head to ebb, he drew a hidden flask and wallowed in a sweet dram of whiskey. It drowned her voice and the thrumming in his skull for a brief moment, long enough for him to recall Nessa’s story earlier that day, of the boy in the library and the accident. Hathaldir could have laughed if he wasn’t so miserably impatient and weary.
Wiping his mouth with his hand, he hissed, “enough! I don’t care about the boy.” The whiskey still burned in the back of his throat, a delicious numbing warmth. He swallowed more, struggling to master his temper. How could he get this delusional distraught girl back on track? “He’s fine,” Hathaldir lied, unable to recall what Nessa had said. “He’s just fine. Thea…I don’t need to know about that. I want to know if you visited the library often. Did you see many of the staff…a young woman, perhaps, by the name of Falaneth?”
He was walking treacherous ground now, giving away the girl’s name, giving away too much. But he had to know if it was worth his while to go to the library and find the girl Tandarion waxed poetic about in his letters. If she still worked there, he might be able to sway her to help him.
“Have you ever seen anyone suspicious there? Maybe someone who didn’t quite belong?” He tried to steer her in the direction he wanted without leading her too close to his purpose. “Or who might hurt someone else?” He stared at her, waiting to gauge her reaction. It was unlikely she knew anything about a potential murderer who could have killed his brother, but the girl was right here, a captive audience, and he had to ask. He had to know if there was any lead he could follow, no matter how thinly connected or unreliable the source. Anything was better than the little information he had to go on right now.
Thea lurched away and scurried to the corner of the cell, as far away from him as she could get. Hathaldir gripped one of the bars in his fist and pressed his forehead against the cold metal. The heartbeat drumming in his head quieted for a brief moment as he closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath.
“It was an accident!” she repeated over and over and the drumming in his head intensified. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to decipher what the hell she was going on about now. Desperate for the pain in his head to ebb, he drew a hidden flask and wallowed in a sweet dram of whiskey. It drowned her voice and the thrumming in his skull for a brief moment, long enough for him to recall Nessa’s story earlier that day, of the boy in the library and the accident. Hathaldir could have laughed if he wasn’t so miserably impatient and weary.
Wiping his mouth with his hand, he hissed, “enough! I don’t care about the boy.” The whiskey still burned in the back of his throat, a delicious numbing warmth. He swallowed more, struggling to master his temper. How could he get this delusional distraught girl back on track? “He’s fine,” Hathaldir lied, unable to recall what Nessa had said. “He’s just fine. Thea…I don’t need to know about that. I want to know if you visited the library often. Did you see many of the staff…a young woman, perhaps, by the name of Falaneth?”
He was walking treacherous ground now, giving away the girl’s name, giving away too much. But he had to know if it was worth his while to go to the library and find the girl Tandarion waxed poetic about in his letters. If she still worked there, he might be able to sway her to help him.
“Have you ever seen anyone suspicious there? Maybe someone who didn’t quite belong?” He tried to steer her in the direction he wanted without leading her too close to his purpose. “Or who might hurt someone else?” He stared at her, waiting to gauge her reaction. It was unlikely she knew anything about a potential murderer who could have killed his brother, but the girl was right here, a captive audience, and he had to ask. He had to know if there was any lead he could follow, no matter how thinly connected or unreliable the source. Anything was better than the little information he had to go on right now.
- Points: 4 011
High Warden of Tower
Posts: 1799
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:37 am
Lowendir, aka ‘The Visitor
breaking out Shamara with ‘The Guard’.
@Pele Alarion @Rillewen
breaking out Shamara with ‘The Guard’.
@Pele Alarion @Rillewen
The key, having been made free of his hand, had left the unhappy Gondorian’s palm empty. He retrieved the false papers swiftly from his pocket, those which had been somehow obtained for him beforehand, and which he’d served up for inspection before they had ever allowed him entry. He served them again now, an understudy in his grasp. It felt good to know even so meagre a thing that he might hold onto. Like an anchor. Without which his will might blow away. He brandished the stamped documents before ever being called to, by the last sentry. The last obstacle.
He had been edging toward the doorway, somewhat subconsciously, since it had become within reach. The Guard had no doubt noticed. And bade him attend to it, as though to hold the barricade awide had been his sole motive. And then, in the moment that it was time to be done, he almost was. In the worst definition of that word. The street beckoned, he could feel the cool breeze of the outside, as though it had been months since he’d descended into the depths, rather than just hours. That was when he heard it.
“Wait a minute ..”
Every instinct beckoned him to run. Every second, he expected to know the grasp of some strong grip that would drag him back from the conclusion of this awful errand. For a split second he thought of how he might make it. Be free. Be gone. The sentry would be so caught up in halting the guard and the prisoner, to find the reason for the ‘lawer’s flight .. he could do it. He might get away ..
If only that was all he craved. But no, his wife. The blackmailer still had his wife. And if Lowendir were not to follow through .. he would live the whole rest of his life a prisoner to regret and remorse. He could not live, knowing he had sentenced his innocent spouse to her end. He would rather his own. He had told the blackmailer so.
But his death was not what had been asked for. Just a little play act, a convincing performance. It had seemed to simple .. and now how many people might die or come to otherwise grief, because he had helped to see the umbarian slaver back onto Gondorian streets ?
What could he do ? He would lose, in either outcome.
“He hasn’t signed out on the log,” the sentry gave him one last chance. The guard gave a menacing stare. Behind that armour, Lowendir could sense it. His heart in his boots, the actor turned, sidled uncomfortably passed the woman, and accepted the quill that was handed him. A moment’s hesitation and then he flourished the ink across the parchment. It was largely illegible of course. But it was suitable enough to match the illegible scrawl he’d given up on entry.
The actor closed his eyes, opened them again and took a breath. Glancing at his handiwork laid out, indelible before him, he turned away as though he could not face it, wondering if he would ever be able to face himself in the hereafter.
For all the dramatic soliloquys he'd memorised, he could not now think of a suitable parting remark for the sentry. Not when this was meant to be a simple normal procedure for him, instead of the worst thing he possibly had ever done in his whole life ! Heading back toward the door, he made sure to be first out, and led the way in the direction of the court house. He knew already that was not their destination, but he wasn’t sure where was.
Every step he took away from the dungeon, was another nail in the coffin of his crime. The further he dared, the harder it would be to stop, what he dared not to stop. Until they turned a corner and, his nerve broken, Lowendir, the actor, the original, the now forever ruined .. took to his heels and fled for his life.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.
- Points: 9 342
Steward of Gondor
Posts: 4487
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
@Pele Alarion
The "Guard"
Gaol reception, leaving. Second Circle
Waiting while the man seemed to take forever to return and put his signature on the blanket, Mar felt as if he were holding his breath. He didn't like this. If he were only relying on himself to pull this off, that was one thing. But this man, whom he knew nothing about.. who seemed to have the nerve of a skittish rabbit.. who looked ready to bolt at any second.. to have to rely on him? Mar sensed trouble would come of him, and he didn't like that he had been involved at all. And Mar certainly didn't like that he had not been previously informed of this coward's involvement. Despite this, it intrigued Mar to know that the man had been manipulated into this because someone held his wife as captive. And Mar now held that 'bargaining piece', himself. His thoughts strayed toward wondering how he could make the best use of this information while he waited for the man to finish signing out.
The moment they were out the door, he dared to exhale the breath he had been holding. He maintained the secure grip on the prisoner's arm as they strode through the street, heading toward the courthouse. Until they were far enough away from the gaol that they would be out of sight from the guards. Until, at last, they turned a corner. And then, to Mar's (only slight) surprise, the 'lawyer' suddenly set off at a run, abandoning the other two. Mar rolled his eyes and muttered quietly under his breath, but the words were swallowed up by his helmet. The guy couldn't even wait until there weren't any potential witnesses on the street? So much for any thought Mar might have had about manipulating him for his own purposes.
Taking a careful glance around to make sure no passersby were watching, Mar guided her quickly into an empty alley, so that there was no chance of him being observed freeing her. Putting away the dagger, he released her arm and held out a gloved hand, palm up. "The shackles." He waited for her to return them to him. "Alright. You're on your own from here." He informed her. "I'd suggest you get out of the city as soon as possible. You get caught again, you get no help." Not from Mar, anyway, and he doubted very many other folks could have achieved this. And now that it had been accomplished, the guards were going to be ten times as careful about letting it happen again.
With that, he strode briskly down the alley, leaving Shamara to do whatever she would do. It wasn't his problem anymore, and he had to get this gear back to the guard headquarters before anyone missed it. And he'd prefer that the Umbarian woman didn't see where he went, so that there was no chance she might later identify him. Exactly how she would get out of the city, he had no idea, nor did he care. That was Arkadhur's project, not Ademar's. He'd fulfilled his part of the agreement, and now it remained to be seen whether Arkadhur would keep his end. For now, though, Mar wanted to get out of this gear as quickly as possible, in case the guards back at the gaol suddenly noticed anything wrong and came looking for him. After leaving Shamara, he took a couple of turns down side streets and alleys to make sure that no one would see him too close to where he had left her, and that she didn't decide to follow him for some reason. Once he felt sure of these things, he ducked into another dark alley to shed the armor and helmet, wrapped it in his cloak, and then went on to the guard's headquarters to return it to storage.
The "Guard"
Gaol reception, leaving. Second Circle
Waiting while the man seemed to take forever to return and put his signature on the blanket, Mar felt as if he were holding his breath. He didn't like this. If he were only relying on himself to pull this off, that was one thing. But this man, whom he knew nothing about.. who seemed to have the nerve of a skittish rabbit.. who looked ready to bolt at any second.. to have to rely on him? Mar sensed trouble would come of him, and he didn't like that he had been involved at all. And Mar certainly didn't like that he had not been previously informed of this coward's involvement. Despite this, it intrigued Mar to know that the man had been manipulated into this because someone held his wife as captive. And Mar now held that 'bargaining piece', himself. His thoughts strayed toward wondering how he could make the best use of this information while he waited for the man to finish signing out.
The moment they were out the door, he dared to exhale the breath he had been holding. He maintained the secure grip on the prisoner's arm as they strode through the street, heading toward the courthouse. Until they were far enough away from the gaol that they would be out of sight from the guards. Until, at last, they turned a corner. And then, to Mar's (only slight) surprise, the 'lawyer' suddenly set off at a run, abandoning the other two. Mar rolled his eyes and muttered quietly under his breath, but the words were swallowed up by his helmet. The guy couldn't even wait until there weren't any potential witnesses on the street? So much for any thought Mar might have had about manipulating him for his own purposes.
Taking a careful glance around to make sure no passersby were watching, Mar guided her quickly into an empty alley, so that there was no chance of him being observed freeing her. Putting away the dagger, he released her arm and held out a gloved hand, palm up. "The shackles." He waited for her to return them to him. "Alright. You're on your own from here." He informed her. "I'd suggest you get out of the city as soon as possible. You get caught again, you get no help." Not from Mar, anyway, and he doubted very many other folks could have achieved this. And now that it had been accomplished, the guards were going to be ten times as careful about letting it happen again.
With that, he strode briskly down the alley, leaving Shamara to do whatever she would do. It wasn't his problem anymore, and he had to get this gear back to the guard headquarters before anyone missed it. And he'd prefer that the Umbarian woman didn't see where he went, so that there was no chance she might later identify him. Exactly how she would get out of the city, he had no idea, nor did he care. That was Arkadhur's project, not Ademar's. He'd fulfilled his part of the agreement, and now it remained to be seen whether Arkadhur would keep his end. For now, though, Mar wanted to get out of this gear as quickly as possible, in case the guards back at the gaol suddenly noticed anything wrong and came looking for him. After leaving Shamara, he took a couple of turns down side streets and alleys to make sure that no one would see him too close to where he had left her, and that she didn't decide to follow him for some reason. Once he felt sure of these things, he ducked into another dark alley to shed the armor and helmet, wrapped it in his cloak, and then went on to the guard's headquarters to return it to storage.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 9:43 am, edited 1 time in total.
I'm looking for someone to share in an Adventure
