Lucifer was so passionate during his explanation, and the way that he reveled in the thought of a mighty host of Angels determined to eliminate humanity made me sick to my stomach.
He seemed to truly believe that people were to blame for the disappearance of the Creator, and I was beginning to agree with him. At least to agree that we may have been the cause of the problem.
Just as my mind was wandering to the possibilities of war with legions of heavenly angels and all that would entail, there was a booming crash coming from the floor above us that sounded like a boulder falling through the ceiling and a powerful voice permeated the walls of La Roseraie.
The voice had the same ethereal quality that Lucifers had during our skirmish in the wine cellar, loud enough to be heard everywhere within the massive building yet never straining to a yell. The voice beaconed for Lucifer, demanded his presence, and Lucifer adopted a look of indignation at the intrusion.
Turning to exit the small room he waved for Jon to follow him and the two men silently left through the single iron bound door. However on his way out Jon dropped something from his belt and kicked it towards where I was strapped to the chair with his booted heel. Slamming the door behind him with enough force to mask the clink of a keyring hitting the stone floor and ricocheting to land right next to my manacled foot.
I did not understand why Jon would risk the ire of Lucifer, but I was not about to waste the opportunity to escape and tried to reach for the keys. The manacles holding my wrists to the chair were too short for me to get a grasp on the keys laying on the floor and I knew I was going to need to find a way closer.
Realizing that the chair was not fastened to the ground, only extraordinarily heavy, I tried to lean far enough to tip the heavy wooden seat over. I was too light and the manacles were short enough that they stopped my momentum short of any real progress. The chair did not budge.
I rocked side to side, trying to coax some kind of movement from my prison and that seemed to have the desired effect, as the chair wobbled slightly. Pushing myself farther and throwing my weight as violently as I could to keep the momentum I had built, the chair began to rock.
One last mighty heave sent the chair tumbling sideways onto the floor, carrying me along with it. My shoulder slammed into the unforgiving stones and I felt, and heard, a sickening pop. However my now numb fingers could finally wrap around the keyring and I fumbled to get the largest piece of iron into the lock that bound my wrist.
I heard the click of the lock and my numb arm was free.
painfully I worked the key into the other three locks that bound me.
Once my limbs had been liberated I stood up and tried to take stock of my situation. The small room that I was being kept in had no weapons to speak of so I ventured out the large wooden door to find that I was still in the wine cellar.
Casting my gaze up and down the rows of wine casks I caught a glimpse of something metallic on the floor, covered in blood. My ceremonial dagger was right where I had dropped it after being knocked unconscious.
Quickly I retrieved the familiar weapon and headed for the door that lead upstairs.
Alexander Motus, Guardian #51
