"Cry 'Havoc!', and let slip the dogs of war!” Humaira Reinard – 15 November, 308 AC Spoiler: AMBIANCE The walls were the same thick grey stone as the dwellings of the region, but instead of the pure white snow that signalled a ‘joyful’ Wintertide incoming, there were mean barred openings with thick metal bars, no glass to show freedom to the outside. How expected of a prison. In the frigid cold that had already made its descent into Regalia’s season, it let in a wicked draft and reduced the temperature to near freezing. It was no brighter inside than the gathering gloam of dusk, even at midday. The beddings were planks of wood on legs, there were no mattresses, no cushioning and only one thin blanket on each bedding. It was either suffocating-ly quiet or piercing with the screams of tortured inmates in the coercion chambers located further in. The common cells consisted of a strange party; gathered from walks of nobility to the squalor of common Man – Humaira, Yvette, Sebastein of the Reinard House and Bera of Goretaan was in one cell. In the other cell was a foundling by name of Va'la Tahlruil, Great Oak Knight Markus Haagenvig and similarly another Url, Einherjar. In the prior events that transpired to their lockdown and containment, they, or at least most of them, had banded together to burn down the Crookback Bay. All had their personal vendettas, and all had their own resolve to follow through with the plan. In the end, it had worked – perhaps a bit too well. The roaring infernos consumed not just the bay but even going as far as to encapsulate the surrounding houses in the Undercity in its murderous caress. And yet with their efforts that caused destruction in its wake, an act that tantamounted to a principle of ‘eye for eye, and tooth for tooth’, they all felt justified. These were a series of feelings that turmoiled on for long now, numerous attacks against the surface that occurred over a stretch of weeks, months – it wouldn’t even be an exaggeration to say years. That day, as it is aptly now known as the ‘Night of Twin Fires’, was simply the tipping point that sparked spontaneous anarchy across Regalia and the Undercity. “There is no honour in protecting criminals; I will co-operate with my honour.” Needless to say, the words uttered by the Desert Rose Paladin showed a certain contempt for the guard – she absolutely did not believe in the Violet Order’s cooperation with the Crookback Council. To her, that was working with the very scum that had trampled on all that she had worked for. If not to protect the numerous establishments and people inhabiting them, where had her efforts gone towards in Regalia? Were the works by the chivalrous bastions of the Lion Pelts completely disregarded? In favour of diplomacy under the guise of ‘civility’? This diplomacy would only lead to more arrogance from the Undercity, she thought. It would be such that those in the cesspit would continue their pillaging and ravaging, and she was not one to keep quiet and let it happen. However, within these four walls, she was plagued with an instinct to protect her family as a priority, Sebastein and Yvette. "Ridiculous." Yvette, for a better word, was utterly confused. She had absolutely no involvement in the arsons but was simply brought in as collateral on the basis that she was part of the Reinards. However, in eventuality, feelings of befuddlement became twisted into obloquy and disdain as she learnt more and more of the situation that led to these arrests. Such emotions were directed to the guards as she possessed this newfound knowledge, and they only continued to fester within her stay in the prison. Only time will yield on whether she acts upon them, or remain low as she was herded along with the mob mentality of the prisoners here. "Despite the victories of the Dread War, Kathar and Void influence have a hold upon this city's authority." Much like his sister, he had no involvement in the arsons, it being at a time that was unsuitable for the man to get out. They were brought in and neglected for hours, put in poor conditions all for no reason – even taking hours at a time before they were updated on what was to happen to them. However, in the time spent mulling about in the cells, Sebastein had a shift in mentality: to strike first before they were struck. They had a heightened disdain for vampires, Kathar and any form of Void worship. Additionally, it came to no surprise that there was great derision for the guards of this city, who despite being squashed by the fires as some of them live in Petalcourt, continue to serve the very thing in support of the burnings of ordinary citizens but not criminals. He felt ashamed for them that they were willingly allowing themselves to be trampled over. "– You harm him, I'll do the same." In consternation and distress, Bera had come rushing into Greygate, still clad in Arcanum armour. The gaunt outlook spoke of the gravitas of the situation: what she felt for the detainees as a grim expression manifested itself upon seeing Einherjar in one of the cells. She felt utter disgust – her kin having only defended a home they had, a home that could have been potentially torched even further and razed to the ground, and yet, they were treated this way? Had playing by the laws made people forget and forgo the sorrow felt by losses, and the drive-for-instinct to protect something? She willingly marched herself into a cell, not before socking the Lord Commander, Bel-Gyarbrin Tibaerthus, rightfully in his face. Also, promptly firing herself from the guards in the process, decommissioned. Stalwart in her decision, the Url decided she would go through with the punishment in spite of having never participated in the burnings, much to Einherjar’s dismay as one would come to find out later. "I used to stand in the belief the guard was what was best for the city, served the Arcanum through crisis... And look at them now." Va’la leaned against the cool metal bars that encased her and her fellow inmates, or were they, in fact, terrorists? Was that the title granted for fighting back rather than standing idle with one’s thumb between their lips? Such questions made their way back and forth through the Northern Tainted Maraya’s head. The result of which? A lingering, boiling, quiet rage that squirmed and strained vehemently. Her violet gaze met the burning embers of the Url that resided beside her – she sensed it in him too. The utter fury. Next, her peripherals shifted outside the aged cobble cell unto the indifferent guardsmen that stood as their captors. Had she really been one of them once? A sheep, willing to follow orders without a second guess. It felt like a lifetime in passing, an antique of a distant memory. But no, that wasn’t her anymore. “I refuse to go and suffer the malicious intent of Crookback. I would rather die than be tortured by Kathar!” These were the harrowing cries of the Great Oak Knight, and this sentiment was shared among many other things. Stupefaction, frustration, duty. These were at the forefront of Markus’ mind – for what was he arrested for, if not ridding the city of the scourge that had plagued Regalia only a year ago, with the Dread Empire’s advent in the archipelago? The man had only turned himself in solely because of honour-bound duty to the Knightly Order and his beliefs in the betterment for the Regalian Empire. Perhaps, his due questions would be cast aside to fester as well, or come be answered in the upcoming Diet. For now, he remained in the cells to ponder away. "-- Only I was involved as Goretaan, do not detain my child!” Einherjar’s digits shuddered, twitching as his sedated ire flared up. The sound of gnaws and crunching could be heard within the recesses of the cell he inhabited, flesh morphing and transforming beyond what was normal of Url; as thunderous hooves clamoured, the harsh whiplash of oxen tail slammed into the bars as he bulked into a monstrosity. His uproarious bellows of claim went unheard, as he saw Bera being shuffled into a cell in spite of his desperate plea. He had compromised family – or the closest people he could only call kin amidst this wretched city, he thought. It was clear as daylight that he was no longer of sound mind and the only thing that kept his patience was already thinning out – the course of one year in this city had made him realise that all, all these ‘Teelings’, were not trustworthy, and this bolstered the thinning. It was these bars that kept Einherjar from running to the cell where his child was located, the murderous grip holding the wrought steel such that his knuckles paled; the growing conflagration of his wrath coming to a breaking point. As hot steam escaped from pendulous lips that parted his increasingly haggard breaths, he sought to abandon all honour in the next few moments. He would become the owner of his own actions, and the heir to such actions; to bear its consequences. All this was in a petty attempt to stave his child away from being sent to the land down under, to spare her from her such a fate. His figure crumpled, but not in despair at the ill-fated situation. There were no such things as material prisons anymore, only prisons of the mind to tie him down – and he was going to shatter the very things that restrained him. Vexatious fists shocked and impacted the very stone he stood on, the quaking of earth felt in full by Markus and Va’la as they sought to back off from the Url’s maddening descent into ferality. Muscles tore, bones broke ruinously and reformed as it sounded as if the Url was being butchered – the howls of pain being the prices of exchange for immense strength. A deal with the devil had been made, to put it aptly, as he became the visage of abhorrence – the very thing all Url did not aspire to be. A quadrupled beast of war, one that reared its calamitous hooves with an equestrian feel, the towering bulk of its arms had left a crater in its wake where the monstrosity had transformed. Therein came a frenetic tumult from the guards that stood outside – they were all too unsure whether such a being could destroy the mortar and stone that had held countless prisoners before. Guard and prisoner alike, everyone held bated breaths until the fateful moment. Massive, maleficent horns swayed and careened straight into the metal. And at that, the warbeast had violently agitated the confines, completely barging through the walls with a sudden gulf of white debris coating its body. The wail of metal shrieked as the cell bars gave away, snapping like twigs as the Url now emerged on the other side of the cell. Ineffable panic was strewn about Greygate but for the prisoners, it showed a hope, even if temporary. It had paved them a way, the riotous stampede stirring the chained ones into action and defiance. They were not going to be deterred in their beliefs simply because the law told them to. After all, The Chains Do Not Hold.
