the face of my jailer

[Talon]

T A L O N

5 Glade 122 AoS
???

“Promise me something?”

“Yes?”

“Stop the cycle. Whatever it takes…”

“I promise, Talon. Whatever it takes.”

His eyes opened. With that opening he became aware of a few things. The first was that his whole body ached. How long had it been since he had felt the true aches of a Mortal Seeming? It was easy to forget when one was just a passenger, quietly housed within the soul of another. When that body was yours however? When one was not just along for the ride? That changed things. There was much that he needed to relearn. He tried to move his arms and found stiffness followed by dull pain followed by the jangle of chains. He turned his head to see that his arms were shackled by chains attached to pillars made of a solid black stone. On every link of the chain, around the cuffs binding his wrists, were glyphs that had been fashioned for a sole purpose; keeping him restrained. He did not need to shift his wings to know that they too were also bound. The chains were not pulled tight enough to restrict movement, yet. So he merely rubbed his hands over his face then continued looking at his surroundings, groggy with the weight of everything that had happened to him thus far. The movement made his body ache.

He followed the rise of the pillars to which his chains were attached. High vaulted ceilings that stretched higher and higher until they vanished into darkness. His body was illuminated by light that was filtered through stained glass that cast everything in an amber hue, giving everything that was not cast in shadows the appearance of being limned by firelight. To look at his surroundings, the only word he could use to describe what he was seeing was that of a cathedral. A cathedral dedicated to black arts and twisted intentions. He had been right. Pain was waiting for him.

He was on knees, the cold stone was certainly not comfortable but he supposed it was better than a cage. Looking across the floor, he could see that he was resting at the center of what appeared to be a shadowy circle meant to mimic the wings of a raven. Solid black runes lined the shadow cast upon the floor, forming a prison with bars that could not be broken by mundane means. As he shifted, his body ached again and he was moved to inspect himself. He flexed his jaw as he came to realize the source of the ache.

Beginning at the base of his neck and extending in a spiral over his arms were pictographs that had been carved into his skin. Those same markings wound down around his thighs, down his legs and ended at the tops of his feet. He could feel more of them along his spine and at the center of his chest, directly over his heart, was another marking. He was not as versed in the art of pictography as others but he did not need to be. It stood to reason that these were another form of control. Undoubtedly to ensure he could not break free as he had…however long ago that had been.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his quiet inspection. Figures stepped out of the darkness from between the pillars. No less than a dozen armored knights presented themselves, with one taking up a post between each pillar. They wore obsidian plate armor burnished with silver decorations that reflected the amber light of the cathedral. Blood red cloaks draped across broad shoulders. He could not make out their faces as they were obscured by plate helms. But each and every single one of them had a set of pitch black raven wings that rest upon their backs. Another safeguard, so he was to be watched at all hours? That did not come as a surprise.

Different footsteps drew his attention. He turned silver eyes up to look upon the figure approaching him. To see the face of his Jailer and know who it would be that one day…would suffer his wrath.

[Mirage]

"Talon Alexios Novalys."

The voice was soft, not whispered but rather raspy like the owner did not use it often. The steps were slow, echoed by the sound of a cane hitting the ground with each measured stride. The man who came into view was an older male, a human with grey a beard carefully tailored much like his well-pressed suit. His hands were like talons wrapped around the head of the cane that was shaped like a raven, the beak sharp enough that it might cut a man if used as a weapon.

The armored Kathar around him did not move as the man approached, and in turn, he acted as if they did not exist. His eyes were fixed on the chained demigod before him, but there was no awe or worship in that gaze. It was something more akin to hunger, or satisfaction.

"I trust you find your accommodations acceptable." he said, motioning with the cane at their surroundings.

.

[Talon]

T A L O N

Talon Alexios Novalys. It was a name. It brought with it the weight of memories that told the story of a life that had been brave. The name of a man who had lived to see good, to see Justice and to see Light and Hope brought to the world wherever he went. He had been strong. He had been kind. He had been loved. If he survived this ordeal, he would spend the rest of his life trying to live up to that name. It meant so much to so many people, he had forgotten what it was like to feel the warmth and affection that came with a mortal coil. He had made a promise to that name and to the man who was now part of him. It was a good name that belonged to a good man.

But it was not his name.

His Jailer did not need to know that though. He observed the human man steadily. The runic markings on his body, on the chains and on the floor, all blossomed to life softly. He squinted as a sharp sting of burning rippled across his body in response to him tapping into the powers that were at his disposal. He felt as though there were a wall between himself and his powers. It stood like a solid wall of kinetic force that matched the strength of the effort he put into breaking past it. Where he pushed, it pushed back equally. Where he probed, it shifted to match his probing. He deduced then, that it would be a lesson in patience before him. So be it.

The inability to call upon his power did not surprise him. It was merely an obstacle to be overcome. Restrained though he was, his eyes came alive with the silver light of his dominion, prompting the burning to return as the man stepped closer. He narrowed his gaze at the human, jaw flexing in tightly controlled anger. It was mere posturing on his part but he would not let them forget, not even for a moment, that he was no mortal prisoner.

“I find them to be many things.” He looked up again at the rising pillars and ominous decor of the cathedral. The amber light that filtered through the stained glass windows made the shadows harsher. He returned his gaze back to the human.

[Mirage]

"I suppose you would." the man said with a laugh that sounded like a cough. Then he snapped his fingers and one of the surrounding knights brought forth a simple chair and set it down just out of reach of Talon's chains.

"I... We, have been waiting for you for a very long time." He said, sitting down and leaning forward with his cane held loosely in his hands before him, "We went to a lot of trouble to ensure your safe arrival. The preparations were extensive, and the cost great, however..."

He smiled showing yellowed teeth, "Allow me to officially welcome you home."

The men around them did not move, but there was a shift in the air. Wings of a dozen Kathar twitched ever so slightly. The man looked up at them for a moment before seeming to remember something he had forgotten.

"Ah, yes. Forgive my rudeness. I am Archbishop Franz Kircher." He dipped his head slightly like he was tipping a hat, but quickly returned to clasping his cane, "I think we shall become the best of friends."

.

[Talon]

T A L O N

He did not miss the slip in the man’s words. Despite representing a greater organization, this man had more of a personal stake. At least, that was what the small slip would imply. He tucked that away, curious about what that might mean but too weary to truly pursue that train of thought. What he said did pique his interest however, waiting for him? For a long time? That part was noteworthy. Without context, he had no idea what their definition of “long time” meant. A human’s lifespan was nothing, a mere blink of the eye. That left him to wonder if there were not other factors involved than simply the drive to remove Talon from the field in a war between Kalzasi and Zaichaer.

“Home?” His eyes shifted to the subtle twitch of a dozen wings. What did that mean? He returned his attention to the man.

“Imperial customs are strange.” He raised his hands, showing off his shackles with only the slightest quirk of a brow. When the Archbishop introduced himself, he narrowed his eyes both at the introduction and the following declaration.

“I am glad you think that.” The man’s title denoted religious connotation. That left him to wonder what order the Archbishop belonged to. Vaguely he could make out memories regarding literature that Talon had once read pertaining to Imperial culture. The Inquisition being comprised of officials both judicial and religious in nature popped out to him but little else. From what he gathered, the antagonism between Kalzasi and the Imperium was predominantly one-sided. If he had to guess, the Imperium thought little of the city-state and its territory, except that it was merely an errant province that need only be brought back into the fold.

“What is this place?” Again he was struck by the ominous tone of the cathedral. While he had a hazy idea of what some of the architectural norms of the Imperium were, there was something about this place that felt…different. It felt older.

[Mirage]

"This place is your home for your foreseeable future." Archbishop Franze confirmed, "We call it the nest, due to the height you see, and the birds."

He pointed to the tall window behind Talon where a gathering of black ravens had taken roost, staring into the room with their dark, intelligent eyes.

"You will have a nice view of the sunset over the sea, and perhaps from time to time will see our ships as they come to port." He said this as a host might tell a guest their inn's favorite attractions, "You will be fed and bathed every day, and all your needs tended to with the utmost care. I will personally visit you every day so that we can chat and become more acquainted."

Everything the Archbishop said was so conversational, but his eyes, dark and lusting, did not match the gracious words that came from his lips. His smile was that of a man imitating what he thought a smile should be.

"It will take some getting used to, but do not worry. You will adjust, and then you will help us to do many great works."

.

[Talon]

T A L O N

He had no doubt in his mind that he would be in this place, the nest, for some time. He was weary. The emotional turmoil, the union between himself and Talon, the jarring shock to his body after the potion that he had drunk to save Aoren’s life. He was under no illusion that the Imperium had powerful tools at their disposal, the events of the wedding itself were proof enough that they had potent materials to unleash when the need arose. The question was…how long could he weather the trials ahead of him? He looked at the Archbishop. He did not need to be able to peer into the man’s soul to see the emptiness of his falsely comforting words. The graciousness of his words did not reach his eyes.

“What works would that be?” He suppressed the urge to shudder at the thought of what they had in mind. They would not have gone through all this trouble, they would not make a point to mention the lengths they went to, if the works they had in mind were as simple as imprisonment.

As he processed these words, something struck him then. When he searched the recesses of his soul, he could only feel it dimly. It was there, quiet, slumbering, but there was a thin mist that surrounded the connection. He knew that he could push past this misty haze but something made him stop. It was a sense of confusion, of grief, of loss that emanated not from himself…but from…

“Where is Aoren?” His thoughts turned to his husband…well…he brushed aside the muddled complications of the emotional bonds that still stirred within his heart. The feelings he had for the raven winged Kathar were true, as true as those Talon had possessed. They would simply take time to sort through.

“Is he safe?” He hesitated to reach out across the Bond formally. Again, he felt that reluctance from the other side. He felt confusion. If he had not focused on finding Aoren, he might not have noticed it. The soul he felt on the other side of that misty haze felt as though it were compressing itself, trying to hide and remain…alone?

[Mirage]

"Aoren?" The Archbishop asked, but then his eyes brightened with recognition, "You mean the Kathar who was with you? Rest assured he is being properly tended to by his brothers. They have missed him terribly." Franze shook his head sadly, "It is always a shame when we lose one of the flock. My heart aches to think what he has been through... but now he is safe, and being rehabilitated."

There was a small reaction in the men around them then, not audibly but a heaviness that could be felt as the men's faces became like stone. The silence was heavy, but seeming not to notice Franze tapped his cane 3 times on the stone floor and two of the Kathar carried out a large obsidian box.

"There will be time enough for your friend. If you do well and behave, perhaps I will arrange for the two of you to meet." Waving his hand he motioned for the knights to open the box, and inside came the glitter of metal. It was a chest piece, as well as two bracers. Each was wrought from black metal streaked in silver. Glyphs were etched across their surface, similar to those that covered Talon's body. The items were of high quality, but the material they were made from felt... wrong. It looked like metal, but its surface was too perfect. Like oil on the surface of water, it was too smooth, and light made strange patterns when reflected off of it.

"This is yours, a gift from the Emperor." A note of envy traced those words, "It was made just for you, from a rare material found only in the deepest mines of the Imperium. It is not complete yet, however."

Franze pointed to an empty slot on the chest piece, that looked as if it were waiting for a gem, or perhaps a crystal, to be placed inside of it.

"It still needs a heart, a sliver of divinity, of you, to be completed. When you do so, then we will speak of your great works, and only then when you wear the armor, will the Emperor allow you an audience."

.

[Talon]

T A L O N

“What are you doing to him?” A true spark of anger flared in him then. The runes along his body burned brighter and hotter. He winced as he felt the burning pain slice into his body at an even sharper degree. He quelled his anger and with it the swell of power that had been building up behind the wall that was inside of him. He did not have long to dwell on Aoren, though he longed to reach out to the man across the Bond and bathe him in comfort, he knew it would be some time before he could manage even that. He only just barely noticed the stone cold silence that fell upon the Kathar in the room before his attention was caught by the tapping of the cane.

As soon as his eyes fell upon the obsidian box, he felt a cold fear coil in the pit of his stomach. Staring into the black surface practically drew him in. The shadows around the corners of his eyes seemed to grow darker. The press of that heavy fog that threatened to drown out his every thought became denser. Instinctively he tensed. The muscles of his body flexing in anticipation of something awful. When they opened the box…his eyes went wide. His wings twitched, causing the chains weighing them down to rattle. He jerked back as if struck.

And then he remembered. He remembered why this whole situation had filled him with such a creeping sense of unease. He remembered why all of this had felt familiar.

The Archbishop’s words suddenly made terrible sense.

They had been waiting for him. They had been waiting a long, long time…to finish what was started so long ago.

A cold iron dungeon stretched out before him. It had been a trap. All of it had been a trap. The forces of the accursed Betrayer had sacrificed much and had invoked forbidden powers that even he had not been prepared to face. Arcas squinted up into the violet-black light that shone upon him. He looked into the eyes of the Betrayer and felt a cold rage. But that rage…turned to dread. That dread turned to horror. He saw the plan that the Betrayer had. He saw the plan that the Betrayer had for him.

He saw the rising of the Ebon Dawn.

He was on his feet, the chains binding him jangled, keeping him from nearing the Archbishop. But it was clear, terribly clear, that he knew exactly what was in front of him. His heart was racing. A cold sweat had broken out across his body. He did not look away from the hole in the breastplate. Like a gaping maw, it called to him, ready to devour so many things.

“No.”

[Mirage]

There was a glitter in the Archbishop's eyes, and the pretend smile turned to something quite unkind.

"I thought you might say as much." He did not look upset, but rather self satisfied, "It is a lot to ask of you, yes, I know. We would not dream of forcing this upon you, if it were against your will. We have time. Plenty of time."

Reaching into the pocket of his vest Franz pulled out a small device with a button which he pressed. The sound of static filled the large chamber, but quickly resolved itself into what could only be described as a blunt object hitting a slab of meat. Between strikes came soft grunts, intakes of breath, and something akin to a growl.

"He is quite resilient. He refuses to utter a sound, nor speak at all." The sound of something metallic being sharpened came through, and the Archbishop closed his eyes as if enjoying a pleasant song, "They always start like this. Sometimes it takes days, or weeks, or months. Eventually silence turns into curses. Curses turn into screams, and screams turn into whimpers. Then they begin to beg, and that is when the rehabilitation truly begins."

Standing suddenly Franz clapped his hands and the chains around Talon's arms would jerk him down, locking his wrists to the ground as his wings were stretched out taunt like a sheet on a line. Two men in clerical dress came into the room them, each carrying a stylus of silver with a small blade for a tip.

"I will leave you today. I am sure you have much to think about. You will be fed once a day, watered thrice, and at sunrise and sunset your inscriptures will be reapplied. Demigods heal quickly, so I am afraid they will have to be cut deep." The sounds over the air continued and Franz paused to listen to the quickened breathing before continuing, "Take your time. Take all the time you need. We will speak again tomorrow."

Then the Archbishop turned, leaving the obsidian chest open and turned toward Talon. The guards around him stood straighter, hands on weapons as the robed men approached. The restraints were in full affect, pulling strength from his limbs and fogging his mind, just enough that the inscribers could begin the painful processes of carving the runes across Talon's body once more.

.