Upon a Star: Karyana's Journey: Chapter 8

A Chapter by Sebastien B.

The Underdeep's fury is nothing compared to a women's scorn... especially one who has just reasons for vengeance.

Wizardbane Prison. The most well-protected jail in all of Medierth, home of some of the most depraved, insane and deranged mages ever to exist. Located high up the Warmneedle, the tallest peak lingering on the edge of the Shimmering Fields and Drakehill Summit. It is said that only the highest members of the Order were allowed access within the confines of these walls, and even so, it took a very strict and specific level of authorization to even walk past its immense cold iron doors.

Stories say that Raemu himself ordered the creation of his fortress as punishment to all those who twisted Progeny's teachings. Countless sorcerers spent their lives huddled in the thick walls of this almost impregnable fort, guarded day and night by specially-trained battlemages, masters of all arts relative to counter-spells, wards and the art of magical torture.

Very few shipments were made to the Prison, aside from food and clothes, and those who wished to pay the fine of a prisoner required to pay a very steep price in gold and mana. Normally, those who had no magical relics or baubles to add to the payment had to pay in what was known as a 'Reaper's Oath': the promise of death to both the prisoner and the person who bought the mage's freedom should they ever use magic for ill-intent. So far, those who actually took that Oath were almost always found dead, along with the rogue wizard.

On this day, the guards were rather surprised to see a lone rider, wearing a cloak with the colors of the Order, riding an earth-brown steed with a black mane, rune-embossed bits and a matching saddle.

"State your name and business." one of the guards said as he neared the rider. From the looks of it, the rider might have a hood to cover face and body, but it did nothing to cover a pair of silky legs, wearing high boots that reached just below the knee, embroidered with silver filigree and winter fox fur on its rim.

"I've come for Vokram Niros." the woman answered back with a sense of authority before handing the guard a sealed scroll held by a skin-molded glove, the kind that was specifically made for alchemists to avoid any unnatural reactions and… dire consequences.

The guard broke the seal of the scroll and read it quickly. Considering that guards had been trained to spot fake documents, this one was meticulously examining every detail of the parchment; the grain of the paper, the type of ink, the wax of the seal, every letter of the signature… even a magical examination was needed, for many forgeries were spotted when glamor spells were removed. Most of the higher members of the Order, especially the Arch, were known to use very special quills that prevented copy. Some more drastic measures, such as the use of blood ink for extremely important documents, needed greater attention.

The guard read the scroll three times over before looking at the rider who had now dismounted. Even though she kept her hood up, he could still see the fair visage of a young woman, almost of age for courtship.

"I don't know what a charming young lass wants to do with a crusty old bat like Vokram, but the document's authentic." the guard said before bringing the parchment to one of the torches that were held near the main gate, letting it burn. This was standard procedure for the guards, as such documents were never allowed to be used twice. "This way, milady."

The young woman made a smirk before handing the reigns of her mount to the second guard. "Make sure Halberd has water and is fed, please." she said, looking back at the horse. "I won't be long."

As the woman walked into the prison, the drape of her cloak dropped seamlessly down to cover the rest of her form aside from the tip of her boots, making her look like a monk ready to take a prisoner's last confessions.

The prison guards had a very strict policy with visitors, making sure that no weapons, magical or not, were allowed inside the walls. Also, every person that possessed magical abilities that entered the walls were constantly watched and were forced to wear a cold iron bracer to diminish whatever power they possessed. These same bracers were used as part of the shackles the prisoners wore day in, day out, even if the chains were not always of the same nature. Some prisoners that used a specific magical weave, wore shackles that, whenever the word of a spell or a gesture was done, the shackles would send a burst of energy that would cut the weave, causing the spell-caster to convulse, as if struck by a lightning bolt.

The guard that inspected the young woman was very surprised that she didn't seem to wear anything magical or of monetary worth. Aside from the clothes on her back �" which the guard chose not to search out of modesty -, it seemed as if she had not come with any relics or wards. Should any rogue wizard try to use a spell of a sort on her, she would likely be an easy target.

It took several minutes to reach the basement, where the more dangerous spellcasters were, trapped in cages and wards that no mere mage could dispel. Most of these cages dangled from the ceiling, hung by pulleys and chains to keep the rogue mana-weaver from touching anything it could use as a spell.

"I must admit, this place is a marvel of creativity." the woman spoke, examining each every kind of torture tool used or in use to make the prisoners' stay as miserable as possible. "I'm sure listening to them plead for their lives after… whatever crime they committed… it must give a sense of retribution."

The guard kept quiet, although he was grinning at the woman's comment.

---

Vokram lay in midair, bound and shackled at both feet and wrists. Over the past six years, he had endured daily punishment of the worst kind: rats crawling up and down the chains to pick at the grime on his skin, physical and magical torture of all kind, starvation… Every sort of punishment he knew, he had experienced.

As he laid there, what remained of his grime-filled hair clinging to his skull. An unkempt beard had grown long, while his frame had grown frail. He could barely register the loud clang of a key turning his cell's lock open, followed by shuffled steps.

"How long do you want with this old bat?" the guard asked, the glow of a torch burning the old man's eyes.

"Grant me an hour and I will be done with him." came a young woman's voice. Although he couldn't quite see very well in the barely-lit room, something told him that the woman, who had entered the wide prison cell, sounded oddly familiar.

"So, this is where the once-mighty Vokram Niros, former Demiarch of the Order, now lives." the woman said, walking around, ignoring the old man as she examined every bit of decayed wall, crumpled bedroll and vermin-infested plates. "I love what they did to this place."

The old mage shook his head slowly. "Who are you…" he whispered.

Laurinya rolled her eyes before turning around to face him. Quickly, her shackled hand reached for the old man's face in a slap that sounded like a piece of timber being whacked by a wet piece of leather. "Who am I?" she retorted, her tone having gone from sarcastic to aggressive. "Who am I? Oh, that's rich…"

Removing the cowl from over her face, she quickly unbuttoned the cloak and threw it aside. "Do you remember me now?" she shouted, the question not sounding at all like one. "You took me from my family, stripped me of my own free will, made me dance like a puppet on strings, and you don't even remember who I am?"

Vokram tried to focus on his eyes on the young woman, dressed in a mage's robe that, aside from the silver fox rim and cuffs, did nothing to hide the sinuous curves and ample bosom the golden-maned woman wore. Her emerald eyes seemed to glow in the darkness like foxfire.

"You're… Laurinya…" the old man replied, his muddy face showing some tall tale signs of anger.

"Oh, that's right, now you remember!" the young woman shouted, her shackled hand charging up energy before striking the shackled prisoner square in the chest, letting a surge of crippling energy ripple around the man's body, pouring out from her nails and out of him through the shackles. The smell of burnt body hair and the stench of rat feces filled the air.

"Gah… how…?" the old man spoke, unable to bring himself to ask why she was able to cast a spell without vocal incantation or arcane gestures, and how she was able to cast it while the iron band was around her hand.

Laurinya wiped her hand on the discarded cloak, as if she had touched a leper. "You honestly think a little iron could stop me?" she replied. "If you had actually been a mentor to me, rather than a slave-rider, you might have actually lived long enough to be Arch!"

Another slap to his face, but this time, it felt like the strike left a burning imprint on his face. The pain registered faster than him seeing the girl's hand surrounded by a fan of flames.

"Let me tell you a little story. Once upon a time, there was this wild girl who didn't want to study, because she already knew about every spell her 'master' tried to fill her mind with." she spoke, her voice ripe with sarcasm, even forcing a falsetto at the word 'master'. "So, her 'master', unable to find out why she's so wild, decides that, for his own good, he needs to use her powers for his own!"

Before continuing, she drove her boot's heel against the old man's left knee which let out a hard crunching noise, leading to the old man screaming in pain.

"Stop interrupting me!" she shouted, quickly brushing her fingers along the man's dried lips, sealing them tight. "Now, where was I… oh, yes. While the girl was still shouting for Mommy and Daddy, he decided to put a little necklace on her, which made her sleepwalk through everything. No matter what the girl did, everyone, and I mean everyone, bossed her around!"

The sound of a lash echoed against the walls as the muffled man tried to scream at the burning sensation of the girl's spell �" a red-hot whip that left a charred mark against his skin and burned a long scar in his clothes -, but no sound would come out aside a mumbled cry.

"Only, the 'master' didn't know that her 'pupil' had dreams." Laurinya continued. "Dreams so real, it felt like she was there. And not just that, but in those dreams, she learned more than anyone in the Order ever did! And not just that, but she actually had a friend in her dreams!"

There were no spells this time. Instead, Laurinya walked over to the crippled mage and continued her lecture. "And her friend, well… he was higher in rank that her 'master'. So, he did a little something to her amulet. Nothing really noticeable. A little crack here, a little notch there…"
Vokram's eyes widened, even though he couldn't speak.

"So, that friend and her… well… they come up with a little story to make him pay. A little magic here, a lie there, and bam! one fake story about the Nightwatcher." she continued, slapping another electricity-filled hand against the man's face, ripping the silence spell off enough for him to scream.

"So, the 'master' is sent away and the 'pupil' takes the 'master's' place." she added. "And after five years of studying with the best mana-weavers, spell-casters and conjurers, she discovers that her former 'master' had a little treat for his disciple."

As she turned about, she grabbed a torn page from a book. "A little spell to take the girl's powers and life force away from her!" she shouted, making the page burn in her hand and fall to the floor in ashes. "So now, the young woman is more powerful than her master, and it's time for him to be the puppet!"

Making a pulling motion, Laurinya used her other hand to point at the chains, which quickly snapped off. Soon, Vokram was held in the air only by the girl's mana-weave, his chains tied to the ceiling like a puppet in an immobile holder.

"Dance!" she shouted, firing a bolt of lightning from her unshackled hand, making the old man convulse and flail about. For a moment, she admired the human-sized puppet show with an almost childish glee, before moping.

"Humph. You know, this isn't as fun as I thought it would be." she said, twirling her finger around, which made the shackles break open and the man fall from at least fifteen feet onto the stone-hard floor. "All these years, I've only wanted one thing: to make you pay for all you did to me. And here I am, completely bored after only a few moments."

Lifting her hands up, leaving her unshackled hand in an upward position, she walked around the broken old man as her spell made him float about three feet from the ground.

"You see, I'm not a monster." she continued, shushing his attempt to speak, even though his body was too sore to do anything. "I just don't like rules, or people who try to force me to be something I don't want to be. But, in stuffing my mind with your imbecilic ambitions, you pretty much made me as bad as you are."

Flicking her hand away, she looked down at Vokram as he dropped again on the floor like pelt rug. "Oh, and I should thank you for your office. Some of those relics and items will be quite useful soon."

"You… little… ingrate." Vokram said, the words almost too painful to speak.

"And what should I be grateful for? Making me a monster? Stripping my family, my childhood from me? Making me into your own little toy?" she said in an increasingly menacing tone.

Clutching her hands up, she raised the man off the ground like a rag-doll. "I could kill you, right here, right now, but I'd just end up as ink-blooded as you." she said before looking at the chains which snaked down to latch around the man's body, leaving him stranded in mid-air, but now hanging upside-down. "And I don't feel like wasting any more time with you…"

Laurinya grabbed her cloak and placed it over the whimpering old man's body. "Enjoy the rest of your miserable life in prison, you old fool. But before I go, a little gift."

The last moment of sanity that the broken man had was the feeling of an amulet being placed around his neck, then his mind being turned to fog by a shroud that blanketed his thoughts and left his eyes empty.

As Laurinya turned towards the door, she tapped on it to call the guard. "Make sure he keeps the Rapture… um… the amulet on, and try to unshackle him before he chokes to death. Oh, and you can burn the cloak; I won't need it."

The last memories that Laurinya ever had of her former master was the shocked faces of the guards that tried to free the old man who hung upside-down, her cloak having spontaneously combusted.

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