Exill paused when the others in the cell sniggered at the open provocation. He had watched enough prison drama to know more than his dignity was on the line. Despite his proficiency in unarmed combat, Exill doubted he could take on all five in this small, enclosed space. Confirming Conman’s [Bluff] was active, he chose his next words carefully.
Job Conman Level 13 Description Outlaw- Tier I Active Skill [Bluff] Your lies are slightly more believable. (scales with level)
“I don’t know… I was charged with property crimes, but it is likely related to the nine men I killed yesterday.” He said nonchalantly, seating himself at the end of the bench.
The others wavered in the face of his confidence, struggling to believe the claims of this young man. Yet they felt a small shiver run down their backs when they met the ruthless emerald glint in his eyes.
The matter appeared settled as the hours passed and no one challenged the Witchdoctor any further. He spent the time picking splinters from his palm and listening to the sparse conversation between inmates.
It appeared most of them were in here for petty theft or assault. They would likely be fined or sold into slavery if they couldn’t pay up. This put Exill in a tricky situation as he had spent most of his money on settling Diallo’s loan yesterday.
‘I swear I’m going to tear the heart out of the person behind this.’ Exill thought with gritted teeth, growing more certain that this was part of the conspiracy to steal Envy away from him. ‘This whole situation is ridiculous… why do I need to still stand up for her?’ If only he hadn’t signed the contract guaranteeing her freedom in two years, he wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to retain her under his control.
He sat fuming for several more hours, the sun began to set over the distant mountain range when the sound of footsteps rang out through the corridor. A large tray slid under the door, five loaves of bread for the six inhabitants of the cell.
As Exill was nearest to the door, he grabbed a loaf and pushed the tray down to the far side of the dungeon, the platter sliding smoothly across the iron plated floor. He leaped up and pressed himself against the door as a fight broke out for the last remaining loaf. After heated battle, a scrawny man grumbled, the obvious loser of the exchange - who winced in pain while biting into a quarter of the loaf that had been wrestled from his opponent.
Shivering as night approached, Exill tried to keep away from the chilly metal walls, huddling together with the other inmates to keep warm. Sleep was hard to come by as whenever he began to doze off, someone would jolt awake, as if from a nightmare, rousing their neighbours with the sudden movement and noise.
Thus the Witchdoctor greeted the rising sun with bleary eyes, dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep and concern eating away at him. He worried about Envy and Tsarra… ‘Do they even know about my whereabouts?’
As the hours trickled by, the inhabitants of his cell were slowly led out one-by-one, not to return. It was with some relief that he faced his captors that afternoon, when two guards came to collect him from the cell. He was led to a small chamber where an engraved metal octagonal platform stood at the centre. It was facing an imposing podium, behind which was seated a stern greying man in his fifties, hands steepled over the clay tablet in front of him.
Exill was chained to a pedestal on the platform and forced to stand before the Justiciar, the righteous dispenser of justice in the Kingdom of Fayth.
“Witchdoctor Exill, you are accused of property crime by proxy under Article 4, Section 23. How do you plead?” The authoritative man’s voice was resonant within the small chamber.
“May I know the specific charges?” Exill asked, his throat suddenly dry.
“Just answer the question-” The Guard beside him hissed but was cut off when the Justiciar raised his hand in fairness.
“Article 4 relates to theft, and Section 23 pertains to livestock, in your instance, a mare owned by Baron Gravesend. So, how do you plead.” The Justiciar explained in an even tone.
‘Is he talking about the horse we retrieved from that bandit leader?’ Exill thought, a slow realisation dawning in his head. He didn’t hesitate while speaking in a clear voice.
“I am not guilty your honour.”
The Justiciar stared at him for a moment, then motioned the Bailiff forward, a nasty looking man who appeared to enjoy his job.
“Having denied your guilt, you will testify to the truth under enslavement. This is my final warning. If we find you are lying, you forfeit the right to appeal. Your punishment will not end with a fine or imprisonment, and you will immediately be sold as a slave.
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Exill swallowed nervously when the Bailiff wrapped cold hands around his, whispering “Subjugate” with a sibilant grin.
Become a Slave? [Yes] [No]
The seconds stretched out, and the Bailiff’s expression grew unkinder, tightening the grip around his wrist painfully. Seeing no alternatives, Exill agreed, and felt his core resonate under humiliating subjugation.
‘So this is what it feels like…’ It was a stifling sensation, difficult to describe.
“Good… now, you will answer truthfully to all my questions.” The Bailiff hissed, channelling mana into his command. “Did you, or your slave steal Baron Gravesend’s horse?”
“No, we recovered the horse after fighting off bandits on the way to Ark.” He explained, feeling an immeasurable sense of relief.
There was slight consternation around the room as his guilt was immediately absolved. The Justiciar raised a hand to free the enslaved prisoner, having proved his innocence without a doubt.
However the Bailiff was not done. Gritting his teeth, the unpleasant man asked a follow up question, in what amounted to an illegal fishing expedition.
“Have you ever broken laws of the Kingdom?”
Exill tried to reply “No”, but his throat immediately clammed up. His eyes widened in panic, remembering the incident where he had misused the Healer’s Guild colours for his Clinic.
“That’s enough Bailiff. The defendant is not guilty of the -” The Justiciar’s words were abruptly cut off when the Bailiff tightened his grip further, his eyes sparkling with unsettling fervour.
“Did you lie about your blessing from the Spirit, Witchdoctor?”
It took all of Exill’s effort to prevent himself from blurting out “Yes”, and the Courtroom devolved into further chaos when the tired Justiciar shot to his feet and exclaimed in a commanding shout.
“That is out of order Bailiff! You will immediately free the defendant or I will find you in contempt of court!”
“I compel you to answer!” Loose spittle flecked from the Bailiff’s mouth as he channelled mana into the command.
“Guards, seize the Bailiff!” The Justiciar stepped down from the podium and opened a side door to call for more guards.
The courtroom was in utter pandemonium. Exill was on his knees, struggling to breathe, while the Bailiff continued to scream his compulsion. Soon, the fervent man was bound and gagged then dragged to within arm’s reach of the collapsed Witchdoctor.
Shortly after, a highly ranked Slave Trader was rushed in to cast [Break], and Exill suddenly found he could breathe again. Reduced to a coughing fit, he didn’t notice the guards unshackling the chain at his feet.
“Take him away, and bring the Bailiff to me!” The Justiciar angrily motioned the guards to leave, and their voices grew faint as Exill was led down a short corridor into an adjoining chamber. Soon, he found himself exhausted on a bench, sitting in front of a mousey bespectacled clerk.
“Witchdoctor Exill?” the small man asked tenderly.
“Yes.” he whispered in a hoarse voice, stricken by the humiliating experience of interrogation as a slave. He was shell shocked at the injustice of the false imprisonment and what he suspected was involvement by the Inquisition. It caught him off guard that it culminated in the dismissal of all charges – all at the snap of a finger.
‘Is this what the judicial system looks like in this world?’ he silently wondered.
“Ah, I’m sorry about the misunderstanding. We received a report of a stolen mare, branded as a property of Baron Gravesend. It appears your slave returned to the stables yesterday morning enquiring about the state of the horse, insisting ownership in front of many witnesses… and well, as the registered owner of the slave, you were held responsible for the theft by proxy.”
“Does that mean Envy is imprisoned here as well?” Exill asked, a note of rising incredulity in his voice.
“A-ah, yes… I’ll arrange for her immediate release.” The Clerk stammered.
Exill took a deep breath to calm himself down, stifling the anger that smouldered within him. He softly explained the events that had occurred two days ago, describing the encounter with the bandits, and adding Koopra the Navigator as his witness. The Clerk nodded while writing all this down.
“It appears we owe you an apology Witchdoctor sir, not only are you deserving a reward for the safe return of the mare, but also the bounty on the outlaws. If you could please wait here, I will arrange for the release of your slave and the reward.” The Clerk bowed then excused himself.
Seating himself on the bench, Exill waited for half an hour for the return of the clerk. During that time, another man was led into the waiting room by the guards, taking a seat beside Exill. There were similar dark circles under his traumatized eyes and the two acknowledged each other, not needing words to express kinship over their shared experience.
The Clerk returned with Envy in tow, deep gouges cut into her cheek. Her hair was a mess and there was burning indignation in her crimson tinged eyes. She looked at Exill in surprise, noting his dishevelled state and a look of guilt flashed across her features.
“600 Denars in total, 400 for taking down the outlaws and 200 for the return of Baron Gravesend’s horse. Again, I express my apologies on behalf of the Magistrate’s and hope you have a pleasant day.” The Clerk bowed, turning to the seated man who had similarly been found innocent.
Hooking the coin pouch to his belt, Exill glanced at the clotted grooves cut across Envy’s prominent cheeks. Someone had likely swiped at her, gouging out her flesh. ‘And I thought I had it bad…’ he reflected sympathetically.
“Let’s get you home.” He simply said, feeling incredibly tired all of a sudden.
The two stumbled out a side entrance and crossed the cobblestoned plaza facing the Magistrate’s. It was mid-afternoon and there were many people on the street glancing worriedly at the overcast sky above them. It was likely to rain soon.
“I went to check on the horse the next morning and they arrested me. They said it was the property of a Baron and that I had stolen it.” Envy admitted while keeping pace at his side. She was aware what her actions had brought upon her Master, and was concerned that it would fray an already tenuous relationship.
“I know…” Exill simply replied, and after a dozen steps added in a softer tone, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Those last four words threatened to overwhelm the stoic woman, and her eyes suddenly glistened with unshed tears. She stumbled a few steps and bumped into him, feeling tired and vulnerable.
“There were other slaves in my cell…” She hesitantly began, but petered out, unwilling to describe the men she had nearly killed in self-defence.
Exill felt his blood pressure spike when he noticed how she was holding together the torn edges of her tunic and breeches where they flapped in the wind. He grit his teeth as they were waved through the East Gate, and they hurried home when the first droplets of rain fell.