Sinners or Slaves [Markus, Nari, Blythe, Sondra]

by **Sondra** on October 19th, 2011, 5:09 am

There was a vague buzz immediately before the stones broke against Sondra, the hiss of collective anticipation before the thunderous “go”. Her arms flew upward and her head was ducked low. She’d taken more hits than she gave, the protective crouch was instinctive as was the cinch in her guts.

Sheer force threw Sondra backward sending her bones skidding and bouncing over debris. Her warhammer gave her a sweet taste of her own brew, banging up her leg as she thudded flatly to a halt on her side. Bracken taste filled her mouth as her teeth cut her cheek. Her face was half covered in dust where it struck the ground and a long scratch on her jaw made a burning line.

These quick pains were secondary to the rollicking in her skull. Her eyes saw straight but her ears made her wince with echoes. She began to react, not knowing the reason behind her motion.

Sondra was all instinct for better or worse. When hands began to pull for her warhammer, she thrashed like one protecting her virtue. A raw slip of rope was trying to slither around her wrists from behind, and with it came worming sins.

Hatred, glee and rage flushed from the visions, radiating into her core. It mingled with her own disgust, making a perverse combination of pleasure and sickness.

The criminals sins mated with one another, filling in white spaces and drawing events into sprees. A woman on the ground, broken and defiled, her crooked gasps becoming gurgles as a new face had blood well over broken teeth. The corpses white legs thickened and twitched, becoming the woman again as she curled naked limbs to protect herself. Now she grew small and papery, pulled upward to stand like a marionette with something in her hands. Brittle fingers clutched a purse, pronounced knuckles white with desperation. Fury overwhelmed the sight, blurring the faces. They were all nothing. Nothing but creatures who had what she-they wanted. Unfair creatures, cruel withholding things, best when pressed under a boot or flinching under a bludgeon.

Mindless and furious as a wild horse, Sondra bucked, throwing her head back at whoever steadied her from behind. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she gave a savage twist to free her arms.

by **Dusk** on November 9th, 2011, 1:57 am

Sounds of skirmish and cries of pain echoed throughout the darkness as the rebellion spread from the highest levels to the lowest.

Blythe, being the furthest back and the least one likely to cause a problem, was the last dealt with by the men. A hand caught her elbow as she stood, and if she turned she would find a gruesomely ugly man standing beside her, scars dragging down his face. "Don't move," he growled, and began hauling her towards the dying embers of the fire - the only bit of light to be seen in the vast darkness of the mines. "You keep yer head, you'll get out of this just fine."

As she was pulled closer to the fire, she would see the struggles of Sondra against the three men who tried to tame her, as well as Markus and Ser Thompson on the ground, the former with a blade to his throat.

The man holding the blade on Markus just laughed. "Who petching cares. You know how many of us he's killed in the last season? Won't find no pity here." He pulled the last of Markus' weapons away, passing them to an unseen accomplice before finally slapping the front of his armor. "Up, and no funny business or I'll have no pity on you either."

Sondra, meanwhile, was fighting like a hellcat against the men who tried to hold her. She slammed her head backwards and got a solid hit on one of them, who gave a yelp of pain as she broke his nose. The other two began to scream curses and orders at each other as they tried to keep hold of her, but she managed to get one arm free and do some damage in the flickering shadows. A few moments later, though, one of them gave up trying to be gentle and punched her hard in the left temple.

"Enough!" A man's voice cut through the scuffling and vulgarities, stilling the criminals as they each tightened their grips on their respective hostages. Man-shapes climbed out of the great black hole, ladders creaking with their weight, nothing more than shadows in the darkness. "Build up that fire," he said, and the shadows scrambled to obey. Markus was hauled to his feet, and Sondra and Blythe were dragged closer to the fire.

Now they could see those who had taken control of the mines, a pack of rabid men with coal-blackened hands and ragged faces. There were about twenty of them here, and surely more within the depths. They all looked to one man, though, who stood before them with his arms crossed and a wicked look etched upon his features. He was huge - well over six feet tall and thickly muscled. For those who knew what to look for, his size combined with the intricate braids of his black hair and his piercing blue eyes identified him as one of the Svefra, the people of the Suvan Sea.

"Konti," he growled, glaring at each of the women as if he would wring their necks if he could. "Why the petch are there witches here, today of all bloody days?"

The men looked from one to the other of them before one finally replied. "They came with this one," he said, pointing to Markus. "Doing his inspections like he does every few weeks."

As Sondra recovered from the blow and turned her eyes upon him, she would feel now the same soul-stretching pull that she'd felt in Sunberth as The Call rang through her. He was her focus, though he didn't look much like he would welcome such news.

Blythe felt nothing nearly so strong, just a vague sort of certainty that she was supposed to be here. Though why she didn't yet know.

The man was looking at Markus now, though, a scowl pulling at his face. "You again. I remember you, another arrogant prick here to stare at the scum. Did you hear something then? Is that why you're here today?"

by **Blythe** on November 11th, 2011, 3:02 am

Blythe stood by the side of the fire's remnants. Silently watching its orange glow fading into nothingness. She could feel the men against her, tightening their grip it seemed, despite there being nothing to fear from her, considering she did not know how to fight. And even if she did, she doubt she would intend to, for it simply, was not within her nature.

As the leader of the rebels spoke, Blythe merely listened, thinking it best to remain silent, lest the men start to hit her, or worse, finish her off as they had Ser Thompson. A part of her hoped he had died swiftly, for that would have made his unexpected end more merciful, but if what the men had said was true, then perhaps he didn't deserve it. Another part of her wished he was still alive, to explain, to defend himself. But it was too late for that now, all she could do, was pray to Avalis that his spirit encountered peace in the next life.

At the sound of the word "witches," Blythe looked up from the fire. Surprised to hear it. Sure, her people were seers, for the most part, but not exactly witches, and it caught her off guard. "We don't know," she whispered, her lips hardly moving, the sound barely coming out. Maybe no one had heard...

OOCSorry this is short and not so great... I don't think Blythe would be up for much in this situation.

by **Markus Andres** on December 12th, 2011, 12:52 am

Markus could see that he would get nowhere with this scum. If, no… When he got out of there - Such knight-murdering scum wouldn't get him – When he got out of there, he would join the knights in killing every single criminal scum. He was hauled to his feet and he soon found both feet flat against the cave ground. His stature straight and proud. He wouldn't let such scum hear him plead again. He would have to come up with a plan. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. He had to do something before they all died. He looked around for something he could use as a makeshift weapon, or better, where they were taking his actual weapons.

He sent a glance at the unmoving figure of Ser Thompson. Hoping that he was merely unconscious and also hoping that there was a weapon the prisoners had overlooked. Seeing the downed knight lay there motionless put a scowl on Markus' face and it tore at his heart. He had seen death before. But he had never seen a knight die. Markus turned to look at the man who arrived. His voice breaking through the ringing in his ears. So that was their leader?

Markus could see why barbarians ruled by strength would find him a leader. He was big, muscular and had a no-bullshit look on his face. This was the man behind killing Ser Thompson. Markus intense hatred for the man was painted in every feature on his face. There was a fire in his eyes, burning brightly. Perhaps if he suddenly sprung forward he could wrap his hands around the man's neck and strangle him to death before any of his henchmen could stop him. But out of the corner of his eye he saw the konties. If he did something rash and stupid, they would probably be killed. Markus teeth were clenched tightly as he calmed himself down and his muscles relaxed and he breathed out slowly.

The leader seemed upset. Had Markus become a bump on the man’s plan? Completely unintentionally. Markus liked that. Anything he could do to annoy the man was good. He overheard the part where they called him referred to him as ”this one”. He mentally noted down the man’s face. Dirty as it was, he would never forget him. Markus was too angry to feel any fear for his own safety. Their leader talked to Markus. As he spoke, Markus was just glare at him. Markus didn’t know the man. At first he had tried to discern the different prisoners. But over time they had all blended together in his mind, just prisoners doing hard labor.

Markus was surprised when he accused him of having any knowledge of the uprising. Was he to fake that he knew about their plans and create an elaborate lie about the knights being on to them. That way he might be important enough to keep alive. Or was he to confess and lay low, so he could try and sabotage their plans as he went along and hope they would use him a hostage. Either way, if he died then and there, he would be of no use to the knights.

”Petch you.” He said defiantly. And stupidly.

Markus was full well expecting the man or one of his henchmen to sucker punch him or simply stab him in the guts. But it felt so good to just let those words out. The words themselves dripped with the anger Markus felt. Should they oddly opt not to punish him. Markus would continue a couple of moments later. Continuing his defiance.

”Do you really think you can get away? The knights will find you and capture you… or worse. This is a fact. So why not just surrender and save us the trouble?” His voice was controlled, as if he was merely stating some dull facts. Trying to spread some doubt amongst the prisoners. Lessen their resolve and perhaps see if the weaker links of the uprising would shift uncomfortably.

by **Sondra** on January 16th, 2012, 3:12 am

What joy Sondra might have felt at getting a solid knock in during a scramble was pressed under the chaos of sins and pains. To be touched by so many with so much blackening their memories-- it filled her head with dirty water, obscuring everything but instinct.

The solid clock against her temple was the final punctuation. She spun and winked at Zintila before hitting against whatever felt like catching her, be it the ground or a felon's rank embrace. She heard Doyle her old brawling mentor scold her for an amateur's tumble.

She looked up blearily, orienting herself towards a voice textured like pumice. A dirty Svefra had become the pillar of the room towards which all would bend. And now she felt like her sinews were unravelling so they could reach out and take hold of this man. Sharp as a slice of sunlight, he was illuminated as the peg nailing her call to this place.

As he turned to Markus she shouted an answer towards the Svefra.
"You!"

Sondra spat fresh blood on the ground, it left a charming sheen on her teeth for when she grinned at the coal dusted brute.
"This white witch is here because of you."
She took a breath that had been long in coming.
"Don't know what it is yet, but you and I have business."
She jutted her chin at the knight, "He's incidental, sweet pea."

by **Dusk** on February 28th, 2012, 3:27 pm

Blythe's meek reactions were at least earning her no hard blows or painful grips - and although several of the men would rake their eyes over her body in the hungry way of prisoners, none of them made a move towards her.

Markus' defiance didn't illicit the punches or stabs he'd anticipated (or perhaps hoped for?), or much of a reaction at all other than a sharp bark of laughter from the leader. He opened his mouth to retort - only to find himself being called out by the hellcat witch. Firelight sparked through cobalt eyes as he stared at her, his face twitching between curiosity and disbelief. "You're here for me?" he muttered, stepping closer to her.

A few of the men muttered among themselves - and then one gave a sharp laugh. "Wish some goddess would send me a witch-whore, Kaht!" The rest of the men guffawed at that, the sounds bouncing off the walls of the mine and rebounding, making it seem as if the darkness itself were laughing at them.

"Maybe that one's for you, and the other's for the rest of us," another said, leering at Blythe. "What d'ya say, witch? There's enough of you to go around, eh?"

It was then that Ser Thompson gave a weak, mewling groan, and shifted a little. The laughter immediately stopped, and some palpable hatred filled the air of the cavern. They hated Ser Thompson, every one of them, and it was now as he lay wounded and helpless before them that all of them seemed to realize just how much they hated him.

At it was in that moment that Blythe felt as if she were dropped inside a giant bell just as it was hammered. Everything shimmered and vibrated, as if reality itself would tear itself apart - and then it focused everything, everything, on Ser Thompson. Just as the leader of the rebels was Sondra's Call, so was the leader of the Knights. And it looked as if one might kill the other very, very soon.

by **Blythe** on February 29th, 2012, 4:40 am

Blythe's brow furrowed unpleasantly as her head turned slowly, taking in each of the men. The dark glimmer in their eyes. Their souls will never again be pure, she thought. They can never again be saved. They shall be one with the dark, forever and always. One with the keeper of once-enlightened souls. The woman's mind paused as she muttered two simple words, "you wish." Her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the flames that grew before her. Heating her face more than the words and the gazes of the tainted men. She grit her teeth as her mind whispered its last words, the only one that holds the key.

Soon after the words left the folds of her mind, Blythe's eyes shut. Her eyelids scrunched, forming gentle ripples, much like the disturbance in the air that surrounded them. Once a restrained uneasiness, if not peace, thrown into tumult; as though the storm brewing on the horizon for days, had finally come. She thought she could hear her ears ringing with the rise of it. The thunderous nature reverberating against the drums at the end of the tunnel. Even though her eyes were closed, and the colors displayed spun. They seemed vibrant, to dance more than they should. Startled by the hypnotic display, the Konti's eyes fluttered open, only to find that it wouldn't stop, and all of her attention had been cast on the fallen knight; Ser Thompon, whose simple life seemed to dangle by a thread. If she concentrated, past the blaze of it all, she thought she could sense Dira, poised to sever it. Blythe was startled that she hadn't already, that she had been wrong. She felt a fool for thinking his life so easily snuffed out, but forced herself not to think of such things. She didn't have time, not here, not now.

"Don't..." Blythe whispered, her voice small, frightened, falling on deaf ears. "Don't. Not now, not yet. It will imbalance everything, if we act too rashly. We must stop. Think. Consider. Talk..."

"Please," Blythe pleaded, as the fire crackled. She expected a harsh shove, if not to have herself bound further. A cloth tied about her lips, so as to still her restless tongue.

by **Markus Andres** on March 26th, 2012, 1:59 pm

There was nothing. No response at all among the rebels, only their leader responded, in a way he did not like. They were tough and determined these prisoners. Markus glared at their leader as he laughed. As with the leader, Markus turned to look at Sondra when she made her proclamation. Markus felt like an insignificant worm then. Caught in a web so large that he could hardly fathom what was going on.

Grandmaster Dyres had warned him. That the Konti ladies might not be acting in the interest of Syliras. Perhaps this was what he had meant. That Sondra was in fact destined to help the rebellious prisoners. He glared at her as the scum made lewd jokes. As was expected from such people.

"Don't touch her..." Markus growled at the prisoners.

But in the midst of the laughter, there was a sound that made Markus' anger disappear. He turned to Ser Thompson who was moving. He was not dead. Markus felt a huge relief. He was not alone in this midst of uncivilized scum. Next he just needed to get back his weapon. Or any weapon, really. He looked around for someone who had a weapon within range. At the same time trying to determine the number of prisoners and their location.

by **Accolade** on August 29th, 2012, 12:06 am

THREAD AWARD!

Blythe :

Nari :

Markus Andres :

K'Sondra :

Extras:

Notes: Okay, this was a well thought out quest with a lot of potential. I am sorry to see it cut short. However for those that remain, if you are interested in starting a new quest for a better ending, feel free to PM me.