SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER!
Prison sucks.
It stinks. It's dark. And there's no fresh blood supply.
And yes, I do mean that as weirdly and creepily as it sounds. I shuffled in the dark, trying and failing to find a single breath of clean, fresh air in the dank cell.
In about ten minutes, the one-eyed guard, Sable, would come through with a bucket of slop meant to be dinner.
I was suffering through the horrendous indignity of it all because of the two gorgeous young women chained to the wall in the prison cell opposite of me.
Clothed in white and with eyes just as pitch black as Hadrian's—I know there's more magic to them that meets the eye.
The artifact led me here, so I know they have to be something. My guess, if this stupid thing is going to drag me around in chronological order—is that they're two turtledoves.
Except for there's nothing turtle-y about them. Or dove-y.
I've never even heard them speak—and believe me, I've been here for four days, I've been trying to speak to them since them.
The plaque outside their cell says something about mercenary work. I'm impressed. A little worried, but somewhat impressed.
I hope this means they have good combat skills, because I really don't want to be the only one hacking my way out of this place when it's time to leave.
And I really do have to time this right. I didn't realize how much that orchard would take out of me. At least, I can rest here.
Somewhat.
I hate bribing guards.
My bag is lighter, but at least, I'm in the cell with the two not-turtledoves. All of my attempts at conversation have fallen flat and my old cell is now filled with the sort of company that I would dearly love to avoid.
Thankfully, Hadrian's own gift resides well enough within me that I have kept my rucksack and few trinkets to my name.
No one has dared do anything more than a heavy shove to the shoulder—there are whispers that it is known what I am, but no one wants to anger a Dragel—if I exist.
Which I do, thank you very much.
They don't quite know what I can do to them, but they know that it could be terrible. Could be.
The turtledoves are straining against their bonds now—they seem to always do that as what little light of day fades away to nothing. I don't understand why—is it the change of day to night or something more?
Oh wait—there's something—the one on the left, her sleeve is torn and it showing clear, porcelain skin and a pitch black tattoo edged along in a simple cuff-style.
Hm. Almost like an actual cuff. Like a magical artifact.
Oh snap.
It hurts to realize what's holding them there and to imagine how they must've been caught in the first place.
But that makes it a bit easier for me in terms of rescuing them, because I know right away what I can do to set them free.
Breaking magical bonds is no big deal.
Lengthening my right fingers into the familiar scaled claws of my kind, I choose my left arm for the usual canvas. I need blood and about five runes.
That should be more than enough.
Mercenary turtledoves. -stifles giggle- I may have gotten carried away on this prompt. What I really want to get to, is the end where Harry comes back to his Bonded after this wild adventure. Hence, my skimming over the individual legend bit-detail-thingys. Sorta. Enjoy! Thanks for reading and reviewing! ~Scion