Chapter Text
December 15th, 1821
“The games were no place for a child. It said so in the rules. That changed when the 28th game's spokesman removed that rule on December 15th, 1633, that was 188 years ago. Children were brought to die, known as tributes or sacrifices. The city where they were brought up was hit by an earthquake not even two months ago, all the tributes died. Some claim this will last us years before the next game, others say more will have to die. I can’t tell what will happen, maybe more games will be forced to happen. That is a problem, but not for today. Today, you need to know the story.”
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Corkshpiel and the heir Mistress
August 10th, 1764
(14 Days prior.)
In the quiet of the unseen, to The Teller I bring,
The Teller I bring with news of care, Hämnd Kvitten will be dead, fair and square.
The shadows in part will have more kin, all to be brought to death and sin,
In the quiet dark, their screams will ring, all in the ark of the dead unseen.
The town of briar, with the old lean mare, they shall have a mayor and martyr.
The squire shall call, long into fall, upon new tributes of the fair.
All shall be dead, without their heads, and you’ll live to see more blood be shed.
The message will be shared, to Modig and Davis, so all, can see the fear.
The mistress will be dead, for she’s lived too long, and if it means my death, then I'll be wrong.
Until our paths cross again, in the shadows and quiet,
The Silencers.
Standing tall upon a hill overviewing the valley, a boy stood his expression unreadable. His blonde hair hidden beneath a hood, flew in his face, sheltering him for now. In his hand lay a scroll unread.
A murder of crows sat in the trees, anticipating his next move. From dawn to supper, he stood on that hill, watching the village move on. The townspeople just walked, barely stopping to stare. As the sun did set and the torches were lit, he addressed the town. His voice rang out for all to hear, to capture their attention, shouting the words all dared to fear.
“Till the first step, one then another, silence, will be called. A fight will be fought and without the lot, the mistress will beg to differ. Her dark hued hair, and her eyes that dare, will kill or be killed in the shadows of square."
"Hail will come to the darkness and rum, for they’ll drink until the games are done. Inside their heads, even when they’re dead, the horrors will prey, not on themselves, but on each other."
"Until then, they must remain dead, then the Teller, will rule anew.“ The boy, without wavering, removed his hood, his face was known. His face was known for there were posters all around. The village went silent, then loud with whispers, Others in hoods stood and ran up that hill, but not before lighting the hay stacks ablaze. They ran up that hill, to where the boy stood, to where Paige Corkshpiel stood, proud and tall.
The screams that followed, and the haunting smoke, were nothing of a joke. Paige and the Silencers walked away, leaving that town astray.
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The rain played and danced, soaking the man's clothes. Climbing up the stone steps to the building, the soaked torches were burnt out and dark, but candles were lit in their wake.
Whispers echoed off the cavern walls, and flickers of death played in the shadows. The ground was soft and laid with dirt, which hid the bodies of the fallen. There were rows of stone, peeking out from the ground, headstones to make when they fell, not who they were, not who they belonged to, just dates from entering the games to death.
A woman’s voice could be heard, her voice fragile and hurriedly breathing. A man sat next to her, trying to quiet her. Not a gentle silence, a rushed one. Like at any moment something would come out to hurt them.
The sun began to set, just over the hill a small town could be seen, or what was a town. The houses were charred and burned, the people must be thankful for the rain. The darker it got, the more people left. Leaving just five in that cavern.
“Finally, we’re mostly all alone. Just like you wanted.” His voice was soft and collected, like he’d replayed the words a hundred times.
“I got rid of Hämnd, he’s no longer a problem.” As he said this, he brushed the wilting Globeflowers off her charred and deteriorating bones, and replaced them with an alstroemeria.
“You left me, for him. After the games, you asked to see him. Not me. And I hate that he was more important than me. Why. Why him.” The silence was deafening, like he was waiting for her reply.
Rain drops, trickled and splashed through the cracks of the building. Footsteps were muffled, and so were the voices. The other grieving people sat or stood nearby, watching the gravestones grow dark.
Annie’s bones were the only thing the townsmen refused to bury. “Burning her wasn’t enough” they'd say. As if leaving her in discomfort even after death would be a worse punishment then betrayal.
“Cowards,” Paige said under his voice.
After a while, he rose. His knees clouded with mud and rainwater. He turned to leave, but a small voice brought him back.
“I wouldn’t have expected a young man such as yourself to be here, that is, unless you’ve chosen your fate. Humor me traveler, when will you die?” A voice calls from the dark candle lit shadows.
“I will die when death is brought upon me. I’ve lived for myself and Annie, so why stop now?”
“You’re selfish.”
“No, I'm just doing what must be done. Hämnd’s dead, and for good reason too.”
The rain started to pick up,
“Hämnd’s dead?”
“Oh, so you know him?” Paige said, his voice filled with tease.
“But of course you knew him, you’re the forgotten tribute! A survivor, Mary Davis.”
“I know no such name.”
“Now we’re lying? Oh, how my Annie would be sad.” He said, a condescending smirk on his face. The woman's rage faltered for a moment as her eyes darted to the pile of decaying bones.
“The teller will kill you.”
“The teller would be proud, for they see everything. They knew this conversation was going to happen before the setting sun hit the tides of glory. They know how strong you were, and how weak you are now.”
“If they knew, why would they send you? You are merely their emissary. You said it yourself, I'm weak, but I can hold my own. And the teller would know that an emissary can be replaced, quite easily.”
“That is true, but you think you are strong. Not any more. Now you are weak. And a sacrifice must be made. So old hag, tell me. How did you survive the games?”