Desolate

Desolate

Postby Rance » Mon Apr 07, 2003 2:52 pm

What was the name of the place?

He couldn’t remember, no matter how hard he tried. The sounds on his tongue were close to the word, but they were drowned in quiet sobs and childish pleas. Though it was as much a part of him as his mind and soul, the stench of death was overwhelming, overpowering. It was his whole scent, whether or not he chose to smother it in the fine aromas of Momma’s perfume. Yet, here, it was echoed by the moist walls, mold and grout saturated by its pungent odor. He spent hours, eyes clenched into slits, gently rocking himself, and singing remembered lullabyes. His meager voice cracked and knotted, but he continued to hum, as though it was the only bane to the presence of that black necropolis.

Even with his palms pressed into his ears, the laughter of the dead mocked him. There were a thousand past victims of the Gaol, sneering at him, pointing at the deformed child where he tried to hide himself in a corner no lighter than the rest. Laughter spilled from the cracks in the walls and lapped at the edges of his toes, tickled his earlobes, pulled tears down his cheeks. He hated the shadows and the dark. He hated this place.

Up, he glanced, to a slat of light pouring in from a distant wall, far beyond the reach of his fragile arm. The shackles bound him at the base of his palms. They had been made for frames more fully developed – rather than wringing him at the palms, they dug into his knuckles. Even then, none of it – not his bondage, not the chill in his spine, not even the stale urine seeping through the seat of his nightgown – could equal the cruelty of being so lonely. He missed Ferore. He missed new friends, like Angilena, bold Ahmed, Lamai, and the elf-woman, Aeri. But moreso, he missed his mother.

.. "Sleep, and you'll dream pleasant things," The child whispered, but he choked upon the words. Talons – things that looked like some strange union between pointed bone and paper-thin flesh – toussled through his hair. .. Pleasant things? The irony of the line stabbed at him. He dreamed nothing pleasant. He dreamed of his sister, wrought with fever, screaming, groping for him, calling him terrible names he’d never thought she knew. And he dreamed of his mother, wrists slit, shedding tears of blood, and damning him like she never would have. Damning him!

Dreams were never pleasant. Lullabyes lied.

The boys had invaded his garden. They had taken his flowers needlessly, had trampled beds of his more favorite blossoms. They treaded ill upon the soil. It was everything Phlynn could do to keep from leaping at them, right then, but he hesitated, no matter how his heart screamed at him. Instead, denying it, he stepped forward, raising his milky face to the moonlight, while under the rims of precious spectacles, he stared upon them.

“Did you find the flowers you wanted?” The younger child teased, folding knifelike hands before him. The two culprits turned and gasped, faces frozen. They half expected to see the broad shoulders of Calasheid, one of Naria's more dreaded watchmen. But the voice was so much more tender, and it was when they gazed upon Phlynn that they could breathe and let their shoulders drop. The red-haired boy did not let them explain themselves.

“I hope you did,” He murmured, narrowing gentle eyes as he raised a vicious fingertip into the gaze of the stars. “Because those?…” He canted his head, lips flat. The little boy's voice was hollow and empty. They'd never heard a child speak so surely.

“Those are the flowers I’m going to give to your Mommies and Daddies to put on your graves.”

Mychael and Jesse were dead before they even had a chance to mutter, or to turn, or to drop the plucked blossoms. Boyish screams were cut off at the throat, a glimmer of moonlight catching the arc of nails as jagged sneers were hacked into their necks. Shrieks for help became gurgled prayers. Lifeless bodies crumpled and fell, one atop the other, into puddles of murky, thick ichor. They hugged one another there, arms loose, fingers unfeeling - neither of them died with a smile. Surprise and horror were one in the gaze of murdered children.

A breath was taken in. The air was heavy with the musk of split bodies, the last passage of wastes. Phlynn could ignore all that - to the approaching child, they stank only of blood, and as he bent, as he simply sliced away still-warm fingers from the stalks of claimed flowers, he kept reminding himself that their blood was not any he would savor. They had done terrible things - Phlynn had reprimanded them as kindly as he could. To drink in their wake would have been to suckle pure sewage.

“That’s what you get,” He told them, cradling withered blossoms, cupping them up to his mouth and nose. The boy stood amidst the carnage, moon-washed, basking beneath blinking stars. He inhaled the majesty of the tulips, repeating to the dead boys words of their very own creation. Words they had said when they killed Jaeval.

"That's ... what you get," But he wouldn't laugh like they had. Phlynn Marion Johnford could never be that cold.

But he began to giggle. Who ever said , though, that Cries-To-Flowers couldn't?
User avatar
Rance
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2520
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 8:00 am
Location: Maryland

The ire of the Saracen...

Postby Vanidor » Mon Apr 07, 2003 3:31 pm

He had watched the Gaol until the rising of the dawn forced him to burrow into a nearby cellar. And then rose again with the coming of night to watch and observe. He was himself again, the silent and -thinking- scholar-assassin. Not the raving warrior who confronted two guardsmen and the merchant, Alexi Rose, the evening before.

Silently watching the building before him, eyes narrowed in his personal sphere of shadow and silence. Sure, it used up precious vitae to sit and watch as he did, but there was a need for it. His companion... No. His -friend- was locked within those walls, walls which he had decided to break...

That, and this planning took his mind away from the events of the night before. No. He certainly did not regret his actions with the merchant. She deserved it for balking him. He had no remorse for the blood-lust that had risen when he saw Phlynn being carried like a sack of potatoes. He did not even care that he had used powers as he had said that he would not. It had been to save a friend!

Aalis. That was all that Tyralor had said, though he had said it in a multitude of ways. Why did she trouble him, all of a sudden... and why did thinking of it not lessen his ire...

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters... But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk. - Charles Baudelaire


User avatar
Vanidor
Member
 
Posts: 909
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
Location: Under the desert sky.

A Drink Is Owed

Postby Rattrap » Mon Apr 07, 2003 5:30 pm

The guardsman responsible for bringing in the boy Phlynn was Corporal Thomas Daniels - he had done so by destroying property and commandeering a patron's horse. The horse was returned, however, and the window was excused under the testimony that the extraction of the boy wasn't carried out under a calm environment; much hostility was seen toward Daniels, later verified by his partner - Corporal Robert Sullivan. The window was hardly of much consequence anyway; both of the men had volunteered to pay for it.

What mattered is that they had escaped the situation with an accused murderer intact themselves - luckily the boy had been in some sort of...trance, perhaps? Shock? Whatever it was, Phlynn was rather ineffectual to resisting the guard's hasty transfer - not under his own power.

They had been commended for their job well done, and given some time off. During that time, the drink offered prior to the arrest of the boy was made due on; and a light night of merry drinking and laughter ensued. Thomas and Robert didn't drink themselves drunk - they were guards of the Order of Straka, ready to be on call any time. Besides, they had to patrol the next morning.

The individual who Thomas had escaped and Robert narrowly avoided combat with was reported, of course. There wouldn't be any active search for the man in question - there were plenty of incidences and reports of all sorts of things - man or not - assaulting and attacking guardsmen, many occurring right in the Gaol. There just wasn't simply enough manpower to go searching for every aggressor in Myrken Wood. The Corporals would keep their eyes peeled, of course. They didn't appreciate too much someone hindering their job, although if it had any connection to Phlynn or if it was just hatred, they did not know.

They hoped he'd just go away, like many of the folks who committed minor offenses here and there - once, maybe, and then they would just drop off the radar, returning to being a 'good citizen'. The man who had tried to halt them did, after all, only a minor offense - no harm was brought to either guard, although that might have changed if it weren't for the prompt fleeing that both Daniels and Sullivan made, at different moments.
User avatar
Rattrap
Member
 
Posts: 1072
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
Location: Oregon

A pitter-pat toward the prison.

Postby Wendy » Mon Apr 07, 2003 6:35 pm

"Some of us haven't been to sleep."

Lean arms slid between sheaths of gossamer fabric to fold and nurture modesty. Breasts concealed from the boy whose eyes would be level with them, the leaning figure stepped away from a gaunt, tired wishing well. The miniature building kept it's posture, looking long retired, as if it had succumbed to the pressure of the young lady's weight. But it had been like that for years, as had most of the surrounding architecture.

The woman Darkblayde had failed to employ suitable grounds personnel and carpenters. Though the main building stayed upright, it, too, was in need of maintenance and constant repair. Perhaps it is why the happier hours were well within the cloak of evening, where ale and darkness hid away the untidyness of it all.

At daybreak, a teenage girl studied Phlynn. Her hair was black and shined like coal. Her skin was soft, but colorless... pallid amidst the stark raven hue of her straight locks.

"What are you doing here?" of all places, she couldn't understand why the child had come to the garden --this garden-- to be among the flowers. It was a pitiful sight. Her face was made of eyes, or so it seemed. Large, round irises glimmering serenity, stared Phlynn up and down. They left little to discover of her button nose and small, undecided mouth.


Knatt wondered if, somehow, her baby brother still remembered his one memory of her. Soon enough, she'd find out for herself.
User avatar
Wendy
Member
 
Posts: 1475
Joined: Mon Dec 09, 2002 5:00 am
Location: in dreamlike musings

Postby Darren » Tue Apr 08, 2003 9:57 am

It hurt Alexander to know the boy was in the Gaol. Though it was possibly the only alternative as the investigations ensued, there was still no escaping the guilt.

He's a vampire, Alex, he would tell himself in helps to calm his nerves. He'll be out soon if things are well, back to those who can care for him better than you, Myrken, or Alexi.

And then thoughts drifted back to what the doctor had said that night, and how he would handle this. A man was now in possession of a stolen uniform of the guard's. The thief had not been punished by him, for the convicting the doctor would hurt Myrken in the long run. No, it was something else - the person who she gave the uniform to, a man whose name he had heard before, but he had not met personally.

Would the man use the uniform to sneak into the Gaol to get to Phlynn? Threats were made against the boy and those who tried to help him, so the possibility could not be ruled. Infiltration would be easier since a uniform had been procured, so the options given to the dubious male were becoming endless. Something would have to be done before he had a chance to get to Phlynn or the any of the others.

He worried for the boy, he worried for himself. Day by day, he was becoming more and more of a supporter for the kindred child.
I refuse to believe this is as good as it gets.
Darren
Member
 
Posts: 84
Joined: Wed Mar 05, 2003 4:54 am

Postby Rance » Tue Apr 08, 2003 4:17 pm

"L-.. let me out," he had been whispering. .. All night, all through the third day, voiding pathetic tears as claws scraped along the rust-sprinkled bars. He pressed his face to them. They were the longest days of his life, and they had done nothing to him yet. He had but lignered there, muddied and wet, skin leathery from its constant layering of goosebumps. Maybe they were trying him, testing him, stretching him to the very limits of his wit, so that torture was almost desireable in comparison to festering in a distant, lonesome hovel.

But better to die a dismembered fool than a forgotten scab, the child reassured himself, rolling backwards, sprawling out along the rain-soaked floor of the Goal. Distant windows had invited the deluge -- they had no glass. Not like Narian windows.

Phuri. Fury. He could not shake the coincidence, and it a was far too fearsome one for him to ignore. The "governor", and the man who had made the boy suffer, who had controlled the boy's destiny for all of nearly four centuries. Their names were so similar! By what rite of what God, by what utter cruelty, did Gad Phuri, the fat, filthy governor of Murky Woods, have the right to terrorize the child so? There could have been no mistake -- Gad Phuri was a travesty, a creation, an on-the-spot revealance to Phlynn that his jailing had been pre-ordained and decided.

Fury-of-the-Winds had decided it, disguising himself as he had so many times before. He had been watching, waiting, drooling in anticipation for the boy to foul up and make yet another mistake. He had waited long enough -- he rather enjoyed torturing Phlynn. This time would be no different.

The child thought he was right. Gad Phuri was Fury-of-the-Winds. Little did he know that his assumption was completely and utterely false. But the situation would have been more understandably justified.

He would not have felt like such a pawn if Fury-of-the-Winds had played that part.

"Some of us never sleep," he remembered her saying. And it brought tears to his eyes, brought tightness to his chest. Twisted fingers grabbed at his face, covered it, while he rolled about and turned upon his side in the mire. His sister's words, but different, scarce and distant, lacking their usual soul and light. .. He ground a palm against his temple, gritting his teeth, swallowing back the taste of swamp in the base of his throat. This was not how he was to be treated! None of this -- this disgusting cell, this chilling air, those horrendous, gnawing images -- was anything he deserved! He pushed himself upwards, bationed himself on his hands while he sobbed into the musty air of the Gaol. He didn't think anyone would hear him cry.

This was not the way the Keeper of the Faeries, the Prince of Naria, deserved to be treated.
User avatar
Rance
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2520
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 8:00 am
Location: Maryland

Lamai.

Postby Elfling » Tue Apr 08, 2003 4:35 pm

Oh, but couldn't the small healer find fury? What is it that Quincy had spoken. She didn't lose her temper. Never once had the scout seen the girl be anything but gentle and kind.

Feathers draped themselves loosely around thin shoulders, as if some twisted sort of cloak in which to hide her own deformities. She had remained thus, since the whispers spoke, and the *emotions*. Oh, the emotions, that plagued her with every minute spent within that building.

We will let you watch him, they had spoken, and yet, there hadn't even been a missive to inform her of what had happened. Not a single, solitary note.

Within the quiet confines of her room, lavendar and rose burned within self-made candles. The healer girl stretched out wings, crimson and cream, and lowered herself into a chair to write.

Dearest Father,

If you could see fit to send Aidan with my fineries, I would be greatly appreciative. I had hoped that perhaps I would have little need of such things, here, but as is in all places, there are those with little respect for anything created different.

It is saddening but..


The girl paused, wearily. It was so hard to lie. Yet, lie for her father, her family.. her daughter.. she most certainly would.

.. things are otherwise well. I truely am enjoying it here, helping with the mercenaries. Starr was wonderful in giving me something to do.

Love always,

Lamai


She would fight this blackhearted woman on her own turf. If it was appearances she wanted, it would be appearances she got.

A wing curled around, as the signed note disappeared with but a word, and two feathers, dual colored, were plucked from the delicate appendage. Her boy would need a gift, smelling of roses and lavendar, to keep him company within the harshness of the goal.
~Without the mask, where will you hide?
Can't find yourself, lost in your lie~
- Evanescence
Elfling
Member
 
Posts: 198
Joined: Mon Dec 09, 2002 12:39 pm

Giggling down the lane.

Postby Wendy » Tue Apr 08, 2003 6:14 pm

She skipped her way there, tramping under the guardianship of her nightlight: the moon. It was an illumined, milky blossom that kissed the segments of her gown with its petal soft light.

"..I like how the flowers look. I promise I won't bother them.. I just wanted to see. Are they yours?" he asked her.

"No. I'd take better care of -my- garden." Downhearted, the teenager let her gaze drift to the ground. Clawed fingers hidden beneath her folded arms, she remained standing on her own. Small, booted feet spread apart, she watched the sway of blossoms.

"I'm surprised you wouldn't have your own by now, Phlynn."


Knatt promised herself, breathlessly zipping along toward the fortress, that Phlynn would soon have a garden all to himself. That is, if she was able to reach him in time.
User avatar
Wendy
Member
 
Posts: 1475
Joined: Mon Dec 09, 2002 5:00 am
Location: in dreamlike musings

A delivery of Tulips

Postby Vanidor » Wed Apr 09, 2003 11:01 am

They were partially withered. Decayed and frayed little things that were delivered by the guardsman to the dank and dirty cell that held Phlynn. He moved stiffly, as if it was against his will to bring such a thing. To such a charge as this. But he could not refuse. Not... after what he had seen.

He had gone to the jakes, aiming to relieve his bladder of way too much watered down ale. Then... it happened. The shadows had coalesed, and he could no longer even hear the tread of his boots upon the gravel. They overtook him, shrowding him in silence and darkness.

"This if fer you, there..." Croaked out and passed between unwilling teeth. The tulips were raised and presented to the boy-creature beyond the bars, swaying side to side as they were presented. " 'E said t'think about 'im... An' don' be afraid."

All he could remember was darkness and a pair of blue eyes, angry and alight. And the whispered words of command. The tulips pressed in his hands and the orders. Deliver them, and the message. And then forget...

The guard left the flowers then, heading back for the exit of the gaol. And, finding himself outside, shook himself. A long breath taken and eye-lids blinked rapidly. What was he doing here? He should be at the barracks and sleep! Gods above, he had drawn an early shift on the next, coming, day. With a rueful shake of his head once more, and minor confusion as to the path that had brought him here, he headed for the barracks and rest.

-----------------------------------------

Stepped away from the swiftly decaying body at his feet, the lesser spawn of another Cainite turning into the dust it was ment to be. He had needed to resupply himself with the vitae needed to continue working, and this poor unfortunate had been in his path. He had needed it more than he had expected, but in either case, he could not have allowed that one to tell any other of his presence. Of his... hunt. Though, he was sure it would get around soon enough. He understood that Varian was back, and returning to the machinations of old.

Head shook, recalling that guard he had come across. Fabulous luck, that. And a perfect opprotunity to deliver what needed to be delivered. What he wanted to deliver. A rememberance, and a message. Phlynn was -not- forgotten, and would -not- be fed into the fires. Not whilst Ahmed was there, lurking in the dark shadows of Myrken. Yet... these guardsmen. Apparently the Captain had gotten a small number of rather willful men. That one was no lickspit. It had taken more energy than he was willing to come to terms with. Yet it had been done. And if he could do it to one...

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters... But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk. - Charles Baudelaire


User avatar
Vanidor
Member
 
Posts: 909
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
Location: Under the desert sky.

A Curious Visitor

Postby Rattrap » Fri Apr 11, 2003 4:01 pm

Cpl. Thomas Daniels dropped to a squat outside of Phlynn's cell, studying the boy. The whole situation was just...weird. That small boy, committing murder? Twice, no less? He was conflicted on his own opinion of the matter. Not of bringing the boy in - true, it was a terrible place to be; that was the point. A person in his or her right mind would behave so as to not get thrown in. If Phlynn had done no wrong, though, he'd be free of it soon enough. The muddled opinion was over whether or not the boy was capable of doing such a thing. Thomas wasn't so assured as Cpl. Sullivan that the child could have done anything out of insanity. Then again, who knows?

He wasn't too fond of the place either, and he wasn't confined inside of it. As of late, there had been too much...one could only describe it as evil. Much as any animal to its predator, men were prone to instinctual responses to a threat. There was something simply not right with the place.

Thomas shook his head, standing. Time will tell of the verdict; until then, the boy was...one couldn't say safe here, but safer than any place else. It would seem even the shadows were murderous in these times, but at least those that cast them couldn't pass through steel as well.
User avatar
Rattrap
Member
 
Posts: 1072
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
Location: Oregon

Cleanup in Cell Block 6...

Postby Rattrap » Sat Apr 12, 2003 7:59 am

Cpl. Thomas Daniels sighed, gingerly rubbing his temples. He'd been up, quite frankly, for the past twenty four hours straight. The large sacks under his eyes betrayed his weariness, as well as the crackling he voice gave off from a dry throat. Oh, it was definitely time to sleep. But there was one request he'd like to honor, something that he thought was deserved anyway.

Phlynn needed a fresh pair of clothes, a cleanup. It was much like Dhugal had said. As much as the corporal simply wanted to drop asleep on the spot, it was something he felt he had to do.

Well, until Cpl. Robert Sullivan walked in. Ah, then! The torch was passed. The two, being life-long friends spoke quickly, one telling the other that he looked horrible, the other telling the first the opposite. Exchanges of friendly poking and jabbing, 'How's it goings' and the like.

At the end, Cpl. Daniels asked Cpl. Sullivan if he could clean the boy up. Of course, Sullivan wouldn't turn down such a request. It was no more than a nuisance, and the boy probably deserved to at least be clean before his trial anyway. A nod and reassuring words telling Thomas to sleep were given before the request was complied with.
User avatar
Rattrap
Member
 
Posts: 1072
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
Location: Oregon

Transfer #19282 to the Barracks...

Postby Rattrap » Sun Apr 13, 2003 3:48 pm

Captain Kanashia, Corporal Daniels and Corporal Sullivan arrived at the Gaol, with a simple task ahead of them. Move Phlynn to the Barracks.

The three moved down the twisting, turning hallways of the dank building, Sullivan having had snatched the appropriate key ring on their way in. It wasn't long before they arrived at Phlynn's cell - the boy looking considerably cleaner than previously due to Sullivan's efforts. Still, the Gaol left its mark over again in no time.

The boy trusted Kanashia - it was apparent. It was a good thing, as well. Holding the captain's hand throughout the entire trek to the Barracks, Phlynn stayed calm and...well, normal. They had their conversation between each other as the two corporals moved ahead and behind them - a convoy of sorts.

The simple task remained simple, without any surprises - the guards relocated the boy to a much cleaner holding area within the Barracks, one that the boy even seemed to enjoy, at least at the first sight of it.

The corporals returned to the Gaol briefly with the captain's words still in their heads: "Innocent until proven guilty, and his trial is in a week." He had demanded respect for the boy, and neither Sullivan nor Daniels were opposed. In fact, much as the captain had requested it, they'd casually pass it on to the other guards, if it came up in any sort of manner.
User avatar
Rattrap
Member
 
Posts: 1072
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
Location: Oregon


Return to Barracks / Gaol



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 9 guests

cron