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![[RP Story] The Quiet Seige of Castle Ferrismere Empty](https://2img.net/i/empty.gif)
Daybreak came like any other: murky rays of dusty, red, gloaming light poured in through the tiny slit in Bryer's cell wall, scurrying the tar-colored darkness like a pack of rats. Lord Ferrismere's manor guard ought to be dragging that tin cup along the bars in that crude, clangy reveille at any moment. Bryer rolled over onto his side to face the wall, and catch a few more minutes of sleep. There wasn't anything else to do but kill time.
The cell was completely empty save a tin plate for gruel, a leaky, wooden tankard for water, a pile of tic-filled straw and hay for a bed and a pail for his other needs. After ten years, however, nothing could get to him—not even tic bites—and in hardly a moment's time, he fell back to sleep.
Often, he dreamed of things before the cell and the darkness and the drama. Things were so good, and they went bad so fast. He dreamed first of his little sister, and his mother, both house servants, folding new sea-colored sheets. Sheets that turned to a placid ocean, waves rocking them gently as a new mother. Bryer, with short-cropped hair and a sixteen year-old smile, turned his face into the cool ocean mist, but when he looked back his family was gone. Nora Ferrismere stood in their place, and the sun was obscured by a blanket of clouds.
He felt the heat rising in his blood, and though he knew he shouldn't, he went to her with all haste. There was no resisting those pale blue eyes and fiery red locks that fell down her cheeks like festival ribbon. He'd never known love like hers, and she told him she knew it was love—she was older, after all. The dream changed again, and she was a wriggling, sweaty mass, sinking her nails into his back, and whispering his name through strained gasps.
And then she was gone, and he was in water. Suffocating water, completely immersed and unable to move. Her limbs had turned to seaweed and bound him. The surface rose higher and father away. His chest ached. His muscles ripped at the seaweed, but only worsened the tangle. His mind grew dizzy. Involuntarily, he coughed out the last bit of air in his lungs and breathed in the cold, salty water.
Bryer woke with a start, coughing and thrashing, half his face submerged in saturated, cold hay. It was storming outside, and water poured in through his cell window slit. It must have been near midday, but he couldn't tell for sure. The guard never came. Hours more passed, and the water kept coming. The slanted floor of his cell continued filling with water, and then he heard a small voice.
"It's over Bryer," Alyse the young chambermaid whispered. "I can let you out. You can go."
For a moment, Bryer thought he might be dreaming. Then he looked her over. Her hair was ragged, and her eyes swollen. Her nightgown was soiled, her hair was matted, and a trail of blood ran from between her thighs. "Lord Ferrismere is dead. Most everyone is dead." She stuck the key into the cell's lock sobbing quietly, and the sound of Bryer's freedom clicked at the exact moment a thunderclap shook the foundations of Castle Ferrismere.
The cell was completely empty save a tin plate for gruel, a leaky, wooden tankard for water, a pile of tic-filled straw and hay for a bed and a pail for his other needs. After ten years, however, nothing could get to him—not even tic bites—and in hardly a moment's time, he fell back to sleep.
Often, he dreamed of things before the cell and the darkness and the drama. Things were so good, and they went bad so fast. He dreamed first of his little sister, and his mother, both house servants, folding new sea-colored sheets. Sheets that turned to a placid ocean, waves rocking them gently as a new mother. Bryer, with short-cropped hair and a sixteen year-old smile, turned his face into the cool ocean mist, but when he looked back his family was gone. Nora Ferrismere stood in their place, and the sun was obscured by a blanket of clouds.
He felt the heat rising in his blood, and though he knew he shouldn't, he went to her with all haste. There was no resisting those pale blue eyes and fiery red locks that fell down her cheeks like festival ribbon. He'd never known love like hers, and she told him she knew it was love—she was older, after all. The dream changed again, and she was a wriggling, sweaty mass, sinking her nails into his back, and whispering his name through strained gasps.
And then she was gone, and he was in water. Suffocating water, completely immersed and unable to move. Her limbs had turned to seaweed and bound him. The surface rose higher and father away. His chest ached. His muscles ripped at the seaweed, but only worsened the tangle. His mind grew dizzy. Involuntarily, he coughed out the last bit of air in his lungs and breathed in the cold, salty water.
Bryer woke with a start, coughing and thrashing, half his face submerged in saturated, cold hay. It was storming outside, and water poured in through his cell window slit. It must have been near midday, but he couldn't tell for sure. The guard never came. Hours more passed, and the water kept coming. The slanted floor of his cell continued filling with water, and then he heard a small voice.
"It's over Bryer," Alyse the young chambermaid whispered. "I can let you out. You can go."
For a moment, Bryer thought he might be dreaming. Then he looked her over. Her hair was ragged, and her eyes swollen. Her nightgown was soiled, her hair was matted, and a trail of blood ran from between her thighs. "Lord Ferrismere is dead. Most everyone is dead." She stuck the key into the cell's lock sobbing quietly, and the sound of Bryer's freedom clicked at the exact moment a thunderclap shook the foundations of Castle Ferrismere.