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Fable : Fall of the Guild	By : Samson Category: +A through F > Fable Views: 8222 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Inquisitor.
Fable : Fall of the Guild

Part X - "...It Was To Save A Country"

By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson

Original Date Written: February 15, 2013

A couple of light knocks sounded out from the other side of their door, Darrah’s voice coming a moment later. “Hey, guys, are you awake? Breakfast is almost done. Everyone’s already up.” Timoteo managed to keep his voice under control as he called back “Yeah, uh...We’ll be out in a minute, I’m still a little asleep.” Bianca smiled to herself upon hearing his white lie, looking up at him with a hint of amusement. Darrah replied with a calm “You can see the island on the horizon...Gibbons says we’ll probably get there by the end of the day. No telling if Leroy or Vincent will already be there, though.” Timoteo sighed faintly. The news soured what had otherwise been a very pleasant morning. As soon as he had woken up, Bianca had made her want for him apparent. She had urged him to sit on the edge of the cot before surprising him, getting down on her knees between his legs, using her bosom to massage his member. It had been some time since they had fooled around in that fashion, and Timoteo had been thoroughly enjoying it for several minutes before Darrah had paid their room a visit.
Bianca, pushing her hands into either side of her chest to press herself down around him, steadily pumped her immense, pale globes upwards and downwards, feeling him twitch and burn within the valley of her cleavage. Every time his tip came close to her throat, she wanted to lean her head forwards and lick or kiss him, and ultimately, she gave in to the temptation. Timoteo was about to respond to Darrah when Bianca tilted her head forwards, almost nuzzling her face into her own bosom as she slurped his tip between her lips. He twitched, shutting his eyes briefly. She kept pumping her warm, velvety soft mounds along his length, now exploring his end with her moist lips and tongue, using tantalizing pressure as she glided her mouth over him. She closed her eyes, enjoying herself, keeping quiet until Darrah left. Timoteo finally collected himself enough to speak. “O-Oh, really? Well...Um...Guess Gibbons and Marilyn will need to check the Arena before we get going. Like I said, we’ll be out in a minute. We can talk then.”
Darrah sounded somewhat suspicious as she slowly said “Eh...Okay. I’ll just leave you to...Waking up.” He heard her footsteps slowly recede, followed by the faint sounds of someone climbing up a ladder. Bianca cooed happily in her throat, seeing no further reason to keep her voice restrained, now that Darrah had left. She made a light wet sound as she pulled her head back, dragging her slick lips along him, sucking fiercely as she went. Once his tip had popped free of her mouth, she stuck her tongue out, rapidly flicking it around at the underside of his tip. She opened her eyes a crack, looking up at him, her cheeks starting to burn red when she saw the delight on his face. She smiled a little, happy to see she was pleasing him, encouraged by his obvious ecstasy. His body was starting to tense up a little, Timoteo able to feel himself stiffen even more between her pillows, her tongue becoming unbearably fiery. He was closing in on his finish, Bianca’s tongue-lashing rocketing him through his climax.
He tried to fight it, tried to stave it off and prolong the moment, but when Bianca pressed a slow, tender kiss to his tip, he was pushed over the edge. He groaned to try and warn her, but it came just a moment too late. Bianca closed her eyes with shock when he suddenly launched out a shot of seed, a thick, creamy rope hitting her cheekbone, just under her right eye. Bianca’s eyes went stunned, and though she seemed absolutely shocked, she managed to get her lips around his tip, again, before the rest of his discharge came loose. He noticed her whole face begin to go red, burning bright crimson like a cherry, her eyes going embarrassed. She looked up to his eyes, meeting his own, gazing into them lovingly as she coaxed out as much of his cream as possible. He watched her, his own cheeks a little flush, breathing a bit hard as she rubbed her lips over him and gulped down the rest of his orgasm’s harvest. Her eyes went dreamy, her eyes going down to his stomach as she swirled her tongue around his tip a few times, trying to cleanse him of any remaining white.
She used her breasts to give him one last little squeeze, then she let him go free from her bosom embrace, letting him slip from her plump lips. Timoteo chuckled, just a little breathlessly. “Sorry, about that...I couldn’t hold back, especially after that last kiss...” He apologized, genuinely. Bianca smiled widely, her whole face still burning with blush. “There’s nothing to be sorry for...” She murmured. Still sitting on her knees, she brought a hand up to her face, slowly running a finger over her cheek, feeling at his trickling seed. “It’s...On my face...” She quietly said, almost to herself. She couldn’t meet his eyes when she spoke next, mumbling quietly as she said “...I’ve...Thought about this, before...It’s nice...” Timoteo smiled, his whole face starting to turn red, too. He gently brought a hand to the side of her head, stroking down along her soft, black hair. Bianca scooped up some of his seed on her fingertip, bringing it down to her mouth, slipping her digit between her fingers.
She gave a light suck before slipping it back out, finally able to look back up and meet his eyes, again. Murmuring rather shyly, she quietly said “I love tasting it, though...I’d rather drink it than anything else, s-so...Seems like a bit of a waste...” Bianca scooped up some more of his seed, barely any left on her face. Sucking on her finger for another moment, she rubbed her tongue around, spreading him around over her tongue. “It’s like a nice reward at the end, isn’t it?...” Timoteo quietly asked, smiling warmly. Bianca made a little embarrassed sound, her eyes falling from his, going sheepish. He smiled more, leaning over far, bringing his other hand to the side of her head, as well. Sinking his fingers into her hair, he brought his face near her’s, looking into her eyes. She looked back, smiling affectionately. “I know what it’s like...I love it when you squirm and gush, when I lick you...” He softly said, teasing her. Bianca’s blush grew a shade deeper, her smile strengthening, unable to help averting her eyes from his.
Timoteo closed his eyes, closing the distance completely, pressing his lips to her’s in a loving kiss. She immediately kissed him back, bringing her hands up to his hips, holding on to him. They kissed several times before he felt her inch her tongue out, flicking at his lips, inviting his tongue out to play. He happily obliged, reaching his tongue out, slipping into her hot, moist mouth. He felt her let out a warm breath against his cheek, the two embracing with their tongues, coiling and playing with each other. A minute passed them by, the two losing track of time, tasting each other hungrily. When they finally withdrew their tongues, they both smiled, touching their foreheads together. He stroked his thumbs through her hair, feeling her silky smooth strands run against his hands and wrists. “You must be feeling eager...” He quietly said, starting to grin a little. Bianca opened her eyes a crack, smiling a little excitedly. “We shouldn’t...Darrah might come back...” Bianca murmured. Timoteo opened his eyes partially, meeting her’s. “Are you sure?” He playfully asked. Bianca thought for a moment before, a little reluctantly, she softly said “After breakfast, maybe?...” Timoteo’s grin turned to a happy smile. He held back a chuckle as he kissed her again, agreeing without words.
The six of them stood out on the small ship’s deck, near the bow of the vessel. Eating handfuls of honeyed nuts and strips of salted meat, they filled themselves up, their eyes on the horizon. Like a black blot stuck between ocean and sky, the island of Witchwood awaited them. Their vessel was headed straight for the eastern face of the island, aimed directly at Knothole Glade. Soon, the group would have to redirect the ship so it headed for the southern side of the island. There, the group planned to secretly dock the Lutra Pearls, keeping it out of sight until it was needed for the group’s escape. Brute looked forlornly at the island, knowing his home was there, a home he might never be able to return to. If the group wasn’t careful, the island, his birthplace, could very well be his final resting place. “So, before we go skipping merrily on down to the Arena, Marilyn and I will have to see if Leroy and Vincent have arrived, yet. If they have and are already gone, we’ll have to call the whole thing off.” Gibbons said.
Raising an eyebrow, gesturing towards the island with a hand full of honeyed nuts, he added “If they haven’t, I’ll try to find out if a definite date’s been established. If they’re already there, we’ll have to be quick about getting you guys up there, they won’t be staying for long.” “Should we put up a struggle? Might make it more believable.” Brute said, looking over at Gibbons, roughly biting off a chunk from a strip of meat. Gibbons shook his head, after a moment of thought. “No, that’ll just draw attention. Remember, your execution has to be low-key. We can’t be having extra people in attendance. If we can get you guys in nice and quiet, we’ll be better off.” Marilyn answered, glancing at the large Hero of Strength. Bianca licked some honey reside from her lips before she asked “Will we be brought directly to the arena itself, or will we held somewhere, first?” “Good question.” Gibbons replied, a little quietly. “You mean, you don’t know?” Timoteo asked, just a little disbelievingly.
Gibbons momentarily used his thumb to rub at the underside of his nose, saying “Well, some people are brought straight to the arena. Some are kept in holding cells, for a while. I think people are only brought to the holding cells, though, when the League wants something from them. Information, usually...Sometimes they’re just tortured.” “I guess we’ll be imprisoned first, in that case.” Darrah muttered, under her breath. Marilyn raised her eyebrows, saying “We know it’s not ideal, but we’d be better off if you were held in cells, for a little while. If you go straight to the arena, Leroy and Vincent might not have enough time to hear about the executions. If it gets dropped into their lap at the last minute, they might decide to not bother. If they hear about the executions in advance, though, they can plan to come. The League won’t kill you, not until you’re out in the arena.” “Great, so I won’t die, I’ll just be tortured.” Darrah snapped out, rolling her eyes.
“You think I like being humiliated? I’m not some loser masochist that gets all titillated from being abused.” Darrah argumentatively added. Bianca’s eyes fell from Witchwood, falling to the sea, though she kept her silence, her thoughts her own. Gibbons chuckled, looking over at Darrah, teasingly saying “Uh, where the hell is this coming from, all of a sudden? Are you trying to tell us something, Darrah?” Darrah’s face started to go red with annoyance. A little angrily, she said “Yeah, that I don’t like being somebody’s plaything.” Marilyn let out a short, barking laugh. “Relax, Darrah. I doubt they’re gonna whip and sodomize you.” She said, grinning widely. Darrah’s brow stabbed downwards, but Gibbons spoke before she could get a word out. His face was broken by a smile, but his tone was relaxed. Raising a hand towards her, he tried to calm her down, placatingly saying “Seriously Darrah, the torture is never sexual, don’t get your little pink panties in a bunch. It’ll still suck, I bet...But you won’t be doing any of that, at least.”
Darrah sourly crossed her arms over her chest, sarcastically saying “Hah hah. What a masterful play on words.” Gibbons chuckled. “So, what can we expect?” Timoteo asked, looking over at Gibbons. Gibbons relaxed, putting his hands to the ship’s railing. “You’ll be questioned, for sure. About other Heroes, about if anyone helped you. About what you’ve been doing, since the Guild fell. Then, there might be beatings...Cuttings. They might just make you do something that doesn’t seem so bad, at first, but that quickly turns to agony. This one guy, they...Well, I shouldn’t freak you out. They haven’t done it since, I don’t think, so you won’t have to worry.” Bianca barely nodded, saying “I can make something that could help, in that case. A philtre to deaden our body’s sensitivity to pain...Blades will feel less biting, blows will feel less bruising. It won’t make us any more durable, but it will make the torture more bearable.”
“A witch’s brew to dull pain? Why haven’t I heard of something like that, before?” Brute asked, his tone considerably curious. The corners of Bianca’s mouth flickered upwards, but fell again a moment later. She glanced at Brute as she quietly said “It’s not widely known, even among experienced alchemists. It’s a very situational brew...Why bother deadening your sensations when you could merely brew a true healing potion, instead? The philtre is only useful in situations where one knows they’ll be harmed, but where using potions may not be possible, or would be impractical. How many people willingly allow themselves to be captured and tortured?” Brute raised his eyebrows for a second, sighing out “Yeah, you’ve got a point.” Gibbons gave a nod, looking over at the others, his eyes lazily half-closed. “I’d make some of that stuff, if I were you. Just in case. And, anything you don’t want to lose, like jewellery or clothing you really care about, I’d leave here. Darrah, that means I’d suggest you don’t go to the Arena in your armour. They’ll just strip you out of it, and guaranteed, we won’t have a chance to get it again, after.”
“Oh, bugger. I thought I’d be able to wear it all the way up to my poor, untimely demise.” Darrah quipped, starting to smile. Bianca brought a hand up to her chest, touching her necklace. “They’ll steal my jewellery?” Bianca asked, her expression disbelieving. Gibbons raised an eyebrow, giving a nod, his eyes still partially closed. “Those pretty rings you’ve got? They’ll be a target, trust me. They’re going to pull you out of your clothes anyway, but if you’ve got anything nice they want, they’ll just take it.” Marilyn took a bite from a meat strip, speaking around a small mouthful as she said “Not like they care about being disrespectful to the soon-to-be-deceased. They don’t expect you to need your stuff, anymore.” Brute’s expression started to turn a little uncomfortable. Furrowing his brow a little, he glanced left and right, saying “Eh, all this talk about how we’re gonna die is starting to bother me. Should we really be tempting fate, like that? And, I don’t really like the sound of being stripped in front of anybody...”
“Me either.” Darrah absent-mindedly said, tossing a few honeyed nuts into her mouth. Bianca reached over, slipping her hand into Timoteo’s, threading fingers with him. He held back, wondering what was running through her mind. Gibbons shrugged lightly, a little uncaringly saying “Don’t worry about it, Brute. I doubt Avo’s gonna chuckle it up and mess with our plan, just because we mentioned screwing up. As for the stripping, well, it’s an unfortunate part of the plan. Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna rape you. It’s just part of how the League gets it’s jollies. It tries to humiliate and dehumanize you, so you don’t even feel like a person anymore, like you’re just cattle brought to slaughter. They dress you in rags and march you out to the arena, like a...Fucking dog being put down.” Near the end of his words, Gibbons’ voice fell to a mutter, his jaw beginning to tighten up. He tossed a half-eaten strip of meat into the sea, almost with frustration. “We won’t let that happen, to any of you.” Marilyn quickly added, a little quietly. “I sure hope so.” Timoteo simply said, his eyes drawn to the island, once again.
The day wore on, the Lutra Pearls nearing the island by late afternoon. Using long oars Gibbons and Marilyn had kept in their room, the group shifted the vessel’s direction, turning it towards the southwest. It was near midnight when the group found a suitable place to hide their ship, around the southern side of the island. A narrow depression in the earth, like a crack chipped out of the island’s side, opened up a perfect channel for the ship to be kept. The trees were thick enough to hide the vessel from sight, while the muddy banks would help keep the ship from drifting. The anchor was dropped, and a small rope ladder was flung over the side of the ship, letting Gibbons and Marilyn depart for the Arena. The mood on the vessel became solemn, Timoteo, Bianca, Darrah, and Brute feeling tense as they awaited for the duo’s return. Bianca spent her time mostly in seclusion, using a small fire on the coast to start brewing her pain-numbing concoction.
Brute stood on the ship’s deck, looking out at the sea, contemplating the decisions he had made leading him up to that point in time. Timoteo had stayed in his room, down in the ship’s belly. Mostly, he had been quietly waiting, trying not to do any thinking. He didn’t want to worry, nor did he want to dwell in his hatred for the League. Eventually, he sought Darrah out, finding her in her room. To his surprise, he found her attempting what could have only been prayer, kneeling by her cot with her head down over her arms. She was surprised by the interruption, and hastily attempted to change the scene, perhaps embarrassed. Timoteo merely commented that he had never placed her as the praying type. Darrah admitted that she wasn’t, but that, in her own words, “there’s no harm in it, considering the situation”. He asked her again if she was worried. She didn’t answer his question. She did, however, ask him to wait with her, to hold her, a request he fulfilled without regret.
At the Arena, Gibbons and Marilyn found the League in a tumultuous hubbub, everyone rushing around, preparing. They both asked around, and quickly discovered the cause of the uproar. Leroy and Vincent had set a definite date for their visit. They had both waited until they had arrived at the island before sending correspondence to the Arena, the both of them coming in secret, arriving at a port other than Knothole Glade. They were staying at a confidential location until noon the next day, upon which time they were expected to travel by carriage to the Arena. A welcoming party was being organized, with fine wine and delicacies being delivered by cooks at Knothole Glade. As was rumoured, they would both only stay for a span of forty-eight hours, both Leroy and Vincent making that fact explicitly clear in their letters. Almost every League member was occupied with either preparing the party, preparing archived documents for review, or going over security details in case of a sympathizer attack on the Arena.
Gibbons and Marilyn were quick to rush back to the others, returning with shackles to bind them with. By then, Bianca had finished her philtre, supplying the others with a cup each. The fluid, which was colourless and thin like water, yet possessed a rather bitter, unpleasant scent, was hard to swallow, although everyone managed to down their serving. The group already felt as if they were being taken to an execution, as they left their valuables on the ship. Timoteo and Darrah left everything behind, including Timoteo’s necklace from Bianca, as well as Darrah’s armour and arms. Brute left his weapon as well, and Bianca left her jewellery, including the dark gray ring she used to decorate the short plait she kept, in her bangs. Devoid of possessions, they were restrained with the hard, painful shackles, and quietly escorted to the Arena...
“Holy crap. Who’re these four?” A League member asked, looking at the six of them as they strode into the room. Gibbons and Marilyn, wearing cold expressions on their faces like masks, guided the others along, gripping their shackles with one hand, holding their firearms in the other. The unknown man looked weary, dark circles around his eyes as he stood up from behind his desk. The room was composed of the same substance as the rest of the Arena, with sandstone walls and floor, the ceiling matching. The room was lined with bookshelves, each filled with rolled-up pieces of parchment, all neatly stacked up into organized piles. The man’s desk was covered in scrolls, each one looking like a form or application. Aside from little bits of information scrawled at varying points on the scrolls, each one looked more or less identical. Towards the right of the desk, an open doorway could be seen, leading off to a hallway lined with dozens of metal doors.
The man almost knocked over his inkwell when he stood up, lightly bumping the edge of his desk with a leg, putting down the quill he had been holding. He reached up and adjusted his spectacles, his eyes going from face to face, looking at the new prisoners. “We did a little hunting.” Marilyn said, smiling smugly. Gibbons raised an eyebrow, grinning widely, glancing at Bianca as he said “You’re not gonna believe who these guys are, man.” The man’s eyes fell on Darrah, who insolently stared back at him. The man appeared to be in his late thirties, dressed in the typical League uniform. His hair was short and dark brown, the man beginning to go bald, his hairline receding higher and higher upon his head. Slowly, about six other League members walked into the room, coming from the same doorway that the prisoners had come from. They were clearly keeping an eye on the Heroes, making sure they didn’t attempt to escape.
The man started to smile, looking back to Gibbons and Marilyn, saying “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Fill out the forms, and we can have ‘em dead.” Marilyn pointed at Bianca, sounding quite satisfied as she said “This quiet thing is, believe it or not, Skorm’s little courtesan, herself...The Witch of Darkwood.” The League members that had followed the group all glanced at each other in surprise. The man behind the desk raised his eyebrows, leaning his head back in surprise. “Really?” He asked. “Shall I curse you with a wasting illness, to prove it?” Bianca quietly asked, staring at the man. Marilyn reacted in the blink of an eye. Raising her arm, she jammed the barrel of her firearm against Bianca’s right temple, almost making her head swing over from the force of the hit. Snarling, she muttered out “You speak again, and you won’t even make it to the execution, got that? Your brains’ll be painting the walls, bitch.”
Timoteo’s jaw tightened up. Bianca’s brow furrowed lightly. She blinked, quietly saying “I’ll behave.” Marilyn kept her firearm against Bianca’s head, for a moment, before withdrawing it. The man behind the desk chuckled darkly, yet with genuine amusement, at the same time. “Shit, I’ve gotta hear how you managed to catch her. You know the Witchspotters have been hunting for her ass for months, now?” Gibbons, rather arrogantly, said “Just proof positive that the Witchspotters are damn useless.” The man let out a short chuckle. Gibbons pointed at Darrah, saying “And this little girl is none other than Alexander’s daughter. You know, the guy Benedict’s bandits went after?” The man nodded, frowning, nodding. “I know all about him. I’m really fuckin’ impressed, she must not have been easy to catch. I hear she’s attached by the ass to her daddy’s-” Darrah bared her teeth and lunged at the man, but Gibbons rocketed a knee up into her stomach, making her flinch as the wind was torn from her lungs.
Gibbons grabbed her by the back of her shirt, pulling her until she was standing upright, once more. “Try that again, and you’re dead.” He muttered, with clear hostility. The man behind the desk was grinning with satisfaction. Nodding at Timoteo and Brute, he said “And who’re these two? Lemme guess...Weaver’s love child, and Briar Rose’s brother?” Marilyn laughed. Gibbons grinned, his tone friendly as he said “Hey, every haul has it’s good and bad. These two are just a couple of regular Heroes. Still, not fucking bad, huh? Maybe the big man, himself, will give us a pat on the back...Or a big damn sack of gold. Call it a bonus.” The man smiled, nodding a few times, looking down at the parchments on his desk. Searching through them, he said “I wouldn’t be surprised. This is just what we needed, for Kreel and Hopkins. This is gonna make all of us look good.” Finding four parchment pieces, he laid them down on the far end of the desk, then gestured for the League members that had followed the prisoners.
“Here, fill out this paperwork. We’ll hold on to them until it’s time to send them down to Skorm. If I were you, I’d schedule the execution for some time tomorrow...Maybe the head honchos will even watch it.” Gibbons smiled, casually saying “Yeah, maybe. I sure wouldn’t mind. Hell, maybe we’d get promotions if they actually see our work.” Marilyn chuckled, the other League members walking over. “A promotion’d be nice.” She simply said. The man behind the desk politely smiled. Timoteo, Bianca, Darrah, and Brute felt several more sets of hands grab on to their chains, yanking on their shackles. Quickly, they were pulled through the second doorway, their two friends disappearing behind them...
Hours passed by, the agony fully setting in for Bianca by the sixth. She had been put into a dark room, kept in solitary confinement. Kept in shackles, the chains connecting her hands together had been put over a metal hook-shaped fixture, hanging from the ceiling. This kept her arms stretched up high past her head, almost suspending her into the air, forcing her to remain standing on her toes at all times. The stretched position made sleep impossible, Bianca left in the cool, quiet shadows overnight. At first, she had been able to endure, but as the minutes ticked by, her philtre began to lose effectiveness. Eventually, she began to feel exactly how sore her body really was. She had already lost feeling in her arms, but her shoulders were burning with pain, so tender that even the mildest twitch from anywhere on her body caused flares to shoot through her nerves. The skin beneath her toes felt like it was splitting, like it were paper-thin and on the verge of rupturing.
Constantly standing on her toes took a toll on her ankles, as well, with her heels throbbing constantly. She constantly thought of the others, wondering if they were facing the same torture, if they had been thrust into the dark, alone. After what felt like ages, Bianca thought she could finally hear something. Her throat was bone-dry, tense and swollen, distracting her constantly. Maybe the sound was only her mind playing tricks on her? She looked up in the direction of the door, across from her. The footsteps, there were several sets of them, growing louder as they approached. Voices started to reach her ears, too. Her eyes widened a little. Her mind wasn’t fooling her. The time had come, it simply remained to be seen whether she was finally being questioned, or whether she was simply going to face a different form of torture. Three different keys were used on the door, to unlock six different mechanisms. A circular mechanism was turned, and finally, the big, rusty door began to swing inwards, a blinding stream of light flooding in, with it.
The voices had ceased, the metal door swinging inwards fully, two figures stepping into the doorway. With the light hitting them from behind, they were completely invisible, their bodies blackened to the point that they looked like mere shadows. “Looks legitimate.” One of them said, a man. “Open up the hatch, let some light in, here.” The second figure called out, a woman. Bianca had to screw her eyes shut as light suddenly began to hit her from above. A rough, mechanical grinding came from above her head, some sort of metal hatch being pried open in the room’s ceiling, opening up a passage to the outside world. The two figures in the doorway stepped inside, coming to either side of the opening. Bianca opened her eyes a crack as she heard a third individual slowly step into the room, the metal door shutting behind them. “Oh, my.” She heard the third figure say, clearly a man. He had a somewhat light voice, not feminine, but a voice noticeably lacking deep, masculine tone, all the same.
Bianca tried to look at him, but the sudden light after hours of pitch-darkness still strained her eyes. Still, she could tell that he was tall, as well as quite thin. The man took a few steps closer to Bianca, enough for the light coming from above to partially hit him. He was dressed like a Witchspotter, similar to a League member, the big, wide-brimmed hat on his head casting total darkness over his face. His coat was buttoned up completely, and on his hands, he wore a pair of black leather gloves. He held his hands together in front of himself, at about rib-level, as he said “I had heard you looked young for your age, but I had no idea you’d be so...Nubile.” Bianca opened her eyes a little more, staring hard at the figure, not being sure what to say. The man dropped his left arm, bringing his right hand up near the side of his head, spinning his hand momentarily as he chuckled and said “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of this moment. It’s been on my mind ever since I became Witchspotter General. The Witch of Darkwood...I am quite thrilled to make your acquaintance.”
Bianca’s mouth hung open a crack, her brow furrowing lightly. Yes. He had come to see her, just as she knew he would. But, would he go to the arena to see her die, or was he simply coming to mock her before her scheduled death? “Hopkins.” She muttered out, beginning to glare. He took a step closer, using his raised hand to slip off his hat, bringing it down over his stomach. He smiled at her, smug with triumph. He was an aging man, far past his prime, looking to be somewhere in his fifties. He had aged somewhat well, most of the lines and wrinkles on his face fairly light. His gray hair was long and thin, reaching his shoulders, around his head. He was clean-shaven, and wore a pair of spectacles, the lenses shaped into circles while the thin frames were made of black metal. The light from above hit his spectacles in such a way that they reflected it towards Bianca’s eyes, making his spectacles appear as twin circles of pure white light, menacingly shielding his eyes from view.
Hopkins came across as a little arrogant as he said “I knew that, one day, you’d make a mistake. That the little “disappearing acts” you’ve been pulling in Darkwood wouldn’t go on forever. And now, here we are...Where we should be.” Bianca started to smile a little, quietly saying “Yes. My thoughts, exactly.” Vincent turned his head to the side a little, raising an eyebrow. Her statement struck him as odd, but not enough to puzzle him for longer than a second. “I noticed that you came here with nothing. Had nothing in your pockets, when you were caught? Unusual. I suppose I thought you’d have something of interest, with you. Poisons, or maybe black magic effigies.” Vincent said. Bianca was still smiling as she said “I suppose you caught me on a bad day.” Vincent didn’t smile. Warningly, he snapped out “If I were you, I’d stow the impudence. You have no idea the ingenious ways we’ve devised, to torture witches like you. I was hoping to see you die, today, but if you’re so eager to give me lip, I could have you go another three months, in this hole. And that’d just be to start. In reality, torture can go on indefinitely, so long as the victim gets food and water.” Tilting his head forwards, raising both eyebrows, he muttered out “You may think you’re tough, but you don’t want to go down that route. Trust me.”
Bianca futilely attempted to swallow, hoping to get down saliva that didn’t exist. So, he would see her execution. All she had to do was keep from disrupting that plan, and everything should go as formulated. Her smile faded, and she quietly said “...I see. I apologize.” Vincent started to smile, again. He took a step closer to her, coming under the light a bit more, his spectacles no longer reflecting the light into Bianca’s eyes. Now, she could see his eyes for what they were, seeing that he had steely blue eyes, cold and cruel. “Let me get a good look at you...You’ve been my most hated enemy for ages, now, and I think I should get to see you properly before you find yourself in Skorm’s harem.” Bianca barely reacted when he reached out and grabbed her by the jaw, staring hard into her eyes. His leather glove prevented them from making skin-on-skin contact, something Bianca was thankful for. Like a doctor examining an ailing patient, he commented on what he saw, sounding just a little bit too interested in what his eyes fell upon.
His unusually intense interest confused her, but she ended up assuming that his hatred for her, and anyone like her, was so intense that he felt a need to get personal with her, before he watched her die. “Red eyes...First sign of an evil witch. Bloodshot, too. You were confined last night, right? Hm, you must be dying to sleep, by now.” He jerked her head left and right, adding “No piercings, no apparent tattoos...You’ve got a much cleaner appearance than I imagined.” He released her jaw, and Bianca quietly asked “What did you expect me to look like?” Vincent smiled and chuckled, for a second. “Barely human.” He simply answered. He looked down over her torso, angrily saying “This shirt, what good is it? It leaves nothing to the imagination! It’s almost entirely transparent!” Bianca’s jaw subtly clenched before she faintly said “What does it matter, what I choose to wear? I’m going to die soon anyway, aren’t I?” Vincent looked back to her eyes, slowly letting a wide smile grow on his face.
He said nothing, walking around her, getting behind her. Bianca tried to turn her head, but with her arms stretched taut on either side of her head, she couldn’t turn enough to keep Vincent within sight. “I don’t know if you’ve tried it, yet, but your spells will do you no good, in here. I won’t tell you why, I’d rather not give you a chance to try and nullify them, somehow.” Bianca didn’t need him to explain, quietly saying “Glyphs. You have some inscribed in the Arena?” Vincent seemed pleasantly surprised, his voice wrapping around her from behind. “Yes, very good. I had a mage put them in certain parts of the Arena, just to keep wicked animals like you from getting out of line. Of course, he’s dead now, but no bother. The glyphs still work.” Bianca felt her skin crawl when Vincent brought a hand to her upper back, feeling at her shoulder blades. “You won’t be running away, not this time...You had a good run, eluding us like you did. You had to have known it would end, some day.”
Bianca’s brow furrowed for a moment before she said “...I knew I was capable of mistakes. I knew I was only human.” Bianca’s whole body tensed up, a hard strike hitting her over her behind. She felt confused for a moment, before she realized that Vincent had spanked her out of anger. “Wrong!” He loudly said, almost shouting. Jamming his thumbs into her spine, he exploded pain inside her, Bianca screwing her eyes shut. She struggled to stay on her toes, Vincent almost pushing her off of her feet. “You’re not human! You’re a filthy, wretched creature, a mockery of humanity! Evil made flesh! Defiler of Avo’s light!” He took his thumbs from her, suddenly stepping around her, again. With almost religious zeal, Vincent barked and accused, throwing his arms around, gesturing wildly with his hands. “You’re nothing but a whore of the shadows, a Skorm sympathizer! You prey on innocent men and women, cut their lives short, steal their very souls! You’re brutal and merciless, you kill any and all that try to pass through Darkwood, as if the entire region is your’s, and your’s alone! You have no morality, and if you try to tell me otherwise, so help me Avo, I will have you skinned alive like an animal!”
Bianca remained silent, Vincent shooting a hand over, grabbing her by her jaw, again. “I’ll be damned if some wretched wench thinks she can use her unholy powers to stake a claim in an entire region of Albion! You think you’re so much better than me, so much more powerful, as you wallow in the resplendent powers of Skorm! It’s people like you that have been tearing Albion down, and I will see an end to it!” Vincent was getting red in the face, breathing hard, almost constantly shouting into Bianca’s face. Holding his arms up towards the light coming from the ceiling, Vincent stared upwards, his eyes wide. “Heroes are nothing but an affliction from Skorm, a disease that’s been festering on our world. And now, finally, the people are organizing a cleansing. Avo smiles on us, witch. Can you say the same about Skorm?” Bianca stared at Vincent as his eyes fell back to her’s, his arms dropping back by his sides. “...I don’t think I can.” She murmured out.
Vincent didn’t seem to know how to respond, for a moment. Perhaps, Bianca believed, he had temporarily run out of emotional fuel for his fire of hatred. The blunt, brutal hate in his eyes began to fade. Slowly, he raised his hands, beginning to pluck off his gloves. When he had gotten both off, he placed them inside his hat, holding it in his left hand. Bringing his right up to her face, Bianca resisted the urge to recoil away from him, feeling him touch her chin. He rubbed just below her bottom lip, sounding a little more in control of himself as he said “It’s a great shame, however...What is it about being a beautiful woman that draws you to Skorm? The promise of sin? It’s rare that I see a woman of your stunning beauty ally herself with what’s good and true.” Bianca barely narrowed her eyes. “...I needed power for my own personal goals. It was quicker, getting it from Skorm.” “Power. That’s all Heroes care about. They want it quick and dirty, and they don’t care who they tread on, to get it.” Vincent muttered, a little bitterly. Bianca almost raised an eyebrow in confusion, but she suppressed the instinct to avoid arousing Vincent’s ire.
Vincent continued to gaze at Bianca’s face, touching her all the while, feeling her soft, milky skin under his fingers. “I must confess...The dark clothing...The snowy skin...Even the red eyes...It’s not altogether unattractive. It’s unfortunate what all those things are associated with, and that it’s my enemy. Maybe, at any other time, we could have been on friendlier terms.” Bianca almost curled her lip up, at the thought. “I doubt it.” She quietly said. Something flashed in Vincent’s eyes, something Bianca didn’t have time to make out. He moved in a blur, dropping his hat to the floor. Bianca winced when he jammed his hands against her chest, roughly groping her breasts through her shirt, pushing his face against the side of her face. Bianca struggled to stay on her feet, shutting her eyes tight. She could feel him kissing at the side of her face, breathing in the scent of her hair, painfully pulling her globes around.
Hissing through clenched teeth, Bianca said “Stop it, you fool!” In a flash, Vincent had released her, almost jumping back from her. Perspiration was dotting his forehead. “Avo, protect me!” He almost cried out, his eyes wide. Reaching up and adjusting his spectacles, he whirled around, looking at his two Witchspotter companions. “She just tried to seduce me! Did you see that?! She just tried to use her foul magic, on me!” Vincent loudly said, his tone both outraged and a little fearful. “I did no such thing, you damn lecher!” Bianca angrily said, her brow sinking with anger. Vincent spun around and faced her, again. Marching up to her, he almost poked her in the face, raising a hand and pointing a finger at her. “Stick out your tongue, you tart!” He ordered. “What for?” Bianca curiously questioned, still sounding a little angry. Vincent stunned her when he pulled his arm back, whipping it over, slapping Bianca as hard as he could with the back of his hand. “Stick it out!” He commanded.
Bianca, the left side of her face stinging, bitterly slipped out the full length of her tongue, deciding not to look at Vincent as she fulfilled the somewhat sexual demand. Vincent’s eyes went wide, for a moment. The sweat covering his forehead got worse, a few beads rolling down his temples. “...Skorm has certainly left his mark, on you. There’s no doubt about it.” Vincent simply said, once more sounding a little more in control of himself. She withdrew her long tongue, glaring at the Witchspotter leader, vividly imagining his demise. Vincent simply stared back at her, Bianca not wondering why he was suddenly becoming so quiet. Eventually, though, the anger on her face began to fade. The hate in her eyes turned cold, almost calculating. Softly, almost compassionately, she asked “You have such a rabid fear of me, and everyone like me...You hate me with such intensity, but I can’t understand why. Did a Hero hurt you, or someone you care about, before? Did a female Will-user cause you suffering?”
Vincent regarded her with shock, at first. That emotion quickly mutated into boiling rage, but it only took him a moment to calm himself down. Slowly, he started to smile. Leaning over, he grabbed his hat, pulling his gloves out of it as he stood back up. Placing his hat back upon his head, he neatly started to slip his gloves back on, pulling them tight over his hands. His smile took a menacing twist as he calmly said “I’m truly going to enjoy watching you die. I’ll make sure to ask the executioner to give you a slug in the belly, before he puts one through your pretty little head. I’d like to see you Will your way out of that.” Bianca smiled with mock friendliness, derisively saying “It was nice meeting you, Vincent.” Vincent smiled more with amusement, letting out a short chuckle. Very suddenly and violently, he shot out a fist, slamming it into Bianca’s stomach. Bianca gasped, shutting her eyes, recoiling. She ended up falling off of her toes, hanging in the air, her full body weight going on her arms.
She cried out, her shoulders feeling like they would snap apart, Bianca desperately trying to keep herself on her toes, again. Tears ran into her eyes, the skin of her shoulders feeling like it would tear, split apart from the unexpected strain. Vincent’s smile turned smug, a hand going up to his face once more, the man adjusting his spectacles one last time. “I wonder how the others are faring, the ones you came with. As I understand it, the other woman is Alexander’s daughter. Kreel took a particular interest, in her.” Vincent sighed, turning and walking away, heading for the nearby door. “Shut the hatch!” His female cohort called out. Bianca stared daggers at Vincent as the light up above began to narrow, eventually dying away. Like a phantom in the doorway, he turned a little, almost looking at her from over his shoulder. “May Avo forgive you for your sins.” He said, almost taunting her, his smug smile intact all the while.
Bianca slowly clenched her hands, resisting the urge to retort with an insult. Vincent stepped outside, and his two allies followed close behind. The door was slammed shut, the keys locked the mechanisms, and again Bianca was left alone in the dark, left to suffer in the shadows...
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Fable : Fall of the Guild