Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

He had no idea how long it had been. No firm whole grasp of time.
    He had been taken to the oubliette. Manacled up to his neck, and lowered by a single hook and chain into a deep pit.
    Dark. No windows. The only pinhole of light from the nearly seamless, thick iron gate over the trap door above. From the booming echo, the chamber was massive, high cavernous walls. Which could mean that this was a naturally ocurring cave beneath the jail.
    It didn't just will itself into being. He'd feel along the walls for cracks, masonry, or moisture, if he wasn't unable to so much as wiggle anything below his chin.
    Every now and then a jailer was lowered down to spoon feed him something lukewarm and gritty, mop up the waste, and squeeze a mouthful of dirty water from a filthy water skin. The gruel tasted distinctly of sawdust. No expense spared.
    Maybe they felt they had a better chance if he was disoriented, passing out standing up, and nearly starved
    After the eighth visit, the jailer spoke.
    "we're gonna clean you up and take you back to the light- your eyes are gonna hurt like hell. Keep them shut."
    Davretor was surprised at how dry and weak his voice came out
    "They're here?"
    "As far as I know, they've been busying about, but there was some debate about what to do with you between their guys and ours"
    Davretor chuckled.
    "Bury me under the jail, and then bury the jail?"
    "Yeah... I heard you're the closest thing to a demon we've seen walking around as he pleases" The jailer dabbed at Davretor's cracked lips and cruddy eyelids.
    "And that doesn't scare you?"
    The jailer let a faint harumph escape.
    "Son, I've been doing this longer than you've been walking the earth, even if you are a demon. I've seen mother killers, baby eaters, and mad men that tried to bite through steel- you're nothing new to me. Demons already walk my world."
    He placed a great iron hook in the loop to Davretor's body-cage.
    "I don't care what you did. I don't care who you were. You're not the first belle I sent to the ball. Death row, confession, pleas of mercy, bribes to escape-" he patted Davretor on the side of the face "but you've got something about you, something they won't be able to quell."
    "I bet you say that to all the boys" Davretor couldn't see if the jailer was smiling.
    "I do. But you're the first time I meant it."
    With a sharp snag, the body-cage began to lurch back up to the trapdoor. Within afew moments he was back in the light, and he was sure it wasn't more than wall sconces and, at most dusk through a distant window- even through tightly squeezed eyelids, the brightness seared into his brain causing a wretched ache.
    With a loud snap and clang, the latches to the cage were opened, and Davretor fell in an emaciated heap on the stone cold floor- a few buckets of cold water were flung on his naked body. He was sure the manacles over his wrist, neck and ankles were overkill, he could barely work a single tendon. Sputtering against the splash and scrubbing, he was towled off and hauled back to his feet, half carried, half drug by two sets of arms, his chains and metal toed boots clanking in the stride against the floor.
    The procession stopped, and a familiar voice answered a heavy handed knock against a heavy door.
    "You have my subject?"
    "Yes, and he's getting heavy"
    "Bring him in-"
    A door creaked, the strides and clanks resumed a few steps, and Davretor was flung to the ground.
    "Will there be anything else?"
    "No, leave us." Came the voice of the masked inquisitor from before.
    Davretor cracked his eyes, which was certainly a mistake- light came blasting in with all the violence and virulence of the sound of canonfire and cymbols rampaging through his head. They snapped back shut in reflex. The guards strolled out and shut the door firmly behind them, Davretor sensed a bit of repulsed brevity in their tone and pace, however the politics of jailer and inquisitor was the least of his concerns.
    Footsteps, gathering in haste and eagerness around him. How many? Such shuffling and scuffling, eight? A dozen? Just how many charlatans did it take to dissect one man?
    "They call you Davretor, but we're all certain that's not as you're known to your mother, or your gods" He was being pulled, lifted and placed again. This time it felt as though he was on something flat, and clean, the manacles were left on, and a few hands gently held him from rolling off the nearby edges.
    "What is your true name?"
    "I forgot." Davretor announced without so much as an ounce of sarcasm.
    There was a hum of concern mixed with a buzz of disbelief.
    "How long have you been alive?"
    "I don't know" His head turning involuntarily to the murmors around him.
    "What's the first thing you remember?"
    "A shadow..." the pain was back. Vague, quieted, as if shouting through dark waters instead of clear inside his head. There were a few seconds of silence, as if everyone expected Davretor to know more.
    "My shadow." He clarified.
    "Is that all? What about it do you recall? Something specific? Had it spoken to you? Had it asked you of anything?"
    "I'm hungry." Davretor had picked up on the eagerness in the inquistor's voice. "I'll tell you everything about it-" he grinned, his big, blood thirsty, fight-hungry, mercenary grin
    "if you get me a big, bloody, salty steak, and some god damn ale!"
    He wasn't sure if that line was going to get him a plate of barely cooked meat, or a searing hot iron to his skin. He was sure that he didn't care. They were going to do with him as they pleased regardless of his cooperation...