Umbra 1, 228: Interrogation of a Laniveer

Interrogation of a Laniveer
Summary: The captured Laniveer is finally questioned.
OOC Date: 12/10/2013 (OOC)
Related: Pointy Things
Players:
Logen Herrek 
Darfield Castle, Dungeons, Cell 1
A very small cell, about six by six feet, with barely enough room for a small hard cot on one side, a small hole in the ground, and a tiny table for placing food on. The cell is solid stone underfoot and at the back wall, with bars around the wooden walls, with only a 3 inch width between them. The door is on solid metal hinges, and it might even creak as it opens. The only company is the cobwebs and occasional rat.
1st day of Umbra, in the year 228

Darkness and solitude is what the Kilgours have provided their Laniveeran 'guest' with at the moment, and the discomfort of being chained to the wall, his wrists sore from the manacles, his mouth so dry that his lips feel like dry sheets of paper. Despite holding perfectly still, the sellsword is wide awake and unable to rest, as if anticipating that the silence will all too soon be disrupted - by yet another of those dreadful visits, he has had too many of lately. And yes indeed, his head is raised a touch as he hears the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door, a low noise of the chains that keep his arms in that uncomfortable position indicating a slight unrest in the captive, as his apprehension turns out to be an unpleasant reality.

A week of those cold uncaring blue eyes just staring, to the point that dreams are haunted with images of them everywhere he turns. Those footfalls are soon the image of three soldiers bearing torches walking down to the cell, the man in black in the center. He's covered so fully head to toe in thick black it could be that he's a shadow save for that metal featureless mask and those staring cold blue eyes. When the group arrives the cell door opens and the mask steps inside, a chair is brought for him and he sits down. A voice, deep as with gravel in the lungs begins to speak before the silence has a chance to sink in. "What is your name?" though a question it has the lack of care to it.

The Laniveer blinks, his eyes close for a moment when the sudden light of the torches invading the cell through the opened door blinds him. When they open again the man's features seem to freeze as soon as he beholds the shadow with the mask, although he can so far only guess those cold blue eyes behind those slits. The flickering light of the torches reveal him to be a slim fellow, his height slightly below average, a man in his mid-twenties. His face with high cheek bones and full lips give him an almost feminine air, that finds quite a contrast in the cruel streak around the corners of his mouth, those eyes that still look ruthless despite the fear that start to sneak into them. He wears not much more than a loincloth, revealing several fresh scars on his arms, legs, abdomen and chest.

When he hears the shadow's question, the man starts coughing, but after a short moment it becomes apparent he is actually laughing, his voice not much more than a croak. "You ask me? You can speak?" His accent is definitely not the native Mobrin kind, still the relief can be clearly distinguished in his raspy voice.

That voice gains an edge that is as ice water on the coldest day of Inouv, "I will ask no question more than once. You answer me, or I leave today and return tomorrow to start the week over." The shadow doesn't move, he sits in his seat regal and poised the mask not even turned to face the man but held in a slight profile as it looks straight ahead. It is cold, and impersonal to the end of seeming detached. As if the man in the cell doesn't matter and should he not prove his use he'll be discarded like day old rinds.

The prisoner leans forward, as much as the chains allow, and his eyes narrow for a moment, when he listens to the shadow's statement, his dry tongue moving over his cracked lips in a futile attempt to bring any moisture to them. A moment of silence passes, as he seems to ponder the other man's words, his eyes widening as he takes in their full meaning. A low rattling of the chains can be heard, while the man keeps staring at the shadow, until he lowers his head and his gaze, and a low snort leaves his nose. "Herrek they call me. Herrek Galderlock."

The snort is overlooked as the voice takes on a patronizing and loving quality, "Very good Harrek, that wasn't so difficult. Water for Mister Harrek." And a cup on a pole extends with cool water inside tipped for the man to soak his lips and drink if he will. "And if you think to gain respect by spitting it out, then you'll go three days at a time without it. You'll learn that resistance does not work with me." a pause to let the man take his fill before the next question, "What was the purpose for which you were sent here? And do not give me a cute remark, it will not go over well for you." The tone is flat, uncaring, there is cold detached control.

Herrek's head moves up as he hears what the shadow mask's approval, and when the cup is carefully held out to him on that pole, he cannot help but pull at the chains, his lips moving towards the rim to attain some of that deeply needed resfreshment to quench his thirst. After he has had as much of the water as he is permitted, the Laniveer seems to relax his arms and falls back until he comes to lean against the wall again. Shaking his head with a grunt at the next remark - and no water leaves his mouth indeed - he mutters: "But I'm not a damned fool, sir." The address leaves him with a probing glance towards the shadow, as he seems uncertain about how to address him. Still, the following question has him hesitate again. "What purpose, sir?" A low chuckle follows. "Whate'er purpose, it doesn't matter much now anyways. Not anymore. How many days, since they brought me 'ere?"

"Do you trust me?" The voice asks, "For I could tell you has been nine days. Or eleven. It could have been half a year, it's a funny thing these cells. When you're in the dark, time seems to run into itself and minutes become hours, hours become weeks and days become decades. It could very well be the same day you were captured. You'll retort with that your wounds would not have healed in that time, and your mind will find comfort in that. I ask you though, do you trust me?"

Another low snort leaves the man's nose as he hears the masked man's question. Still his eyes glance warily towards the shadow, as if acknowledging the truth in his words. "Trust you? I'd be damned to trust you, but do I have another choice, sir? And if I tell you, you will reward me with what? Freedom? Or just a quick and clean death?" Herrek chuckles, but there is little amusement in his raspy voice. One look towards that mask that is so gracefully averted at the moment that he is spared from the sight of those cold blue eyes is enough to bring him back on the path the other one has so conveniently paved for him. "The answer is: No, I don't trust you at all. But either way, it doesn't matter anymore. The others are dead. I am here. The thing we were sent to do won't happen, at least not through us." He exhales deeply. "Nah. The cause is lost. The purpose was: Find the redhead and take her with us to Laniveer."

There's a deep gravelly chuckle, "I am glad you've been truthful. You see, trust in your words can be had." The mask keeps the gaze averted for now, "The red head, there are a number of them at court. I can guess you mean the Moniwid, as it was with her that one of your own was spotted and thus your fellow men slain and you captured." a pause, a very long pause. Silence, not a rustle of fabric and only the soft flicker from the torches. Those blue eyes slowly turn to gaze at the man, they linger during the silence before looking away again. "The lands of Laniveer are rightfully the Mobrinian king's. I am sure this doesn't matter to someone of your, trade. Why not come to the king here, offer what you know in trade for a greater sum of coin?"

There is a momentary flicker of amusement in the Laniveer's eyes at the mention of one of his having spotted with the Moniwid, but it quickly fades during that long pause. Herrek seems to freeze suddenly as he sees the man turning his head and seeing those blue eyes now for the first time during this visit. He does not seem able to avert his gaze and holds his breath while a deeply felt terror creeps into his eyes, a terror that contradicts his matter-of-factness from before in a way that may only hint at what he has experienced on previous visits. As soon as the masked man lets go of him with his stare, the Laniveer's gaze drops and air leaves his lungs in a low hiss. His mien remaining alert and wary. "I have heard, aye.", Herrek replies to the claim of Mobrin on Laniveer's crown. "And yes, I'm loyal to noone but who can offer me… the best payment." Still, the expression in his gaze betrays he does not trust the masked man's words yet fully. "Do you mean to… let me live if I…?" His raspy voice trails off, while a spark of hope shows in his eyes, a hope for a way out of his dilemma - alive and in freedom - which he had deemed impossible so far.

"That is not for me to decide, I am the messenger from you to the next person above me who will decide if that continues on up the chain. Only the king may decide your fate. However, he is a fair king… just look at me. You know not why I wear this mask, but if I told you then you'd fall to your knees and adore the king of Mobrin and Laniveer with such respect and love." a pause, the tone still flat even when speaking of this emotion. "Now, I asked why not come to the king and offer your knowledge in trade for better pay… however, this is no longer possible for you. You're a prisoner and if you don't speak then you'll be killed, and it won't be painless. It'll be over time, in the dark, with daily visits from me until your body no longer functions. So, tell me of Laniveer and Moniwid's alliance. Tell me of who hired you, when they hired you, who you've been meeting with. The number of other men in Darfield that are also hired by your employer. Answer all these, and for one week you'll get both sunlight and a respite from my visits."

The attentive expression remains in Herrek Galderlock's eyes and he licks his lips while he listens to the masked man's statement that only the king might grant his life. It is when the man continues, that a sigh leaves his lips and a light shake of his head together with a sudden disillusioned dullness in his gaze prove that this is what he had suspected all along. "Sneaky manipulative bastard," the Laniveer mutters as he raises his gaze to the masked shadow, in his eyes an expression of admiration or contempt - but possibly both. "It would have been too good to be true."

Moving his hands that are restrained in those manacles cause the chains to rattle a little again, while the sellsword seems to ponder his next steps in brooding silence - or just being the stubborn Laniveer that has run out of all options. Herrek takes his time, breathing slowly as he straightens and turns his full attention onto the masked man, his voice firm when he graces the interrogator with an answer. "I've been hired by King Eldwin Stewert of Laniveer, together with my comrades Gerion, Bathwart and Ralph, for just this mission. To sneak into your lands, find the redhaired Moniwid princess and help her to escape with us. The plan was to slip her a note - which I did, disguised as a commoner woman, by handing it to her handmaiden. Then, two days later she would come to a place at Stormvale. We would wait in a deserted alley, kill the guards… Maybe let that Kilgour chaperone live and take her with us, for the redhead's reputation. And of course that handmaiden, too. A ship /was/ anchoring in the bay, half an hour's distance from the harbour, which would have taken us directly back to Laniveer. We have been hired a month ago, it took some time to prepare. We've arrived shortly before those Days of Alasair, as you call them. Which was the plan, as custody would be lax and was exactly so. We have been hiding in the woods." A pause. "That's all I know. I can't tell you anything about other men here that serve King Eldwin. We have been a small isolated group, hired for this purpose only."

The mask listens to what's told to him, then rises from his seat. "Thank you mister Herrek for telling me all this, I will regale my superior with your information and from there you'll find out what is to be done with you." a pause, "And I am not cruel, you'll not see me for a week as I said. As for sunlight? I will also relay that to my superior." With that he turns out of the cell, "Give mister Herrek some real food for today, and plenty of water. He's earned it… for now." then he's gone.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License