Jails did exist, but were rarely used by any city. To give these wretched souls a place to sleep and eat made no financial sense to anyone. Better to decide a fate quickly and get on with it. Although most towns did have a jail with limited space, Denark was one of the few that didn’t have a prison at all. For small crimes like petty theft or vandalism, the perpetrator would usually be strung up in front of the town and whipped by one of the guards. This seemed to be an effective deterrent.
Some of the ancient scrolls from a time long forgotten spoke of an age when the justice system was far more drawn-out and extensive than the swift, efficient discipline given in the modern world. As best as they could be interpreted through historians who were able to piece together some of the ancient tongue, there was a time where judicial processing took months and sometimes years!
Perpetrators would often pay another individual to speak on their behalf and try to prove their innocence on the matter, whether they were innocent or not. Even if found guilty, very few were ever put to death. Even if death were the sentence, they would be given rooms to sleep in and food to eat for years until the sentence was carried out. Even then they might get additional chances to escape the fate handed to them by having yet another trial.
Of course, most believe these scrolls to be nothing more than fictitious tales. The sheer absurdity that common criminals had that much entitlement is very hard to swallow for anyone living in the modern world. Imagine the crime rate if justice were that slow to be applied. The fear factor of being caught would be nonexistent! Still, there is no concrete evidence one way or the other, since most of the treasures and knowledge of the ancient world was destroyed. Just bits and pieces are left of a time no one remembers.
None are sure what really happened. Most believe it must have been some sort of world war, considering how abruptly everything was gone. Some weapon with unworldly capabilities must have been used. But again, since there is no proof and sparse evidence of anything before this time, it’s anyone’s guess as to what exactly happened. Whatever it was, it appeared to have been swift.
Lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating everything in a blinding flash. For a brief second, the rows of trees close to the main gate bent unnaturally in the swirling winds could be seen in a quick, blinding snapshot, followed by the afterglow of eyes readjusting to the sudden darkness once more. Oben seemed to be really struggling to keep his torch lit, constantly trying to shield the sickly flame by covering it with his own hood, bringing his face very close to it while at the same time he tried to keep his back to the wind, which seemed to just swirl all around him in no particular direction.
If the flame were to suddenly gain strength, he would surely lose an eyebrow. But the possibility of that seemed quite slim, given the extreme elements. Grend was now just leaning on the edge of the rail with his torch held low so as not to get it slammed by the incoming combination of rain and hail.
Another flash of lightning split the sky as Grend almost jumped out of his skin. Right in front of the main gate, where he just so happened to be staring into the dark, appeared a dark, hooded figure. It only became visible during the flash and then was swallowed up by the blackness once more. He waved frantically to Oben, not really wanting to call out. It seemed that his friend was still losing a mighty battle with his torch and not paying attention to much else. Thunder boomed a split second later and it gave Grend the courage he needed to call to his companion.
“Oben. Oben!” came the forced whisper as he waved a hand frantically in his companion’s direction.
“What is it?” came the annoyed reply as the struggling man’s eyes remained fixed on his torch. Protecting the precious flame was clearly the only thing on his mind.
“Come here!” said Grend, whispering as loud as a whisper could be and still be called a whisper. Now he had Oben’s attention. The guard trotted over to him, still protecting his precious torch from nature’s onslaught as best he could. Following Grend’s gaze, he glanced down at the road down below, squinting hard in the dark to try to see what his friend was looking at.
As if right on cue, several flashes of lightning lit up the sky one after another, revealing the cloaked figure waiting patiently in front of the gate. There was no horse to be seen, which was rather unusual, considering that the nearest smaller towns were still miles away, and even more unusual given the weather.
No face could be seen, as the black, drooping hood covered the figure’s head completely and the long, flowing, black robe covered his whole body down to the ground, making it so that not even his feet could be seen. The only obvious clothing other than the black robe was a belt that housed daggers on each hip in plain sight. The cloaked man just stood with his arms crossed in a nonthreatening manner.