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Where is Your Patron Goddess? |
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A short story I wrote about one of my rpcs. Anyone who has ever been in an rp where I've used her should be able to pick out who it is quite easily.
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Waking slowly, she lay stiff on a straw mat that made little effort to providing a comfier sleeping experience on the cool stone floor. Her eyelids, heavy from the exhaustion of a restless night, drew back to reveal silver eyes that reflected a steel grey in the dim lighting of the room. They closed almost immediately after opening as she let out a small groan. Despite the dimness of the light, it was more than she could handle after being in the darkness so long. They had transferred her to this room, a room with an actual window, the previous night.
Before that, she had been kept in a cell underground, listening to the tormented screams of other prisoners. She did not have to wait down there long, since her execution was to come sooner, rather than later. They merely kept her down there to hear the last voices of her people, the people she may have considered comrades at one point or other in this war they had been waging for almost two years now. After giving her that gift, she supposed they decided to give her one last supposedly peaceful night.
She remained motionless on the floor for a long time, staring at the lines of light that crossed the ceiling of her prison cell from the rusty barred windows. Her mind was slowly becoming more active. She could feel the cold floor beneath the mat; smell the stale air in the room. The lighting entering the room was a soft light, meaning that the sun was rising. Today was the day she had been waiting for eagerly ever since she was placed in this rotten hellhole.
Sitting up, she groaned softly. Only fourteen years of age and she already felt like she was an old woman. She chuckled softly to herself. She supposed she wouldn’t be allowed to live that long, so this would be the closest thing to it. Every bone in her body ached. She had been in many harsh fights despite her short life. Behind every scar was another conflict the sword-for-hire had tangled her self up in just to get by in life.
Perhaps that was why she found herself in such a distasteful position as she sat trying to fit one of her narrow, slender fingers underneath the metal collar around her throat to give herself some comfort from the irritating chafing. The collar itself as a nuisance in ways other than her skin being rubbed raw; it was extra insurance that she would not be allowed to leave this place alive. The collar would ensure she was strangled to death before then, what with the only way for it to come off was if the same person who placed it on her removed it. Rising to her feet, the young woman withdrew her hand from her throat, making her way towards the window to have one last look at the morning sunlight.
The sky was the only thing beautiful that she could see out her window. It was a clear, golden sky as the sun rose. Everything beyond was barren wasteland. Once, there was supposed to have been a beautiful forest, but it was gone now. The lake that surrounded this castle was now a bed of toxic sludge and the land was dry and scarred.
She pressed her brow against the bars of her cell and closed her eyes. So this was to be her fate. She’d hardly suspected her life to end like this. Her eyes opened when she head the sound of the ill-fitting, heavy iron door scrape across the floor.
The soldier on the other side, garbed from head to toe in heavy plated armor. From behind the mask he wore, even his voice sounded metallic, mechanized as he crossed the room and placed a hand firmly on her shoulder. “Time to go.” She withdrew herself from the window silently, allowing the man to escort her out of her prison cell.
Their footsteps, hers drowned out by his, were the only sound that echoed throughout the corridors as they made their way down the stone passages. The girl was allowed to walk freely, since if she tried to run, the collar around her neck would tighten and force her to collapse on the ground, fighting for her breath. Walking, she wondered which would be worse: to have your head sliced off, or to choke to death. She supposed having your head cut off would be more painless, but supposedly the head could live up to fifteen minutes after being separated from the body. Weather it was true or not she was about to find out.
Before being led out into the center of the castle courtyard, she was stopped to have her long braid cut, exposing her neck. The next thing she would feel would be the blade of an axe. She was then led through the doors and into the courtyard.
Her eyes glanced around at the many faces gathered around to watch the spectacle. Some were friends, others were rivals, and then there were faces of those who simply wanted to see blood shed. She kept her head held high as she made her way to the chopping block. Sitting comfortably with the best seat to watch her die, she looked up with stingingly cold eyes at the smug faces of the lord and lady of the castle.
The scribe was reading out the charges against her as she dropped to her knees before the block, her face stony, continuing to look up at the lord and lady. They disgusted her. Adorned in fineries that were stolen from the people of this land. Not only did they steal physical treasures but gifts of magic and skill. When the scribe had finished speaking, the lord spoke. “Any last words?”
The lady fanned herself, snapping the luxury item shut sharply as she asked, “Where is your patron goddess, the Moon, now?” The girl said nothing, not bothering to entertain them with answers they would merely mock. Taking her silence as an answer, the noblewoman called to the executioner, “Proceed.”
The girl closed her eyes as she laid her neck across the chopping block, facing down towards the basket that waited to collect her severed head. Already she could see the maiden of Death waiting for her to take her to the realm of the dead. She could hear the executioner grunt as he raised the heavy axe and waited to feel it come down on her neck.
 Hedera Helix · Mon Jul 26, 2010 @ 09:06pm · 0 Comments |
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