Eve
of Rebellion 22/2/10,122
Brev
It is the eve of the supposed rebellion, confronted by Illyra & her friends, Illyra's brother in law, Frederick, had finally confessed both the depth of his involvement & admitted that the following morning the city was prepared to rise up against the oppressors.
In a flood of tears Illyra's sister, Sylveth, stands aghast at her husbands confession & collapses in hysterics. Illyra, in rage, verbally batters Frederick into submission & forces him to agree to remove himself & his family before daybreak from the danger that he has placed them in.
Begging an hour to warn his fellow conspirators that he is leaving Illyra nods as she cradles her sobbing sister in her arms. Several hours later Frederick has not returned, realising his duplicity they confer, it is now to late to leave the city without questions being asked & they now not where Frederick has gone.
With Illyra's distraught sister sedated, a liberal dose of illicit herbs from her pack, they secure the doors & yard gate for the night. Watches are set & the fires are banked, however the rain filled night passes uneventfully until dawn breaks across the rooftops. Brasso, dozing on last watch, is awoken by a dull thud, rushing into the yard smoke can be seen lazily rising into the lightning sky.
As minutes pass they apprehensively wait for something to happen, the keen ears of Tharla pick up the clash of steel & shouting drifting across the city.
Eventually their patience runs out, Illyra & Tharla slope off towards the sound of conflict, Kilite also, playing his role of priest, heads towards the sounds of battle wishing to both discover what has occurred & assist the no doubt injured civilians. Molin & Brasso remain at the ready whilst Sylveth & her family huddle within.
Crossing the city countless small groups of citizens huddled on street corners & in doorways, talking to a baker they know, Tharla & Illyra climb to his roof but little more can be seen. Moving on towards the garrison troops are encountered blocking the street ahead, despite Tharla's silken tongue their passage remains barred & no account of what has happened is given. Finding their way barred in all directions they reluctantly return to the homestead.
Kilite has better luck, seeing a trooper injured beyond the barricades he offers his services to administer to the wounded. The grateful trooper offers his blooded arm for attention but is soon howling at Kilite's clumsiness, pushed back through the lines Kilite continues along the lines, abruptly he comes to a halt by the sight of fifteen or so bodies piled against a wall. Moving towards them he is accosted by more garrison & sky city troops, protesting his intentions to administer to the souls of the dead he is allowed guarded passage to do what he must for the dying. Glancing at the dead & injured he is relieved to see no sign of Frederick but saddened at the pointless loss of life. Blessing the dead he thanks the soldiers for there consideration. One of the men refers that he might do better to pray for the souls of those others taken alive.
Taking a detour via the chapel of Jirre, Kilite is surprised to find it, & the small house to its rear, bolted, unlocking the doors nor is they're any sign of his spiritual master within. Confused he secures the doors & returns to the others.
Having returned Tharla quickly pulls the Mirror of Farseeing from her pack & focuses on the garrison walls, never having been within its interior she can do no more than watch from a distance. Troops can be seen stationed all around its perimeter, the cities meager garrison having been heavily reinforced with sky city regulars.
It is clear from the images witnessed that the so called rebellion is over, the North gate has been blown apart, in the opening is a burnt out wagon embedded in the shattered gates. Bodies have been thrown against the garrison wall whilst shackled prisoners under armed guard can be seen filing through the South gate.
Outside Molin, Illyra, Kilite & Brasso can hear trumpets in the street, peering over the gate escorted garrison staff are nailing proclamations up, once the entourage has past they join the neighbouring citizens gathered to read the declaration.
The parchment states that the rebellion is over, martial law is declared & a curfew during the hours of darkness is in force. Any person contravening the curfew will be deemed to be acting against the city's best interests & will be dealt with immediately & without favour.
Talking to the congregated neighbours Illyra is told that Frederick has been seen alive but in chains, reluctantly she goes inside to give her sister the bad news.
Gathering together their course of action is debated, assuming Frederick will tell all & that their presence, whilst remote from the rebellion, may ring bells regarding the earlier pursuit by sky city riders they no they must act quickly. Knowing that today of all days would not be a good time to try to leave the city they, along with Illyra's immediate family feel it would be a good idea to be somewhere else when the soldiers come a knocking, all that is except a belligerent half breed. Unable to persuade him otherwise Molin refuses to go & so as the others quickly pack & trundle to the vacant chapel house, Molin puts his feet up in front of the fire.
Without intending to, a bored Molin slowly drinks himself into a stupor, waking in the early morning hours he rises & despite the curfew decides he needs fresh air. Standing in the yard, bladder emptied & with the beginning of the mother of all hangovers, he decides to test the curfew. Throwing a dark cloak about his bare shoulders & taking only a short stabbing sword for protection, Molin moves into the shadows of the street & waits. Several times patrols pass him by, however on the fourth occasion he slips forward to get a better view, catches his arm & curses under his breath. The patrol instantly come about face & raise spears in his direction.
Eying him warily they demand to know why he is abroad at this time, dissatisfied with his mumbled response, Molin is ordered to come out of the shadows, arms before him, instead he foolishly lunges forward, stabbing sword raised to strike. Hung over & cold he is no match for guards & his hasty stroke is clattered aside, soon he is lying battered & bruised in the dirt as the four troops take out their frustrations on their defenseless captive.
A short time later Molin reluctantly opens his swollen eyes, through the mud, blood & sweat, the pain from a thousand cuts tingle as falling rain washes across his naked & freezing body. Blinking back the tears he tries to move, apart from the beating his body has taken, manacles shackle him to a wall at his back. Taking his time he surveys his surroundings, although he has never been within the garrison it is clear that is where he now resides, more importantly however he can see the gently swinging corpses in the gibbet across the courtyard, their occupants no longer caring about the cold falling rain.