December 2, 2014 Season 3 thread.
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Stonegit Brotchurn Elmiss: ***“I’ll kill you! …I hate you so much Stonegit…Stonegit I love you…What are you doing? Are you ok? Can I get you anything?…You killed me…it wasn’t your fault…it was your fault…you are the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever had…avenge me…let it go…Stonegit…Stonegit…STONEGIT!”
The words swirled around Stonegit’s mind. Every day, every night, there was a new Haddock with new things to say to him. And then Dust’s words rang in his ear. Of course he didn’t believe her, how could someone as great as Haddock not go to Valhalla, especially one that died so honorably. But that didn’t mean the fear of being wrong and Haddock stuck somewhere in Hel made his stomach churn, and sleep impossible. He lay face up on his floor, eyes wide as all these words echoed in his ears. Every once in a while another Haddock would appear to him and start talking. But whenever it got even close to touching him…it vanished.
***The guards, both the soldiers and the mages, where learning much, becoming effective. The prison cells and guard rotation were being renovated. Skye’s recent escape had been the last straw, and now Steongit was having a container worthy of imprisoning Pitch being built. His voice yelled across the courtyard, urging his men to improve. One of them used Stonegit’s impaired vision to sneak off and down some whiskey before returning. He left later that day, beaten and bruised.
***“I have your order battle master…” one of the rebel’s tailors said carefully, approaching him near the edge of the camp.
Stonegit turned around, reaching for the garment. “Everyone has been hunting these, how many did it take to make this?”
“Fifty,” the man replied.
“And they’ve stopped coming?”
“I don’t think the white cats are very interested in us anymore,” the tailor admitted.
Stonegit held up the thick, white fur cape. He eased it around his shoulders, pulling the hood over his head. “It’s perfect.” He said calmly, tossing over a pouch of coins. The tailor nodded, walking away nervously with his pay. Stonegit remained there for a few more moments, and then turned as well, heading back to the fortress, leaving behind the dozens upon dozens of wooden spikes in the ground, each one bearing a white cats head.
***”Pitch…” Stonegit whispered to himself. “Pitch, Pitch, Pitch, Pitch” his eye rolled. The witch hunt Kiri had executed had been costly for the witches. Now even more of the members of the rebellion, including some of the soldiers he trained, had gone on witch hunts on their own. They of course where much smaller, and much safer hunts, but hunts none the less. Their combined efforts usually only killed no more than one witch, but at least they were all returning alive. Stonegit’s knife carved into the wall of his bedroom, putting a gouge through the word ‘cats,’ and then another through the word ‘withes.’ He tilted his head, studying the wall, and then cut a circle around Skye’s name, and then one around Pitch’s. “Ok…” he said, giving a small huff, and walked out of the room. That room…was covered from ceiling to floor with cuts, scratches, and punctures from where weapons had been hurled and smashed into the wood work. The bed was torn to shreds and nearly every desk side object and window inside the room was broken. All the words that the Haddock visions had spoken to him had been cut into the walls and floor, and in the center of the back wall, was a clear list. At the top was ‘cats,’ ’witches,’ ‘Skye.’ But bellow that read the names ‘ Pitch Black, Jack Frost, Blue, and Tezzerret Verdile.