Beta Reader: Gmp1000
Chapter 2
The underground prison is silent like the dreamless embrace of a merciful death, its thick stone walls hard and unyielding unperturbed by the passage of time. Sometimes a pitiful whine or a muffled curse would slip under the thin sunless schisms of one of the locked doors. Sometimes the captured sorcerers would pass the time by banging their heads against the hard grey stone.
Riven can't really blame the unstable frothing lunatics even if she can understand the futility and insanity of their actions. Those people are only walking out of there either like chained malnourished husks sent to be executed before the cheering crowds or an assortment of bloody limbs tossed in a sealed nailed coffin.
The young Templar recruit abruptly grimaces as the grim thoughts of the prisoners' fate seem to be whirling around her head like invisible vengeful ghosts dancing under the scarce torchlight. The exhausted woman pauses at that thought, running a pale but admittedly strong hand between her unruly white hair and Riven doesn't fail to notice how her current working conditions and the lack of proper nourishment and sunlight have turned her already deathly pale epidermis into an even more sickly white.
The depressed female jailer sighs as Riven can already picture the startled reactions of the pedestrians she may encounter later on while heading home and their suspicious and distrustful hateful stares. People with northern folk blood were rare in those parts of Valoran after all and so they were conceived as bringers of bad luck and omens of natural disasters by the uneducated superstitious folk that constituted the majority of the starving masses. And speaking of bad omens…
The bell of the old abandoned chapel near the edge of the town suddenly rings in the dark with the cacophony of the hammer of a hardworking blacksmith making the distrait young Templar recruit almost jump out of her skin in surprise.
The white-haired jailer blinks as Riven abruptly returns back to Valoran and the unsavory situation she currently has in her hands. The Templar's maroon-colored gaze slowly climbs towards a particular locked door, ivory eyebrows furrowing in a clearly thoughtful manner. Riven had yet to pay this Evaine woman a proper visit as Garen had strictly ordered her to do and the tired jailer can't really keep postponing her chore any longer.
Maybe the rookie Templar is just being silly, perhaps she is just overthinking things. Riven is probably being a tad too cautious of the amber-eyed woman especially since the black witch's manacles are supposed to be further weakening the drugged female's deadly magic. And yet for all the magical and physical restrictions placed on the seething black-haired chained woman and all the small copper coins Riven can fit in her pockets there is a weird disturbing feeling that greatly unsettles the hesitant jailer whenever she recalls those burning amber orbs, and the young Templar recruit has long since learned to always trust her gut feelings.
The snow-haired recruit merely shakes her head as she finally gathers her courage and stands up before approaching the locked door, her footsteps muffled by the whimpers of her sniffling captives. The jailer pauses before the locked barrier of steel, old nails and wood, ears perked for any suspicious sounds coming from the other side of the locked obstacle.
Nothing, the shaky murmuring voices and the snores of the other imprisoned spell casters are the only signs of life that reach the young jailer's ears. There are no curses or pained grunts coming from the newly captured sorceress' door and that single disturbing detail only serves to make the young rookie Templar even more nervous and uncomfortable.
Had Evaine LeBlanc simply died? Had the imprisoned dark witch merely decided to just off herself like those tormented shapeshifting sisters less than two weeks ago? Was the white-haired jailer being a fool, twiddling her thumbs while standing in front of a sealed door that was concealing nothing more frightening than a cold bloody corpse and staring at the rusted old lock like an idiot?
Riven hesitantly inserts the key in the lock and gives it a good swift twist before instantly stepping away from the doorway. The young warrior holds her breath as she deftly kicks the cell's door open, one hand forming a fist, the other one clenching the leather hilt of her trusty gigantic two-handed blade. The enormous sword won't be that helpful in a fight as Riven can't actually swing the sharp block of steel inside the narrow stone corridor of the dungeon of course, but the comforting feeling of the weapon's hilt gives the young Templar the courage she needs to approach the black rectangular hole and peek into the tiny dark room of her latest prisoner.
Evaine LeBlanc is merely glaring at her, the evil witch's black kneeled form shrouded in almost complete darkness as the underground cell lacks any windows or openings in general save for the tiny slit under the door which occasionally serves as a means to safely deliver the prisoners' pitiful meals and provide the captured spell casters with a few dusty breaths of much needed musty air.
The Templar warden silently observes the hunched chained woman as she waits for her eyes to get used to the absence of the sparse torchlight, a lone thread of orange-yellow light shyly slipping into the cell and causing the other woman in the room to avert her hurting amber eyes from the blinding open door and her white-haired warden. Riven spares a quick glance at the cracked filthy bowl filled with some kind of goop that's resting near the dark witch's feet and then uncaringly tosses a metal flask near her still glaring, bruised prisoner.
LeBlanc briefly glances at the little container before her gaze returns back at the obviously unamused female warden.
"Drink it."
The white-haired warrior spits and the dark witch's eyes narrow dangerously as pale delicate hands slowly reach for the discarded and scratched container. LeBlanc cautiously uncaps the flask's lid and takes a whiff of the sickly yellowish slurp that's seemingly boiling within it before she instantly closes it again and tosses the bottle with the drug back at the visibly impatient warden.
"You are actually expecting me to drink this poison out of my own free will? You must have lost your damn mind, Templar."
The white-haired warden merely shrugs and then kicks the flask back at LeBlanc, calm red eyes staring right into threatening twin chips of amber.
"There are two ways for you to drink this potion Evaine, and one of them is less painful that the other."
The crafty dark witch merely stares at the young Templar, examining the jailer's emotionless face and her calm red orbs, her tense posture and the way the Warden palms the hilt of her enormous sword every few seconds. Her powerful muscular arms and the intimidating aura surrounding her. The chained spell caster then silently downs the disgusting contents of the little flask before she grudgingly pushes the now empty container back to Riven.
The white-haired warden silently retrieves the small metal flask and spares LeBlanc a quick fleeting glance before she exits the room and then closes and locks the heavy wooden door behind her. The chained dark witch starts choking and trembling not even a moment later, but Evaine's cunning amber eyes never quite lose their threatening luster. A sinister smile slowly forms on the sorceress' cracked dry lips as the drugged pale spell caster weakly collapses on the dirty stained ground.