Post #2074959 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

The Gallows represented everything Sparrow hated about Kirkwall, bundled up in a sordid assemblage of stone walls, chains, faceless monsters and the act of stripping your freedom away, forcefully, mercilessly. The hunchbacked statues, slaves heaving themselves forward against their bindings, remained vigilant at the Gallow's entrance. Clearly illustrating what occurred in time's past. Even still, it smelt of despair, clinging to your clothes if you wondered too close. There was an oppressiveness of the very architecture. With it's stone buildings pressed inwards like domineering, nameless Templars bending over you, plucking the hemline of your skirts and pulling at your collar as you passed. Promising that soon they'll strip away everything you've ever come to love. Those buildings, in particular, were symbols of despondency. She did know know if she cared whether or not a Templar was missing – better yet for the untested apostates if there was one more whoreson missing.

There was nothing beautiful in the Gallows. No ghostly smiles or birds fluttering from the underbelly of canopies, wings stretched wide to hide slivers of the sun. No magnolias or climbing cartels of ivy or yellow daisies. If you were looking for certainty and something to lift your heart, then you'd turn back and walk far, far away. It's tepid air often felt like a noose strung around your neck, pulling it backwards like a tethered horse. The magic hung as thick as cream, leeching all comforts. Everything was sharp and unfriendly. How could they say that they protected the inhabitants of Kirkwall? They didn't. The lot of them were worse than rabid dogs, worse yet, then Darkspawn. How could anyone feel safe? It cataloged darkness. If she could, Sparrow would've pissed on the gates long ago. She glanced in Rilien's direction, noting the slight change in demeanour. Hardly noticeable to anyone who didn't share the same household. It was gone, quick as a flash of sunlight before it buried it's head in the clouds. Sometimes, she wondered whether or not she imagined these things.

The Gallows. Rilien had never been partial to the location. He understood the intimidation factor involved of course, the statues of prone and suffering souls to be seen upon approach to it. The themes only seemed to continue inside, more bronze and stone and spiked iron trellises. It was an open, partially outdoors, completely spartan prison. He'd used to think that he'd do anything whatsoever to be free of the Orlesian Circle, but considering the circumstances under which his... liberty had been returned to him under, it was hard to tell if that was the case any longer. The magic here was contained, but palpable: he could very nearly taste it on the air, electrifying the atmosphere like the salt-sea before a thunderous monsoon.

It made him... feel. Not much, and not often, but just a little more than usual. His impassive expression tightened slightly, a flash of what might have been wistfulness or nostalgia flickering like a candle-shadow in the dim light of Darktown. But then it was gone, ephemeral as a child's passing fancy to some ill-made trinket, and it was as if nothing had occurred at all.

Wisdom dictated that a young Templar would be friends with young Templars, and though he knew nothing of Wilmod or Hugh, he supposed anyone he spoke to would point them in the appropriate direction. Moving decisively, he swept through the courtyard and made eye contact with a group of three recruits who appeared to be speaking in hushed whispers. "Sers and madame," he greeted with a bob of his head, the slightest hint to the far more extravagant manners that had once been his trade, "I seek the young Templar Keran. His sister bade me locate him. Might you know of his location?"

The madame Rilien greeted crossed her arms upon being spoken to. "We cannot speak to you, messer," she said, narrowing her eyes at the elf. The man next to her, however, was not nearly so strict. "To the Void with that! Keran and the others are missing." The third, a shorter man, seemed almost physically hurt by the other recruit so blatantly disregarding their apparent agreement of silence. "But our orders, Hugh!" he hissed. The middle Templar, Hugh, seemed undeterred. "The Knights aren't doing anything to find them. Maybe it's time to ask for outside help."

Ashton had been picking his teeth with his arrow once again. That blasted morsel still hadn't budged from the gaps between his teeth. He followed behind Rilien, still holding the neck of his bottle as he swept through the courtyard and before long they found their intended targets. Or target. They had found Hugh, but he wasn't completely sure Wilmod was there as well. Ashton shrugged and stopped picking his teeth with the arrow, and instead began to spin it between his fingers. He glanced between Sparrow and Ashton then said, "Looks like this is going to be a bit more difficult than a simple lost and found deal. Meh, it's not like it's unexpected, things can never be simple. Though I suppose that's half the fun..." Ashton trailed off, realizing now was not the time for his brand of philosphy.

Instead, he opted for a bit more helpful approach. "Orders huh? While I don't know about the orders of you Templar types, I do know how to find things," he was a hunter after all, this was just a different type of hunting, "If the knights aren't doing anything for your Keran, then we are your best bet. Instead of asking us for help, why not skip that and tell us what you know now? The longer we wait, the loster Keran gets. So chop, chop," Ashton said snapping his fingers. The mouth of the bottle found it's way to his lips before the arrow did this time. Perhaps some liquid would help dislodge the annoying morsel...

Ashton, most likely, was right. This would not be as easy as Sparrow had thought. Hugh had been entirely unhelpful. Her shoulders dropped exaggeratedly, before she flicked Ashton's swaying bottle. It pinged solidly, sloshing it's contents. “Hopefully, we find the bludger far, far away from the Gallows. Might be he's just passed out on a heap of apostates.”

The shorter Templar next to Hugh stroked his mustache for a moment, his eyes shifting about suspiciously, looking for perhaps any high ranking Templar that would overhear him. "I hear that Knight-Commander Meredith has some new initiation that recruits have to go through. And if you're not strong enough, or fervent enough in belief, you don't make it out alive." At this, the female Templar rolled her eyes and sighed. "And you honestly believe that?" she asked. Hugh shrugged. "Recruits do keep going missing. The Knights aren't saying anything about it."

"Wilmod came back," she responded, as if to prove that there was nothing wrong. Hugh obviously had been unaware of this. "What?" She nodded at him. "He did. I saw him this morning. You see?
No crazy rituals or initiations. Keran will show up soon, too."

"Then perhaps we should speak to Wilmod," Rilien broke in. Their argument, while interesting, wasn't really getting himself and his two companions anywhere. Rumors without substantiation or specfics were like more powerful versions of fairy stories: gripping, useful for manipulation, but otherwise entirely pointless, especially when one was concerned with actually obtaining concrete results. "Do you know where he might be found?"

"Wilmod told me he was headed out of the city for a bit, to clear his head, he said," the female Templar explained. Hugh jumped in. "Why didn't you tell us any of this?" Now it was her turn to glance around and ensure no one would overhear her. "Knight-Captain Cullen ordered me to stay quiet, right before he went and chased after him." She turned to the group offering their aid in finding him. "That wasn't too long ago. If you leave quickly, and hurry, you might catch the Knight-Captain before he catches up with Wilmod. He took the main east road out of the city, the one that passes by the Bone Pit. Just... if you see the Knight-Captain, please don't tell him who sent you, okay?"

Instead of puffing like a forlorn fish, Sparrow's outer conduct reflected a swashbuckling lad who hadn't a care in the world. Certainly, she didn't appear bothered that she was going to be traipsing in the Gallows, surrounded by slobbering Templars with their troublesome ilk. As long as they kept their hands to themselves, kept their flapping tongues where they belonged, then she wouldn't be necessitated to forcefully remove it. She'd enjoy that, really. She followed Rilien, alongside Ashton, and took the chance to look around. Nothing had changed. She doubted that anything really did in the Gallows. Perhaps, that's what made it so foreboding, so obnoxiously alarming. It's immutable status, unchanged with time. The thumping instrument in her chest mocked her, irregularly thrusting against her ribcage. She'd have to bathe after this. Or get bloody well too drunk to walk properly. They approached a small group of recruits – or well, she wouldn't have known what they were either way, but supposing they were dawdling in the Gallows, that's all they could really be. Whispering like children from what she could see. Her mouth twisted, sourly. Rilien was far too polite.

“Why the bloody well not?” Sparrow suddenly hissed, stepping forward to prod her in the shoulder with her fingertips. It was to her advantage that she was taller. More likely than not, the Templar-woman would be astutely offended that an Elvish man had touched her so. She did not care. Her short-lived annoyance flapped away like a discarded token when the second Templar spoke up, and she promptly ignored the woman's undignified expression. At least, Sparrow knew when to stop harassing someone – at least, long enough to extract information. Ashton approached with a more aristocratic method, stroking their sense of helplessness. They hadn't found Keran by themselves, so it'd be best to rely on someone else. Preferably someone who was actually willing to tarry out of the Gallows and get their hands dirty, if need be. It seemed like this wasn't the first instance of a missing Templar without the aid of the Knights: useless as tits. Ashton's logic was sound. If they twiddled their thumbs any longer, then their dear Keran might get even more lost, or even closer to dying by some Templar-hating individual. Surely, there were many runaway apostates or sympathizers who'd want one dead. She chuckled when Ashton drew the bottle to his lips, balancing the arrow between his fingers.

Templar's going through a shifty sort of initiation? It sounded sorely like the trials untested mages had to endure: the Harrowing. It was either the Harrowing, death, or Tranquillity. She nearly laughed. She didn't like Knight-Commander Meredith, but she could've commended her for applying such a justified, if not ironic, tribulation for the Templar's to go through. Her empathy could've danced a jig in front of these apprehensive recruits, because she dearly hoped, for a moment, that they didn't solve this little ditty. That they'd remain huddled in the Gallows with all their fears and their bewilderment and the small feeling of anticipation that one day Meredith would evaluate them. But, gold was gold. “That sounds dreadful.” She emphasized, nodding her head like a clucking hen. She nearly flicked the shorter man in the nose when they started arguing amongst themselves, clearly at odds with what was actually happening. Then, the woman spoke up. She'd seen Wilmod. How hadn't Hugh heard of that? She was beginning to think that the ever-so organized group were like scattered children grabbing at straws, festering conclusions when fearful. Like always, Rilien cut through their nonsense and Sparrow smiled, eyes flickering.

“Enough chit-chat, then. Let's go find Cullen and... whatever his name is, Keran. We won't dirty your little secret, miss. Not unless you prove to be naughty later on.” She pursed her lips, then blinked. “To the main road!”

Snippet #2074959

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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