"Before we begin, I must once again reiterate to you that this operation will be perilous..."
"Again, sire?"
A crowd of armored soldiers and armed citizens chuckled as they all stood in the middle of a courtyard, facing a calm, cool-headed man with both of his hands behind his back. While they all laughed and patted each other on the shoulders and back, the man, known more colloquially as Casimir the Grim, shook his head and sighed, unamused by how nonchalant they all were.
How could they not be? This would be no different than heading off to battle with one of the most accomplished men of their generation. A man who had singlehandedly beheaded an orc king, a monster three times his size, all while carrying an injured soldier on his back. A man who had succeeded to take back a castle from fireball-slinging and icicle-throwing elves in a botched attempt to conquer the human kingdom with only a hundred men. Not to say anything of the casualties, as more than half of those men had died in the charge and the rest had all but been mauled. Even so, he was famous for how prodigious he was as a leader. There was not a commoner in the capital who hadn't heard his name and didn't seek to serve under him. To the people, he was a hero.
To himself, Casimir Dubois was nothing more than a selfish monster obsessed with his dreams. It was one thing to feel nothing as one directed others to their deaths for one's own glory, to be numbed to the sacrifice of others. There were unfeeling monsters, and then there was him, a man who still held onto his conscience and tried to justify the deaths of the people under him all while holding dearly to his own life. To feel and yet to still sin was a greater transgression in his eyes.
All the men and women in front of him... they could very well die tonight. Each and every one of them had a family and yet they left it all to come to his aid. For what? To save a single man. A man that may as well be dead by now. He didn't even know.
"This is not a game. We are not going for a walk out in the field. Only those whose resolve is like steel should come. Many of you may be branded criminals if things go awry."
"We may as well be criminals in the eyes of the higher-ups, sire." A young knight that could be no older than him spoke up. Marcus Denis, an upstart knight who'd been inspired by him and had fought under Casimir. He was the first to gather under his banner when it came to saving Aimeric Linville, Casimir's childhood friend and one of the only other nobles professing equality within their kingdom. He was quite a talented young man, if not a naive and foolhardy one.
"Marcus. While it may be true that commoners are treated as scum--"
"Enough, sire. Look to the people if you need any confirmation. You are the only hope to our country now. There is not a person here who doubts that." He swung his arm toward the crowd. Though they stood under the moonlight, only torches to light their way, each and every person present wore the same determined visage.
Casimir sighed. He'd hoped to dissuade at least a fistful of them to go back to their families. Maybe then he'd feel like a better person, though he knew deep down that he was still on a fast track to Hell regardless.
"... Very well. I believe I don't need to debrief you once again. We march on." The men and women all cheered boisterously, their bravado at an all-time high. He wondered how long it would last.
The plan was simple. About a month ago, Aimeric Linville had disappeared. Casimir realized this when their usual, secret correspondence had been interrupted. The two nobles had told each other that if one were to be late with their letter by a week, it meant something had gone awry for them. As soon as the clock hit midnight, the nobleman began his investigation, using as many of his resources as he could to get down to the truth. It wasn't easy. Aimeric was a socialite unlike him, coming and going to many different social gatherings to save face while he worked behind the scenes to capture as many slavers as he could. In the end, Casimir pinned it down to a female merchant, known infamously for providing sex slaves to those who were willing to part with a generous lump of gold. After catching her and relieving her of some of her digits to encourage her tongue to move, Casimir found out that Aimeric had been targeted by another noble. He'd been drugged while trying to bust the merchant and taken to his estate, but was never seen thereafter. he followed the bread crumbs, as few as they were until he finally discovered a strange blank in the capital's underground map. Somewhere within the sewers, there was a spot that lead to nowhere.
Casimir wasn't foolish. He knew that if he were to go alone, he'd likely only be captured too. The next few weeks were spent recruiting help, leading up to a total of seventy men and women, assorted from commoners and knights, joining in to follow him in his rescue mission.
They marched out of his estate, scattering to avoid suspicion. Casimir walked alone, shadowed by a group of bodyguards. He was dressed in his usual suit and coat, a flintlock pistol hidden within the breast and a sword on his hip. He avoided the gaze of the knights he passed by as they made their patrols. While commoners might be stopped after a certain time of the night, no one would dare to stop a noble. It was one of the advantages of being one, he supposed. It made reaching his appointed entry point easy enough, at least.
Once in the sewers, it was simply a matter of following his memory. At one point, the flowing waters stopped and only dark corridors were to be found. The odd torch lit the way, but there were many dead ends and, in some cases, false corridors littered with traps. About an hour after they had all left his estate, Casimir reunited with a small force.
"And the rest?" He questioned. Half of the force was meant to stay outside to keep a lookout for anyone entering or leaving, but even with that in mind, there were only about twenty soldiers left.
"Pitfalls, arrow traps... the works, sire. Returning the bodies to the families..." Marcus shook his head with a sigh.
"Out of the question. They knew the risks." What a waste of life. Truly. Casimir couldn't even let himself mourn for a moment, however. He touched the door that he'd only seen from afar up until now.It was made out of mythril, clearly meant to stop something from forcing its way in. Even the castle wasn't equipped so thoroughly. Mythril was worth triple its weight in gold, after all. "The skeleton key?"
Marcus fiddled with it in his hand. A priceless artifact, this skeleton key could be used to open any lock once. Using it for a jailbreak was, according to some wizards, a sin. There were only a handful in the world, after all. But Casimir didn't care. He nodded to the door, directing the knight to open it. Then, as he pulled it open, the soldiers all gathered around. As soon as it was fully open, they stormed in.
What they saw inside was nothing like what they expected. A dank, dark dungeon was what they thought they'd encounter, but this place was... pristine. There was the lingering scent of blood and... something else. Something foreign. They stared at the gray, spotless walls, only hearing the rushing footsteps a moment too late. An arrow flew right by Casimir's ear, catching a man by the throat as he fell with a grunt. Casimir's eyes grew wide as blood splattered on his cheek, momentary shock giving him pause before he drew his blade and rushed the soldier with a crossbow. Before the man, covered in spotless armor, could reload his weapon, his head flew right off his neck with a swift flick of Casimir's wrist. His blade was as quick as it was merciful; the soldier would feel no pain before he was dead, the cut clean across his bloody stump of a neck.
Casimir's soldiers were rallied by the lightning flash of their leader and roared as they rushed the oncoming crowd of guards. What ensued was bloodshed. Only the knights under Marcus were able to hold their own, the commoners doing little more than be meatshields in the battle as Casimir cut down soldier after soldier singlehandedly. By the time the guards had stopped coming, there were only about seven soldiers left. But at least now they'd be able to walk around freely.
"Casi-- Sire...! Come take a look." They spread out to cover as much ground as possible, and after a few minutes, Marcus came back to him, apparently having found something of interest. What it was... it was hard to describe. It seemed like little more than a lump of disfigured meat, cancerous growths all over its... body, if it could even be called that. "Why would they keep this in a cage?"
Casimir wondered too, but then, as if stimulated by the sound of Marcus' voice, the thing... shifted. It was only then that Casimir noticed an eye, looking right at him. Then, he slowly began to notice more features. Dark tufts of hair, a mangled tail. "Beastkin." He sharply surmised with the limited information he had. "It's still alive." If it could even be called living. Casimir drew his blade.
"Sire, what are you doing--?"
"The only thing I can do. Grant it... them, mercy. Tell the others to do the same. Even if it's not moving." The order was concise, giving no space for objections as the noble turned on his boot, his pace that much quicker now that he had a bigger picture. What had they done? What was this place? A glimpse of the Hell he was going to fall into? Or something much worse?
Casimir's mind raced as he walked through cages and cells, cutting down lump after lump of meat, stolen from their identities by something he couldn't even comprehend. There were some that resembled humanoids a little more, but all they could do was groan in pain as Casimir attempted to question them, only to give up and kill them too. Some were aggressive, others cowered, begging to be spared. But living like this was no way of living. He would not claim to be doing them a favor as his blade darkened with blood, his pristine coat becoming soaked in blood.
By the time he came to the very last cell, his countenance was one more fitting of his epithet, his green gaze piercing as he turned to the cell in front of him. The last one. If Aimeric wasn't here...
He wasn't. Instead, he saw white. Words couldn't do justice to the sight in front of him. "You..." His voice left him before he could stop it, breathless and low.
"You're still alive, aren't you...?" A strange question, but after all he'd seen, it seemed to make sense. White tufts of hair, crowned by a pair of round ears. A fluffy white tail and steely blue eyes. "What... happened here?" The next question came out of desperation. He needed answers, anything to make sense of what had occurred here. He grabbed the bars of the cell in an aggressive manner, unbecoming of his usual aloof self.
Then he caught himself, his eyes wide with shock at his behavior. No, she was a victim here. Chances were even she couldn't make sense of anything. "What did they do to you?" And then... pain. Something in him broke momentarily, his cold eyes softening, warming as he looked upon the beautiful being in front of him. So out of place in this hellish place.
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