House of Wolves

[Inkfinger]

Closed to Raphai.

House of Wolves

Well, I know a thing about contrition,
Because I got enough to spare -
And I'll be granting your permission
Because you haven't got a prayer…
-My Chemical Romance

The tunnels and cells beneath the Cathedral of Saint Denebriel were a confusing maze that only the most rat-like beings could truly navigate with any ease; hallways tended to end in closed doors sealed with arcane markings, or blank walls, or empty air: sheer drops where rocks thrown wouldn’t make a single sound when they finally hit bottom. They tended to lead those uninitiated in circles until they were horribly lost. Today - or possibly tonight, it was hard to tell in the dull subterranean gloom - was no different.

Had it not been for Cael Inkfinger's ace-in-the-hole he probably would have already been dead or (worse) back in his cell, waiting for the next round of tormentors to come knocking. It had taken him the full month and a half of his imprisonment to work out a way to get loose…

And even now, escaping, he hated to think about it. It made him feel dirty from his head to his feet. So he had tried not to think. He’d tried to just take his gear (Captain Lev Rezník's key had worked wonders for that) and run.

It hadn’t worked so well. He’d taken two steps around the corner from the storeroom, and almost immediately run into two guards. There had been an almost comedic pair of double-takes before Cael spun on his bare heel and made a mad dash down the hallway, following the guiding buzz of the portals in the front of his mind.

The guards thought they had him trapped now, in one of the old portal rooms that the war outside had driven into disuse...

That was where the ace-in-the-hole came in.

"Look, man, it can’t really be that bad, can it?" The voice came through the door in a young-man's exasperated whine. "I mean, I know you're practically every prisoner down here's bitch, and half the damn guards and that one clerk upstairs, but that's no real reason to want to leave, is it?”

Cael tightened the straps of his reclaimed rucksack over his stolen naginata’s harness, trying to ignore the taunts despite the humiliated flush creeping into his ears. It hadn’t been everyone, it had been one clerk and Rezník, and he hadn’t been willing. That hardly makes me a whore, he thought bitterly, rubbing his fingers over the brand scarred deep in his hand. I’d like to see you fight the whole bloody prison and win.

He didn’t say any of that, mind. He answered, instead, (for the first time since he’d locked the door with the filched key) with a jibe of his own. “You're new around here, aren’t you?” he asked as he squared his shoulders, pale blue eyes scanning over the dim, cold arch set in the corner with a tired smile.

“They didn’t tell you much about me, did they?" His sore, filthy fingers reached out to brush over the pristine white marble, leaving trails of dirt in their wake. "They couldn’t have," he answered his own question, voice harsh, as light flickered along the edges of the portal. "Or you never would have let me reach this room, you know that?" He waited to let the guard think about that for a second. "Have fun explaining this to Rezník."

“Where is he?!" He heard the gratifying sound of Rezník (whose voice he knew far too well) yelling and furious over the crackling hiss of the portal waking up, as if his words had summoned the captain there.

The new guard stammered. "I. Uhm. I-in there?"

"Damnit, he’s got my keys, why didn't you just break the damn door down?” He grinned, slightly, listening to the captain roaring. “He doesn't need a talisman to -"

The white fire flared in the stone circle. He let it carry him away....

In theory.

In reality, the portal spat him back out the other side with enough velocity that he hit the blue-white brick of the portal chamber face-first, landing in an ungainly sprawl of limbs, thoroughly dazed. He noted, abstractly, that the aches of the last month and a half were gone. The only pain he felt was in his nose, blood currently dripping down his cheek, and down his back where he’d scraped it landing. The myriad bruises, cuts and welts of months gone were just that: gone. As if whatever had happened since he stepped into the portal had all actually happened.

It felt like waking up, a sort of hazy daze of sensations – and then the shouting registered.

“-use that thing!”

Oh. Oh Sway no. It couldn’t have…it hadn’t…he was right back where - right back when - he’d started!

All the dazed, dreamy thoughts burned away as he scrambled to his feet, shedding stolen gear in his haste to get to the portal. He’d barely made two steps before the door smashed open. He gasped in a great gulp of air, lunging for the stone circle. His shaking fingers hit cool marble that buzzed beneath their tips, but he’d only reached the count of three when rough hands closed on his shoulders, dragging him away, kicking and screaming.

He was pulled from the cool, dim room and into the relatively bright hallway, thrown at the captain's feet. Rezník towered over him, much as he did even when Cael was standing. His close-cropped brown hair looked black in the torchlight, and his green eyes glimmered dangerously. He was still only half-dressed, striped linen night clothes visible beneath his haphazardly fastened cuirass, his belt undone, keys conspicuously missing. He thrust his hand into Cael’s pocket, wordlessly pulling the ring of keys free from the tangle of worn cloth. His eyes told Cael everything he needed, and didn’t want, to know: he had learned his lesson. Cael would not fool him that way again.

There was something else in his eyes, something that wasn’t quite rage but that was certainly its second cousin. Cael fought the instinctive urge to wilt and beg for mercy as Lev reached out and closed his hands around the tatters of Cael’s shirt, dragging him to his feet and close, his breath hot and stale on his neck, still smelling of last night’s liquor.

Cael quailed at that, last night and the nights before it, Lev and Viktor and their hands and bodies, touching and taking what he didn’t want to give, flashing through his mind in embarrassing replay. The new touch made his skin want to crawl off his body in shame.

“You are going to pay for that,” Lev hissed, shoving Cael backwards into his subordinates’ arms. “Put him back in one of the lower cells,” he ordered, sliding the keys back on his belt and fastening it tight, giving Cael a pointed, meaning glance in the process. He paused during that glance, eyes scraping down Cael’s tattered frame with a smirk before he looked back to his face. “And make sure the cell’s got a bed.”


*

The guard, Ivan, hurried through the darkened hallways, trying to hide his ill-ease. The prisoner Cael had been right: he was new. He’d only worked in the Church’s prisons for a week, and the intricate tangles of the tunnels beneath the Cathedral were hard to commit to memory. They were designed that way, he’d been told when he first joined up, for a reason, but Sway bless if he’d ever been told that reason.

The torch crackling in his cold fist threw the only light he could see on the walls and the ceiling and floor in dancing shadows of orange and red. Signs flickered before him in old Salvic, something he’d been assured was called Sideways Salvic (surely that one must have been a joke?) and modern Salvic. The signs glowed and sparked in an arcane yellow, edged (somehow) with a blue that didn’t make the yellow go green. They read, simply, authorized personnel only. Trespassers will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Someone had scratched out prosecuted and written persecuted instead.

He was nearing the foreign prisoners.

Captain Rezník had pressed one key in his hand and sent him this way, with simple whispered instructions. A set of irons clanged and clashed over his shoulders, irons set with further arcane symbols. The captain wanted him to bring a magician up from the cells. On his own. He was either impressed, or very, very annoyed. Ivan was more than willing to believe it was the second.

He marched past row upon row of cells, both empty and occupied, trying to look composed and efficient and in complete control when, in reality, the idea of being down here, with the only other guards being the kinds steeped in magic and surrounded by alien beings, had him almost wanting to turn tail back to being a simple patrolman on the streets of Knife’s Edge.

Almost.

He finally came to a stop outside a dim cell, reaching out one gauntlet-bound hand to close it around the door handle. He gave the door a quick shake to rattle the bars and alert the prisoner within that he was there. “Oy, wake, if y’be sleeping,” he said in the common language. His tradespeak was clumsy, but the Captain had been uncertain if the captive spoke Salvic, so tradespeak it was. “The Cap’n wishes t’see y’.”

[Raphai]

I sent you the pm, asking you whether or not The Captain was to be played by you. If so here is my post, if not I will need to add another piece to it ;)

Darkness was the only thing that …'frustrated' Raphai; that and lack of sex. He did not mind the former as much as the latter, but when you're in prison what could you do? (He knew, he chose not to dwell on it). So he contented himself to being bothered about darkness. It was not only dark, but also damp, slimy, and unfriendly. It was reserved for the people who had committed crimes that were unspeakable: not rape, nor murder, but reserved for those who dare defy the Salvic Church while on Salvar soil; and in Salvar religion was meant to reign supreme. Anything that was better than religion something that was solid fact, and could possibly usurp religion, was not allowed. Science was only allowed under the churches strict guidance; magic? Well that was the worst sin.

Raphai knew that the self-righteous bitches in charge of Salvar were jealous; jealous that they had not been endowed with the great of power, that was the reason. Yes, that was their reasoning for throwing him down amongst the so-called filthy vermin!

He was in Salvar when they, them, the rotten scoundrels, The Church became aware of his presence; and the fact that his was a magical presence. So they, those who would be called upright and honorable, convicted him on a (false) charge of conspiracy against the Church of Ethereal Sway.

Raphai Man was a pariah among his own family in Corone. It was a place where he was no longer respected, not even by his own nephews. He knew how it felt to be thrown away for something you couldn’t control, and he had that same feeling, a month ago when they had convicted him, and were too ashamed to lock him in the upper layers of cells. They knew they were wrong!

He sat there, day and night, with a splintered piece of granite from the floor, chipping away at the stone wall he was chained to, marking his time in his deep abyss.

Now, they sent their soon to be 'infected' spawn of Sway down to call him forth. He could hear feet clicking across the ground, he could see the shadows of a flickering light. He knew that his time was not up, because when he stopped to run his hand over the dark wall, he only felt thirty notches. He had twenty more days left. He smiled as he lay on his thin mattress. He knew they had not come to let him free, but they obviously had need of him.

“Ori'gato's inbau doeb” he droned softly, the language of the dark elves second nature to him. It meant “Let’s get out of here,” and with that sentence he sat up on his bed, waiting.

A young face showed up amongst the cell's bar, with a small torch in hand. He couldn't see in because of the darkness, but Raphai could see out. He could see the fear.

“Oy, wake, if y’be sleeping,” his awkwardness with the common tongue, amused Raphai, “The Cap’n wishes t’see y’.” It made him smile, something he hadn’t done since he had been placed here.

“Oy, does he yah?” Raphai growled, arrogantly making fun of the young man’s dialect. “

Y-Yes!” The boy shouted, trying his best not to sound ignorant. Raphai slowly made his way to the closely-knit bars drawing near to the light. The young guard heard the slithering rattle of chains cutting across the stone floor. It looked like only a pair of eyes were coming towards the young man, and he gasped as they came closer. He wasn't able to take in Raphai’s full appearance until he pushed himself gently against the bars.

He looked Drow, black skin covered with deep red scars, bright white hair, dark auburn eyes set in cadaverous sockets. His whole appearance was skeletal, he had on no shirt, and his pants lay around his ankles.

The young man’s eyes grew large as he noticed what the wizard was doing, the light of the flames playing around his ebony skin. “Are you serious?” He muttered in Salvic, disgusted. Raphai smiled as his left hand continued to work.
“Could you tell him to wait a second?” He said in a deep voice, seductive and slow. He winked at the youth as he moved back into the shadows.

Not knowing what to do, the boy stood there awkwardly. He knew he couldn’t go back up without the prisoner, so he could only stand and wait. Five minutes later there was a grunt, a sigh, another three-minute wait, and then Raphai was back at the bars, his navy blue pants up, his prison-issued shirt on, and a big gleaming smile that said “Take me to him now, little boy.”

A few minutes of awkwardness ( the young man’s) later, they stood at the top step, looking towards a group of soldiers and the captain, in a huddle. Raphai’s heart instantly burst into flames, burning with hatred towards the man who put him in this place. He spit on the ground as he continued to follow behind the young guard. His legs were cramping from finally being put into use, his eyes had to adjust to the light from the torches along the wall, and the sound of all the human chatter made his head spin. He knew there was no way he was going to escape by just running out of the hellhole, he was physically unable at the moment…not to mention the bastards had taken his wand! Whatsoever he wishes me to do, it will not come at an easy price. Shit, he may not get what he wants at all! Dirt rotten, thieving… his thoughts continued to run on like that until they were in the midst of the small group.

“Here you go Captain, the wizard.” The young man said in Salvic, standing at attention, giving the low, greasy captain respect he did not deserve.

Raphai stood at attention also, but not out of respect: his stance had an air of defiance surrounding it. No, he didn’t look grand standing in a tattered, blue-dyed prisoner’s suit, and he didn’t look handsome either, with his curled lip and dark, impenetrable eyes, his gaunt appearance, his long dark fingers that looked like they could rip someone’s eyes out, no.
Raphai Man looked menacing.

[Inkfinger]

“Very good,” Captain Lev Rezník looked up at the sound of clanking chains against the stonework, not rising from where he leaned against the wall, his eyes hooded, and his wide grin catlike in the torch light. He prevented himself from adding the snarled thank you for stating the obvious. New recruits continued to be the bane of his existence. So…enthusiastic, and for all the wrong reasons – quite unlike what he suspected from the prisoner.

He waved for Ivan to step away. The novice guard did so, almost too quickly, betraying his fear. Lev had to hide his smile as he stood up, moving to pace a wide circle around the captive wizard.

He vaguely remembered the man from weeks ago, when they’d brought him in. He hadn’t been misremembering the hostile confidence that the wizard seemed to wear like a second skin, then. The emotion was still there, honed to a razor edge of animosity. He seemed thinner, as well: thinner and shakier, but time ill spent had added that same dangerous edge to the gleam in his dark eyes.

Someone needs an attitude adjustment. Not that Lev blamed the prisoner, standing before him defiant and proud and (above all) wicked. Far from it - he wouldn’t respect his captors either, if their roles were switched. Let’s see if I can’t give it. His gaze snapped back to Ivan over the prisoner’s shoulder. “You can leave now.”

“B-but sir…” The boy seemed torn between obeying and staying right where he was, with his captain. His loyalty was endearing, really, but there were some things that…well. The less his subordinates knew, the less likely he would get in trouble.

Lev straightened up, glowering down at the younger man. “That wasn’t a suggestion, soldier.” Don’t make me make it an order. The less orders he had to make at this point, the better. The boy had better not ruin this. Strandssen had finally broken the camel’s back.

Ivan gulped. “Y-yessir.” He gave his prisoner one last angry look before he fled up the hall, heading for the surface and the better lit rooms of the Cathedral proper. Lev shook his head almost fondly, watching the others fade into the near-distance, out of immediate earshot, but ready to come the moment he called.

“You can’t,” he said in perfect Tradespeak, chuckling as he circled back around to return to his previous perch against the wall, “get good help these days…” He leaned back, hands folded behind his back, head tilted. “Hello, Raphai,” he continued, conversationally, lips spread in an amiable smile. “How would you like to be free early?”


*

He’d made the captain mad.

That much was obvious, but the new cell confirmed it – the new cell was three levels below his last cell, and it was dark: so dark that he could practically feel the light being sucked from his soul, feel the blackness so heavy it felt as if it were crushing him. The torch flickering at the far end of the cell cast feeble light, barely enough to let him see through the bars he was chained to.

He bit back a manic giggle, knowing that in this stifling blackness laughter would only turn to tears he couldn’t control. A few weeks ago, the idea of angering his main tormentor would have filled him with vindictive glee. Now, however, it was beginning to sink in just how stupid an idea that had been. Down here, no one - not even his fellow prisoners – would hear him scream.

And his captors had, in fact, made sure it was a cell with a bed. That was mostly why he was staring out at the darkness, willing the torch to flare up and burn it all away. If he didn’t look at the cell, didn’t look at the bed, he wouldn’t have to think, wouldn’t have to admit…

Damnit, Cael, you’ve really stepped in it this time. He had no mercy from his own mind. You’ll be lucky if he even leaves you alive after that stunt… That stunt. It had all started off so well, and it had been Rezník’s fault in the first place! If he hadn’t fallen asleep with Cael still in his room (even here, even now he felt his face grow hot at the memory) this never would have happened. And the portal’s betrayal…

That would be a mystery for another day.

He just had to get through this one first.

[Raphai]

Raphai had to hand it to the Captain: he had a strong personality. He probably would have made a great storyteller if he had been raised anywhere else, but sadly he was here…with The Church… forced to be a contentious bastard and allowed to construe the law as he pleased. The offer did not catch Raphai off guard: the Captain's words were succinct, nothing superfluous, no beating around the bush. He wanted Raphai to think fast, which he expected. Raphai put on his own good-humored smile and grunted unpleasantly, his steely eyes looking straight ahead.

The mood was tense. You could feel the malignant spirit that trickled from Raphai’s pores. It was the Captain’s behavior, his fake cordial smile - it all drove Raphai into an irratated mood. Bribery's archaic approach was being used once again (that ticked him off also) to inveigle Raphai. What he required from him was the cryptic part: did he not have a copious supply of prisoners to do his dirty work? Was he picked at random? Raphai decided not to ask these questions, but the rest of his acrid personality came out in a torrent of words, spoken as nastily and haughtily as possible.

“I find your pathetic attempt to entice me very banal; because of the bribe I abhor you more than before. Your nuts are obviously infinitesimal due to the fact that you couldn’t just force me to do your appalling work, you indolent faggot!”

He shouted the last three words having worked into frenzy; he allowed them to bounce off the walls and down the poorly lit path. Everything he had wanted to say, and everything he tried not to say, came out in that moment. The flames of the torches brightened only one side of his ebony face while the other half was completely lost to darkness. His chest heaved at the energy he used to produce those words, energy he had not needed to use since he had been thrown into prison.

“Besides that fact,” Raphai continued to speak between ragged breaths, “I would love…to get out early.” He smiled at his own absurdity; letting a ragged cough flop from his body as he attempted to laugh, a glint from his eye catching the flames.

[Inkfinger]

He'd heard worse tirades before in his time here, and he had no doubt he'd hear them again, but for the time being this was purely annoying; the wizard's voice - weak from disuse and strained from the exertion - echoed off the walls and down the hall quite clearly. Rezník was rather certain his men were going to find this all hilarious.

Nevertheless, the captain didn't flinch at the shouting, fixing Raphai with a long, cool stare. He leaned, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, waiting until the wizard’s rant dissolved into a panting laugh. Then he nodded, as if the whole conversation had taken place in civil tones.

“I figured you would,” he said calmly, already mentally planning the wizard’s death. Maybe I can make it look like he’s been mauled by a wild animal. It’d be easy enough… The southern borders were having problems this winter, anyway – no one would question a dead, dark-elf looking man found dead in those mountains.

“I have a prisoner,” he continued aloud, still entertaining himself with the possibilities, “that my men have been trying to get to talk for about as long as you have been here.” And an annoying prisoner he is too, though he has his uses. “If I have to touch him one more time, I will kill him. It’s that simple.” Some of his frustration was leaking into his voice, edging it dangerously.

“Half my men,” he cast a glare down the hall, knowing full well that those same men were still listening, “are convinced either the skinny bastard’s been blessed by some heathen gods to hold out this long, or cursed them to be ineffective, or some rot like that. He’s not, and he hasn’t, he’s just damn stubborn, and he thinks that if he talks he dies.” Dark green eyes, cold as flint or obsidian, narrowed dangerously. “Which is, I admit, true. It’s not very motivating. He clings to what’s left of his life far too tightly.” Rezník rubbed his hands together with a disarming smile that flickered across his face like quicksilver - there, and almost instantly gone.

“Which is where you come in. I need someone to pry his fingers loose, to break his spirit without killing him. That, Raphai, is my problem: I’m still a soldier at heart. I’m not…subtle.” He watched the wizard through hooded eyes as he spoke, watching for any reaction, trying to see if he bought the lie. He was good at subtlety, when necessary. It merely wasn't his poison of choice. “I can brutalize, but I cannot break. Not without killing. And if he dies without talking, I’m neck deep in dragon…” He didn’t finish the sentence, letting it trail off with a weary sigh. “I can’t have him die, not yet.”

He shifted to a more comfortable position against the wall, sorting the key for Raphai’s chains out of the handful of other keys. He held it up to twirl between his fingers, watching the flame glimmer against the anti-magic runes. “Work with me, and I can get you out of here tonight.” He closed his hand around the key, dropping his other to the naked blade glittering on his belt, eyes narrowed to poisonous slits.

“Turn me down, and the next ten days of your life will feel like ten years in all seven hells. I have no orders about keeping you alive.” He paused for a moment before he smiled again.

“Your decision, of course.”

[Raphai]

“My decision, right?” Raphai was usually not so venal, but for his freedom, he decided to go along with the Captain’s game.

Raphai did not care what happened to him. He knew that one-day everyone would have to die, be it tomorrow or next year. Whether or not they would meet a God did not bother him either, for after everything this God(s) had put him through, it would feel fine to spit in his face and burn in hell-or wherever-for it. This was the attitude that gave Raphai his premise for being a nihilist and acting so despicable towards people the way he did.

He looked down thoughtfully, the rusty chains tight and cold around his wrist. He flexed his beautiful black hands and then shook the chains gently, which were bound around his ankles also. He looked up again with a profound dislike in his eyes, shivering slightly from fatigue. “You have chosen the right person Captain. I must say, I am pretty proficient in the art of torture…in my eyes.” He sucked his teeth thoughtfully, before allowing his sarcastic sounding voice to creep out once again “But, so it will not be so prosaic, I’ll need a few things. For one, my wand .” He looked for a reaction in the man's dark eyes before continuing, a slight smile beginning to form on his lips as his brain worked out ideas, “I’ll also need a knife, rope, needles, and food…for me that is. I’m starving and I can’t work on an empty stomach.” He said this with complete sincerity and a hint of authority in his voice. His eyes not giving away his thoughts or feelings.

It was a common rule of power that the Captain, basically, handed to Raphai! If you make someone dependent on you, then you were made invulnerable…almost. In this case Raphai did not know how greatly he was needed. He did not know if he had been picked at random or hand picked carefully, and he guessed there must be other prisoners in this pit that were just like him. So he did not want to push his luck, just incase he might be expendable, for there was still a mutual rancor felt between the two (now) ‘associates.’


Raphai did not know whom he would be dealing with, but he did know that if his associate’s claims of freedom were refuted, he could use their prisoner as hostage or leverage if need be. Along with that he would have his wand, his one and only beautiful wand. He got excited just thinking about holding it again. His wand was his companion to the end and without it he felt like nothing. He had gotten it when he was twenty-one, the same year he had lost his virginity. Virginity in terms of spiritually and sexually, and they both were so saccharine to him. "Since I'm sure these materials will be provided, the only question I ask is, when do I get started?" His head cocked to the left questioningly, a repressed laugh forming on his lips. Nothing is funny, what is wrong with me?

These thoughts occupied his mind quickly, before he pushed them aside like unwanted dung. He couldn't allow himself to get caught up in mental matters, he had to focus, his well being came later.

[Inkfinger]

“Soon as you’re ready,” Rezník replied, beckoning to the darkness. Something moved in it in a gleam of polished armor and a flash of white cloth, but it soon disappeared. The captain slowly led Raphai in the opposite direction, mindful of the prisoner’s weakness. This is going well, he thought. The wizard hadn’t asked for anything that the captain hadn’t expected him to: wand and tools and food, all so very easy to supply. The look in Raphai’s eyes had hope, tainted and underlined with a smoldering current of poisoned anger, bubbling in Rezník’s mind.

Cael Strandssen would break.

He had to.

The rage was shameful, and he knew it, and it gnawed at his mind as he carefully led his way down the spiral stair: he shouldn’t feel this depth of loathing for such a pitiful prisoner; he should feel nothing but a detached dislike for any captive. But Strandssen…

Rezník’s lips drew together in a controlled scowl, strong fingers twitching at his sides, wrapped around his sword-hilt. It had taken them a month and a half to find the scribe and his friends, or his followers, or whatever they had been. In Salvar, in this divided winter, that month and a half had been long, dangerously tense, and utterly humiliating.

Cael hadn’t been the ringleader, and they’d known that from the beginning. The timing was wrong. The insurrections had begun long before Strandssen had been in the country. He wasn’t the ringleader - but every other member of these rebellious cells that they had captured before had been low and young, mere children (like Kamen, who had known nothing and died dancing on the end of a rope half a month gone now), or had been far more brave than Strandssen and had taken their own lives.

The scribe was the only one who could tell them the true identity of the man known only as the Scarab, the man who had coordinated the rebels. The only one besides Strandssen’s cowardly brother, anyways, now living in exile far beyond Salvar’s borders. If F’bael - their inside man, instrumental in Strandssen's capture - had not been so tight-lipped and confident, and had told them before Strandssen killed him, they could have avoided this entirely. Cael would be rotting in a grave with his friends, not wasting their precious time. If only-

Rezník was pulled from his thoughts by the disarming chime of silverware against porcelain, and the strong scent of hot soup, fresh bread and roast chicken wafting through the cold, stale air. Siege or no siege, the portal network ensured that the Church and those who served it were not running out of decent food. He took the tray from the guard who held it, and turned to Raphai with one eyebrow quirked, his fake grin crooked. The rest of his men probably had the rest of the wizard's requests to Strandssen's cell by now.

"Will this do?"

[Raphai]

Long time no see! I'm giving you a chance to react to my presence, I'll actually start torture next post. Which will not be so far away next time.

“Will this do?” My fist breaking into your teeth is what will do!

None of this was said out loud by Raphai, he only thought it. But with a spiteful glare and a nod, he accepted the food as graciously as possible. Since he was provided no table, he sat the tray on the floor and squatted down next to it, like an animal. The smells wafted towards, it nauseated him, and it brought a smashing pain of hunger to his belly.

He slowly tore the first bit of chicken from the bone, sniffing it (like an animal), and with black greasy fingers, stuffed it into his mouth. The rest of the chicken did not last for but twenty more seconds, consequently neither did his digestive system. He quickly moved to a corner, throwing up all of the poor bird he’d just eaten.

As he slowly moved back to the tray, wiping his mouth of any vomit left, he slowly started on the tomato soup, dipping his bread in it until it was sopping wet, the bread did not last for about five seconds. Raphai did not take in to account that he was behaving so animal like, it would not have registered as a problem in his mind anyway. The guard that watched him though looked disgusted, “Quickly, prisoner” He said nastily. Without a glance at the man, Raphai cleaned up the rest of the meal, and his face, got up and followed the guard who immediately started to lead him to the toture-ree’s cell.

He did not try to make conversation with the man, but enjoyed his freedom of walking without having a lead. He was-unconsciously-rubbing his wrist where the manacles use to hang. Dreading the thought of being locked up again if he did not succeed in his mission.

After going down one last flight of steps, and a lengthy walk past many cells, the shadows of their bodies elongated by the guard’s torch, until they finally came to the last holding pen on the row. The glow of the torch allowing him to see everything inside the cell, but there was no need.

A face was pressed against the bars, a white pale face that looked sickly. Raphai froze in front of the bars, and unhurriedly squatted down to eye level with the man who was on his knees. Words started to form on his lips, but were quickly thrown away as he spotted his wand out of the corner of his eye. He dived over to it and immediately picked it up.

A surge of energy went through him as soon as he touched it. The dark ebony wood, lined with ancient rune markings all the way to the thin tip of the wand. He heard the clink of the cell open, and spun around, a malicious smile set on his face. Damn, I feel good! “I don’t know who you are, but I am Raphai, I will be your…therapist today.” He slowly advanced to the man; he was so sickly, so fragile. Never the less, Raphai kept his wand at the ready, his lips turned up in an evil smile.

[Inkfinger]

Cael’s raw wrists were rubbed bloody, his sore shoulders stretched and strained, and the darkness was playing tricks on his tired eyes as he finally slumped to his knees, forehead pressed to the bars. He was almost out of it, had almost drifted to sleep, by the time he heard footsteps echoing in the hallway that lead to his solitary cell.

And so it begins…

Inwardly, he was a puddle of renewed fear. Outwardly, he barely reacted, other than a short flinch, to the face appearing from the darkness; a face that looked cut from night itself, eyes the color of firelight through old whiskey. For a moment, it seemed as if the new man was going to speak – but he moved, a dark butterfly flitting off. Cael shifted in a rattle of chain to watch in growing ill-ease as the figure moved to the wand set beside the cell door.

…again.

He closed one sore, stained hand around the bars, pulling himself, painfully and slowly, upright. The stone floor was like ice beneath his bare feet; it didn’t even have the meager protection offered by the dank straw of his original cell. It was leeching the warmth from his body as readily as a sponge, not that there had been much left in the first place. His eyes, as he stood, skittered across Rezník’s face. The captain loomed, shrouded in shadows, just out of reach. His green eyes glimmered the color of blood-soaked moss in the torchlight, as cold as hard flint. He smiled when he noticed Cael’s gaze, blowing him a kiss.

Cael flushed, glowering silently in return, looking back to his fellow prisoner as the other man spoke. At least, he clarified mentally, you’re assuming he’s a prisoner. It was an easy assumption to make, with the robes and the general unfed look his stance. His words, though, did nothing to allay Cael’s fears.

Rezník pulled the barred door of the cell closed; the bolt slammed home with a resounding clang, locking Cael inside with Raphai. Raphai, who was grinning like a snake.

“I don’t,” Cael managed to mumble through dry lips and a tongue that felt pickled, voice shaking from the chill and the fresh fear, “n-need a therapist.” A torturer by any other name still hurt, and there was no question in Cael’s mind that that was why this strange man was here.

“Remember,” Rezník spoke over Cael’s faint words, pulling the heavy key from the lock and tapping it, hard, on his cracked knuckles. “I want him broken, not dead.” The key disappeared into a pocket, replaced with a thinner key, spidery and fragile. He used that one to unlock Cael’s hands through the bars.

Cael rubbed his wrists the moment the manacles slid off, wincing at the angry red lines that spread from the places the constant wear had scraped through the skin. Infected. a small voice nagged at the back of his mind. But that should probably be the least of your worries right now. He stood where he was, fingers of one hand curled around the bars, shoulders hunched, uniform hanging off his narrow frame, and felt, for the millionth time, terrifyingly alone.

Rezník smiled, charmingly, dropping the second key into the same pocket as the first. He shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding at Raphai, then at Cael, something ugly lurking in their green depths. He turned on his heel, then, and disappeared into the far reaches of the hall, further than the torch could reach. Only his voice floated back, soft and laced with something that matched what Cael had seen in his eyes.

“Have fun, boys.”

[Raphai]

So I have not written in some time and I want to get back in the habit. Let us do this.

The way the captain spoke his last words sent a shiver through his body. Faggots ...he thought before turning his full attention to the prisoner. He stood staring at him, allowing his eyes to roam his body. He was a very fragile man, if he could even be considered a man. He looked very feminine. Raphai could not help but wonder if this man was still a virgin. I should ask him...but that's not why I'm here.

The wizard started to slowly pace around the young man who looked like he had endured one hundred years of suffering. He almost felt a pang of guilt for the prisoner, but he quickly chased these thoughts away with prospective thoughts of his freedom.

"What's your name?" He spoke calmly, his eye still and staring into the prisoners fearful eyes. His voice now working properly after the rejuvenating effects of victuals. The wand now hung in his hand which dangled by his side, and he seemed less aggressive all of a sudden. "This will go a lot easier if you will tell me why they need you, and if you just give me the info I need. As a matter of fact if it's not that important I may just...help you escape." He whispered this last sentence, cautioning against the possibility that the captain might be in hearing distance. His eyes shot a look through the bars, the torch still blazing brightly.

Raphai was not lying, he knew from experience that the person with the upper hand (the captain in this case) never kept their promises. There was no way he would let Raphai get away with information that might be valuable, the only way he could stop that would be to kill Raphai. The wizard would have nothing to lose in helping the man escape. Nothing to lose at all.

[Inkfinger]

The wizard’s voice came soft over the torch’s regular crackle, promising things that would have had a less-paranoid Cael just about clamoring to offer him his soul in exchange. The older, questionably wiser, Cael just sighed silently. Oh, great. He shifted, bare feet making barely a sound on the straw-strewn stones beneath them. Good cop, bad cop. Never saw that one before. Captain Reznik could play both parts on his own. The scribe shuddered and moved away from the bars slowly, turning constantly to keep his eyes on the pacing wizard. His fists clenched and unclenched as he did, mostly in an attempt to hide their quivering.

Just remember to breath.

The change in Raphai’s voice did absolutely nothing to put him at ease, not when he compared it with the way his eyes had been roaming. The whisper may have been true, may not, but that wasn’t really up for debate, was it? He hadn’t survived – if this could be called surviving – this long by falling for every trick.

“It – my name, that is - is Cael,” he said quietly, meeting Raphai’s gaze with all the strength he could muster. “Cael Strandssen.” He crossed his arms over his sore ribs, and tried to look defiant, though he really just felt like bolting for the locked door. “And I believe that this would go easier if I talked, really I do, but…” He threw in a shrug that he hoped looked more careless than it felt. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell y’. I don’t know anything else. And I’ve been tellin’ them” he spat the word like a curse, venomous and resentful, “that from the bloody start.”

It was a blatant lie, of course. His brother had started this whole mess, and he had shared almost everything –everything the captain and his superiors wanted to know. But Cael had spent all his time in this pit so far not telling his enemies thing one about what they wanted to know. He wasn’t about to change tactics for a simple change of face.

“How’m I supposed t’believe y’, anyways?” He jerked a thumb at the bars, confidence rising since he hadn’t been hit for talking back. “The Cap’n brought y’, it’s obvious he’s tried t’work out some deal. I’ve just… I’ve seen it before, alright?” He managed a self-deprecating smile and a short, teasing bow. “Y’ll forgive me for not just…rushin’ into your rescuin’ arms.”