The recorded history of the last century was patchy and fraught with inaccuracies as often happens during an apocalypse. What is known is that strange twisted creatures had been sighted. Rarely at first, but in even increasing numbers. No one knew where they had come from, only that they had slaughtered all in their path until only the island state of Albion remained as a refuge for fleeing survivors.
Those who took shelter on that island did so knowing that to be a citizen of Albion was to shoulder the responsibility to keep light in the world. Everyone from the most noble to the lowest beggar was expected to uphold its ideals and fight for Albions future.
This stance had originally been intended as a noble call to arms to unite society. Sadly, however, shadows loom largest when cast against a flickering flame. Those in authority used the fear of the people to grow their reach and as they accumulated power they inflicted new atrocities upon those beneath them. All in the name of the greater good. Today laws on the island were more about encouraging compliance and fear than justice.
This reasoning was of little interest to Nico as he trudged through the shadowy halls of justice. His weary footsteps rang out a slow death knell, each dull echo slowly counted down the moments to his eventual judgment at the hands of the masked matron mothers. As an unsanctioned mage he had committed a crime considered heinous enough to ensure that the sentence would remove the risk he might one day present to the greater population's survival. There was no expectation of mercy for someone in his shoes, in the eyes of society his demise would serve the greater good.
The stone floor was so cold that Nico’s toes felt like ice blocks. Anger flared in his mind, he wasn’t a damned hobbit and normally would be wearing a well crafted set of black suede boots, but today he was naked apart from the ragged smock supplied by his jailers. The four guards surrounding Nico were taking no chances that he might take the opportunity to gut one of the ruling Matron Mothers with a concealed blade. This was probably wise considering Nico’s dark scowl. Indeed the man brooded silently upon revenge fantasies until the small procession halted before an impressive set of iron clad double doors, and one of the guards pulled him roughly to a stop.
“Who goes there?” A sentry barked as he stepped into view from a hidden vantage point. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword as he cast a careful eye over our small group.
The lead guard, a grizzled old man with a deep scar running down his cheek, stepped forward, “We bring the condemned, brought to face judgment at the hands of the matron mothers,” his voice was rough but ready.
The sentries expression relaxed slightly at the traditional pronouncement, “Very well, proceed” He rapped once on the doors and their iron hinges groaned loudly as they swung slowly open to reveal a dimly lit hall, filled with shadows and a sense of foreboding.
The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the sound of chanting echoed off the stone walls as unseen acolytes asked the Gods to show mercy upon the souls of those judged. Only dimly lit by torches that cast a flickering, orange glow on the scene, casting shadows of the matron mothers as they sat in judgment on their thrones. The exception to this gloom was a bright shaft of light from the single window high on the back wall of the hall. This light focussed on the floor in front of the justices marking the spot where the condemned would stand and await their judgment.
Nico stumbled as the guards roughly shoved him forward, “Step into the light and be judged.”
Nico’s shoulders tensed as he paused to turn and glare at the guard, but there was no use fighting the inevitable. Chained and weaponless, the battle had already been lost. All that was left for Nico was to face his punishment with dignity and honor. So he stepped into the beam of light and squinted as the bright glare temporarily blinded him.
The light pulsed with a golden threat and felt warm as he stepped into it. The heat grew more intense as he stood blinking, immersed within it. Within minutes rivulets of sweat had formed upon his brow, these began trickling in small rivers down his face as the intensity continued to increase.
The heat continued to rise, increasing the pressure on the sides of his head. At first it was gentle, like the palms of someone's hands, but as it increased slowly as if a vice was being turned.
Nico felt it was only a matter of time until he was broken. Gritting his teeth, he glared up at the seven shadowed figures seated in alcoves far above the floor. These were the city's matriarchs and he was powerless to prevent them deciding his fate, but he remained standing proudly. He could at least choose how he died and he was damned if he would beg for mercy from unseen hags who undoubtedly had none.
A single sharp word echoed through the pain.
“Submit”
Command
Matron Durere’s spell will force an individual of lesser will than herself to obey a single command word, in this case - ‘Submit.’
Psychic tendrils pulled at the threads of Nico’s mind. Telling him to let go and submit to the will of the Matron Mothers. To accept their punishment, whatever it might be. Still he refused to submit, despite his muscles fighting against his will, threatening to throw him to the floor. Slowly his knee flexed as it bent forward slowly, but he remained stubbornly standing in a crouch.
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The pain was constant now and he was unable to think of anything beyond the angry pulsing light. Still he resisted. It didn’t matter that he was going to die. It didn’t matter that this fight was pointless. No one, not even the Matron Mothers, controlled him.
The unseen crone committed more of her mind to dominating Nico’s. Red veins throbbed brightly against his pale skin as he focussed his hatred of authority into a weapon. There was no way he would give in. Not now. Not ever.
The metallic tang of blood told Nico that he was bleeding. He paid it no heed. A nosebleed was a small price to pay for remaining independent for a few more moments. Gritting his teeth he forced traitorous muscles to obey his commands and inch by agonizing inch his crooked leg slowly straightened, until he finally stood proud.
Words spun lazily in Nico’s vision as blood dripped from his chin and splattered in a steady stream onto the elegant tiles at his feet. “Not bloody likely.” He slurred victoriously. Despite everything his lips formed a bloody smirk of triumph.
Saving Throw Successful!
You have successfully resisted the spell Command.
Through the haze of pain, I could hear the matron mothers speaking, their voices a distant murmur. I knew they were discussing my fate and I prayed that they would show mercy and spare my life.
“He is dangerous and unpredictable.”
“He’s a threat and cannot be trusted.”
“We should dispose of him before he becomes a problem.”
“He’s uncontrollable, it’s not worth the risk.”
Nico swayed back and forth now as his life blood trickled down his face, splatting into a growing pool on the tiles beneath him. His lips curled into a sardonic grin, if they didn’t do it soon then they’d lose the opportunity.
Then a single clear voice cut through the babble, her noble voice sounding almost bored as the Matron Mother pronounced Nico’s fate.
“He will be assessed, if he proves useful then we will use him as a workman uses a tool. Guards take him to a cell, and can someone please clean up this mess.”
**
Two hours later I had collapsed upon a floor sticky with my own blood. Pain wracked my body, but despite this I felt proud. I had told them nothing. It was a small victory but one I would take to my grave. My torturers had stopped their machinations a few minutes ago and I was trying to decide whether it was better to try and conserve my strength, or to try and taunt them into killing me quickly. The waiting was almost harder to endure than the pain had been and death would be a mercy.
Only two of the torturers remained. Matron Durere the Chief Justice herself had lead the torture for the entire two hours. I was certain that the hag had taken a foul pleasure from the pain she had inflicted.
The other was the Dark Elf Master Iorgu. It was rumored he was older than the city itself, certainly his sunken features resembled a corpse, not that many would dare voice such an opinion. Few male Dark Elves acquired positions of power within their society. Those who did were the most ruthless and amoral of their kind. Iorgu was no exception. if the man still had a soul then he would surely discard it in a second to gain more power.
Both torturers had turned their backs on me as they discussed his continued survival.
“It’s impressive that he hasn’t broken.” Iorgu opined.
“Broken, I’m surprised that he’s still alive my dear.” Matron Durere barked a small dog-like laugh which contained absolutely no humor or mercy.
“Are you sure he’s suitable? He wasn’t talented enough to avoid being caught?”
“If he isn't, what does it matter? All you males are expendable.” The matron mother laughed, “Yes, even you Iorgu. You might be a talented male, but you are nothing compared to my might.”
There was silence for a long second and Nico hoped they’d come to blows, but then the male gave replied. “It is as you say.”
This was too good a lay-up to resist. “I see that I’m the only unbroken male here,” My words came as a pained croak. I’d have laughed at my own wit, but moving hurt too much.
Matron Durere put a hand on Iorgu’s shoulder as the man started to gather magic instinctively. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. I’m not sure which it is?”
Nico smiled, showing bloody teeth, “Can’t it be both?”
Durere’s laughter was genuine for the first time in decades. The tinkling notes of pleasure were so unexpected that both males simply stared at her for a long moment. Then she spoke again. “I don’t think it’s both. I believe you are attempting to taunt us into killing you.”
I kept silent, annoyed that the Matron Mother had seen through my plot. Now it had been unmasked it was doubtful that either torturer would kill him in a fit of pique.
“He is quite resourceful, his ploy nearly worked, another few seconds and I would have begun to strip the meat from his bones.” Iorgu seemed wistful at the lost opportunity for inflicting cruelty.
The Matron Mother smiled at Nico, “I have decided Nico. You will not die tonight, I believe you can provide one last service to your city before you die.”
Before Nico had the opportunity to discover what plans lay afoot his vision flickered and he collapsed into the dark embrace of unconsciousness.
**
Nico Vrajitori - Level 1 Mage
Strength 9
Intelligence 18
Wisdom 8
Dexterity 12
Constitution 14
Charisma 14
Hit Points: 5
Experience Points: 0 / 2,500
Equipment: None
Spells:
Read Magic - Can read magical writings
Charm Person - Can influence a person's opinion of him to become more favorable.