I'll start us off :33
x3 this is the prolouge for my novel entitled "Embedded in stone." D: warning, it MAY be a little gory, but since we're all pirates ninjas I think we're used to that, no?
CRITIQUE ME! Comments, compliments, critisizm, EITHER WAY IT FEEDS MY SOUL! D:
x3 read, please.
Prologue
The room was, in essence, a vault designed to keep the empire’s most loathed traitors from reentering the newly governed world. The niche was reserved for the rebellious citizens who stood against the female sovereign of the six provinces that made up Cortniak. This room was the fate of those who foolishly cried mutiny and attempted to destroy the newly established government. As punishment, the rebels were ripped from their beds, formally arrested, and then beaten before their friends, family and fellow villagers to set an example. Once in the cell, the infidels were tortured mercilessly until they either swore their fealty to the Queen, or died. The latter, by far, was most recurrent.
To add to the torment of those living within, there was no windows or any form of ventilation in the room. There was only a door which was well-locked and solid oak. It bore a number of runes that were roughly engraved between the first hinge of the door and the latch.
Space behind the door was very much confined. There were twenty or so hands between each wall and the chamber was constantly dark. The ceiling that stretched above the heads of the tallest men, dripped liquid of unknown origin onto the floor below, spattering the cold stone with a slick layer of the molten solution.
The quality of the air in the room resembled the innards of Terra Draconian, or the earth dragon. It was sickeningly warm and moist, poisoned by the nauseating stench of vomit, human waste and decaying flesh.
A pile of twenty or so corpses lay on one side of the room, attracting hordes of rats that made fodder out of the rotting deceased and the maggots that infested them. The repulsive, diseased rodents scurried about the floor uncontrolled, their claws scraping loudly against the stone as they fought over a certain choice body part of the large amount of carrion.
The unfortunate soul that had the displeasure of being locked inside this heinous chamber was a girl of about sixteen, perhaps younger. At one time, she may have been good-looking, but the months of beatings, the daily erotic assaults and the endless torment forced upon both her mind and body had clearly taken their toll. Her face, while young, was swollen, gaunt and haunting, her hollow, emotionless eyes were deep inside their sockets. The young woman hung from the ceiling by a thick rope, tied in a crude knot about her wrists as her legs hung uselessly beneath her, a mere two hand measures from the ground. She was completely naked, spare for a small series of rags was wrapped unceremoniously round her waist, strung loosely together by thin thread that cut into the wounds on her waist, reminesant of the rest of her tragically lacerated body.
She shivered in her sleep despite the warmth of the thick, tainted air of the unventilated room that caused her to gag with every breath.
A painful biting at her foot, jerked the girl out of her uneasy slumber. Even though the room was scarce in light and her eyes bleary from sleep, she could tell it was one of the many horrendous vermin that seemed to have mistaken her for a carcass.
She shrieked in pain as the rat sunk its jagged teeth further into her already mangled foot and kicked out wildly at the small animal, dislodging it from her foot and causing it to careen towards the nearest wall, which it hit with a dull thud followed by another as it slumped on top of the pile of the bodies.
Now wide awake, her shivering became more violent as the agonized screams emitting from the other prisoners echoed within her ears, keeping her anxiously alert. She couldn’t help but listen closer, assuming that either the torture was worse than usual, or there was a newly discovered method of torment they were testing on those randomly chosen souls.
She stopped shaking for a fraction of a second before the tremors worsened. I know those voices…She thought as sheer horror washed over her. They were the abscessed cries of her tormentors, the castles guards.
Outside the young woman’s room, shouts of the dying, the panicked, and the outraged resounded in a gut-wrenching melody, backed by the light drum of blood spattering against the wall and floor. A small whimper escaped her as the harmony of the dead came closer. She held back a cry of fright as a guard outside her door met his untimely demise. She attempted not to scream again as she heard the latch to her door jiggle, causing her to unconsciously fight her bonds. Then the jiggling stopped. For what seemed like an eternity, everything went completely silent, only to be broken by the shout of a males baritone.
“Dynova!”
A split second later, the door of her chamber was blasted into multiple splinters that rained down on the girl and the other occupants of the cell. Her shriek of terror finally tore free from her throat, resounding throughout the chamber. She began to fight her restraints more viciously in an attempt to escape the inevitable pain that the person in the door way had inflicted on all the guards.
When she screamed, the figure turned his head towards her, to the left, then again at her. Though she could not see the expression on his face, she could feel his eyes boring into hers, invoking a new wave of terror that washed over her, causing her screams to become louder.
Eyes still fixed on the young woman’s, he began to quickly walk forwards without uttering a word. In five strides, he was upon her, raising the bloody blade in his left hand and bringing it down. She shrieked for what she thought would be the last time, and closed her eyes, waiting for the cold embrace of death.
She felt the rope that held her suddenly slacken, and she slumped to the floor, to frightened to move. Her head ached from when she hit her temple against the flagstones beneath her and she could not stop shaking despite her alertness, she found herself slipping in and out of darkness..
The man knelt next to her and waved a hand over her head. “Sliphni…sleep well.”
“I’d sooner die…” She managed to murmur in the brief seconds before her world slipped into darkness.
She awoke to a painful throbbing in her head, but didn’t open her eyes. The girl massaged her scalp gently, trying to ease the pain. As she gathered her senses, she found that she was lying on something dry, warm, and heavenly comfortable. Also, there were bandages tightly bound around her head, as was custom with the deceased.
Tears flooded her eyes. No more would she have to endure the torture of the guards and their cruel games. All she had now was the definite peace of death. “Thank you…” She whispered to no one in particular.
“You’re welcome, “ came the plaintive reply.
The girl jumped with a slight yelp of surprise, then began to shudder again. It was the same voice that belonged to the man who she thought had killed her. She tried to sit up and take the bandages off her eyes, but was pushed back down on the comfortable fabric when the man’s hand pressed against her chest.
“Try not to move,” The man said again. “You need to rest if we are to heal you. Gertrude will bring your food shortly, then I will explain everything, after which your training will begin. The reason for your training will also be explained after you eat.” Suddenly, she felt a hand on top of hers, squeezing her flesh gently. “You’ve been through a hardship no one can quite relate to, one you had no say in nor a fair trial. But now I give you a choice. After you’re healed, you can leave and never return, or, you can join my adroit organization.”
She looked at him quizzically from beneath her blindfold. “’Adroit’? As in skilled in the hands?”
“Yes.” He said. “But my term of it comes through in the context of art. Freedom is an art that must be shared with everyone who has been persecuted, even those who may not deserve it. As a former prisoner, I would hope you understand why this is done. What do you say?”
She paused for a moment. “I choose to join.” She said with finality.
The hand left hers and a scraping of chairs could be heard. “Good. I trust we will see you up and well in no time.” She rolled over on her side as he left, knowing fully well he was right. Freedom itself was a work of art. Rebellion was the base, the people who fought the battles the colours and the results of the revolution the texture and depth, making it realistic and engraving it forever in history and culture. The clicking of heels from the man that slowly faded lulled her back to sleep, sending her into the dream of her new life.
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