P. Power - Knight of the Realm

He tried to feel the fields in the room and located where Smythe was. Kind of a desperation move really. He was working his way down the room towards him, wearing a shield that was one of Tor's own.

“Sire, he must be stopped for the good of the kingdom. I told you all how dangerous he was, but no one would listen to me!” The man yelled as he walked along, the device he held ready to be activated.

Tor could almost draw the picture in his mind. Of course nothing he had would go through the man's shield, not without killing them all. Now if he had the Counselor’s weapon… Tor laughed, a deep, low chuckle, which made Smythe stop moving for a second. The field Tor wanted to make was basically just a cutter, only formed across the man’s right wrist, inside the shield space. It would take a minute or two though, of course. Even if he managed to do better than he ever had before. While already blind, scared and in pain? Simple, no doubt.

So he needed to buy time.

“Westend?” Tor said while crawling. Keeping his focus solid he turned and crawled in the other direction. Everyone else scattered of course, but then what could they do? They wouldn't have anything that Tor didn't. “Seriously? I mean, what did I ever do to you? Oh, wait, I get it. Of course…”

The older man tried to suddenly attack, but Tor felt it coming and moved before the blast could catch him, rolling over his left shoulder in a somersault. It worked well enough for this kind of fight at least, but he'd hate to try and fly this way. If the blindness was permanent he could cope and still even work, but it wouldn't be fun. It made him glad he'd taken time to appreciate the sunset the day before. Freaking insane Westend hadn't even warned him first.

“You attacked me even after I gave you the super-explosive before, and now you attack after I bring news that the civil war might be ended without bloodshed. Why would anyone do that? I can only think of the one reason… It's because you're an Austran agent, isn't it?” Tor had to roll again then, the new pain weapon catching him in the leg as he moved, he needed a bit more time, somehow…

“Right, of course that's it, your Austran masters have been planning this for a long time, haven't they? Years at least, to get you into place. Smythe of Westend? What kind of name is that supposed to be anyway? Tellerand? Yeah, they probably got you as an orphan or at least a young child, probably bought you from a whorehouse or something, then trained you to blend in here… That make sense. The only problem being that they forgot one crucial thing…” Tor held the focus and felt the whole thing began to gain the needed power.

“In Noram… we use magic.” It came out as a growl.

The field sunk home and there was a sudden clunking sound of a hand holding a silver weapon hitting the floor. Tor focused on the field as tightly as he could manage. He crawled to it as Smythe started to whimper. Not that it would hurt, but his hand was gone, which had emotional impact.

Tor found it and pried the metal piece from the grasping fingers, the whole thing slightly slick from the action of his brushing the bloody part by mistake. Sensing fields was fuzzier than seeing after all. Standing Tor walked carefully over to the military leader. Facing him the man made a keening sound.

“Yeah, I'm blind thanks to you. Don't worry, your joining me in the dark now, so I won't feel alone long.” Triggering the weapon he heard and felt Smythe scream and after a few moments fall, then begin to writhe on the floor. Tor didn't stop and decided not to until the field cut out. The air around him had grown cold, icy even, the weapon taking energy directly from the environment itself. And from him.

Westend still lived, but wasn't doing much, probably trying to stop the bleeding of his stump. He could have felt bad for the man, but decided not to. Instead he focused as hard as he could, found the amulet around the man’s neck and triggered it, turning it off.

That, of course, was the problem of attacking him while wearing work Tor had created. He owned it, in a very real sense. It was always his, no matter who copied the field or who wore it. The design was a part of him, made from his own field. If he could focus enough, he could turn it off. Then he could do… anything.

In this case the order of the day was stomping. It wasn't very precise, but then that wasn't his fault, he was blind. Shoe leather struck flesh over and over again, but the guy kept breathing. Tor pointed the weapon in his hand again. A short blast came out of the end.

Then Tor woke up somewhere else. It was still black.

Wonderful.

Under him the bed was soft, the blankets too, so not the floor of the room, and he lived, which hadn't been guaranteed. Still blind though… that was kind of annoying. Dropping into a work state, Tor tried to rebuild his eyes. It took a long time, and he felt himself fed occasionally, and thought he fell asleep several times, the field always getting weaker when he did, which is how he knew it happened at all. Finally, days later, he opened his eyes, and saw something. It was dark, but he could see a slightly brighter patch coming from around the door in front of him. After a while he got up and opened it, the world flooded with light, bright light, too bright to see really.

He adjusted, if throwing an arm over his eyes while trying not to see counted as that, and noticed the guard standing outside the door. Clear, but a little blurry. Probably just his eyes not being used to the light yet. On the other side, to the left, there was another. Crap. He hadn't even considered that Smythe might have been acting on orders. Tor was defenseless, weak from the attack and the work he'd done. Plus these were Royal Guards. He probably couldn't have taken one in a fight on the best day of his life, even if he got the drop on them. Not without weapons. As it was they both turned around when he stepped into the hall.

“Right, so, am I prisoner or not?” He asked, just waiting for an answer.

If he was, well, he'd fight of course, even if he was going to lose. Then again, if he went back to the room, he could make a cutter and get himself free. Or possibly a shield, if he found something to attach it too. If he could do both, he might be able to get away. He'd lose all his stuff, but without life, did things matter? The guards told him to go back in to his room. Rather gruffly.

Well, that explained that, didn't it? Tor went back, into the dark with no lights at all, and started feeling around for objects to work with. The only things he could find were a pitcher of water that might or might not be poisoned, and a glass.

Everything that belong to him was gone, of course, though they'd dressed him in a loose silk outfit. It had no buttons or solid fasteners of any kind, not even cloth ties. Tor wondered for a few seconds if he could attach a field to silk? Or to whatever the bedding was made from? He'd never heard of that, but then again, his education had been less than complete when he left school. Maybe it was the easiest thing in the world?

Just to be safe though, Tor decided to go with something more solid. The bed was made of wood and so was the table the pitcher was on. Good hard woods from the sense he got off them. All he had to do was make a simple cutting field and he could take large pieces off to work with. His breath caught and a smile flashed over his face, making his beard pull in a couple places where it was matted together.

The walls and floor were stone. Hard, blue-gray and shiny. Given his preference, that was the material he'd take. He had to find a corner to shave stone off, but feeling around it only took a few minutes. The cutting took longer, but in under half an hour he held three nice slabs of stone, about as thick as two of his fingers and as long as his hand each. He could have gone with something smaller, but it was still pitch black in the room and really, he didn't want to accidentally slice off a hand or finger trying to make everything perfect, when good enough would do.