“Fucking hell…” groaned Sir Percival Augustus Thorne, as he stumbled himself out of the ruined building, coughing and choking on the dust assaulting his throat.

“Sir Thorne!” yelled one of the guards, having gotten up after the blue explosion inside had knocked him over. He rushed over to Percival’s side, steadying his uneasy walk.

“I’m walking out quite fine, ain’t I?” cough “Go help the other guards inside, and get the Arch-Manatist out too, we still need him.”

“Yes sir” the guard stated, clicking his heels and saluting before running inside the dust-filled building, following many other guards who were rushing inside to save those stuck.

“Good sold-” cough “-ier” , grunted Sir Thorne, grabbing his handkerchief and coughing out a concerning amount of dust, before straightening his suit and dusting himself off. He shifted his hands behind his back and turned around, staring at the building, watching as the guards came out of the grey interior carrying other blue-dressed guards and their gear, while the young man who had helped him earlier strutted out dragging an older man dressed in well-formulated attire with a mix of a suit and robe, colored with an astonishing amount of dyes that mixed and created the illusion of a color shifting fabric, completed with small trinkets and jewelry added, though all of it was dirtied by a heavy coating of dust.

“Fucking rune-sniffing glinters”, he muttered, not even trying to hide his disgust towards the oddly dressed individual as he was thrown to the ground in front of Thorne, coughing and spasming from the heavy amounts of dust as he attempted to stand up.

“Wash him” ordered Thorne, as the soldier grabbed a nearby rusted bucket filled with brown, muck-filled water, before he promptly threw the water in the man’s face, knocking him down yet again and causing the coughs to become more akin to gurgles.

gurgle cough cough

Thorne tapped his foot repeatedly as he watched the poor creature struggle to wipe caked dust and muck off his face and waterlogged attire.

“Sir, we made the count of the men and Mani, and we determined that we lost approximately 5 guards and all of the other 24 Mani”, stated a nearby guard as he approached Thorne, saluting with his fist upon his chest.

“Get the glinter on his feet” Thorne spit through gritted teeth, clenching his hands into a fist as the guards yanked the Arch-Manatist up by the scruff of his neck and shoulder.cough “Plea-” cough “-se” coughed Atan, the Arch-Manatist, as he attempted to place his feet in positions where he could stand under his own power.

SLAP

Atan fell on his knees before Sir Thorne as he massaged his cheek after being slapped by the young guard who had dragged him out of the building.

“YOU WILL SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO, SPARKRAT!!!” the guard yelled into Atan’s left ear, after grabbing it and pulling it up to his mouth.

The guard then threw his head away, wiping his hand with a towel. Atan struggled to get up, scraping his knees and planting his feet so he was standing in front of Thorne, who watched the whole show with an interesting mixture of amusement and disgust clearly written on his face. Atan stared at his feet, waiting for orders.

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After what seemed like hours, though it was probably only a few seconds, Thorne cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak.

“So, Arch-Manatist.” he spat “tell me, what exactly happened in my fucking warehouse with your pretty spark-door? You do know your little failed lightshow caused the death of 5 of my best guards right? 5 loyal men to the Empire whose families I now have to send death payments and letters explaining that their fathers, their brothers, their husbands and sons have been killed, not for the glory of Her Majesty's Eternal Empire, but to entertain the follies of a few empathetic Senators and the dreams of a filthy Glinter in a failed experiment that needed the souls and bodies of 5 men of the empire. I ate breakfast with those men, laughed at their jokes and listened to their stories of their adventures, their follies and their children and families. I knew them. And now, your spark-tricks have prematurely brought them to the door of Haduria.”

Atan lowered his head more, wishing he could just disappear and Dust away from the ruins of his failure, from the blood of the guards and his people.

“Speak, you filthy glinter, before I decide that maybe you should beg for forgiveness of your sins in front of Haduria Herself.”

Atan cleared his dry, battered throat.

“Sir Thorne, I had no intention of causing such a disaster of this magnitude. Manology is a hard endeavor and I wished only to further the goals of Her Superior Excellency with my craft. The portal of the Elders is a mana-door that requires skill and patience, and the old records have many stories of its difficulty and disastrous effects when first attempted. It has been many years since my ancestors have successfully created such a thing, and setbacks are to be expected. I apologize for my folly and cursed nature, and I beg for forgiveness from you and the families of those affected. If I may ask though, I would like to replace my ranks. The 24 manatists under you no longer walk Geidur's Tieda, and I need more manpower to successfully open this door for Her Superior Excellency.”

Thorne paused for a moment, staring at Atan bowing his head in front of him.

"Your skills are still needed by Her Majesty, so your ranks will be inflated to 48 manatists and you will continue this endeavor. Your first course of action though, is to rebuild this warehouse, better and stronger and to surrender 24 months pay and 2 months pay from each of the 24 weaklings. You will still be punished though, so go to the Staff and prep yourself for a punishment of 25 flogs.”

“Sir! I must interject, the families of the 24 have no money to spare, each payment is used to feed the mouths in that family, and Magic canno-”

SLAP

Atan fell the ground again, scraping his elbows and ripping parts of his robe against the hard stone path.

“Do not, ever, mention that filthy rune-word around the likes of those who are not cursed such as you. Your punishment to the Staff will be increased tenfold. Leave, NOW” stated Thorne, kicking Atan in the ribs.

Thorne spat on Atan’s robe-suit and kicked him one last time, before turning sharply and walking away towards the motor carriage waiting nearby.

Gasp

Atan struggled to breathe as the air in his chest had been forcefully ejected out by the strong kicks of Thorne. The two guards proceeded to drag up Atan and start marching him towards a gathering of tents outside of the warehouse, where in the center there was a bloody obelisk of wood armed with locks for the arms and legs. Silently and obediently, Atan stripped himself of his robe-suit and threw them onto the grass far away from the pillory. The guards then grabbed his arms and legs and began locking them into the cuffs. One of the guards splashed his back with water, while the grinning young guard approached with a multi-tipped whip, armed with small metal balls and spikes at the end.

“You should know the rules glinter, count each one and if you mess up, we add 25 more and restart”

Atan gritted his teeth and prepared for his punishment, begging Haduria for strength and forgiveness for his mistakes that cost the lives of 29 people, who's blood would forever stain Tieda's soil and his own hands.