Wax Abyss

[ Soraha ] The Blind Road

How did it come to this? How did I let this happen? 

Soraha writhed in his bindings. It's dark- someone has blind folded him. The taste of cloth in his mouth, wet with his saliva, is repugnant. He tried to spit it out, but it was tied behind his head, unable to remove. Soraha fought again. Someone told him if he kept moving, the binds would tighten. He felt the manacles on his wrists get tighter, just as predicted. He tried to cry out, "Why? This isn't fair!" but it was futile. Someone had their palm on Soraha's upper back, pushing him along. The soles of his feet crunched something on the ground. He he couldn't tell if it was leaves or gravel underfoot, or a combination of both. Confused and worried, he tried to picture how it came to this. How it got this bad.

Last Soraha recalled was standing on that stool. He preached the word of Mei' Ontra like any good missionary, and was sure he found out what happened to the missing Brother. Within moments, there was a small crowd, listening intently. It filled the genasi with hope, made him more confident. He preached like he was taught- with fervor and courage. Though, Soraha wasn't sure if they were actually listening to him or were more interested in his blue skin and crashing- wave hair.

Suddenly, someone spoke up. "This is an Gothenite city! We do not follow the word of Mei' Ontra! You're a dirty heretic!" Soraha tensed up, all the courage he had melted out his feet. "What?" He uttered. "N-no, I'm not of this-" He was cut off as someone threw a rock. It barely missed him, but more followed, and he was forced to step down from the stool. One connected painfully with the side of his head, and he felt the warm, red block trickle down the side of his face. The towns police entered the scene, and quickly arrested Soraha under charges of heresy, which he openly fought.

"Heretic? What? Nonsense- I am a missionary from Hactet! This- This could start a war! Unhand me!"  Sadly, his words fell on deaf, unwanting ears, and he was cuffed, gagged, blind folded, and hauled off. 

He writhed once more, whimpering pathetically as the manacles tightened again. That person from before whispered in his ear. "What did I tell you, heretic? Keep tryin' that, won't'cha? Now walk."

Obediently, Soraha walked. He was scared of that palm on his back, the way it clutched at the back of his shirt and kept a tight reign on him. The way their nails scraped against his skin whenever they needed a better grip on him. He walked for hours, up hills and down hills, along curves and close enough to a river that he could hear the gentle ebb and sway of the waves along the river bank. Eventually, he'd be led to a stone building, the heels of his shoes clacking against the rock and making a soft click click click with every step he took. Someone spoke.

"This will be where we'll keep you, for the next few days. You know why? We hang heretics in this city." 

Soraha's heart dropped, and he felt himself pale. Hung? He didn't want to die!