Featuring: Quintus and Sebastian
Date: September 18, 2004
IC Date: July 14, 3930
Summary: Centurion Antoninus puts a series of questions to the injured Captain of the Amarada in an effort to hunt down the pirates and their Empyrean captives.
Holding Cells - The Eyrie - Parnassus
Only a few sputtering torches keeps these cells from truly becoming dank and dark holes where one could easily be forgotten. While the rest of the Eyrie is rather stark in its decor, it might as well be a noble house's atrium in comparison to these cells. Bars of thick and heavy iron construct the cells and the walls are built from thick blocks of stone, mortared and secured without hope of escape.Heavy chains are bolted securely to the walls, providing those held by them only the most necessary of movements. Large slabs of rock provide the only seating, perhaps a reminder to the prisoners of what constructs the walls around them. Narrow slots are built into the heavy cell doors, providing guards with a space to slip food to the prisoners without having to enter the cells themselves.
A healer had at last been found to attend the unconscious Sebastian... it is healing of the mundane variety he must settle for at first, as no Caducean in either of the twin cities has any power left today... Wounds bound, cleaned, and packed with healing herbs, all that is left for the newly named captain is to rest. Quintus left instructions to inform him immediately once Sebastian woke. One exhausted Ceterion outside the cell block is the only one left to obey the order.
Eyes crack open to see darkness, lids crusty with the salt of his tears. There is a moment, a brief one, where Sebastian is not sure where he is or what has happened. But the stillness of the cell tells him he is not on the Amarada and when he tries to rise, only for his right shoulder to scream in agony he remembers. It floods in like the tide and in a few brief moments he remembers everything that happened a few brief hours before. His chest tightens unbearably and a soft sob escapes his throat, but his eyes remain dry and after a few moments the detachment begins, his mind separating from the pain of his body and the howling despair that seems to reside where is heart used to be. Impassive eyes look about the cell and with a faint niggling of gratitude, the closest thing to an emotion he can feel right now, he finds a cup of water has been left for him. Though parched, he only sips at the tepid liquid, his eyes taking in his surroundings silently.
Having not slept for over a full day, the Ceterion on guard outside is at the edge of nodding off when Sebastian's stirrings finally penetrate the fog of weariness and draw his attention. Stretching and rubbing at bloodshot eyes, the guard rises stiffly and mutters, "The healer said to go easy on your stomach, Captain," Apparently Quintus left that tidbit with the jailor as well. "The fires took most of it, so there's not much left to go around..." by way of explanation for the humble heel of bread, and small chunk of dry cheese.
His gaze lifts to the Ceterion, silent and still, before turning to study the food. His head nods once, to indicate that he heard the man, but he doesn't reach for either the bread or the cheese. Only his thirst is strong enough to register, the pain in his wing and shoulder far eclipsing any pangs of hunger he might be feeling. As such, he simply lifts the cup to his lips and continues to slowly sip the water within. His clothes stick to his body, peeling off slightly whenever he shifts to hover just above his flesh, almost like a thin shell. He glances down at his right arm, bound into a sling and curling over his belly. Idly he tries to move those fingers, but they remain limp and lifeless. His only reaction is a soft resigned sigh, his empty eyes lifting to study his guard in eerie silence.
Without further words, the Ceterion on guard turns and makes his way to the stairs rising up to the spire of the Eyrie. Hollering for attention, he passes along the message that the prisoner is awake, and to fetch Centurion Antoninus. Shortly thereafter the guard returns and sits once again, holding head in his hands as he rests his elbows on the table before him. A significant wait ensues, wherein the overwrought solider slips off into sleep a full ten minutes before the Eyrie's great double doors open to admit Quintus. The Centurion's stride is purposeful, and swift, his face and arms have been scrubbed clean, for the sake of appearances, but stubborn soot and dried blood still darken his wings, stain his armor and sandals. Eyes are bright red and dark circles that have nothing to do with dirt ring the soldier's golden eyes.
Throughout the commotion, Sebastian sits like a statue, barely moving save to lift the cup to his lips for an occasional sip. When that is empty, he sets it back down next to the heel of bread and the hunk of cheese. And waits. His hand unconsciously reaches up to his throat, feeling for the missing ring for a moment before dropping back down to his thigh. As Quintus enters the Holding room, his eyes flicker over to stare through the thick iron bars that imprison him. Unlike the Centurion, Sebastian is still covered with blood, dried now and flaking off in places, leaving only a stain of pink behind.
Quintus notes the state of the prisoner, and announces only a quiet "Hrm," by way of commentary. Two heartbeats' time passes quietly before the solider draws a breath, golden gaze unblinking upon the sailor, and intones, "Captain Xaverius, you will tell me everything you know of the men who set upon you and your crew at the docks. You may begin."
For a moment Sebastian is silent, his mind replaying over the faces, which he did not know, and the names, some of which he did. After a minute passes his mouth opens to speak, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the wall opposite his cell. "By the violence and damage we witnessed on our way to the Amarada, there must have been three or four ships involved. Who they might have been, we do not know. I can only identify with certainty one ship. The Makara. She is guilty of attacking a Varati port, and she also recently was responsible for the destruction of the trading vessel, 'Her Regard' and the lives of all her crew but one." He blinks, swallowing before continuing. "The Makara is captained by a man known as Amahl. Halfbreed. He had an outstanding grudge against my father, and it was his intent to exact revenge. One of his officers was a mongrel, Marco Carivelle, who sailed on the Amarada over twenty years ago. He likewise had a grudge against the Amarada. There was also a Najada, but I do not know his name. He is of a race to the North, living in the waters that surround the Aesir. They are a violent race and were involved in the raid upon Haven many years ago, though I cannot say if that Najada was one of those attackers." He pauses, eyes narrowing before he turns his head to Quintus and notes firmly, "You have to release me."
Quintus listens to the litany without altered expression, or comment. Motionless as a graven image, the Centurion hears out Sebastian's oratory, and final statement. "Presently out of the question. Continue cooperation, and prove to me your innocence in these goings on, and you shall be freed accordingly. As present, a trial would go rather to your benefit, as significant amounts of evidence are contradictory or compromised in nature." His eyes narrow slightly upon Sebastian's blue. "Can you give me a single good reason why I should release you without a trial?"
The answer is simple and obvious, and has nothing to do with guilt or innocence. "Because I am your only hope of catching them. Of rescuing the captives." His hand reaches up to his throat again, touching there idly as if the ring Zea gave him still hung about his neck. "I'm innocent. Neither my father nor the crew of the Amarada had a hand in this. You're wasting time. There isn't time for a trial. Each hour I sit in this cell is an hour longer they have to escape." His voice is calm, unemotional, but still charged with a heat that is colder than ice, eschewing the bluster and fuss of a hotter temperament. Sebastian's purpose now is like forged steel. Hard. Implacable. Cool and sharp, created by the heat of rage, the grief of loss, the lust for revenge. Each has been like a hammer's blow, melding him, forming him into a weapon. A blade of determination with a razor sharp edge.
"You are aware of their destination, then? Telling me that, for example, would be a sign of the cooperation I mentioned earlier." A long drawn breath, as the solider weighs various directions to take this. "You and your crew are wounded, and diminished. I appreciate the desire to avenge yourselves upon these brigands, as well as recovering those lost, but what makes you think that I, or they.. with all the resources of the Empyre at my disposal, would need you and your ship?" Sharp tempered edges clash as solidly as do the two radically different mentalities in this cell.
Dryly Sebastian echoes, "A sign of cooperation? More like a sign of culpability and guilt. No," he returns evenly, "I don't know where they are heading, but I know the ports open to them, the routes they are likely to take. If I cannot uncover their course, I can deduce it." His gaze sharpens as he notes, "You need me, because the pirates are not stupid, as I would have thought you could have deduced by now. They will not conveniently travel along the coast, making it easy for you to fly after them an attack. They will head out to sea, such that you cannot reach them before exhaustion has you plummeting down into the ocean below. You need a ship. The Amarada is the fastest ship in port. It will take little time to assemble a new crew." His voice takes on a sharp edge as he notes, "And you need me. Because I can make the fastest ship in the port the fastest ship on the sea."
"I have deduced more than their intellect, Captain," Quintus snaps curtly, "Their bearing and direction are known to me, already. What is not known to me is this," thus far, Sebastian has said nothing the solider had not known, or suspected...even his value to Quintus. Now though, he asks, "Why should I trust you? You and your sort care nothing for any cause higher than yourselves. Laws are obstacles to men like you. You probably expect that I could simply wave my hand and let you walk out, simple as that. I cannot." Voice is lowered in volume to wonder again, "Why should I trust you, Captain?"
The Centurion's sharp temper does not faze Sebastian, his eyes still calm and placid, his voice civil. "You don't have to trust me. You can come with me. Bring your soldiers, I'll assemble a crew. We will need experienced warriors to gain the advantage. Having Empyrean warriors will make our victory even easier." A smile touches his lips; the line of it twisted and distorted, almost more of a grimace, for there is no mirth or joy in it. "Me and my sort? Dominus you know -nothing- about me and my "sort". Me and my "sort" fought the enemy and slew many of them. Me and my sort were ambushed, attacked, and slaughtered by them, just the same as the rest of this city. Me and my "sort" are sailors, traders, explorers. Hard working men and women who support the trade and economy of this city. Who supply this city with food and goods that it could not survive without. Men and women with families, loved ones, and friends who have just as equally been attacked." Though his voice gains nothing in heat or rage, the words are sharp and piercing, like the sharp point of a saber. "You have no right to judge me and my "sort", Dominus. We have committed no crime, save that we must sail the same seas as those that brought destruction upon this city."
"You are mistaken, Captain," Quintus voices evenly, temper once more buried beneath a flat and stoic demeanor. "For if I do not trust you, you will go to trial."And as for you... and your sort... Tell me truly these brigands would have come here were you and your ship elsewhere. Look me in the eyes and say that Domina Acesian would be a prisoner now, if you were not here to draw them. It is she and those ladies with her who committed no crime, save acquaintance with you. How came you into possession of that ring, Captain?"
Sebastian eyes narrow to steely gray, a hint of that madman that tried to strangle Quintus before lighting the depths of his regard. The air seems to crackle slightly, as if a storm were on its way, the scent sharp with a hint of iron or blood. But the man before him sits quietly behind his bars, murmuring simply, "If I go to trial, then you will have killed her." He meets and matches Quintus' golden regard. "Since I am not a pirate, and since I was not privy to their pirate plans, I cannot tell you -what- drew them to Parnassus. Certainly it was not simply revenge. That could have been taken much more easily. So I would say that they came for exactly what they took - loot. This city was attacked and pillaged, just as other coastline cities are attacked and pillaged. If they choose this one out of all others because the Amarada was docked here, having just delivered a shipment of ore and stone, ore and stone I might add that will now go to help rebuild this city, does that give you the right to blame the Amarada? A victim to these pirates just as much as this city was? If you wish to point a finger, then point it to the pirates who -attacked- this city, not to the sailors who -defended- it." The dangerous light in his eyes fades and cools, as he shakes his head. "Perhaps they were taken deliberately, or perhaps it was just circumstance. Only Zea had an acquaintance with me, so my suspicion is they were targeted because they are from Houses of wealth, not because they had a connection to the Amarada. As for the ring," and that light flickers back, "she gave it to me. I have been wearing it for over a month now."
Quintus is silent in contemplation for a moment, though his stare still has an accusing edge to it. Gods know, much of what Sebastian has said was irrefutable. There is no other ship for days which would match the Amarada for speed... and though the irony galls the solider, the prisoner's command of the winds would be irreplaceable. He senses now… perhaps, something which might be solid enough to build trust upon. "She gave it to you." He repeats, deadpan. "A month ago. This would be while she was aboard your vessel correct?" A drawn breath, "And why have you kept it, Captain?"
His gaze doesn't waver from Quintus as the man considers him, ponders his words, tries to balance what he knows, what he believes, his duty, and the law. Perhaps this is why Sebastian is a man of the sea and not a man of the land. The Code, in such cases, makes decisions easier to make. The questions come, perhaps not the ones he was expecting, the ones Quintus could have asked from some of the more suggestive and leading things Tian said. But they are questions he can answer. Shaking his head, he corrects, "Aye, she gave it to me. She gave it to me before the voyage to Stygios." He resists the urge to reach up for its nonexistent presence about his throat. "I have kept it because she asked me to. And because I love her."
Quintus gazes intently, eyes narrowed in study of Sebastian's every motion, every expression, the smallest inflection in his voice, as he confesses his love for the lost noblewoman. "Hrm," is his quiet verdict. "That, Dominus, is at last a reason I may trust you. I shall have to see what I may do about getting you out of here, Captain."
His face might not be exactly the face of a man in love, his voice doesn't quaver with emotion, but his words ring with sincerity. There are no fancy dressings placed upon his claim, just the bare naked truth. "Her life is in your hands, Centurion," Sebastian returns with a nod. "If you could send word to the Amarada, I would like to meet with my First Officer. He can at least begin the work that I cannot, so as soon as you are able to affect my release, the sooner we will be ready to set sail."
"Hrm," is all that is offered by way of agreement or refusal. Turning on a heel, the solider walks away with the same swift, purposeful stride with which he approached. A dozen things click through his head, a dozen missives must be sent. Ye Gods, why did his uncle choose *this week* to leave him in charge? The answer of course is that it doesn't matter… as Sebastian said, now all their lives are in his hands.
