barrett1987
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2014
- Messages
- 559
I don't like the last paragraph, though i like what it's trying to portray i don't think i hit the right notes.
As always, don't hold back. I'm not going to break.
=======================
“Read ‘em and weep boys!” Tyr laughed, laying his cards down. The men around the table cursed.
“That’s the third time tonight you’ve shown kings. You’ve got to cheating,” one man moaned
“Bah, don’t be a sore loser. My lucks turned that’s all.” Tyr reached out and hooked his winnings.
“Still think it’s dodgy…” The man across from him muttered sourly.
Tyr ignored him and took a long swig from his mug. Life was good. He looked around the room with a smile on his face. Technically as a Warden he shouldn’t be drinking but nobody ever came down here and it wasn’t like he was busy, he only had one prisoner.
His eyes drifted to the items on the shelf. They had been taken from the prisoner when he’d been dragged in. They were fine pieces and Tyr suspected that the pack held even more treasures, though he hadn’t had a chance to check yet. He looked at his new cards and tried to hide a grimace. Maybe his luck was about to go the other way?
“Is anyone out there?” The cry was distant, coming from the cells.
Tyr laughed again, his luck was holding. “Sorry boys, duty calls!” He rose amidst the jeers and sauntered out of the guard room. “Some of us have jobs to do” he called out over his shoulder.
He turned the corner and walked down the dark corridor. The corridor was kept dark intentionally; he felt it added to the mood of the place. I mean, who had ever heard of a bright and warm dungeon? Some things had to have style or what was the point?
Walking slowly down the corridor, he dragged his baton along the wall as he walked and begun to hum. With those kinds of cards waiting for him, he was in no rush to get back. Besides, interacting with the prisoners was his favourite part of the job.
The occupied cell stood at the very end of the corridor. He drew closer, peering into the shadows, inside a man stood at the bars, looking like he’d had a fight with a horse and lost. His face was covered in more bruises than skin. The man was looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. He was swaying a little, obviously still in pain. Tyr’s eyes narrowed in frustration. He preferred prisoners who hadn’t had their spirit broken yet.
Out of habit, Tyr’s eyes flicked to the low cell door, checking it was still secure. The door was only knee high. Watching prisoners crawl out their cells when their sentences were up was as pleasing a sight as you got down here. The knee high doors had been his own addition upon being made warden and he was proud of them. I mean what’s the point of working if you don’t have some fun with it?
“What do you want scum?” He growled.
Tyr knew his voice was nasally and made efforts to deepen it when talking to prisoners. Image was everything; the prisoners had to know who the boss was down here.
“I want to be released,” the prisoner replied, no sign of pain he must be in touched his voice.
“Oh you do, do you? Well why not! Let’s just let every criminal out onto the streets shall we? How well would that work out do you think? What do you think the Steward would say to that? Well done Tyr? Have a raise? No I don’t think so.”
The prisoner stared out at him, his rant having no visible effect. A heavy silence began to form and Tyr began to get uncomfortable. Prisoners usually yelled their innocence or made demands whenever they woke up in a cell. Maybe whatever had messed up this man’s face had messed up his brain too? It happened sometimes. Tyr had heard of a man who’d fallen beneath a carriage and been trampled. Afterwards he’d never spoken again, not a single damn word. Tyr shivered at the memory.
“Well? Anything else **** kicker?” he said, breaking the silence.
“When will I be released?”
Tyr relaxed a little, this was more like it. They always wanted to know when they were getting out. “Not till a Templar has arrived and heard your case. You’ve been a naughty boy though, trying to stowaway on a zeppelin.”
“I didn’t try to stowaway on a Zeppelin,” the prisoner shot back, eyes narrowing in anger.
Tyr smiled, much better, the predictable protest of innocence. Oh how he loved his job! Still, the man’s voice was odd. No emotion or heat in it was a bit strange.
“Cram it, that’s for the Templar to decide. Though I think you’ll be for the long drop, mark my words. Stowing on a zeppelin is a high offence.”
“I see. When will this Templar arrive?” the man asked calmly.
“Whenever he damn well wants,” Tyr said irritated. If he told a prisoner he was going to hang then he wanted a reaction. “His holyship doesn’t come at your beck and call. You just get yourself comfortable and wait. Either tomorrow or the day after someone will be along.”
The prisoner pressed himself against the bars and reached through the bars. “I have to get out of here.”
“Don’t touch me **** kicker,” Tyr said, stepping back in disgust and raised his baton. He chopped down at the outreached arm and grinned at the satisfying whack it made when it struck. The prisoner quickly withdrew his arm, pulling it close to his body and rubbed it while glaring out at him.
“There, now you’re starting to understand who’s in charge around here. You do as you’re told and we’ll get along fine.” Tyr sneered. “We got a warning about you but you don’t look so tough. Without those pretty guns you aren’t much to worry about.”
“My things, where are they?” the prisoner asked, still rubbing his arm.
“Don’t you worry, Steward’s rules are clear. Your things will be kept down the hall until sentencing. Once you’re found guilty your things will be sold and distributed to the poor as per the rules… minus a healthy commission of course. I’m not running a charity here!” Tyr laughed at his own joke.
“Will I be fed?” the prisoner whispered.
“Don’t think your lot deserve anything but rules are rules. I’ll bring some food along soon. Now shut up **** kicker I’ve got a game of cards on and don’t need to be walking back and forth to deal with the likes of you.”
Tyr stared at the prisoner making sure his message was clear. The prisoner for his part just stared blankly back, still rubbing that arm. Maybe he’d hit it harder than he thought? Oh well, the guilty scum will hang in a few days anyway, a bruised arm was the least of his problems. He turned away and strolled back up the corridor whistling a jaunty tune.
When the warden had left the corridor the prisoner moved to the corner of his cell and knelt, picking up a broken tile from the floor. He began to grind the tile along the floor sharpening it, while his hands ground the tile, his eyes stayed locked on the bars in front of him. If the warden had glanced into the cell at that point and seen the look on the prisoners face right then, he wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss the danger.
As always, don't hold back. I'm not going to break.
=======================
“Read ‘em and weep boys!” Tyr laughed, laying his cards down. The men around the table cursed.
“That’s the third time tonight you’ve shown kings. You’ve got to cheating,” one man moaned
“Bah, don’t be a sore loser. My lucks turned that’s all.” Tyr reached out and hooked his winnings.
“Still think it’s dodgy…” The man across from him muttered sourly.
Tyr ignored him and took a long swig from his mug. Life was good. He looked around the room with a smile on his face. Technically as a Warden he shouldn’t be drinking but nobody ever came down here and it wasn’t like he was busy, he only had one prisoner.
His eyes drifted to the items on the shelf. They had been taken from the prisoner when he’d been dragged in. They were fine pieces and Tyr suspected that the pack held even more treasures, though he hadn’t had a chance to check yet. He looked at his new cards and tried to hide a grimace. Maybe his luck was about to go the other way?
“Is anyone out there?” The cry was distant, coming from the cells.
Tyr laughed again, his luck was holding. “Sorry boys, duty calls!” He rose amidst the jeers and sauntered out of the guard room. “Some of us have jobs to do” he called out over his shoulder.
He turned the corner and walked down the dark corridor. The corridor was kept dark intentionally; he felt it added to the mood of the place. I mean, who had ever heard of a bright and warm dungeon? Some things had to have style or what was the point?
Walking slowly down the corridor, he dragged his baton along the wall as he walked and begun to hum. With those kinds of cards waiting for him, he was in no rush to get back. Besides, interacting with the prisoners was his favourite part of the job.
The occupied cell stood at the very end of the corridor. He drew closer, peering into the shadows, inside a man stood at the bars, looking like he’d had a fight with a horse and lost. His face was covered in more bruises than skin. The man was looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. He was swaying a little, obviously still in pain. Tyr’s eyes narrowed in frustration. He preferred prisoners who hadn’t had their spirit broken yet.
Out of habit, Tyr’s eyes flicked to the low cell door, checking it was still secure. The door was only knee high. Watching prisoners crawl out their cells when their sentences were up was as pleasing a sight as you got down here. The knee high doors had been his own addition upon being made warden and he was proud of them. I mean what’s the point of working if you don’t have some fun with it?
“What do you want scum?” He growled.
Tyr knew his voice was nasally and made efforts to deepen it when talking to prisoners. Image was everything; the prisoners had to know who the boss was down here.
“I want to be released,” the prisoner replied, no sign of pain he must be in touched his voice.
“Oh you do, do you? Well why not! Let’s just let every criminal out onto the streets shall we? How well would that work out do you think? What do you think the Steward would say to that? Well done Tyr? Have a raise? No I don’t think so.”
The prisoner stared out at him, his rant having no visible effect. A heavy silence began to form and Tyr began to get uncomfortable. Prisoners usually yelled their innocence or made demands whenever they woke up in a cell. Maybe whatever had messed up this man’s face had messed up his brain too? It happened sometimes. Tyr had heard of a man who’d fallen beneath a carriage and been trampled. Afterwards he’d never spoken again, not a single damn word. Tyr shivered at the memory.
“Well? Anything else **** kicker?” he said, breaking the silence.
“When will I be released?”
Tyr relaxed a little, this was more like it. They always wanted to know when they were getting out. “Not till a Templar has arrived and heard your case. You’ve been a naughty boy though, trying to stowaway on a zeppelin.”
“I didn’t try to stowaway on a Zeppelin,” the prisoner shot back, eyes narrowing in anger.
Tyr smiled, much better, the predictable protest of innocence. Oh how he loved his job! Still, the man’s voice was odd. No emotion or heat in it was a bit strange.
“Cram it, that’s for the Templar to decide. Though I think you’ll be for the long drop, mark my words. Stowing on a zeppelin is a high offence.”
“I see. When will this Templar arrive?” the man asked calmly.
“Whenever he damn well wants,” Tyr said irritated. If he told a prisoner he was going to hang then he wanted a reaction. “His holyship doesn’t come at your beck and call. You just get yourself comfortable and wait. Either tomorrow or the day after someone will be along.”
The prisoner pressed himself against the bars and reached through the bars. “I have to get out of here.”
“Don’t touch me **** kicker,” Tyr said, stepping back in disgust and raised his baton. He chopped down at the outreached arm and grinned at the satisfying whack it made when it struck. The prisoner quickly withdrew his arm, pulling it close to his body and rubbed it while glaring out at him.
“There, now you’re starting to understand who’s in charge around here. You do as you’re told and we’ll get along fine.” Tyr sneered. “We got a warning about you but you don’t look so tough. Without those pretty guns you aren’t much to worry about.”
“My things, where are they?” the prisoner asked, still rubbing his arm.
“Don’t you worry, Steward’s rules are clear. Your things will be kept down the hall until sentencing. Once you’re found guilty your things will be sold and distributed to the poor as per the rules… minus a healthy commission of course. I’m not running a charity here!” Tyr laughed at his own joke.
“Will I be fed?” the prisoner whispered.
“Don’t think your lot deserve anything but rules are rules. I’ll bring some food along soon. Now shut up **** kicker I’ve got a game of cards on and don’t need to be walking back and forth to deal with the likes of you.”
Tyr stared at the prisoner making sure his message was clear. The prisoner for his part just stared blankly back, still rubbing that arm. Maybe he’d hit it harder than he thought? Oh well, the guilty scum will hang in a few days anyway, a bruised arm was the least of his problems. He turned away and strolled back up the corridor whistling a jaunty tune.
When the warden had left the corridor the prisoner moved to the corner of his cell and knelt, picking up a broken tile from the floor. He began to grind the tile along the floor sharpening it, while his hands ground the tile, his eyes stayed locked on the bars in front of him. If the warden had glanced into the cell at that point and seen the look on the prisoners face right then, he wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss the danger.
