Ghosts, magic, and mentoring
The "City of Slaves", sitting amidst the jungle terrain of the Crescent Peninsula, is a hotbed of simmering hatreds between the oppressed humans and their arrogant, winged avriel overlords. With each free citizen or visitor a potential slaver or sympathizer, and with the veiled presence of the cruel Cult of Valtharn, how long before rebellion erupts?
- Approved Character
- Posts: 35
- Joined: Thu Jul 18, 2019 2:23 pm
- Race: Avriel
- Profession: Leatherworker
- Renown: 0
- Character Sheet
- Plot Notes
- Wealth Tier: Tier 1
Ymiden 24th 719
-‡- There were sounds of men stricken with terror, sounds of water pouring from a large orifice pouring into a pool of water below. There were the sounds of other men begging, pleading for their lives below, echoing off of the rising company of the water at the base of the pit. The Pit of Reflection. Further above those tortured souls other voices of those who were more intelligent, deadly, and even those who kept their mouths from speaking a single thing for their mankind below awaited their own possible deaths.
Coroth landed with a brevity of dark blue wings that were all the more darker with the shading of dusk as nightfall neared. Torches along the pits surface had yet to be lit. Sworn guards paced around the perimeter, whilst a few were cluttered at the controls of the pit's water control on the other side of the vast opening into the plateaus pit. Armor was worn as Coroth was readying to go on a patrol with the Shadow Wings, something becoming a routine for him at this point of time in his return to Athart. With the folding of his wings, he slung his shield over his back to buffer against quivers, as well as harnessed and sheathed weapons. His attire was otherwise darkened, to keep himself in the guise of stealth when nighttime would fall, and his duties would beckon him.
"Ahh, he arrives, I have been waiting for your visit. Is it for what I expect it to be about? Or is this purely for business?" Such was spoken by another Avriel who approached. Leaving the company of another guard with a gesticulation to keep an eye on the prisoners below as they were trained to do and overhear their pleas for information that might slip forth and be useful. Azrael himself was older than Coroth by a longshot. Old enough to be his father, if not older. Salt had already grown into the dark mane of his hair. Hair that was kept handsome and exquisitely trimmed as if he had to present himself to people on a daily basis who were of importance. Or maybe even women. He was not as built as some of the guards were, keeping to the lithe physique that the majority of the Avriels were known with. Silks were worn with precise, intricate patterning on the trimming that lined the borders where arms, neck, and his waist protruded, glimmered briefly with sewn in threads of gold. His gait though was of one in charge, knowing of things that he would not tell just anyone about. Secrets that fell from tortured lips perhaps. Secrets that his eyes gleamed of as if they were an immense wealth regardless of the laws that were broken to obtain such.
"I have waited long enough to return to you. It is good to see you remember me, after all these years." Coroths' tone was lowered, as if to keep their conversation from reaching even into the cells of the pit nearby where even humans might overhear. His arms bolstered of youthful muscles that had begun to grow beyond lithe as he was leaning more towards the use of weapons these days. Leather encoverings concealed much of his flesh along his forearms where vambraces were worn. Sheaths of a few daggers adorned along their outer surface. Both for the additive of steel protection against blade, as well as their use in combat.
"It is known to me of your return. We hear things here besides the pleas and beggings of the humans below. I hear you have brought with you a pretty thing to keep your furs warm whilst you are away too. Alas! Perhaps your luck is serving you well. Unfortunately, there has been a lack of…magic..as these humans call it..in the air lately..for days..maybe weeks. Even before the storm..something has been amiss." A gesticulation was made towards Coroth. The Avriel mentor motioning for the younger blood to follow him as he deftly turned about and strode to the stoned rim of the pit. The wide expanse of the opening exposing the line of cell blocks that encircled the pits entirety of walls. The upper level was not so filled with the view of human faces, yet, on the levels that were revealed as they drew closer, more of the cells were filled. A careless gesture was sent towards the water pooling at the bottom. Rising ever so slowly as it was already seeping into the cell doors of the lowermost level.
"You see below..after the storm, we had acquired many..many slaves who sought to rebel against our kind. They were thwarted quickly enough, and brought here. The thing is..there were too many of them, so were killing off the lower level to make room for more!"- A maniacal humor of a grin sliced onto his priorly intelligent seeming face. It being wiped clean after a moment of inner laughter that was seen not to be shared with the young Coroth. His humor ending as if it was a joke that was not found funny.
Coroth lingered at the rim of the pit. His attentions recalling the last time he gazed into its' depths so long ago before he had left the Avriel nest to enter his wild spree of adolescence. It was as he was gazing into it's depths, that one of the prisoners below within the lower level began frantically begging and pleaing above the others. His shouts echoing against the walls beyond him, then bouncing into the cells and listening ears of the others prisoners before it was heard to Avriel ears above.
"It sounds like one of them knows a bit of magic..perhaps enough to be of aid to us..eh?" Coroth spoke with a curl of amusement, as if striking a line of interest with his mentor. His mentor, in due time had his eyes widening to the revelation.
"Yes..runes by the sound of it..I have not found one of them who knows of such weavings..QUICK! STOP THE WATER! YES STOP IT!" Azrael was his mentors name, and such commands were sent across the pit to the guards who were stationed at the controls to the orifice that emptied water into the pits below. "Bring me that one..he who speaks of Runes!"
Another set of guards leapt off of the dias of stone, their wings unfolding to allow them the freedom to glide through the chasm of stone, terror stricken human voices, and the now lessening pour of water from the wall nearby. In moments, the prisoner who had begged with the right offer for his life was released, and carried back upwards to be interrogated. =‡=
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