Guardians of the Borderlands.

Three Years Later
The sun rose high above the barren landscape, painting the dawn sky beautiful tones of rosy pink and lilac, the sun itself a glowing orb, rising like a ruby coated in liquid gold. The wind blew complex patterns of dust motes through the air, across the stones of Highburn, a massive marble structure that reflected the light of daybreak and it’s delicate floral hues. The desert sands coated the glossy stone, dusting it over and giving it a rusty tone. From inside a plaintive voice floated upon the early air
“Breacadh an lae ere
Éist Leis an fhuiseog
Canann sé dom
Winging thuas
Ar teaghráin péinteáilte”
The crack of a whip broke the sweetness of the notes and a single scream is loosed into the air.
This was not the time that had belonged to the beloved kings and queens, no this was a time of fear, and hatred. The tyranny that had taken over after the king had fallen so many years ago had put many of the Borderland’s former warriors and their families along with them into a forced slavery, building temporary encampments in the city for the ever growing population of people. At the center of the city is a great, stone castle- built originally for the royal family- that shone like white snow against the mountain’s black face.
And it is here that our story begins.
In the lower halls of the castle a dungeon lays, housed with shackles and any number of weapons used to cause any kind of bodily harm to any one slave that defied what any of the tyrannic hierarchy commanded of them. It is a familiar room to a pair of young slaves by the name of Ærebythe Gythendæl and Cælin Notleigh. These two, having been friends since childhood were nearly inseparable and were commonly getting themselves into trouble. Which is why we see them here today.
Ærebythe was a smallish, lithe young girl with long, almost black hair and eyes the color of a stormy sea; prismed mixes of blues and greens, mossy and crystalline, with hard edge like iron. Her mouth was permanently set in a disdainful half-frown, with her thick, reddish lips commonly pursed together, sternly. She was clever and very rebellious. A born leader but she knew well when to hold her tongue. As the whip fell upon her friend, Bythe (as she preferred to be called) shot out a hand, the tongue of leather wrapping around her wrist. She tugged hard against the guard’s grip, the tendons and sinew of her arms standing out from the strain.
Bythe’s partner in crime, Cælin was almost her exact opposite. Tall, with flaxen hair, like her father’s reaching almost to her waist even when tied together and pulled up at the back of her head with a strip of leather. Cæ was also adorned with brilliantly glowing eyes of a soft golden brown that ran in her family. Cæ was a smart girl, normally utilizing her intelligence to play elaborate pranks on the people to whom she was enslaved or in ways that would get her out of trouble when she got herself into it. Even when she was in the thickest of trouble and on the worst of days she always managed to have a half smile on, dreaming of days when she could be free to roam the land outside of the walled city they were forced into.
While Bythe took the liberty of alleviating her assailant of his weapon Cæ smiled weakly, panting as her back stung from the amount of lashes she’d received. Bythe wound the whip around the guard's neck, wrenching it as tightly as she could, her vision clouded red. She gritted her teeth together audibly and pulled. A satisfied gleam came to her eyes as the guard spluttered and foamed, trying to rid himself of the choking whip. She growled, biting down on her lower lip until it split and the guard went limp in her arms. As Bythe let him fall to the ground, she found herself hemmed at all sides by men in forest green uniforms, their massive halberds aimed in a circle around her. She cocked an eyebrow impudently.
“What did I do now?”
A soft snicker came from behind her as Cæ started to work at her shackles, “I think ya hurt someone.”
Bythe’s face was a picture of injured innocence, “What? Me?”
“Yeah lookit ‘im.” Cæ nodded her head playfully at the guard laying limp on the ground, her honey colored eyes flashing deviously as she pull one hand silently from the restraints, “That’s a right fix ya got ‘im in.”
The dark haired girl suppressed a giggle, “I never! It must have been that fellow,” she said, pointing to a guardsman wearing a short red cape and winking broadly at her friend, “He doesn’t look too trustworthy to me.”
The man she had gestured -- Captain Rembrith -- curled his lip in contempt, “I’d be quiet if I were you, wretch. You’re lucky you haven’t been executed yet.”
“Mhm,” Bythe shrugged, absentmindedly, drawing patterns in the gritty dust with her bare toes
“Men,” the captain said, nodding to a pair of guards.
The younger of the two took Bythe gently by the arm, “Sorry, Miss...you really should be more careful with your temper.”
“Bugger off,” she replied, shoving into him playfully
“I mean it,” he whispered, “One day you’re really gonna get hurt.”
A soft chuckle came from the throat of Cæ as she slipped her other hand from the heavy iron, “Really boy?” An air of cockiness floated out of her voice as she eyed her partner with a knowing glance, “You think we’re going to get hurt?” She rubbed her wrists and glanced around at the other guard that had started to advance the pair of them.
“Stand down, friend,” Bythe calmed her, “No need to get yourself in a tizzy.”
The young man smiled faintly, “Aye, she’s smart. I’d listen.”
“Oh shut up, Jethro,” she chuckled
As the younger of the two backed off of the girls Cæ made a mock biting sound by snapping her jaws together and smiled at him,
“You wouldn’t want to get too tangled up with the merchandise.” Cæ flicked her hair and turned toward Bythe, grinning in a joking manner as Jethro piped up,
Bythe’s cheeks flushed an alarming shade of pink against her pale skin, “
The taller, broader man at Bythe’s other arm shot Cæ a glare, “Shut up. Or you’re both going in.”
Bythe pursed her lips firmly, tasting the metallic blood staining her skin.
Rembrith gripped the back of her neck, “Get a move on, missy. Or you’ll be feeling my rod.”
“Will I? That’ll be a nice change,” the girl responded, coolly, her hooded eyes rolled upwards toward the sky
Cæ laughed and glanced from Bythe to the man behind her and back to the brunette with her ever present smile shining. The man at Bythe’s right side let go of her arm and walked toward Cæ warily,
“There is no need to be so cautious.” She took a step after her friend to avoid something that would bring her more pain than she had already brought upon herself, “I do not have a death wish.”
As the pair of guards escorted the girls out of the chamber Cæ found herself limping slightly with tiresome limbs and bleeding wounds that would need tending before the day was out.
It was a wicked thing, the will of the guards. They did not want to see any of what they were forced to watch go to waste, even if it meant breaking them more than what they deserved for their actions.
The streets they walked were dirty, filled with people looking for something to eat and people falling ill, or injured into the gutters. It was loud too, with people shouting and children crying with empty bellies. It was not the beautiful city that it had once been. Not anymore. Bythe sighed, her eyes flicking across to a small boy shivering in the corner. He looked up, a tiny dribble of blood at the corner of his lips that widened into a slow smile.
“Hullo, Bythe,” he said, his voice thin and weak
“Morning, Killian.”
The little boy glared at the guards, “Bastards...”
“Oh hush,” an older boy took his shoulder and forced some liquid between Killian’s trembling lips, “We don’t need you getting beaten again.”
“Yes, brother....”
Bythe sighed, well aware of young Killian’s problem. After a severe beating with no medical treatment, the nine year old had become terribly ill with some infection. The boy had lost most of his strength to move and his sight was leaving him very quickly. Regret weigh heavy on his brother, Ladd, a seventeen year old with awful eyesight who blamed himself for his little brother’s sickness.
Cæ nodded to the pair as she passed them, trying to keep herself from seeming too beaten down by the men of the castle. She hated to see the two boys in such poor luck when she had not been too bad off herself.
The walk through the last of the streets had been a long one, met with many sullen gazes and comments about her and Bythe’s bleeding. The guards escorted them through the busy streets, Jethro keeping a strong hand on Bythe’s arm and the other standing close to Cæ as she followed behind the two leaders. They had long since passed the small hut they called home and were travelling toward what was commonly known as the Healer’s hut.
“What have you done to yourselves now?” The little, old woman, with wild grey hair stood from her chair and placed her hands on her hips, gripping and old wash rag between her fingers.
The building was small, although not so small as the structures they had been forced to live in, only large enough to fit four or so beds at a time with comfortable room between each. From the rafters of the light, thatched roof hung bundles of different herbs and roots that the woman used in her many remedies to help the slave-folk. At the moment there were approximately six beds in the room, sitting with barely enough standing room between each bed, and all but one bed were occupied by a sickly child or a dying man.
Bythe shrugged, airily, “The usual.”
Jethro smiled, hopelessly, “She tried to strangle a guard,” he indicated the deep scores in her palm from coiling the whip around her hands
Cæ shook her head at Jethro with a smile stuck onto her face and her eyebrow raised, “Tried? He was on the ground before you lot showed up.” She limped her way over to the empty bed and sat down on it, trying not to jar her lashes as they still stung freshly, “You were the ones who tried to do things!” Soon enough Cæ was joined by Bythe, Jethro, and the healer at the bed.
The old woman shook her head at the trio and set about, starting to pull together the ingredients she would need to make the paste for Cæ’s wounds and Bythe’s lips and hands,
“You two,” She bustled around the room, grabbing a number of herbs and bowls and powders for the paste, “Always getting into trouble!” She came by the bed and started to mix the different things together after pointing to Jethro and doing a twirling motion with her finger. As per the cue Jethro turned his back to them and Cæ started to remove her shirt, revealing the deep lashes that still oozed blood slowly from the reddened lines crossing her back in a rough, thatched pattern, “What does your father think of this, Cæ?”
The young girl shrugged as the paste was applied to her back, the stinging cool of the herbs feeling like relief and a newly blossomed pain squirming around her back. Her father had never approved of the antics she and Bythe were constantly seeming to get themselves into.
Bythe sat in silence as the old woman bound her hands with a poultice. She knew what Cæ was thinking of; her father. The girl sighed, wincing a bit at the mud the healer plastered over the split in her lip.
“Perhaps that will keep you holding your tongue,” the woman said with a wink
“Mhm...” Bythe nodded, spitting out a bit of grit, “Highly unlikely.”
She closed her eyes with a gentle sigh, trying to push the memories of her own father, Bhàtair from her mind. If he were alive, none of this would have happened. Cæ saw her partner and knew the face she was making, it was one she’d seen often, when they were out, walking around the plazas or working she had seen her grimace and try to hide the pain she had deep down.
After the healer finished with Bythe she turned back to Cae and began wrapping a thick bandage around her chest and back to hold the healing stuff in place. The woman wrapped it tightly and the rough fabric half torn at her skin as it was wound around her body. After she finished wrapping it the woman tied it off and sent the girls back on their way with Jethro still watching Bythe with a careful eyes.
“You know, you do not have to follow us all the way home.” Cæ gave him a sidelong glance and saw him roll his eyes, “There is not much that we could do to anyone in this state.” The slow burning of the healer’s remedy had brought on discomfort and anger that was so carefully hidden behind her smile.
Bythe allowed herself to be lead by the guards into the marble Highburn. She smiled a bit, recalling her initial reaction to being escorted inside when she was young. The massive walls, the parapets, the dark green banners waving at the tip of the spires. Inside, the walls were plated with gold and gemstones of every type, glistening in the new light. A few stained glass windows allowed the light to slot in, coloring the pristine white floors in rainbow hues. At the center was a large throne made of solid gold, lined with green velvet and trimmed in amethyst purple stones. Bythe was forced to her knees before the massive chair, silently resenting the beauty of the place.
"His Lordship will be here in a moment...” the guard she had attacked chuckled, eyes alright with vengeance, “You’re in trouble now.”
She ignored him, steeling herself for the entrance of the king. As a child, she found him breathtaking. A tall, blond, god-like figure with viciously narrowed goldish green eyes. He had a high forehead, strong body, and perfect smile. The perfect image of a hero, but beneath this facade was hidden the raw energy of a tyrant. He lived to kill, to destroy. Aidualc; tyrant of Highburn and his wife, Vayne; a fine featured, delicate, clever woman with flowing auburn hair and blue eyes. If Aidualc was the brawn, Vayne was the brains. She knew everything about everyone in the city. She knew their weaknesses, their strengths, and what they would sacrifice anything for.
Aidualc picked a bit of dust off his velvet cloak, flicking it into the air, “What’s the little Border brat, Gythendæl done now?”
“We’ll find out,” Vayne muttered, fastidiously dusting off her silken skirts and toying with a small, ageworn book, “I can make her talk, you know.”
“The book? You think the book will make her talk?”
“It was her father’s,” the queen smirked, “Of course she’ll talk for it.”
Cæ eyed the pair of royalty as they peered angrily down at her and Bythe. She despised them. With their lavish coats and extravagant parties while they used the labor of the poor Borderland people to fuel their lives. She and Bythe had spent a number of years as slaves, kneeling under the whip and the chain of Vayne and Aidualc. They were the reason Bythe’s father was dead and the reason her own had given up his rank in the army to keep his daughter and wife from starving to death.
There was a fire burning behind her eyes as she opened her mouth, and spoke out of turn, much like she always did,
“You have no right to be holding that book.” One of the guards standing near Cæ shoved her down onto her knee,
“You will show respect to the king and queen.” Cæ whipped her head around and half snarled at the armored man, “Easy, she-beast.
"Calm yourself, friend," Bythe murmured, eyeing the volume in the queen's hand, "We don't need more trouble."
“Then you may have more than you bargained for,” Vayne smiled, thinly, nodding to a servant
The sound of flint striking steel echoed around the silent hall, causing Bythe to raise her head, but only to had a foot forced against the back of her neck. Jethro had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from losing his temper, clenching and unclenching his strong, tanned hands nervously. He kept his grey eyes focused on the back of Bythe’s head. Vayne stood, smoothing her skirts, calmly. She stared contemptuously at the two young girls, eyes narrowed.
“What did they do this time?” Aidualc sighed, tapping his fingers against the arm of his throne, bored.
“Tried to kill me, that one did,” the guard Bythe had attacked stated, a hand to his throat while the other gestured to the culprate, “Almost did too!”
“Attempted murder?” the corner of the queen’s lips lifted slightly, “What have you to say for yourself?”
She lifted Bythe’s chin with two fingers, impatient for an answer, but the girl remained silent.
“Oh...looks like we might have a problem,” Vayne nodded, gracefully to a pair of hooded, cloaked men, “Take her.”
Jethro moved to protest, his heart dropping in his chest, “No...no please!”