Warning: This thread will contain mentions of rape, violence, and other things of a sexual nature. Reader discretion is advised.
@Tag SilmeriaElemred
I am not one for superstition, but one of the villagers in the valley mentioned the curse upon this mountain. With what just occurred among the many other tragedies we have suffered on this climb, I am beginning to believe.
Joan clasped her journal shut and tucked it back into her breastplate ensuring the metal lock clicked into place before it fully settled. With that small entry collected along with so many others detailing wounds, sickness, and death brought by these mountains the knight prepared to climb for yet another day.
Approaching Summergleam, her stallion, she gave a few well deserved strokes and an apple to start the day. Soon wounded were piled upon her back and Joan was led to the front of the group to walk alongside her grizzled second in command, Aran. He was many years her elder and his wounds spoke of his experience, but it came from the Grand Duke that this expedition was to be led by one with Adharism. At first it was more than obvious that the elder soldier was determined to see Joan as an untested burden, but as he saw her capability on the march and that she turned to his counsel for many important matters the two came to an accord. After all the mission demanded their cooperation and so much else it seemed.
Head on a swivel among the stones Joan was kept ever wary of the subtle shift of the earth around them. Connlaothians were known for their superiority complexes, but the knight had come from nothing, so she more than anyone knew how easy it was to sink back into the nothing, never to return. Before lunch they faced a rock slide, thankfully none were injured but the sense of unease and naked fear was palpable.
It was reported some hours later of smoke in the distance. Joan knew they had been advised to avoid locals, but morale was so low she thought to ignore those orders, just this once. Aran seemed to be against this move, but his respect for the chain of command and Joan's intuition stayed his tongue for the moment. The sun was at its peak when the soldiers entered the village. It at first seemed empty, but after a few choice knocks people began to stream out of their hovels and carry on as if the soldiers hardly existed. Water and supplies were traded and information was gathered, but it seemed this diversion only shook the soldiers more.
Camp was made early as the treacherous mountains became murderous with the first loss of light. Three had already fallen on late night patrols, their untrained eyes not seeing the openings to deep caves until it was far too late. Joan had awoken to too many screams, guards remained standing still, it would be enough to keep them safe. So she thought.
No shouts alerted the camp, not even dying screams. Joan didn't seek an explanation for this as a soldier managed to make it to her tent and warn her of the attack. Emerging armored she saw the battle was all but lost. Honor her shield and valor her sword she gave a mighty battle cry to rally her men. These were Mordecai elite warriors against the magic menace. They may fall, but they will not go quietly into this night.
Cutting deep into the flesh of green boys and old men Joan dared to hope for but a moment, but that hope died with Aran. A bolt caught his neck, his last move was to clutch it, but a mere reflex it seemed, he was dead before he fell. Bolas, nets, darts of sleep. They sought to capture now, not kill. Joan's thick armor and stalwart shield were strong against pike and blade, but they proved only a detriment as her legs buckled and she was dragged away the sting of poison at last ending her struggles in fitful sleep.
The knight awoke to a strange reversal, rather than being read to sleep as she once was in the temple so many years ago, she was awoken by reading. It's tone was derisive, dismissive, amused. When Joan realized where he pulled the words she surged upward only to be stopped by iron chains around her neck and arms. She was stripped bare and looked upon a menacing man looking into her journal with a cruel knowing smirk.
To be naked in both body and soul. To fail in ones duty. Joan wondered if there was greater shame than this moment and this was soon answered as she felt another metal device opening her legs. While the knight was a novice to all things sexual she knew at the very least the sick man's implied intentions. Purity of intent was the most powerful gift in her arsenal and all that she could give to Connlaoth. Now she was to be stripped of it like so much else. She stared daggers at the man who stared back unfazed and unafraid.
A scream ended her look as she recognized it. Others had been captured, even now they were being tortured. Joan had heard of the fates of soldiers captured grimacing at the grisly details, but now being so close to that personal cruelty the knight could barely breath. Calming herself eventually the warrior saw that while the situation was dire all was not lost. Looking upon the man again she spoke,
"Are you Razgar?"
It was a simple question answered with a smile, yes.
So here was the subject of so much debate in Connlaoth. This figure was talked up as some kind of false messiah leading a holy crusade against the non-magical. Joan now saw what all that talk reduced to. This was but a man, no less, a rapist.
"Let me go, turn yourself in, I promise you just treatment."
This brought laughter as Razgar flipped through the journal his sloppy hands tearing a page. Joan winced as he flipped on and came to a particular entry. It detailed the 'just' treatment of another mage who had turned himself in. Burned at the stake. The knight had watched him die, he seemed so serene in his passing. Quite unlike how Joan felt now.
Many minutes passed as Razgar read more choice entries, grabbed at Joan, and generally did all he could to humiliate her. When he at last settled into his grisly task a knock came at the door. Razgar spoke then left swiftly leaving a few guards in his stead. They spoke candidly about whether or not Razgar would notice if they deflowered her first laughing all the while. Joan remained calm breathing deeply in meditative trance. She felt a strange sense of ease at last, a second wind. Settling into her harness she felt a change. Whether it was for worse or better, she couldn't say.
