E
EquinoxSol
Guest
Original poster
The City Guard let him walk without chaining him, at least they let him retain some sense of dignity. As such, he was able to walk unhindered through the city streets, though many people were giving the procession odd looks. When they neared the Lord Reagent's mansion, easily twice the size of Aurea's home, the sounds of shouts filled the air, in both the Old and the Common Tongues. The City Guard was everywhere, most with crossbows in hand, though a few had swords out, threatening the throng of wild elves.
As Linnor examined the crowd, he was amazed to find that the elves gathered were a mix of everyone: city elves, the tattooed Tralk, the dark-skinned Ya'jahj, and the Hin'tio, who formed up a decent percentage of those gathered. The city elves were what surprised him the most, though he recognized a couple of them as regulars at the store. In both of the languages of the city, he heard one sentence above all: "Give us freedom!"
Instead of taking him through the crowd to the front gates of the mansion, the guards around him led him around the back, where there were considerably less people. As they took him in through the kitchen entrance, he was led to the Lord Reagent's great hall, a large room in the middle of the mansion. There, he saw his uncle, the Lord Reagent's son, and the tribeleaders of the Ya'jahj and Tralk tribes. All three were shackled and on their knees, and upon closer inspection of their faces, all three had warpaint on them, black for his uncle, bright white for the Ya'jahj, and deep red on the Tralk's face.
They had almost made Linnor kneel, too, and put him in shackles, until he made it clear that bending his knee would send nearly unbearable pain through him. Then, they let him stand, though from the high throne the Daechir sat in, he felt like a child being reprimanded. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked the new Lord Reagent, receiving only a blow to the back of his head in response.
"I'll be the one doing the speaking here, slum. We have proof that you ordered the slum assassin to kill my father. Do you know what would happen to a slum like you who did that? Death, slum. You are going to be put to death tomorrow, as well as these three insurgents." Though Daechir was half his father's age, he acted much older, though by his speech it was obvious that he was still young at heart.
"Nightvine didn't kill your father," his uncle shouted, pulling against the chains that bound him. "Nor did he order Dawnfish to kill him. I did, at the behest of the other tribeleaders and my own people. We want to leave, and I thought that the only way to achieve that was to have your father killed. But I see that you are no different from Dimaethor." At that, one of the guards hit him over the head with the hilt of his sword, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
"Please," Linnor said. "I can promise you that I had nothing to do with your father's death. I was with one of your adviser's daughter...I had taken her to my people's homeland." He had been about to say more when the Lord Reagent interrupted him.
"Then who did. Tell me which of your savages killed my father." Not sure of what to do, and having no idea who had killed the Lord Reagent, Linnor bit his lip before glancing at the other tribeleaders. The Ya'jahj, an aging man, was gagged as well as bound, probably due to the rumors that his blood was imbued with magic and could use it through his voice. The Tralk woman was looking at him intently. After a moment, she whispered, "Madrat. It was Madrat who killed your father." Of course, she was speaking the Old Tongue, the only tribeleader out of all of them to not know the Common Tongue, so Linnor translated, repeating the words clearly and loudly.
It took several more hours of talking, followed by waiting for Madrat to be found and brought to the Great Hall. He made his confession, a rather angry one at that, and was taken away, presumably to spend the night in the dungeons. Afterwards, Linnor and the other tribeleaders were let go, and each exchanged nervous, but friendly nods to the others. "We will be speaking soon, Nightvine," said the Tralk leader before she ran off into the crowd of elves that still stood in front of the mansion. Hearing what they were shouting, he almost joined the crowd, before remembering Aurea.
Making his way to her house as fast as he could, he soon found himself at her front door, wondering if he should knock or try to find her window. Biting his bottom lip, he shakily raised his hand before balling it into a fist and knocking it on the door three times.
As Linnor examined the crowd, he was amazed to find that the elves gathered were a mix of everyone: city elves, the tattooed Tralk, the dark-skinned Ya'jahj, and the Hin'tio, who formed up a decent percentage of those gathered. The city elves were what surprised him the most, though he recognized a couple of them as regulars at the store. In both of the languages of the city, he heard one sentence above all: "Give us freedom!"
Instead of taking him through the crowd to the front gates of the mansion, the guards around him led him around the back, where there were considerably less people. As they took him in through the kitchen entrance, he was led to the Lord Reagent's great hall, a large room in the middle of the mansion. There, he saw his uncle, the Lord Reagent's son, and the tribeleaders of the Ya'jahj and Tralk tribes. All three were shackled and on their knees, and upon closer inspection of their faces, all three had warpaint on them, black for his uncle, bright white for the Ya'jahj, and deep red on the Tralk's face.
They had almost made Linnor kneel, too, and put him in shackles, until he made it clear that bending his knee would send nearly unbearable pain through him. Then, they let him stand, though from the high throne the Daechir sat in, he felt like a child being reprimanded. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked the new Lord Reagent, receiving only a blow to the back of his head in response.
"I'll be the one doing the speaking here, slum. We have proof that you ordered the slum assassin to kill my father. Do you know what would happen to a slum like you who did that? Death, slum. You are going to be put to death tomorrow, as well as these three insurgents." Though Daechir was half his father's age, he acted much older, though by his speech it was obvious that he was still young at heart.
"Nightvine didn't kill your father," his uncle shouted, pulling against the chains that bound him. "Nor did he order Dawnfish to kill him. I did, at the behest of the other tribeleaders and my own people. We want to leave, and I thought that the only way to achieve that was to have your father killed. But I see that you are no different from Dimaethor." At that, one of the guards hit him over the head with the hilt of his sword, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
"Please," Linnor said. "I can promise you that I had nothing to do with your father's death. I was with one of your adviser's daughter...I had taken her to my people's homeland." He had been about to say more when the Lord Reagent interrupted him.
"Then who did. Tell me which of your savages killed my father." Not sure of what to do, and having no idea who had killed the Lord Reagent, Linnor bit his lip before glancing at the other tribeleaders. The Ya'jahj, an aging man, was gagged as well as bound, probably due to the rumors that his blood was imbued with magic and could use it through his voice. The Tralk woman was looking at him intently. After a moment, she whispered, "Madrat. It was Madrat who killed your father." Of course, she was speaking the Old Tongue, the only tribeleader out of all of them to not know the Common Tongue, so Linnor translated, repeating the words clearly and loudly.
It took several more hours of talking, followed by waiting for Madrat to be found and brought to the Great Hall. He made his confession, a rather angry one at that, and was taken away, presumably to spend the night in the dungeons. Afterwards, Linnor and the other tribeleaders were let go, and each exchanged nervous, but friendly nods to the others. "We will be speaking soon, Nightvine," said the Tralk leader before she ran off into the crowd of elves that still stood in front of the mansion. Hearing what they were shouting, he almost joined the crowd, before remembering Aurea.
Making his way to her house as fast as he could, he soon found himself at her front door, wondering if he should knock or try to find her window. Biting his bottom lip, he shakily raised his hand before balling it into a fist and knocking it on the door three times.
