05-04-2015, 10:07 AM
"Up."
The gruff, unfamiliar voice of a Stormtrooper at his beds side stirred Jon from his brief slumber, the white-clad soldier looming over him, cradling his weapon as though it were a newborn child. Snow steadily sat up, craning his neck to look up at the trooper as he swung his legs from the bed. How did he not hear him enter? Jon mused on the answer to that self-question silently.
He must have been able to salvage a decent enough amount of sleep - a few hours or so, he was assuming. He felt less drained and weary, relieved from the constant strain and struggle to keep his eyes open and his shoulders up. His body now felt much more stable, as though he could step onto his two feet fine without tumbling down to the floor from a lack of energy. The headache he'd suffered from previously had all but disappeared from his system by now -no doubt from his amnesia clearing up-, and the injuries and aches he'd sustained from the brawl in the streets the day prior had settled.
"The Judge told us to come fetch you. We're to retrieve your weapons for you and then escort you to the gate, per his orders" the trooper continued. Jon knew what they'd came for already, but the reassurance that they weren't here to take his head from his shoulders (as Jon had first thought they would, before the Judge payed him a vist) was still comforting enough. Jon slowly rose from the bed, wiping some fatigue from his eyes with his scarred, ungloved hands. Reaching down, he retrieved his black gloves and cloak, which he'd rested on the floor beside his cot since there were no shelves to hold them or anything. He carefully slipped the gloves back across his palms and fingers one at a time, sliding his fur cloak back onto his back, the cape draping down behind him onto the floor.
"Let's pick up the pace" the soldier ordered with impatience, beginning to move out from the cell with a still somewhat disgruntled Jon following his lead. A second Stormtrooper waited for them in the hallway, tapping some buttons on a pad to close the cell doors in the same manner as the guardsman that had brought him had here opened them. The two began their walk down the corridor, making no movement to restrain or chain up Jon as they went, much to his own surprise.
Now that Jon was half-awake and wasn't suffering from a concussion to the head anymore, he could see and observe the hallway much more clearer now than the glimpse he had gotten of it before. Pallid lights flickered every so often from above, running down the ceiling of the corridor. Every step forward they passed a cell door, and they all looked the same to Jon - barren and unbreakable metal to cage criminals inside. Letters were imprinted above each cell door, to give it a designation or recognisably of sorts, and the hallway they trotted down just felt endless. There was no clear exit in plain sight, and various sharp turns, twists and corners made the place more reminiscent of a maze than, what Jon suspected it to really be, a technological dungeon of a kind. Snow's hazel brown orbs flickered about once more. Lots of cells... I don't doubt they're holding a lot of people behind these walls Jon made a mental note to himself.
As his eyes snapped back to look straight ahead, he spotted one of the troopers leading him cast him a fiery glare through his helm; even behind the mask, Jon could instinctively tell the look he was getting right now wasn't a good one. Jon bit down hard on his lower lip, gaze turning away, and to the floor.
He's a fuckin' degenerate from Camelot just here to cause trouble... he heard the soldier's voice as he craned his neck back around. Why did the Judge make me be his escort? Jon's brow perked immediately upward, casting his eyes back onto the Stormtrooper at last. Camelot...? Degenerate...? What did he mean? From what he could see, the other trooper had paid his comrade no heed, still absent mindedly patrolling forward with a cocked rifle in his arms. It was almost as if he hadn't heard him talk at all.
"Ser...?" Jon piped up to grab the troopers attention, the white-clad guardsman turning slightly to meet his gaze. "Need something, prisoner?" the soldier spoke up in response. His voice sounded a little less hoarse than before, but Jon still didn't like the way he referred to him as prisoner. Hadn't the Judge decreed the opposite not too long ago? Jon drew a deep breath inward before speaking again, keeping a calm and surprisingly cool demeanour and composure about him. Being a disinherited bastard child he's had to deal with arses and fools all his life, after all, so taking things under the chin and moving forward despite suffering within was just naturally easy for someone like Jon Snow.
"You sai-" "I said?" the trooper immediately cut his statement short. The one to the left tilted his head in a slight confusion, though the one to the right, the other one who had been mostly silent the entire time, finally cocked his head to look at him, and was staring at Jon with unknown intent.
Jon blinked a few times, eyes narrowing a bit. He was doing this on purpose, Jon could tell already. It was a test, to see if he'd lash back or retaliate. Jon Snow knew better than to play into his hands.
"It's not important..." Jon muttered in response, eyes trailing back down to his feet. The Stormtrooper very nearly scoffed. "I'm sure it' wasn't..." the white-clad man grumbled from beneath his helm, head turning back to look straight ahead. The other trooper eyed Jon conspicuously for a few more moments, before he too turned back away.
Some steps later, and they'd apparently found what they were looking for. A big metal door, split and divided into halves at the centre. The material of it was a similar making to the prison-cell doors, though they looked much less strong and reinforced. A pad was etched into the wall beside the door, yet again similar to that of his prison block, aside from a few aesthetic differences, Jon could hardly tell them apart.
The quieter of his two escorts stepped forward, pressing a single button on the pad. The ring around the button he'd pressed began to illuminate with a blue-ish hue, a nonchalant ding sounding out as he pressed his finger into the pad, as if he'd initiated some sequence of highly technical or complex mechanisms that Jon's mind simply wasn't strong or advanced enough to comprehend.
Jon's brow raised slightly as the doors remained locked shut for some time. Shouldn't they open instantaneously? Did something go wrong? Snow's doubts were quickly put at ease, however, when the steel doors receded away from one another, revealing a small box of a room.
Jon quickly follow the Stormtroopers inside. The crate they'd stepped into certainly wasn't made to be spacious; it's walls were reinforced by the same metal as this whole complex apparently was, and yet another panel was strung onto the wall, this one quite notably different from the other one outside. From what Jon could see, it was engraved with numbers going from one to nine. In the lower left corner was a button with a bell symbol, and in the lower right was an illustration of what seemed to be two parting arrowheads.
Jon folded his arms, opting to keep behind the two Stormtroopers.
"Going down" the quieter of the two Stormtroopers said something at last, speaking with a certain monotone enthusiasm. The doors sealed together shut once more in a static movement, sealing the trio inside.
Jon felt the tiny room shift beneath his feet as the elevator began it's descent. He arched his brow slowly as his mind began to piece together what this was, exactly. The mechanism carrying them must have been similar to the manual lift back at the wall, though Jon doubted that there was someone at the bottom of it pushing a wheel to keep it moving. A place like this is powered by machines, not men.. Jon figured, glancing between the silent Stormtroopers silently as the three awaited for the lift to reach their destination, and for the doors to re-open once more.
With a ding, the doors separated after some moments of patient waiting, the two soldiers stepping out in an almost robotic fashion. Snow quickly followed suit, moving out into the next room. The armour, it was quite clear. Rifles and other weapons littered the walls, and crates and boxes were stacked in the room's corners. An ample sized table stood at the rooms centre, piled with an array of different weapons, both lethal and non-lethal in appearance.
"Take what's yours, and only what's yours" the trooper instructed him. "We'll know if you've stolen from us" he concluded with a harsh warming. Jon's lips curled into a tight line as he shot the soldier a glare of understanding. "Of course" Jon spoke merely in reply, moving up to the table.
Glancing down, he picked out what was his and what wasn't with relative ease. He snatched up his dagger and bow, sheathing the small blade at the back of his belt and slinging has bow at his back. He took up his quiver of arrows - noticeably missing some ammo as he'd fire some shots at Sivo yesterday. He strapped the quiver to his back in a similar fashion to the bow.
And finally, Longclaw..
Jon scooped the sword up with two hands, just holding it for some moments. A glove thumb ran across the blade's pommel - fashioned after the direwolf sigil of House Stark. The blade had saved his life countless times over, Jon remembered. Normal steel swords were no match for strong Valyrian steel, which couldn't be broken nor bent. What was he without it, Jon wondered. The sword was now more of a momento to him, in more ways than just one.
This was the last thing left of his past. A reminder of a lifetime at the Wall.
Jon sheathed the sword at it's rightful place on his belt, turning back to the troopers.
"That it?" one of them inquired. Jon nodded silently in response.
"Let's get moving, then.." he murmured, the three packing back into the elevator, ready to continue onward.
The gruff, unfamiliar voice of a Stormtrooper at his beds side stirred Jon from his brief slumber, the white-clad soldier looming over him, cradling his weapon as though it were a newborn child. Snow steadily sat up, craning his neck to look up at the trooper as he swung his legs from the bed. How did he not hear him enter? Jon mused on the answer to that self-question silently.
He must have been able to salvage a decent enough amount of sleep - a few hours or so, he was assuming. He felt less drained and weary, relieved from the constant strain and struggle to keep his eyes open and his shoulders up. His body now felt much more stable, as though he could step onto his two feet fine without tumbling down to the floor from a lack of energy. The headache he'd suffered from previously had all but disappeared from his system by now -no doubt from his amnesia clearing up-, and the injuries and aches he'd sustained from the brawl in the streets the day prior had settled.
"The Judge told us to come fetch you. We're to retrieve your weapons for you and then escort you to the gate, per his orders" the trooper continued. Jon knew what they'd came for already, but the reassurance that they weren't here to take his head from his shoulders (as Jon had first thought they would, before the Judge payed him a vist) was still comforting enough. Jon slowly rose from the bed, wiping some fatigue from his eyes with his scarred, ungloved hands. Reaching down, he retrieved his black gloves and cloak, which he'd rested on the floor beside his cot since there were no shelves to hold them or anything. He carefully slipped the gloves back across his palms and fingers one at a time, sliding his fur cloak back onto his back, the cape draping down behind him onto the floor.
"Let's pick up the pace" the soldier ordered with impatience, beginning to move out from the cell with a still somewhat disgruntled Jon following his lead. A second Stormtrooper waited for them in the hallway, tapping some buttons on a pad to close the cell doors in the same manner as the guardsman that had brought him had here opened them. The two began their walk down the corridor, making no movement to restrain or chain up Jon as they went, much to his own surprise.
Now that Jon was half-awake and wasn't suffering from a concussion to the head anymore, he could see and observe the hallway much more clearer now than the glimpse he had gotten of it before. Pallid lights flickered every so often from above, running down the ceiling of the corridor. Every step forward they passed a cell door, and they all looked the same to Jon - barren and unbreakable metal to cage criminals inside. Letters were imprinted above each cell door, to give it a designation or recognisably of sorts, and the hallway they trotted down just felt endless. There was no clear exit in plain sight, and various sharp turns, twists and corners made the place more reminiscent of a maze than, what Jon suspected it to really be, a technological dungeon of a kind. Snow's hazel brown orbs flickered about once more. Lots of cells... I don't doubt they're holding a lot of people behind these walls Jon made a mental note to himself.
As his eyes snapped back to look straight ahead, he spotted one of the troopers leading him cast him a fiery glare through his helm; even behind the mask, Jon could instinctively tell the look he was getting right now wasn't a good one. Jon bit down hard on his lower lip, gaze turning away, and to the floor.
He's a fuckin' degenerate from Camelot just here to cause trouble... he heard the soldier's voice as he craned his neck back around. Why did the Judge make me be his escort? Jon's brow perked immediately upward, casting his eyes back onto the Stormtrooper at last. Camelot...? Degenerate...? What did he mean? From what he could see, the other trooper had paid his comrade no heed, still absent mindedly patrolling forward with a cocked rifle in his arms. It was almost as if he hadn't heard him talk at all.
"Ser...?" Jon piped up to grab the troopers attention, the white-clad guardsman turning slightly to meet his gaze. "Need something, prisoner?" the soldier spoke up in response. His voice sounded a little less hoarse than before, but Jon still didn't like the way he referred to him as prisoner. Hadn't the Judge decreed the opposite not too long ago? Jon drew a deep breath inward before speaking again, keeping a calm and surprisingly cool demeanour and composure about him. Being a disinherited bastard child he's had to deal with arses and fools all his life, after all, so taking things under the chin and moving forward despite suffering within was just naturally easy for someone like Jon Snow.
"You sai-" "I said?" the trooper immediately cut his statement short. The one to the left tilted his head in a slight confusion, though the one to the right, the other one who had been mostly silent the entire time, finally cocked his head to look at him, and was staring at Jon with unknown intent.
Jon blinked a few times, eyes narrowing a bit. He was doing this on purpose, Jon could tell already. It was a test, to see if he'd lash back or retaliate. Jon Snow knew better than to play into his hands.
"It's not important..." Jon muttered in response, eyes trailing back down to his feet. The Stormtrooper very nearly scoffed. "I'm sure it' wasn't..." the white-clad man grumbled from beneath his helm, head turning back to look straight ahead. The other trooper eyed Jon conspicuously for a few more moments, before he too turned back away.
Some steps later, and they'd apparently found what they were looking for. A big metal door, split and divided into halves at the centre. The material of it was a similar making to the prison-cell doors, though they looked much less strong and reinforced. A pad was etched into the wall beside the door, yet again similar to that of his prison block, aside from a few aesthetic differences, Jon could hardly tell them apart.
The quieter of his two escorts stepped forward, pressing a single button on the pad. The ring around the button he'd pressed began to illuminate with a blue-ish hue, a nonchalant ding sounding out as he pressed his finger into the pad, as if he'd initiated some sequence of highly technical or complex mechanisms that Jon's mind simply wasn't strong or advanced enough to comprehend.
Jon's brow raised slightly as the doors remained locked shut for some time. Shouldn't they open instantaneously? Did something go wrong? Snow's doubts were quickly put at ease, however, when the steel doors receded away from one another, revealing a small box of a room.
Jon quickly follow the Stormtroopers inside. The crate they'd stepped into certainly wasn't made to be spacious; it's walls were reinforced by the same metal as this whole complex apparently was, and yet another panel was strung onto the wall, this one quite notably different from the other one outside. From what Jon could see, it was engraved with numbers going from one to nine. In the lower left corner was a button with a bell symbol, and in the lower right was an illustration of what seemed to be two parting arrowheads.
Jon folded his arms, opting to keep behind the two Stormtroopers.
"Going down" the quieter of the two Stormtroopers said something at last, speaking with a certain monotone enthusiasm. The doors sealed together shut once more in a static movement, sealing the trio inside.
Jon felt the tiny room shift beneath his feet as the elevator began it's descent. He arched his brow slowly as his mind began to piece together what this was, exactly. The mechanism carrying them must have been similar to the manual lift back at the wall, though Jon doubted that there was someone at the bottom of it pushing a wheel to keep it moving. A place like this is powered by machines, not men.. Jon figured, glancing between the silent Stormtroopers silently as the three awaited for the lift to reach their destination, and for the doors to re-open once more.
With a ding, the doors separated after some moments of patient waiting, the two soldiers stepping out in an almost robotic fashion. Snow quickly followed suit, moving out into the next room. The armour, it was quite clear. Rifles and other weapons littered the walls, and crates and boxes were stacked in the room's corners. An ample sized table stood at the rooms centre, piled with an array of different weapons, both lethal and non-lethal in appearance.
"Take what's yours, and only what's yours" the trooper instructed him. "We'll know if you've stolen from us" he concluded with a harsh warming. Jon's lips curled into a tight line as he shot the soldier a glare of understanding. "Of course" Jon spoke merely in reply, moving up to the table.
Glancing down, he picked out what was his and what wasn't with relative ease. He snatched up his dagger and bow, sheathing the small blade at the back of his belt and slinging has bow at his back. He took up his quiver of arrows - noticeably missing some ammo as he'd fire some shots at Sivo yesterday. He strapped the quiver to his back in a similar fashion to the bow.
And finally, Longclaw..
Jon scooped the sword up with two hands, just holding it for some moments. A glove thumb ran across the blade's pommel - fashioned after the direwolf sigil of House Stark. The blade had saved his life countless times over, Jon remembered. Normal steel swords were no match for strong Valyrian steel, which couldn't be broken nor bent. What was he without it, Jon wondered. The sword was now more of a momento to him, in more ways than just one.
This was the last thing left of his past. A reminder of a lifetime at the Wall.
Jon sheathed the sword at it's rightful place on his belt, turning back to the troopers.
"That it?" one of them inquired. Jon nodded silently in response.
"Let's get moving, then.." he murmured, the three packing back into the elevator, ready to continue onward.
![[Image: tumblr_nzzfidB5IX1tcnpluo4_1280.png]](http://68.media.tumblr.com/bceb0feb3876c0a578aebfda0bc7b306/tumblr_nzzfidB5IX1tcnpluo4_1280.png)