Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Hey friends!
This is just the prologue of a piece I am working on. I probably will not add any other part of this piece here, but I figured I might as well set the first part out while I work on the rest of it. It is a major work in progress, so don't PM me calling me a loser please! I will definitely get it edited and in even better condition in due time, I got people helping me with that already. I am just posting this so I feel more confident in attempting to get my future works published! It will just make me more confident to know some of it is already out there!
Without further ado, here is the prologue!
The metallic scent of blood imbued the air. With it was the musk of a man’s sweat and the repulsive waste of those same men. It was lucky that the underground often remained cold as the snow of the north, the chill was likely the only thing that could keep the smell from being made worse. Even so, the chill seemed to be made trivial by the simple fact that the screams of the the many kept the place from ever being made bearable.
The air trembled with want. Nails clawed at the walls, pulling them apart as their fingers burst open and bloodied, continuing to destroy themselves no matter how futile it proved to be. Each cry that fell from the sinful tongues were met with deaf ears. Eyes that glittered with pain, begging for mercy and demanding it be given, for nothing they had done had been deserving of the torment that the blade brought when it dug into their flesh. Undeserving of the whip that split open their backs and the devices that crushed their bones.
Brennus of Renum stood tall beneath the dark ceiling. His fingers were stained crimson, in turn, the calloused appendages were bent about the hilt of a knife that seemed just as bloodied, even though it was the dulled blade that was shoved so unceremoniously into the skin. Small droplets of blood clung to his pale exposed collarbone and his beard covered cheeks.
A soft whimpering came from the man below him. Blood fell from cheeks that had been cut and lips that had been busted long ago. Tear stains were prominent upon his temples, though one of his eyes was a disgusting shade of purple and swollen so much that it could not be opened. The one that could see the dim light of the dungeon glittered with fresh and new tears, looking to the man that had brought him his injuries to cease.
Such was only the wandering hopes of a man that was already in his grave.
His lips parted in silent questioning. Or perhaps a silent answer to questions that forever hanged in the air. His body tensed, sore muscles crying out from the simple movements of him shifting about on the bed. His swollen tongue pushed out and licked the dried blood from the corners of his mouth.
Brennus leaned back, his lips thinned in annoyance as his eyes grazed over the man. A man that always seemed to be on the brink. He sat the knife on the table nearby before he reached forward, fingers threading through the sweaty dark curls in a deceptively gentle manner. They left a stain upon his brow as they brushed his curls away. His eye fell closed as a gentle breath escaped his nose, allowing the unfamiliarly gentle gesture sooth his body.
In an instant, that bit of mercy was gone and his hair was yanked taught in a strong grip. Nails curled deep into his scalp as his eyes flew open once more and he let put a sharp yelp of pain. Fingers pressed into his injured cheeks, the palm cupping his chin as the side of it pressed harshly into his throat.
“Shall we hear the truth now?” Brennus asked gently, his body bent of the other man’s.
It almost seemed like a tender moment between the two. One that should not have been looked on by any other eyes, yet there she was, disturbing the air as much is it disturbed her. Freyna was attempting to keep herself stiffly upright, the bodice helping to keep her back straight as she fought the urge to turn from the scene and lay her hand upon a wall to catch her breath.
“Don’t tell me you’re losing yourself so easily.” the voice was low, barely enough to touch her ears despite the way it fluttered against her skin. It caused her eyes to turn in a sharp glare towards him.
She pressed her bosom forward as she straightened her back to the point of near pain. She would be damned to be forced out of the room for something so petty as being unable to keep herself afloat due to a bit of blood being spilled on the stone below. He was a man like any other. And all men bled. There need not be such a dismantle from her own stability because of it.
The damp underground may as well have been the fire that burned in a room just overhead.His whimpers caused her stomach to churn and his look of desperation as he searched his mind for the answer that would satisfy the surrounding ears. His lips moved again, stretching and contracting about his teeth. His eye dripped closed once more before his chin quivered.
“Lady… Lady Frances.” He whispered through his broken teeth.
Freyna pressed her lips together as the words were whispered, a breath was unable to escape her as she took a step forward as if he were going to speak for them once more. She felt movement at her side as her brother brought his hand up, spinning it in the air. Brennus tilted his head, his blonde hair tickling his temples before he turned back to the musician that laid upon the table.
His grip tightened further.
“And?” He questioned. The musician pressed his lips together, even as tightly as they pressed to one another, Freyna could still see them tremble. He turned his eyes once more before he slowly pulled his head into as much of a nod as he could manage.
“Her brother… Larine… I played for him as well.”
His voice trembled with each word. The hand at her side continued to spin.
“And?” It was more forceful this time as Brennus leaned over the musician even further, his groin flush against the table as he looked to be leaning in for a peck upon the lips rather than a question.
“Gerain!” He gasped out as the fingers clenched down harder. It was then that the hand stopped and lowered. Brennus looked up, his dark eyes touching upon them for only a moment before he allowed his grip to loosen and then gently brushed a knuckle across the cheek of the musician.
“There. Could have avoided a lot of trouble had you just said so before, hm?” he murmured before he pulled away entirely from the weeping man.
Freyna felt her body begin to fall apart from itself. She took a step back and then another before she felt a hand touch her back and keep her from going any further. She pressed her eyes closed once more as she felt the hand move to her arm and grip it tightly.
“Careful, Freyna. Don’t lose yourself so quickly.” He gently bent her arm on her behalf so he could slip his through hers and keep her firmly upright.
“You’ve done enough, Brennus.” Bel said then. He turned his body slightly, readying himself to leave the small layer of hell that they had managed to put into their ground. “I should say that was sufficient enough proof?”
Freyna’s eyes finally turned to the three other men that had joined them. Each seemed less ill than she felt. It made her stand straighter once more, not caring that they expected such from a mere woman in the face of a bit of blood. Even if she knew they did not give a damn about her little disposition. Their eyes were on the man that laid on the table, and those eyes then turned to her brother, grimaces so melancholic that they nearly became smiles sat upon their lips.
“It seems there is nothing to refute, Lord Bel.” Lord Pernil murmured as he shook his head. He was a stout man. A thick layer of pudge surrounded his middle and the rest of him seemed smaller in comparison. “Though I doubt many were unaware of the nightly activities of Lady Frances. Though, her brothers… we should have known he would be one to engage in such acts.”
“He is an Ulahd. It is to be expected.” Lord Aron said. He pressed a hand to his bosom before drawing a symbol of the Gods into the air before him. “May the Gods have mercy for allowing them to stay within this place… May they have mercy on House Faernad, for they could not have known about such heresy.”
Bel raised a hand to his own bosom and nodded in grim agreement. “Aye. I don’t know what would have a happened had we suffered them any longer.”
“What shall be done about them now, is the true question.” Freyna spoke. She appraised the looks upon all the men. They likely did not expect to hear her speak, after watching her grow paler than she already had been. Though her skin could never wish to find a darker shade than white, her cheeks at least proved to be made pink once more rather than the lifeless hue they had taken on before. Because now she was faced with an environment of familiarity.
“Your sister speaks the truth, Lord Bel.” Lord Aron said solemnly. “Their practices are unholy. And they even managed to take the musician into their arms. One cannot act too harshly.”
“Aye.” Lord Pernil agreed. “Not with them. Never too harshly. Though, I fear how how they shall react to those that know the truth… Their hearts have withered to naught by now, how could we hope for them to not lay something upon us that would leave us in no better state than the blubbering idiot over there?” his hand game in a harsh gesture to the musician that was sobbing once more, letting out incoherent words as he attempted to curl in upon himself as much as much as his bonds would allow.
Freyna pressed her lips together once more and kept her gaze away from the musician, feeling her Bel’s hold upon her tighten as though he feared that she would collapse if she lacked means of support. But she did not grow faint again. She refused to, as there was too much to speak of now.
“Let us return up the stairs.” Bel said as he began to walk towards the stairs and Freyna was happy to begin to follow him. “The words grow too dark and I fear if there is no warm light to melt it away, we shall not ever be able to rid ourselves of the evil among us.”
“And they shall grow darker, still, my young Lord.” Pernil shook his head and took to joining the others in their forward march. “I envy you, young Lord. For you are too fresh to have yet seen the true evils of man so that you are paled only from the small presence of it.”
A soft chuckle escaped Bel’s lips before he shook his head and turned his eye so that he could see Pernil from the corner of it. “I suppose we should count ourselves lucky then, shouldn’t we, Freyna?”
Freyna tightened her hold upon him, tiltling her head so that she could feel her hair tickle the crook of her neck as she forced her lips into a smile. It was not quite as hard as she had first thought it to be. Perhaps because she did find humor in the man’s words rather than being offended at his dismissal of her own understanding of the darkness in others. “I should think it better to already now such darkness.” She said lowly. “I should think if you are to make an enemy out of such a thing, that the only way to fight it is to know them so well that they could never hope to surprise you.”
“I should think you right, My Lady.” Lord Lareth spoke for the first time, his deep and graveled voice startling her, for it was never expected. He always proved to be so silent that one almost forget his presence. Almost. For his simple stare could never be forgotten. It was as blue as the seas, and as piercing as the holy man that demanded sins to be confessed. He brought his hand up and gently pushed golden strands from his brow.
“But I believe such things can be saved to be spoken of later.” He sighed out. “It shall not take long before they know of our revelations. It is our hopes that their dark vision has yet to see of it.”
“Worry not, my good man.” Bel smiled. “Before they can even think of going against the wishes of our Gods any farther, they shall know justice.”
And so it was said, and so it shall be.
Freyna held her head higher as they came to the stairs, taking their first steps from the underground and into the fresh air of the higher lands. The cool air against her bosom would cease and none would cause her to pale once the smell of blood left her, and the feelings that the smell brought would leave her mind. It was not time for such thoughts any longer, it was time to properly deal with the problem that had chosen so aptly to present itself to them. And any tear in their tapestry was in need of her most utmost attention in order to be fixed.
This is just the prologue of a piece I am working on. I probably will not add any other part of this piece here, but I figured I might as well set the first part out while I work on the rest of it. It is a major work in progress, so don't PM me calling me a loser please! I will definitely get it edited and in even better condition in due time, I got people helping me with that already. I am just posting this so I feel more confident in attempting to get my future works published! It will just make me more confident to know some of it is already out there!
Without further ado, here is the prologue!
The metallic scent of blood imbued the air. With it was the musk of a man’s sweat and the repulsive waste of those same men. It was lucky that the underground often remained cold as the snow of the north, the chill was likely the only thing that could keep the smell from being made worse. Even so, the chill seemed to be made trivial by the simple fact that the screams of the the many kept the place from ever being made bearable.
The air trembled with want. Nails clawed at the walls, pulling them apart as their fingers burst open and bloodied, continuing to destroy themselves no matter how futile it proved to be. Each cry that fell from the sinful tongues were met with deaf ears. Eyes that glittered with pain, begging for mercy and demanding it be given, for nothing they had done had been deserving of the torment that the blade brought when it dug into their flesh. Undeserving of the whip that split open their backs and the devices that crushed their bones.
Brennus of Renum stood tall beneath the dark ceiling. His fingers were stained crimson, in turn, the calloused appendages were bent about the hilt of a knife that seemed just as bloodied, even though it was the dulled blade that was shoved so unceremoniously into the skin. Small droplets of blood clung to his pale exposed collarbone and his beard covered cheeks.
A soft whimpering came from the man below him. Blood fell from cheeks that had been cut and lips that had been busted long ago. Tear stains were prominent upon his temples, though one of his eyes was a disgusting shade of purple and swollen so much that it could not be opened. The one that could see the dim light of the dungeon glittered with fresh and new tears, looking to the man that had brought him his injuries to cease.
Such was only the wandering hopes of a man that was already in his grave.
His lips parted in silent questioning. Or perhaps a silent answer to questions that forever hanged in the air. His body tensed, sore muscles crying out from the simple movements of him shifting about on the bed. His swollen tongue pushed out and licked the dried blood from the corners of his mouth.
Brennus leaned back, his lips thinned in annoyance as his eyes grazed over the man. A man that always seemed to be on the brink. He sat the knife on the table nearby before he reached forward, fingers threading through the sweaty dark curls in a deceptively gentle manner. They left a stain upon his brow as they brushed his curls away. His eye fell closed as a gentle breath escaped his nose, allowing the unfamiliarly gentle gesture sooth his body.
In an instant, that bit of mercy was gone and his hair was yanked taught in a strong grip. Nails curled deep into his scalp as his eyes flew open once more and he let put a sharp yelp of pain. Fingers pressed into his injured cheeks, the palm cupping his chin as the side of it pressed harshly into his throat.
“Shall we hear the truth now?” Brennus asked gently, his body bent of the other man’s.
It almost seemed like a tender moment between the two. One that should not have been looked on by any other eyes, yet there she was, disturbing the air as much is it disturbed her. Freyna was attempting to keep herself stiffly upright, the bodice helping to keep her back straight as she fought the urge to turn from the scene and lay her hand upon a wall to catch her breath.
“Don’t tell me you’re losing yourself so easily.” the voice was low, barely enough to touch her ears despite the way it fluttered against her skin. It caused her eyes to turn in a sharp glare towards him.
She pressed her bosom forward as she straightened her back to the point of near pain. She would be damned to be forced out of the room for something so petty as being unable to keep herself afloat due to a bit of blood being spilled on the stone below. He was a man like any other. And all men bled. There need not be such a dismantle from her own stability because of it.
The damp underground may as well have been the fire that burned in a room just overhead.His whimpers caused her stomach to churn and his look of desperation as he searched his mind for the answer that would satisfy the surrounding ears. His lips moved again, stretching and contracting about his teeth. His eye dripped closed once more before his chin quivered.
“Lady… Lady Frances.” He whispered through his broken teeth.
Freyna pressed her lips together as the words were whispered, a breath was unable to escape her as she took a step forward as if he were going to speak for them once more. She felt movement at her side as her brother brought his hand up, spinning it in the air. Brennus tilted his head, his blonde hair tickling his temples before he turned back to the musician that laid upon the table.
His grip tightened further.
“And?” He questioned. The musician pressed his lips together, even as tightly as they pressed to one another, Freyna could still see them tremble. He turned his eyes once more before he slowly pulled his head into as much of a nod as he could manage.
“Her brother… Larine… I played for him as well.”
His voice trembled with each word. The hand at her side continued to spin.
“And?” It was more forceful this time as Brennus leaned over the musician even further, his groin flush against the table as he looked to be leaning in for a peck upon the lips rather than a question.
“Gerain!” He gasped out as the fingers clenched down harder. It was then that the hand stopped and lowered. Brennus looked up, his dark eyes touching upon them for only a moment before he allowed his grip to loosen and then gently brushed a knuckle across the cheek of the musician.
“There. Could have avoided a lot of trouble had you just said so before, hm?” he murmured before he pulled away entirely from the weeping man.
Freyna felt her body begin to fall apart from itself. She took a step back and then another before she felt a hand touch her back and keep her from going any further. She pressed her eyes closed once more as she felt the hand move to her arm and grip it tightly.
“Careful, Freyna. Don’t lose yourself so quickly.” He gently bent her arm on her behalf so he could slip his through hers and keep her firmly upright.
“You’ve done enough, Brennus.” Bel said then. He turned his body slightly, readying himself to leave the small layer of hell that they had managed to put into their ground. “I should say that was sufficient enough proof?”
Freyna’s eyes finally turned to the three other men that had joined them. Each seemed less ill than she felt. It made her stand straighter once more, not caring that they expected such from a mere woman in the face of a bit of blood. Even if she knew they did not give a damn about her little disposition. Their eyes were on the man that laid on the table, and those eyes then turned to her brother, grimaces so melancholic that they nearly became smiles sat upon their lips.
“It seems there is nothing to refute, Lord Bel.” Lord Pernil murmured as he shook his head. He was a stout man. A thick layer of pudge surrounded his middle and the rest of him seemed smaller in comparison. “Though I doubt many were unaware of the nightly activities of Lady Frances. Though, her brothers… we should have known he would be one to engage in such acts.”
“He is an Ulahd. It is to be expected.” Lord Aron said. He pressed a hand to his bosom before drawing a symbol of the Gods into the air before him. “May the Gods have mercy for allowing them to stay within this place… May they have mercy on House Faernad, for they could not have known about such heresy.”
Bel raised a hand to his own bosom and nodded in grim agreement. “Aye. I don’t know what would have a happened had we suffered them any longer.”
“What shall be done about them now, is the true question.” Freyna spoke. She appraised the looks upon all the men. They likely did not expect to hear her speak, after watching her grow paler than she already had been. Though her skin could never wish to find a darker shade than white, her cheeks at least proved to be made pink once more rather than the lifeless hue they had taken on before. Because now she was faced with an environment of familiarity.
“Your sister speaks the truth, Lord Bel.” Lord Aron said solemnly. “Their practices are unholy. And they even managed to take the musician into their arms. One cannot act too harshly.”
“Aye.” Lord Pernil agreed. “Not with them. Never too harshly. Though, I fear how how they shall react to those that know the truth… Their hearts have withered to naught by now, how could we hope for them to not lay something upon us that would leave us in no better state than the blubbering idiot over there?” his hand game in a harsh gesture to the musician that was sobbing once more, letting out incoherent words as he attempted to curl in upon himself as much as much as his bonds would allow.
Freyna pressed her lips together once more and kept her gaze away from the musician, feeling her Bel’s hold upon her tighten as though he feared that she would collapse if she lacked means of support. But she did not grow faint again. She refused to, as there was too much to speak of now.
“Let us return up the stairs.” Bel said as he began to walk towards the stairs and Freyna was happy to begin to follow him. “The words grow too dark and I fear if there is no warm light to melt it away, we shall not ever be able to rid ourselves of the evil among us.”
“And they shall grow darker, still, my young Lord.” Pernil shook his head and took to joining the others in their forward march. “I envy you, young Lord. For you are too fresh to have yet seen the true evils of man so that you are paled only from the small presence of it.”
A soft chuckle escaped Bel’s lips before he shook his head and turned his eye so that he could see Pernil from the corner of it. “I suppose we should count ourselves lucky then, shouldn’t we, Freyna?”
Freyna tightened her hold upon him, tiltling her head so that she could feel her hair tickle the crook of her neck as she forced her lips into a smile. It was not quite as hard as she had first thought it to be. Perhaps because she did find humor in the man’s words rather than being offended at his dismissal of her own understanding of the darkness in others. “I should think it better to already now such darkness.” She said lowly. “I should think if you are to make an enemy out of such a thing, that the only way to fight it is to know them so well that they could never hope to surprise you.”
“I should think you right, My Lady.” Lord Lareth spoke for the first time, his deep and graveled voice startling her, for it was never expected. He always proved to be so silent that one almost forget his presence. Almost. For his simple stare could never be forgotten. It was as blue as the seas, and as piercing as the holy man that demanded sins to be confessed. He brought his hand up and gently pushed golden strands from his brow.
“But I believe such things can be saved to be spoken of later.” He sighed out. “It shall not take long before they know of our revelations. It is our hopes that their dark vision has yet to see of it.”
“Worry not, my good man.” Bel smiled. “Before they can even think of going against the wishes of our Gods any farther, they shall know justice.”
And so it was said, and so it shall be.
Freyna held her head higher as they came to the stairs, taking their first steps from the underground and into the fresh air of the higher lands. The cool air against her bosom would cease and none would cause her to pale once the smell of blood left her, and the feelings that the smell brought would leave her mind. It was not time for such thoughts any longer, it was time to properly deal with the problem that had chosen so aptly to present itself to them. And any tear in their tapestry was in need of her most utmost attention in order to be fixed.
