The Virian Chronicler

Morgan followed Andreas as they hurried through the corridors. It was definitely a workout that Morgan did not want, but he kept following the man. Those visions he’d been shown … they were a peaceful life that he desperately wanted, yet knew the odds were high that he’d never get. The easy life would never be his and Apollo’s. They’d been forced to accept that fact years ago, when they had fled Zor. “There.” Andreas’s voice broke through Morgan’s train of thought, pointing. There was a torch on the wall, and just behind it, Morgan could see one of the darkened crystals. “And another,” Morgan said, indicating further down the hallway, behind a plant. “I’ll get that one, you get the fiery one.” The mage hurried the way he’d indicated, already huffing with a lack of oxygen as he went. Once he’d reached it, he snatched it out of the wall and crushed it in his hand. It was a surprisingly satisfying action, and he turned to see Andreas doing the same thing. “How many?” he asked. “We do...

Andreas scooted over to where Gerald lay, slumped against the wall.  “Shouldn’t have done that, pilgrim.  Twas brave of ye but ye risked yer life for no reason”. Gerald let out a harsh rattling laugh, followed by a grunt of pain.  “Returning the favour.  Ye were trying to help us all escape and I saw an opportunity to do something after being locked up and feeling useless for the past few days.  She might have killed ye if I hadn’t gotten in the way”. Andreas shook his head.  “No, ye can’t kill someone like me.  Re-arrange me energy, aye, but not kill me.  Tis complicated and I don’t have time to explain at the moment.  But I owe ye two things — the protection of the Inner Circle Alliance and me real name”.  He inclined his head and held up his right hand, using his forefinger to trace a circle in the air.  “Carpathian honour.  I be Lord Andreas Alano Cesario, Spy Master of the Inner Circle Alliance of the Carpathian Way and S...

Gerald watched Morgan with a nervous expression on his face. It had been a while since he’d seen Morgan lose control; not since Damian had directly threatened Elsa and Apollo. The sight was no less frightening now then it had been at the time. Even worse was that Gerald was probably the last person in the entire universe that could calm him down. Nevertheless, he had to try, for Apollo’s sake. Apollo … maybe … “Morgan!” Gerald said sharply. The mage turned from the irritating little man, his red eyes flashing dangerously. Gerald estimated that he had about five seconds until Morgan turned his powers on the mercenary. “Be this what Apollo would want? Do ye think he wants ye to blow those men up into pieces?” Morgan grabbed his head immediately. “No, stop,” he said, in a mumble. “My head … get out of my head …” “Think, Morgan!” Gerald insisted. “This ain’t what Apollo would want from ye!” Morgan shook his head, trying to clear his mind.  “I need to think. I need to breathe …” S...

  Apollo stared around in bewilderment, not recognising his surroundings.  The featureless grey room gave no clues.  He tugged his arm away from Alberto’s grasp.  “What have you done?  Why drag us away and leave the others behind?  What sort of coward are you?” “At least let me explain afore ye condemn me”.  Alberto grimaced and twisted his long tail of hair in his fingers.  “Me mission be to rescue all the prisoners, not only Lady Fiametta Scalani, Plinio Rodriguez and Antario Gutierrez.  As ye’ve no doubt worked out, I have powers of sorcery.  Those powers include the ability to split meself.  Ye and Gerald called them me brothers but in truth, they be pieces of meself, parts taken from the whole.  I’ve left two of ‘em at the fortress — one to protect the prisoners from Governess DeGraaw’s wrath and the other to cause distractions”. “Splitting yourself?” Apollo mused.  “I didn’t even know such a thing was possible...

At the very edge of his vision, Gerald became aware of movement.  He turned his head, noticing that the little priest had returned and was busy picking the lock on the neighbouring cell. Without pausing in his work, Alberto nodded and grinned at Gerald.  “Breakout be happening sooner than I’d intended.  And using sorcery on the locks were a big mistake.  Tripped off all the Governess’s wards.  Picking ‘em manually would’ve only caused a tiny ripple in the wards and she might not have noticed straight away”.  The lock clicked and he pulled the door open, beckoning to the frail elderly man in the cell next to Fiametta’s.  “Let’s hope that Morgan can stall the Governess for a while, eh?” Hearing their conversation, Apollo edged nearer, studying the little man in the black robes.  “Hold on a minute!  Weren’t you wearing a guard’s uniform back there?  How could you have changed that quickly?” Alberto laughed.  “Tweren’t me.  See?”...

Gerald grew bored of doing his push-ups and sat up, running his hand through his hair in idleness. He glanced to his cell’s neighbour, the pretty young woman from another world, and leaned against the wall. He wondered if she would understand him, and decided to try, for the sake of conversation. “Oi,” he said, sliding down into a seated position. “What does she want ye for? Can ye even understand me language, or am I just talking to meself as usual?” Sighing, he laid down and stared at the ceiling. ---------------------------------- Morgan picked up the clean set of robes which had been laid out for him and got dressed.  He figured that if the opportunity came for an escape, he would rather not run away covered in only a bath towel.  He was in the process of lacing up one boot when he heard the lock click. Without knocking or announcing herself, Ciracea strode into the room.  “Morgan, I must apologise for having to lock you in.  Twas necessary for your own safe...

A tear slid down the priest’s face at the sight of the scars on River’s back.  He murmured under his breath in his own language.  “May the Goddess protect ye from further harm until I can get ye outa here”. Two cells down, he switched to another Varathusian dialect — a lazy-sounding street slang — and engaged in conversation with two filthy ragged men.  At one point they laughed along with him at some joke he had made.  They huddled close to the bars and bumped fists with the priest before he left. -------------------------------------- Ciracea banished the images from her spying crystal and prepared herself for the evening inspection rounds in the dungeon. Keeping the little priest’s face in her mind’s eye, she spoke to her guards while they walked alongside her.  “Tis the first time a priest has visited since I took over as Governess.  You worked for the previous Governor.  Did priests attend regularly during his tenure?” “Not regularly, my Lady” on...

Ciracea DeGraaw put down her hairbrush and positioned the glittering tiara on top of her gleaming blonde curls. The rubies in the tiara matched the colour of her red velvet robes. Smiling to herself, she applied lipstick in the same shade. Appearances were important and she liked to look her best, even during her regular inspections of her prisoners in the dungeons. Two guards wearing red tabards over their armour waited outside her door to escort her down the long winding staircase into the dungeons which had been constructed inside Broken Hill, beneath the fortress which Ciracea had claimed as her new base of operations. She stood and smoothed her robes, taking a final glance in the mirror before leaving her elegantly appointed bedchamber. The guards bowed to her and kept their demeanour humble while they prepared for the long descent. “Not today” she remarked, smiling at them. “As a reward for good behaviour, we can take the short-cut”. She grabbed hold of their ar...