Thal was moved very quickly from the road back to the lair of the brothers. The spell didn't last long, so they were in quite a hurry. They crossed the tunnels and the wooden bridge into the 'kingdom'. They avoided bickering at each other all the way, but only barely. They walked some more and finally reached their destination.
When Thal woke up, he found his back resting against the stone wall. The room stank of humidity, and one of the walls even had signs of water slowly leaking from it towards a crack on the ground.
There were chains and cuffs attached to each wall, of various lengths and widths. He was chained to the wall behind him by the wrists and waist, his chains being long enough to let him walk in comfortable small circles.
A single torch hung from the opposite wall, where the entrance to his prison was. Next to it was the red robed Qion'a, sitting on a stool, looking very bored. At the other side of the door, there was another of his brother's thugs, wearing a different, slimmer and darker type of armor that covered him completely.
Red ears shifted as the miqo'te awoke with unnatural suddenness, the remnants of the sleep spell's heavy aether leaving a dull tingling in his limbs as it faded away. He lifted his head in a sharp motion, brought his arms up as though defending himself from an attack that never came. The clanking of chains pulled his brain from the confusion of the prior fight to the reality of dark walls and dank air, and he froze in place for several seconds, processing his surroundings.
He felt the loss of the sun the most.
Spying red robes through a door of vertical bars, he let out a frustrated groan. "Can't just take no for an answer, huh?" A moment later, he was getting his feet beneath him, standing carefully to test the length of the chains - and feeling more than a bit annoyed at their presence. "This how you treat all your guests?"
Qion'a's features couldn't be seen, as the torch was on his side, casting most of him in deep shadows. But there was some amusement in how he shifted and straightened his position when Thal spoke.Â
"You'd be a guest if you had agreed to come willingly." he answered. "Now you are just a prisoner. But don't you worry! We'll let you go eventually."
The length of the chains stopped him a few fulms short of the door, so he just frowned at it, tail swishing in agitation. "Eventually could be a day, could be a year," he muttered as he tugged on the chains. They rattled in their fixings but didn't budge. The one around his waist cut in enough that it pinched his skin somewhat, making it very unlikely he could just pull it down his hips. Running one hand across his face, blue eyes shifted around the small cell. "I guess it's too late to convince you I'm just a regular guy with a funny habit."
Qion'a let out a loud, short chuckle. "There are ways in which we can decide that." He pointed at Thal with one finger, leaning forward. "One of them is to starve you. No food for a few days, I'm afraid! I hope you don't miss the taste of apples."
The miqo'te's brow pulled down, but he decided against protesting that, instead turning away from the door to approach where the chains were bolted into the wall. The walls were old and cracked, covered in mildew where the water leaked in. The water in the air had rusted the metal over, which would make it impossible to try and unscrew the chains from the plating. Pushing his tongue against the back of his teeth, he set his hands to one of the metal plates and tried to work his fingers between it and the stone. When the gloves proved to be nothing more than a hindrance, he pulled them off and threw them roughly at the door - a minor reminder at how he felt about Qion'a right now - before going back to trying to pry the plate from the wall.
"Yes...about that... I wouldn't do that." The robed man stood up and placed one hand over the thug's plated shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Century here has orders to maim you horribly if any of those chains become unattached from the wall for any reason. Between those reasons..." he added, releasing the armored man. "...is everything! that's why I said 'any reason', you see."
The fur along the miqo'te's tail bristled, and he flicked a sharp look over his shoulder, towards the silent, thin form of the guard. Worry twitched at his mouth, but he covered it with a laugh. "His pals weren't so tough. If your brother hadn't cheated, I would've been able to handle them." To emphasize his words, he braced his feet against the bottom of the wall, dug his fingers in, and gave a sudden, rough pull on the plate. It rattled a bit, but all the gesture really accomplished was him jerking one hand away with a hiss. Frowning at the chains, he pressed his hand, where the metal edge of the plate had sliced into it, against the side of his pants.
"That is why we got Century to watch over you instead." Qion'a moved back to his stool, sitting and letting his back rest against the wall. He placed both hands away from himself to either side and sighed. "Look, if you cooperate we'll be done very quickly. Then you can go back to pick up apples and court non-existent ladies again."
"Cooperate with what?" A grimace twisted the miqo'te's face briefly as he shook his hand, sending a few drops of blood to the ground. "You know people don't generally like being, uh, experimented on."
"Harmless! Harmless experiments. We are not going to pull your fingernails off...uh...unless that's somehow related to your raise." Qion'a pondered, then shook his head.Â
"We can start our cooperation with some questions. You said you don't remember anything from before you 'died', but you probably do remember when your consciousness slipped back into your body. I'd like to know more about that."
Frowning, the miqo'te crossed his arms - an awkward gesture with the chains getting in the way - and squared his back on Qion'a. "I don't think I'm in a cooperating mood."
"What if I brought you a pumpkin? I can even bring you pumpkin pie. We have a fantastic chef!"
He chuckled despite himself, but followed it up with a roll of bright blue eyes and a muttered, "The last time someone offered me a pumpkin, it didn't end very friendly."
Qion'a's ears moved under his hood, making it look as if the top of his skull was unstable. "You met To! He's very charitable. I'm sure he was honest when he offered that." His hands clapped together. "Now, please tell me everything you can about your first memory. Things like...for example... who was there? Where were you? What did it smell like? Was the sky on fire? Things like that!" he inquired, cheerful.
"Was the sky on... What? No." Tail shivering back and forth, he kept his eyes on the shadowed, moldy wall. "I was buried." He blinked, shifted his weight, and then added quickly, "On second thought, still not feeling cooperative."
"Please! A temper tantrum won't get you anywhere!" His protest came with more arm swinging to the sides. The thug seemed to catch on that and stepped away from him before his hand could hit him. "I'm not going to release you just because you cross your arms!"
"And what are you gonna do about it? According to you, I'm already dead. Not much you can do to a dead guy." He chuckled, but only for a moment. The fur along his tail still stood on end.
"Well." Qion'a tapped his chin. "Do you feel dead?"
"I feel like a guy stuck in a cell with the rudest hosts ever," the snark came naturally, no matter how wise it may or may not be in any given situation.
"Aha!" Qion'a laughed as if he had acquired some kind of victory. "Guys are alive! So you do feel alive. No thing that is alive wants to be dead. So the question is if dying makes any difference to you." He punctuated the flow of his logic with a nod.
Working his jaw in silence for a moment, the man who had named himself the same as the God of Death found he didn't like contemplating that topic. He let out a huff. "What, is that your threat then? I can't answer your questions if I'm dead. Again."
"It's not a threat. It's a philosophical question! I sincerely expected an equally sincere answer." He walked to the door, looking sideways at Thal. The light from the torch now actually let his face be seen, golden eyes flickering under the hood. "Though if you do want a threat, for some reason, my brothers are divided in what to do with you." His hand pointer outside, towards the corridor. "Li thinks you are a liability, that you are someone's pet project and that they will come looking for you. He doesn't want to deal with that danger."
That rankled the miqo'te more than it should have, and he fidgeted with the rusty braces around his wrists. There was a bit of a bite to his words when he spoke, "I'm no one's pet project. Haven't had any trouble for more than five years. Except now."
Qion'a tilted his head and turned to face him. "So you were not raisen before the Calamity?"
"No. What's it matter?" He almost pointed out that it still hadn't been proved that he was "raised" at all, but he bit down on that annoyance.
Qion'a's shoulders shrunk and he shook his head with a sigh. "To be honest? It doesn't. The Calamity would make it very easy to get corpses to experiment upon, and nobody would be particularly bothered by some bodies missing." He waved his hand again, facing away. "I guess I won't get any willing answers from you, so I will stop bothering you for now."
"Thanks, I think." There was a pause, filled by the soft swish of his tail cutting through the air, and then he turned his head somewhat to glance towards Qion'a out of the corner of one eye. "Don't suppose there's any chance I can get a better view at least?"
"Not without willing answering, no." he smirked.
The miqo'te let out a sigh, throwing his arms up with a rattle of chains that echoed in the stone walls.
"Is that grudging acceptance or irritated rejection?"
"You're the one analyzing me - you decide." That said, he stepped over to one wall, put his back to it, and dropped down to the ground.
"There's one way to find out! Where were you buried at?" Qion'a asked, tapping his chin one last time.
Tilting his head back until it rested against stone, the miqo'te peered through the red fringe of his messy hair before letting a sly smirk work its way across his face. "The Shroud."
"Progress!" Qion'a muttered cheerfully, going back to his stool. "I'll get you some pumpkin for that. Uhm. Was anyone there when you woke up?"
The smirk faltered briefly, not expecting such a response. He let his gaze drift away from the profile of Qion'a, towards where water dripped in a dark puddle in the cell. The claustrophobic, underground prison provided an unhappy, if likely unintended, reminder of those first confused hours. It was something he'd revisited in his mind for quite some time, and for good reason.
It took a while for the miqo'te to respond to Qion'a, and when he did it was a short and low, bitter, "Yeah."
"Do you know who?"
"Now why would I tell you that?" He rolled his eyes, but added, "It doesn't matter. He had nothing to do with it."
"A man! Excellent. And how dou you know that?" Qion'a pressed.
"Got no reason to disbelieve him." The frown returned, the questioned becoming annoying again, especially as Qion'a had proved immune to his own attempts at aggravating the robed Keeper.
Qion'a scratched the top of his head. The hood was in the way, though, so it didn't prove very effective. He kept scratching for a while. "How long...? No, that's not a good question!" mumbled to himself, crossing his legs. The stool was not very tall, so he couldn't maintain that posture for long without looking and feeling awkward. His tongue clicked. "Did anyone ever show any interest in you? Including that man?"
"Nope. I mean, he's a friend. But people leave me alone." The last sentenc was spoken tersely, and he directed a glare in Qion'a's direction. "I liked that."
Qion'a tried to cross his legs again, this time to the other side. It was still uncomfortable. He was smiling, though. "A friend of yours! I have only seen one friend of yours, so let me know if I'm mistaken: that old duskwight man that doesn't like me very much."
"You proooobably don't want to bother pestering him with your questions." A snort, and his tail flicked across the dirty ground. "Though if you do, lemme know how that works out for ya."
"I'm sure we could get more answers from him!" he laughed shortly. Then he let out a cough. "No offense meant. It's just that you seem pretty oblivious about everything we'd like to know. Anyway, I have two more questions. Then I'll leave you alone for the night."
Pulling his legs up so that they were bent loosely in front of him, the miqo'te rested his arms on his knees and groaned out a, "Let's hear it."
"Them." he corrected uselessly. "Two questions! Are there any strange smells or any kind of...sensation bugging you since you woke up? Things you can't quite place where they came from, I mean."
Giving Qion'a an odd look, the caged miqo'te let out a confused huff. "Well, this place smells like a sewer. But I think I know why."
"Okay, that wasn't very useful." Qion'a said out loud. He looked away, at some corner, tapping his hands against his knees before looking back up at Thal. "Do you have dreams, or nightmares?"
"What kind of question is that?" He let out a short laugh. "Do you have dreams? Are you smelling funny things? Don't be shy - you can share."
"The kind that I need answered to see if you are alive; I do; and the only funny smell is Century next to me." Qion'a replied in order, with a huge smile that showed his teeth.
"Y'know, I could just be lying. How would you know?" the miqo'te offered with a shrug. He added without clarification, "No dreams."
Qion'a shook a finger in his direction. "That's quite true. But if you are, you shouldn't plant the seeds of doubt in my mind."Â
With that said, he stood up and headed to the door, looking quite content with himself. "I said two more questions, and two answers I got. I'll bring you some pumpkin! Just don't tell my brothers. You are supposed to starve for a few days. You don't tell anyone either, Centry! Or...were you Century? Mm."
The thug didn't even twitch to acknowledge Qion'a's forgetfulness.
"Great. A feast." The man sighed and eyed the darkly armored guard.
Qion'a left the room, yelling from outside. "We won't actually let you die of hunger. Don't worry!" He closed the door of rotten wood, as most things that were wooden in Qion'li's kingdom were. His steps sounded loud while he was close to the cell, but as he walked across the corridor away from it their noise fell until they were gone.
At Qion'a'a retreat, the caged miqo'te gave one last, rough yank on the chains. They rattled into the silence.
When Thal woke up, he found his back resting against the stone wall. The room stank of humidity, and one of the walls even had signs of water slowly leaking from it towards a crack on the ground.
There were chains and cuffs attached to each wall, of various lengths and widths. He was chained to the wall behind him by the wrists and waist, his chains being long enough to let him walk in comfortable small circles.
A single torch hung from the opposite wall, where the entrance to his prison was. Next to it was the red robed Qion'a, sitting on a stool, looking very bored. At the other side of the door, there was another of his brother's thugs, wearing a different, slimmer and darker type of armor that covered him completely.
Red ears shifted as the miqo'te awoke with unnatural suddenness, the remnants of the sleep spell's heavy aether leaving a dull tingling in his limbs as it faded away. He lifted his head in a sharp motion, brought his arms up as though defending himself from an attack that never came. The clanking of chains pulled his brain from the confusion of the prior fight to the reality of dark walls and dank air, and he froze in place for several seconds, processing his surroundings.
He felt the loss of the sun the most.
Spying red robes through a door of vertical bars, he let out a frustrated groan. "Can't just take no for an answer, huh?" A moment later, he was getting his feet beneath him, standing carefully to test the length of the chains - and feeling more than a bit annoyed at their presence. "This how you treat all your guests?"
Qion'a's features couldn't be seen, as the torch was on his side, casting most of him in deep shadows. But there was some amusement in how he shifted and straightened his position when Thal spoke.Â
"You'd be a guest if you had agreed to come willingly." he answered. "Now you are just a prisoner. But don't you worry! We'll let you go eventually."
The length of the chains stopped him a few fulms short of the door, so he just frowned at it, tail swishing in agitation. "Eventually could be a day, could be a year," he muttered as he tugged on the chains. They rattled in their fixings but didn't budge. The one around his waist cut in enough that it pinched his skin somewhat, making it very unlikely he could just pull it down his hips. Running one hand across his face, blue eyes shifted around the small cell. "I guess it's too late to convince you I'm just a regular guy with a funny habit."
Qion'a let out a loud, short chuckle. "There are ways in which we can decide that." He pointed at Thal with one finger, leaning forward. "One of them is to starve you. No food for a few days, I'm afraid! I hope you don't miss the taste of apples."
The miqo'te's brow pulled down, but he decided against protesting that, instead turning away from the door to approach where the chains were bolted into the wall. The walls were old and cracked, covered in mildew where the water leaked in. The water in the air had rusted the metal over, which would make it impossible to try and unscrew the chains from the plating. Pushing his tongue against the back of his teeth, he set his hands to one of the metal plates and tried to work his fingers between it and the stone. When the gloves proved to be nothing more than a hindrance, he pulled them off and threw them roughly at the door - a minor reminder at how he felt about Qion'a right now - before going back to trying to pry the plate from the wall.
"Yes...about that... I wouldn't do that." The robed man stood up and placed one hand over the thug's plated shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Century here has orders to maim you horribly if any of those chains become unattached from the wall for any reason. Between those reasons..." he added, releasing the armored man. "...is everything! that's why I said 'any reason', you see."
The fur along the miqo'te's tail bristled, and he flicked a sharp look over his shoulder, towards the silent, thin form of the guard. Worry twitched at his mouth, but he covered it with a laugh. "His pals weren't so tough. If your brother hadn't cheated, I would've been able to handle them." To emphasize his words, he braced his feet against the bottom of the wall, dug his fingers in, and gave a sudden, rough pull on the plate. It rattled a bit, but all the gesture really accomplished was him jerking one hand away with a hiss. Frowning at the chains, he pressed his hand, where the metal edge of the plate had sliced into it, against the side of his pants.
"That is why we got Century to watch over you instead." Qion'a moved back to his stool, sitting and letting his back rest against the wall. He placed both hands away from himself to either side and sighed. "Look, if you cooperate we'll be done very quickly. Then you can go back to pick up apples and court non-existent ladies again."
"Cooperate with what?" A grimace twisted the miqo'te's face briefly as he shook his hand, sending a few drops of blood to the ground. "You know people don't generally like being, uh, experimented on."
"Harmless! Harmless experiments. We are not going to pull your fingernails off...uh...unless that's somehow related to your raise." Qion'a pondered, then shook his head.Â
"We can start our cooperation with some questions. You said you don't remember anything from before you 'died', but you probably do remember when your consciousness slipped back into your body. I'd like to know more about that."
Frowning, the miqo'te crossed his arms - an awkward gesture with the chains getting in the way - and squared his back on Qion'a. "I don't think I'm in a cooperating mood."
"What if I brought you a pumpkin? I can even bring you pumpkin pie. We have a fantastic chef!"
He chuckled despite himself, but followed it up with a roll of bright blue eyes and a muttered, "The last time someone offered me a pumpkin, it didn't end very friendly."
Qion'a's ears moved under his hood, making it look as if the top of his skull was unstable. "You met To! He's very charitable. I'm sure he was honest when he offered that." His hands clapped together. "Now, please tell me everything you can about your first memory. Things like...for example... who was there? Where were you? What did it smell like? Was the sky on fire? Things like that!" he inquired, cheerful.
"Was the sky on... What? No." Tail shivering back and forth, he kept his eyes on the shadowed, moldy wall. "I was buried." He blinked, shifted his weight, and then added quickly, "On second thought, still not feeling cooperative."
"Please! A temper tantrum won't get you anywhere!" His protest came with more arm swinging to the sides. The thug seemed to catch on that and stepped away from him before his hand could hit him. "I'm not going to release you just because you cross your arms!"
"And what are you gonna do about it? According to you, I'm already dead. Not much you can do to a dead guy." He chuckled, but only for a moment. The fur along his tail still stood on end.
"Well." Qion'a tapped his chin. "Do you feel dead?"
"I feel like a guy stuck in a cell with the rudest hosts ever," the snark came naturally, no matter how wise it may or may not be in any given situation.
"Aha!" Qion'a laughed as if he had acquired some kind of victory. "Guys are alive! So you do feel alive. No thing that is alive wants to be dead. So the question is if dying makes any difference to you." He punctuated the flow of his logic with a nod.
Working his jaw in silence for a moment, the man who had named himself the same as the God of Death found he didn't like contemplating that topic. He let out a huff. "What, is that your threat then? I can't answer your questions if I'm dead. Again."
"It's not a threat. It's a philosophical question! I sincerely expected an equally sincere answer." He walked to the door, looking sideways at Thal. The light from the torch now actually let his face be seen, golden eyes flickering under the hood. "Though if you do want a threat, for some reason, my brothers are divided in what to do with you." His hand pointer outside, towards the corridor. "Li thinks you are a liability, that you are someone's pet project and that they will come looking for you. He doesn't want to deal with that danger."
That rankled the miqo'te more than it should have, and he fidgeted with the rusty braces around his wrists. There was a bit of a bite to his words when he spoke, "I'm no one's pet project. Haven't had any trouble for more than five years. Except now."
Qion'a tilted his head and turned to face him. "So you were not raisen before the Calamity?"
"No. What's it matter?" He almost pointed out that it still hadn't been proved that he was "raised" at all, but he bit down on that annoyance.
Qion'a's shoulders shrunk and he shook his head with a sigh. "To be honest? It doesn't. The Calamity would make it very easy to get corpses to experiment upon, and nobody would be particularly bothered by some bodies missing." He waved his hand again, facing away. "I guess I won't get any willing answers from you, so I will stop bothering you for now."
"Thanks, I think." There was a pause, filled by the soft swish of his tail cutting through the air, and then he turned his head somewhat to glance towards Qion'a out of the corner of one eye. "Don't suppose there's any chance I can get a better view at least?"
"Not without willing answering, no." he smirked.
The miqo'te let out a sigh, throwing his arms up with a rattle of chains that echoed in the stone walls.
"Is that grudging acceptance or irritated rejection?"
"You're the one analyzing me - you decide." That said, he stepped over to one wall, put his back to it, and dropped down to the ground.
"There's one way to find out! Where were you buried at?" Qion'a asked, tapping his chin one last time.
Tilting his head back until it rested against stone, the miqo'te peered through the red fringe of his messy hair before letting a sly smirk work its way across his face. "The Shroud."
"Progress!" Qion'a muttered cheerfully, going back to his stool. "I'll get you some pumpkin for that. Uhm. Was anyone there when you woke up?"
The smirk faltered briefly, not expecting such a response. He let his gaze drift away from the profile of Qion'a, towards where water dripped in a dark puddle in the cell. The claustrophobic, underground prison provided an unhappy, if likely unintended, reminder of those first confused hours. It was something he'd revisited in his mind for quite some time, and for good reason.
It took a while for the miqo'te to respond to Qion'a, and when he did it was a short and low, bitter, "Yeah."
"Do you know who?"
"Now why would I tell you that?" He rolled his eyes, but added, "It doesn't matter. He had nothing to do with it."
"A man! Excellent. And how dou you know that?" Qion'a pressed.
"Got no reason to disbelieve him." The frown returned, the questioned becoming annoying again, especially as Qion'a had proved immune to his own attempts at aggravating the robed Keeper.
Qion'a scratched the top of his head. The hood was in the way, though, so it didn't prove very effective. He kept scratching for a while. "How long...? No, that's not a good question!" mumbled to himself, crossing his legs. The stool was not very tall, so he couldn't maintain that posture for long without looking and feeling awkward. His tongue clicked. "Did anyone ever show any interest in you? Including that man?"
"Nope. I mean, he's a friend. But people leave me alone." The last sentenc was spoken tersely, and he directed a glare in Qion'a's direction. "I liked that."
Qion'a tried to cross his legs again, this time to the other side. It was still uncomfortable. He was smiling, though. "A friend of yours! I have only seen one friend of yours, so let me know if I'm mistaken: that old duskwight man that doesn't like me very much."
"You proooobably don't want to bother pestering him with your questions." A snort, and his tail flicked across the dirty ground. "Though if you do, lemme know how that works out for ya."
"I'm sure we could get more answers from him!" he laughed shortly. Then he let out a cough. "No offense meant. It's just that you seem pretty oblivious about everything we'd like to know. Anyway, I have two more questions. Then I'll leave you alone for the night."
Pulling his legs up so that they were bent loosely in front of him, the miqo'te rested his arms on his knees and groaned out a, "Let's hear it."
"Them." he corrected uselessly. "Two questions! Are there any strange smells or any kind of...sensation bugging you since you woke up? Things you can't quite place where they came from, I mean."
Giving Qion'a an odd look, the caged miqo'te let out a confused huff. "Well, this place smells like a sewer. But I think I know why."
"Okay, that wasn't very useful." Qion'a said out loud. He looked away, at some corner, tapping his hands against his knees before looking back up at Thal. "Do you have dreams, or nightmares?"
"What kind of question is that?" He let out a short laugh. "Do you have dreams? Are you smelling funny things? Don't be shy - you can share."
"The kind that I need answered to see if you are alive; I do; and the only funny smell is Century next to me." Qion'a replied in order, with a huge smile that showed his teeth.
"Y'know, I could just be lying. How would you know?" the miqo'te offered with a shrug. He added without clarification, "No dreams."
Qion'a shook a finger in his direction. "That's quite true. But if you are, you shouldn't plant the seeds of doubt in my mind."Â
With that said, he stood up and headed to the door, looking quite content with himself. "I said two more questions, and two answers I got. I'll bring you some pumpkin! Just don't tell my brothers. You are supposed to starve for a few days. You don't tell anyone either, Centry! Or...were you Century? Mm."
The thug didn't even twitch to acknowledge Qion'a's forgetfulness.
"Great. A feast." The man sighed and eyed the darkly armored guard.
Qion'a left the room, yelling from outside. "We won't actually let you die of hunger. Don't worry!" He closed the door of rotten wood, as most things that were wooden in Qion'li's kingdom were. His steps sounded loud while he was close to the cell, but as he walked across the corridor away from it their noise fell until they were gone.
At Qion'a'a retreat, the caged miqo'te gave one last, rough yank on the chains. They rattled into the silence.
"Song dogs barking at the break of dawn, lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm; and these streets, quiet as a sleeping army, send their battered dreams to heaven."
Hipparion Tribe (Sagolii)Â - Â Antimony Jhanhi's Wiki