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

Morning eventually arose in what seemed to be one long and never ending triumph of night. Rand for the most part remained unmoving, even into the dawning hours of a new day the most that could be seen from his form was a flicker of twitching movement or the abrupt clenching of a hand in the dirt. Situated upon the pole above Rand was the bold white number of sixty seven. Guards seemed to double then triple in their presence as the suns warmth fell over the camp of exhausted and bound prisoners. The rare sighting of men dressed in white robes that bore deep blue hoods and masks of the same tone that fell like curtains within the hoods could be seen slowly moving through the assembled captives. They carried whips of black leather that remained looped in their grasping blue clad hands. On more then one occasion the snapping crack of those whips rang out when they confronted a prisoner who was perhaps to bold for the liking of the Inquisitors. They mingled with some more decorated looking officers that then spoke to other guards who soon shuttled out around the camp and began to gather up prisoners as they unfastened them from the sturdy poles they had been tethered too. Soon Almeta found a pair of guards approaching her as their eyes swept over the long pole buried in the dirt that she was tied too. There she is, lucky number one. A man with a skewed smile coyly stated as they neared her. We're going to untie you from the pole now, so don't try anything. The guard warned with a stern tone to his voice as they began to unravel and unknot the loop of rope secured to a ring screwed into the pole. Word of advice, plead guilty, might save yourself some suffering. The same guard spoke to her as he pulled her by the rope secured around her wrists and led her towards the edge of the encampment where dozens of other prisoners were being gathered into a line. Eventually Almeta found herself ushered to the head of the line where a juggernaut of a knight stood by her side. His form was imposing and silent as the narrow slits upon his helmet allowed for barely a glance beyond them to the stubble worn face with the cold and icy blue eyes hidden within. His right hand was settled on a large wooden cross the peak of which rose up into the air above him, tan loops of rope fell from each end of the horizontal portion of the crosses length, while near the middle of the vertical shaft of wood another pair of looping ropes was inset. Sir Fyndrake, here she is, the witch that tried to flee. The guard presented Almeta to the silent perusal of the knight who simply spoke a blunt reply. Tie her off to the cross then, I'll carry the bitch in. The knight snorted from beneath the depths of his heavy helmet and let the cross drop to the ground. Almeta soon found herself unshackled, her wrists bound to the ends of the horizontal beam lingering high up on the vertical shaft of wood, while her legs were tied by the ankles to that section, leaving her weight supported by the bindings around her slender wrists. With ease the sinister seeming knight known as Fyndrake leaned over and took hold of the wooden cross and hefted it upwards in his grasp. Holding Almeta's bound body aloft for all to see as if she was some sort of banner Sir Fyndrake led her out of the encampment and down the road that was deeply flanked by knights and archers serving under the Empire. As she felt her body bounce upon the cross, and those taut ropes dig into the soft skin of her wrists the looming vision of the Portal and a gathering crowd of townsfolk upon the simple hills surrounding the blue crackling field of swirling energy that rested upon the top of the wagon like Portal could be seen. There, in the distance the High Inquisitor waited her arrival, standing tall behind a podium of bright white wood that was draped with the blue star of Merasheel.