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 Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 7:58 pm
The anger faded, as did the pain and the worry.
All that was left was a bone-deep weariness. Emma was left hollow, unable to feel anything more.
There was no way out.
She could not go home.
She could do nothing.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 8:04 pm
The next division member, went up; but only rambled on what the previous prosecutor was saying.
Oh geez, I don't know what's worse this fake Vaswedes saving me, or being found guilty.
he thought to himself, but unknowingly projected it to his comrades.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 8:14 pm
"Geh..."
The tension snapped, and the inkmancer dropped her head into one hand.
Sorry about earlier...
At least he was safe for now...The Council seemed struck by the oddly powerful defense.
No longer buried in a swell of conflicting emotions, Scribbler cast out her senses again. Emma's aura seemed strangely empty.
She glanced at the enchantress, worried at the lack of emotion, and reached out tentatively.
You okay?
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 8:26 pm
There was no response, only a bitter quiet.
Emma stared straight towards Farkson, her arms folded tightly against her chest. The air around her had returned to a normal temperature, but it was a little too normal. There was no faint body heat around her.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 8:37 pm
The case went on, and eventually the leaders of each division grouped together to make a decision.
The Council Leader walked up and muttered lightly."Innocent."
And strolled off.
The Black Magic leader, strolled up. "Guilty." She said it almost angrily and brisked off.
"Guilty!" Called the General magic use division's lead member, who seemed eager to finish it.
Farskon's heart hammered in his ears, he nearly gasped.
The Diplomat division, drew it out."We have been convinced that he is indeed Innocent."
"We have come to a tie, take the Silver Heart into custody," The Council leader confirmed.
Then everything erupted into arguments, and debates as Farskon was being carried off in chains under guard.
They could of course teleport him, but some Council Members liked theatrics.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 9:01 pm
"...ngh."
There was time for one more glance of curious concern at Emma before the crowd rose up in protest.
A clear decision would have been too easy, wouldn't it?
The resulting uproar was incredible, shouting and heaving and much babbling fury from the crowd at the result. It was impossible to push through, and indeed the waves of Folk held both sorceress and inkmancer against the wall.
A small trail of ink followed the guard, and while the guards dealt with the roaring crowd, it coiled sneakily about the paladin's ankle like a darting shadow and blended into skin tone the moment it touched.
Every two steps, it dripped once, falling soundlessly against the ground invisibly.
We have a trail. Please don't squirm, the paene sent to Farskon.
She then tried to catch the enchantress's eye again, gaze growing fearful as she encountered the wall of unnatural calm.
Lady Emma, do we know anything about those chains?
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 9:05 pm
Scribbler succeeded in catching Emma's eye. The chocolate brown orbs that usually held either an icy hatred or hint of warmth were dead, devoid of anything.
I know enough.
Despite her state, she still knew (in a cold, clinical, calculating way) that Farkson needed saving. It was the only way she could get home.
I have broken stronger chains in my time.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 9:12 pm
Then all we need to do is find the right time.
The inkmancer had grown calculating, too, now that the initial wave was over. As an afterthought, she sent another message, much more warmly than the last.
Thank you, Lady Emma. Your help is crucial.
The cacophony of yelling was growing steadily quieter, the Folk's protests losing steam.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 9:19 pm
((And I think we've lost Farkson.))
Emma nodded curtly, still keeping herself pressed against the wall.
In response to Scribbler's attempts at reaching out, a small voice could be heard in the eerie silence of Emma's mind. It bore little resemblance to Emma's true tones; it was that of a child, the child that the enchantress had been all those centuries ago.
I just want to go home...please.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 9:32 pm
[that we have.]
The paene didn't sever the connection right away.
Instead, she drew on whatever happy, warm, and secure emotions she could, feeding it through the tiny tendril of soul currently sending the mental messages.
It gave a small squeeze, pouring what passed for hope through it.
Just a little longer, she promised.
Scribbler turned away, withdrawing the tendril before her own hopelessness surfaced again. Not now...she was not going to give in so easily.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 9:38 pm
((Stop here for the night?))
The projected emotions bloomed like a flower of warmth in Emma's chest, and it reflected in her mostly-dead eyes. She blinked, readjusting her posture in contrast to the stillness of before, and the child's voice faded to the background.
We can only hope.
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Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 9:50 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 6:26 pm
[[This part is first person, because well he's by himself xd
And I keep typing it in first person.]]
I woke up in a room, I felt cramped from the trial. My chest felt like someone had punctured it with an icicle, but there was only the tiniest of a scar on my chest where I had been struck near the heart.
I got up, and looked around. Caught me by surprise; I was expecting a damp dungeon. Turns out I was way off.
Around the room was a comfortable bed, lots of pastries, and everything was luxurious. Of course, when I put my hand on the door, it knocked me back.
I sighed exasperated, and sobbed frustrated like a child. I was basically trapped in a luxurious hotel room. Ugh.
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Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 6:32 pm
Emma could feel something in the distance, warded by multiple layers of magic.
Farkson still lived, but he was heavily guarded.
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Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 6:46 pm
Delicately, focussing very hard and far away, the inkmancer began to rearrange the small droplet that still adhered to the paladin's leg, so as not to alert him.
A tiny eye opened near Farskon's ankle, taking in the environment and relaying the information back.
"...Pastries?"
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