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weretoad-writer · 2 years

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Leashed

Summary: First encounter between not-yet-Fatebinder Başt and Bleden Mark

Content Advisory: language, (very brief) attempted suicide

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The newest conscript to the Court was not settling in. (Locking people up tended to have that effect.) On the contrary, he was, at that moment, slinking through the darkened corridors of the Adjudicator’s complex, dressed in the ill-fitting livery of the servant whose misfortune it had been to bring him his evening meal.

It wasn’t the worst escape attempt he’d ever seen, Bleden Mark reflected; the boy had overpowered the servant handily enough, and he’d had the sense to avoid the lower quarters where the other staff would have recognized him instantly as an imposter, and – absurd as it looked on his gangly frame – the livery lent him a certain degree of invisibility in the upper halls. But that was where this little caper fell apart.

Sure, watching him scuttle around like an insect under glass had been entertaining for the first dozen wrong turns, but Mark was rapidly losing interest. He decided to speed things up: the scuff of footsteps here, the glimpse of a shadowy silhouette there, driving the boy through the network of unfamiliar corridors until he finally stumbled out into the wide open chamber of the courtroom itself, now darkened and empty. It was a cavernous room, all cold stone and vaulted ceilings, and the slap of the boy’s sandals against the marble sounded like a series of thunderclaps in the silence.

The boy slowed to a halt near the center of the chamber. The same spot where he’d stood – knelt – the day before when he’d first been dragged before Tunon, bloody and battered and trussed up so tightly his hands were starting to turn purple.

The ‘champion’ of the Proving Grounds had not been much to look at, Mark recalled. A boy, no more than seventeen or eighteen winters, rail thin with a shaved head, ruined face and awkwardly long limbs that in all likelihood he would not survive long enough to grow into. The patchwork of cuts and bruises covering his face suggested he’d had to be subdued multiple times on the journey from Caleva.

When Tunon had asked him his name, he’d spat a mouthful of blood onto the white marble at his feet. And when Nunoval had cut him free, the boy had lunged for the blade on the fatebinder’s belt; an ill-advised gamble — Nunoval had cheerfully knocked him flat and stood on his neck until he stopped struggling – but he was a gutsy little shit, Mark had to give him that. Gutsy and stupid.

The Archon of Shadows peeled himself away from the darkness with a bored sigh. This was only going to end one way. “You’re making this too easy, kid.”

The gangly silhouette flinched and spun towards him, staggering back several steps as Mark advanced.

“Word of advice?” he added, phasing through the shadows to appear directly behind the boy. “Don’t run. There is no ‘cover of darkness’ when I’m hunting you.”

He heard the startled intake of breath as the boy whirled around, lamplight from the doorway glinting dully off the blade of a small dinner knife.

Mark smirked. “Cute.”

He lunged, vanishing into shadow as the darkness around the boy came alive. An unseen blade sliced at the boy’s exposed back, another grazed his cheek as he swung to face it. Mark moved faster than his eyes could follow, darting effortlessly from blindspot to blindspot, punctuating each movement with the edge of his dagger. The boy took several more wounds before he caught himself. The realization that this was not a fight finally sinking in. Mark watched him go rigid, watched him force his arms down to his sides.

He stopped in front of him, his smirk broadening to show his teeth. “You learn quickly. That’s good. You might even survive your first year.”

Mark rested the edge of his dagger against the boy’s throat. Less of a threat and more of an experiment; he wanted to see what he did.

The boy glared back at him, trembling with the effort to keep still. Despair and anger and – there it was: fear. He was afraid. But not of him; after 300 years, he’d learned to tell the difference. But it wasn’t ignorance or bravado – Mark could snuff him out with a thought and the boy knew it. He cocked his head. Something else then.

He felt the slight rise and fall of the blade as the boy swallowed. And – there – he almost missed it, a dangerous flicker of hope in the eyes as the edge dug into his throat the barest bit.

He knew that look – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he knew the impulse that lay behind it – and his dagger dissolved into shadow as the next instant the boy slashed his neck across it, stumbling off balance when he met no resistance.

“What’s your hurry, kid?” Mark’s hand shot out, seizing the boy’s wrist as he tried again with his own knife, disarming him with a single deft motion. A sound, somewhere between a scream and a sob tore from the boy’s throat as he thrashed wildly, the defiance and self-control of a moment ago were gone, and in his eyes there was only the panicked desperation of an animal trying to chew off its own limb to escape a trap.

He lunged for one of the knives in Mark’s belt -- Rude -- and Mark drove his forehead into the boy’s face, knocking him sprawling.

He landed painfully, bones cracking against marble, but he was on his feet again in an instant, staggering and swaying as he tried to back away.

“I won’t go back in there!” the boy choked through the blood streaming down his face. “I won’t be his pegboy or dancing bear or whatever the fuck that jumped up porcelain doll wants me for!”

“Porcelain doll?” Mark’s teeth flashed white in the darkness. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

He crossed his arms, allowing the boy whatever illusion of security he seemed to find in putting those few steps of distance between them. “I can’t fault your suspicion, kid. You’re going to need it. But that’s not what he wants you for. He’s offering –” His caught himself, lip curling at the choice of words. “No. ‘Offer’ implies you have a choice. You don’t. But that being said, he’s conscripted you to serve the Court, not his personal pleasure.”

The boy stared at him, fear giving way to a sort of frantic consternation. “What the fuck does that mean? That doesn’t – No. No. You’re just fucking me! That’s not – this isn’t – ”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Kid, I don’t need to trick you to get you back into that cell. Not when it would be a hell of a lot more fun to choke you out and drag you there. And believe me, you are making that option more tempting by the second.”

“I’m a pit fighter, the fuck am I going to do in a court?”

“You think you’re the first illiterate thug Tunon’s plucked off the street? You’re not. You’re here because he thinks you could be useful and if you want to keep breathing, I suggest you prove him right.”

He could see the flicker of hesitation in his face, but the boy still held himself poised to bolt, eyes darting towards the far end of the room. He had to know by now that there was no point in running; no point in fighting; but they say when you’re a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. The kid didn’t know how to do anything else. And until now he’d never had a choice.

“Let’s say you did manage to escape,” Mark added, prodding at that uncertainty. “What do you think happens then? You have any money? No? Any skills outside of staged combat? No. When was the last time you were on the outside? A few years? Longer? How exactly do you plan to eat?” he jabbed with his questions much as he had with his blades. “You don’t have the streetsmarts to make it in a gang, you’ve got the wrong experience for mercenary work, and you’re too ugly for a brothel. You got lost trying to leave the building, kid. You wouldn’t survive a week.”

He could see the glint of tears in in the boy’s eyes, and he could see the desperate, threadbare defiance, the set of his shoulders, the way he planted his feet. It was the acceptance that caught him off guard. Though perhaps it shouldn’t have.

Familiarity. That’s what he’d seen in his face before, what he hadn’t been able to parse – the lack of fear when he had pressed his knife to the his throat. Death was familiar. The boy was a pitfighter, and recent successes notwithstanding, he was expected to die. It’s what he was for. Mark had been using the wrong argument – the wrong pressure point. They boy wasn’t afraid of the hunter, he was afraid of the trap.

“Let’s say you get lucky,” he offered, trying a different tack, “You make it through the first week and by some miracle, a mercenary company picks you up. Where are you then? Your impossible, best case scenario is you’re still killing people for someone else. Sound familiar?”

The boy recoiled. He’d hit a nerve this time. “I’d have a choice.”

“You had a choice in the arena,” Mark snapped. “You just didn’t like it. You think your company will tolerate you getting squeamish about a mark? You think your employer will tolerate a breach of contract? ‘No’ is a fucking expensive word. You couldn’t afford it in the arena and you can’t afford it out there.”

For a moment the boy just stared at him, denial vying with despair, and then all at once his shoulders slumped. The desperation was gone and he just looked exhausted and in pain and strangely small in the middle of all that emptiness.

Mark let out a short, bitter exhale. “The bars never go away, kid. If you’re lucky, you just get a bigger cage.”

Trust me, I should know.

#bleden mark #tyranny game #fatebinder Başt #tw suicide #i know i'm going to find all the things wrong with it tomorrow but i just need it to be done #i really wanted to go more into the ''familiarity'' thing #maybe in another fic #i just really love their whole fucked up relationship

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wentian · 10 months

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i can't believe they hired ray chase to voice tunon the adjudicator in genshin impact

#and here i wanted to skip the entire expansion #now i need him & arlecchino (and maybe red sampo guy)#genshin stuff #tbd

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hlozt · 3 months

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Something something swear fealty in the lawful manner

#morally dubious couple/co-rulers #and me trying to find some way to do inks that doesn't feel like pulling teeth #tyranny game #tunon the adjudicator #i like him a lot ok #doodles

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vicarfriedrich · 4 years

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#art #obsidian studios #tyranny #tyranny game #tunon #Tunon the Adjudicator

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motherherbivore · 3 years

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Archons

#tyranny game #fatebinder #tunon the adjudicator #p

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alis0vvs · 4 years

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Zzz

#Tyranny game #tyranny #tunon the adjudicator #Tunon

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havarija · 1 year

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Wednesday WIP

I’m working on a little one-shot for Tyranny. Set after ‘SkyFall’ so it’s all spoilers technically... but come on. ‘SkyFall’ is all about the Anarchy path. it’s pretty darn obvious how that story ends. Now... those very important character driven tidbits in between is what make the story interesting to write. This one still needs work though.

It was his first time at the Mountain Spire, his first time south of the Bastard city, really. All that has ever been accomplished was done through the eyes and hands of his Fatebinders. For him to be away from the Court was, while not unprecedented, this was still something that he had to see for himself.

The pale, pulsing light of the portal illuminated the chamber and along with the large sigil of the Mountain Spire, it was the only source of light, yet it was still bright enough to keep the chamber well lit. Not just any chamber – a throne room to the former Queen of Apex - where the throne itself was covered with an old sheet, like an old piece of furniture, no longer needed but not yet fit to be discarded. Ponirya didn't use it.

He had noticed that with it covered as it was, it could easily appear that she had no use for a throne. Or did not wish to use it. Tunon already had a feeling that Ponirya was doing all she could to avoid any and all connection to anything involved with ‘ruling’. He wasn't so blind to not see how much she wanted nothing to do with Overlord's position. But it wasn't a matter easily avoided forever. The Spires answered her call. The Edicts were as simple as uttering mundane words to her. All that remained now was for her to choose a name. An Archon's name. An Overlord's name.

That too she avoided.

"Adjudicator?"

He turned at the sound of her voice and was surprised. She was wearing commoner's clothing, made of rough un-dyed cloth. He was very much used to seeing her dressed in Court's colors. Black was the color of his Fatebinders.

Ah. But she wasn't his Fatebinder any longer, was she? She was Tier's Archon. His Archon.

"Are you here for the Spire?" She asked, her eyes regarding him with enough open curiosity. Something she seemed to realize as she corrected it immediately, her face going carefully detached. "Forgive me, but it is not often that you leave the city."

"There is nothing to forgive," pale mask turned down. Her choice to treat him as a mentor figure still baffled him. Kyros would never lower herself so. But Kyros was also far older than himself. Ponirya's age put her at a disadvantage. "The keep is empty," he noted after a moment. There was not a single person on the premises. The Citadel has been repaired and, while understaffed, still remains a formidable presence in the valley. "On your orders?"

"Ah... that... More often than not, the energies of the Spire attract Bane. Almost daily now. It's not the healthiest place for-..." 'Anyone who wasn't her', as it were.

Maybe it was best, as she was no doubt hoping for, not to mention the outcome of keep's appearance should she refuse to hold servants. For now. He did not expect her to be this irresponsible in regards to her own hold.

Pale mask turned up, towards the unseen ceiling. The vast empty space above the central chamber disappeared into the darkness. He could feel the old magic, newly awoken to her and humming all around him, dwarfing what he was. Truthfully, he felt like a child under the scrutiny of this ancient presence. He only ever felt such in-...

"Would you care to see the top?"

Ponirya's voice cut through his thoughts. It was an offer he was... hoping for, yes.

"If you would permit, Archon," he bowed his head respectfully and Ponirya looked away briefly (it did not escape him) and nodded walking towards the portal. The light flickered, welcoming her.

"Many find the top of the Spire difficult to adjust," she warned but there was a slight smile. "For different reasons." The light engulfed her. "The portal will let you through." And then she was gone, soft light swaying in the chamber.

Old magic. He questioned it, and yet he trusted her in this. The Spires welcomed her, but he was not so certain that they would welcome him.

And still, he followed through.

Even one such as he had to blink away the last of the luminescent trails in his field of vision, the masonry of Ascension Hall was replaced with wide open space in every direction, save for the slab of ancient stone beneath him. High winds shoved him, trying to push him off-balance. The air was cool and thin – unsatisfying to even one as old as him.

The sight before him was remarkable. Certainly something not many could say they witnessed in their lifetime. He was facing the edge of the Spire and so the sight that had greeted him was that of Tiers spreading before him. Every way he looked, mountains rose up along a distant horizon. The rivers and forest below bring to mind maps of Vendrien's Well, and he quickly traced the Matani, the Irenev, and all the numerous waterways of the region. He could even see the distant shapes of other Spires, Oldwalls, and even Bastard city itself. Something like this did not exist in Kyros' empire. Higher than he ever imagined it, this was indeed the pinnacle of the Spire at Vendrien's Well.

From this high up, it was easy to see how this ancient fortress that rested within the center of Apex's valley, its ring-shaped wall mimicked the mountains that bordered the once-nation.

"Remarkable," his voice was calm but heavy with awe.

Ponirya couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow in amusement at the sight – half in surprise that the old Archon could be awestruck by such a sight. And half... well, it made him look less of an omnipotent, all-knowing being. It reminded her that he was human at one point, however long ago that may've been.

Wherever one may find themselves, in the horizon there was always a slender peak of one of the Spires. And all five in the Tiers now belonged to her – and, concentrating, she could feel each of them. She could feel the cold, damp wind blowing their peaks, like the flames in the fires of large halls. When she touched her palm to the masonry, she invariably felt a reciprocal touch – warm and friendly. She was connected to each of these ancient towers – and each of them took something from her. She could not say what it was.

They gave her a taste of freedom. That was in part why her small band of people followed her, despite the very real danger of Kyros’s ire. But what reasons did Tunon have to do much the same, Ponirya could not say.

She turned to look at him, still motionless gazing over the expanse.

Did he decide that Kyros was unjust and that her world is doomed? Or that she, Ponirya, had the capacity to create a better society in his eyes? Was it all about stability, justice and legality? And what of those can she realistically give him? Ponirya didn’t dare try to answer that, not even to herself. But she had to admit that in the near future ‘peace’ will definitely not be one of the things for her to give.

#tyranny game #tunon the adjudicator #archon of justice #fatebinder #archon of tiers #archon of spiers

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sheirukitriesfandom · 1 year

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Having some strong Tunon feelings right now so I gotta ramble for a sec.

Tunon is perhaps one of the scariest characters in Tyranny and the game does a good job building him up; I know for a fact I wasn't the only player super nervous the first time my FB was summoned to court.

What's fascinating about him though is that he's not evil in the traditional sense. I'm no expert on DnD alignments but after reading about them, the closest fit I see is lawful neutral. The problem is he's in service to Kyros, an evil overlord.

The tragedy with Tunon is that he himself so desperately views himself and Kyros as good. Order is good. Stability is good. Peace is good. Yes, the measures taken to achieve those goals are extreme, but in their wake...?

Take the Bastard City, for example. The conquest was brutal (depending on the FB's choice) and so was Tunon's punishment for its resistance, reducing a good chunk of it to rubble.

But afterwards?

The Bastard City was easy to conquer because the different factions within it were so busy squabbling amongst themselves that they saw the outside threat way too late.

Under Tunon, those squabbles are a problem of the past. Likewise, the remaining parts of the city flourish under his rule. In fact, the guidebook tells us that Tunon is so beloved by the people they cheer for him in the streets (how much of that us to curry favor is anyone's guess but still...).

It's also easy to see the good in Kyros' law. Kyros' peace is a good idea. The principle of "Feed others and in times of need you will be fed" is also pretty neat and (I think it was in the guidebook again) has been used to combat famines across Kyros-reigned Terrarus by bringing in grain from other part of the empire. Without the empire, those people would have likely starved. Also, Kyros allowed Tunon's home country to peacefully join the empire after Tunon had changed its bureaucracy to align with the empire's.

Point being, it's easy to see why Tunon believes in Kyros (It's also how Tyranny makes it treacherously easy to play as an evil character) and therefore, how easy it is for him to dismiss the injustices committed in her name as well as his own brutal actions as "for the greater good". Heck, that could be his life motto for all I know.

The saddest thing about Tunon is that, under those dark robes and shadows there's still an idealist believing in the absolute power of justice and the law as its conduit, which becomes all the more evident should the FB out-lawyer him, thus shattering his worldview. Throughout the entire game, even in death, Tunon never shows any signs of fear.

Except once.

If the FB decides to subjugate Tunon, calling him "~one more vassal added to my collection", we see Tunon scared for the first and only time. Again, he's bound to a master trampling on his core beliefs.

#Yet another Tunon analysis but man he's fun to think about #tyranny game #tunon the adjudicator #tunon

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