The Eyes and Ears

[Laveriel]

The Eyes and Ears

85th of Ash, Year 123 of the Age of Steel

Veriel decided to skip dinner today.

The slop she was fine with. The hunger she suffered in a besieged Ailos had taught her to swallow any food served in front of her. It was the spit that one of the guards had so gracefully aimed at her food that made her decide to throw the whole thing into the bin. She couldn’t have another serving, so here she was sitting in her lumpy bed with her legs crossed.

Rather than chat with the other prisoners, she figured it was a good chance to continue working on the bundle of destruction she had kept buried in her soul. As she closed her eyes, Veriel unfurled the tapestry of magic and hatred that had been growing inside her with every passing day. She fed it what little aether she had trapped inside her body. The dampener only prevented her magic from leaving her body, after all.

Today, she wanted to start weaving small bits of Nyx into her creation. Veriel hadn’t used the void magic too much, but she had seen what it damage it could do. The dark corrosion that could creep in slowly, consuming one from the inside. So, she envisioned it.

She could picture him perfectly in her mind. Irdan. It was alarming how easy it was. The scar on his face she had created. That self-satisfied smirk as he looked at her. His poisonous that still echoed inside her skull. She imagined the invisible webs of her magic carrying the void with it, lacing into the muscle fibers of his wings. Veriel wanted it to be slow. The corruption would be barely perceptible at first, the corrosion seeping in slowly.

Ideally, a curse of this magnitude would be stored in a high-grade totem to take the brunt of the curserot away from her own body. Since it was not an option, Veriel had to work slowly and it was getting frustrating. The longer she worked on the affliction, the trickier she had to weave. The elven woman was never a patient woman from the beginning, so it was a struggle to keep herself from going too fast. With the dampener clamping down on her aether, the process was even trickier.

It was definitely challenging. Even on a normal day, Veriel preferred afflictions that took a short time to create. Her afflictions were her weapons to wield in battle, to take down an opponent as quickly as possible. Complicated curses usually kept their victim alive, but locked them in unending torture. Hers were usually designed to kill. There was hardly any need for her to inflict prolonged suffering on her enemy. She never felt such any need to cause continuous agony to anyone.

Until now.

A bead of sweat slipped down her face, but Veriel didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes. All her focus was siphoned to the amalgamation of afflictions, making every thread would last as long as she deemed it to. Should anyone approach her, the siltori wouldn’t even notice until they were already far too close.

[Aegis]

But no one came, no one noticed what it was that Laveriel was working on, and no one interrupted her work. She would have plenty of time to see this day's work to completion. And as she finished, as her focus returned back to the normal world that was her prison cell, she'd begin to hear something she had not heard during the entire time of her incarceration. It started small, allowing Laveriel to hear the breathing out of the neighboring cell. This was not a sudden inhale of surprise or fear, but rather was a growing chain of feminine breathiness.

It wasn't long until small moans and guttural groans joined in, and the breathing grew louder and more rapid. And as it grew, more sounds joined in, the sound of smacking flesh and moist sloshing appeared and grew. It was clear what was happening, Laveriel was a grown woman, she had had a mate at one time, she was more than familiar with what it was she was hearing. The confusing part is that Laveriel would know that this particular neighboring cell only house a single woman prisoner. No one of particular importance or influence to the Dawnmartyr, just another prisoner.

And a few moments after this realization, there were loud, conjoined moans, male and female as the coupling came to a climactic ending for the both of them. There was some rustling of clothing and movement in the cell and then it went quiet. And then a shadow grew long across Laveriel's cell as an elven man walked into view from the neighbor's direction, tying up his trousers, a smug and satisfied on his face.

And with a wink, Laveriel's cell unlocked and opened, and the man let himself in, closing it and relocking it as he did. "Just the woman I came to see." He reached into a small leather satchel hanging from his hip and pulled out a paper wrapped object, around a foot long. He tossed it over to Laveriel. "I'm not sure if you like mayonnaise, but it's the only good cart nearby." Inside the dense bundle was a warmed sandwich, footlong, deli meats, vegetables, condiments, the works.

The man moved over toward the toilet, setting down the lid and sitting himself upon it. His clothes were plain, a white, billowy shirt, opened, exposing his hairy pectorals. He wasn't a particularly large nor muscular elf, somewhere between lithe and big. One could even say of average build, albeit athletic. His trousers were cloth and brown, baggy and loose, his boots of dark brown and worn leather, complete with scuffs and dirt. His face was unadorned with facial hair and was otherwise seemingly average. He could pass for a full elf, a half elf, and his skin tone was somewhere in the blend that would make it hard to determine his true ancestry. His hair was dark and messy.

And his smile was teasing and coy.

"My name is Rory, and I've been sent to give you a gift, which I've been told to pass on that it is one you've earned and comes without strings. The gift is a simple phrase, 'The Commonwealth remembers what it owes you.'" He leaned back against the tank of the toilet, "With that out of the way, I'm now going to ask a personal favor of you, and in return, I will offer my services to you." His eyes sidled over to Laveriel's, and he began to speak, his voice a perfect mimic of Laveriel's, albeit with a sarcastic tone to it, "But Rory, what services do you offer?"

His smug smile only grew, "I'm a man who knows people, a man who knows how to get into places, and a man that can always provide." His eyes sidled up and down Laveriel's body and he looked as if he was happy with what he saw. "I could set you free from here, but I know that isn't what you want, or rather, what you can't take regardless of how much you might want it."

He placed his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers, "So ask your price, and I'll ask my ask."

His ears twitched a bit, "Forty five seconds until the patrolling guard is close enough to hear talking. But don't worry, he won't see me when he gets here."

[Laveriel]

Veriel tensed as she first heard the heavy breathing. She climbed out of the bed quietly, trying her best to not make her sound as she tried to find the source. The siltori had been relatively sure that the other cells were empty, but she was too engrossed in her weaving for a while.

It didn’t take long before she got an answer: a couple were having sex right beside her cell. Veriel laughed to herself and sat back on the edge of her bed. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Being incarcerated in a prison… there was no privacy and not a lot of options. Even Veriel, who had only been here for two seasons… it certainly could be frustrating. Fortunately, between Ryo’s death and being on the run, the dawnmartyr was used to the long bouts of miserable abstinence. The siltori had assumed that people would be going off to some dark corners to have sex, but she would never expect anything this blatant.

The surprise didn’t stop. When the noise died down, an elven male she had never seen before appeared out of her cell. His smug smile felt like he wanted to tell her exactly what he had just been doing. When the lock in her door clicked, Veriel’s eyes widened and she leaped to her feet. The man slipped in with ease and the door locked again behind him.

“Just the woman I came to see.”

She caught the sandwich and unwrapped it. Her shameless stomach growled at the sight of proper food. Veriel, in fact, did not like mayonnaise, but she didn’t even really care. She took a bite of the foot long and it was good. Veriel quickly finished her meal, the sauce spilling over to her hand. There was always a chance that it could be poisoned, but poisons had never been something the afflictionist had to worry about.

The Commonwealth remembers what it owes you. Veriel hardly thought that Ecith owed her something - if anything, she was the reason they couldn’t fulfill their mission. Nonetheless, it felt good hearing that someone still remembered her as she continued to rot away here for who knew how long.

Now, there was the matter of the mysterious Rory who had somehow entered her cell. From the way he was dressed, the man was neither a guard nor a prisoner - not even one of the nobles prancing around. Was he Ecithian? It didn’t seem like he sported the tattoos. The man knew a lot about Veriel, though. Even that comment about freeing her showed that he knew the situation she was in.

“It seems like I should know what you’ll be asking of me before I ask for a price, but considering that I’m not in the best position to negotiate, fine,” the siltori said reluctantly. Veriel ran her fingers through her hair before standing up and walking over to the sink next to the stranger. She turned on the faucet and let the sound of flowing water fill the room, washing her hands. “Do you really think you can give me what I want?”

After a beat of silence, Veriel spoke again, “Irdan. I want every little information this fucking country is hiding about the Kathar named Irdan.” She thought back to the information Neverfall had given her, how his identity was kept secret. Someone somewhere must know something, right?

There was still one more thing. She thought about Jehan and Ambre, who had stayed on their farm on the outskirts of Dalquia and refused to give the Imperial soldiers the grains they had stored. She thought about an Atinawan named, Holger, who was a fisherman that unknowingly saved a group of dawnmartyrs on the run from their sinking ship. “I want to know exactly how I can get people out of this prison, whether by bargaining or by force. Its weaknesses, its strength, how it’s run. Everything.”

Unlike her, they would never have the chance to receive a trial and get out. Even if there’s nothing she could do for them right now, maybe if she could get out of this place alive… “And other dawnmartyrs, are there still more trapped in other prisons?”

It was quite the request, something she wasn’t even sure this so-called Rory could ever tell her. But he had infiltrated this place successfully. He had to know something.

“Who are you, Rory?” Veriel asked, rolling his name on her tongue as she looked straight at him. It didn’t feel like he had any malicious intent, but she could be wrong. She had a history of being a terrible judge of character. “And what do you want from me? As you can probably guess, I currently don’t have much to offer.”

[Aegis]

As Laveriel washed her hands, the man snorted, "I wouldn't think an afflictionist such as yourself would be worried about germs on your hands. Quite the opposite, rather." He was shaking his head at his own joke, "Yes, I absolutely can provide anything you ask of me."

He moved over, sitting down on her bed, leaning back against the prison wall, his eyes closed as Laveriel gave the first of her desires to him. As she spoke, his lips were murmuring, counting. Soon, the sound of metallic boots on stone floor arrived, as the sentrybot lumbered up to her cell door. It turned toward the cell, checked the lock, found that it was, in fact, still locked. It's crimson glowing eyes scanned the interior of the cell, and seemingly satisfied, it moved onward.

After the sounds of it were gone, "Irdan will take a me a minute, but a man, such as he claims to be, leaves an impression on the world." He shook his head, "Nasty bloke that one. I wonder why the Emperor keeps him around. And why Irdan returns the favor as well." Rory pondered on this for a bit. Muttering to himself for a moment, "His housekeeper also keeps the house of Doran Vielle... drinking buddy to..." He nodded his head repeatedly.

"I will have that to you in a week."

As he waited for her second request, his smile grew wide. "Now we're thinking like a Hopewarden."

Rory whispered an unrecognizable word into the air, and every invisible, and visible, rune, ward, and glyph carved into Laveriel's cell began to glow. "The same magic that makes this the most sophisticated prison in the world can also be used against it. You're a warlock, think of this place as a person, and ask yourself how to treat it as one."

Another word was uttered in this unknown language, and one rune just above the toilet fizzled and darkened.

"Your strength is not one of brute force but rather twisting the strength of others against them. Everything here is connected, from the cells, to the guards, to your piercings, to every door, rune, shield. Everything. That is the strength of this place. Make it your own and you can walk everyone out."

He now laid down in her bed, his hands behind his head, his perfectly clean boots kicked up on the rail at the end of it. "Don't be naive, of course there's other Dawnmartyrs in other prisons here. Less than you might hope, most were simply executed." He praised his eyebrows, "That one's for free, too easy."

"As for who I am, you cannot afford that information. All you need to know is that I am friends with all and enemy to none."

He snorted, "As for what you have to offer, there is plenty. But I do not require plenty, but rather, I require one."

He lulled his head to the side, looking at her now, "There's a woman here, Ecithian, by the name of Elana. She's a Bard and has been imprisoned here since her capture during the war. She's been interrogated, tortured, and isolated. She is slated to be executed at the end of this season, her usefulness having come to an end." He sighed slightly, "Seek her out and bring her some hope, so that she might know some peace before she dies."

He turned back away from her looking at the ceiling, "It's a shame that your order was reduced to only the best warriors that survived and a god reborn far too late. I remember the days when much of the order was scholars and believers, than a small army of zealots."

He kicked himself upright, twisting himself so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "It wouldn't be a bad thing to find that side of things once more."

He stuck a hand out, "Do we have an agreement?"

[Laveriel]

“Who does he claim to be exactly?” Veriel couldn’t help asking, casting another anxious glance at the door. No alarm had sounded when the sentrybot peered inside, but she still couldn’t believe it hadn’t spotted Rory. Perhaps it had, and a silent alarm had summoned a dozen prison guards who were heading their way right now.

Her arms wrapped around herself as she recalled the pull that had made him gravitate to the Kathar. “I think I am connected to him somehow. It’s… disconcerting.” She wondered if Torchthief had figured out what it was back in Kalzasi. They never had the chance to discuss it, after all. “I need to know what the hell is going on.”

”You’re a warlock, think of this place as a person, and ask yourself how to treat it as one.”

“I would love to try that, but my magic is imprisoned in my bo-” The dawnmartyr stopped herself. Inside her body. Those runes and wards were unreachable, but the piercings were planted inside her. It could work theoretically. She had never cursed anything inorganic before, but her afflictions attach to aether not any biological component in the body.

Veriel let out a laugh. A beautiful genuine laugh echoed inside the room - the first real one since she had stepped foot in the Nexus. “You’re saying I can curse this entire facility with the aether flowing through every inch of it.” It was a statement, a question, a realization.

Then he finally arrived at the favor he wanted to ask her. Veriel tilted her head slightly in confusion. He wanted her to give hope to an Ecithian woman? That’s what he was asking? She expected he would ask her to do some deed once she was out of the prison, so the siltori didn’t know how to react. The name Elana wasn’t too familiar, so she would have to ask around.

“I remember the days when much of the order was scholars and believers, than a small army of zealots. It wouldn't be a bad thing to find that side of things once more.”

Scholars and believers… That was who Ryo was to the Order. Once the Graveplague was over, he turned his focus to research in magic and artifacts, trying to find ways to make life easier and better for everyone. He was a good that she could never replicate, no matter how much time they spent together or even the fact that their souls were bound together, she would never be able to bring the change that he could. Veriel… she was just a killer. It really was a shame that she was the one who survived when she could think of an endless list of people who would deserve it more.

The siltori caught herself and sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She was spiraling again. “Maybe one day… but not now. Not when people still need to pay for what they’ve done.”

Considering that the man didn’t even want to tell her who he was, Veriel doubted she could get a real answer, but she still wanted to try. Earlier Rory had said your Order, which suggested he wasn’t a dawnmartyr. Besides Ecith, who else would have any interest in meddling in this trouble? “Why are you helping me? You snuck into a high-security prison just to ask me for a favor of comforting another? It makes no sense.”

As Rory stuck out his hand, whether he had answered her questions or not, Veriel took it.

“One last thing… they say I’ll go through a trial. They’re going to make me stand there by myself and sentence me guilty, aren’t they?” It wasn’t a request; she just needed confirmation of what she feared. If she accepted it now, perhaps it would be easier when she had to look at the people who decided they had the right to judge her.