Registered Member #345
Joined: 2:28:49 am GMT 11/25/04
Posts: 1954
Gloominess permeated the room, much of the lone candle’s light absorbed by Hadrik’s tunic. He sat behind a massive oak desk littered with parchments, each of the documents overturned so that its contents remained hidden. With a pointed finger, he slowly spun one of his shortswords, serving for the moment as a paperweight keeping a stack of parchment in its place. It was a habit he had developed over recent weeks to cope with the tedious bureaucracy and frustrating impotence of the administrative role he found himself in.
Assassination. Subterfuge. These were the things he was meant for, the things he could control. It was much easier to slit a man’s throat than to extract knowledge he possessed. Curse the Lady for wasting his talents here.
But here he was, with both Jaedin and Rip standing before him bearing the look of beaten men, or perhaps more appropriately, men who expected to be beaten soon enough. Hadrik slapped his hand down firmly on the shortblade, stalling its spin.
“Still no news I can take to the Lady?” he asked, already fully aware of the answer.
He picked the shortsword from the desk, pointing the sheathed weapon at Jaedin. “Have you learned nothing from him?”
Jaedin cleared his throat. “He spoke little, despite my best efforts.”
“There were times,” the sorcerer continued as he recalled the frustrating ordeal, “there were times where he seemed on the verge of breaking. I could see it in his expression – wanting to do anything to make the pain and horror cease, illusory though they were.”
“Yes?,” Hadrik prodded. “Then how did you learn nothing from him?”
Jaedin remained silent for several moments, pondering that question. He shook his head. “I am not sure,” he finally offered. “But when he did speak, he only offered names.”
The sorcerer held up a hand to cut off the Hadrik’s next question. “None of the names are of value,” he explained. “He mentioned Kynnonnen and Elisara more often than I care to count.”
Hadrik frowned, aware that some who had followed the whore-Queen to the south had lifted those two to near demi-god status, their reverence was so great. Disgusting, Hardik thought, that a pair who had long since passed beyond this realm could hold such sway over men who had never known them.
“Myslin was another he mentioned,” Jaedin continued, offering more detail when Hadrik’s look indicated that the name was new to him. “He was a scout under Syann, but turned against us and supported Yu-syu’s betrayal and defection. He rose to the station of High Ranger, the predecessor to our guest.”
Hadrik grunted. Our guest, he thought, was too weak to maintain such a position of privilege, but yet is strong enough to resist your magic, sorcerer. The elf fingered the hilt of his shortsword to mask his frustration. “And any others?”
“Most I did not recognize,” Jaedin admitted, “but two others, Letheril and Sorel, we have reports that they were rangers alongside our guest, who perished when our agents unleashed the demons within their city.”
Hadrik slid the shortsword from its sheath and stabbed it deep into the oaken desk, venting his anger. “So nothing but the names of the dead?!”
He levelled a glare as sharp as the blade still quivering upon the desk. He made no effort to hide his displeasure, lacing his words with sarcarsm spoken through a scowl. “Well, thank you for your services Jaedin. I am sure the Lady will see to it that you are properly… rewarded.”
“And you,” he turned his attention to Rip, noting the bandages wrapped around the half-elf’s left leg. “What happened to you?”
“Much the same, I fear. I bled him good,” he began. “Had to rouse him many times with me salts and acids. Had him sweatin’ fierce, so I know pain’s grip took good hold. But he told me nothin’ as we could use. Some of the same… names and such, but nothin’ else.”
Hadrik shook his head. The man has the intelligence of a turnip, he thought. Rather than sharing his thoughts, he simply pointed to Rip’s bandaged leg. “And your injury?”
“Oh, this?” Rip hobbled slightly as he lifted the leg to reluctantly show it, apparently hoping that it may have been overlooked. He shrugged.
“He passed out again. Had to use me salts, and hold his head with me other hand like this,” Rip said as he demonstrated the position.
“He came to, right quick though, and reached for the dagger, the one I keep on me ankle here,” he pointed to where a sheath had been before being replaced by swathing. “He drove it into me calf before I could react. Quick one, him.”
“Yes,” Hadrik said, his disgust apparent. “I’m sure he is. How unfortunate for you.”
“And then you saw fit to kick our guest to unconsciousness again, and drive your knife through his chest.” Hadrak scowled. “Interesting interrogation tactic."
It had taken three guards to pull Rip from the ranger, and the treatment of the best druids to keep the stones from taking him -- a near disaster.
“I am sure the Lady will be relieved you are well, though,” Hadrik said while finishing the thought… so that she can personally watch as your intestines are ripped from your gut.
Hadrik looked from Rip to Jaedin and back. Incompetence. We kept him on the verge of starvation for over a month and still they cannot break him.
Hadrik lifted the second of his shortswords from his desk, fingering its hilt, his anger beginning to get the better of him.
“Begone,” he managed to speak through clinched teeth. “Leave me to my thoughts.” Before I steal the Lady’s pleasure by taking your pathetic lives and sinking myself further into her disfavor.
~{@}~
After the pair had left and Hadrik had regained enough of his composure to think clearly, he set to penning a letter. The Poisonwood had suffered decline long enough under the Lady. Something had to be done. He stabbed the final period of the note.
Enough was enough, if the elf was not going to crack they would step up the methods.
"The Thousand Cuts", was a lovely way to teach a stubborn elf that it would be wiser to speak. Like angering a hive of hornets, the use of the Fey in the area was a delicious form of torture. Using their tiny daggers and lances, they would swarm the prisoner, lashing him over and over again. Not able to cut deeply, the target of the Fey would suffer the excruciating sting of being sliced by the tiny swarm.
This elf will suffer greatly before the eventual blood loss forcing him unconscious. Only to be revived by the Clerics, and subjected to the crazed Fey again. They wondered if this one would break the previous record of suffering this abuse for three days.
Perhaps they even wanted him too, breaking someone completely, was just oh so fulfilling.
I'm Watching You Registered Member #273
Joined: 7:18:06 pm GMT 09/21/04
Posts: 6051
A series of sharp raps on the stout oak door roused Carylduil from the desk where he poured over scrolls filled with varied arcane writings. To his surprise, an ancient woman, bent and weathered by her years, stood at his door leaning on a staff of natural ash. She must have used the staff to knock on the door as it seemed unlikely that she would possess the strength to create such a solid sound unaided.
Upon seeing the archmage, a smile cracked the woman’s cheeks into a series of concentric wrinkles. “Ahh, Master Carylduil,” she said. “I was afraid you might have your servants send me away. I suppose I thought all mages with your reputation would have some manner of creature answering their calls.”
She continued without pause, apparently in an effort to prevent the archmage wishing her well and sending her back into the night. “I do not come to beg for coin or favour,” she began. “At least not for myself. I came to speak to you of a mutual friend, one who I pray could use some aid at the moment… aid I am unfortunately incapable of providing.”
Head tilted slightly at the strange way the woman had phrased her comment, Carylduil answered. “You pray that your friend, our friend, requires aid?”
“Ahh… yes,” the woman said, her tone quite serious. “For if he cannot, I fear it is only because he has already travelled to his life in Avandor.”
The woman studied Carylduil for a moment, long enough for the archmage to note a natural wisdom to her.
“You know of Gaelwyn? One of the rangers that serve and defend this city?” she said motioning to the empty, night-shrouded streets of Greenvale behind her. “He has spoken at times of you, so I thought that you might know him.”
Nodding, hoping not to hear what his heart feared, Carylduil answered. “I know Gaelwyn and care for him as I would a brother.”
“He has been missing for some moons now, and I fear I might be the only one who knows where he was off to. Since he has not returned, I fear he may still be there.”
“Please… come in, dear lady. There is no reason to stand here at the door. Let us talk inside near a warm fire.”
“Master Carylduil, do you have some tea? It would do wonders for my old bones to warm away the night’s cold as I tell you what I know.”
“Of course,” he said softly. “Please make yourself comfortable there before the fire. I will see to some tea and biscuits for us.”
After entering, and taking a seat with a warm cup in her hands. Harybba, the name by which the woman in the door was known, shared all she knew with the archmage of Gaelwyn’s predicament.
"Pray tell me, Harybba, why you brought this to me alone? Will not the queen and the rangers of our city be made aware?"
"I had thought to, Master Carylduil. You must believe me. I had thought to many times before this. But Gaelwyn undertook this task on his own for fear that acting in his position as a ranger or involving Greenvale could entangle the city in turmoil that he wished to avoid. I wanted to honor that… and that kept me from bringing this matter to the rangers themselves. And I knew not who else to go to, until I recalled a conversation he and I had some time past, involving you and the work you have done to rebuild the walls."
Considering the words carefully, Carylduil sipped his own tea. "I note that you have carefully avoided words meant to prevent me sharing this information with the queen." Catching her eye, he went on. "If I share this with anyone I must share it with the queen. Can I in good conscience tell others, work to discover the truth of what has happened, and not tell my queen when I know she will find out anyway?" Shaking his head sadly, he went on. "Whatever has happened, it happened without official sanction. But now... while I respect your thoughts and know your intention was to honor Gaelwyn's wishes, I believe the queen must know."
-----
Some hours later, a scrying attempt having learned nothing, Carylduil explained the situation to the staff and students of the school, then made his way to inform the queen. Sharing the sentiments that must surely have led Gaelwyn to to into the tainted wood, Carylduil could understand the reasoning, but to go alone?
If Gaelwyn yet lived, there was hope.
*Edit to add: Many thanks to Vaedryan for involving me in this story as well as for writing much of the preceding post.
I'm Watching You Registered Member #273
Joined: 7:18:06 pm GMT 09/21/04
Posts: 6051
**WARNING: Graphic Content. Reader discretion is advised.** -----
Vilmand came in smiling.
"Good morning, prisoner." He said warmly. "Today we are going to talk. And by we, I mean you."
Taking the meat hook from his satchel, he played out the length of chain attached to it as he talked.
"Few things this side of the veil can cause pain like what I am about to inflict upon you. It really is a rare treat."
Looking at Gaelwyn in the stocks, head and hands sticking through barely a foot off the ground, body and legs laying limply on the cold damp stone, he spoke in an even and polite tone.
"Have you soiled yourself yet? No? Give it time. It only takes time."
Leaning down, he spoke barely above a whisper.
"This meat hook will go in the skin at the back, near the top of the spine... and will come out at the base of the skull. The skin will bunch up there, of course, when the chain is pulled. This will serve to draw the metal against the bone."
Patting Gaelwyn on the top of of the head he held the pointed end of the meat hook over a flame.
"No... you just rest easy now. No talking yet. It won't count unless we do this properly. A shame you did not talk before now, but such is the way of things, eh?"
With a swift movement the red hot tip of the meat hook speared the skin, puncturing on the way in, and on the way out, the acrid smell of burned flesh and hair accompanied the exit point at the base of the skull.
"Yes." Said Vilmand against the sound that now filled the room. "Yes. The noise you make will help for a time. But I can wait. And when I lay the chain over this brazier of hot coals you will see the wisdom of telling me all you know. Hopefully before the heat has climbed all the way up to the hook. But really, the decision is yours."
I'm Watching You Registered Member #273
Joined: 7:18:06 pm GMT 09/21/04
Posts: 6051
The conversation with Harybba had led to many questions. And magic had, thus far, not yielded much in the way of answers. Though only a few hours had been spent, it was plain that if Gaelwyn yet lived, there were wards in place to prevent the power of magical sight from seeing him.
Making his way to the tower of the queen, Carylduil strode with purpose through the tower to the great hall. There, walking the long path to the royal dais, his resolve coming into sharp focus with each step, he bowed and spoke to the queen when he was motioned forward to speak.
"My Queen... I bring tidings of one I know this city holds dear. If I may beg a moments indulgence?
"There are many, myself counted among them, who dream of further steps toward reunification of our people. If not completely, at least more so than now.
"Gaelwyn, whom you know, Ranger of this city, is also among those with this wish. Toward that end, it seems he has taken it on himself to travel to the Poisonwood. Alone. He has not been seen in several weeks. And there has been no word.
"In truth, I fear he may be gone from this world."
Looking away briefly as the power of the words made the worry of his heart strike with bitter pain, Carylduil then continued.
"But if he is not, it is likely that he is enduring terrible agonies at their hands.
"What he hoped to accomplish by this act, I can not say beyond the general hope I know he has to see our people closer. Perhaps he sought to afford others there opportunity to leave, to come here and be at peace.
"I should like very much to arrange to go there. I have spoken before with General Kintaro. And while I have heard whispers that General Kintaro is no more, perhaps I can learn something. I have no intention of going alone. I will take others. And will use every protection at my disposal.
I will consider it, if you grant me leave to proceed, merely a fact-finding mission. Does Gaelwyn yet live?
"I will hope to travel there soon. Unless I hear from you or one of your court."
-----
Registered Member #345
Joined: 2:28:49 am GMT 11/25/04
Posts: 1954
// This continues from an earlier post, so the same warning applies here //
Amracil wrote ...
**WARNING: Graphic Content. Reader discretion is advised.**
Gaelwyn had first lost count of the days. His wafer-meals had provided a means to mark time, but after the hulking half-elf… Rip, the other had called him… had gone into his rage, the days had blurred between death and consciousness as the druids attempted to keep life flowing through him.
The ranger laughed at that, not the light carefree laugh he once had, but a brief, guttural sound hardly more than a grunt. It was all he now had strength for.
Then had come the tainted Fey. He thought he had recognized the druidess as the one he had seen so briefly before his assassins had struck him down, landing him in this cell. But he couldn’t be sure. He had seen her only briefly then, and his chance to see her on her recent visit had been blurred by a swarm of the wood’s own creatures turned by the residual effects of Syann’s and Uultak’s toxic magics.
Uultak.
In his position within the stock, the ranger’s hair, matted and tangled with his own blood, hung over his face, covering the scowl that sprung to his lips as he thought of the liche. “If I survive this,” Gaelwyn thought, “[i]I will bring hell to that one.[i]”
The liche may live forever, but the ranger swore that he would make Uultak regret that.
The tainted fey had been a persistent presence during his conscious hours, but they had not returned for some time now. Not since he had surprised one that had hovered too long and too close to his stock. With a quick lunge he had nearly broken his own neck, but he had caught the tiny fey’s leg between his teeth. With what strength remained, he had nearly bit it through.
He was becoming an animal here. A part of him worried over this, and a part of him found it easy to forgive. His captors provided a far baser creature to benchmark himself by. The vile elf that toyed with him now was all the evidence he needed to prove that point.
One hundred thirteen days… that had been how long Kynnonnen resisted starvation before facing Gorrath. “Certainly, Gaelwyn thought, my stay in this cell has not been so long. But how long then?
And how much longer?
That uncertainty dug deeper than any of Rip’s knives or needles. Given some knowledge of when peace would find him again, either in life or in death, Gaelwyn knew he could withstand the horrors he was forced to endure. But the uncertainty…
Gaelwyn winced, the heat of the meat hook that his tormentor had strung through him like a gutted fish had reached the bone at the base of his neck. He smelled his own flesh burning on the hook’s metal. Shifting his weight proved to make the pain just that much sharper as the hook found fresh bone to sear.
The ranger clinched his eyes, trying in vain to will the pain away. “How much longer…?”
He couldn’t. Not any longer… He had to give them something… something meaningless, but something that they might think was more.
Something…
Gaelwyn grunted as the flame continually and mercilessly increased the heat conducted through the hook. It felt as though his head had been severed and then cooked over hell’s own brimstone all while some twisted magic kept him alive.
He could endure it no longer.
“Kaimer!” Gaelwyn forced through clenched teeth.
“The dagger,” he said as pain contorted his face so that he could barely form the words.
“Kaimer...” he repeated with the last of his strength.
His body – finally overcome by pain, fear, and more than the rest, the guilt of surrendering his silence – fell limp against the stocks.
Registered Member #1273
Joined: 2:56:54 pm GMT 03/23/08
Posts: 536
Rumours have been whispering through the Woods that there is a very important 'guest' in one of the cells. Who it is exactly has been the subject of much debate, but it is clear from the furtive, fearful look in the eyes of those speaking that it is not just another common scout, captured as usual while training or on some low-level espionage. The names being guessed at this time are names that none here dare say too loud..
I'm Watching You Registered Member #273
Joined: 7:18:06 pm GMT 09/21/04
Posts: 6051
Vilmand, seeing the body, so long rigid with exquisite agony, suddenly fall slack, knew that he had something.
Donning protective gloves, he carefully withdrew the hot meat hook from the prisoner, setting it on the cool stone floor some feet away. With precision, he coiled the length of chain attached to the hook on the floor near it and removed his gloves, putting them in a front flap of the satchel where he kept his "tools."
From a flap on the opposite side of the satchel he took a small vial, removing the cork and dipping a finger in. The thick viscous green of the contents on his finger, he set to filling the wounds of the prisoner.
"We must take great care to heal these wounds properly lest they become infected." He said conversationally to the unconscious form in the low stocks. "Infection might cloud your mind. I prefer to work with those of clear mind. I find it breaks a prisoner more completely when there is only the pain to blame."
Dipping his finger once more in the syrupy ointment, Vilmand placed the finger into the wound as far as possible at both ends, working the ointment into the wound with great care. Some time later he stood, nodding in apparent satisfaction with his work.
Wiping his hands carefully on a clean white towel, he looked at the still form of the prisoner like a man might look at an animal being prepared for slaughter.
"Kaimer," he said softly. "The knife. I will investigate that right now. Rest well, prisoner. I do so hope we will meet again."
Placing the meat hook and chain into the satchel, he stepped into the hall outside the cell and spoke to the nearby guard. "See to it that the prisoner is bathed while he is unconscious. Remove the clothing with a blade. Leave not a stitch of cloth on him. Once done, dry the body well and place a thick woolen blanket beneath him, another other him, including his head and hands."
Making his way down the hall, Vilmand mounted the stairs and made his way into the Lady's chamber.
Registered Member #1274
Joined: 2:03:35 pm GMT 04/01/08
Posts: 770
Soft, padded leather boots silently made their way past the outer perimeter of the poisoned woods. A large longbow barely visible under a heavy cover of freshly picked branches with leaves, grass covering the persons legs and torso. A magical cloak of invisibility to top it all of. This was not a hunter that preferred to test her luck. Merely intending to assess the power of the warriors and other guardians of the woods, she had never thought she would be able to sneak by the druids and clergy. Steering well clear of the druids line of sight, she made her way to the shop where hostilities ceased, for some reason. Still invisible, she scanned the displayed inventories.
Finding nothing of interest, she moved on. Back outside, she decided to test the skill of the spellsingers. Just how good were their skills at determining the presence of an outsider? As she drew near, she heard hushed whispers... Whispers not easily discernable. She withdrew, donned the cloak of the windfeather and whispered to the magical brooch. A soft aura of aural amplification surrounded her ears, the quiet breathing of a beetle, the footsteps of a faraway fly... it was all audible. The unfamiliar strengthening of all sound made her jump when she thought someone was sneaking up on her. Spinning around rapidly, she could barely see in the distance, a returning pair of warriors.. more than 400 meters away.
She sighed in relief and focused her attention on the two spellsingers:
Yes, i heard it myself........ Was out....... saw..... strange, skilled elf....... She concentrated, absently leaning forward. Ranger... Greenvale, most likely....... She was leaning too far forward, a footstep would be necessary to avoid falling. A footstep that landed on possibly the biggest and most fragile twig in the entire forest. An amateurs mistake. The sound was like a banshee screaming into her eardrums It made her head spin, tears watered her eyes, blurring her vision. As she carefully wiped her eyes she saw, to great relief, no sign of detection in the faces of the two locals.
Focusing, she was soon able to hear the whispers again. Blocking out most other sounds, the whispering became clearer than ever. A name, one of the elves apparently responsible for the unknown ones capture. Aral'geth'ber She commited the name to memory, most likely worth quite alot to those who might be searching for the captured one. But as of yet, she knew not whom this captured one was.
The Lady looks down at Vilmand and shakes her head "He said what?"
Listening to what else was revealed in what must have been delicious torture, she looks to the Syann to her right. "Search the possessions we stripped off the prisoner, find me this supposed dagger."
She continued to stand there, thinking. Was this a mission to learn more, or had Greenvale finally gotten the guts to try for revenge? Her eyes narrowed, was this dagger of the Sleep, meant for her?
[ The Island of Thain ]
Return to a tainted wood
