Thread: Portal - The Rise of a Mage (Black_Out/Iridel)

The High Inquisitor leaned forward, the thin brown lashes of the young man of some thrity years of age narrowed as his hazel gaze settled upon the cross bound figure of Almeta. He was resplendent looking in the rich white robes that draped across his prideful body, archaic swirls of royal blue, the color associated with Merasheel, decorated the fringes of their length. The thin hawkish nose of the strikingly handsome man twitched as he spoke in a voice that boomed across the gathering and carried with it the power of his station. You fled from the city, like a witch. His words hissed out of his mouth as he gestured in arcing movements with his left arm. You confess here to using magic without the guidance of Merasheel. His gaze swept about the crowd, playing to the prejudices of the people gathered about to bear witness to the Portals cleansing. Your Mother was a known witch, and her Mother before her. The High Inquisitor's eyes leveled back upon Almeta. You will be cleansed, take the witch to the rack! Cut out her tongue, and break her hands until they are mangled! There was a pause as he let those words sink in. She is guilty as charged! Immediately the High Inquisitor tore his gaze away from Almeta and buried it into the ledger set out atop the podium before him as he looked over the records of the next in line for judgement. Sir Fyndrake hefted the cross bound redhead up into the air once more as his long strides carried her bobbing form aloft for all to see as they swept past the podium where the High Inquisitor stole a brief cold glance towards Almeta before looking forward to the next in line that happened to be a badly beaten and bruised Priest of the All Father. Henrique, you stand charged of heresy for the worship of a false god that has brought nothing but turmoil and war to these lands for decades. The High Inquisitor's voice boomed out as Almeta found herself being unstrapped from the cross by a pair of of the blue hooded Inquisitors she had witnessed about the prison camp. They dragged her from the cross as Fyndrake turned and strode back to stand by the High Inquisitor's side and resumed his roll as the man's enforcer. Teach him a lesson. The High Inquisitor sneered from his perch while Almeta was finding herself tied down to wooden rack that was sloped enough to grant the crowd a view of her coming torture. To the sides of the rack were steel braziers full of smoldering embers, within which large shears were being heated to a searing hot state. She found her hands strapped down at her sides by the wrists, snug and secure upon the frame as the first of the Inquisitors drew up a mallet of thick metal. It came down with a resounding crack of bone against the tight black leather bag that ensnared her right hand. Again he drew it up, and once more the crunch of her fingers cracking beneath the weight of it's strike tore through the air. With two more heavy and merciless blows that left blood seeping out of the mangled black leather bag the Inquisitor turned and began to walk around to the other side. That is when the second of the Inquisitor's approached her and forced a mouth spreading contraption of metal rods and screws into her screaming lips. With a few twists of simple levers the foul device was locked in place, forcing the jaw of Almeta to open wide as he returned with the scalding hot shears and without hesitation he drove them into her agape mouth. Hissing metal met the soft flesh of her mouth, scalding the lips and roof of the poor girl's mouth as the Inquisitor angled the shears and with a snap of the blades she felt a pain that washed away the pounding pain that came from her mangled hand. Instantly her tongue was sliced in half, and cauterized by the heat of the blades as the Inquisitor drew the shears out of her mouth and unceremoniously deposited the severed portion of her tongue into the embers of the nearby brazier where it fizzled and curled inward as the fires consumed it. He returned, leaving the shearers to be purified in the fire and heated anew for the next victim of their use as he unattached the jaw splitting device from between her scarred and burned lips. Not even a mere moment after her mouth was freed of the device the hammering returned upon her other bound fist, cracking bones once more until blood seeped through the black bag and left her hand in a state of ruin. She was then unbound from the rack and dragged up the marble stairs towards the Portal, leaving a trail of her own blood, the first of the day upon the glistening white steps before she found herself hurled into the blue vortex that swirled between the massive horns of a dragon that had been etched with runes of power beyond her understanding.