Shadows 7.1, 7.2
Dec. 4th, 2006 12:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
measured_wordsThis chapter is following a different format. For one thing, I'm focusing all on Matteo, because he's got a lot more stuff to take care of in a shorter period than Hadyn :) I'm expecting this chapter to have more, shorter, sections, and here are the first two!
Gordon watches as two red-robed figures manhandled a trio of terrified Southerners through the passage in the ruin. Even to his shadow-clouded sight, this place seemed twisted and dreary. All colours were faded to him, even the vibrant red of the crimson Cultists, but this land was blighted, unhallowed, and nearly real enough for him to touch.
Sounds were likewise distorted as they filtered into the edges of the Plane of Shadow, but the gist of the captives’ please for help and mercy rang through the barrier clearly enough. He recognized the older woman – she’d been tending Matteo at the empty camp house on the edge of the woods. She limped fearfully after the others – a young man hand in hand with a girl of about twelve. The boy bore his circumstances with the stoicism expected of all Southern males, though he’d clearly been wounded as well. His eyes lingered on the tree line, for which he received a sharp blow to the ear from his captors as the troop disappeared inside.
This was the second group of captives he’d seen. The first consisted of four young men, also peasants by the look of them. They’d come through the day before. When he’d returned to his vigil that morning, he’d heard nothing but the typical ominous quiet of the Shrine. They weren’t being tortured at the moment, then, though he knew Geron was present within.
The place was heavily warded, and Gordon hadn’t been able to learn anything when he ventured inside. It was strange – the place was close to the shadows, but it was closer to the infernal planes, and that was all he saw. It was unsettling. Most people even inside, even the cultists, appeared indistinct to him. But there were other creatures standing ready, waiting to be called forward. The only person who’d been at all identifiable was Geron, whose connection to the infernal was apparently quite strong. He’d glowed with it, a greenish luminescence emanating from an otherwise ghostly figure.
Gordon hadn’t stayed long. There wasn’t much he could do or learn, or at least little of use. He wasn’t sure what Atremi would do, in any case. He was a resourceful kid, but he had a lot to deal with. Gordon could imagine, but only that. He’d been caught in Exia, true, but the cult hadn’t held him long enough to torture hi,. No. They’d caught him, feared he would escape, and executed him before he’d had the chance. It all seemed far away now. Details faded everyday, but he remembered what was important. The cult was still out there, and looking for Atremi. Hey hadn’t found him yet, and all Gordon could do was watch, and wait for the call. It would come soon, he was sure, and he would be there when it did.
From his home, the tracks led back towards the lodge. Two adults, two children. Setting aside his apprehensiveness for the moment, Chang dismounted and checked his bow. Rain from a few days prior still soaked the ground and the impressions were easy to find. Four had come, five had left. The fifth limped, favouring their right leg. A small person, fairly light. It could be the Elf. The tracks were partially obscured – the red priests had kept their captives between them. He dreaded going inside. The vision of his hanako was still fresh in his mind. Shuang was no more deserving of such a fate. bracing himself for another grisly scene, Chang entered the lodge.
All the furniture was smashed. Splinters of lacquered tables and cabinets littered the floor, interspersed with sherds of fine porcelains, shredded scraps of painted paper and and silk screens and other ruins of what had been a finely appointed manse. The barbarians had knocked down walls where they could, and the smell of smoke hung in the air. Chang paused, but he’d seen no sign of fire from the outside. Besides, the house would have burned down to a ruin now, it if was gong to catch.
The smell was stronger as he moved towards the servants’ quarters, where he’d stationed Shuang and her charge. There was blood spattered among the detritus. He picked his way carefully through the mess, seeing no sign of the healer. Finally, he approached the Elf’s room. Had she made a last stand here the way Hanako had did outside Mei-Li’s room?
He stopped before entering, and considered the wreckage more carefully. The pattern of destruction did not, as he’d first surmised, lead to this room. It led from it. The door screen had been pulled back from the outside initially, but everything else – discarded furniture, splinters from the door frame itself – radiated outward. He turned and looked back the way he’d come, confirming his assessment.
Less certain of what he would find, Chang stepped inside. Like the rest of the lodge, the room was a disaster. The bedding had been cut to shreds, the brazier of coals overturned, the low table and walking stick Shuang had produced for the elf broken and splintered. There was no body, but there were signs that someone had been hurt. Not the Elf, though – someone who’d come in the doorway under guard. Shuang had limped her way towards the Shrine of the fallen, then, and the Elf had disappeared. The red priests had torn the place apart looking for him and failed… so where had he gone?
Chang moved towards the overturned brazier. Someone had smothered the embers with scraps of a kimono. Hours ago, now. His children had been kidnapped, and his wife murdered only hours ago. What was he doing here when every minute might matter? The Elf clearly did not need him.
Something behind him shifted and he turned quickly, hand reaching over his shoulder for an arrow. It was the Elf, leaning in the broken doorway. He was pale and drawn, his lips pinched together tightly. His good eye blazed with determination, and the other was covered with a strip of green cloth. He wore a pair of lose-fitting hakama pants Chang had brought for him, and a short haori coat. It looked strange with no kimono underneath, but the garment had clearly been put to good use. The elf stepped back into the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall watching him.
Chang stood, recovering quickly from the surprise. Where had he been hiding?
“The red priests have taken my children.”
The Elf nodded slowly, then surveyed the destruction and returned his gaze to Chang.
“If you are alright, I must go and help them if I can.”
He frowned, and his eye narrowed. He looked around the room again, and drew the stub of his thumb across this neck.
“They are my children.” Chang straightened, fueled by his own determination. The Elf nodded again, turned to face the way out, and looked back over his shoulder.
“If you can help…”
Once again, he nodded.
“Then come.” Chang wasn’t sure just how much help he could expect from a cripple, but he was clearly skilled in the arts of stealth despite his injuries. At this point, he would take anything to improve his chances of rescuing, or avenging, his family.
Gordon watches as two red-robed figures manhandled a trio of terrified Southerners through the passage in the ruin. Even to his shadow-clouded sight, this place seemed twisted and dreary. All colours were faded to him, even the vibrant red of the crimson Cultists, but this land was blighted, unhallowed, and nearly real enough for him to touch.
Sounds were likewise distorted as they filtered into the edges of the Plane of Shadow, but the gist of the captives’ please for help and mercy rang through the barrier clearly enough. He recognized the older woman – she’d been tending Matteo at the empty camp house on the edge of the woods. She limped fearfully after the others – a young man hand in hand with a girl of about twelve. The boy bore his circumstances with the stoicism expected of all Southern males, though he’d clearly been wounded as well. His eyes lingered on the tree line, for which he received a sharp blow to the ear from his captors as the troop disappeared inside.
This was the second group of captives he’d seen. The first consisted of four young men, also peasants by the look of them. They’d come through the day before. When he’d returned to his vigil that morning, he’d heard nothing but the typical ominous quiet of the Shrine. They weren’t being tortured at the moment, then, though he knew Geron was present within.
The place was heavily warded, and Gordon hadn’t been able to learn anything when he ventured inside. It was strange – the place was close to the shadows, but it was closer to the infernal planes, and that was all he saw. It was unsettling. Most people even inside, even the cultists, appeared indistinct to him. But there were other creatures standing ready, waiting to be called forward. The only person who’d been at all identifiable was Geron, whose connection to the infernal was apparently quite strong. He’d glowed with it, a greenish luminescence emanating from an otherwise ghostly figure.
Gordon hadn’t stayed long. There wasn’t much he could do or learn, or at least little of use. He wasn’t sure what Atremi would do, in any case. He was a resourceful kid, but he had a lot to deal with. Gordon could imagine, but only that. He’d been caught in Exia, true, but the cult hadn’t held him long enough to torture hi,. No. They’d caught him, feared he would escape, and executed him before he’d had the chance. It all seemed far away now. Details faded everyday, but he remembered what was important. The cult was still out there, and looking for Atremi. Hey hadn’t found him yet, and all Gordon could do was watch, and wait for the call. It would come soon, he was sure, and he would be there when it did.
From his home, the tracks led back towards the lodge. Two adults, two children. Setting aside his apprehensiveness for the moment, Chang dismounted and checked his bow. Rain from a few days prior still soaked the ground and the impressions were easy to find. Four had come, five had left. The fifth limped, favouring their right leg. A small person, fairly light. It could be the Elf. The tracks were partially obscured – the red priests had kept their captives between them. He dreaded going inside. The vision of his hanako was still fresh in his mind. Shuang was no more deserving of such a fate. bracing himself for another grisly scene, Chang entered the lodge.
All the furniture was smashed. Splinters of lacquered tables and cabinets littered the floor, interspersed with sherds of fine porcelains, shredded scraps of painted paper and and silk screens and other ruins of what had been a finely appointed manse. The barbarians had knocked down walls where they could, and the smell of smoke hung in the air. Chang paused, but he’d seen no sign of fire from the outside. Besides, the house would have burned down to a ruin now, it if was gong to catch.
The smell was stronger as he moved towards the servants’ quarters, where he’d stationed Shuang and her charge. There was blood spattered among the detritus. He picked his way carefully through the mess, seeing no sign of the healer. Finally, he approached the Elf’s room. Had she made a last stand here the way Hanako had did outside Mei-Li’s room?
He stopped before entering, and considered the wreckage more carefully. The pattern of destruction did not, as he’d first surmised, lead to this room. It led from it. The door screen had been pulled back from the outside initially, but everything else – discarded furniture, splinters from the door frame itself – radiated outward. He turned and looked back the way he’d come, confirming his assessment.
Less certain of what he would find, Chang stepped inside. Like the rest of the lodge, the room was a disaster. The bedding had been cut to shreds, the brazier of coals overturned, the low table and walking stick Shuang had produced for the elf broken and splintered. There was no body, but there were signs that someone had been hurt. Not the Elf, though – someone who’d come in the doorway under guard. Shuang had limped her way towards the Shrine of the fallen, then, and the Elf had disappeared. The red priests had torn the place apart looking for him and failed… so where had he gone?
Chang moved towards the overturned brazier. Someone had smothered the embers with scraps of a kimono. Hours ago, now. His children had been kidnapped, and his wife murdered only hours ago. What was he doing here when every minute might matter? The Elf clearly did not need him.
Something behind him shifted and he turned quickly, hand reaching over his shoulder for an arrow. It was the Elf, leaning in the broken doorway. He was pale and drawn, his lips pinched together tightly. His good eye blazed with determination, and the other was covered with a strip of green cloth. He wore a pair of lose-fitting hakama pants Chang had brought for him, and a short haori coat. It looked strange with no kimono underneath, but the garment had clearly been put to good use. The elf stepped back into the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall watching him.
Chang stood, recovering quickly from the surprise. Where had he been hiding?
“The red priests have taken my children.”
The Elf nodded slowly, then surveyed the destruction and returned his gaze to Chang.
“If you are alright, I must go and help them if I can.”
He frowned, and his eye narrowed. He looked around the room again, and drew the stub of his thumb across this neck.
“They are my children.” Chang straightened, fueled by his own determination. The Elf nodded again, turned to face the way out, and looked back over his shoulder.
“If you can help…”
Once again, he nodded.
“Then come.” Chang wasn’t sure just how much help he could expect from a cripple, but he was clearly skilled in the arts of stealth despite his injuries. At this point, he would take anything to improve his chances of rescuing, or avenging, his family.
