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Date Posted: 13:01:05 08/04/03 Mon
Author: Lark
Subject: Re: WB Game Part II
In reply to: snip-it! 's message, "WB Game Part II" on 03:35:00 08/04/03 Mon

Sweat rolled down Kenneth Irons' face as he recited the litany before the fallen priest sitting at table in the shadows of the great hall. Hours had passed, and yet his prayers continued; brief moments were allowed for him to catch his breath, but he had not been permitted even the most basic needs, while his audience supped upon lamb and fine wine, teased and pinched the breast of the maid who had come to serve him over protests. He ignored the cries, knowing they were meant to goad him, knowing she was truly quite safe at the hands of the cleric, knowing she would tolerate much more to remain in employ, even more violent abuse.

Distractions aside, his own voice droned in his ears, the words spilling from his lips felt mechanical, yet Kenneth was aware of each syllable, each sound, concerned that not one word of prayer would sound insincere. His knees were numb as he knelt before the hearth, the prayer cushion having long since ceased to serve its purpose; it now only added to the agony which stretched and strained and burned each muscle in his thighs.

Disciplined as he had become over the decades, Irons would not surrender to the fatigue which threatened his consciousness. Earlier, a brief feeling of envy for Ian's fortitude crept into his thoughts, and into his words as well, apparently, for a swift blow was dealt to his shoulders, interrupting the flow of words. Quickly, he had cast aside the impure thought, this was his chore, he could not lose focus, he had a task to complete, and there were rules to follow, he would not fail. He continued as he had been ordered, determined to finish the ritual doled out by his confessor, desperate to be absolved that he might use the tools which had been brought to his hand.

But years of sins took time to enumerate thus.

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