The Legion Immortalis: The Bulwark of Heaven (Part 4)

[Faidth]

@Sembas:

 Dennan patiently awaits Sembas’s response. He observes his friend in silence. The wheels in the falconer’s mind are turning and Dennan can tell his thoughts are heavy.

“Come, Sembas.” Dennan places a large, but gentle, hand on Sembas’s back and steers him towards a small table in the corner of the room.

There are two small stools nearby it and he gestures for Sembas to take a seat. He reaches into his pack and extracts a flask. As he unscrews the top, the faint smell of honey reaches your nostrils. The contents of the flask are so delightfully aromatic that you begin to salivate.

“Honey mead,” speaks Dennan. “I make it myself. Calms the nerves and soothes the mind.” He takes a swig then places the flask before you.

Dennan moves to seat himself, but as his herculean frame bears down upon the stool, the wood begins to tremble and creak. Dennan sighs. You get the feeling that this is a common, and unfortunate, side effect of Dennan’s massive size. He frowns, casting the stool aside in favor of a large barrel.

He says no more, content to wait for Sembas to speak what is on his mind.


@Siron and Fjorin:

The group around the map listens intently as Siron speaks. When Fjorin adds to the discussion, revealing the Death Wounds of some of their enemies Blood nods in approval.

“Well, well, well, Fjorin of the Ebonmane. Seems you’ve done your research.” She winks at the warrior. “That kind of knowledge will certainly help us in a fight, but I feel your thoughts on redeeming the Forsaken may be a bit of misplaced idealism.”

“Jonas was redeemed,” says Honor quietly.

“Jonas is an exception,” snaps Blood irritably.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” offers Vartan. “Plenty of people are capable of finding righteousness.” He looks to his mother, his expression almost sheepish. “You know… rumor has it Dad wasn’t always the most savory of characters back in the day. He changed.”

“And his past caught up with him,” responds Blood firmly.

Vartan gazes upon her sadly and Blood’s resolve falters.

The Captain smacks her palm against her forehead. “Divine, what fools these Childer be! Fine! You want to try to hug it out with the Punisher, have at it. I’ll pull your arses out of the fire .” She turns back to the rest of the group. “As for Siron’s plan… I don’t like it,” growls Blood. “Vartan and his companions are mortals. It would be far too risky to send them anywhere near that base.”

“Mother, you worry far too much! I’ll be fine,” assures Vartan.

Blood stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re not going, and that’s final.”

Vartan stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest, and in that instant, despite the difference in their apparent and actual ages, the mother and son appear much alike. “I’m just saying, we could help!”

Bloods cheeks redden. “You’re not-”

“There are plenty of ways we can help from afar,” suggests Ciar wrapping one arm around Blood’s shoulders and the other around Vartan’s. Blood gives Ciar a warning look and the rogue quickly removes it.

“Besides,” speaks Vartan. “Sentries, there are none… At least, not in the traditional sense.” 

 “They don’t need guards. They have warding spells. Powerful ones,” Lene moves closer to the map, her eyes flicking occasionally from the map to Siron. “I’m adept with the arcane arts, but Fortuna is a master of the craft. She likely would have thought to protect the area from an assault by air.”

Honor is silent and appears lost in thought. Suddenly he smiles broadly. “Still… the boy might be on to something!” Honor looks to Blood. “Osiris was able to take us by surprise because he came from beneath us. Fortuna may have thought to guard against attacks from the air, but I doubt even she would have the forethought to protect from beneath.”

“What are you suggesting?” questions Blood.

“Siron’s plan is a sound one.” Honor grins at Siron and claps him on the shoulder. “Good thinking, lad. It’s a great idea, we just need to alter a few of the details. I know for a fact Dennan has quite a command over the earth. I’ve seen him cause avalanches and break apart the ground beneath my very feet. Instead of attacking from above, we come from beneath.”

“Yes! And perhaps once she is freed, Miss Ebraldi can dispel the wards and let the rest of us in as back up” agrees Lene. “Something has to be keeping her from using her magic. I know they didn’t kill her; she is worth far more alive. She can’t have been knocked out this whole time, and I know if she was able to she would have already blown the place to bits with her arts. I suspect an artifact of some sort. In my readings, I came upon a piece called Sorcerer’s Binds. They’re almost like a pair of handcuffs, but with large spikes on the inside. They bind the user’s magic through debilitating pain. If the wearer attempts to use magic, the spikes activate and dig deeper into the flesh.”

 “We have to help her, and quickly! There have to be more underground bunkers like these.” Honor crosses to a dusty old bookshelf in the corner. “I say we find one as close as we can to Headsman’s Hill. Furthermore, since we’re coming from below instead of above, it will be far more difficult for the Punisher to sense us. If we can find another place like this, but closer, we use it as a staging area. Maybe Dethys left something behind.”

Lene, Honor, and Ciar scour the bookshelves, looking for any maps or journals Dethys may have left behind that could pertain to such locations.
After some time, Blood speaks. “You’re looking in the wrong spot. Dethys is no fool; he wouldn’t put such an item in plain sight. That would be the first place a rational person would check, and one thing Dethys Night is NOT, is rational.” Her eyes scan the entirety of the room.

The chamber contains all manner of junk. There are stacks of boxes in various corners and along the walls. There is a wooden chest near the table where Dennan and Sembas sit in silence. There is a small table with a large hourglass, long since spent, and a hammer. There is a strange painting of a dour old king with a faded crown, a moth-eaten bedroll leaning in a corner, a large bucket of water with some strange, dark shape at the bottom of it. There are barrels and crates, bottles of very old wine, and a large box labeled DIRT.

“There’s a lot of junk here. Where do we start?” asks Ciar.


@Sig:
All of the stress of the day has had a sobering effect on Sig, one he would like to quickly dismiss. While the others talk, squabble, or strategize, the Chosen of Alviss takes a moment to dip into his private reserves.



@Fjorin:

Lai turns to Fjorin, looping her arm through his. “Thank you. I feel your understanding is the only reason I was able to speak up at all.”

She frowns. “I don’t think that young knight likes me very much. Personally, I think I’ve given your people just as much trust as they’ve given me. Perhaps more! They have no idea how hard it was to go to Avalon, knowing that the Elder Immortalis had the power to imprison me forever. Dethys Night could do the same thing Severan’s people can do to Carnis. They can confine us, and torment us, yet I went willingly!”

“Furthermore, I did not have to accept these terms. I did not have to help the Ageless! I did so on behalf of my friends! For Aras… For you… Having a body is all well and good, but never again will I have the freedom to wander as my spirit desires. I have sacrificed much to be of help to the Ageless, to accept the Divine’s blessing, but it seems there are still some among us who question my loyalty. I know you say not worry over their words, but I do! I want them to like me, Fjorin! I’m one of you now, but sometimes I’m scared they’ll never see me that way… That I’ll always be a Carnis to them… some strange thing of evil beyond their comprehension.” 

Lai plops down on the floor. “You’re right, you know… I believe Azazel Punisher can be redeemed. If I could be saved, I’m sure he could be, too. The Forsaken are not so unlike the Ageless in some ways. Yes, there are some who are cruel and terrible… yet… I have also seen a few who just seem to have… who seem to have lost their way. Perhaps he is not evil… Perhaps he is just lost.”

[Faidth]

@Aeliana:

From Aeliana’s current perspective, Azazel Punisher was the most evil man she had ever met. He was not a man who was lost in his purpose. No, his purpose was clear to him. His purpose was to cause her pain, and his name, Punisher, had proven to be a very fitting one.

Her eyes are almost completely swollen shut, yet through the puffy slits she can make out a little of her surroundings. The room is small and dark. The only light that graces this place comes from two dying torches on either side of the room. If only she had the smallest bit of her magic accessible, she could likely use those torches to cause a conflagration, or perhaps even use her own spell, Blossoms of Fire, and somehow make her escape. Yet, her heart aches terribly, knowing that she has been forcibly separated from her arts. Whatever these contraptions, these strange cuffs are, they have managed to see to that. Since the Forsaken put these restraints on her, even the thought of using magic had been enough to cause the cuffs to tighten, driving the spikes further and further into her flesh. Even now, blood pours from the wounds around her wrists.

She strives to turn her head towards her companion. However, the slightest movement of her head causes her stomach to lurch. Her legs tremble with fatigue. She hasn’t had the luxury of sitting since she arrived, instead being chained to the wall by an iron collar attached to a chain. It is far too tight and creates an uncomfortable pressure upon her throat. This, added with the anguish of her own screams and acute dehydration, has left her throat feeling as if it is on fire. She would gladly give up a limb for even a drop of water upon her parched tongue.

She is not sure how long she has been here, but it feels like days, maybe even weeks, that she has been suffering at the hands of the Forsaken.  Yet, as great as her pain has been, she knows that Faustus suffers the same, and it is this thought that causes her the worst pain. He had been tortured far more than her. The Forsaken thought, perhaps, the only way to break the fearless Aeliana de Fonte Ebraldi was to use her greatest ally, the man she had been bonded to for years, Faustus Magnus Venator. So at first, Aeliana had not been torture herself. Instead, she had been forced to watch. She had to watch as the Punisher crushed Faustus’s fingers with a hammer. She had watched as the Punisher had made deep, jagged cuts with a knife in Faustus’s arms. He proceeded to hold aloft a wooden cup, filled with salt, and dumped it into his wounds. She watched as he was flogged with a whip, beaten with chains, and even had the soles of his feet burned with a hot iron poker. Last, but not least, she watched, helplessly, watched as his tongue had been cut from his mouth.

In truth, she marveled that he was still alive. How he managed to cling to the last remaining bits of his life she could not fathom. Yet, even as she pondered his resolve, she knew… He endured for her. She recalled the final words he had said to her, mere moments ago, seconds before he forever lost his ability to speak. He has been her guardian, her companion, and her truest of friends. Even without their bond, his loyalty and devotion to her knew no bounds. Over time, she could sense the depth of his feelings for her, such was the way of the bond. They could sense each other’s motivations. While she had always had an inkling of it, she stubbornly refused to believe the truth.

“Aeliana… I love you…” Those had been his last words to her, moments before the Punisher had arrived and relieved him of his ability to speak.

It was not a secret; she had always known. She knew the nature of his heart, and he knew the nature of hers. That is why he knew it would have been fruitless to ever vocalize his feelings for her. Her only love, the sole keeper of her heart, was her art; he could never compete with that. So, he had never burdened her with his thoughts, until he feared he would never have the chance to, and that is why he told her this day.

The Punisher loomed over them, his expression betraying nothing. All of his movements were precise, and clinical. Aeliana could not tell if he found any joy in this task. The expression of Azazel Punisher was too cold, too far removed, to allow her to determine anything. His face was more a mask than something to relate human features. There was never a smirk or a frown to be found, just the same distant expression.

It was obvious Aeliana was too resilient. Torturing her companion wasn’t giving the Forsaken the desired results. No matter what they did to Faustus or her, the brilliant and defiant mage refused to speak. She refused to share the secret she had learned in her travels: a way to break the shackles the Divine had placed upon the Adversary, and at last, give the dark lord the ability to enter the mortal realm without having to come through the hidden battlefield.

So the order had come: take the guardian’s tongue, and see if she will speak. If she refuses still, then kill him. Aeliana watches as the Punisher crosses the room. Time seems to slow as his fingers grip the handle of an enormous ebony axe. He moves towards his prisoners, and his ice blue eyes flick to Aeliana. She chokes back tears she didn’t know she had left, and in that moment, her torturer’s eyes almost appear pleading. His expression that has betrayed nothing, now reveals all: this act brings him no joy.

The question is simple, but the answer is far too complex. “Will you?” The Punisher’s voice is gravelly as if unaccustomed to use. In all this time of torturing her and Faustus, Azazel Punisher has only spoken when necessary, and only very few words.

Aeliana gazes upon Faustus, scarcely able to see him through her swollen eyes and the hot tears that stream down her face.

Again, the Punisher poses his question. “Will you? Will you open the gate?”

Blood pours from Faustus’s mouth and the anguish is apparent in his eyes. He knows what she is thinking. He knows her resolve is faltering due to seeing him like this; she is considering giving the Forsaken what they want. Faustus gives the slightest shake of his head, reminding her of the importance of keeping her silence.

Her words hoarse, and barely a whisper, yet in his final moments, she fights to make sure that he hears her words, that his last seconds on earth allow him to depart with some small joy.

“Magnus… I love you.” Whether she means them or not are unimportant; she can feel through their bond these words have brought him peace.

Aeliana’s emerald green eyes peek out from her red hair as she struggles to raise her head. Her eyes lock upon those of the Punisher. “No, I will not.”

“Very well.” The Punisher raises his axe and pulls back.

Aeliana screams, and for a moment, time screeches to a halt. The cuffs embed further in her wrists and she fights with all her might, to call upon every bit of magic she has to halt the blade in its path. The Punisher seems to suddenly struggle under the weight of his weapon. Blood pours down Aeliana’s wrists and the pain demolishes her concentration, freeing the weapon from her magic.

There is a dull thud somewhere near her feet. She cannot bear to look. Every aspect of her body, mind, and soul is completely engulfed with pain and grief as the bond is broken.

[Daccio]

     “Aeliana… I love you…” Those had been Faustis’ last words to her, moments before the Punisher had arrived and relieved him of his ability to speak. The words had jarred her to the bone. She knew he had always felt them, but never before had he deemed to speak them aloud. She had always held her arts above all else, leaving little room for love and the like. When he spoke those words, however, he had battered open a door she had thought closed forever. And then they took his tongue.

     Somehow, she knew that it was unlikely that either one of them would ever leave this place alive. If only she could access but a scrap of her power. She could heal almost anything… How she wanted to heal Faustis. The poor man had endured so much for her. Fighting against the restraints brought fresh pain to bear as the shackles at her wrists dug in deeper with every moment she tried to pull on her powers.
She peered at the punisher through swollen eyes, hardly able to see him as he approached Faustis. Holding a large ebony axe aloft, he spoke to her in a grating tone of voice.

     “Will you?” He questioned “Will you open the gate” His voice sounded like gravel, as he stood suspended before Faustis, axe at the ready. Her painful gaze jerks to Faustis. Blood dripped from his mouth in large, deep red globs. He seemed to sense her faltering resolve as hot tears leaked down her face. He gave a small jerk of his head, an indication that he did not want her to fold. For him, she would hold. Only he would ask her to do this in face of such pain and misery. Though she wasn’t sure if she actually meant it, she spoke to him to give him some comfort in his last moments in this world. Her voice sounded as if she had not had a drink in weeks, barely passing audibly through her lips as the collar of metal held her to the wall.

     “Magnus” she gasped to him “…I love you”. Even if she did not know if she truly meant the words, she knew what it would bring to him, and the confirmation flooded over her bond with him. He had peace, finally. She hoped that he would forever have peace where he was going, because she knew her answer next was going to be the death of him, and possibly herself. She drags her eyes back to the punisher and despite the pain, locks eyes with him.

     “No” She grated “I will not” She coughed violently against the collar, but forced herself to stop. Her emerald green eyes never left those of the punisher.

     “Very well” Says the voice of the punisher. He pulls back the axe and prepares to strike

     “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” Aeliana screams in protest, voice hoarse. Regardless of the blinding pain she knew would come, she attempts to throw every iota of magical energy she can glean at the punisher, anything to stop that axe. The spikes on the cuffs dig painfully in to her wrists, deeper than they ever have before. Blood slopped from her arms to the floor in dangerous amounts as she struggled in vain to hurl anything she could at their captor. For just a moment, a brief sweet moment, she catches the axe with energy and a spark of hope ignites. Crushing pain overwhelms her sense before she knows it, snuffing out her connection with anything magic and the spark of hope extinguishes before it had flared into fruition. The large axe struck home and she heard a soft thump next to her.

     Aeliana gasps as her eyes squeeze shut; blinding pain, agony and grief try to devour her very being. The bond was broken so abruptly that it shocked her to the core. She screamed again and flailed against the restrains, before slumping up against the wall, sadness overwhelming her sense. Tears caress her cheeks and drop to the floor to mingle with the viscous lifeblood already there. Hanging there limply, she uttered a single word.

     “Why…?” More tears dripped from her chin “Why…?” she shook her head, despite the pain and nausea it caused. She looked up to look to Punisher “Why…?” Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” With each utterance of the word, she jerked against her restraints, her grief and pain fueling her building rage. With each utterance of the word, she grasped at whatever scraps of energy she could. Blinding pain, trying to hurl energy at the punisher. Slumping against the wall, jerking forward, trying to access her arts, more pain. There was more pain this day that she had ever experienced in the rest of her life and it was not just physical pain. She realized then that she had truly meant those words she spoke to Faustis then, he had flowered love where she had thought that nothing could grow. This deepened the pain and sorrow.

     When finally any burst of energy she had gained from the rage, whether she had accomplished anything or not in trying to reach him with the magical energy, she slumped back against the wall, terrifyingly close to passing out maybe to never awake again. The collar and cuffs were the only thing holding her up at this point, causing her distress and difficulty breathing. Through the gasping breaths she choked out a few words, a little more coherent than her last.

     “How… could you…. do this? You hurt…without a care….” She coughed after getting her question out, wheezing as the collar threatened to choke her. It was obvious that she was in very poor shape. Blood ran down her arms and dropped to the floor, pooling. She refused to look down, unto the lifeless eyes that she had once known to be so full of life.

     “How…?”
   

[Radobe]

“Jonas was redeemed,” says Honor quietly.

“Jonas is an exception,” snaps Blood irritably.

“I am afraid I will have to agree with captain Blood on this one, our priority must be securing prisoners.  I am not against second chances, but unless they wish for it, we should not seek something so far fetched.  If we hesitate to strike them down when such an opportunity arises, it may cost us dearly.“

“Vartan and his companions are mortals. It would be far too risky to send them anywhere near that base.”

Siron is obviously angry at this remark, but he tries to remain calm and not let his anger show too much, on his face or in his speech. “I am sorry captain but I must protest, these mortals have done an excellent job! If it was not for their work we would neither have known of the prisoners, nor of Dethys hideout.  They do not deserve to be treated as luggage! If anything they deserve a commendation for the outstanding performance of their mission!” At this point, the knight is obviously tensed and starting to sweat. It takes him a few deep breaths to reclaim his clam and recover his normal state. “I understand you only wish to protect them and I agree it would be too risky for them to join us when we face the forsaken. Even so we could still use them to watch the vicinity and alert us for any forsaken that might be returning to the camp.”

He listens to the adjustments of the plan and can’t hide his smile when Honor compliments him and claps him on the shoulder. Afterward he eagerly joins the search for the supposedly hidden information.

“There’s a lot of junk here. Where do we start?”

“Well the most irrational spot to hide paper would be water. The paper would soak making it fragile and prone to tear, the ink will also dissolve, in a normal situation of course. I guess I will check the bucket over there.”

Siron walks towards the bucket, crouches next to it and before he even touches it, the knight releases a deep sigh and murmurs, “what could possibly go wrong.” He plunges his hand into the bucket and tries to grab and pull out the black object at the bottom.

[Faidth]

@Siron:

“They do not deserve to be treated as luggage! If anything they deserve a commendation for the outstanding performance of their mission!... I understand you only wish to protect them…”

Blood flares at Siron’s comments. “Luggage?! You foolish boy! Is that what you think!” She gestures to Vartan. “He is my son! Not a handbag! You’re an idiot if you cannot make the distinction between mortal and Ageless life. The possibility of any of us dying is slim at most! The Crimson Wolves don’t have the luxury of immortality! You bristle at the idea of leaving them behind, yet you say we can ‘use them to watch the vicinity.’ Use them!” Blood stomps her foot in anger, a move Siron has seen before, and the young Ageless is sent flying through the air and lands hard upon his back.

Blood storms across the room and looms over him. “You forget yourself, Siron Entrima. I have been an Ageless for hundreds of years! You’ve been at this for scarcely a month! You have reeked of insolence since first I met you in the tavern. You claim to understand, but you know nothing! It is the duty of the Ageless to protect humanity! Even more, it is the duty of a mother to protect her child. I know Vartan is a capable warrior, but that does not mean I will allow him to needlessly put himself in harm’s way!”

Honor hurries to Siron’s side and lifts the young knight onto his feet. “He’s still a Childer, Blood. Forgive him for his boldness. What you perceive as insolence is but enthusiasm on his part. He only wants to help. I am sure he meant no offense.”

The anger floods from Blood’s face and she returns to the map.

Honor shakes his head. “We really need to work on your tact, Siron. I have never met someone so willing to poke a sleeping bear.”

They return to the task at hand. Siron seems pleased by Honor’s confidence and the plans are readjusted.

Siron reaches into the bucket. His logic is sound enough, yet “what could go wrong?” could certainly be perceived as famous last words. As his hand feels around the bottom of the bucket, he feels something move through the water towards his outstretched fingers. Before he can react, something sharp latches onto his hand. He pulls his hand from the bucket and finds a small, black snake has firmly dug its fangs into his fingers. Siron begins to shake his hand wildly.

“Olgrim! There you are!” cries Ciar. He hurries over to Siron and gently grasps the snake in his hands. The creature wraps around the rogue’s outstretched arm, happily returned to his master. “I was wondering where you got to! Taking a bit of a snooze in that bucket there, were you?”

Siron’s legs begin to tremble and Ciar’s eyes widen. “Oh dear…” mutters Ciar. “Um… sorry about that. He doesn’t take well to strangers. I’ll get an antidote for you.” He hurries over to the table and returns to Siron with a small vial. At this point the young knight’s lips feels as if they weigh a thousand pounds and he begins to drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Uh… Bottoms up!” says Ciar as he dumps the contents of the vial into Siron’s mouth. “Good thing I had this prepared. His bite is very potent. Causes deaths in mortals, but packs a punch against Ageless, too. In fact, some of Olgrim’s venom is used in that poison I was working on.”
The feeling begins to return to Siron’s legs and face.

Honor sighs. “Probably not the wisest decision you’ve made today, Siron.”

Blood stands with her arms crossed over her chest. “Why would he keep a box of dirt?” She moves to open the box, but at the last moment, thinks better of it and moves to the hourglass on the small table. She picks up the hammer and smashes the hourglass. Sand spills from the broken hourglass and shards of glass litter the table. Blood narrows her eyes and, with her gauntlet, sifts through the contents. Moments later, she extracts a rolled up bit of paper. Carefully, she unrolls the paper. The writing is miniscule.

There is a magnifying glass on the shelf and she holds it above the paper to examine it closer. “This is it. There are at least three other bunkers in the area. And this one…”

Blood moves to the corner of the room where the bedroll rests. She quickly tosses it aside, revealing a wooden hatch in the ground. “This should lead us to a burrow right under Headsman’s Hill. It seems the Archon’s forces did not capture the hill on their own accord. Dethys likely assisted in their efforts from below, though Divine knows how. Perhaps when we return to Avalon we can ask him.”

[Faidth]

@Aeliana:

Punisher stands in silence, considering Aeliana’s questions of “why?” and “how?”

Something almost repentant glimmers in the corners of Punisher’s features: a slight downturn of his lips, a look of something shadowing pain in his eyes, his expression almost pitying. He shakes his head, dispelling this moment of weakness.

His voice is deep and gravelly. “Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to? He died because you would not consent to aid us. It brought me no joy to do this; he was an innocent. In my life, I was a deliverer of justice. I came to know the souls of men. I can say with certainty….” He gestures to Faustus’s decapitated head. “I know he was innocent. His only crime was loving you, and of that, he could not help himself.”

“You think I hurt without a care?” His expression is pained, as if her words have slapped him, leaving a bitter sting upon his cheek. “If it were only so simple! You see, fair maiden…” He grasps the chains that secure Aeliana to the wall. “Not all binds are so easily seen, and not all bonds are broken by death. Your guardian, it is unfortunate that he had to die, but it was a necessary evil. You do not know the importance of the information you have. You do not know the difference it could make!”

Punisher seats himself on a wooden stool. He is silent for some time. All the while, Aeliana’s cries grow louder. Punisher clasps his head in his hands. His eyes are wild and it is obvious Aeliana’s weeping and tears are weighing heavily upon his conscience. “You must stop that, milady. Cease your tears!” He begins to rock back and forth in the chair, his hands pressed against his ears to muffle her crying.

He growls as he reaches into the breast pocket of his black vest. Aeliana cannot see what he extracts from it. He quickly crosses the room and his face is inches from hers. “You must… you must cooperate! You must tell us what you have found! Please! Save yourself! You know not what is at stake!” His hand reaches up and she sees a white handkerchief in his outstretched hand. He presses the soft cloth against Aeliana’s cheeks in an attempt to dry her tears.

“Her screams…” Punisher’s voice is scarcely a whisper. “Her screams are so loud here, milady. She is so close, but the injustice of her death prevents her from leaving the Marrow. I must grant her peace. She must be at peace. If you will tell me what you know, I can tell Fortuna, and she promised me she would stop her pain. She would let her be at peace.”

"Please, Lady Ebraldi... I do not wish to hurt you any more. I do not want to kill you, but if you cannot be of use, then Fortuna will demand it. She will find some other way to get what she wants, perhaps even rip the memories from your dead body. One way or another... she will get the information she desires. The only difference is whether it will come from your lips or your corpse. She knows your power. She sees you as an asset; you are worth far more to her alive than dead."

[Daccio]

     She hardly cried at all before this day, least of all where it was visible to others, but she could not help the tears flowing freely. The sorrow was so deep rooted in her soul that she could barely think. Even so, a thought floated across the void that this had to be something connected with the bond that her and her companion had shared, there was no way that being so in control of her emotions normally that she should be reduced to tears overwhelmingly.

     She looked into his eyes the best he could but as he spoke

     ”I know he was innocent. His only crime was loving you, and of that, he could not help himself” , she squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking and her sobbing increasing. Why couldn’t she get a hold of herself? As he spoke to her comment of hurting without care, she returned her gaze to him and as he spoke of unseen bonds her lips curled into a snarl.

     “Who are you to speak of unseen bonds, you have no idea what you have done!” it was all she could do to get this out and even as she spoke she tasted the salty tears that fanned across her cheeks. Crusted blood flecked from her clothing and skin as she struggled to try to gain some dignity back, and stand.
Slumping against the wall, but at least triumphant in standing somewhat she glared at him as he took a seat on a wooden stool. In the silence that followed, she could not help but dwell on the broken bond and her friend’s last words to her. Steadily her sobs and crying grew louder, and the punisher takes his head in his hands, as if to block out what was happening.  Finally, he speaks

     “You must stop that, milady. Cease your tears!”

She but stared at him, almost incredulously. He had caused all of this pain, and he wanted her to stop crying? She wanted to stop crying too, gain some of her dignity back, but she could not force herself to stop. Her emotions were running away from her, as if trying to grasp smoke in the wind.
As he reached into his breast pocket and stormed across the room, Aeliana flinched, or rather, tried to flinch back from him as he thrust his face inches from hers

     “You must… you must cooperate! You must tell us what you have found! Please! Save yourself! You know not what is at stake!

     She tries to stop it, but a whimper escapes her throat as she tries to shrink back from the hand that reaches out. She was unsure what he was going to do, maybe take her tongue, gouge her eyes but at the feel of soft cotton on her face, tears fell faster in relief that no new pain was added. Her stomach twisted in disgust as he tried to dry her tears as if he were not the one who caused them. She could barely make out his whisper as he spoke to her.

     “Her screams… Her screams are so loud here, milady. She is so close, but the injustice of her death prevents her from leaving the Marrow. I must grant her peace. She must be at peace. If you will tell me what you know, I can tell Fortuna, and she promised me she would stop her pain. She would let her be at peace.”

     "Please, Lady Ebraldi... I do not wish to hurt you anymore. I do not want to kill you, but if you cannot be of use, then Fortuna will demand it. She will find some other way to get what she wants; perhaps even rip the memories from your dead body. One way or another... she will get the information she desires. The only difference is whether it will come from your lips or your corpse. She knows your power. She sees you as an asset; you are worth far more to her alive than dead."

     Her mouth nearly dropped open as he continued to speak. Given something else to concentrate on she managed to stem the flow of tears, at least for now as she listened to him talk. Every minute he talked was a minute she was not dying, not in even MORE pain. As she listened, and he spoke, something came to mind, a possible way out of this maddening situation. She knew it was impossible to get into the marrow to free a spirit. Well, as far as she knew it was. She had not done much research there as she had in other areas, but maybe…

     “I… Look.” She spoke quietly, near whispering herself. Tears were welling up in her eyes as she began to speak to him, her throat parched. “I cannot ever forgive you for what you have done. Despite your wish to not hurt me anymore” She coughed violently, wheezing as she caught her breath “What you have done will hurt me for a long time to come, more than anything you or your Fortuna could do to me…” She paused looking him in the eyes the best she could despite feeling like she was going to sick up. She wanted to make sure he was listening.

      “But you know of my power too. Fortuna knows of my power. You know I killed one of you while being captured and possible two others” She had to pause a moment to swallow “Maybe…just maybe…. If you help me… I can help you…” She did not know what was going to happen or if she really wanted to walk this path, but the cold logic in her head said this might be the only way out now. Faustus had wanted her to live and she was going to live if she could do anything about it.

[Cameron]

Closed for length.