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The most intimidating looking of the guards allowed everyone to back away, their unskilled attacks having beaten but not finished the prisoner. As the bruised captive sat there on his knees, eyes to the grounds and breathing heavily, the tall prison guard stepped forward. A large staff in hand, he arced it upwards for a second, striking the man with such an incredible blow to the thigh that it sent the prisoner into spasms, his eyes going closed as he fell face forward, falling in shock at the crushing of his femoral artery. The guard knew the blow, in conjunction with the rest of the beatings, would have the prisoner out for a day or two. The imposing figure turned, staff still his hand, as he pointed out two guards and then pointed to the body. "Get that out of here."
He walked outside of the cell and into the main hallway, passing into the pale light of torches that lined the central prisoner hallway, grimacing at the sound of hooting and hollering that the rest of the uncouth mob emitted as they leapt about, bragging of their beating.
"Way to do it!" called one, slapping the tall man on the shoulder.
"You got 'em there Kain!" said another, a fat one, the clapping of his hands causing his oversized belly to shake, the light exposing the grease and sweat that trickled down to the line of his trousers. "What a hit I tell's ya!"
The guard shook his head. None of them could see his disgust, and he was better for it. His face was covered in a black tiara, a transparent facial mask that allowed him to see everyone around him but kept his own visage hidden. A hood sat atop his head and ran downward into the tuck of his cowl, his body wrapped in brown cloth, his feet and hands covered in gloves and boots that were secured to his body by ropes. He remained silent, simply walking among the ruffians as they passed under the pale lights, the torches dancing upon the walls and casting an array of shadows on the floor that appeared as living wraiths stretching upon the stone ground and up to the ceiling. Far above, thin slits in the stone ceiling exposed the sky, and streaks of pale blue moonlight crisscrossed the prison floor.
Their hollering and hooting went on too long, and the man they referred to as Kain could no longer deal with it. "The entire whole of you are rank amateurs," he said with a growl in his voice that could be heard to end of the prison. "Blink and you die, but that's the lesson you just learned, now isn't it? The problem is that the lot of you have never understood what it means to stand on the brink of your deaths, face the abyss and then have to claw your way out." He stopped a moment, turning back in the direction of Revan's cell and thrusting his staff towards it. "Well one of you has now. And he was found lacking. No disrespect to any of you, but the truth is, with the way you conduct yourselves, I'm surprised you all haven't found ways to get killed working in this place. This is a prison, and we have some fairly violent occupants here. Or have you forgotten?"
They groused as a whole, but did not argue. They wanted to ride the thrill of having beaten a prisoner, but had lost a comrade to that same prisoner. There was no honor in it. As they reached the end of the hallway, Kain took hold of the keys at his waist, sliding them into the lock of the heavy iron door. A loud click could be heard, the door swinging open and exposing the guard room inside. Just beyond the stretch of the main prison was the small area where the lot of ruffians the empire deemed 'guards' could sit and enjoy their downtime. A few tables occupied the center and a chimney fireplace on the left side burned, a hot cauldron sitting above it, a thick and viscous gruel bubbling away. The scent of it offended his nostrils, as he was not from here and his tastes in food were from a different land. Still, it was edible, in the strictest of senses, and he was forced to admit it was either this to eat or nothing.
He took a look at the meal and shook his head once more. Nothing. He'd eat when he got home. His left arm stretched outwards to the heavy iron door, sending it to a close with a resounding boom whose echo carried out into the night air. The ring of it carried in their bones and shook their hearts, but Kain paid it no mind, his eyes instead searching out the area. The men here were half dressed or worse, some of them rife with muscle but many instead looking rather... underwhelming. The overweight ones he understood the least. How could one work in such a dangerous environment as this and not at least attempt to improve their condition? What if a full out prion break occurred? How would such men endure?
"Amateurs," he mumbled, stepping through the group huddled about, many of them playing games of cards at their tables, his feet carrying him without sound along the stone floor as he approached the doorway at the opposite end. His men fell behind him a moment but he turned, hand upraised, and they cowered at it. "I just need a breather," he told them, and they nodded in their cowardice, the masked figure turning back to the more simple wooden door that opened into the rest of the complex. These men would be the death of themselves at some point. Regardless of his disdain for their tactics, at some level he was protective of them. Yet so many were from the margins of society, hired for their lack of morals and willingness to beat a prisoner to an inch of his life. He wasn't sure his patriarchal instinct was well deserved.
]The most intimidating looking of the guards allowed everyone to back away, their unskilled attacks having beaten but not finished the prisoner. As the bruised captive sat there on his knees, eyes to the grounds and breathing heavily, the tall prison guard stepped forward. A large staff in hand, he arced it upwards for a second, striking the man with such an incredible blow to the thigh that it sent the prisoner into spasms, his eyes going closed as he fell face forward, falling in shock at the crushing of his femoral artery. The guard knew the blow, in conjunction with the rest of the beatings, would have the prisoner out for a day or two. The imposing figure turned, staff still his hand, as he pointed out two guards and then pointed to the body. "Get that out of here."
He walked outside of the cell and into the main hallway, passing into the pale light of torches that lined the central prisoner hallway, grimacing at the sound of hooting and hollering that the rest of the uncouth mob emitted as they leapt about, bragging of their beating.
"Way to do it!" called one, slapping the tall man on the shoulder.
"You got 'em there Kain!" said another, a fat one, the clapping of his hands causing his oversized belly to shake, the light exposing the grease and sweat that trickled down to the line of his trousers. "What a hit I tell's ya!"
The guard shook his head. None of them could see his disgust, and he was better for it. His face was covered in a black tiara, a transparent facial mask that allowed him to see everyone around him but kept his own visage hidden. A hood sat atop his head and ran downward into the tuck of his cowl, his body wrapped in brown cloth, his feet and hands covered in gloves and boots that were secured to his body by ropes. He remained silent, simply walking among the ruffians as they passed under the pale lights, the torches dancing upon the walls and casting an array of shadows on the floor that appeared as living wraiths stretching upon the stone ground and up to the ceiling. Far above, thin slits in the stone ceiling exposed the sky, and streaks of pale blue moonlight crisscrossed the prison floor.
Their hollering and hooting went on too long, and the man they referred to as Kain could no longer deal with it. "The entire whole of you are rank amateurs," he said with a growl in his voice that could be heard to end of the prison. "Blink and you die, but that's the lesson you just learned, now isn't it? The problem is that the lot of you have never understood what it means to stand on the brink of your deaths, face the abyss and then have to claw your way out." He stopped a moment, turning back in the direction of Revan's cell and thrusting his staff towards it. "Well one of you has now. And he was found lacking. No disrespect to any of you, but the truth is, with the way you conduct yourselves, I'm surprised you all haven't found ways to get killed working in this place. This is a prison, and we have some fairly violent occupants here. Or have you forgotten?"
They groused as a whole, but did not argue. They wanted to ride the thrill of having beaten a prisoner, but had lost a comrade to that same prisoner. There was no honor in it. As they reached the end of the hallway, Kain took hold of the keys at his waist, sliding them into the lock of the heavy iron door. A loud click could be heard, the door swinging open and exposing the guard room inside. Just beyond the stretch of the main prison was the small area where the lot of ruffians the empire deemed 'guards' could sit and enjoy their downtime. A few tables occupied the center and a chimney fireplace on the left side burned, a hot cauldron sitting above it, a thick and viscous gruel bubbling away. The scent of it offended his nostrils, as he was not from here and his tastes in food were from a different land. Still, it was edible, in the strictest of senses, and he was forced to admit it was either this to eat or nothing.
He took a look at the meal and shook his head once more. Nothing. He'd eat when he got home. His left arm stretched outwards to the heavy iron door, sending it to a close with a resounding boom whose echo carried out into the night air. The ring of it carried in their bones and shook their hearts, but Kain paid it no mind, his eyes instead searching out the area. The men here were half dressed or worse, some of them rife with muscle but many instead looking rather... underwhelming. The overweight ones he understood the least. How could one work in such a dangerous environment as this and not at least attempt to improve their condition? What if a full out prion break occurred? How would such men endure?
"Amateurs," he mumbled, stepping through the group huddled about, many of them playing games of cards at their tables, his feet carrying him without sound along the stone floor as he approached the doorway at the opposite end. His men fell behind him a moment but he turned, hand upraised, and they cowered at it. "I just need a breather," he told them, and they nodded in their cowardice, the masked figure turning back to the more simple wooden door that opened into the rest of the complex. These men would be the death of themselves at some point. Regardless of his disdain for their tactics, at some level he was protective of them. Yet so many were from the margins of society, hired for their lack of morals and willingness to beat a prisoner to an inch of his life. He wasn't sure his patriarchal instinct was well deserved.
![[Image: Mog%20House%20Final.jpg]](http://usera.ImageCave.com/DaishiGajo/Mog%20House%20Final.jpg)