The cellar of Warin’s house was dark. Darker than it needed to be. Jarod had been there before, a couple times in fact, and he knew there were candle holders that lined the walls, and a large candelabra in the center of the room that could give a homey glow. His captors had instead chosen to leave him in near-total darkness, a lone candle atop the table where the guard was stationed as the only light.
Jarod was manacled to one of the wine cabinets. The last time he’d been there, he’d helped Warin pick out a bottle to go along with their friendly game of cards. Now he was trapped down here until the morning when he’d be carted off towards the city of Chath to be imprisoned unjustly for five years.
“Can I have more water?” Jarod called out to the guard.
The guard kept looking at the book he’d been reading on the small table in front of him, but Jarod could tell from the slight shift of his head that he’d heard the question.
“Water?” he repeated, tapping the wooden cup lightly on the ground in emphasis.
After a brief pause, the guard rolled his eyes and sat up with a heavy sigh. “Haven’t you had your fill already?” The man’s voice was heavily accented, and he spoke with an emphasis that was almost poetic.
“I’m recovering from some injuries over here, I need to keep drinking if I have to travel to Chath soon.”
The surveyor keeping guard stared at Jarod in the darkness. He knew he couldn’t be visible as more than a silhouette, but the man looked at him as though he could read Jarod’s expression plainly. After a moment’s thought, the man sighed again and placed a bookmark at his spot. “Very well,” he said. “Roll your cup along the ground.”
Jarod complied with the orders and the guard reached down to pick up the cup. He gave Jarod a look before he left and said, “don’t forget that this is for drinking. I don’t want you washing your wounds with this water again, or there’ll be no more for you.”
Jarod nodded, and watched the other man leave the cellar for the well outside. As soon as he was gone, Jarod leaned forward immediately to examine his manacles. It was tough to make anything out in the dim lighting, but he bent over looking for any sort of catch that he could release inside the mechanism.
Intelligence (mechanisms) check (?)
[3]
Failure
Jarod noticed the message pop up and paused in his investigation. Of course he’d noticed that the messages corresponded with the things he was doing, but he’d never really had a chance to look at them further. He’d either been preoccupied with the action of the moment, or trying to familiarize himself with the new sensation of the message in the first place. His eyes rested on the manacles that bound him to the wine cabinet for a little longer, always keeping a metaphorical eye on the message so it wouldn’t go away. Even if he could find the latch in the manacles to free him, he had nothing to trigger it with, so he decided to take the time to better understand his unfamiliar sense instead.
The messages weren’t physical in the sense that they didn’t overlap with his regular vision in reality. It was more akin to picturing something in his head, but it wasn’t something he was actively thinking about, they just existed on their own. He could clearly read the messages, and even focus on individual letters, but he couldn’t distinguish any particular handwriting or lettertype. It was more like the impression of a letter.
Then there was the content of the messages. The first line seemed to be some sort of title or heading for them. This current one, Intelligence (mechanisms) check, clearly corresponded with him trying to investigate the manacles. He wasn’t sure what the (?) meant exactly, but Failure was clear enough.
He thought back to where he’d seen something like this before, and recalled that emotional moment when Matthias had thrown his father’s sword over the bridge. Suddenly, another message appeared alongside his current one. It was a recreation of the message from the bridge.
Willpower Check (12)
[8]
Failure
The (12) on this message was clearly visible, but he wasn’t sure what it meant. The [8] below it was less than 12, and that check had ended in a failure as well, so maybe he had to have a score of 12 in whatever attribute it was in order to succeed. It seemed he was only an 8 on whatever score this system used, so he’d failed.
He was a little surprised he was only a 3 on the score for mechanisms. He was a blacksmith after all, so he had some familiarity with mechanical workings, and he considered himself handy enough. He wasn’t going to go around making his own locks any time soon though, so maybe he was just particularly low on whatever scale he was being judged on.
This brought up the other question of how these scores were being assigned in the first place. They must have some relation to the unseen voice he’d experienced in that strange void place before inhabiting Jarod’s body and life. Maybe the voice was the one assigning him scores. The thought occurred to him again that he should ask someone else about the messages, but again intuited that it wasn’t something other people experienced, or at least not something they talked about openly.
Well if I’m getting carted off to prison, I might as well ask someone on the way, he thought. It’s not like I’ve got anything to lose if they think I’m crazy.
His investigation was interrupted when the hatch to the cellar opened back up. They’d returned with a lantern that brightly lit the stairs as they descended, but to Jarod’s surprise, it wasn’t the surveyor who had been keeping watch over him earlier. It was Nikolao.
Jarod kept silent as Nikolao approached, a pail of water and Jarod’s cup in his hand. He wasn’t sure why the man who had condemned him to prison for five years was here, maybe to rub it in his face. Jarod hadn’t been beaten or anything since he’d been down here, but he hadn’t been treated humanely either. He was trapped in the dim cellar, without any food, forced to ask for water every time he needed it. All the same, he knew it could get a lot worse, so he avoided scowling at the other man.
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“How do you fare down here?” Nikolao asked as he handed Jarod the water.
Jarod took a sip before answering, trying to understand the angle of the question. It was clear the surveyor had no regard for his well-being, so why was he asking the question? “I’m doing fine, I suppose,” he responded.
“Good, good.” Nikolao took the seat the last guard had been in at the table and idly flipped through to see what his friend was reading. He seemed unsure of how to proceed, a far cry from his confident behavior at the trial.
Half a minute passed before Nikolao closed the book, put a heavy hand on the table, and held a deep breath before finally speaking. “You know, Jarod… I didn’t really want to sentence you to prison.”
What a strange thing for a judge to say, thought Jarod. “Why did you then?”
“Well, I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Everyone there saw what you did.”
“They also saw Matthias start it.”
“Yes, that they did, but I can’t have you just assaulting a member of the gentry like that. What sort of look would it be if I let you off for free.”
Jarod was getting confused. The man’s only recourse was to sentence him to five years of prison? He didn’t want to make the surveyor angry and risk further punishment, but it seemed unavoidable to ask for further clarification.
“Why this sentence though?” Jarod asked. “Why couldn’t you have just fined me, or have me flogged?”
“Flogged?” Nikolao was aghast at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t be able to do that to you, you’ve scarcely done anything wrong.”
“Then make one of your other men do it! It’s not too late, you can still change this.”
Nikolao shook his head sadly. “No, as the leader, I’m afraid it would have to be my responsibility. Anything less than that would be to show weakness on my part. That would have ended very badly for me, almost as badly as not sentencing you in the first place.”
Nikolao fell silent, wearily staring at the lantern on the table. He chewed on his lip searching for the next words.
To Jarod, the whole thing was ridiculous. “Look, you’re the leader,” he said. “If you think I shouldn’t be in prison, then change your judgement. That’s the whole point of being a leader, you get to make the decisions.
Nikolao shook his head. “No, I’m afraid that’s not the situation at all. You have to understand that everyone in the gentry is trying their best to succeed so we can rise through the ranks and perhaps curry favor with royalty. The only way we can do that is by staying loyal to our comrades. If I were to let you walk free, none of the surveyors would back me up when something like this happens to me. I’ve probably got enough to deal with for letting you walk free from Avery. I’ll have to make it up to him somehow.”
“But you should face the consequences of your actions!” protested Jarod. “If you run around assaulting people, you shouldn’t get to threaten them with jail time. Or if you throw someone’s property off a cliff, you should be the one punished, not the guy who just had it happen to him!”
“You’re just not understanding.” Nikolao leaned back in his chair and sighed, keeping whatever else troubled him to himself. “By the way, you’ll be happy to hear that your fellow villagers are trying to retrieve your sword.”
Jarod brightened a little at this news. “Did they get it back?”
“Not yet, I think they got scared off by the dark when they went down. Not to worry though, there’ll be plenty of time to find it while you’re away.”
Jarod had forgotten about that. They wouldn’t be able to bring anything with him to prison. Still it was some consolation that his father’s sword at least wouldn’t be stuck down at the bottom of the chasm.
The pair of them, judge and prisoner, kept to their silence in thought. Nikolao was flipping idly through the book on the table again, but Jarod could see from the man’s distant expression that his mind was elsewhere.
The lantern light that had been brought in let Jarod see better in the mayor’s cellar, and the sights brought back memories of more jovial times. The large table that Nikolao sat at now had hosted many nights of late conversations over drinks, and a few music circles that Jarod had been lucky enough to take part of. He wasn’t properly trained in any instruments, but his blacksmithing had taught him to keep rhythm well enough, so he had been given a drum to manage as best he could. He thought back to the nights with the skillful lute of Sam the rancher, and the beautiful singing voice of Basma.
Warin had always done a good job as the mayor, making sure he understood the other villagers' troubles, and keeping merchants coming back around harvest time every year. The late nights of music and drink had always been fun entertainment, but Jarod knew that Warin also treated them as a time to listen to other people’s advice, and get their opinions on big decisions. It had been a good life they’d created for themselves out here, and there was no guarantee he’d get to experience it again.
The labor prisoners were forced into was hard on the body. He’d go in with an advantage being a blacksmith, but he’d heard of how people wasted away in the years of their imprisonment. He had to stay strong.
The scrape of Nikolao’s chair brought Jarod of his nostalgia. “Well I’d best be going,” he said. “I’ll get Vernon sent back down to watch over you.”
“Before you go,” interjected Jarod, “I had sort of an odd question to ask you.”
“Of course, what is it?”
Jarod thought about how to put it. “I’ve noticed something recently, a strange sensation, and I was wondering if you’ve ever experienced it before. It’s as if a message appears before me. I can’t see it, not exactly, but I can read it clear as day. Do you know what I mean?”
Nikolao cocked his head to the side. “Do you mean you’re remembering a book?”
“Not exactly. It’s more like I’m seeing something. The things I can read have messages like ‘Willpower check’, and they’ll tell me if I succeed or fail on something.”
The surveyor squinted his eyes, looking hard at Jarod. “I don’t quite take your meaning. It sounds to me like you’re experiencing the after-effects of a blow to the head. A word of advice, I’d be careful talking about things like that in prison if I were you. Might get you assigned to some less savory labor if they think you’re not all… there.”
Jarod held his tongue, and watched as the leader of the surveyors started to pick up the book, then realize it wasn’t his, and quickly replace it in its spot. He muttered something under his breath, and then ascended the stairs back out of the cellar.
Jarod leaned back against the wine cabinet he was chained to, reflecting on his conversation. The exchange about his sixth sense had gone about as expected. He was right in thinking that it wasn’t something other people seemed to experience, but it still left the question of why he was experiencing it. It seemed to be a clear result of his arrival into this world from the void, but why was he here in the first place?
He didn’t have long to think however, because accompanying his previous guard down the stairs was someone friendly.
“Filgrin,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Before the old bowyer could answer, Vernon snapped a reminder at him. “Don’t forget, make it quick.”
Filgrin nodded, and then came over to Jarod with a bit of bread and meat. “Thought I’d make sure you were eating something,” Filgrin said. “Also wanted to tell you that we’re getting that sword of yours back.”
“I heard. Thank you Filgrin, that means a lot to me.”
“Haven’t nabbed it just yet. Been a while since anyone’s been down in the chasm, ‘cept some boys who volunteered. They got scared off quick by something down there though. Probably just some rats or a bird.”
Jarod sighed. “Well, I guess there’s no rush. I won’t be able to take it with me or anything.”
“I know that. Just thought it’d be a pick-me-up to see we’ve got it before you head off in the morning.”
“That it would.” Jarod bowed his head and nibbled on some bread. It was nice to see a friendly face, but he was melancholy for knowing it would be a long time before he repeated the experience. “Thank you for the effort at any rate.”
“That’s enough time,” said Vernon. “You’ve given him your food, now get going.”
Filgrin scowled, but complied with the man’s orders. “Just hang in there,” he said as he walked away. “We won’t leave ya behind.”
The cellar hatch shut behind Filgrin, leaving just Jarod and the lone guard reading by candlelight. Back in the dimness of the cellar, to while away the time before he began the journey tomorrow. His last moments in his hometown for many years would be ones of darkness.
