Challenge Submission Trial of the Unicorn

[Demonreach]

To call the prison cell in which Vaeymere resided dark was something of an understatement. No light shone, an impenetrable blackness that even his elven eyes could not see through; but it was dark, damp, and often times, cold. He had been stripped of his clothes, given instead a pair of trousers that had holes eaten through them from moth and mice. The half-elf had given up on time-keeping, though his wardens brought in food and drink from time to time --- they only seemed to come when he was asleep. He had tried to stay awake, to carch a glimpse of someone. He didn't know how long he had remained awake, but none came and when he awoke after succumbing to the weeariness only hunger could bring, his meal was in its usual place.

His hunger was his only source of time, but all too often he was hungry. The meager meals consisted of stale bread, stagnant water with some old meat and cheese from time to time. None of his watchers spoke to him, and for what he knew, he was the only one down here. But that had changed as one night as he heard voices, distant at first, coming towards his cell. His nose and ears picked out familar and unfamilar scents and voices. He had to shield his eyes from the sudden light that had penetrated the darkness that had so kept him confined.

He huddled himself into a far corner, away from the light of the torch, away from the eyes of those who now stared into the cell.

'Ah, Vaeymere, lad,' came an all-too familiar voice. 'I never wanted this for you, but... the chaos you have thrown the realm of Hayvn into...'

Unnatural yellow eyes glaring beneath a broad forehead with heavy brows, thick and white; wide nostrils flared on an equally wide nose, an iron-grey moustache was braided into twin tails around the edges of his mouth; bronze rings encircled the end of the braids --- the rings had images intricately carved into them. Hourdrith had done these rings himself, etching the small figures with a deftness that should be denied the large dwarven man. The dwarf's beard was equally as white and grey as the moustache, and sported a handful of smaller braids that had their own rings as well, these plain and simple. Hourdrith Stonebeard had a few centuries on Vaeymere, and was perhaps considered one of the oldest living people on Hayvn. The dwarf wore finely woven clothes: a dull red long-sleeved tunic with golden piping along the cuffs and neck. Stonebeard was a broad-shouldered dwarf with a barrel, perhaps two, for a chest; hands the size of a black bears' paw and perhaps as dangerous, with eyes as keen and sharp as his mind.

'Lord First, please. The accused to be questioned and sentenced,' came the voice of Anies Blackthorne, an elf of high blood and not sullied by human taint like Vaeymere. His voice was the wind, light but undeniable. Vaeymere knew how hard that voice could turn; unyielding and capable of eroding even the strongest of stones. 'Will the accused stand and address the Court of D'Efro? Speak your name, and age for the records of the Book of Keeping?'

Anies was like most elves, tall and lean; beautiful in all the ways that tugged the poet's heart. Vaeymere couldn't see it. What he could see was eyes the color of honey, light and gold with hate, a look reserved for Vaeymere only, the half-breed had learned. Anies was armoured and armed; a cavalry saber made of starsteel, forged by one of the Blackthorne's master smiths, rested on the left hip of the elf lord. It was a cold weapon to look at with all of its simplicity, the lack of design and embellishment giving it an aura of menace. It was a weapon made to kill, to mete out justice with a decisive stroke. It was a weapon made for Anies, as unbendable and straightforward as his will; as cold and unforgiving.

'Vaeymere Grayscale. I am twenty-eight winters, born under the Umbral Sun; reborn and given a True Name by the unicorn, Klick'Knack, may their soul rest eternally.'

'And your True Name?', Anies prompted.

'Tsu'ya, or Fellfire, as the unicorns call me.'

The half-elf could see the dwarf, Hourdrith Stonebeard, shaking his head sadly. A small retinue of others stood to the side and behind the dwarf, witnesses to what would be his trial. He saw his old mentor, Gerahn Longstride as well as a few others but their faces and scents hidden from him.

The dwarf spoke again, breaking the silence with his voice of rumbling thunder, 'You stand trial for treason against this realm and its people, for the murder of its king, Siagnia. What say you in your defense?'

Vayemere licked his lips, 'I only wish I had known of his crimes sooner, so that I may have killed him when I had a chance back then.'

'You do not deny these claims then?'

'No, Lord First.'

His throat was sore, dry; his tongue thick in his mouth as he spoke, but the words came easier as he exercised the muscles unused for such a time as he had been confined down here.

The dwarf seemed to wince before nodding; indistinct murmuring reached Vaeymere's ears, but he couldn't make out any words.

Hourdrith Stonebeard stared at the half-elf with an unreadable expression, the hard face masked in the dancing shadows of torchlight, 'Your actions have sent this realm into chaos, civil war. It will be many years before peace and calm can be gained. You are content with that?'

Vaeymere winced, 'No, First Lord. I merely wished to rid this kingdom of a tyrant most foul. Of a creature taken by the darkness that hides in all mens' hearts. He had succumbed to the evil of snakes, to the temptations of demons.'

'So you say, my son.' There was a deep sadness to the dwarf's words. Hourdrith had lost everything that night. 'Everyone here knows the crimes commited by the King Siagnia. All of us here followed you into that den of madness. Hayvn took a serious blow that night, I should know.'

There was a heavy silence as all present remembered sacrifices made.

Continuing, the dwarf said, 'Hayvn and its people shall never know of the service you've done, the sacrifice you made. You shall be exiled, cursed to wander this land for a time indeterminate. We cannot strip you of your True Name, a gift bestowed by a magic more powerful than any save the Angels' own, but none shall remember your name nor the name of your family. You and yours shall be washed away by the sands of time, cleansed by fading into obscurity.

'Only those of here shall know and remember you, your deeds and punishment. As far as the people are concerned, you and your father perished that night.'

Vaeymere Fellfire stared at the dwarf in mild surprise, but Hourdrith scowled. 'You may thank the Second Lord for your life, for he has Foreseen a future where you are once again at the forefront of. Without you, we've been told, we shall suffer a fate worse than what your father would have brought upon us.'

The Second Lord was an athletic human man, tall and broad-shouldered, whose eyes looked like ghosts of themselves. His attire was a stark contrast to his dwarven counterpart: a fur-lined, deerskin vest clung to broad shoulders of the man; his pants also deerskin. No doubt, the High Druid would be barefoot, Vaeymere thought, but was surprised to see his former mentor wearing leather boots, also lined with fur much like the vest.

The Second Lord had runes branded down his eyes, a pact that gave him foresight and prophesy in exchange for his own. It had been a hard choice, then, but it was one Gerahn had seemed to accept as time passed. He wielded twin long knives, their aura something dormant, sleeping.

The half-elf looked over to the his old mentor, but the Druid spoke, his voice a soothing river to the rumbling thunder of the First Lord. 'Do not thank me, Fellfire. Your future is still uncertain, and you shall wish death before time has come.'

Anies' words were tight with anger as he spoke. 'And so, judgment has been rendered and given. You have been tried as only one such as you can be amd found guilty of murdering your king and father.'

The cell door opened and Anies stepped through, brandishing his sword as he stalked towards Vaeymere. A quick slice and Vaeymere felt blood trickling down the left side of his face, down his neck. A hand went to the wound on his ear, the tip cut to mark him as an exile. Soon, the wound would close, the scar darkening to a deep purple for the remainder of his life.

'Vaeymere Grayscale is dead, and now only his corpse walks the world. Let it be.'

'Let it be.'