Darkness Eternal
May. 15th, 2021 12:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
applewatcher posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
spiderparlourCW: Torture. A lot.
Lucien's Silencer arrives in time to save his life, but not before the rest of the Black Hand found him.
---
The farmstead was dark. The newest tracks trailed to and from the fresh graves. Five headstones, and a sign of the last contract his Silencer had completed, before everything went wrong.
First J'Ghasta had been found dead. Then his next dead drop went uncollected, his Silencer ignoring his contracts. He'd prayed the two were unlinked, but then Ungolim's Silencer was found dead. He'd started his search. Alval was murdered. He was too slow. He lost track of the Silencer in the Jerall Mountains.
Then he realized what would happen next, and he was too slow again. There, in the sight of their mother, the Listener lay dead, and above him stood...
Not the traitor. He'd been wrong. They'd all been wrong, the traitor hadn't been in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, and now he'd been framed in the murders of his own kin, the Family was falling apart--
He'd sent his Silencer to intercept the next dead drop, and then fled.
The rented horse had been set loose, and he'd continued on foot through the forest. If only he still had Shadowmere, he could have run clear to Solitude by now, silent and unseen. But his Silencer would require her speed to catch the traitor, to bring back evidence in time...
No. He tried to shake off the panic again, to listen. Long minutes went by, and he heard nothing. The few birds fell silent as twilight turned to night. Magic showed no greater life than small creatures in the underbrush, but he saw them only in flickers. He was too exhausted to concentrate. He needed to rest, find a dark corner and pray himself to sleep.
He finally moved, across the open yard to the farmstead, unlatching the door.
And something moved behind him.
No! He didn't have time to fully turn before something struck him, and he fell through the open door. There were shadows standing above him.
--
The paralytic was so strong it stopped his lungs, losing consciousness within the space of a few missing breaths. He'd only half-hoped to wake up again.
When he revived, they'd already strung him up. They were cutting the clothes from his body, tearing his robes to pieces. He was still unable to move, unable to speak, nothing more than quiet sounds of pain as the knives sliced through and into flesh.
But they wouldn't let it stay that way. He knew. And he had one wild, desperate chance to plead his case once they let him scream.
But of course they didn't listen. He begged them to understand. He was loyal. He'd been framed. Please, By Sithis, listen to him! but they would not. There were hands clawing into his wounds, teeth on his skin, a smiling face stained red and distorted by the blood running into his eyes, grabbing his hair to slice thin strips of flesh from his face with delicate blades. They were enjoying it too much to stop.
But they kept letting him think they would. When the pain bit into him so deeply that he couldn't scream anymore, they drew back. Wait for the spasms in his lungs to settle. Wait for him to start pleading to their Mother for mercy.
And then they would begin again.
Lucien's Silencer arrives in time to save his life, but not before the rest of the Black Hand found him.
---
The farmstead was dark. The newest tracks trailed to and from the fresh graves. Five headstones, and a sign of the last contract his Silencer had completed, before everything went wrong.
First J'Ghasta had been found dead. Then his next dead drop went uncollected, his Silencer ignoring his contracts. He'd prayed the two were unlinked, but then Ungolim's Silencer was found dead. He'd started his search. Alval was murdered. He was too slow. He lost track of the Silencer in the Jerall Mountains.
Then he realized what would happen next, and he was too slow again. There, in the sight of their mother, the Listener lay dead, and above him stood...
Not the traitor. He'd been wrong. They'd all been wrong, the traitor hadn't been in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, and now he'd been framed in the murders of his own kin, the Family was falling apart--
He'd sent his Silencer to intercept the next dead drop, and then fled.
The rented horse had been set loose, and he'd continued on foot through the forest. If only he still had Shadowmere, he could have run clear to Solitude by now, silent and unseen. But his Silencer would require her speed to catch the traitor, to bring back evidence in time...
No. He tried to shake off the panic again, to listen. Long minutes went by, and he heard nothing. The few birds fell silent as twilight turned to night. Magic showed no greater life than small creatures in the underbrush, but he saw them only in flickers. He was too exhausted to concentrate. He needed to rest, find a dark corner and pray himself to sleep.
He finally moved, across the open yard to the farmstead, unlatching the door.
And something moved behind him.
No! He didn't have time to fully turn before something struck him, and he fell through the open door. There were shadows standing above him.
--
The paralytic was so strong it stopped his lungs, losing consciousness within the space of a few missing breaths. He'd only half-hoped to wake up again.
When he revived, they'd already strung him up. They were cutting the clothes from his body, tearing his robes to pieces. He was still unable to move, unable to speak, nothing more than quiet sounds of pain as the knives sliced through and into flesh.
But they wouldn't let it stay that way. He knew. And he had one wild, desperate chance to plead his case once they let him scream.
But of course they didn't listen. He begged them to understand. He was loyal. He'd been framed. Please, By Sithis, listen to him! but they would not. There were hands clawing into his wounds, teeth on his skin, a smiling face stained red and distorted by the blood running into his eyes, grabbing his hair to slice thin strips of flesh from his face with delicate blades. They were enjoying it too much to stop.
But they kept letting him think they would. When the pain bit into him so deeply that he couldn't scream anymore, they drew back. Wait for the spasms in his lungs to settle. Wait for him to start pleading to their Mother for mercy.
And then they would begin again.
