Samstag, 25. April 2015

Bending the Unbreakable, Pt. 5

Over time, the Ailill had opened the city of Tetharion for a wide range of species other than their own, and even humans were once more allowed to live and work there. The Fae still held an iron grip on those alien beings, keeping them away from military, politics and any other highly respected posts, but there was enough menial work to go around and enough mortal and immortal immigrants to fill the center square with the thunder of chattering voices. 

Samstag, 18. April 2015

Bending the Unbreakable, Pt. 4

The public whipping didn’t start right away, as such occasions were always used to organize a fair for the townsfolk and have as much people as possible watch the punishment of a lesser being. The delinquent human was put into one of the many cells in the dungeon, chained to a wall and left there, unable to lower his arms or raise his head. It wasn’t so much a cruel whim the guards followed, but a protocol made necessary by the human’s own actions in the past. Niro had broken free from his shackles on many occasions, and no amount of preliminary searching had ever stopped him from escaping. The only way to keep him where he was supposed to be was a measure of discomfort other species would have called torture. 

Samstag, 11. April 2015

Bending the Unbreakable, Pt. 3

- Fifteen years later -

“Ten Ailill soldiers dead, thirty horses lost, and you damaged the Duke’s statue!”
Niro was kneeling in a most awkward posture. His shins were crossed, his thighs bent just enough to have his leather clad behind hover above the heels of his soft, black leather boots, his arms hung down easily. Tension sang through the muscles of his legs, screaming with pain the unnatural position put onto them. He could have simply sat down onto his heels, but it would only have increased the punishment he was already getting. Kneeling like that wasn’t meant to be comfortable, it was meant to hurt, and it worked.

Samstag, 4. April 2015

Bending the Unbreakable, Pt. 2

Niro knelt on the granite floor, shackled to an over-sized ring bolted into it. He didn’t know how much time had passed since the moment he had passed out on the street, and the few moments he had been conscious on the way to the reeve’s house were a confused blur of pain, heat, thirst and roiling street views. Only when his captor— that Fae wench— had dropped him onto the floor and chained his shackles to that ring, his mind had started working again.