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Child of the 7th Age · 10-07-2003, 01:40 PM

Pio's post - Dryea escapes

The two guards who had charge of Dryea were hard put to control her. She was still fighting them as they dragged her down the steps to the locks and threw her into one of the tiny single cells. The door slammed shut as they exited, the only light left to her a small slit in the rock wall a good foot above her head. The door had a small barred window in it, but the thick wooden covering had been slid over it and secured in place. They were tired of her screams; the thick oak door would muffle them.

‘You keep an eye on that one,’ the taller of the two said to Gaeran, who had drawn the duty of warden for the black this day. ‘She’s a tricky one, she is. Don’t let her wheedle you into anything!’

Gaeran nodded, his face a mask of businesslike impassivity. He had nearly gasped when he saw her dragged in through the door, but schooled his breathing quickly to some semblance of normalcy.

He had been one of her earliest contacts in the citadel, useful until he had been transferred to duty in the Locks. Still, he was not resentful. Pro-Umbar, he had served his purpose while he could, then stepped aside when she said she would no longer need him.

He opened the book on his desk and wrote her name and cell number in it. ‘Has she any effects I shall need to see to,’ he asked them. They laughed, saying that they had snatched her from a party, and any “effects” she had had been left behind. Gaeran smiled a half smile at their joke, then bent his head to his papers and busied himself with them until the two left.

It grew quiet once again as their footsteps faded on the stairwell. Their were only two on duty in the watch room that day – him, and Old Forlong who sat on a stone seat near the far pillar, propped against it, snoring loudly. From his place at the watch desk, Gaeran glanced toward the cell that held her. Tapping the end of his pen against his teeth, he sat there, thinking hard, perhaps there was one last thing he could do.

His thoughts were interrupted by voices on the landing just outside the door. Another guard stepped in. ‘Someone bringing some necessaries for the lady just brought in, Sir.’

Gaeran dismissed the young guard, back to his post at the foot of the stairs, and beckoned the young woman over. ‘Sir,’ she began, holding up the small basket she had brought – she had hidden the clothes and weapons in some bushes nearby before entering the citadel. He cut off the rest of her words, and leaned in close to her speaking softly.

‘I know you, Mari,’ he said taking his helmet off and setting it on the table. ‘We have met before.’

There followed a hurried conversation between them as Gaeran led her to the cell that held her mistress. He unlocked it, and they both entered, he following her in . . .

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

10-07-2003, 01:40 PM	#245
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,133	Pio's post - Dryea escapes The two guards who had charge of Dryea were hard put to control her. She was still fighting them as they dragged her down the steps to the locks and threw her into one of the tiny single cells. The door slammed shut as they exited, the only light left to her a small slit in the rock wall a good foot above her head. The door had a small barred window in it, but the thick wooden covering had been slid over it and secured in place. They were tired of her screams; the thick oak door would muffle them. ‘You keep an eye on that one,’ the taller of the two said to Gaeran, who had drawn the duty of warden for the black this day. ‘She’s a tricky one, she is. Don’t let her wheedle you into anything!’ Gaeran nodded, his face a mask of businesslike impassivity. He had nearly gasped when he saw her dragged in through the door, but schooled his breathing quickly to some semblance of normalcy. He had been one of her earliest contacts in the citadel, useful until he had been transferred to duty in the Locks. Still, he was not resentful. Pro-Umbar, he had served his purpose while he could, then stepped aside when she said she would no longer need him. He opened the book on his desk and wrote her name and cell number in it. ‘Has she any effects I shall need to see to,’ he asked them. They laughed, saying that they had snatched her from a party, and any “effects” she had had been left behind. Gaeran smiled a half smile at their joke, then bent his head to his papers and busied himself with them until the two left. It grew quiet once again as their footsteps faded on the stairwell. Their were only two on duty in the watch room that day – him, and Old Forlong who sat on a stone seat near the far pillar, propped against it, snoring loudly. From his place at the watch desk, Gaeran glanced toward the cell that held her. Tapping the end of his pen against his teeth, he sat there, thinking hard, perhaps there was one last thing he could do. His thoughts were interrupted by voices on the landing just outside the door. Another guard stepped in. ‘Someone bringing some necessaries for the lady just brought in, Sir.’ Gaeran dismissed the young guard, back to his post at the foot of the stairs, and beckoned the young woman over. ‘Sir,’ she began, holding up the small basket she had brought – she had hidden the clothes and weapons in some bushes nearby before entering the citadel. He cut off the rest of her words, and leaned in close to her speaking softly. ‘I know you, Mari,’ he said taking his helmet off and setting it on the table. ‘We have met before.’ There followed a hurried conversation between them as Gaeran led her to the cell that held her mistress. He unlocked it, and they both entered, he following her in . . . [ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ Multitasking women are never too busy to vote.