A New Power

[MDRud216]

Quarian lay on the ground in a strange aogny of which he was only partially aware of. Blood dripped from his temple as he peered out through the fog, wondering of Aseirs fate. His face was in the mud but he didn't care. "Bind their hands," the voice came from somewhere above. His shoulders ached as they were pulled up, rope was being wound around his hand.

 

The Soldier holding thrin removed his sword from his back for only a moment, using it instead to hit his face from the side in a manner similar, but more cruel then what the other had done to quarian. Kneeling on your upper back, and putting his full weight on you and your arms the soldier begins to tie your hands.

 

"Hurry it up!" one of the archers yells as a hoarse scream echoes out from the fog. With his hands tied Quarian is lifted from the ground onto his limp legs. The archer turns towards Thrin, notching an arrow. "You're taking too long Celea!"

 

"Damn it! lets get out of here," he pleads desperately; With Thrin and Akechi tied at last the group sprung into as much as a run as they could manage with two limping prisoners. Their lead was undeniable, they would make it to Greymoor.

[ensis]

Akechi understood the seriousness of the situation, and sat in a seiza position on the ground. He looked at the captain of the group, he was grinning slightly, if not but amused with the catch. He had let one of the group get away, and was making sure that the same mistake wouldn't happen twice.

 

"Bind their hands!" The Captain spouted at the rest of the group. As the archer with his sword out came up, Akechi moved his hands behind his back. He was showing no signs of resistance, hoping it could work to their advantage later. He was bound tight by the hands, enough to make their journey a miserable one.

 

"Dammit, let's get out of here!" one of the archers was being impatient, almost if he was scared of something. The soldier who tied Akechi up pushed him in the back, forcing him to catch up to a run that the soldiers at the vanguard had broken into.

[MDRud216]

Things were happening so fast, and in your dazed states it seemed only as if you were watching from the inside as the dirt road passed by beneath you. Your feet were dragging and you look up just in time to see the Greymoor's infamous gallows, positioned in plain sight up on the battlements. Four nuses hang over the crenelations, quite fitting if only Aseir had not escaped.

Your captors are hollering something, arguing it seems, but in any case the desperation in their voices is clear. The forts doors open in front of you revealing the wooden structure within and a disorganized garrison wondering aimlessly about. As they slam behind you the soldiers who led you in nearly collapse with agsostion, leaving all but Akechi remaining upright.

"Come on you bastards," the leader manages, grabbing Akechi's wrist while the others took care of Thrin and Quarian. They lead you towards the wooden structure, and you notice a stout stone tower at the far side, two, perhaps three stories high.

 

Inside you are led to the back of the building towards the stone towers base. Quarian was walking on his own by this point luckily, and could make his way up the stairs. Thrin, hit harder and later seemed to be slightly behind in his recovery.

At the second floor you are forced against the cold wall. The room is bare, a small wooden table and chairs is all that breaks up the space. Along the wall at regular intervals are slits for the archers garrisoned here.

"Don't move." The leader says, ordering his troops to strip you of any weapons; three archers remain back, their bows trained on you.

[Vao]

OOC: I don't really want to have some thread necromancy, so I'll just post a new character profile here.

 

Name: Isys

 

Sex: Male

 

Age: 28

 

Background: The past of this one, this Isys,  is largely unkown and what is known is only known from small amounts of gathered oral legends and rumors.  Of what is gathered, it is always agreed that he was raised in a settlement believed to be in the jungles west of the Galoric Empire.  Some rumors say that this is where smugglers thrive, and where they gain their precious shipments of unholy drugs.  Where there outposts are is unknown to all except the smugglers, and they would rather forsake their lives than that particular knowledge.

 

Some say that Isys grew up a timid boy, assisting his father when he could, as his mother showered him in joy, although only the most timid and gullible of merchants believe such a tale.

 

Most, prefer a more darker story, telling of how Isys was raised a poor boy in poverty, always working hard to satisfy his father's ever increasing expectations, which eventually led him to begin using the narcotic drug which he himself harvested.  Despite the large sum of gold his family was believed to recieve from the trading of these despised items, Isys and his father were more often than not forced to grow their own food.

 

Isys' initial job in the family was to castrate the animals, thus preventing any impure meat.  However degrading this task may be, Isys could always relish in the joyous smiles of his mother and father when they finally enjoyed their feast.

 

This all changed when his mother was killed by smugglers, causing Isys' father, Rilod, to fall into a deep depression since he had caused his beloved wife's death.  In anguish, he began beating his son to help relieve his pain and also used Isys as a scapegoat, saying that if he hadn't been born then he wouldn't need to bargain with the smugglers for additional food.

 

In Rilod's agony, Isys was forced to do all of the farming, and at the young age of six, he was far from sufficient, and eventually the entire prospect of growing food became out of the question.  Isys was forced to grow marijuana and the opium poppy in order to have enough food to feed his family, and he did so for several years, until his father finally crept out of his depression.

 

In the aftermath of Rilod's shock, he began to trade more agressively with the smugglers, eventually ending his life several years later, causing Isys to either forfeit his life or join the smugglers as a cabin boy.  Rather than lose his life, Rilod chose the later.

 

The Smugglers crossed the seas, selling what they could, whether it be good for the customers or not, and eventually Isys became a customer of some of their more expensive merchandise, in particular, marijuana and remained one for several years.  He slowly dropped out of reality, beginning with a pipe or so every few days, and began take several day after day, causing him to go into debt beyond belief, until the smugglers left him on an uninhabitied island, pitifully to deal with the shock of actually experiencing what remained of his life.

 

Fortunately for Isys, a small cargo vessel accidently hit shore on the abandoned island, which he quickly boarded.  To his surprise, it was a smuggler vessel, filled with opium and marijuana.  Grabbing as much as he could, Isys left the ship as covertly as possible, although he was caught by Greymoor guards at their landing position, who had evidently gained some knowledge from the local prisoners of the location of the smuggler operation.  Everyone on the boat, regardless of age, was forced to go to the local Greymoor prison, and Isys has remained their for eight years.

 

The others, both those that arrived with him and did not, were slowly executed, found with contraband or were just found to be participating in innapropiate prison conduct as the guards would refer to it.  Perhaps Isys would die just as his brethren did or perhaps he would escape, just as his dreams and aspirations became during his sentence.

 

IC: Laying in silence in his cell, Isys sat, pondering. He always did this, considering there wasn't much else to do, although his cocentration was broken when the steel doors to the cells were opened, and then promptly closed. Hopefully not rebels. At least it would seem they weren't executed. Something for them to be happy about.

 

One of the guard wandered near Isys' cell, throwing in several pieces of bacon. "Your food for the day," the guard grunted, returing to guard the cell where the new arrivals were housed.

 

Nibbling on the food, Isys slowly stood up. It had been so long since he had been outside, so long since he had run about with fresh hair pulsing through him, that the very movement, nay, the thought, relinquished a large sum of his energy, but the actual movement was seemingly out of the question. "Might I ask," he said with a groan,"Why you value these new prisoners so highly?"

[Peregrine]

As the site of the ambush finally came into view through the fog, Aseir wasn't too surprised to find his companions were already gone. His own escape had taken far too long, his enemies finding victory even in death. Their destination would be obvious, but even Aseir knew his luck couldn't last forever. Freeing them alone would be a suicide mission.

 

But still, the decision was not an easy one. It was not without regret that Aseir left Greymoor behind, heading along the coast in search of the help he desperately needed.

[MDRud216]

A few kilometers away a Habassan commander was slaughtering his pursuers. Lesyel Ataek was making his way around his targets home, the front door had yeilded no success and it was time to try the side. To his left the ocean breeze was carressing the estate's golden field of wheat, straight ahead was the ocean itself, continuing its etrnal battery of the shore. Lesyel reached the paper thin wooden door, and began his own battery.

"Open up Jaileh!" he yelled, "Unless you prefer I come back later with a soldier," the hairs on the back of the tax collectors neck stood on end and he spun around to face the dancing wheat, "Or hounds," he added under his breath. After gazing out over the golden field he at last resumed his pounding on the weak door.

 

Imperial rat he thought as he watched the collector beat on his house. He will break through my door!. Jaileh Vusite was quite a character, considered crazy at times by his neighbors, and feared at others. He was suspected of several murders of tax collectors and soldiers, but so far had eluded prosecution with more of the same. His position was ingenious, veiled by the swaying grain and concealed by the lengthening shadow of his home. He crept foreward, baring striking resemblance to a predatory cat, or some other wild animal stalking its prey. His dress was quite comfortable, only a simple sash over his groin, with leather sandles and shin protection. A long succesion of overlapping steel plates ran down his arm. He froze in place as the tax collector turned around, looking out past his hiding place. A slight grin apeared under his metal facial covering, a mask that encompassed his enitre head in steel. The fact that his prey was afriad brought him great joy, but he did not resume his aproach until the collector had continued pounding on his door. When Jaileh reached the edge of his crop his grip on the trident he held tightened. He was infamous for crafting them from pitch forks, converting a tool to a deadly weapon through coutless sharpenings and alterations.

 

With a quick prayer he lept from the field and began a dead sprint for his prey. The first five meters were cleared in a second and he brought is trident up from his side, performing a daring one armed stab deep into the collectors back. As if it had been rehearsed Jaileh pulled a small knife from the strap around his thigh and brought it around his kill's head, plunging it through his throat and cutting off his scream.

 

Jaileh retreived his first weapon and slid his door open, dragging the body inside. His sitting room was doused in oil already and ignition was all that was needed to set the second phase of his plan in motion. Trading out his trident for a flint Jaileh hurried to the flammable liquid. The second or third spark filled the room with a hellish glow. Jaileh was out the front door before the first whisps of smoke issued out from the space where his ceiling and wall met.

He needed a new home, and chaos stricken Galor would be a perfect place to 'settle down.'

[Shadow of the Fallen]

Thrin had dazed out after being struck, his head still spun, but he had regained most of his concious mind. His legs felt a little like rubber, and he dragged his feet along as the gaurds dragged him and someone else along. He couldn't tell who was beside him, he pondered it, his head slumping so that he watched only the ground. He could see the man's feet, but he never bothered to look at his compainions' boots, so it made no differenace.

 

Suddenly, he felt himself being shoved against a wall, a gaurd barked orders, he couldn't understand what. The active part of his mind only registered 'don't move' as the only logical thing to do at the moment. He struggled to hold himself up on his own two legs as several other soldiers stepped forward to take his weapons. He couldn't tell if they got everything (you'll have to let me know about the shoelaces, MDRud :P), but he knew it felt rather uncomfortable with those archers ready to turn him and the mystery companion into pin cushions at the drop of a hat.

 

And who exactly was this mystery figure that had been shoved around as much as him. He had cleared enough of the fog to steal a glace at him. Damn, was the only word that echoed in his mind. Why'd Quarian have to get stuck in here as well. A good remainder of the cloud that hung over his thoughts evaporated. Inwardly, Thrin frowned deeply, yet he dared not show his displeasure openly. His face remained resolute, but it hardened a bit, and the fire of intellegence flared back up in his eyes. He was still fazed, his body still felt sluggish, but his mind was as clear as crystal after realizing the implications of the capture of Quarian. He was vital to the rebellion.

 

The rebellion... Weren't these Imperial soldiers. Anger swelled. Imperial Soldiers. Three archers, the leader, and several that were still searching for weapons. He couldn't tell if they got the knife at his back, and he wondered if they noticed the Imperial hunting knife at his waist. He couldn't feel the wieght of it anymore, they must have taken it. The longsword had been of Imperail make as well, but he didn't know if that had been brought with them or not. He didn't remember sheathing it before he blacked out.

 

Regardless, he had only two goals right now. Keep Quarian safe. Try to make some contact with the outside world. Hopefully Aseir had made it away from his pursuers, but coming to get them would be a suicide mission without help from within. Which means he had to figure out a way to cause disorder enough to give Aseir a shot, or get them out himself. And the second goal...

 

Was to kill as many of these Imperial slime dogs as he could before he left.

[MDRud216]

Greymoor, interrogation

 

The soldiers leaving the room with you weapons are replaced by who seems to be an officer of some sort. The archer captain who orcastrated your capture turns to him as he arrives.

"These are the rebeks sir, pointed out by our agents in Galor."

"Good work..." the officer pauses, "I was told there would be four"

The captain hesitates, "One escaped sir, but we have all confidence that he will be captured soon. Tarysus ordered a ccavalry unit to gaurd the way back to Galor and we do not believe that he has went out beyond Greymoor's boundaries."

"So be it, where is the Emperor now?" the officer asks, turning to the side where you can see the symbol of his rank on his pauldron; A vice admiral to you suprise.

"He, he has not returned yet I am afraid."

"Excuse me?" the vice admiral says. "How do we know that the damn fool didn't get himself killed?" Before any answer was provided he spoke again, this time at Thrin, Quarian and Akechi. "Tell me of your roll in the invasion of our country. Are you spies? agents of some unknown agent? If you do not speak I will send him-" he unsheethed his sowrd and pointed it menacingly towars Akechi- "to the nuse."

 

The door into the stairway opens suddenly, and the vice admiral turns to see Tarysus himself walk through it, you barely notice a wince of pain as he steps. "Are they talking?" he asks as his eyes meet Quarians. The pained look turns to a discreet and sinister smile.

[Shadow of the Fallen]

Thrin fought to keep the blood from draining from his face. It seemed as though this man already knew who Quarian was. He needed Quarian's help, to save his own soul.

 

It was with this, that Thrin started laughing. Even before his captors, he laughed at the thought. To save his soul, sure... As though his soul could be redeemed from the hell it was bound to, as though fulfilling his debt in blood would preserve him from the eternal suffering he commited it to. No, even if he did redeem himself, it would only secure his curse. Instead, he simply laughed--but his mind was processing his next words on a razors edge.

 

"They don't know anything. I'm the one you want. Torturing them wont get you anywhere, and killing them will give you less. If you want proof, go find the knife one of those pathetic worms you call soldiers carried off. The imperial hunting knife."

[ensis]

Akechi was about to mention they were not with the invading army (though he would not tell them they were technically rebelling) when Thrin suddenly started laughing. It went from a halfhearted, questionable laugh to nearly a hysteric level of laughter. Akechi was slightly taken aback before Thrin started talking.

 

He didn't know if Thrin was telling his truth to the officer, or was just biding time. Either way, if the officer accepted what he said, he would have some time to think about the situation. Staring down the blade of a sword (albeit from half a room away) was slightly troublesome. The threat to go with it didn't help either.