A Double Edged Sword

Mon May 30, 2016 11:31 am

122 Ashan 716

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me."
"Try me," Benjamin encouraged and took a seat at the table he had helped move into the farmhouse the day before.
Malcolm licked his lips and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "I don't know where to start."
"You said they poisoned you?"
"Right," Malcolm agreed. "I died and there was nothing, no pain, no burning pits, no voices, no vivid dreams, nor did my life flash before my eyes."
"Then what?" Benjamin pressed, curious now.
Malcolm poured the freshly steeped tea into the two mugs set on the table between them. "Just blackness, death, I don't recall anything, no afterlife, nothing."
"But?"
"Benjamin."
"Come on," he smirked. "It's not every day someone tells me they came back from death. Sure you didn't just bump your head?"
"Positive," Malcolm laughed, but was sad all of the sudden. "My father was there," he said without thinking.
"You've never talked about him before. There, there, or?"
Malcolm was quiet for a moment, considering his next reply. "An immortal appeared, closely followed by those who would pass judgement."
"On your death?"
"Life actually, transgressions, achievements, potential... my usefulness to them."
"Judgement huh... I wonder what they would think of me?"
Malcolm smiled. "The world, Ben. You're a good man."
"Did they send you back just to tell me that?" The knight grinned.
"I'm not sure... they took their pound. I think something big is about to happen."
"Well? Elaborate would you!"
"I've been stripped of my compassion... one of them said something about a dark cloud, and the heart of the world reaching far?"
"Blow me if I can make any sense of that."
Malcolm stared and the two of them laughed hard before Benjamin lifted his cup of tea and just about snorted it out through his nose as there came a knock at the door and the captain piped up. "Rain check?"

Mon May 30, 2016 3:02 pm

"That will be Heath with the last load of furniture," Benjamin smiled and made a move to get up and answer the door.
"Finish your tea," Malcolm insisted, beating him to it.

A strange feeling washed over him and he stopped momentarily after getting to his feet, feeling the same twisting in his stomach he had experienced the night he was poisoned. Perhaps it was just the memory or the fact that he hadn't eaten all day, but something caused Malcolm to take pause and set his hand on his belly, just as a sudden array of images flashed in his mind and an odd feeling of déjà vu came over him. A woman in chains, her long, silver hair glowing in the moonlight. Crooked iron bars, twisted like the shattered bones of a long dead corpse. Blood poured over a beggar's feet. A river of sand. An upside down noose reaching for the stars, and a child holding a golden crown over an old tombstone.
Another knock at the door saw Malcolm reach for the handle and pull open the door to find, not Heath, but a unit of knights wielding the King's banner and swords. Their armor told him that they were not members of the Iron Hand, but a special group of knights most knew only as the Royal Guard. "Ser Malcolm Krome?" One of the men inquired.
Malcolm heard Benjamin's chair shift out from under the table as the tall man got to his feet. "Who's asking?" The man spoke from behind him.
Through the crowd of men Malcolm spotted Heath and pinned him with a discerning look, sensing that his comrade knew something he didn't. "I'm Malcolm Krome," he finally answered.
"Malcolm Krome, you're under arrest for the murder of your wife, Vanessa Krome, Baroness of her region, and the attempted murder of your sons Marcus and Vaughn Krome. You will accompany us to the city cells or fall here, at our feet, if you choose to engage in battle."
Heath refused to meet Malcolm's gaze and when the Mortalborn turned to look at Benjamin, he was not wholly convinced by the look of shock that had twisted the man's features. "Captain?" Benjamin looked confused.
Did you do this? The son of Vri asked with a look. "I've done no such thing," Malcolm replied. "I demand to see the body of my wife!"
"A luxury a dead man will go without," a swift reply saw him turn to face the group that had come to fetch him. Ten of the Royal Guard just for me? Malcolm thought, this really was serious, but he had not killed his wife, nor did he believe that she was dead, something he would have foreseen with his abilities.
"Then hang, I shall."
"You won't be so lucky," their leader told him and closed two iron cuffs over the man's wrists as he folded his arms behind his back and was lifted onto a horse.
"Malcolm what's going on?" Benjamin called as the group drew away and the Mortalborn was forced to tighten his legs around the animal's belly in order to stay in the saddle.
Malcolm remained quiet, not knowing who to trust anymore.

Tue May 31, 2016 12:39 am

They took his shoes first and ushered him down into the cell block located underground, below the sands of the fighting arena. Malcolm had been here before, but things had changed, and not just the comfort, or lack off, in the cells, but the man himself had changed. The air was putrid with the smell of death and decay, so thick it caused the man's throat to close up and see him doubled over, coughing wildly. "On your feet prisoner!" The guard who had led Malcolm down the steps kicked him, and upon climbing to his feet again without the use of his hands, Malcolm felt the skin of his knees burn.
Placed in a cell on his own down the end, Malcolm glanced around the dimly lit hall divided into two by three metre cells and sat down on a bloodstained, wooden bench, wondering when or even if they would remove his cuffs. He was afford such a luxury two breaks later, along with the removal of all of his clothes and belongings, including the pendant he had worn around his neck for the last four hundred arcs. He knew not to make a fuss or risk highlighting what the item meant to him, regarding it with any kind of significance would only improve his chances of never seeing it again.
Left only in a canvas subligaculum, or simple loincloth, and leather belt, Malcolm was surprised to be gifted a pair of sandals, which though worn and used, fit him rather well and would save him from contracting anything nasty from the blood on the floors. Nothing would help the smell, but in time, that, like his hopes of getting out of here, would soon fade.
With his hands finally free, Malcolm was able to sit a lot more comfortably and wondered if they would allow anyone to see him, not that he could be sure he had any friends left, it seemed hope was not quite dead yet. The idea of Heath helping the Royal Guard to find and capture him confused Malcolm, but the thought of Benjamin being in on it was enough to send him into a violent rage. Fortunately for him and everyone else, distraction soon came in the form of a cloaked man who was pushed into his cell, one they would be forced to share it seemed.
Malcolm knew asking questions wouldn't help endear his new cell-mate to him, and so it came as a surprise when the man asked to have his hood removed so that he could see better. Malcolm obliged and pulled back the man's hood to look upon the face of a well fed, well bred, upperclass citizen, or so he would assume.
"Thank you," the stranger nodded. "You new to the cells? You don't smell like the rest of them."
"This morning," Malcolm nodded.
"You a knight? You look like a knight."
"Captain for the Moseke Knights. I've been working in Andaris for the last two arcs."
"A captain... Why would they throw a captain of the Knights down here?"
Malcolm sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Supposedly I've murdered my wife and tried to kill my sons."
"You don't sound very convinced," the stranger said lowly. "Nor surprised... What's your name?"
"Captain Malcolm Krome, former Baron of Krome."
"A baron and a knight, accused of trying to murder his family? You almost never hear of that kind of thing amongst the nobles."

Both men shook with laughter, a rare sound down here in the bowels of hell, where agony and suffering were all the slaves knew, at least, those who had not been victorious in the arena yet lived to fight another day.
"You haven't asked me my name," the man said, fixing his gaze on Malcolm.
"Figured there is no use for it down here, friends exchange names, something tells me we cannot afford to be such."
"Tell me the name of a man you're more likely to remember on your death bed, Malcolm, that of a friend or a great rival?"
"Are we to be rivals then?"
"You tell me?"
"What is your name?" Malcolm asked after some pause.
"Thomas Endor, former Knight Lord Commander to The Iron Hand."

Thu Jun 02, 2016 7:42 am

Malcolm

Skills
Storytelling : 2
Endurance: 2
Detection: 2
Mount: 1

Basic Knowledge
Location: Arena
Arena Cells: Putrid smell
Vanessa: Believed dead by Rynmere officials
Vanessa: Not dead
Guards: Believe that you’re dangerous
Heath Lane: Accompanied arresting guards
Benjamin: Knows you have been arrested
Thomas Endor: Former Knight Lord Commander of Iron hand
Thomas Endor: Also arrested

Specialized Knowledge
Imprisonment: Don’t let them know what’s important
Death: Judgement was passed on you by immortals
Death: There is nothing beyond life
Immortals: Warning; something big is coming
A vision: A woman in chains, her long, silver hair glowing in the moonlight. Crooked iron bars, twisted like the shattered bones of a long dead corpse. Blood poured over a beggar's feet. A river of sand. An upside down noose reaching for the stars, and a child holding a golden crown over an old tombstone.

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