Yyan did not show any sign of protest, his face relaxing into a bland expression that promised complete cooperation. He did not show any sign of pain, nor concern about the fact that he was bleeding. It was unsurprising that he did not seem upset or agitated about the state of health of any of the other criminals, though he did shuffle a little to the side to avoid Sagath's blood. Not even the screaming from that quarter seemed to ruffle his serene calm. He had accepted his fate.
Sagath rolled, howled, clutched himself and trembled. His wound was more serious, and the blood spurted between the fingers he had clamped to the cut skin and muscle. It bulged around his hand, a deep wound that would require delicate care so long as he didn't bleed to death first. No one payed any particular attention to him.
Anther was deep into denial. He din't care 'bout being arrested, or about the "dangers" that would come out of that arrest. All he could think about was them hopped servants and the weird powers. He'd seen none such 'till he'd crossed trails with the witch woman. Oh, allun heard the Robed yammering 'bout magic and deviltry, but none took it serious. Bogeymen for runts n' yeller-bellies, and Anther wasn't them. Wasn't 'till he saw it real.
He wanted so bad to think it all dreams. Maybe it was. Maybe he'd been dosed with nightmare drugs, like the nightswatch some selled in the worst alleys. He buried his face and wished it gone away, cos if y'didn't see it there's chance you don't get caught. But Sagath's scream was there to make it dogged familiar so it wouldn't get shoved into dreamland's heavy handed reign.
Curled tight, he wouldn't move for Tatha or the stingers, or anyone at all. He just wanted to be locked somewhere safe, where crazy witches couldn't make him do things he shunnered.
Sagath's voice lessened abruptly into whimpers as his strength left him. When the additional personnel arrived he was limp and offered little resistance. Anther, Yyan and Talion were ready to be taken away.
Borrowing Back Taken Magic
Re: Borrowing Back Taken Magic
Porter waited until after the remaining prisoners had been successfully gathered up and restrained before calling in aid. With the way in which they had treated one of his assistants, he didn't want to chance further blood being spilled.
For some reason they always fought back. Porter couldn't understand why the law breakers always insisted on trying to resist authority. Doing so was pointless. They stood no chance of succeeding. There was nothing for them to gain by fighting. Elves, human, gnomes, when it came down to it they really weren't all that different from one another. They all fought when faced with bodily harm, no matter how greatly the odds were stacked against them. On top of that they all suffered the same physical limitations. They all needed oxygen to fill their lungs so that they could continue to breath. They all bled when prodded with sharp pointy objects. Their bone structure was not strong enough to support the weight of a marble column being brought down on top of them, but they still chose to fight.
It only led to pointless bloodshed, Porter reasoned with himself. Prisoners fought back for whatever reason and they only managed to bring injuries upon themselves. Then, a doctor had to be brought in to patch them up so that they did not bleed to death before morning. He again tried to make sense of the situation but the only real conclusion he could come to was that it was foolish to risk bodily harm in a losing battle. Those that wished to break the law should simple submit to the Battlemages so as to not take further risk upon themselves. Though on that same strain of thought, they should not break the law if they don't want to risk bringing harm upon themselves.
Porter stood watch over the prisoners as they were placed within their cells and a doctor was brought in to treat their wounds. It was a common enough occurrence that no instructions needed to be given to the man. He would come in, patch up any injuries that may prevent the criminals living long enough to go before the Judges, and then he would leave. He would ask no questions of Porter or the Battlemages, he would simply do his job and leave. In doing this job he was of the understanding that these individuals were not to be treated to the same degree as a law abiding citizen would should he/she go to the hospital in search of aid. They were not to receive expensive antibiotics or pain killers to make their suffering less of a punishment. No, they were criminals and as such they were to be treated as so.
When all was said and done, Porter took the time to contact the one person that he had left in the dark about the whole ordeal. He would not be happy. However, involving him sooner would have only left more of a mess for porter to clean up.
"He will want to speak with you about this, so you might not want to rush home to your family so quickly." This time he spoke to Gachety. In all the years the man had worked as a Battlemage, Porter had not known him to skip corners when filling out the proper paperwork and other duties that accompanied an arrest, but he also knew the man to be a highly devoted family man and he knew just how much the man wanted to return home to that family of his.
For some reason they always fought back. Porter couldn't understand why the law breakers always insisted on trying to resist authority. Doing so was pointless. They stood no chance of succeeding. There was nothing for them to gain by fighting. Elves, human, gnomes, when it came down to it they really weren't all that different from one another. They all fought when faced with bodily harm, no matter how greatly the odds were stacked against them. On top of that they all suffered the same physical limitations. They all needed oxygen to fill their lungs so that they could continue to breath. They all bled when prodded with sharp pointy objects. Their bone structure was not strong enough to support the weight of a marble column being brought down on top of them, but they still chose to fight.
It only led to pointless bloodshed, Porter reasoned with himself. Prisoners fought back for whatever reason and they only managed to bring injuries upon themselves. Then, a doctor had to be brought in to patch them up so that they did not bleed to death before morning. He again tried to make sense of the situation but the only real conclusion he could come to was that it was foolish to risk bodily harm in a losing battle. Those that wished to break the law should simple submit to the Battlemages so as to not take further risk upon themselves. Though on that same strain of thought, they should not break the law if they don't want to risk bringing harm upon themselves.
Porter stood watch over the prisoners as they were placed within their cells and a doctor was brought in to treat their wounds. It was a common enough occurrence that no instructions needed to be given to the man. He would come in, patch up any injuries that may prevent the criminals living long enough to go before the Judges, and then he would leave. He would ask no questions of Porter or the Battlemages, he would simply do his job and leave. In doing this job he was of the understanding that these individuals were not to be treated to the same degree as a law abiding citizen would should he/she go to the hospital in search of aid. They were not to receive expensive antibiotics or pain killers to make their suffering less of a punishment. No, they were criminals and as such they were to be treated as so.
When all was said and done, Porter took the time to contact the one person that he had left in the dark about the whole ordeal. He would not be happy. However, involving him sooner would have only left more of a mess for porter to clean up.
"He will want to speak with you about this, so you might not want to rush home to your family so quickly." This time he spoke to Gachety. In all the years the man had worked as a Battlemage, Porter had not known him to skip corners when filling out the proper paperwork and other duties that accompanied an arrest, but he also knew the man to be a highly devoted family man and he knew just how much the man wanted to return home to that family of his.
You corporeal beings are so touchy.
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Gachety's Boys
- Outsider
- Posts: 12
- Joined: Wed Mar 31, 2010 1:11 pm
Re: Borrowing Back Taken Magic
The battlemages stood out of the way as the doctor did his part. After assisting the prisoners, the man glanced over the three of them.
Gachety had waved away the attention that was offered to his lacerated shoulder. The bleeding was under control, and he'd wait for the top-of-the-line care that government employees of his rank were offered.
The doctor had craned his neck to look at the large goiter that languished on Lemboysas's neck, but the mage shot him a wild-eyed sideways look and caressed the lump protectively.
Tatha allowed the doctor to look him up and down appraisingly and remark on his pallor. Chet reassured the doctor that Tatha usually looked a little worse for wear (shockingly ashen and emaciated was more accurate) after exerting himself. The doctor recommended a tonifying broth and lots of rest. The exchange was a small comfort to Tatha, and perhaps the doctor himself--this pretending to be concerned with little health matters like fatigue and nutrition, while seriously wounded prisoners suffered nearby.
Chet lead his students up the stairs to the altar room, so as to get away from the scene at the cells. It would just rile up Lemboysas and augment Tatha's anxiety. And Chet had nothing to say to the prisoners. He'd just be repeating himself if he said anything more, and nobody liked a nag.
The boys were impatient as Chet stood surveying the room. They cringed as they saw the state of things, and wondered whether they'd have to stick around for some routine interrogation. At the same time, Chet listened to what Porter had to say. He gave no reaction but a thoughtful frown and a turning up of his chin that signaled his awareness.
"Go on ahead. Get some rest," he waved to the boys. He almost asked Tatha to drop by and tell his wife he'd be kept late, but then he'd run the risk of Lemboysas tagging along. He wouldn't make the most welcome addition to a child's birthday party, that one.
The others left, and Chet stood alone in the altar room. The sounds from below echoed in the gloomy chambers to the point of unintelligibility. He reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Yep. If you can let him know I'm ready when he is," he said into thin air.
Gachety had waved away the attention that was offered to his lacerated shoulder. The bleeding was under control, and he'd wait for the top-of-the-line care that government employees of his rank were offered.
The doctor had craned his neck to look at the large goiter that languished on Lemboysas's neck, but the mage shot him a wild-eyed sideways look and caressed the lump protectively.
Tatha allowed the doctor to look him up and down appraisingly and remark on his pallor. Chet reassured the doctor that Tatha usually looked a little worse for wear (shockingly ashen and emaciated was more accurate) after exerting himself. The doctor recommended a tonifying broth and lots of rest. The exchange was a small comfort to Tatha, and perhaps the doctor himself--this pretending to be concerned with little health matters like fatigue and nutrition, while seriously wounded prisoners suffered nearby.
Chet lead his students up the stairs to the altar room, so as to get away from the scene at the cells. It would just rile up Lemboysas and augment Tatha's anxiety. And Chet had nothing to say to the prisoners. He'd just be repeating himself if he said anything more, and nobody liked a nag.
The boys were impatient as Chet stood surveying the room. They cringed as they saw the state of things, and wondered whether they'd have to stick around for some routine interrogation. At the same time, Chet listened to what Porter had to say. He gave no reaction but a thoughtful frown and a turning up of his chin that signaled his awareness.
"Go on ahead. Get some rest," he waved to the boys. He almost asked Tatha to drop by and tell his wife he'd be kept late, but then he'd run the risk of Lemboysas tagging along. He wouldn't make the most welcome addition to a child's birthday party, that one.
The others left, and Chet stood alone in the altar room. The sounds from below echoed in the gloomy chambers to the point of unintelligibility. He reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Yep. If you can let him know I'm ready when he is," he said into thin air.
Re: Borrowing Back Taken Magic
It was rare for anyone to come directly to Bela about anything. His personal servants, whom he treated more like twisted, subservient family members than employees, were the only individuals who saw him on more than a weekly basis. Even they tended not to request his audience unless it was something important. Often times people seeking Bela would only deal with his servants.
The porter had a direct line to Bela's mind in the same way he did with the Battlemages, though the connection was more limited. He used it but rarely, to inform his master when pressing matters couldn't wait or when it was logical to put convenience over mental privacy. Bela could block out the porter's thoughts if he wanted, thought he never had need to do so.
An invasion of justice hall was more than sufficient grounds to disturb him. Had matters been more grave, he would have come himself to take care of things although it was doubtful he could do anything that couldn't be done by the combined efforts of the battlemages and porter. Breaking into justice hall was a suicide run - the building was incredibly secure - but the risks were too serious to go without a report.
It was still early enough that Bela had not completely awoken when the porter contacted him. It would take time for him to come to his senses, gather his strength, and travel the distance between the manor and Justice Hall without exposing himself to residual sunlight.
Despite the predicted reaction, Bela was not upset by finding out that someone had broken into justice hall. He was intrigued. He wanted to find out who did it, how, and why.
Gachety and porter were both reliable. There was no need for concern or anger just yet. Only caution.
"It will be some time before he arrives," said porter to. "I have informed him that you have assisted me in rectifying the situation and he has expressed faith in your competence, however he requests that you wait."
The porter had a direct line to Bela's mind in the same way he did with the Battlemages, though the connection was more limited. He used it but rarely, to inform his master when pressing matters couldn't wait or when it was logical to put convenience over mental privacy. Bela could block out the porter's thoughts if he wanted, thought he never had need to do so.
An invasion of justice hall was more than sufficient grounds to disturb him. Had matters been more grave, he would have come himself to take care of things although it was doubtful he could do anything that couldn't be done by the combined efforts of the battlemages and porter. Breaking into justice hall was a suicide run - the building was incredibly secure - but the risks were too serious to go without a report.
It was still early enough that Bela had not completely awoken when the porter contacted him. It would take time for him to come to his senses, gather his strength, and travel the distance between the manor and Justice Hall without exposing himself to residual sunlight.
Despite the predicted reaction, Bela was not upset by finding out that someone had broken into justice hall. He was intrigued. He wanted to find out who did it, how, and why.
Gachety and porter were both reliable. There was no need for concern or anger just yet. Only caution.
"It will be some time before he arrives," said porter to. "I have informed him that you have assisted me in rectifying the situation and he has expressed faith in your competence, however he requests that you wait."
You corporeal beings are so touchy.