[Skell]
Confronted by two Templars, chained and alone. Fear's grip tightened as the two scanned me from the cell's opposite side. That is, until they opened their mouths.
"Now I realize at this very moment," Hyland explained, "he doesn't carry the typical features of a skeleton, but-"
"Hyland," the other Templar addressed, brown eyes darting between us. "I remind you how word greeted me of this incident: in the bathtub, undressed, and at peace."
The Knight frowned. "I get your point, and-"
The brown-haired Templar threw a gauntlet onto his full, pointed beard. "So when our aide burst inside the privy and explained how my colleague quite literally kicked a man out of a common business for 'being undead,' I donned my armor on the spot - likely scarring the poor woman, no less - and made haste here."
"Gervais. I get it. Stop reiterating-"
"All to meet you upstairs, open this door, and find a living, breathing man - chained like a murderer!" His ponytail almost flared with anger. "Have you lost your accursed mind!?"
Hyland chewed at his jaw in seething silence.
I stared in disbelief. He… he actually thinks I'm human…
"Good. Remain quiet," said the other Templar. "I tire of you for the moment."
He then turned to me, his bronze face easing. "I apologize for our lack of decorum; I am Gervais de Barres, Paladin of the Templar Order, but you may refer to me as Paladin Gervais. May I have your name?"
On paper, I should've been thoroughly terrified. This Gervais somehow radiated a more dangerous aura than Hyland. An aura of might and skill, reinforced by his altered armor.
Like Hyland's, his silver plate was fitted to a robust frame. Difference was in the crimson accents that cut across his armor's angular sections - the elbows, knees, collar, and others. Even more striking were the lion heads jutting from his shoulder plates - reminiscent of the roaring lion in his chest's insignia.
Intricate detail went into the recreation of the animal's features, its metallic fangs and flowing mane perched on his shoulders like stony gargoyles. Anxious as I was, these should've brought me over the brink. Instead, his menacing armor handed me a foothold of hope.
Hyland's boss. Looking like that and talking as he does, he must be. And he thinks Hyland is as much a nutjob as I do…
"S-Skell, sire…" I exaggerated my distress, resting weakly against the stone wall.
"Skell!?" Hyland's face scrunched. "By the sun, Gervais, it's 'name' is as obvious as it gets! Don't you see?"
"So it was the name that convinced you?" Gervais asked critically.
"What? No!" said the Knight. "Until now, I didn't even know-" he cut himself off, looking to me. "You… clearly, you're craftier than the others of your mindless ilk. A half-decent mimic, at the least."
"Enough, Hyland," the Paladin shook his head, stepping toward me. "Skell, I would like to ask a couple more questions. After that, you will most likely be permitted to leave this cell within the hour."
I nodded, fighting hide a smile. I really have a chance to wriggle out of this! Glamour, I'm begging, don't slip again!
"You're allowing it to leave!?" Hyland circled his partner in a huff. "A Templar, letting an undead run loose? You do realize-"
"I will not repeat myself," Gervais took on a commanding tone.
The Knight opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound to follow was the tightening of gauntlets.
"Second question," continued Gervais. "Witnesses claim my partner attacked you at Bo'Rah's Armor and Repairs. Is this true?"
"…It was all a rush," I laid a hand against my forehead, "but yeah, that's what happened."
The Paladin gave an attentive nod. "Last question: have you any injuries? In bringing you directly to this jail, my colleague made the altogether rash move to forego taking you to the hospital. If you require medical attention, that must be attended to immediately."
"Injuries?" I asked.
My hand gravitated to what - outside the shop - felt like a broken rib or two, thanks to Hyland's greaves. I softly pressed on the glamour's "flesh", expecting a twinge of pain.
There was none.
I pushed harder, fingers kneading my entire side. Not even an ache.
Weird. Guess I just overreacted to the pain, earlier.
Along with my side, the panging in my head was long gone, too. I looked up at the Paladin. "…I think I'm fine."
Hyland squinted at me, like he anticipated the answer.
"That is fortunate. Thank you for your testimony," Gervais returned to his partner. "Now, a question for you, Hyland: If this scared young man is an undying horror, how do you explain your wholly unnecessary violence rendering him unconscious, as you earlier admitted? Or his ability to speak? Or his mundane appearance?"
"I already explained my theory once," Hyland barked. "This time, I'd prefer if you listened."
Gervais crossed his arms. "Enlighten me, then."
The Knight stood against the wall, uncomfortably close to me. "Remember that old tale: of the vampire who stalked the streets of Old Lamplight?"
"A myth, as I recall."
"Myth or no, the story is plausible. In essence, a vampire somehow received the ability to hide its fangs, grey skin, and bloodshot eyes. That meant it could blend in with the town's civilians. The blasted creature was a drunkard with the keys to a brewery, free to drink its fill of blood under the curtain of night - for years."
"Yes, yes, I recall the gist of the tale," said Gervais. "What I do not understand is your meaning. Vampires are the only undead capable of speech - with the intelligence to match - and you have quite clearly stated your belief that this poor man is a skeleton."
Tell him, Gervais! Wait… should I be rooting for one of my hunters?
"I don't 'believe' it's a skeleton; I know it." Hyland corrected. "And with one simple difference, that tale of the vampire could mirror the current day. Is it truly impossible for another type of undead to gain sentience? To think and behave like vampires can?"
The Paladin waved a dismissing hand. "It may as well be. Undead classifications have remained unchanged for decades. Discovery of a new variant would be exceedingly unlikely."
"Unlikely. But as you admit: not impossible," Hyland slowly grew a grin. "Just as we tirelessly work to improve light magic, there are forces out there doing the same for forbidden magics like necromancy. Who's to say they haven't made a breakthrough?"
Gervais watched the Knight quietly.
No, no, quit listening to this scumbag! Whatever he's saying, it's got nothing to do with me!
Hyland continued. "Imagine a new undead - a new weapon - that could be summoned en-masse to worm their way into towns and cities. They could stealthily strike at Lumerit's heart, while the necromancers kick their feet up miles away. Our enemies would trip over themselves for an opportunity to test a tool like that. And where better to host a trial run than a calm town like Belza Hill?"
He isn't… onto something, is he? I shifted uncomfortably in my chains.
Realizing the Knight was a better speaker than I thought, I shook the thought from my mind. I needed to argue, or divert the conversation. Anything to remind Gervais I didn't belong in a cell. But I couldn't.
I knew next to nothing about undead, necromancy, even the Templars. A decent rebuttal was beyond me.
"An innovation in necromancy?" The Paladin asked himself, eyes shut and face contemplative. "Capable of independent thought and action?"
"Precisely. And what seals the deal is the same disguise the vampire used; the… blast it, what was it called?"
"A magic that causes one's appearance to change entirely?" The Paladin's face creased. "That could only be glamour magic."
It was lucky the two Templars shared each other's gaze, else my sudden shiver would've been way too suspicious. Shade! How in the Abyss did Hyland end up so close to the truth!?
Gervais faced me. "Excuse us. We talk of you like you are not in the room. You must understand, this issue seems to complicate as the minutes pass, and moving elsewhere to continue this discussion could… prove unwise."
His words pricked at my neck. All I could do was hope the Paladin saw nothing in the Knight's theory.
The Paladin's eyes lingered on me, then returned to Hyland. "You paint a fanciful picture. But let us remain grounded here. Ultimately this is all conjecture and testimony from a single witness. Bo'Rah did not even vouch for your claims - quite the opposite, in fact."
"Bo'Rah is a moron," Hyland replied. "And I am no 'witness'. We're Templars; our eyes perceive more than ten men put together."
"The fact that you - that we are Templars, is what I fear," Gervais gestured. "This drought of eventful work, could it have sparked a hunger in you? For battle? For an enemy? Perhaps you simply saw an undead where there was none?"
"I knew you'd find some way to squeeze this in…" Hyland shook his head.
"I mention it because it is relevant, Hyland."
The Knight crossed his arms. "And when have I ever been a crier of wolves? I saw what I saw."
Gervais sighed, "…Moving on, let's say, then, that there is a possibility - however meagre - of this man being undead, masked by glamour magics. Regardless of the rest of your grand conspiracy. What would you deem the best course of action?"
"To kill it," Hyland said coldly. "What else?"
I jerked away from him, the chains at my ankles going taut as I rose to my feet. "H-Hyland, you're crazy!" I looked to the taller Templar. "Gervai- er, Paladin Gervais - you can't let him kill me!"
"Rest assured," Gervais scowled at his partner beneath heavy brows, "Templars are not barbarians; we do not slay suspects. Especially without a shred of evidence."
S-suspect?
"Evidence, you say?" Hyland seemed to expect this. "If my word isn't enough, then I have a simple solution for getting all the evidence you'll ever need."
"And what is this solution?" Gervais' eyes narrowed.
Hyland gave an ingenious smirk, unsheathing his sabre. Gervais and I stiffened, and my eyes darted around the room, fruitlessly searching for an escape.
"Step away from him!" Gervais demanded.
"Relax Gervais. I will." Hyland held the weapon with both gauntlets. "But only because I'd rather not catch you in it too."
"Wait," the Paladin watched Hyland step back to the cell door, "you aren't going to…"
Hyland nodded confidently, before lifting his sabre overhead. "Hallowed Ground!"
The Templar's blade plunged deep into the stone floor. As it did, a disc of glowing pure-white energy formed at his feet - the size of circular throw rug. Something about it, though, wasn't nearly so innocent.
Anchored to where he conjured it, the disc radiated a bright upwards glow - casting a sinister shadow on Hyland's face. Treading forward, he left its radius unharmed. But one glance at its harsh ominous light, and I knew:
Enter that, and it'll be the last step of my life…
"In case you haven't caught on," Hyland motioned to the Paladin, "all we must do is toss it into Hallowed Ground. An undead will be obliterated in seconds. And if it happens to be human - which it isn't - well… we have your healing magi-"
Hyland hit the left wall, pressed into it by a furious forearm. "What has gotten into you!?" Gervais roared. "Have you forgotten the insignia we bear?"
"Have… you?" Hyland struggled against the Paladin's strength.
"By the sun," spat Gervais. "As the months pass, you only worsen! First, this acrid attitude. Next you treat the people as below you. And now you suggest torture!?
The Knight's breathing was stunted, but he refused to blink. "Then… you do it." Behind them, Hallowed Ground slowly dissipated into white flecks, then into nothing.
"You want me to…?" Gervais leaned closer. "How dare you…"
"Just hear me," Hyland inhaled, "for a second."
Gervais' face held it's fury. But something in his eyes seemed to change, and while he kept Hyland against the wall, the Knight was afforded an inch of space. "If you tell me to kill this man-"
"I want you to heal it," Hyland said.
The Paladin's eyes widened.
Hyland continued. "You know the old saying: 'healing removes the 'un', and simply leaves you with dead.' Corny, perhaps, but tried and true."
An unfamiliar proverb, but after connecting the dots, its reasoning held chillingly well. Heal a corpse, and you'd just be mending dead flesh. Good for an open-casket funeral, but ultimately useless. Heal an undead, however? Something clinging to its own corrupted form of life? The ensuing reaction was hard to imagine. But it couldn't have felt pleasant.
And as the Paladin stepped back, freeing Hyland, I realized I wasn't the only one who saw sense.
"I see…" Gervais stroked his beard. "As it is poison to undead; yet only beneficial to man, you pose that as a more humane option to test Skell's identity. And since you are still hard at work learning your first healing art, that leaves me and mine…"
With Gervais deep in thought, eyes on the wall's dusty bricks, Hyland was free to look past him, smirking at me. He was winning.
The Knight then hid his smug smile. "What do you say? This would appease us both, would it not?"
"I suppose it would," the Paladin said.
I opened my mouth, realizing these could be my final moments. But an excuse not to be healed was a hard thing to make up. I gripped my manacles tight; I'd been locked into an inescapable trap. This time, fighting, escape, or anything else were all impossible roads to survival. Hyland's smirk grew wider. I backed against the wall. Desperate.
"…On paper," added the Paladin.
"What?" Hyland and I asked simultaneously.
Gervais turned brown eyes back to Hyland. "You have illuminated a possibility - however small - that cannot be ignored. One the Order must prepare for."
Hyland's confident face warped into stark confusion. "You want to involve our superiors?"
The Paladin nodded. "As we speak, the people already discuss your… actions this morning - a big enough stain upon our local chapter. Picture then, those same people discussing the onset of sentient undead, capable of blending into the populace. Our people will panic. Lock themselves inside. Trust no one. And that is only the beginning."
Gervais continued, troubled. "Belza Hill is both a mecca of trade and touristry. People visit in troves. More importantly, they leave in troves, carrying what they've learned with them. In weeks, word and letters will reach every city and town in Lumerit. The ensuing chaos in the nation would make combating the undead impossible."
"Who says it has to spread?" Hyland looked troubled for a completely different reason. "Just cast the art and only mention this situation to the Order."
"You forget the jail officers," said Gervais. "They know why Skell is here, and they can put two-and-two together if they find his cell empty. Not all of them will remain silent; they have families to protect. Again, word would spread. And the Order will be burdened with the same problem."
"And you want to tell the capital, why? So they can keep things quiet?"
"As much as they reasonably can. But that hinges on the information not already being common knowledge."
"Gervais," Hyland said with restrained frustration, "you can't send a message to the capital, waiting for blasted permission! An undead lies at our mercy - it should be slain now!"
"I can. And we will." The Paladin commanded. "They must know of the potential risk, even if they think us fools for entertaining the possibility. Once they return a letter permitting us to move forward, I will cast the healing art on Skell."
Slightly, my body loosened. "S-so… we're waiting?" I tried to hide the hope in my question.
"No. No, no, no." The Knight paced about the room. "It'll be days before their response reaches us. Days this monster will be here. In town!"
"He is at the bottom of an underground jail," Gervais argued. "Even if he is a skeleton, what can he do here?"
Underground?
"It-" Hyland struggled for an answer. Frustrated, he slammed a gauntlet against the door, the crash reverberating through the cell. "We finally have something big on our hands and you choose again to play the waiting game!? You-"
"Knight," Gervais spoke quietly, but with an air of authority, "I have allowed you far too much disobedience. Remember our ranks well. I have ordered you to wait. So we will wait. Am I clear?"
The two held eye contact for a long time. Hyland looked on the verge of exploding. But he shut his furious eyes, to my surprise, and stormed to the cell door. He nearly tore it off its hinges, pushing through the doorway. I hoped he'd leave then and there.
Instead, the Knight shot me one last glance.
"The time will come when I expose you," he stated. "Moments before my sabre carves into your fading soul. I swear it."
Then he left my view, leaving me with his disturbing threat. That, and the Paladin.
In the cell's center, he put tired fingers to his forehead. "I provide you an ounce of faith, and this is how you act…" he muttered to himself. Gervais then regarded me. "You are quite good at keeping quiet, young man. But you wear your thoughts plainly. Resentment, chiefly."
Despite the outward silence, inside, my emotions built to a boiling point. Two men I'd never met before confined me in that cell, deliberating over my "life" and what it could mean for the nation. But I just wanted to get out of those shading chains, see Oliver again, and have my glamour completed. All that Templar business was beyond me. I wanted to keep it that way. However…
"You really think I'm undead!?" I blurted.
It was a stupid question, the tone completely ignoring the man's position. Gervais was already irritated. That, and I should've been relieved with the extra time he bought - not that it'd do me any good.
Even so, I was tired of feeling helpless - like a passenger in my own fate. And… I wanted to know.
The Paladin kept an even face, thinking a moment. "In this line of work, carelessness and assumptions endanger more than yourself. More than your fellow Templars, even. Many innocents have died over the decades due to mistakes and miscalculations. I do not intend to repeat history. No matter how unlikely the odds may be."
"But caution does not place me above an apology." He stood boldly before me. "For this temporary holding, one that surely brings stress and obstructs your day-to-day, I am sorry. Without question, you would prefer to simply be healed and go home. But a few days must first pass."
I was taken aback by his respectfulness. Despite this predicament stealing most of my notice, I'd come to appreciate one fact:
This guy is nothing like Hyland. Not at all…
But I rebounded fast. Those few days of safety could've been taken as quickly as they were given. "W-well, Templar duties must take a lot of thought and deliberation. Needing time to rule out the worst makes total sense," I resisted the urge to keep my encouragements from slipping into pleading.
"Your patience is appreciated. Here," the bulky man kneeled, retrieving a key lying on the back of his waist. He unlocked the chains binding my legs to the wall, their metal falling slack on the floor.
I moved them freely, surprised at how much I missed the ability to do something so simple. "Y-you're letting me go? But I thought…"
"Not quite, young man," Gervais answered. "You will remain in this cell with the manacles still on your wrists - for the jail officers' safety, in case my trust is misplaced. Until I am proven wrong, however, I will not leave an innocent man chained to the wall like a feral beast."
I stayed quiet, considering whether his trust was misplaced or not.
"Additionally, I will inform the officers to treat you with more respect than the common cutpurse. This is only a holding, after all."
"T-thanks. Really," I stood up.
He nodded. "There is much I must now attend to. Not least of all, my Knight."
"Yeah… good luck with him."
"Luck be with you as well," the Paladin moved for the door. "Farewell."
Proper, march-like steps led him through the open door. He nodded one last time, then pushed the creaky metal door shut. The twisting of a lock came from the other side.
Then, silence.
Though I was free to move about the room, I slumped back against the same wall I was once tied to, hitting the floor. Finally alone, I fell into my hands. My head was spinning with thoughts.
At the front, a twisting, coiling guilt. Gervais trusted I was human with near-certainty. Defended me even against another Templar. He was half-right: I was human. Mentally. But physically, I was undead. And when he'd find that out…
I forced myself away from that thought, drifting toward a more general feeling: helplessness. And how much I despised myself.
My fist drove into the ground. That whole time, I was pathetic. I was so afraid, so ignorant of the words passing over my head, I let Hyland veer Gervais to a ruling that limits my existence to the next few days.
But my guilt and self-pity… it was just a distraction. The fact of the matter was: that cell was my grave.
When my time was up, and the Templars returned to my cell with their fancy letter granting permission, nothing I could say or do would stop them from healing me. They'd see through any attempts at trickery, and my absolute best barely bothered Hyland in the armor shop. With his sabre and Gervais at his side?
…It's all over. I admitted.
My eyes drifted to the bed beside me. Tiring of the cold floor, I carried myself to it, falling into the thin mattress.
Just as I fell into despair.
———————————————————————————–—————————-
The night sky. To me, it was liberation.
I'd stare up at the starlit ocean on our journey, laying in the rustling grass and cool breeze and just imagine. What I'd do once I was revived. How I'd use my regained senses. Abyss, how long would I sleep the first night that was possible. Each star was a glimpse into a new possibility.
No matter how much I tossed and churned then, my sky was the same in that cell: cramped, oppressive stone. I'd never see that night sky again.
But sorrow and misery were exhausting emotions. Bitterness, however? That was energizing.
I jumped out of bed, hurling my flat pillow against the floor.
If it wasn't for Ansel hiding his death, I wouldn't be here! Or for Oliver, running off just for me to chase after him!
An angry kick, and the pillow spun across the floor and hit the wall.
And Bo'Rah, for being such a pushover that I had to step in! Hyland, too, that snake!
I ran up to the pillow, kicking it against the wall. It didn't give enough resistance. I needed something tougher.
And Cynthine, for her stupid glamour screwing up at the worst possible time!
Restricted by manacles, I threw a pitiful punch at the wall. Knuckles collided against stone, and unfortunately, stone couldn't care less about bone.
"Ouch! Shade!" I wagged my hand, staggering away from the wall.
By the time the pain faded, I found myself in the corner, standing over the toilet. In its murky waters, I expected to see the vague refraction of a man.
Instead, a skeleton stared back.
I backed away. W-what in the Abyss? That was my face - my real face!
Hesitantly, I crept toward the waters again, staring into the bowl. That time my glamoured face appeared - average as ever.
Back to normal? How? Earlier, I spoke to the Templars and my glamour never slipped. So why now-
I remembered the last time this happened, and the events surrounding it. A correlation stuck out to me. And I had an idea.
Snarling teeth, blazing eyes, clenched jaws - I formed the angriest expression I could muster. In an instant my face shifted from lively flesh to lifeless bone. Just as I assumed.
My real anger began to fade the same time as my skeletal face, returning to the mask. That! That must've been what Hyland saw! And it was all because of your anger!
Stuck in thought, I walked aimlessly around the room. Cynthine's finishing touches - they must be this! Something with that particular emotion must not be connected properly. Which is why Hyland saw your true form. And… why you're here.
I shook my head. No. It wasn't her glamour that got you into this mess. It was too many things to count… most of them your fault. You can't blame her. Or anyone else. Opposite of blame, actually, despite her attitude, she did nothing but help you. That glamour, your Shroud - even that warning.
"Are you willing to face great risk, sacrifice, and insurmountable odds in pursuit of this goal" she asked.
I answered boldly. "Nothing is going to hold me back."
Talking the talk was easy. But when imprisoned behind walls of stone, walking the walk was worlds harder. Still, I asked myself: Were your words really all bravado? Just to win an argument?
My fate was as sealed as the door ahead. Anger and misery seeped back into my mind - but I fended them off, realizing something.
This impossible situation, it's the sort of problem Cynthine warned me about - the sort of problem Ansel probably expected I'd come across. After all, impossible problems are only natural when seeking something as impossible as cheating death.
My posture straightened. But no matter how inescapable this seems, I can't lay down and let myself die! I want to live!
…And if I gotta break a couple rules, so be it.
————————————————————————————————————-
"Are you hungry, sir?" a voice asked from behind the door.
"Very," I replied, sitting quietly in the cell's center. "Thanks for asking."
Installed in the metal door was a sliding peephole, probably to check on prisoners or to ensure safety before a jail officer entered the cell. It slid open, revealing green eyes that gave the room a quick glance before a sound came below it: the opening of a lock.
Slowly the door grinded open. A female officer came through, holding food and cup of water atop a wooden tray. "Quail egg pies, cloudfish bouillabaisse, and iceberry cake - take care with the last one; it tends to give brain freeze, but the taste is well worth it."
"Woah!" my mouth watered. "Prisoners eat like nobles, here."
She fearlessly crossed the cell, laying the tray in front of me. "Well, today is my colleague's birthday. There were leftovers. We figured you deserved better than the standard meals."
"That's really kind," my surprise was genuine. "But don't you guys think I'm, you know…?
The woman shook her kettle helmet. "Forgive my disrespect, but Knight Hyland can say whatever he wishes - if Paladin Gervais thinks you're human, then you're human."
I turned my eyes to the tray. Guess Gervais really did tell the officers to treat me decent.
"Sorry," I said, "I don't mean to ask even more of you, but I was curious about the time. Call me crazy, but I was hoping to keep my sleep schedule intact after all this is over."
"The time? Clocks upstairs say it's past eight, I believe."
"Around eight? Thanks. Somehow I thought it was closer to midnight."
"The walls tend to have that effect. Stay inside long enough and it becomes a guessing game of whether it's day or night."
I opened manacled palms. "Must make finally heading home pretty satisfying, though. Finally getting to find out. Well, ignoring the clocks," I laughed.
She smiled. "That and getting a taste of fresh air again. You'll hopefully taste it too, soon."
"Hopefully. Though at least it shouldn't be too long for you. Being past eight and all."
"I wish. We pulled straws today and I drew one of the short ones again. Guess who's keeping the overnight watch?" She threw up a hand with all the enthusiasm of a dying sloth.
Shade. Guess I was naive to hope they'd leave the jail unmanned.
I acted shocked. "They have you guys work all night, here?"
"'Work' might be a hair much. With most our cells empty, the jail only needs a couple warm bodies to run overnight. We usually just sweep floors, or listen for anyone causing a ruckus."
A skeleton crew, then? That's the next best thing.
"Though between you and me," said the surprisingly sociable officer, "I usually pass the time playing Brigade upstairs with whoever I'm stuck with. If you'd like… I could bring the deck of cards down here. Something to break up the monotony of an innocent man's wait?"
Her tone dripped in the desire to destroy a new opponent. In a different time, I might've taken her up on it, despite never having heard of the game - let alone the rules.
But fun had to be saved for after I was free.
"Maybe tomorrow," I yawned. "Late as it is now, I should probably turn in for the night."
"Oh. Well, that's okay. I ought to return to work, myself."
"Work?" I grinned.
"Yes. 'Work,'" she held a finger to smiling lips.
With that, the woman went on her way, closing the cell door and sliding peephole. I was finally alone. And according to her words, it was the best time to make my move.
For the last several hours, I'd been waiting. Planning. Determination coursed through me since I started, demanding action. But I couldn't listen. Not then. A conventional breakout - like the ones you'd hear in old myths or stories of intrigue - would be suicide. I lacked the strength to fight my way out - not that I wanted to hurt anyone, and the finesse to sneak my way out.
Patience, then, was my key.
I closed my eyes and felt for the mana inside me. It was full - replenished from yesterday. By my estimation, I had enough for two uses of Hand of Decay.
If all goes well, I'll only need one.
By waiting 'till dinner, I could get info from whichever officer brought my food. Since the few officers left were busy playing cards upstairs, thinking to themselves that the obviously-human man in the holding cell was simply off to bed, I could trust there'd be no disturbances that night. Perfect.
I got up, checking the cuffed manacles locked around my wrists. My first obstacle. And possibly the most difficult.
Using that art again, it shook me to my core. The sensation of rotting flesh, the sound of harrowing screams, I wanted to never relive.
But this… this isn't warm skin and crimson blood. It's cold, lifeless metal. A thing. Not a person. You can do this, Skell. Just like you told Cynthine…
The pain of the past filled my mind. Not just of Velora, but of Hyland. The despair of a death out of my control. The shame of being imprisoned, just for existing. The rage at that Knight. They were like coals fueling an ever-growing fire.
A fire that'd burn through to my future.
My lips quivered as I whispered the incantation with the force of a roar. "Hand of Decay."
Igniting into a wicked green energy, my left hand illuminated the nearby chains.
…I did it. And… it isn't so bad.
I relaxed my tense shoulders. Now for the tricky part.
Channeling extreme caution, I gripped the manacles - section-by-section - with surgical precision. First, the chains connecting them rusted, then fully decayed into falling grains. Next, the cuffs. Had a mouse squeaked nearby, I might've lost a hand. But the silence hardened my concentration.
Finally, the last cuff slid off, adding to the red-grey pile of metal dust and dismantled pieces. A smile shot across my face.
Free at last! I spread my arms as wide as they'd go.
But I couldn't spend too long reveling in freedom. Mainly because I barely tasted it. I was still stuck in the cell. And every second, my life's clock ticked closer to the end.
I looked around, preparing for the second, far riskier part of my escape. In doing so, my gaze passed the door.
Sure, decay the door, run upstairs, then get impaled by that nice woman's sword. Better yet, somehow give her the run-around, then scamper through town as every member of the militia chases after me. Yeah, not happening.
Opposite the door was a much more subtle escape. I walked up to the stone brick wall - stepping over my old, unlocked shackles - and reviewed my plan.
Gervais said this prison is underground. There was that signpost saying the prison was kept in the Upper Layer, too. With the town's vertical layout in mind, Hand of Decay could eat through this wall, burrowing through the earth and - hopefully - spit you out somewhere in the Middle Layer.
I raised a hand near the gray stone, shutting my eyes.
Honestly, the plan had numerous holes. Biggest being my time limit.
Belza Hill was far from small, and I needed Hand of Decay to dig through a considerable breadth of it to even have a chance of escape. Mainly, it had to dig fast. By morning, officers would fill the jail, doing their morning rounds and serving breakfast. Once they entered my cell, they'd find a gaping tunnel in the wall.
If I'm still in there by then…
I shook my head. Other concerns were on my mind, but every passing second was a second wasted. Refocusing, I pressed my hand against the stone.
I… didn't feel much at first. For a moment I worried progress would be too slow. Excavating a passage big enough to crawl through was an entirely different beast to decaying small amounts of metal and flesh, after all.
After pulling back my hand, though? There was a deep handprint in the stone. Only ten seconds had passed and I'd already scarred the cell that was supposedly my grave. I reassured myself, returning my hand into the groove.
I have about eight hours to - very literally - dig myself out of this mess. At this rate, it might just be possible…
Pushing harder, I wore a brave face.
Better get to work, then.