OOC: Tags to
@Morrighan !
I'm reusing some of the intro from Danning's other post, to help introduce him better and also to act as a reminder and reflective moment from where he had come from and why he is here.
Skies were scorched with the bellowing cries of men, their faces slick with the sweat and dirt of work, and their voices laced in blood. What had begun as a peaceful rally in the castle square outside the front of the Grand Duke's palace, in a far away land... in the North... in Connlaoth, turned into something wicked. It was a poison he could only preach against. And though his eyes burned with the pain of those suffering in this war, he could not stop what it had evolved into. Not after the Grand Army stepped in, their guns spitting fire into the crowds of many.
'Men are Fools. And I am but one of them. Yet I can only continue on the path in which ignites me.'As the men screamed in agony, carrying on for an end, for peace, and for more blood....
He had to wonder...
'Oh, Angsar.... Forgive us all but we are men plagued with hatred so consuming its spread like a wildfire and plagued every inch of this blessed nation. And here we stand, to speak of peace, when all sides can do nothing but call out for war. I ask for you to forgive them, to help them see, that we are but men, not untamed beast. And that the illness of war be banished. For this to you, I fervently pray.'He witnessed the horror first hand as the cannons of the army boomed into the crowd in Reajh. Blood and arms splattered across the square, breaking up cobblestone and bones.
"What are you doing!?" the priest's eyes were wild. What was happening!? Why were the men attacking with war weapons when the people only protested with angered words, and a few- stones? "There are women! There are children!"
But the screams of soldiers and the cries of the fallen swallowed out the logic as the square was soon swollen in dust.
How many more canons would fire? How many more innocent would die? A bullet singed his shoulder, the closeness ringing in his ear as he let out a cry and gripped his shoulder as blood came warmly through his fingers. He nearly dropped the Book of the Word of Angsar from where he stood, bracing himself against his make shift pulpit. More canons were fired, and the ground shook, threatening to over turn him.
He couldn't believe this madness. He didn't want war. He wanted peace!
And despite the insanity that thundered around him, he got back up again onto his pulpit, words spitting from his mouth until he could no longer scream-
"WE ARE HERE FOR PEACE!" he bellowed. "WE DO NOT WANT THE BLOOD OF OUR MEN ANY LONGER! WE RALLY FOR PEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAACE! FOR PEACE IN THE NAME OF ANGSAR! IN THE NAME OF OUR PEOPLE! WE CALL OUT FOR NO MORE BLOOOOOOD!"
But perhaps it was all for nothing? Perhaps it was foolish to think that, even with a just avatar as Angsar, his own empire had been built on blood. War... it was a funny thing. A necessary evil, perhaps. But this evil... this war...
He lost sleep at night, tossng and turning over the very idea of it as his stomach burned him from the inside out. This was a war he knew even Angsar himself would condemn.
But he couldn't give up. He couldn't run away. And the sight of those who suffered carried him through the fray, that even long after the dust began to swell, his hoarse voice called out...
"Peace! We are here... here for PEACE!"
And it was the sound of boots crunching across the broken cobblestone that had him turned. And there he saw a group of soldiers look at him. They were angry, they were worn, and though they were armed with weapons, and he had nothing but 'Angsar's Bible' in his arm, he turned to them stlll, and used what voice he had left.
"It is never too late!" he croaked. "Peace must come to Connlaoth! Peace before the death of our brothers. Peace before the death of our sisters, our mothers and our wives. Our children! Peace before.." he went on shakily, weak. "Before we make our own nation fall! And Angsar's heaven turns to Hell."
And he wondered if the men had pitied him, staring at him as he was half draped over his pulpit, as they simply walked by. By then, the square had emptied...
and what was left in the dust were the simple soldiers to clean up the mess that a rally of peace had erupted.
But his story hardly ended here. In fact....
This was only the beginning. For though the day had come and gone and more riots begun to errupt soon after, he retired to his lakeside home near the Matron. And from his porch at night, he watched the moon waver against restless waters. Clouds were moving in, but they did not snuff out the stars, the stars in which he looked upon, to stars to which he prayed.
He had gone out to his porch, the soft chirp of crickets, though calming, only reminded him of the calm before a storm. And even through it, he heard the foot falls approach. But he did nothing. The candle along the railing had nearly gone out by now. But he didn't think it would matter to replace it. And when the foot falls stopped, he tensed, but did not turn around and kept his eyes upon the lake.
"Father Danning Gates?" came a gruff voice from the darkness.
For a quiet moment, the priest enjoyed the tranquility of the Matron lake, and how the stars danced across its surface. It was peaceful, but it was just a reflection. The real peace was in the stars above. And he had to wonder when that peace would come to earth. Or were all men doomed by the damnation of anger that tainted their blood?
"Yes? I am Father Gates." he replied. And those would be the last words he'd speak in a good long while.
----------
A lethargic, creaking moan lulled him awake, into a world where everything, even his vision, hurt. And when the same creak came again, he felt himself being rocked in a new direction. There was something cold, and what sounded like a metal rattle, though in the same breath, it also had a sweet chiming ring to it. But it was when something tickled his arm did he jerk around to see...
A rat! A rat on his arm! He let out a cry, and jerked even more, despite the protests of his body, and the apparent, heavy metal chains that bound him, upside down int he hall of the boat...
With a hundred other men and women bound like himself.
His eyes were wild, and he moved futilely against his chains, as he simply swung back and forth at his own avail- and at the mercy of the slow rocking of the ship. And though he spent countless days.. weeks in the hull....
The worst part of these days where to watch the sufferings of men.
He didn't know when the boat had stopped rocking, or when there was the call of birds at the bank their ship had now perched. But when light flooded down into the room, those weary men in chains who remained alive could only lift their heads blindly, as they were released from where they hung, and whipped to walk, even though most were too weak to even stand.
Outside the boat the sun burned hotter than he'd ever known, and the world glowed yellow, an ironic contrast to what he pictured might be hell. There were trees with throngs and strange birds with long legs, and as he stumbled across the gang plank onto land....
Despite the thick grasses...
There was sand. Sand all around.
----
He closed his eyes at the memories that brought him here- and that fateful day he was tossed into the arena, sentenced to die after surviving so long a treacherous journey at sea. But it seemed, in some strange way, his prayers to live, to carry on the peace giving words of Ansgar, would save him. But he had to wonder where this would all lead- for this was a world in the sun, so far away from his land shaped by winds.
Perhaps he should be thankful he hadn't died, but those who had captured him were giddy and greedy for the coin they could fetch from such a man. He was unarmed but somehow survived in the arena, protesting in his own native tongue, while the rest of the world laughed in their's.
Perhaps that was why no one had bothered to purchase him- he was seen as the crow that never ceased, for all day he had cried out, voicing his thoughts on peace and tryign to gather what he could of the language- but would it be in vain? It seemed no matter what words he tried, foreign or not, he was laughed at- and whipped and flogged until he was shaking and spitting out blood. And the burns around his neck and wrist began to break open again- the raw flesh as horrid as the burned flesh he had gotten from the sun and sand. But this day in the busy streets of Essyrn was hardly over- and the only thing that had silenced Danning was when he was forced to drink an elixir that had him swaying and collapsing against his own volition.
It was only when the elixir began to fade away did he blink and a figure of a tall woman with dark skin stood before him, looking down at him as if he were some chop of meat.
"He looks like a burned pig," she commented, tilting her head calmly to one side. "But..." she sighed, staring down into his face. "Those eyes are raw... jewels of blue. And he looks strong enough. Surely his survival in the arena will make him pricey... but do you know what this foreigner can do?" The woman asked, and gestured to one of her men to begin their inspection.
Danning had been seated, but a quick tug to the chain round his neck forced him to his feet, and he let out a grunt of pain through bared teeth. He swayed a little, but two guards kept him upright, while his meager skirts were lifted as the woman began to inspect his goods.
"I guess he was left in tact for breeding?" she went on, gesturing for the men to drop the skirts and to bring him closer as she gave a gesture of her wrist. He was dragged forward, and he found his chin being pinched between the woman's hard finger nails.
She had orange eyes. He had never seen orange eyes.
"How much?" she asked. "To have him cleaned and delivered?"
"For you, Lady Kahalla? No less than three thousand gold I'm afraid."
The woman stiffened.
"Do you really think this scrappy pig would sell in the thousands?"
"I've already go some bids today. You... ought to place yours. We're eager to sell him. That is.. if you're interested. Three thousand or he goes to Lord Brau."
"Lord
Brau?" Lady Kahalla wrinkled her nose and sighed. "I suppose I'll put my bid at three thousand." And she looked to the man." But nothing more. If someone wants to waste more gold, let them have him. Not sure I'd want him to breed with my stock... but.. I suppose foreigners have their own unsightly charm."
With asnap, her men returned to her side.
"I'll return before hte sun sets to see if this
jewel is mine."
And all Danning could do, was find himself staring back at the woman's retreating form, his tongue still swollen from the elixir, but he began to feel the prickling, tickling awakening of his limbs just as he was thrown towards a trough of watera nd commanded, "DRINK!"
Though no animal by any means, he was parched beyond belief. THankful they at least let him drink anything, he dunked his head into the water, and began to lap at it like a thirsty dog.
