forum Beneath the Heavens Lies Cruelty and Hardship… But Here I Almost Feel Safe. (Closed 1/1) Stalkers welcome

Started August 08, 2023 by @Morals-are-for-mortals language

tune

The Manta palace was essentially a maze to any who were unfamiliar with it. A hulking display of power and wealth in the middle of the Snowy Mountains, hundreds of people were inside at all times.

And one of these people today was Qeen Fischer. She had explored the palace for a bit too long, entering a place that looked distinctly different from the rest. A dimly lit hallway with barred cells holding various different people. Some of them barely looked alive, not even bothering to look up at her. The whole place gave the feeling that no outsiders should be there. Or anyone at all.

But that wasn’t what had caught her attention—not completely. At the very end of the long hallway was a closed metal door with a key hook on the wall right next to it. It seemed almost convenient.

Qeen had sharp eyes. She was a curious person, deeply inquisitive, always poking her nose where it didn't belong. So it wasn't a surprise to find herself where she shouldn't be, the tall woman walks slowly, letting her cloak just scrape the floor as she walks. Her eyes flicker from the people in the holding cells, never lingering on one for more than a few seconds, avoiding making eye contact with the sorry folks that had the energy to raise their heads at her passing.

What did surprise her, was the ease of which secrets were being made available to her. It almost felt like cheating. A locked metal door, with keys conveniently provided right next to her? The bird woman makes a humming noise of curiosity, her face impassive, but her eyes narrowing in curiosity. This was too tantalizing to ignore. Like a tasty morsel left abandoned on a table.

Qeen raises her arm, the first time her cloak rippled enough to show even a hint of the body underneath. She gently touches the key ring, snatching them a second later. She pauses, head tilted and listening intently for anything.

The metal was cold in her palm and she shook the key ring slightly, listening to the pleasant sound of the keys hitting keys. Time to get in trouble.

Qeen inserts the key into the door, tugging hard to open the heavy metal door and poking her head inside.

The door opens with a dull creak.

What was inside may be more interesting than what Qeen could have imagined. A man—a Dark Dragon, without wings—sitting on the floor, which was stained with blood. Presumably, his.

He looked up at Qeen through the strands of hair covering his face. His eyes widened and he backed up against the wall to the best of his ability, a blackened hand placed in the small pool of blood and leaving a red handprint on the floor when he lowers it again. He appeared terrified, and yet didn’t make a single sound as he watched her.

Qeen's eyes widened significantly from their narrowed state. She's almost tempted to just close the door and walk away again and pretend she saw nothing. This was… Not at all what she was expecting. But absolutely fascinating.

With a slow deliberation, Qeen opens the door enough for her to slip into the room, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the metallic tang of blood, the smell was strong in the room. The cloaked woman observed the terrified man in silence for a long heartbeat, simply watching him.

Qeen walks, unfortunately, like a predator. She paces, inspecting from different angles, her yellow eyes bright with curiosity, though she doesn't emote much with her face. She watches him watch her, and finally after a few seconds, she speaks, her voice low and soft, but weighted in steel.

"Hello. I can honestly say, you were not what I was expecting when I opened this door." Qeen speaks politely, to the man, her head tilting to the side as she does so. She couldn't place his age immediately, though that might be because of the blood.

The man doesn’t move at all, analyzing her with his red eyes as she stalked around the room. If this was her idea of friendly, then it was a bad one. To him, at least. He just wanted to be left alone. Let him die in this damned room.

His head lowers ever so slightly at her words. That wasn’t what he was expecting, good or bad. But if she wasn’t here to continue the work of that Manta, then maybe..? No, don’t be hopeful. He shifted his position slightly to face her more, a barely audible wince as the movement brought ripples of pain throughout his body from his injuries.

He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it and stays silent. He moved the hair that was partly obscuring his face and looked up at her again. It was difficult to tell apart her features when he was stuck in this state of sight.

Qeen clicks her tongue in thought as she doesn't get a reply to her statement. Not particularly odd considering the circumstances, but she did feel like it was slightly rude. She was trying to be polite. Isn't that what you do when you meet a new person, strange or otherwise? Right, of course, introductions!

She moves closer to the man, not quite in range where they could touch, but definitely so she could see him better, but still have a reasonable chance at escape if it turned out the man sitting in a pool of his own blood was unhinged or violent. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea?

Qeen unveils one of her arms out of her cloak again, raising it to her chin, her expression thoughtful. A peculiar habit of hers was that Qeen often forgot to blink,she had to tap her leg in a rhythm to remind herself of when to do so. As a result, she stared a lot, and often, her yellow eyes wide to take in more details. She squashes the little intrusive thought that squirms up that she wanted to move all of his hair from his face, she really did want to take in more than just the profile. Qeen blinks once, slowly and deliberately, memorizing his features just in case.

Her thoughts had gotten entirely sidetracked and she realized she had just approached, gotten closer, and then continued to say nothing. Woops.

"Hello," Qeen repeated, "my name is Qeen Fischer. Lovely place you have here." A ghost of a smile crosses her normally neutral face. Perhaps a bit of humor would defuse the situation. It wouldn't. That didn't stop her.

The man almost backed up again, but he was already against the wall. He blinked once at her comment, not very amused by it as Qeen had thought.

She introduced herself also. Qeen Fischer. He needed to say something. But he shouldn’t. But what’s the harm if he were going to die soon anyway? For once in a very long time, he ignored the instincts he’d built up to keep himself alive for the past months. He takes a breath, and speaks.

“My name.. is Tseth.” His voice was was broken and raspy, as if it had been over-exerted. It had a thick accent as well, reminiscent of his species’ native tongue. And his name would be familiar to most—if he were telling the truth, of course. But it seemed that Tseth had nothing worth lying for.

Qeen didn't seem too bothered by the clear discomfort on the man's face as he backed up. She was in too much expectation of the words that would, hopefully, inevitably come out of his mouth, if the indrawn breath would be any indication that is. Her humor was appreciated by no one but herself and the stone walls.

Then he speaks.

And Qeen recoils immediately.

She reacts like one might when they're startled suddenly by a snake crossing their path, a step backwards, an intake of breath, almost a hissing sound coming from her lips. Her expression barely changes, but her eyes widen quickly and double in intensity. They go from mildly curious, to full of intent. She withdraws her hand back into her cloak, head tipping to the side again. How to play this situation? It was already precarious, and she had none of the context surrounding this situation.

The woman's brows twitch downwards in the start of a frown, her lips drawing into a concentrated line. She seems to be mulling something over in her head, thoughts going a mile a minute, so even she could barely understand them. Then she gives a sharp nod, seemingly coming to a decision, her yellow eyes scanning over him, noting the wounds and haggard appearance.

"I see. Do you need assistance?" Her voice is more polite now, her words slightly clipped in her peculiar way of speaking. The offer seems genuine, if hesitant.

Tseth’s brows furrowed ever so slightly at Qeens reaction. He guessed that wasn’t what she was expecting.

He glanced to the open door, mentally calculating how far he could run before he collapsed. Probably not very far, and the chances he got caught before he even could were high. His gaze returned to her when she spoke, and his eyes widened slightly at her offer.

He considered replying with some sarcasm as a response to her own humor from a moment ago. An ”Oh, no, not at all,” but he also thought that might be a bad idea. He gives a small nod instead.

“I would like some.”

(Totally fine! Hope you have a great trip!)

Qeen nods sharply, just once, and it seems to finalize her decision in what she was doing. She would offer help. She wasn't doing anything else today anyways. She only hoped he didn't bite. She hated biters.

The woman withdrew something from her pale cloak, crouching down to balance on the balls of her feet so that she could be at his eye level. She found it made people more comfortable if you could look someone in the eye without straining.

Qeen tosses him the thing she withdrew. It was a small roll of bread, practically just a travel ration. She was going to have it as a snack later. But judging by the emaciated state of her new friend, he needed it more than she did. She started looking for any sort of restraints or chains keeping him in place that might pose a problem briefly. Food was the first step, but Qeen was still going to be careful as she progressed. Any sign of sudden hostility, and she would be gone.

Qeen glances at him inquisitively, practically feeling all the questions she'd like to ask bubbling in her throat, fighting for which one would get asked first. The more urgent one won out. There had been many eyes that saw her walk down this hallway, and they would likely see her walk out as well.

"How much trouble am I going to be in if I take you out of here?" Qeen asks almost conversationally, her tone light. But her eyes are dead serious, running through all the ways this situation could go.

This could be horribly bad for her. But it could also lead to new advantages. And beyond all the calculations, she couldn't just stand here and leave someone to rot in a place like this. Even the sorry wretches in the hallway had looked better cared for. It was basic rights.

Tseth shifted to sit up a little straighter. When Qeen tossed the roll of bread, he caught it with the non-bloodied hand, but he mostly just stared at it instead of eating it. He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head, and then he handed it back to her.

There were several different reasons why he gave it back, none of which he’d tell this new woman. All that mattered was that he wasn’t going to take it.

A prick of anxiety creeped into his chest when she asked her next question. Well, let’s run through this whole scenario. She doesn’t belong here. She went into Tseth’s holding room. She offered to help him. Tseth, who was being held as a prisoner of war by the Mantas, of which this was their palace.

“A lot.”

That was the simplest answer. He could have said more, but really, she didn’t ask for anything more.

But then again, it might be a good idea to give her a little more information. “Helping me makes you,” he gestured to her, “an enemy of the Mantas.” And are you willing to do that?

Qeen took the bread roll with a surprised expression on her face. She glances from it, back to him, while turning it over in her hands, frowning slightly. Interesting. She tucks it back into her cloak for now, maybe she'd toss it to one of the other prisoners as they left. And they would leave.

She listened to his answer with an impassive expression, reacting with only silence for a heartbeat.

Then she shifted, her silver cloak rippling in the dim light as she cocks her head to the side, an eager gleam entering her yellow eyes.

"I can live with that." Qeen's lips tug up into a real smile this time. The upward movement of her lips mirrored by the light pink scar across the bridge of her nose. Two upward grins. She had her own reasons for this. Ones she wasn't going to share now.

Now it was time for business. Her smile evaporates, returning her face to neutral, like a snowy plain after a storm.

"Can you walk?"

Tseth almost smiled at Qeens answer. Almost. There was a little feeling of… hope? That maybe he'd be able to leave this place. He didn't know Qeens motivations for getting him out of here, but he was grateful that she was helping him.

He tilts his head as he considers the next question. "Only one way to find out." He wasn't confident about that. But there was only one way to find out.

He slowly, carefully got up off of his feet. He was using the wall for support to stay standing. But he suddenly got a severe dizziness when he was pretty much up. "Shit-" He leaned against the wall and lowered his head, eyes tightly closed.

Now, Qeen could see the back of his shirt. The bloodstains were a stark contrast from the white of the shirt. One could only presume that was where his injuries were. Luckily, they didn't seem to be bleeding out at the moment. Would they stay that way? That was debatable, if his movements opened the wounds again.

Qeen watched Tseth stand slowly. She was optimistic for the first half actually, he moved slowly but with care and seemed to be alright. Until he wasn't. She surged forwards, her hands appearing from her cloak and hovering anxiously nearby in case he needed support.

She was about to actually move to touch him, to support him in his valiant effort of standing, when she hesitated, noting the shirt. The white shirt was absolutely filthy with blood, the crimson color was easy to see and the stains were large. It made her own skin ache in sympathy for a second. She hovered close nearby, her brows drawn into a frown.

"Well this isn't encouraging." Qeen chirps with an overly positive tone. Her eyes raked over him again, biting the inside of her cheek in worry. This really was a problem. She touches a pouch hidden inside her cloak, sighing softly.

"I don't think I can carry you." She observes unhelpfully, he may be half starved, but… Now that Tseth was standing, Qeen was startled by the height difference. She was tall. He was taller. Significantly. She also got a better look at his face, and she had no qualms about studying him while he had his eyes shut with… Pain? Dizziness? Nausea? It was hard to identify at a glance, and it was probably all three. Long, messy hair, starved features, she'd note the eye color later.

She takes out the pouch, which contains a few spare light crystals she kept on hand for her spear. She frowns deeper.

"I don't suppose you know how to heal yourself, do you?"

Tseth glanced at Qeen, confusion adding to the range of emotions he had right now. He didn’t quite see how the situation called for an optimistic tone of voice, but he wouldn’t say anything about it.

And, well, it wasn’t his intention to be carried, even if he couldn’t stand he wouldn’t let that happen. “Just help me walk.” He said bluntly. Tseth might not be able to stand with any degree of excellency, but he was pretty sure if he had some support he could walk.

He glanced at the pouch. He presumed that it was carrying light crystals. He shook his head. He had only seen it be done, and he never learned how anyone did it. A friend of his was learning… not the time for that, Tseth.

Queen's lips drew into a fine line again as she nodded, hiding the pouch once again into the void of her clothes. That was one less option. Not the end of the world, but frustrating. She makes a mental note to herself to find a teacher or at least to practice more with the crystals the second she's out of this situation. Not knowing things was not her comfort zone.

The silver haired woman moved closer to offer her support. Hooking her arm around his back, trying to avoid the areas that looked more wounded based on the bloodstains on the shirt. Tseth was lighter than she was expecting, but not easy to support by any stretch of the imagination. Besides, Qeen only came up to his shoulder, so she was basically making her body into a crutch.

Qeen wrinkles her nose slightly, still slightly confused on how to act in this situation. What did one say or do? There wasn't a manual for accidental prisoner freeing. When in doubt, she teased.

"You know, normally in the storybooks the princess is carried valiantly away by their white knight. It's nothing to be ashamed about."

(Fun fact: I call Tseth a doorframe sometimes because he's about as tall as a normal one)

Tseth hooked his own arm around Qeen, hand on her shoulder. He made it a point for his clawed hands not to accidentally harm her or her clothing. That wouldn't be very nice.

He took note of her cloak, which had reminded him of something. He would need to get his own wings back if he never wanted to come back to this place at a later time. It's a good thing he knew where those were. In fact, it wasn't that far.

He nearly rolled his eyes at Qeens comment. He didn't doubt that she would be able to pick him up, but he only had a shred of self-worth left and he'd like to keep it. But, he might as well throw something back. "Normally the knight knows the princess is in danger in the first place." Alright, not the best response, but he hasn't had a non-life-threatening conversation for a while. At least he didn't immediately apologize.

"Let's get out of here."

(omg, that- puts a lot of things in perspective lol. He must hit hit head a lot.)

Qeen smiled slightly at the attempt at banter. Even wounded and starved, it said a lot about a person if they were willing to play along, even with a small joke. But priorities were priorities and the one at the top of the list was indeed leaving.

She nods, offering as much support as she can, moving slowly so as not to risk reopening his wounds so soon.

Qeen starts to move back to the hallway, hesitating at the metal door again. The prisoners in the cells would be witnesses to their exit, would that pose a problem? If she ever wanted to return to this place, without burning all of her potential bridges, perhaps it would be better to remain unseen. But that was starting to seem more and more like an impossibility.

"You could have picked a better castle to get stuck in, princess." Qeen mutters under her breath, not really speaking to him, but to herself.

She raises her voice, clearly speaking to Tseth this time. "Are we making a run for it now, or is there business you need finished here?"

It was strange how fast Qeen already was mentally saying we in this situation. She'd thrown herself headlong into this mess, and she felt a responsibility to see it untangled. It was a challenge, a task. She completed tasks.

(Exactly why I did it.)

Tseth looked out the door at all the other prisoners. He felt a pang of sympathy for them. But he knew that they couldn’t be helped.

He glanced at Qeen. It wasn’t really like he had a choice as to where he ended up. Besides, usually in the stories the princess ended up captured by his species, which didn’t really make sense. They didn’t have castles. Tseth and his family lived in a house like normal people. But no one really knew anything about Krill, so he couldn’t blame them much.

He nodded once. “My wings. I know where they are.” It’s a bit difficult to forget when they’re kept in the same place where they were forcibly ripped off of his back. Which was, actually, in the same hallway of the palace that the entrance to the cell blocks were. Everything regarding the prisoners was.

Tseth avoided looking at the other prisoners as they passed by. He wasn’t really sure why, but it felt wrong to look at them. Was it guilt?