What's The Story?

Image by Killerfall

Lady Julia's note:

Periodically I'll post a photo in my YahooGroup and then pose the question, "What's the Story?" Below is one of the more recent creations submitted. Nicely done, Hypnoboth.

What story do you see in the photo?


By Hypnoboth


The men around the table were faceless in the single light from above. Only their voices identified them.

"He has resisted our strongest warriors. How can we bind him for the Inquisition?"

"By using something other than a warrior."

"You speak in riddles."

"No. There are powers other than arms."

"Stop prattling, old man. I want practical answers, not vague generalities."

"Then stop thinking with your crotch. I will have him bound by sundown."

A short silence.

"He has defeated my finest. Do not promise what you cannot deliver."

"I say it again. By sundown."

"A hundred gold pieces says you lie."

"Done."

And there was silence.

She was small and delicate, with dark hair and white skin. She moved in a way that seemed to show the supple body beneath the modest robe she wore. In defiance of convention, she was alone in the square. She sat down in the small inn and when the wife of the innkeeper came to her and asked her in a dubious voice what she wanted, ordered watered wine. Then she buried her face in her hands.

To approach an unaccompanied woman defied convention just as much as being unaccompanied. Her evident distress was too much to bear. The soldier was of good family, and happened to be alone. He spoke to her. "Pardon me, Miss, but you seem distressed."

She looked up at him doubtfully. A soldier speaking to a young woman could have only one thing on his mind. "Please, sir. Do me no harm." The innkeeper's wife hovered in the doorway uncertainly.

"You mistake me. You seem so very troubled. I mean no discourtesy."

Her face remained doubtful. "Thank you, sir, but my troubles are beyond your help."

"Are you so sure? I am a skilled warrior."

"My difficulties are not of this world."

He seated himself. "Surely there are parts of your troubles a strong arm can help."

"I think not, good sir."

"Please tell me. Perhaps I can assist."

She looked at him again. Her eyes were dark and large. "Good sir, my family was visited by a stranger. He came to my father, and my father sent for me. The stranger looked deeply into my eyes. He spoke of how weary I was. He said how good it is to relax deeply. He said how strangely heavy my eyes looked, as yours look now good sir, and how difficult it is to keep them open. He said to me, how sleepy you are, and how good it is to sleep deeply. Yes, to sleep and dream, to dream of soft and gentle things, good sir. Such gentle sleep as we have not felt since childhood, soft beds and warm fires, when your eyelids get heavy and your eyes close, yes good sir, like that, your eyes close and you dream, dream on and on........

He awoke chained to the wall of the Inquisitor's cell. She was against his chest, her eyes closed. "Thank you, good sir. Your heart is pure, and your motives are pure." She pressed her lips against his chest, and he moaned. "Please, sir, confess quickly. I should be sorry to think I caused you overmuch pain." She turned and ran away
quickly, and he moaned again.

The Inquisitor moved forward. The smell of hot iron filled the air.