The sun was just setting over the horizon as the slave driver came to collect Rupert. The centaur grabbed Rupert be the scruff of the neck, dragging him over to the cages. But he needn’t have bothered. Rupert was too weak to fight back, days without food having reduced him to nothing but skin and bones. His frail body, that was once so strong, tumbled on the ground as he was thrown into the cage, his knees and elbows scraping along the floor. “Pathetic wretch,” the centaur grumbled slamming the cage shut and locking the door. It wasn’t until the clopping of hooves had faded into nothingness that Rupert dared to look up at his fellow prisoners, all dressed in rags and malnourished. There was one less again today, not that anyone ever brought it up. It had become a regular occurrence, the slaves reaching the end of their usefulness never coming back for the night. Rupert wasn’t sure what happened, but the frenzied howls of the rock dogs each night fuelled his imagination. Rupert wasn’t sure how long it had been since his unit had been captured, but it had been long enough for his bones to start showing through the skin and his beard to grow tattered and bushy. His seraph uniform had been taken away from him, replaced by rags that had probably had a previous owner. He was slowly losing the will to go on and had begun to forget even his own name. He was quite sure that soon he’d be the one that made the hounds howl at night. Since he had been brought here, he’d been put on construction of the Centaur’s camp and catapults, he was a little ashamed to admit he’d even gotten a little good at it. He could build a tent or a wooden war engine faster than most of the other slaves that worked around him, under the watchful eyes of their oppressors. But all of that would come to an end very soon. He’d originally tried to fight, to struggle against his captors, but the merciless beatings had worn him down to the point that he no longer felt it was worth the pain to try. He was sure that this would be his last night before he was ushered into the mists. He even looked forward to it. The centaurs patrolled the camp, their spears glinting in the light of the moon that had now settled in the sky, enveloped in the blanket of night that had travelled over the sky. Accompanied by the stars, it was the only light to see by in this part of the camp. Torches flickers off in the heart of the camp, far in the distance, but the slaves were not allowed such light. The torches however, were the way that Rupert could tell that some commotion had started. It couldn’t quite make out what was going on, but the centaur’s movements were rapid and energised. Soon the sound of battle reached his ears. The clank of blade against blade, the sound of gun shots, and the sizzling spark of magic broke through the silence. In amongst the flickering orange light of the torches, purple flashes could be seen, along with beams of brightly coloured energy. The cage guards gathered up in tight formation, grunting to one another in heavily accented voices. Their shields clacked together, swords and spears brandished before them, forming an impenetrable wall of death. Rupert’s heat immediately fell. There was no way anyone would be able to get through that. Even the best trained Seraph squad would have trouble. Rupert started to turn away. He didn’t want to see what was about to come, not on his last night. He’d rather sit back and watch the beauty of the night sky, one last time. Even he, a seasoned Seraph veteran, was not prepared for what came next. The centaurs gasped in fright, causing Rupert to glance back at them. In that instant, a multitude of Sylvari sprang forth, smashing themselves against the shield wall, where they exploded into a myriad of brightly coloured butterflies. The Centaurs faltered, confused and disoriented, giving another wave of Sylvari the opportunity to break through their ranks, firing beams of deadly magical energy. What was most confusing was that every Sylvari looked exactly the same, a small, elegantly dressed Sylvari, all in white, and when one fell, all that happened is that another took its place, laughing in triumph. Rupert was so entranced by the scene, it took him a while to see the Sylvari sitting on top of the cage above him, grinning impishly, her feet dangling over the edge, watching the scene with a cold, calculated glee. She may have been the most beautiful thing Rupert had ever seen, dressed in the garb of an assassin, though all in white, her cyan glow a bright light against the dark sky. Her skin was perfect, a deep purple colour, looking as if it were made from marble, her posture was one of royalty. Rupert became certain that she was a goddess come to save him from this nightmare. The battle was over surprisingly quickly, though off in the heart of the camp, the sound of fighting could still be heard. The clones shatters in an explosion of butterflies that faded into nothingness, leaving only the distant sounds of batter to disturb the night. The dead lay before the cage, their eyes staring glassily up into nothingness. The ground became stained red as their life liquid trickled out onto the ground. The Sylvari screwed up her face in disgust, daintily hopping down from her place atop the cage, landing gracefully on the ground. She tip toes around the bodies, picking through their belongings and putting anything she found of interest behind her back, where it mysteriously disappeared. Finally, she let out a little gasp of joy, pinching her nose and bending down to pick up a bundle of keys from one of the centaur’s belts. She then skipped over to the cage, fumbling with the keys until she found the right one, turning the lock, and flinging the door open with a flourish. Rupert just stared at the Sylvari in wonder, tears of joy brimming at the corners of his eyes. The unthinkable had just happened. He had been freed, and his saviour was right before him, opening the door to his salvation. He desperately ran forward, closely followed by the other slaves, who he had never learnt the names of, crashing down at the Sylvari’s feet, going to hug her gratefully. The Sylvari however, let out a shrill cry of, “Ew ew ew ew ew noooooo, don’t touch me with your dirty, smelly hands,” before blinking a little distance away. Rupert stumbles, falling to the ground where he stared in bewilderment at the Sylvari, his eyes wide before he realised how he must have looked. In that moment he took the lead of the other slaves, getting to his feet and bowing to the woman. “I’m sorry, it’s just that we’re so grateful. We had thought ourselves doomed to a short life of enslavement, and then for you to come along? It’s nothing short of a miracle.” “Oh well,” the Sylvari replied, putting a delicate hand to her cheek, “I must admit, I am a bit of a miracle, aren’t I?” She then laughed smugly, the sound of her laughter like the chiming of little bells. Rupert raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t about to question the odd behaviour of the person who had just saved him and his fellow captives. Instead he bowed again, asking in a humble voice, “Might I know the name of my saviour?” “Oh, of course! Where are my manners,” the Sylvari said, waving her hand in an extravagant manner and producing an elegant looking fan which she waves in front of her face, putting a hand to her hip and striking a graceful pose. “I am Princess Penelope the caring, high queen of Maguuma, second in line for the throne of Tyria.” She then gave the freed slaves an exaggerated curtsy. Rupert deadpanned. Either his saviour was completely insane or this was all some sort of twisted dream that his subconscious had come up with in the last, delirious refuge of his subconscious. At this point, he didn’t much care. All he wanted was to be free of this place. He was about to say exactly that, when a centaur staggered to its feet, covered in wounds that oozed rich, dark red blood. He raised his weapon, charging at the Sylvari before Rupert could say anything to warm her, a cry of, “For the Tamini!” Bellowing from his mouth. The Sylvari’s eyes widened in horror, her form shimmering, as if she were about to blink away, just as the sound of a gunshot pierced the air, a bullet whizzing towards the Centaur, ripping through its head and sending the beast tumbling to the floor, where it lay still, now well and truly dead. Everyone turned to see where the shot had come from, their eyes falling upon a blue, male Sylvari, dressed similarly to the female, though he seemed to be completely devoid of any emotion. His eyes were dull and colourless, his hollow gaze making it seem that he was looking right through Rupert, as if he wasn’t even there. It was a little disconcerting. Rupert felt himself shift uneasily, finding the male Sylvari to be almost unnatural. The vicious looking scar that slashed across his face didn’t help matter, especially because the Sylvari’s red glow made the gruesome scar even more prominent. The male walked stiffly up to the female, his body creaking with every movement, sounding how Rupert imagined a tree falling in a forest might sound. He reached out to put either hand on the female’s shoulders, looking her over dispassionately, almost clinically, with no hint of anything other than professional courtesy. “Wellbeing?” He asked in a voice that was completely monotone, as emotionless as his face, the single word sounding more like a statement than it did a question. Even so, the female’s visage shimmered a little, a light blush spreading over her cheeks as she shook the male’s hands off of her, folding her arms and looking away, giving him a “Pffft,” of frustration. “Would you stop fussing?” she huffed, her tone haughty. “I’m perfectly fine thank you very much!” She then pointed to the dead centaur. “And I had that perfectly under control! I didn’t need you running in to play hero, jerk!” “Yes,” Was all the male said by way of reply, walking over to Rupert and the rest of the prisoners to look them over, checking for injuries, completely ignoring the female as she strode over to the dead centaur and gave it a swift kick, followed closely by several more. “Where were you anyway?” The female enquired once she had stopped kicking the corpse. “You missed all the fun! I was up here, all on my lonesome, fending for myself against all these smelly horses.” The male didn’t even spare her a glance, just pointing a thumb behind him at the distant, flickering torches as he continued to look over the former prisoners. Dark shapes could now be seen laid out on the ground, though this far away, they couldn’t make out what the shapes were. “There were many of them,” was all he said. The female gave a dissatisfied huff at his reply, but she sounded a little guiltier then she was perhaps aware. “Well you should have been quicker, shouldn’t you? I won’t bring you next time if this is how you’re going to be.” “Yes,” the male said again, moving away from the former prisoners when he was sure they were all capable of moving, walking over to the female. “Should get them to safety,” he said, fixing her with a vacant gaze, standing as still as stone for a second, dull eyes lingering on her face.He raised a hand to ruffle her foliage, then turned to walk stiffly back down the slope, to the heart of the camp, before she had time to react. The female blinked for a moment, her form shimmering lightly before stamping her foot in frustration, yelling at his back, “Jerk!” The female took a moment to collect herself, then looked at the prisoners, saying in an annoyed voice, “Well, what are you waiting for?” She then gave them a beaming smile, skipping back down the slope. “Come on~” Rupert didn’t need to be told twice. He followed the two Sylvari through the camp, his eyes traveling over the destruction the two had left in their wake. Bodies of centaurs were strewn everywhere, it seems none had escaped, and Rupert couldn’t say he was sad to see them dead. They were lead out of the camp gates, something Rupert had only dreamed of happening, then made their way down the road, to safety.
Posted on: Mon, 27 Oct 2014 17:33:01 +0000
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