Re: Arena of Champions
Suviel Orilou glared down the length of his sword at the gibbering peasant below. The man is bound at the ankles and wrists, his head bowed low with tears flowing freely to the floor below. The tattered ends of his pant legs are stained red with blood from the crossbow bolt that tore through the flesh of his lower leg. And Suviel is starting to wish it had pierced him through the heart. With an emotion that is more disgust than pity, Suviel draws his sword back, and sheathes it cleanly into it's scabbard.
It had not been a good spring. After Sir Osric's murder, Threshold had gone into near chaos. Mytherang had been away, Amul had fled to Nulb, Nicholas Machholt's attacks had been repelled at great cost, and every man with a title and even a shred of ambition was fighting for the greatest title in the land. Though Brobazian at least had the mind to keep the White Lancer's out of the situation, Suviel still feared for his own safety, not at the edge of a sword, but in the dead of the night... With Osric dead and little reason left to stay in the area, Suviel made his farewell's with Brobazian, and departed for other lands.
Having known to stay well away from Keoland, Suviel instead found himself traveling south, through the Hold of the Sea of Princes along the Jerlea Bay, past Port Joli, and through some of the worst of the Hesil woods. He stayed at Garal but briefly, annoyed by the curfew laws and soon made his way just further westward to Belenth. He'd taken up position as the Captain of Sir Ellington's guard, an odd assignment for being so new to the area, but Suviel would not argue. He soon found out why. Men were deserting left and right. Sir Ellington was frenzied into keeping the entire populace under an iron fist, which of course had driven them into revolt with little concern as to who of Ellington's men were killed in the process. After only a week on the job, Suviel was directed to smooth over an uprising, follow and attack a secret meeting of twenty or so peasants with only six men! and further to defeat the coup that developed. For once fighting on his own terms, Suviel staged an ambush, taking four of his best men in Ellington's private stagecoach, another as the driver, and two more following on horseback. The whole scene was concocted to make the peasants think that Ellington was leaving the city alone and underguarded, and indeed a group of ten peasant men attacked only a few miles from the township. Suviel and the others easily took out their archers with crossbows from inside the carriage, which amounted to five down instantly, the two guards on horseback chased down three more, and hacked the men to death before they could be stopped. Of those eight the only man alive was below him now, because Suviel had intentionally shot him in the leg, instead of in the heart like the other men. The other two escaped, one of which, Suviel was inclined to believe, was the one who had started the whole thing in the first place.
And so here he was, in a musty cell, questioning the one man who had information as to the planning. And spill his guts he did, about Cordell, the leader, and each one of his nine friends, of which all but one were dead. He spilled his guts on the Syndicate, about Baron Teluve who was the man behind it (or so Cordell said) and about all the hatred and fear the townsfolk had for Sir Ellington (and please dear god please don't kill me!) The man had broken down now, and was sobbing pitifully into the floor. His leg was bleeding and his spirit was broken, and Suviel was sickened with the both of them. The man for being so weak, and himself for the job he had allowed himself unknowingly to take.
Behind him, Suviel hears the door of the cell open and close. "He talked!" The voice was Sir Ellington's a high pitched squeal of accusation and fear.
"Yes." Suviel answers smoothly, turning halfway around to meet Sir Ellington's gaze. "That was the most of their organization here, he said there were others at the meetings, but most were farmers who simply wanted change, though no combat skills to add to the effort."
"Good." Ellington cackles, "then maybe this thing is finally over and we can get back to peace! As for the two that escaped, we'll find them soon enough, or they will run, either way they will be of no consequence." He ponderously dabs at his beard with a single finger. "My tax collectors will be free to do their jobs again, and my guards will cease from their exodus. Thank the heavens."
Suviel was not really particularly happy for the man, he doubted very much that Ellington's guesses were anywhere near accurate. If he continued taxing the populace into the ground, and hoping that fear would keep them in check, he was in for a very rude awakening. Suviel had seen the spirit of only a few dozen men overcome an army of hundreds, and Ellington's estate, with only a handful of guards was far from impervious.
"This is very good... Excellent work Suviel, you may kill him now."
"Pardon?" Suviel was sure he could not have heard the man right. In front of him, the peasant's face shoots up, his visage smeared with puffy red, and the sticky film of tears from his eyes all the way down his cheekbones and into his beard.
"He is guilty of treason." Ellington explain. "To attack me is to attack the vassal of Lord Berd. He will die as an example for all to see. Strung up in front of my gates."
"Sir." Suviel begins, his teeth clenched to mask the anger in his words. "You are inciting a riot with every pawn you kill. Don't you think perhaps, for your own safety, you might want a few of your subjects who thank you for being alive?"
"They should ALL thank me!" Sir Ellington screams, his voice reaching into falsetto. "You said yourself they were peasants and commoners, no training, and no hope! They shall PAY FOR TREACHERY!" The vassal's face bulges, his veins pulsating below his skin. Every inch of him screams fury and paranoia. "Or..." the face contorts, crude edges of his mouth bending upwards into a sadistic grin. "Will you be guilty of treason too for disobeying me?"
Suviel nearly chortles with laughter, though the situation is not funny. Slowly, he draws his sword. Every inch of the mithril blade slicking against the side of the scabbard, and the whole gruesome sound reverberating against the walls.
"No," The man on the floor gibbers, "I have children!" But Suviel is turned fully on to Ellington at the moment.
"Consider this my resignation." Suviel spits, his arm lashing back in preparation.
Ellington flinches, his eyes snap shut as he throws himself back against the wall in terror. He waits for the hit, but it does not come... Or is he already dead? Slowly, painstakingly, he opens a single eye, then both. And smiles with glee at the scene below. The peasant, his feet bound, and his wrists trapped together under him, lies face first in a pool of blood that is rapidly expanding, not even a single sign of life left to him. And Suviel is gone.
OOC: Looking for 1 or 2 applicants to fill out our crew. The game is GURPS: Sons of the Broken in the fantasy section.
