Scene-Setting Music: "Ramirez's Theme" (Skies of Arcadia)
The hoarse pleas for water, light—for death—went unregarded; long experience taught Veil to not acknowledge such whimperings. Unconsciously, one black-gloved hand gripped the hilt of his ever-present longsword, both as a personal comfort and a public warning to those whose tongues would slip along with their minds. Veil far preferred a clean, quick death. Swift and painless deliverance to whatever god his target prayed to held much greater mercy than throwing them into a bleak tomb to die in squalor, torture and solitude. Even better for a man to die unjustly yet swiftly and receive peace in the Heavens than to justly suffer for years, lingering on in this world with no hope of sampling its delights ever again.
This grim place brought little joy to his heart; confining people to wither away in the oppressive darkness, forgotten yet not allowed to fall into death's embrace. Living...no, existing knowing that every day spent here was one away from the light, from the loved ones and family whose hearts were undoubtedly scarred or broken from their fellow's fate. For out of the hundreds of men and women that have been placed in this particular prison over the centuries, only a literal handful received clemency. The rest were condemned to lingering deaths, their names and deeds erased from the histories at best, their entire family slain for "being complicit in enabling treachery" at worst.
Steel eyes surveyed the meticulously clean halls, the bleak gray stone, guttering flame and chill in the air a perfect match for the ominous surroundings. Unlike mundane prisons, where the typical criminal would do penance for their sins then be--eventually--released back into the world, this prison contained traitors of considerable power whose crimes were against king and country. Because the majority of prisoners were demonologists and others of great sorcerous power, special methods were taken in the prison's construction, the least of which being the very material blunting all magic save those with the royal blessing. Combined with seasoned knights trained in neutralizing and countering many common magics, clerics able to reveal—or tear—the truth from liars and torturers that operate with an artist’s eye and templar’s conviction, and it was no wonder that many here pleaded for immediate execution or attempted suicide. The latter occurred often enough in the past that a small legion of skilled white mages revivify those attempting to speed on their demise, to later receive a proper lesson in pain from the torturers. There would be no escape from the proper justice.
Yet, a tiny part of him couldn't help but notice that, once bereft of their magic, more than a few arrogant sorceresses, haughty devil cultists and prideful mages fell into despair, offering false information on royal conspirators or more...personal favors in exchange for freedom. Once torn away from whatever divine, fey, infernal or abyssal force powered their magic, a surprising number crumbled, reduced to pitiful wretches willing to betray their former allies—even families—for their own survival. (Not that such a thing was restricted to magic-wielders alone, of course.) The Slayer of Domiel knew such thoughts required sincere confession to a priest once his business here was concluded, but he lightly reveled in confirmation of a long-held belief...
Magic was as much a crutch as it as a tool.