From somewhere on the cell block.

From somewhere on the cell block.

Postby Wendy » Fri Feb 14, 2003 6:40 am

"I was told that I had to show a truly repentant attitude in order to benefit from the leniency of my superiors." Blown smoke curdled in the atmosphere of his cell. His body shifted, putting more of his lean against the back wall. "I told them I'd do anything. I would, I'd do anything to make my time here disappear."

The Gaol had a rhythm all its own. It was low and strong, like a resting heartbeat. The man that I was interviewing stayed in the shadows, refusing to show me his face. My watering eyes affixed to his burning pipe, I tried not to sneeze. I was allergic to the arrogant spice that he was smoking.

"Are you payed to fight?" I asked. I had to commit his answers to memory, for I wasn't allowed to bring so much as a bowl of ink to the row.

For a long time he didn't answer. I thought he'd fallen asleep, as he tended to do.

"Everybody has his price." he said. No more, no less. It was all I had to work with.

Realizing that he most likely wouldn't tell me the source of his income, I gave it a try, "Does it come straight from the Captain's quarters, perhaps?"

I'm not sure if he would have answered. The guard who was fastened to my hip gave me a pointed redirect, issuing my presence away from the cell block.

"Another time, friend." I bid him. The prizefighter gave no reply.
User avatar
Wendy
Member
 
Posts: 1475
Joined: Mon Dec 09, 2002 5:00 am
Location: in dreamlike musings

Postby Thall » Sun Feb 16, 2003 9:13 pm

Hane Talmidch did not like the reporter's nosing around at all. He gave the Gaol a knowing nod and then got a sly smirk on his face. He'd just as soon flog the man himself for the intrusiveness of the investigator.

Walking down the grey stone hall of the Gaol, Hane eyed the man who was causing so much trouble, You are in trouble alright, after this is all said and done, I'm gonna sic Sign on you, and then we'll see if we can't wipe that stupid smile off your face.

Muttering to himself, Hane finally came to an empty cell and opened it, before harshly jerking the man's arm and throwing him in. Loud protests and curses came from the poor investigator. Hane smirked, looking at the dazed man. Shaking his head, his raspy voice uttered, "You are in too deep my friend, in too deep."

With that, he slammed the door shut and locked it before turning away and walking into the shadows of the concourse.
User avatar
Thall
Member
 
Posts: 33
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 8:41 pm
Location: Berkeley, California

Postby Vagabond » Wed Feb 19, 2003 6:21 am

The man shifted in cell as he left another stream of smoke out into the air. He waited, patiently as the reporter left and then lifted his shoulders. A faint glance towards the wall. Another day, another meal.

The reporter returned, eagerly to find out information, but Arrik Singh did not say much. The words were terse, and sporadic.

"So does it come from the captain's quarters?" the reporter asked.

"Some things are better left unknown. Quit coming around here. It's better for your health." Arrik said, before running a hand over a thickly stubbled jaw.

It was a bad idea to ask him for more information. So, I merely stood back up and then walked out. Arrik didn't seem to want to tell me anything more.

Why did he fight? What motivation did he have for doing this? What had he done. He didn't seem to be an evil person. But perhaps my intuition on people is wrong. Was I second guessing myself, again?
--


Arrik paused for a moment, then let out a short retort of laughter. It had been how many years now? He'd forgotten.
All because of one night. This whole charade. All to line the pockets of another. Hm. Time for more excercise. -- And so, he returned to his silent routine; as always.
User avatar
Vagabond
Member
 
Posts: 45
Joined: Wed Feb 19, 2003 6:13 am

Postby deddings » Fri Feb 21, 2003 1:11 pm

Upon his arrival to the Myrken wood gaol, Eurykleides of Lycanea had no particular clue what to expect. He knew his imprisonment was good for only as long as he had to live until the day he was executed.

It was all a freak accident, to his knowledge, but he had nonetheless put a spear through the center mass of a merchant who stiffed him on a caravan-guarding contract. He still had yet to figure out how fat Kobard’s family could demand final justice when he himself was an injured party in all this.

What hadn’t crossed the Lycanean warrior’s mind was that the merchant was brutally murdered (an eight foot spear shoved all the way through his chest cavity with so much force that it came out the back of the man, his chair and stuck in the wall; the warrior had to leave without it) and that the merchant’s families had rights.

Such as it was, he scratched his beard and looked about the place where he was to have an abbreviated stay. He wasn’t, as it stood, the tallest of men, nor the stoutest but neither was he short and skinny. Rather, he had a lean-waisted build with powerful shoulders, powerful forearms, and a well-developed set of trapezium, dorsal and pectoral muscles.

There were men who developed great muscles or a prodigious agility, but this was a man whose fitness was more utilitarian. It was also mostly hidden in the thick garb he favored for the winter. But it all came off when the gaolers gave him new clothing.

“Eff me, look at ‘is muck-pissed back! That one’s taken a thousand stripes if ‘es taken one, I’d wager a pile of pig**** to a chest of gold!” exclaimed one of the guardsmen when the got a look at the naked man’s much flogged back. The Lycanean heard much of it, but he declined to comment and instead just assumed a blank facial expression.

“Aye, and look at this one’s arms and shoulders,” commented the senior of the two guardsmen, as he looked over the man’s athletic form with a more discerning eye than that of his rather dull minion, “Looks like a fighter to me. They say this one’s strong, put a spear through a merchant’s chest cavity; broke the bastard’s ribs going in and came out the back of the bastard’s chair. It’s stuck in the bleedin’ wall now and there’s a pool for whoever can pull it. Be sure to keep an eye on this one, he’s a dangerous sort.” The senior guardsman gave a satisfied nod and walked away.

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot!” yelled the junior guardsman, “get the effing clothes on. You’re wasting my time! Get yer arse in there!”


****

The next few days passed in solitude for the Lycanean. Even with another man in the cell with him, he declined to speak, holding himself in an arrogant silence and not even deigning to give his name. But he did take a short, three-foot length of rope he filched (Lycanean youth were skilled at this) and tied it into two knotted handles and a length between them. He looped these onto a hook in the ceiling of his cell and pulled up.

There was a man that tried to question him, but he simply ignored the bastard, without even a pretense of politeness. He merely kept pulling his body up by his own strength, letting the man soak in the smell of sweat, the man’s body heat in the cell and the cold arrogance of the bearded, long-haired warrior.

“Why bother?” his cellmate asked lazily, after the questioner left. To his surprise, he got an answer. So much so was the surprise that he bumped his head on the bunk in sitting upright.

“I could just save my strength every night so I could play with myself like you do, but where would that get me?”
User avatar
deddings
Member
 
Posts: 1
Joined: Fri Feb 14, 2003 4:07 pm
Location: Washington, DC


Return to Barracks / Gaol



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests

cron