Post by morciel on Dec 13, 2010 11:39:16 GMT -8
The Jason Iutus chronicles
By David Castro
Part III: Hangman’s Walk
Inspector Sarah Blane watched the large drops of water strike the window of her Guard House office. She was working on the paperwork of a past case, preparing evidence for the Ministry of Justice. She was antsy, and wanted to don her rain coat and go out on patrol, hunting down the Slayer of the Fallen; instead, she was riding a desk.
The lantern above swung with a sudden breeze, throwing shadows around the room. Sarah swept long red hair out of her face and looked up. She door was opened and a tall man stood there.
He wore a silk shirt and long black pants, finer than anything that Sarah could afford. He wore his curly black hair cropped short at his ears and his beard tightly curled thin streaks of grey running through it. Sarah motioned for the man to sit, who did.
“Hello, Chief, how are you?”
He fell into the chair with much drama and sighed heavily, as if a great weight was lifted from his shoulder. “Better now, Inspector, better now. Heard you were assigned the Slayer case, good for you.”
“Thank you, Zack.”
He was quiet for a while, looking around Sarah’s cramped office. Zachariah Guthas was a dying breed, a member of an old noble family who only entered the City Guard so that their family had a connection there. There were many rumors and whispers that he was corrupt, taking payoffs from pimps, thugs, and drug dealers to let them go free and taking information from them to arrest their competition. Of course no one says anything about this to his face, his family way to powerful to mess with. Sarah hated the man, for just his matter of being, and partly because when the opening for Chief came up, both her and him where up for the job, and he was picked, though she had so many more collars than he did and had been working on the job for much longer than he was. She got these thoughts whenever he spoke to her, which he did much more often than he had to, but she pushed them away, knowing that she only felt that way because of envy.
“How goes the hunt?” He asked.
“Fine, slow going, but fine.”
“Good, I heard that you went to the Temple of the Bloody Sun.”
She shuffled through the papers in front of her finding the one she wanted and picking up her pen. “Yeah, I did.”
“Great idea, really, thinking that he’d go there.”
“Thanks.”
She knew what was coming next, though there was nothing she could do to stop it. “Hey, Blane, there’s a case I’m working on, and I can use another set of eyes on it, you want to come a take a look at it, perhaps over dinner?”
She inwardly cringed, shivers running down her spine. She knew that Zack Guthas had many of the female members of the Guard in his bed, but swore that she would never be one those women, most of which only did it because he had something on them or in some sad attempt to grab some of his families power for themselves. She silently laughed at these women, for as of yet, they’ve all failed.
She put an exasperated voice on. “Not tonight, Zack, I’m exhausted and I have to come in early tomorrow, alright? Maybe some other might, ok?”
His stone grey eyes hardened. “Yeah, sure, alright.” With that, he rose and left the room, closing the door slightly harder than he had to. Sarah smiled and looked out her window. The rain had finally stopped.
********
Jason crouched by the stair of the City Guard House, waiting for someone.
One Zachariah Guthas, a corrupt Guardsman who feeds information to the most fell of the crime lords of the city and let many of the captured ones go, back to the shadows and alleys where they multiply like rats. Jason had been there for three hours, standing in the pouring rain, which just stopped, moments before the bastard left. Dressed in fine silks and other nice things that someone with his job couldn’t possibly afford, he lowered his hood and walked down the street, to a bar that he went to every night, one that was owned by his family. Jason entered the bar a few moments after him, sitting on the stool next to him, of course not being noticed by him as he chatted up friends and hit on women left and right. It took every fiber of his being not to draw his knives here and slay the man here, but he held off, for he had a more suitable fate for him.
Zachariah finally left the bar a bell before dawn, drunk and pissed off, for none of the women of the bar would come home with him that night. Jason followed him, having only drunk fruit juice all night, was perfectly sober. Zachariah, his mind impaired by wine and Raltan whiskey, turned off of the main road a took a short cut through Dalin Alley, a narrow side street that ran around the entire city, known for the vast amount of muggings and murders that took place there. Jason crept up close to him before striking him in the back of the head with the pommel of one of his knives. He gasped as he crumbled onto the filthy ground, Jason sheathing his blades and picking up the body, to which he put into a wagon waiting for him in the next alley. He dropped the body in the straw-filled bed and covered the entire thing with a heavy tarp that smelled of fish. He then lifted the grips of the wagon and whistled a sailor’s song, pushing the wagon out of the side street and onto the main throughway. Even though it was about an hour before dawn, that street had a few occupants on it He traveled west to the former sight of Hangman’s Hill, back before the electric chair and injections, where the killings of the state were held, all for the entertainment of the gathering crowds.
He looked around him, the lifted the tarp, the Inspector Chief’s body still prone on the wagon bed. Jason drew a knife and savagely cut away the clothing of the man and gathered a length of rope. He bound the arms and legs of the man and then lifted him, carrying Zachariah up the Hill. He laid the body on a depression below the gallows, where the then dead criminals would fall through and to a raging fire in a pit underneath the Hill. He took his rope and tied it round the gallows crossbar and made a noose at eh other end. He moved to the controls, throwing a switch that raised a box-like stool for the criminal to stand upon. He lifted Zachariah again and stood him on this stool, slipping the noose over his head. Pulling the noose tight, he returned to the wagon and cut a strip of cloth from the man’s clothes, which he used to gag and him. A strong slap to the face woke him up.
He took a moment to realize that he was on Hangman’s Hill, and a longer moment to realize that he was naked and bound. He tried to bite and talk though his gag, to no avail. Jason pulled a small round tin jar and a flask filled with water. He opened the tin to reveal dried red paint. He wet the top of the paint with his water and dipped two fingers into it, reaching to paint a rune onto Zachariah’ chest. He walked around and painted the same on the man’s back. Wiping the paint onto the cuttings of the officer’s clothes, he moved back to the controls and pressed the release the dropped the stool, breaking his neck instantly.
Jason sighed, expecting that the rope wouldn’t break the neck and he’d get to watch the man suffocate to death. He shrugged; you can’t always get what you want. He turned and began the long walk home.
By David Castro
Part III: Hangman’s Walk
Inspector Sarah Blane watched the large drops of water strike the window of her Guard House office. She was working on the paperwork of a past case, preparing evidence for the Ministry of Justice. She was antsy, and wanted to don her rain coat and go out on patrol, hunting down the Slayer of the Fallen; instead, she was riding a desk.
The lantern above swung with a sudden breeze, throwing shadows around the room. Sarah swept long red hair out of her face and looked up. She door was opened and a tall man stood there.
He wore a silk shirt and long black pants, finer than anything that Sarah could afford. He wore his curly black hair cropped short at his ears and his beard tightly curled thin streaks of grey running through it. Sarah motioned for the man to sit, who did.
“Hello, Chief, how are you?”
He fell into the chair with much drama and sighed heavily, as if a great weight was lifted from his shoulder. “Better now, Inspector, better now. Heard you were assigned the Slayer case, good for you.”
“Thank you, Zack.”
He was quiet for a while, looking around Sarah’s cramped office. Zachariah Guthas was a dying breed, a member of an old noble family who only entered the City Guard so that their family had a connection there. There were many rumors and whispers that he was corrupt, taking payoffs from pimps, thugs, and drug dealers to let them go free and taking information from them to arrest their competition. Of course no one says anything about this to his face, his family way to powerful to mess with. Sarah hated the man, for just his matter of being, and partly because when the opening for Chief came up, both her and him where up for the job, and he was picked, though she had so many more collars than he did and had been working on the job for much longer than he was. She got these thoughts whenever he spoke to her, which he did much more often than he had to, but she pushed them away, knowing that she only felt that way because of envy.
“How goes the hunt?” He asked.
“Fine, slow going, but fine.”
“Good, I heard that you went to the Temple of the Bloody Sun.”
She shuffled through the papers in front of her finding the one she wanted and picking up her pen. “Yeah, I did.”
“Great idea, really, thinking that he’d go there.”
“Thanks.”
She knew what was coming next, though there was nothing she could do to stop it. “Hey, Blane, there’s a case I’m working on, and I can use another set of eyes on it, you want to come a take a look at it, perhaps over dinner?”
She inwardly cringed, shivers running down her spine. She knew that Zack Guthas had many of the female members of the Guard in his bed, but swore that she would never be one those women, most of which only did it because he had something on them or in some sad attempt to grab some of his families power for themselves. She silently laughed at these women, for as of yet, they’ve all failed.
She put an exasperated voice on. “Not tonight, Zack, I’m exhausted and I have to come in early tomorrow, alright? Maybe some other might, ok?”
His stone grey eyes hardened. “Yeah, sure, alright.” With that, he rose and left the room, closing the door slightly harder than he had to. Sarah smiled and looked out her window. The rain had finally stopped.
********
Jason crouched by the stair of the City Guard House, waiting for someone.
One Zachariah Guthas, a corrupt Guardsman who feeds information to the most fell of the crime lords of the city and let many of the captured ones go, back to the shadows and alleys where they multiply like rats. Jason had been there for three hours, standing in the pouring rain, which just stopped, moments before the bastard left. Dressed in fine silks and other nice things that someone with his job couldn’t possibly afford, he lowered his hood and walked down the street, to a bar that he went to every night, one that was owned by his family. Jason entered the bar a few moments after him, sitting on the stool next to him, of course not being noticed by him as he chatted up friends and hit on women left and right. It took every fiber of his being not to draw his knives here and slay the man here, but he held off, for he had a more suitable fate for him.
Zachariah finally left the bar a bell before dawn, drunk and pissed off, for none of the women of the bar would come home with him that night. Jason followed him, having only drunk fruit juice all night, was perfectly sober. Zachariah, his mind impaired by wine and Raltan whiskey, turned off of the main road a took a short cut through Dalin Alley, a narrow side street that ran around the entire city, known for the vast amount of muggings and murders that took place there. Jason crept up close to him before striking him in the back of the head with the pommel of one of his knives. He gasped as he crumbled onto the filthy ground, Jason sheathing his blades and picking up the body, to which he put into a wagon waiting for him in the next alley. He dropped the body in the straw-filled bed and covered the entire thing with a heavy tarp that smelled of fish. He then lifted the grips of the wagon and whistled a sailor’s song, pushing the wagon out of the side street and onto the main throughway. Even though it was about an hour before dawn, that street had a few occupants on it He traveled west to the former sight of Hangman’s Hill, back before the electric chair and injections, where the killings of the state were held, all for the entertainment of the gathering crowds.
He looked around him, the lifted the tarp, the Inspector Chief’s body still prone on the wagon bed. Jason drew a knife and savagely cut away the clothing of the man and gathered a length of rope. He bound the arms and legs of the man and then lifted him, carrying Zachariah up the Hill. He laid the body on a depression below the gallows, where the then dead criminals would fall through and to a raging fire in a pit underneath the Hill. He took his rope and tied it round the gallows crossbar and made a noose at eh other end. He moved to the controls, throwing a switch that raised a box-like stool for the criminal to stand upon. He lifted Zachariah again and stood him on this stool, slipping the noose over his head. Pulling the noose tight, he returned to the wagon and cut a strip of cloth from the man’s clothes, which he used to gag and him. A strong slap to the face woke him up.
He took a moment to realize that he was on Hangman’s Hill, and a longer moment to realize that he was naked and bound. He tried to bite and talk though his gag, to no avail. Jason pulled a small round tin jar and a flask filled with water. He opened the tin to reveal dried red paint. He wet the top of the paint with his water and dipped two fingers into it, reaching to paint a rune onto Zachariah’ chest. He walked around and painted the same on the man’s back. Wiping the paint onto the cuttings of the officer’s clothes, he moved back to the controls and pressed the release the dropped the stool, breaking his neck instantly.
Jason sighed, expecting that the rope wouldn’t break the neck and he’d get to watch the man suffocate to death. He shrugged; you can’t always get what you want. He turned and began the long walk home.