Seth shifted in his stool, taking another bite from the stale lump of bread. Sparing a quick glance across the cold stone room, he saw the empty cell where the prisoner had been sleeping earlier that day.
A small mouse scrambled up from a pocket in his tattered coat, its nose twitching at the air. Seth broke off a crumb of bread and fed it to the rodent.
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Seth whispered. “This stuff is so old it tastes like mold.”
The mouse turned the small crumb over in its paws. Its dark pools of onyx stared back at Seth, while Seth stroked the little guy’s head and feigned a kiss.
“You eat it, Mud. Don’t play with it.”
A loud crash came from somewhere upstairs and echoed down into the dungeon. Mud popped the crumb in his mouth and quickly burrowed back into the warmth of the jacket pocket. Seth looked over at the candle. The flame wavered, the tallow still one mark above the red line. It wasn’t time yet, he could still clean the blood from the empty cell if he started on it now.
Pushing the stool out from under him and taking care it didn’t scrape the flagstones, Seth made his way over to the corner of the chamber, lifted a bucket from the floor and unhooked a brush from a nail in the wall above. Cleaning up blood wasn’t one of his favorite pastimes, but then, there wasn’t a lot he did in the dungeon that he’d call inspiring. It didn’t matter, though, anything was better than watching the Gaoler at work.
Who’d have thought that black blood would be so difficult to clean? Seth hoped they wouldn’t bring in another one of those warlocks. Cleaning up the mess was one thing, but the sound it made when it died was the worst thing he’d ever heard, like something right out of a nightmare.
Shifting from one knee to the other, Seth glanced up and remembered the two thin eyes that had been staring back at him through the rusted cell bars when he’d last been trying to clean up.
He’d never seen such narrow eyes before, nor such jet-black hair. The man wore it in a knot on top of the head. The man also had a long, narrow nose, which ended above thin lips and an angled chin. But it was those eyes that had held Seth’s attention. It was almost as though they’d been stretched, each one pulled back towards an ear.
“When you let me go?” the man had asked him with his broken, foreign accent.
Seth remembered shouting back at him then, losing his temper, “You don’t get to go, you’re one of them!”
That’s when the prisoner had told Seth he was a Tenyii, from a mountainous tribe. He had been offered to the Chaos Legion as a tribute to spare the lives of his people. So really, the prisoner was no different to the Praetorians, all of them victims of the Chaos Legion.
Seth felt a pang of guilt. Could he have said anything else to save the man; done anything that might have spared him the pain? But it was the Tenyii, after all, that had refused to speak. Maybe he would have been shown mercy if he had answered the questions? Maybe they would have let him go? No. That would never happen. The Gaoler never let anyone leave.
Seth pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the bucket. The floor still had traces of black blood, but it was better than it had been. Hopefully the Gaoler wouldn’t notice the remaining mess. Seth sighed. The Goaler would notice. The Gaoler always noticed…everything.
Seth returned the bucket and brush to the corner of the dungeon, avoiding the fresh stains of red that were splattered across the flagstones near the wrack. Images of the Tenyii fastened to the slanting table whilst the Gaoler turned the cogs flashed through his mind. Each click of the ratchet had brought a grunt or gasp of pain, but the prisoner never said a word. He was silent until the end. Seth shuddered, the end…it had been truly gruesome indeed, the man’s arms torn from his sockets with a wet, bloody pop. Dismembered limbs slapping the stone floor and flinging mess everywhere. It still made Seth feel sick. The Gaoler hadn’t even flinched.
Selecting a dark brown bottle from the rickety shelves, Seth walked back to the fresh blood splatter and dripped the murky contents across the stains. It wasn’t perfect, but it did help to shift the mess eventually. If only there was something that would help remove the images from his mind, then maybe he wouldn’t see them, all those tortured faces staring back at him, pleading with him to set them free. He blinked the tears from his eyes and wiped a sleeve across his face before he carried on with the cleaning.
Nightmares cursed Seth’s sleep. It had been difficult enough ridding his memories of the warlock and its black blood, but the Tenyii now haunted him as well. He had been unsure whether the dungeon life was for him, but after the last week, he was certain. The next time he met with Mistress Valyn, he would request a transfer elsewhere. A messenger on the frontlines would be better than working in the gruesome cold of the dungeon, or maybe even the kitchens. The one thing that kept him sane was Mud, his only friend in the madness of it all.
It was three days later when the next prisoner was brought in. Seth had never seen anything like her before. The soldiers dragged the body down the stairs and flung her into a cell, the same one they had put the Tenyii in. After they left, Seth tiptoed over to the bars and peeked through. The armour she wore was dented and broken, black plates with white and golden patterns etched into it. Curly, jet-black hair frothed on her head, creating a dark halo, with clumps of it matted with dried blood. Her skin was a golden brown, and she looked remarkably beautiful for a soldier. Seth had never seen a woman wearing armour before, and it stirred something within his heart. Even Mud popped his head out to have a look.
“What are you staring at, boy,” her eyes flickered open.
“Nothing Miss,” Seth took a step back. Those eyes were fonts of pure white that pinned him to the spot and made his blood race.
“Where am I?” she moved forward and took a hold of the cell bars, giving them a brief shake.
“You’re in the dungeon,” Seth gulped, as images of the Tenyii flooded his mind. “When they come to speak with you, you must answer their questions.”
“When who comes?” she asked.
“When the Gaoler comes,” Seth edged closer. “Please tell them everything, I beg you,” he remembered giving the same warning to the Tenyii, but the man hadn’t listened.
She smiled. Her full lips parted to reveal bright white teeth. “I’m a Chaos Knight boy, there is nothing I fear.”
Seth shook his head. “But you don’t know what he’s like, the Gaoler, he’ll…kill you.”
“Bah, we all die someday,” she scoffed. “Soon the Chaos Legion will eradicate your people and take this land for themselves. You will beg for death one day.”
A door slammed above them and the familiar click of Valyn’s cane tapped out the tune of impending doom. Seth scurried away from the cell and huddled in the far corner.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” his voice quivered, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.
She laughed. “No wonder your soldiers fall at every charge. You are a weak people. In my land men don’t cry, they fight.”
When the thunder of the Gaoler’s footsteps started down the stairs the knight fell silent, and she looked toward the doorway. Seth wasn’t sure if it was anticipation that lit her eyes or fear.
As the footsteps grew louder, Seth first heard the croaking of an old voice, speaking quickly between rasped breaths. Then, after that, came the baritone reply he’d been dreading. He retreated to the far wall, pressing his body against it. Mud gave a faint squeak and dug his way deeper into Seth’s pocket, the small claws pricking at his skin. It would seem that nobody wanted to see the Gaoler today.
“What on Praetoria are you doing grovelling in the corner, Seth?” an old woman said as she hobbled into the room. Her back was bent at an awkward angle, and she walked with a limp, a cane supporting her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost my boy, whatever’s the matter?”
“Nothing Mistress Valyn, I’ve been cleaning, that’s all,” Seth blurted out, squeezing his hands tightly and trying to wring out the dread.
“One of the more disagreeable chores for a dungeon keeper I’m afraid, but we’ll have you moving on to greater things in no time, of that I’ve no doubt.”
Seth managed half a smile until the Gaoler appeared in the doorway. The giant man ducked under the door frame and stepped into the room, filling the entire dungeon with a sudden sense of despair. A shirt stretched across his great, barrel chest, the cords near the top pulled to the very extent of their limits. It was the helmet, though, that Seth couldn’t take his eyes from. It was the blackest metal, pitted and tarnished with only one narrow slit across the eyeline. Seth wondered if the Gaoler could actually see out of it, or if he relied on some strange magic, for the precision of his work never seemed to suffer.
Valyn shared a brief smile before her officious tone returned. “Go and fetch the knives boy, we’ll see what luck we can have with them today.”
Seth made his way to the small cupboard that leant against the wall nearest the entrance. Grabbing a rolled leather package, he slammed the cupboard door shut and hurried back to Valyn who was standing next to the table.
“I see our prisoner’s awake,” Valyn commented, starting to unravel the knife roll.
“She’s a Chaos Knight, Mistress,” Seth offered, looking hopeful that the information might save her in some way.
“Is she now?” Valyn looked at him, mockingly impressed. “Maybe I should be using you to get my information for me, it would seem you might be more effective than my current employee.”
The Gaoler’s head turned in their direction. Seth cringed and edged away from the table where Valyn was inspecting the knives. She slipped one from its sheath and held it up to the candlelight.
“Of course, I jest. How could I ever replace this fine figure of a man,” she reached out and patted the Gaoler on the arm. “And besides, I don’t think anyone could get a knife quite as clean as you do Seth, my boy.”
The Gaoler grunted and started towards the cell door where the Chaos Knight grimaced. She was waiting for him on the other side, crouched into a fighting stance.
“You won’t take me so easily, big man,” she gave a sadistic grin.
The Gaoler wrenched the cell door open, and she sprang forward, unleashing a series of punches and kicks aimed at the most delicate parts of his body. The man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even make a sound. He simply reached out and snatched her from her feet, dragging her into the main room and slamming her down upon the rack, before fastening her ankles and wrists. The knight seethed and spat, but try as she might, she couldn’t break free from his firm hold.
“Save your energy, girl,” Valyn sneered. “You’ll need it, or are you going to tell me what I want to know?”
“You can lick the shite from my boots you old crone,” the Chaos Knight spat.
“I thought so,” Valyn handed a wicked looking knife to the Gaoler.
“You think cutting me up will get you answers?” she gave a maniacal laugh. “I’ve had my fair share of wounds in battle. Nothing you do can compare to that.”
“And that is where you’re wrong my dear,” Valyn’s lips stretched across brown, stained teeth in an evil smile. “Everything I do will compare, and you’ll be begging for it to end by the time I’m done with you.”
The Gaoler grabbed the knight’s forearm and pulled the vambrace clear, throwing it behind him where it clattered across the floor. The knight strained against her ties, arching her back in an effort to be free. The bindings remained firm though, and the Gaoler set the tip of the knife against her forearm and started to trace a long, thin rectangle. When he finished, she let up a shout.
“Is that the best you can do?” she laughed. “I’ve struggled with briar patches that were worse!”
Slipping the knife into his belt, the Gaoler grabbed a long pair of iron pincers that rested beneath the bench. Clamping them down firmly at the top of the shape he’d cut, he applied pressure on the top of her arm and tugged the pincers down. The skin came away perfectly, cleanly ripping from her body and leaving the angry, red flesh exposed beneath. The knight screamed. But the Gaoler wasn’t done with her. He reached down again and scooped a handful of salt from a clay pot, pressing it onto the wound without mercy. The knight screamed even louder.
Seth turned away, feeling the sickness rising. He rushed to his cleaning bucket and only just made it in time, vomiting his measly lunch into the already murky contents.
“I’ll never tell you anything,” the knight cried out, tears streaming down her face.
Seth leaned against the wall and spat a long thread of drool from his mouth. “Just tell them something. Anything! They won’t stop!”
Valyn stared at him. “Come and sit here, boy,” she dragged a stool out and pointed, before looking back to the Gaoler. “I didn’t say stop.”
The Gaoler moved from the arm and tore the cloth covering the knight’s leg, revealing her bronze skin beneath. Snatching the knife from his belt he began to carve another shape, this time into her thigh. She wriggled and squirmed, but he held her leg tight, unwilling for his intricate work to be spoiled. Seth caught a glimpse of the woman’s leg and the size of the piece the Gaoler had cut. He gagged and went to return to the bucket, but Valyn’s hand fell upon his arm, her gnarled fingers taking him in a vice-like grip and forcing him to watch. His eyes watered as he turned his attention back to the knight and the smell that touched his nose revealed the poor woman had soiled herself.
Setting his pincers to the flap of skin he’d loosened, the Gaoler gripped them, his knuckles turning white. A low growl came from within his helmet before he tore a long strip of skin from her thigh. Her screams filled the dungeon. Then the handful of salt was slapped against the wound, and her wails turned into a strangled choke.
“I’ll tell you…everything you want to know…please…no more,” the knight managed between gasps.
“Of course you will,” Valyn shared a gentle smile, the kind a mother gives her child after they’ve accomplished some small feat for the first time. “Now, tell us. Why are you here?”
The Chaos Knight took a moment to compose herself, sucking in deep breaths of air, and then she spoke. It was more like babbled madness at first, a rush of words that made no real sense to Seth, but Valyn scribbled notes on a piece of parchment. All he could make out was the name Silus and something about a doctor called Blight. Then the knight seemed to descend into a darker place, speaking of a great being with tentacles the size of mountains and a vast maw that could consume the entire world if it so desired. Seth had no idea what she was talking about, and it was only the last words she spoke that made any sense to him at all.
“Silus has a plan,” she stammered. “I overheard him speaking with my general. He’s going to take this world for himself, and when he’s done he will turn his armies against the great, tentacled beast.”
Valyn finished writing on the scroll and slowly looked up from the table. “Is that everything?” she asked.
“It’s all I know, I swear it to you. Now please, release me so that I can see to my injuries.”
Valyn nodded to the Gaoler. “You heard the woman, release her.”
The Gaoler turned, quickly taking the knight’s head in his hands and giving a sharp twist. There was a loud crack and the knight’s chin flopped forward onto her chest.
“You are released,” his voice rumbled.
Seth scrambled from the stool, across the cold stone flags, and edged himself into the corner of the room. Tears came unbidden as he curled up into a ball. Mud wriggled from his pocket and dropped to the floor. Seth tried to grab him, but the mouse darted from his groping hands and ran into a small nook in the dungeon wall, disappearing from view.
“I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to work in the dungeon. Please, I want to go to the kitchens,” he sobbed, wracked with despair that his only friend in the world had just run away.
Valyn chuckled. “But my boy,” she said, folding away the scroll. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve cleaned this mess up. And anyway, the dungeon is really the best place for you, there’s so much backstabbing that goes on in the kitchens.”
Seth watched them both leave. He turned to look at the dead knight. Blood oozed out of her body and splashed into puddles on the floor. Another mess to clean. More blood to wash away. He cried. It didn’t matter if he got out of the dungeon or not, he would never be able to wash away the horrific memories of it all.
Collect special Limited NFTs related to this story at https://www.splintertalk.io/nfts/
Credits:
Story: Daniel Beazley
Editor: Sean Ryan
Narrative Lead: Joey Shimerdla
Character Art (cover): TK
Illustrations: TK
Voice Acting: David Dahdah
Music / Post-Production: Isaria
Creative Director: Nate Aguila
