To Defy Doom

To Defy Doom: Act 1: The Dominoes are Stacked

By Peragrine Wanderthistle. August 2016. (I'll get an exact date when it says so on the Boards.)

Prologue:

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Booted feet marching awake Peragrine enough to open his eyes. He hears the metal doors opening and closing thunderously, and quite soon they pass by Peragrine's alcove. He sees all of the armored guards roughly escorting a nervous prisoner in fine apparel, who was apparently trying to negotiate a deal, as they half carried- half dragged him along. He had peppery gray hair, and was pathetically thin compared to the minifigures around him. He seemed too refined for his surroundings. Before Perry could find anything else interesting about him, he was out of sight, past the archway. He drifted back to sleep to the fading sounds of the heavy metal doors clanging open and shut...

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Chapter One: Transition.

***Moments ago***

In a cell not too distant from Peragrine's cell, in terms of feet, though in all other respects, it could just as well been in space for all the steel and stone set between them, sat a older gentleman.

This older gentleman had the luxury of not being bound to a table. Alas, he was not aware of his blessings, as compared to others. He was, in fact, cursing his bad luck as he sat on a cot, with a few blankets stacked upon it.

He was fully dressed in filthy finery fit for a fancy dinner. His hair, though dirty, still shined in places where silver-gray strands stuck out. His facial hair, also black and white, was slightly untrimmed, and had some red furrows on the skin underneath where he had apparently itched and scratched it... This man was un-used to his beard. His hands, thin and frail, were gripping the side of the cot.

"What I would not give for a simple slab of butter and bread!" he muttered to himself. "How hard is it to avoid the generic porridge they serve here? I will simply shrivel away if they do not come by with something other than that watery goop!" The old man lifted his knobby knees to his pointed chin, and curled up, as he stared accusingly at the wooden bowl and cup on the floor, which contained a half-eaten portion of poor porridge, and plain, clear water.

"And they still haven't gotten me a decent drink!" He thought irritably. "Honestly, you'd think by now, they'd know I won't tolerate this sort of treatment!"

As he began to formulate a flowery speech to impress the guards when they came back, to get himself a more respectable drink, some distant thumping of heavy boots interrupted his thoughts.

He had been in these dungeons long enough to know the noises certain groups made. This was a large group, so they were probably escorting someone. He hoped it wasn't an escort for him...

Had they really broken the others?

Would they really try to torture HIM??

What would he do???

Would it hurt????

The door to this segment of the hallway opened to reveal a dozen or so armored guards as they filed in, and stopped outside his cell. They looked at him with a strong purpose...

The last one of them, dressed no different than the rest, came through the doorway, into his section of the main hall, and began unlocking the cell door with a bundle of keys. He spoke without making eye contact with the prisoner Gentleman.

"Sir Jean-Claude Silverstine. You are summoned to meet the Grand 1st Warden Maleisus. "

(TBC,)