Author Games: A Knight's Valor

Task Four: Male Entries

Lemaria Male: John Tommson

The day was grueling—not because of weather, or of people, or even of the tournament. Nay, the day was grueling for the punishments inflicted upon those trapped inside the castle dungeon. The worst of the worst were there. Those there had betrayed the King, they had committed heinous crimes, and there was no people in the kingdom worse than them. Inside of the dark, wet, moldy place were more cobwebs than could ever be cleaned up. Walls were lined with the scratches from those who had been there for years upon years, tearing at the walls but never finding a place where they weakened or allowed for escape. The only solace were the few windows that were placed in every other room, allowing light to come in from the grass that grew around said window in the ground. The people who walked overhead spat down into the dungeons with distaste, some even pouring their piss-pots into the holes to aid the sentence given to those despicable beings.

John knew the dungeons well. He'd grown up with the horror stories of down there and listened to his father speak of them many a time. Some people he'd known had even been thrown down there, never to see the light of day again unless they were tried and beheaded by Royal Court.

That day, however, John wasn't down there to pay tribute to the dammed. It was he who was chained up, forced to pee where he stood and eat the mass of food that was first dropped onto the ground before shoved into his mouth. It was degrading in every form of the word but he refused to let himself be overtaken by the madness of the place. John gritted his teeth and forced himself to swallow the disgusting gruel they fed him. It was weeks old and almost tasted fermented. He'd been brought in hours earlier and had no idea how long he'd been stuck there.

"Who are you?" The words caused his head to turn, the silent opening of a door giving way to the silhouetted figure that stood before his immobile self.

John looked on without fear, his eyes blank and disinterested as he watched the creature approach, closing the door just as silently behind him. "You know who I am," he answered, "and I know why you're here." They cannot fool me, John thought to himself, I know this tournament better than any. I know their games. "What will it be?" he asked, eyebrows arched with an almost cocky attitude. "Chains? Poisons? Your torture devices?" He put his head back, staring up at the filthy ceiling above him. "Do your worst, torturer. You'll get nothing out of me."

"Who are you?" the being repeated.

John sighed to himself, shaking his head. "You know who I am. I am John Tommson—" Pain exploded across the left side of his face, a gasp forcing itself from his lips. His cheek burned from the slap, a stinging numbness quickly filling in where the pain had been. "Is that the best you can manage?" he mocked, but the creature did nothing more than tilt its head.

"Who are you?"

"I am a knight of L—" Another gasp. Another red hot brand of pain—this time radiating from his calf. John looked down to see the torn fabric of his trousers and the trickle of blood that ran down to pool below him. Still, the creature had not moved. "Should you not ask me questions about the royal family?" he inquired, but the man only repeated the phrase he had begun.

"Who are you?"

He gritted his teeth, turning his eyes away once more. "You cannot sway me, torturer. I will not play your games." For a moment, there was silence. The pain that struck him then was so sudden and violent that it choked a cry of agony from his throat. He could not pinpoint it, could not place what it was that had been injured. All he knew was the burning pain that licked his skin like a scorching fire. Like a knife through butter, his mind chanted. Like a knife through butter.