For two days Chief Justice Fraunx Adonis had spent his afternoons silently watching The Inquisitor’s team at work. Generally speaking, he wouldn’t give a second thought to physical coercion as a method of obtaining information. However, after what he’d seen in the chamber hidden under the Heart of the Seven Faeries, he seriously contemplated ordering the Regular Militia to abstain from enhanced interrogations until a full study could be conducted regarding the efficiency of the method. It was definitely something he’d have to bring up at the next meeting of the Antigone Courts. Fortunately, The Inquisitor was a gift from his brother, Typhon the Supreme Guru of Poterit Dan, and as such was not subject to Donian law. Of course, if they were caught by Mercury’s Elite Guard, none of it would matter for they’d all pay in blood.
Friday, December 25, 2015
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Kent Wheelock lay, unconscious, in a congealed pool of his own blood and bile. A poultice made from a falcon-regurgitated poppy covered his missing left eye. Fulco stood on the footboard of the collapsed bed in the corner of the dilapidated shack. The fireplace grating groaned as it was pushed aside by a bald old man who clambered up and out. Fulco cawed. Kent moaned, but did not move. From inside his fur-lined cape, the old man pulled out a long thin cloth. He knelt beside Kent, then lifted the young man’s head to wrap the cloth around the injured eye thus securing the poultice in place.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Hand-carved obsidian and ivory chess pieces battled across solid silver and gold fields on a board detailed with blazing phoenixes. The intricate board held plenty of fascination for young Archel, who gawked over it hungrily. However, Archel’s true interest lay in understanding the movements of each magnificent piece.
“Wait. Why did you do that? I thought that prawns could only move forward or take diagonally,” Archel said.
“En passé,” Fintan answered.
“An pass, say what?” Archel asked.
“‘En passant’ is the name of the move,” the Kaiser corrected.
“Potatoes,” the old bard replied.
“Fintan. I had the impression you were teaching the boy.”
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Private Richard Machine came out of the latrine thankful he’d made it in time. The 20 minute ride back to Camp Polkner had been bumpy; at times he’d cursed his luck certain he’d explode. Machine swore he’d lay off the hard liquors; it always soured his stomach the next day. Since the crisis was over, he decided to stop at Geedunk to pick up some hangover foods. There was no telling how long it’d take the commander to get on site and they’d missed both breakfast and lunch. Besides, the chow hall wouldn’t open again until 6pm and that was too long to wait. Fortunately, Geedunk was on the way off base, which meant he could hit it up and be back before West killed the prisoner.