Accommodations for the Lord
Accommodations for the Lord
Continued from here.
Victor Amielle found himself hurried to a door at the far curve, opposite the table. The guard guided him past the ithecal spellweaver, who’d gotten busy with trying to keep the cannibals of the prison away from the burning body on the brazier.
Tinman, the guard, shuffled a keyring, then unlocked the door and led Victor through into a narrow corridor. He shut and locked the door behind them. Nearby, another guard stood at the ready but eased somewhat when he saw Tinman. Tinman pressed a hand to Victor’s shoulder, but it wasn’t rough and more to remind the man to keep a quick pace while they headed down the hall.
At the end of the corridor, a spiral staircase split into two opposite directions side by side. Tinman took the right path, leading down the stairs. They walked past door after door, five of them in all until they reached a sixth landing and the guard opened it with a different key on the ring.
Tinman wasn’t a very talkative fellow. He hadn’t answered any of Victor’s questions, and he only grumbled in slurred words that echoed in his pointed metal helm. He led through a carpeted hallway.
This wasn’t a dungeon hall, and it was immediately obvious. Furs and tapestries adorned the stone walls next to crafted frosted glass sconces. Embellished stonework wove around door frames in shapes of what looked to represent wind and mist. Rich blues, purples, and golds were frequent colors among the more neutral earthen tones and cool wintery grays of the stones.
The guard used another key to unlock one of the many doors. He swung it open and gestured for Victor to enter first. He muttered, “Your lordship.”
Inside, warmth immediately hit Victor. A hearth with a logfire had kept a comfortable temperature in what was a fairly large suite. Carpets and furs covered the floor, soft to walk over.
On one side was a seated lounge area with reclined couches and plush chairs. A chess table sat between two of the chairs, the pieces in the midst of a game that’d been abandoned.
On the other side, a large bed sat up on a polished wood frame with thick layers of fur blankets. There were nearly enough pillows to cover half the bed itself and a slight indent suggested someone had laid there recently.
Over the fireplace, an oil painting hung of two women standing side by side. One held a battle axe, wild red hair in braids, and plenty of tattoos on a stern expression. The other wore a hooded robe, eyes of brilliant blue that seemed to follow Victor as he walked into the room. Above the curve of the latter woman’s collar, a tattoo of the Triskelion could be seen in painted golden shimmer.
The guard walked over and poured a glass of water from a pitcher. He set it down on a side table, then said, “Wait here, Your Lord.”
He slightly bowed, albeit awkwardly, then left with the door shut behind him. A quiet click sounded as the lock turned from the outside.
…and here, Victor would wait.
In the far distance, he could hear the blare of a horn. An alarm sounding, likely in consequence from the riot.
…and Victor would wait.
Eventually the horn quieted.
…and Victor would continue to wait.
…and wait some more.
Breaks passed upon breaks. There were no windows in the room, but if there were, he certainly would have realized that maybe an entire trial was passing by. Here he sat alone, in comfort and warmth, locked away in the luxury suite.
Enough time that he found himself sleepy.
Enough time that he likely found a small box of hard candies and a tin of biscuits.
Enough time that he could have read one or two of the few books that could be found on a shelf. The edges of their pages were wrinkled, and all of them were in Common - written by Melrathi - but specifically about history and folk lore, the spirits and so on.
Then… at a random moment, unrelated to any knocking or requests of Victor to the outside, the door swung open.
The same guard - or at least, one in the same armor - walked through and held the door. Beyond him, the sound of humming echoed off the walls coming closer and closer until...
...a tall woman walked through, and Victor would recognize her immediately as Spellweaver Angud. It was difficult to not recognize a woman with her eyes sewn shut except for the singular third eye in the center of her forehead. She wore similar silken robes, long sleeves off the shoulder, as in the mess hall, with the seared scar of the Triskelion in the center of her chest, framed by the gold of her heavy necklace.
“Good morning, Lord Amielle” she greeted him in a gravely voice. She gestured toward the lounge area, at one of the couches, in obvious instruction for him to sit. “You might know me, but let me give a proper introduction. My name is Angud. I am a spellweaver of the Syns. You are aware of the Syns, are you not? We are battlemages of the Ragnari.”
“I’m certain you have plenty of questions. Most do.” She settled in one of the chairs and gave a dismissive wave. The guard left the room, shutting the door behind him, but he did not lock it this time. “So, I have set aside some time for you, as difficult as it was and I will soon be needed elsewhere. What are some answers I can provide you, Lord Victor?”
She stared at him with her one brilliant blue eye, and she hummed quietly while she waited.
You may do, say, behave, act however you like.
- play to the level of your skills (if you want a chance of success).
- you do not have access to...
- any domain magic.
- any marked abilities.
- any mortalborn abilities.
- dreamwalkers: you are unable to access Emea.
- some passive visual mutations will show, more active mutations will not.
- some Blessed markings will show, but the abilities remain inaccessible.
- you do not have any of your original clothes or belongings on you.
- you are unable to dream, thus when you are asleep, you are blacked-out unconscious.
- You are in a luxury suite that is warm and comfortable.
- You got over a trial's time to explore the suite without seeming to be observed.
- You are now alone with Spellweaver Angud, free to ask her whatever you wish.