John opens his eyes slowly. The cold stone floor is sending shivers through his aching body. The Enclave had been harsh with their treatment of him. All that he can see is stone walls around him with a celldoor and cellbars on one side, which seems to lead only into a hallway of sorts. The cell smells awful. The stench of piss and who knows what is stinging in his nose and making him feel dizzy and sick. John does not remember much from after his surrender. After he was tied up the priestess with the two swords cast some sort of spell on him which rendered him unconsciouss until now. John groans lightly as he pushes himself up. Had the Enclave made a mistake? He was not tied or gagged. Most of his major spells requires reagents, but a few minor spells does not. He looks at the door and chants low in demonic, pointing a finger at the celldoor and turning his hand a few times back and forth. Nothing. John sighs as he looks around. There must be some sort of ward on the cell to prevent usage of magic. John paces back and forth the two meters that makes up his cell. Poor Gregory. He had given up everything to aid John, and the wrath of the Enclave got him killed. John shakes his head. This was all his fault. If he had not asked Gregory for his assistance, Gregory would have been living a happy life with his wife and kid. Well. Most likely, but not certain.
John sits down against the wall facing the cellbars and door. How long had he been passed out? Berina, his deity, had said another of her warlocks, Leonora, would come and rescue him after four days. John rubs his chin in thought. As far as he knows, noone in the Circle of Berina is named Leonora, and John knows everyone worth knowing in the Circle. John focuses his senses, trying to listen for anything. But there is nothing but silence. John looks down himself, trying to spot anything that might help speed up his escape. John notices just now that he is not wearing his dirty clothes. The Enclave has changed him into just a pair of brown shorts which reaches just over his knees. No shirt either. No wonder he felt so cold. John studies his body, all the scars that paints it. All the stories stored within each scar. Some from rituals, others from combat. As John studies his body, all the hair on his legs and the general masculinity of his body, he cannot help but feel a bit out of place. He usually does not feel like that, but every few days he does. As if a masculine body is not really what he should have. Why is it like that? Is something wrong with him?
The sound of a metal door being unlocked further down the hallway snaps John out of his thoughts and he looks up. From the right side of his cell's door, a woman comes into view. She is wearing a white and gold robe, but the hood is down, revealing a fairly pretty face with amber eyes, white hair. The two swords sheathed on the woman's belt suggests that it is the same priestess that he had faught before he surrendered. The woman glares at John. "I know I am handsome, but do you really have to stare?" John smirks at the priestess whom rolls her eyes. "Your trial is set to be in two days. Hiqh Inquisitor Meli will lead it. But you can also plead guilty right now if you so wish." The priestess rests her hands on her hips as she looks down upon John. "And what if I do?" The priestess smirks. "Then you will be executed as soon as the executioner is available." John rolls his eyes. "Alright. I will confess to my sins and state my case if you tell me your name, pretty face." John winks at the priestess whom once more rolls her eyes. "I am Emina Lorial, Priestess of Lathoros." John nods. "I am innocent." John grins and the Emina sighs. "Why do you warlocks always think everything is a game? You have killed over a dozen innocent beings, and that is just the ones we have found. Who knows how many more you have sacrificed for your demonic pretend-goddess." John snarls at the Priestess and stands up, shouting at Emina. "Berina is just as worthy of the Pantheon as any other of the Gods and Goddesses that is in it! Your precious Lathoros is nothing but a self-serving power-hungry fucker that wishes he was as strong as Her!" A burning rage builds up in John's chest, the priestess just smirking.
"If that was true, John, why was Berina thrown off the Pantheon by the rest of them? Hm?" John remains quiet for a moment. "Exactly. That was what I thought." Emina says, as John steps closer. "Because the Pantheon feared Her for Her power. She is not the Goddess of Power for nothing, my dear little priestess." John smirks and folds his arms, his rage starting to wear off. In retaliation, Emina laughs a dry laughter. "Of Power? Hah. All that Berina is remembered for is the amount of men and women alike that she seduced and tortured for her own pleasure. There is no power there. And just like her, her followers are nothing but wenches and manwhores." John just looks at Emina, not seeing any point in trying to continue arguing. He needs to last for four days until Leonora arrives. Besides, the priestess has a point. Berina is the Goddess of Pleasure and Power. Most warlocks charge their power through.. Specific 'rituals'. "How long has it been since my surrender?" Emina rolls her eyes. "We caught you last night. Now then, seeing as you do not want to confess your sins, I will leave you to the nightmares." And with that, the priestess walks back the way she came, her footsteps echoing through the hall and the sound of the metal door being opened, closed and locked is the last John hears before he sits back down with a sigh, counting the seconds until his escape.
After a few hours of sitting in silence, John ponders upon what Emina had meant with 'leave you to the nightmares'. Does she know of his nightmares? Or will the magic in the cell haunt John's sleep? He tries to not give it much thought, but admittedly, he is getting tired. John shakes his head a few times, to keep himself awake. He was feeling too tired, and figures that magic is trying to force him to sleep, to torture him before his trial. Hopefully Leonora will come sooner rather than later. John rests against the wall of his cell, giving some thought about this Leonora. How powerful is she as a warlock? Is she pretty? Well, most people in the Circle are. Or well, most people in the Circle find people to be attractive. John is no different. But that probably comes down to the practices, rituals and tributes of the Circle. Easier to lay with someone if you find them attractive, right? So if you force yourself to thinking everyone is attractive, then that will not be an issue when you need a boost of power. John chuckles, thinking of his and Gregory's time in Ravenhill. They had just used a lot of magic to fight off a small force of the Enclave that was hunting them, and they needed a refill of power. Luckily the Circle is known for their sexual rituals, not really that many of them, but people hear what they want to hear, and many lonely people think that members of the Circle are sexual masters, so getting some of the wenches in Ravenhill to aid himself and Gregory with the refueling of their powers was not that hard. Really. All it took was a flash of magic, a wink and some promises of what they were going to do to the wenches and the deal was sealed. John smirks at the memories before he drifts off to a troublesome sleep, the magic of his cell twisting his nightmares to be even more horrific, Gregory making quite a few appearances in them, pleading for his life and cursing John for getting him killed.
