They pretended to put shackles on Wraithvine's wrists, prodding him at spearpoint, they ordered him fiercely to move away from the camps toward a cave with metal bars where prisoners were being kept. Their leader smirking at the wizard. They grabbed Wraithvine's ear roughly to stop hir just outside the cave, holding them there as the leader unlocked the cave so their subordinate could shove them inside. A tiny key secretly slipped inside Wraithvine's pockets, and the whisper "sorry, please, save them." Before the door was slammed shut. -- Anon Guest
Prisoners never look their best. Prisoners of war, even less so. Their enemy, after all, has no motivation to care for their wellbeing at all. In fact, they often have little motivation to keep them alive. Wraithvine knew this before he was shoved past the iron bars and threatened further along the packed dirt between shanty shelters.
Craters and scorched ground indicated the range of the spells from the casters up in the watchtowers.
They'd roughly sheared hir hair off for hygeine, taken away all hir belongings for security. Left Wraithvine with nothing but a thin pair of trews and what could pass as a shirt in a charitable light. Everyone else here was dressed in a similar fashion. Everyone but Wraithvine was a member of the Unwelcome Peoples.
Hellkin, Bugbears, Gobelliin, even some Dragonkindred and the few Faekindred who could not easily magic their way past iron. The active runes in the area were ones that cancelled out things like Druidic powers. Or anything that could assist an escape.
A containment camp, then, where all the enemies present were less likely to be looked for, afterwards. Less likely to be counted at all, in "humanitarian" efforts. Less likely to be missed.
Every prison has its flaws, Wraithvine knew this. Plan though they might, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. Or, in this case, an immortal who'd seen it all and had at least one god on hir side.
One who was very good at providing the miracles when necessary. All the ancient god needed was fire, blood, smoke, and a certain sigil drawn with an Elf's finger bone. Wraithvine could arrange all of those hirself.
They always forgot the oldest magics.
The following dawn, the entire camp was empty. Not a trace of life remained.
The army who held them there couldn't complain. After all, they had denied the existence of the containment camp in the first place. They definitely denied holding any Unwelcome People in an inhumane facility. Sending troops out to search for them would be tantamount to a confession.
They couldn't even be angry about it in their own media, since they also denied their crimes to their own people.
Miles upon miles away, inside a mountain and a town called Spasville, the sudden arrival of all those Unwelcome People were very welcome indeed. The fees and charges for the wealthy helped pay for the care and wellbeing of the needy. Spasville prided itself on its hospitality.
And its ready access to members of the Lutemen network.
The world would hear about it very soon. Turn against the war-torn countries doing their worst to the people therein. Even if they were Unwelcome.
Some crimes should not be tolerated, no matter who they were committed against.
[Photo by Eddie Wingertsahn on Unsplash]
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