RP:Interrogation Killed the Cat

From HollowWiki

Part of the The Savage Queen Arc


Part of the The White Hunt Arc


Part of the Agitation Arc


Summary: Hildegarde, Linn, Leone, Orikahn, Amabella, and Josleen interrogate Quave, the necromancer servant of The Dark Imp, who (Quave) was captured by Reginae. During the interrogation, Quave reveals that The Dark Imp and Orikahn's goddess The Savage Queen are one in the same, and that Orikahn has been serving the lich all along by collecting sculls for his garland, her phylactery. The sabercat is her favored disciple, and a traitor to Frostmaw. He flees. Linn and Hildegarde chase him into the wilderness.

Hildegarde and Linn catch up to Kahn and the Steward demands answers. Orikahn claims he didn't know the lich was his Savage Queen, but now that he knows he must serve her. Hildegarde, having learned from Quave destroys the garland of sculls to Kahn's horror, but immediately after suffers chest pains similar to the ones she suffered in Frostmaw the last time she faced off against the lich. Linn sees to Hildegarde's safety and Orikahn escapes.

Meanwhile, Amabella and Josleen stay behind with Quave. Initially lusting for revenge, Josleen turns the other cheek as Amabella tortures Quave, but the necromancer's screams break the bard's nerve and soon she's calling on the guards to defend the prisoner. They arrest Amabella and take Josleen to Hildegarde.

Prisoner Cages

It’s been two full weeks since Reginae captured Quave, the half-drow ringleader of The Dark Imp’s three necro-stooges based in Xalious. The Mage’s Guild has cordoned him off from cross-examination by non-guild members such as Josleen and Linn (or better said, especially Josleen and Linn). The bard-cum-mayoral-candidate has made some political noise about the Guild’s stunt, publically calling their excuse, that the necromancers are Guild apprentices and must face the Guild’s judiciary council first, utter hogwash, baloney, poppycock, etc. That’s verbatim; it’s how she swears in polite company. Finally today they have released Quave for interrogation by those outside the Guild. Not trusting the Tower’s prison staff, Josleen arranged for The Eyrie to transport Quave and herself, under guard of course, to Frostmaw’s prison. At the prison and out of Quave’s earshot, she whispers with a few guards that she worries the Guild may have tinkered with his mind and scrubbed it of any evidence that could incriminate high-ranking Guild members. She has communicated similar theories to Hildegarde and Linn via letters (both arrived along with cakelog and transportation logistics for their information). There is no proof for her claim. Just conspiracy theories and an axe to grind. Josleen waits just outside the cages-area, out of Quave’s line of sight, for her accomplices to arrive. He is magically gagged to prevent spellcasting.


Hildegarde had more or less told the members of The Eyrie that if Josleen came to them with some kind of request that they had best fulfil it. This circumvented the need for Josleen to ask Hildegarde for assistance with these things and it provided good training and practise to the fledgling and more experienced members of the Eyrie alike which was never a bad thing. With Quave being transported from Xalious to Frostmaw and to the prisoner cages, the knight had wandered from Frostmaw Fort to the prisoner cages to meet with her allies and those who were invested in this cause. The Silver offered Josleen a respectful dip of her head as she approached, “M’lady,” she said warmly, flashing the mayoral candidate a friendly smile. “It is good to see you again, though I wish it were under different circumstances.”


Leone had received a missive, a handwritten note, hastily scrawled on a scrap piece of parchment. Still clutching the unsealed, unsigned note in her hand, the petite priestess makes her way into prisoner holding. The sacred smith pauses at the entrance long enough to nod a greeting to both Hildegarde and Josleen, though her attention is promptly stolen by and transferred to the necromancer. Slow, measured steps are taken in the approach of, and then back and forth in front of Quave's cell. The diminutive blacksmith stares unwaveringly at the captured mage of death.


Linn had obtained word that the necromancer captured in Xalious has been transferred up to Frostmaw for further interrogation. Whatever reason they may have had for that he didn’t really know, but the change in settings pleased him for anything that might come out of it. He took the roads most of the way until he got just within vision of the cages before he took a detour into the shaded forest. Stepping near one of the tree-trunks to shield himself from the sunlight above the dark shadows within his closed pack began to seep and crawl out from under the flap holding it shut before releasing themselves from its physical presence and forming their own in a vaguely feminine shape in the thick line of shade cast by the tree above. After his shadowy passenger left he moved back into the light to approach the cages and the gathering crowd around them, leaving the figure in the forest to take care of her own business. His armored appearance was no different from any other day, save for a grim, serious expression at who he was going to be dealing with today. A glance flickered through the current arrivals of Josleen, Hildegarde, and Leone with a nod of acknowledgment, “Good to see you all here” he greeted before his gaze turned to match that of Leone’s, setting itself on the necromancer who may have been surprised to find the enchanter still alive, not that it was a secret anymore by now.


Amabella stepped out from within the billowing smoke that made up her familiar, seeming to walk down a few invisible steps from where Claire was hovering. The shadow clung to its master with wispy tendrils until they were to finally part before seeping into the undead's robes, further darkening the fabric to an extent where it completely absorbed any light and blurred Amabella's outline. Hood and veil added to possibly protecting her identity, or just to hide the gruesome appearance of a worn-and-rotten undead. Amabella followed Linn around without a word, with arms crossed within her sleeves. An occasional sound of metal and glass clinking could be heard as she moved about. Leone and Hildegarde were given long stares- at least, they could feel the focus of someone's vision itching on them for an uncomfortable amount of time- when they initially came into view, but nothing was said or done due to what might be some sort of fear. That, and there were bigger fish to fry-- maybe even literally.


Orikahn trots up cracking his knuckles and looking like a general menace. The sabercat has arrived in his usual: full armor with visor, cloak and hood, a bow and quiver at his back, and his garland of sculls rattling at his hip. The Prime Hunter has a swagger in his step, and the tip of his big bushy tail flickers beneath the edge of the long hide cloak, twitching in excitement and anticipation. "I heard we have a captive." His armored face turns about, seeking to confirm this in the expressions of his fellows, some with pleasure and others with apprehension, while he flexes his fingers within his gauntlets. "You guys haven't started in on him yet, have you?" Kahn cranes his neck, peeking past the others to look at Quave. "Did we want to take turns, or how does this work? Hmm," the feline seems a bit dubious as he reaches into hood, scratching thoughtfully, "don't reckon he'll last very long with all of us, here. I might have to hold back some." The disappointment in his tone is already apparent. "What'd he do again, anyway?"


Josleen smiles up at Hildegarde and curtsies with a cheeky grin, as is her part in their game. “Steward.” She bows her head reverently to Leone, “High Priestess”; then nods kindly to Linn, “Good to see you on your feet again.” She lingers a good distance back from the cages and lets real heroes have a crack at the necromancer. “I haven’t spo—” Amabella’s presence cuts her speech short. She shivers involuntarily. Last time they met, the shrouded figure burned a malevolent stare into Josleen, one which she hasn’t been able to forget or decrypt. Orikahn arrives unexpectedly, but his reputation precedes him and earns the bard’s trust as an ally. Josleen has heard enough about the sabercat to guess him right away. “You must be Orikahn. Hello. I am Josleen.” She half-curtsies then explains for his benefit as well as anyone else who needs a primer. “The prisoner is named Quave. He works for The Dark Imp, a presumed lich who recently attacked myself, Linn, and Hildegarde at a forum in Xalious Village. He and his accomplices, two elven necromancers who have not been captured — yet — have been performing dark magic with devastating effects on the village. They are believed to be resurrecting a thousand-year old drow sect called The Order of the Shade, and are allegedly trying to summon a creature from another plane which the prisoner has referred to as the Shade Nightmare.” She air quotes around the name. “He is also believed to have put a bounty on my head.” Josleen fingers the side of her neck over a scarf which hides a scar from the assassination attempt. Quave throws his head back as if laughing, but his lips are fused shut by magic. Guttural grunts rack his throat and chest. As for how to go about interrogating him, she looks to Hildegarde for guidance here. Josleen hasn’t the faintest clue.


Hildegarde allowed everyone to gather close first before tackling the subject of interrogation. This was her city, after all, it ought to be her who determined how the information was extracted from the man. “We cannot keep his mouth sealed if we are to get an answer from him. Using telepathy could be dangerous for either party; thoughts and memories altered beyond all recognition. Far too dangerous. We can strip him temporarily of magic,” but it would be a tiring process and not without its own risks, “that would allow him to speak freely but remain magically inactive.” The Silver paused for a moment, offering a disdainful grunt as Orikahn spoke of taking turns and the prisoner being unable to last the ‘questioning’ they’d put upon him. “Move,” she ordered the group, striding away from the cages until she was absolutely certain they were out of Quave’s hearing. After all, you don’t want to give away your game-plan to the person you’re about to question! “I will not let this man be tortured. We are not brutes nor are we villains. We can do this without harming him,” she said firmly, glancing to Leone as if to silently request some back up. Better when two officials agree on something, right? “We will question him. We will *threaten*. If we absolutely must, we will consider other options, but right now I will not have Frostmaw be known as a prison city that tortures people for individuals. The Guild released Quave into our hands for questioning, I assume they expect to get him back alive and relatively unharmed.”


Leone looks vaguely to the side once Linn draws up beside her. A nod is offered to the enchanter, a gesture pulled out through her chin and neck like so much taffy at a confectionary, though the peridot-green oculars never leave the Lich's underling. Amabella is not immediately noticed, the disembodied sensation from piercing, searching stare that causes the fine hairs on the back of the blacksmith's neck to rise attributed to the prisoners in adjoining cells: certainly a council member was no welcome sight to any captive. One arm wheels around at Kahn's interjection, the smith's blackened fingers pressed together and her palm held perpendicular to the floor in the universal sign of halt. "There will be no abuse here," the High Priestess echoes after the Steward, "And I believe I have a solution to his powers: I will simply construct a barrier around him, that will neutralize the deathly magics but allow sound."


Linn looked around as the greetings were handed out, meeting Orikahn’s arrival with the nod he greeted everyone else with, “Good to see you here again Orikahn.” He attempted a disarming smile, knowing Amabella was at his back and that the history between the two was rather… sore. At the mention of stripping the necromancer of magic he tilted his head in thought before he was interrupted by Leone’s solution. It was certainly safer than what he had in mind, but he would remain ready to reroute and purge anything else Quave would attempt. “I can also help with that, his magic shouldn’t be a problem.” Whatever the necromancer thought he could do was probably peanuts in comparison to what the lich had put him through, and he was ready for it this time. He followed to listen about the subject of torture, staying silent with his lips pursed. A nervous glance was given Amabella’s way; while he himself wouldn’t take part in it unless absolutely necessary, he couldn’t guarantee the undead’s pacifism on this subject. If the necromancer really got her going… he didn’t want to know what would happen.


Amabella hasn't lamented like this since a certain witch kicked over her family tea kettle. Linn would have a vivid memory of the scene for a few moments, and even (literally) feel the undead's disappointment, as opposed to figuratively from just looking at her deflated posture. When finally coming to a decision whether to debate against some kinds of torture being more of an art than anything else, the other priestess spoke up. Linn's offer of assistance was partially echoed, "A runt like this wouldn't be of concern. I doubt anything would be an issue for the two of you, but in the off-chance fate decides otherwise..." Amabella took her chin in skeletal hand in thought, tilting her head further aside. "Do we really expect threatening and a potential cuffing to open him up?" she asked, turning her head to regard the armored wildcatman while the question was open for anyone to answer to. As Linn well knew, there were plenty of ways to squeeze out some information from someone. "I have some things in mind that wouldn't necessarily be 'damaging'. Abusive, however..." Amabella hummed to herself afterword, drifting off in some foul fantasy probably.


Orikahn didn't expect a stranger to address him by name, and he startles a little, snapping his gaze to face Josleen. "Hmm." His armored face follows the dip of her curtsy. "I *am* Orikahn," the cat confirms, just in case anyone needed to hear it from his own lips. So, the hunter mentally notes as part of his first impression of the bard, Josleen is a person who gives pertinent information; he will remember this in the future. Straightening, the sabercat folds his arms over his chest as Hilde speaks. Kahn might respect the steward as a warrior and an employer, but she sure does have questionable ethics. The latter assessment goes double for Leone. Hopefully this prisoner turns out to be a stubborn one, then, and guilds be damned, whatever those are. They sound entitled and prissy. "Bad ju-ju," the sabertooth proclaims, and compulsively adjusts the sash from which his trophy sculls hang, as though the empty, jawless heads can't quite get comfortable with the way they're hanging. Linn's greeting isn't lost on him. "You're everywhere these days, shiny guy." No malice or judgement shows in the cat's words, just an observation; still the cat's posture is cautious, doubly so as the undead alchemist weighs in. But lo! What's this? "She gets it." Orikahn points directly at the withered little demon lady, as surprised as he is pleased to find support coming from the least likely of places, an abomination and a mortal enemy.


Josleen nods and back ups all of Hildegarde’s ideas (“Yes” “Mhm” “I agree.”) despite the fact no one needs her buy-in. As a matter of principle, she leans towards the liberal, but when it comes to Quave specifically, she would look the other way if Kahn got his pummeling way. Amabella, however, she’s less inclined to trust based on past experience and current spooky frisson. A physical beating sounds more humane than whatever the undead has planned. She locks eyes with Hildegarde and just barely shakes her head to communicate her discomfort at whatever Amabella proposes. Quave sits in his cell mentally preparing himself for all sorts of horrors. He enters a meditative trance to help him survive whatever may come without breaking.


Hildegarde remained silent as each individual offered up their opinion, weighing up her options and what might be the best course for them all to take. While beating Quave to near death and extracting answers may seem like an attractive option, Hildegarde takes her Oath seriously and will not break that. The sort of situation that usually results in a ‘I’d rather die!’ statement. Leone’s magical barrier could be an option, but given that Quave was evidently a Guild student the Silver doubted that Quave only knew deathly magics. It was likely that he had more skill in the basics and was only just learning the necromantic skills that only more advanced students of the Guild could learn. “We will disable his magic altogether,” she decides. “It will terrify him to know that we can strip him of that. There is no need for him to believe it is temporary. We can tell him that… That it is in the process of being made permanent unless he gives us the information we need and want. Emphasise that his life is meaningless and that offering us information is his salvation,” she instructed the group. The knight lowered her voice even further, dropping into a whisper, “Josleen, look at Quave now and seem… I don’t know, concerned? Seem as if you pity his situation, you are a skilled actress.” What’s this? Hildegarde deceiving someone? “Stand with us when we question him. Then leave saying you are distressed. The rest of us will ‘take a break’ save for myself. Josleen will enter once again and show sympathy to Quave to extract some more information if we haven’t heard anything we want to hear. For now, we go for fear. No abuse or torture.” For now.


Leone turns to face Hildegarde, the unyielding stare that has been reserved for Quave now offered to the Steward - for a brief moment. In the next instance, both of the farrier's brows lift, each tract the shade of aged walnut ascending past the lined canvas of her forehead, as if it were made of stretched linen. "Mmm," is all that the plover articulates before a pointed glance is given to Orikahn and Josleen in turn. The High Lady of Aramoth takes several steps forward, leaving the caged necromancer behind in order to approach the circle of conversation more closely. "Fear," the farrier enunciates through a rasping whisper, "Fear is one manner to control men." Tilting her head to regard Amabella briefly, the plover rakes the skeletal female with a once-over via phosphorescent oculars. Turning toward the door, the sacred smith then makes her way out.


Linn grinned mischievously at the mention that he was everywhere. “It’s a talent of mine” he jested in response. The memory of the teapot being kicked over caused his eyes to widen for a second before rolling upwards in thought, the enchanter giving a satisfied, understanding nod. That witch *would* do something like that. He was neutral on the subject of torture and its methods here; the necromancer deserved no quarter in his mind. When Hildegarde presented the idea of disabling Quave’s magic altogether Linn grew a very anticipatory smile, throwing a knowing glance towards Josleen before addressing the steward. “I can work on nullifying his magic as a whole.” A beat, “And I can certainly make him believe that he’ll lose it forever.” Already he was setting down his pack to retrieve one of the mana crystals he salvaged from the crater he had made in Xalious. He paused for a while, deciding on a color more than anything. Eventually he reached in to retrieve a small crystal that was so clear that it could easily be lost in the air around it, already thinking and working on the enchantments that he would have to lay on it to effectively shatter and absorb spells. If he had to go beyond proving that Quave’s magic was powerless and had to begin ripping it from his mind and body… he possessed another tool for that, one only Amabella knew the true nature of. Leone’s rasping statement of fear broke his focus and drew his attention for a brief second before he nodded in agreement. “Fear of anything…” he muttered in agreement before turning back to his work on the crystal in front of him.


Amabella forced a sigh- or, more of an odd, weak wheeze -at the roundabout methods they were about to use. They could just transfer this shmuck to some other territory so they wouldn't have to worry about getting blood on the dirt and ice carpet, but more complaints would just arise. Amabella quietly noted her agreement to play whatever game they had in mind when it came to toying with their captive, all with the tone of someone wishing for a reason to do otherwise. If fear was what they asked for, then at least there was some enjoyment in watching someone squirm. The sight of a weathered undead would hardly have much of an effect on Quave, or anyone who practiced necromantic arts for enough time. Seeing a figure short of death is just icing on the terror cake, anyways. Leone's eyes were met just as briefly as the priestess' gaze came to travel across her own withered figure. Amabella's lamentation transitioned to glee over time, as evident from how she began to giggle to herself occasionally. The sound was barely audible, and held something sickeningly reminiscent of a child's laughter. In this case, it would be closer to one who pulled the legs off of spiders in their youth than anything else. "When can we begin..?" Amabella spoke up with a bit too much eagerness. The undead rocked forward off of her heels in impatience, causing the klinking to start up again.


Orikahn might have come for some rowdy fun, but he'll still stay for a spectacle, and ever true to his feline nature, he cannot resist curiosity now that the others are obviously discussing some intricate scheme. Occasionally, civilization surprises Kahn with a novel idea that he can apply to his own savage existence. He knows nothing of these sorts of magics, and he wouldn't want to interfere with the experts while they worked. Opting to hang back and observe, Orikahn posts himself well behind the others, grateful for his height as he selects a fair vantage point. Besides, he tells himself, if things go sour, no one would resent a bit of timely, brutal intervention, now would they?


Josleen cants her head sideways as she considers Hildegarde’s con. “Hmm… I like it. I wonder how convincing I will be given our history... but it is certainly worth a shot. Excuse me.” She stands to the side and starts pacing as she concocts a convincing narrative and tries to embody what Hildegarde needs her to be. She mouths a few lines silently and tries on conflicted expressions. Method acting looks a little mental from the outside. Frequent glances at the group split her attention between her task and their deliberations. Once it seems the decision to proceed like dirty rotten scoundrels is unanimous, she approaches Quave’s cell and performs. She starts angrily pacing and silent, sending hateful glares in his direction. To start too conflicted or too quick to defend his rights would tip her hand. He won’t believe her. Slowly and seamlessly she glides along an emotional arc, from revenge-lusting Xalious native to morally-compromised humanitarian unable to decide on whether or not Quave’s torture is justice. She strays a little from Hildegarde’s plan. The actress isn’t sure she can convince Quave that she suddenly cares what happens to him, but she doesn’t have to convince him of that. She just has to convince him that his torture has been agreed upon, and it is a time-bomb on his magical potency. The message is loud and clear: speak quickly, and keep the magic; stall, and become an arcane eunuch. She leaves Quave’s line of sight and rejoins the group. “He bought it.” She waves a hand for them to proceed as she hangs back, possibly with Orikahn? She tries not to stand too close. Don’t want to accidentally bump his belly and get clawed in the face.


Hildegarde nodded as Josleen went off to initiate the plan, waiting for her to return with news of her success. “Perhaps you should yell for us to not strip him of his magic, as it’s rather cruel,” she suggested quietly before speaking to Linn. “I will cancel out his magic while you work on a method of nullifying it. I cannot maintain the cancellation permanently or for a long period of time, so you will use what time I can give you,” she told him, casting a wary glance in the direction of Amabella who giggled in such a childlike and freakish manner. She had a niggling feeling about this one. “Let’s go,” she bade the group, turning on her heel to face the prisoner cages and begin the walk back to them. With a nod to a wary frost giant, the cell was opened and the knight and her companions were permitted entry into the cage. The Silver immediately approached Quave and spoke to him, “I suspect Josleen has told you what will happen if you do not cooperate,” she told the mage, stepping behind him as her gauntleted hand clasped his shoulder and her free hand removed the gag from his mouth. “Answer the questions of these inquisitors quickly and you may keep your magic,” and your life, “but if you hesitate or lie to us, you will lose all magical ability.” The clawed gauntlet would negate the magic of the mage, but also that of the wearer; meaning Hildegarde would slowly poison herself for the sake of sparing her prisoner.


Linn gave a nod towards Hildegarde at her offer to cancel the magic while he worked. “It won’t be long.” He continued his work in silence as things went on, eventually setting it on the ground and getting up to draw the enchanted sword that hung at his side and test his work on the mana crystal. Taking a little distance he swung in an arc as the metal suddenly flared with bright orange-yellow fire that released itself, melting the snow and scorching the ground around the clear gemstone. With a frown he sat back down to keep tuning the work that honestly was a first. After a little bit longer he repeated the process, though this time when the flame got within a few feet of the crystal it suddenly broke into a weak glow that was sucked straight into the crystal. With a satisfied look he sheathed the blade and retrieved the nearly invisible stone. Coming back to the interrogation for the first time he clearly displayed a very nearly sadistic grin. Whether or not it was actually just a poker face was something only he knew. His other free hand reached into the pouch at his side to retrieve something concealed in his fist. Anyone who saw him draw it enough times would know it to be the magical shield, though only Amabella knew the true nature of what else it contained. He caught Hildegarde’s words on his way in before adding on his own little bit in a concerningly casual tone, “She isn’t joking.” He walked straight up to Quave to lock gazes with him, that confident, sadistic anticipation unflinching, daring him to even try and cast a spell in the presence of the twin voids of energy that he had prepared in his hands. Any motion or word would have the enchanter’s immediate focus as he read the necromancer’s expression for any traces of a coming spell.


Amabella followed Linn to the cell-- was she starting to skip? The noise of small containers and their contents sloshing around sounded out louder than before with Amabella's energetic steps, which acted as a reminder to keep her enthusiasm in check for now. Perhaps it was the joined anticipation between the scholar and his master which stirred her to self-control issues. The alchemist stopped a bit outside to give everyone some room, and proceeded to make her own preparations. Amabella kneeled beside the entrance, procuring and placing a myriad of glass, ceramic, and metal containers on the ground. What looked to be a silver nutcracker set then followed, as well as a few strange instruments of questionable use. Anyone experienced with these kinds of things would recognize one of the objects to be something to remove the entirety of someone's nail out, as well as one that worked like a smaller iron maiden for the fingers, with the rest being of Amabella's own creation. A thick black mist seeped out from the undead's robes and coalesced beneath its master's collection of tools and chemical containers, then proceeded to lift them off of the ground for ease of access. Amabella would make it a point to be the last person to enter, at least for the initial part of the game, with familiar hovering inches behind her. The obvious 'information extracting/pleasure devices' were swallowed up within Claire's form, with just the containers floating about atop the dark cloud. "Have you ever felt salves created by those heretic monks used to 'cleanse one's body and purify the soul' in their pursuits to rid the world of magic? I am not sure what they call themselves here, but in my homeland they were quite prolific... I'm sure it'll only itch a bit. Normally it would take a few people to hold the person down while it was applied, but you look rather frail, and she's rather strong, yes?"


Orikahn trots along behind them, content for now to be a spectator. Still, his armor rattles with every jogging step, and his stature alone might play a part in adding to Hildegarde's ruse, unwitting though Kahn may be. As the magic users begin setting their elaborate plans in motion, Orikahn merely folds his arms over his broad chest and watches, facelessly and silently from behind his visor.


Josleen knows how Hildegarde’s gauntlet works. She watches the dragon carefully for signs of over-exhaustion. Her stare wavers only once to try and make out what clacking items Amabella conceals in her robes. Quave would be foolish not to test their words for bluff. As soon as Hildegarde’s gauntlet breaks the fuse on his lips, he blurts out a quick spell to make himself as a wraith and escape. It fails. They’re not bluffing about their ability to interrupt his magic, and perhaps they aren’t bluffing about the spell blade’s ability to neuter him of it permanently. Then Amabella starts playing in the shadows, unnerving Josleen, but there isn’t much she’d dare to do. Linn is setting up his crystals, and the necromancer needs a new plan. “Why go about this the hard way?” he taunts. “Why not ask your ‘ally’?” He looks intently at Orikahn and says, “There’s your answer. Or did you not know he serves Her too? Ask him. He dabbles more in murder than I do. He knows Her better than I.”


Hildegarde stared at Amabella as she began to tinker in the dark, but Quave’s speech steals her attention away from the undead. As Quave speaks about Orikahn’s involvement with the Dark Imp, the Silver’s clawed gauntlet presses into Quave’s shoulder: metal point digging into the flesh and causing fresh rivulets of blood to stream down his skin. The woman bends ever so slightly as if to speak into Quave’s ear, “I will cut off your magic permanently,” she warned, “and I will then hack at your arms… your legs… each bit of you. Your hands and feet first, then above the elbows and the knees. Then at the shoulder and the top of your thighs. I will blind you. I will deafen you. I will cut out your tongue. All this, I am sure you could cope with if you had your magic. But without a lick of magic in your blood, you’ll wish I had just slit your throat,” she warns icily. Truly, Hildegarde had adopted some of Satoshi’s more domineering traits in assuming the throne of Frostmaw. Her sole eye rests upon Orikahn, watching him as she speaks to Quave as if her threat is perhaps not just aimed at the necromancer they held captive now. “Don’t lie to me. Is he… or is he not,” she cannot hesitate now, “her servant? In what way? Tell me.”


Linn | Quave’s attempted transformation was probably the biggest mistake he could have made given the methods Linn used to nullify magic. He succeeded for perhaps half a second before a burst of energy caused the spell to suddenly unravel, forcefully returning him to his physical form while the loose motes of energy released from it flew straight to the clear crystal in his hand. The repercussions of having the transformation shattered would no doubt be extremely painful due to the spell’s link to his physical form. Defense was the goal of Linn’s work, rather than torture, but Quave had just brought it upon himself. Unflinchingly Linn opened his other hand slowly, revealing a violet crystal that fit in his palm. Within it a sinister inky black swirled within, swallowing all light that travelled too close to the center of the gem. Anyone spiritually aware or perhaps experienced with necromancy would recognize to be the void of death that it was, a gateway to oblivion. “I’m sure you know where this leads, and I can rip the magic straight from your body and soul and send it straight there just as easily as she can crush you into paste.” His eyes flickered to the towering Hildegarde to show exactly who he was talking about. The accusations of Orikahn were ignored… for now. He could grab that information later if he really believed what the necromancer said.


Amabella produced a small paintbrush from somewhere within the folds of her robes and uncovered one of the ceramic pots, an unnerving smell emanating from its contents. The hairs were dipped in, then whatever bizarre substance was stirred about to ensure consistency. Another container was uncorked (thankfully not adding anything to the short-lived foul odours already present), a chartreuse liquid poured from it into the first part, then the stirring continued. Amabella patiently waited for the interrogators to sort things out for a bit, and looked from Hildegard to Linn every now and then in case any kind of signal was given.


Orikahn cocks his head visibly to the side when the cultist addresses... him, Kahn, the bystander. His visored face turns silently, looking to each of Frostmaw's allies so gathered, perhaps to gain a clue from their expressions. Hildegarde's reaction is difficult to miss. Orikahn doesn't seem very concerned, and indeed, Hildegarde's description is sounding pretty delightfully uncharacteristic of her, and he can't help getting his hopes up at least *little* that she isn't bluffing. Apparently feeling no need to defend himself against such audacious accusations, the Prime Hunter makes no interruption. Quave, meanwhile, seems to make a very deliberate point of avoiding his interrogators' eyes. The half-drow flinches at the threats, the smells, the rough handling, and a reflective sheen of sweat beads over him, particularly visible upon his dark skin. His posture begins breaking, his cruel smile wavers, but his stare doesn't pull away from Orikahn. "She claimed your hunter long before you did. The beast worships her," his lips quiver as he speaks the next words, addressing Orikahn "and I envy you, hunter, for her love, and for her sculls." Nearing an emotional breaking point, Quave grits his teeth and tries to bend double, struggling now not to escape, but to hide his face, his distress and his shame. As for Kahn? Those looking to him for rebuttal will find it in the swish of a cloak and the pounding of sprinting footfalls as he bolts away from the cages, from the group, and toward whatever escape he can find.


Josleen‘s nose wrinkles at the smells coming from Amabella’s, uh, shadow. She’s about to ask after the undead’s shenanigans when Quave levels his accusations in plain speak against the sabercat. Orikahn runs like the guilty cat he is! Josleen shouts after him, but is powerless to stop him. ooc: People running after Kahn (Hilde? Linn?) should meet him at Through the Blizzard, south of the legendary frost dragon). Amabella, want to stay and do the bad deed with your toys? I’ll stay with you.


Hildegarde’s nostrils flared at the declaration that Orikahn was loyal to her enemy. She might have calmed and soothed herself if it weren’t for the fact that the treasonous cat had turned tail and was sprinting away from the group. With a thunderous roar, the Silver shoved herself beyond Quave’s form and out of the cell door: no weapons upon her person save for that short-sword hanging at her hip. Heavy footsteps crashed against the ice and dirt, each breath furiously huffed out as she gave a seemingly determined chase after the cat. “Orikahn!” she roared after him. “Traitor!” Frostmaw never took kindly to traitors. Not even Hildegarde could take kindly to a traitor.


Linn turned his head as spray of snow hit him in the side before he took a couple seconds to change the enchantments on the clear crystal, dropping it at his feet before running after the hunter. Chances are Quave’s magic would still be foiled by its reactive enchantment unless he did something very clever. As he left a faint voice warbled out from the shadow’s form, loud enough only for Amabella to hear.

Through the Blizzard

Linn took just enough time to re-tune his nullification trick to work without him before dashing off after Orikahn and Hildegarde, spraying snow behind him until he found some icy ground to begin sliding along it as if he was skating to pick up some speed. He made up much of the head start, but trailed behind just closely enough to keep following the two straight into the blizzard up north. As the snow began to hit his face he drew the hood on his back up over his head and donned the black iron gas mask to shield himself from the blowing powder.


Orikahn bolts, sometimes sprinting upright, sometimes galloping ahead on all fours, never daring to look back. He has not forgotten his auroch hide cloak, and now his life may depend on it. Far and fast, the feline flees, hoping to lose himself in the snows. A roar behind him confirms Kahn's worst suspicions, and he dares not stop now, even as he hurtles headlong into screaming winds, frigid cold, and whirling, blowing snows. "Grah!" A keen eye might see the cat has, at last stumbled, and though he tries to right himself, the snow is deep, and he will not likely find his footing again in time...


Hildegarde was by no means light or quick, she would certainly never be as quick as a cat but she was determined and she was furious. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and Hildegarde is mightily scorned right now. Her city, her people, everyone including herself has been betrayed by this caterwauling cat! Orikahn was ahead, well ahead enough that he was nearly out of any mortal man’s sight. Fortunately, though, it was a dragon who was hot on his tail! That superior saurian vision would certainly assist her in spotting the stumbling feline and begin to trudge towards him through the snow and wicked wind. Being a dragon, Hildegarde had an eye that made to withstand sharp winds without finding her vision obscured. “I’ll make a rug out of you!” she promised the cat, as she drew her sword and trudged closer. “Stand and face me, you coward!”


Linn had a good eye for detail, but his vision was no sharper than that of any ordinary human. With the mess of grey and white flying across his field of view the whitened cloak that Orikahn wore was barely visible, if at all. At this point he was following Hildegarde’s roaring straight into the snow, hoping that his armor would be able to shield him from the cold long enough to figure out what the hell is going on as he waded in after the dragon and the feline, taking the path Hildegarde cut to catch up. It wasn’t enough. Exchanging a few seconds now for more time later he turned to his side, placing his hands on the edge of the drift before climbing up onto it as if it was solid ground, the loose powder turning rock hard under his feet as he sprinted above trying to find the bump or pit that would signal Kahn’s body in the sea of white.


Orikahn rolls onto his back in time to spot Hildegard trudging toward him, sword in hand. "Hildegard." The cat addresses her, something new and strange in his telltale basso: panic. "Hildegarde!" Knowing he has no time to take up his bow, the cat rips off his visor, tossing it into the snow, exposing his face and his fangs, the closest thing in close quarters he has to a familiar weapon. His face is anguish. "You can't!" The behemoth raises his arms, presenting the dragon with the thick armor of his bracers, readying himself to deflect her blows that will surely begin raining. "I understand, now, Hildegarde. I see the Queen's hand, and I her Teeth. We didn't know, you and I! Can't you see? Hildegarde?" The hunter's words are forceful and frantic, pounding over the gale of the blizzard, and though he has risen to his feet, he doesn't back away.


Hildegarde did not rain blows down upon Orikahn. She had a code of honour, after all. As Orikahn was on his knees and screaming her name, screaming at her that she could not she roared over him, double stepping forward so the kick she delivered to his bracer covered arms would be forcible enough to force him onto his back once again. While a mortal man might struggle to force Orikahn back, Hildegarde had the strength of ten men: she was a dragon confined to human form after all! Assuming Orikahn fell to his back, the Silver’s boot would find itself pressing against either his chest or his bracers. If his arms uncovered his chest, her foot would plant firmly against his sternum to make this experience as uncomfortable as possible. The tip of her blade was centimetres away from his throat. “I trusted you,” she told the cat quietly, almost miserably as the wind and snow whipped her hair about like a raging fire. “Tell me. Tell me everything!” she demanded, pushing the blade a centimetre closer. “I swear on my honour, I will End you if I must,” and that was a promise.


Linn caught the spot of black armor the moment Orikahn rolled over and had gotten close enough to hear his panicked words, readying the crystal that projected his shield just in case he had to become a part of a fight. His presence would be visible by little more than the dark leather hood and mask that he wore, the mithril of his armor reflecting back only the blowing grey and white that swirled around them. Hildegarde had already taken care of stopping the cat and beginning yet another interrogation by the time he arrived, leaving the enchanter to do little more but stand above the two on top of the snow, a seemingly disembodied mask that watched and listened intently on what was to be said. He made no interruption, as Hildegarde pressed for the exact information that he sought himself.


Orikahn braces himself to meet the steward's kick, prepared to meet her mass with his own. He'd played the weight game many a time and knew his limitations; what Kahn did not know, and could not have known, was the dragon's strength. Orikahn has only enough time to understand what is happening (certainly not enough time to understand *why* as he topples, propelled forcefully into the snow. He throws out his arms to catch himself, and for it, he gets a boot to the chest. The cat tries to throw her off by the leg, but the attempt is brief as the sword sings down toward his throat. He falters, eyes sweeping around him for any sign of salvation. "She hid it from us," Orikahn swallows, bringing his gaze back up from Hildegarde, "it wasn't ordained that I should know. She waited," the unmistakable gleam of admiration shines in his eyes as he articulates his epiphany, "to reveal Herself to me. It's my Queen, Hildegarde. She brought me here, to Frostmaw, to *you*." He laughs. "She let me slay her pawns, so many, ha!" Tears of elation, not distress, form at the corners of his eyes. "Chose *me* Hildegarde, before so many others, and I never knew. Never knew until now!" Kahn swallows thickly, as though he can already feel the steel touching his neck. "Would you kill me now, Hildegarde?" His tone has lowered, panic subsiding as the warmth of fanatic zeal returns comfort to his heart. "And send me to greet her a martyr triumphant? I've carried her this far," he grins searching around himself again for any sign of aid.


Hildegarde listened with the full intention of being peaceful and reasonable, yet every word only further enrages her. “You used me like a pawn to appease this ‘Queen’ of yours!” she snarled at his, her wrist twisting just slightly as if to angle the blade for a much bloodier killing blow should she elect to push that blade into the meaty flesh of his neck and throat. “The mage revealed you to be an agent. You… say you have slain targets,” she said, her brow furrowing slightly as her battle-crazed mind began to suss out what was going on; the meaning behind all these meaningful people noises. “I won’t kill you,” the knight said finally, after a prolonged silence. “I will not kill you, Orikahn, on that you have my word,” she said more softly. Hildegarde’s weight shifts slightly and she seems to be ready to retreat from the downed feline, only to yell ‘hyah!’ as her arm swipes down in a clean motion to cut the knot at Orikahn’s waist that bound the garland of skulls to his body; the swing of her cutting arc forcing her to relinquish her blade to the snow in order to swipe up the garland in her hand. “Linn! Destroy it!” she commands, tossing the garland to the enchanter who lurked behind the pair. “I won’t kill you, my friend, but I will kill your Queen,” the knight is ready to tussle with the cat should he resist.


Linn walked around to behind Orikahn’s head across from Hildegarde, black iron and thick glass and leather the only thing really visible of his presence as the hunter went on. He waited and waited through the speech until martyrdom was mentioned, prompting the enchanter to crouch down to the balls of his feet to look over Kahn, his face just as expressionless as the metal that covered it. He would find no aid in Linn. As Hildegarde relented he stood back up to face her before he suddenly found the garland thrown his way with orders to destroy it. His left hand that contained the sinister crystal shot out before a bright blue veil of force sprang beyond his reach, expanding to envelop the skulls thrown his way like the maw of some jawless beast. Its ends folded and melded around it to reconnect themselves on the other side in a spherical prison of light before it suddenly shrank, sickening cracks coming from the crushing forces of the hollow skulls being put under immense pressure against each other. Within seconds it had shrunk to the size of a couple fists before flowing back to the crystal, leaving the chips of bone to scatter in the winds of the blizzard.


Orikahn spots Linn, but finds no comfort in his arrival. "The Savage Queen, you ... you've seen much, I know, but I've seen so much more!" He can't seem to grasp their anger. "Who *is't* a pawn!?" The cat tries to interrupt, tries to reason with them. "We pick our masters on earth and our gods beyond." He isn't struggling. He sees Hildegarde thinking, feels her silence, and when at last she speaks, he exales a sigh of relief he hadn't known he'd been holding. Linn and Hilde both can see he'd accepted his death, but he can relax some now that he needn't brace for the passing. "Hildegarde!" The cat's alarm is obvious when she severs the sculls from his hip. "You can't. You can't!" The frenzied panic in his voice is unlike anything they've ever seen in the cat, and if ever the herculean hunter had ever exerted himself before, it cannot compare to the moments to come as the massive cat erupts into a flurry of flailing limbs, elbows and fists landing like cannonballs wherever the can strike, aiming for her knees, her groin, her instep, yowling and roaring through gnashing fangs that swing and lash to catch whatever they can, even daring to bite at the joints of her armor if she allows it. His fury is in vain, for Linn's work is already being finished. As the sculls make their final collapse, there is an ambient green flash, and with the chips of bone, there blows too an otherworldly cry, pitiful and distant, pained and feminine. Kahn's anger turns to shrill, utter horror.


Hildegarde falls onto her back as Orikahn flails so wildly per the destruction of the skulls, her own arms lift to cover her face and eye; legs pulling up slightly as if to give her abdomen a little defense from the rain of blows that Orikahn is sure to punish her with. Yet with his horror, the knight finally kicks both legs out – having patiently been biding her time as he tore into her savagely – against his belly like a mule-kick to knock him off of her. Her own heart is beating rampantly, like it did in Xalious. There is too much excitement in this fight, her heart had been so agitated with the stress of it all lately that now, now this frighteningly familiar feeling was back and holding her heart in a vice like grip. With Kahn kicked off of her and away, the knight semi-surges and semi-stumbles to her feet because launching herself at Orikahn in what looked like a rugby tackle. The knight pummels the feline to the ground and depends on her immense weight to keep him there before her fist clocks the side of his head and renders the shrieking cat unconscious. The Silver appears to be straddling the feline for a time, her fists held at the ready as if to strike him again if he stirs. She breathes heavily, blood cascading down her face and any bits of exposed flesh or broken chainmail that the feline managed to rip through in his frenzy. “Linn… I… I do not feel well,” she announces to her companion, slipping to the left and off of Orikahn into unconsciousness too.


Linn just watched as the remains of the garland dispersed in the wind, tracing their motion with his gaze as they blew away. The voice on the wind provoked a deep sigh at the supposed passing of one’s life, though he remained tense. That such a figure would go so easily seemed impossible… When the metal-encased figure turned its head back it found Hildegarde leaping onto Kahn and knocking him out before she slipped into the snow. Now the sole survivor of all of this excitement, Linn had to salvage what was left. “Damn it” was the first thing he had said since he entered this maelstrom. Jumping back down into the trench that the two had cut on their way in he first took a hold of Hildegarde to turn her around to drag her back properly. He glanced back at Orikahn, he didn’t have the tools to take them both all the way to the fort at once, so with a sigh he picked up Hildegarde’s limp body by the shoulders and began to trudge his way back to the place he had come to call home, his walking ceased after a few steps, though their motion didn’t as they began to slide their way south as if on slick ice. With a couple pushes the two began to go much faster than was conventionally possible, making it back to the city limits rapidly. The moment that he had arrived at the gates to give the Silver off to the giants to return her to the fort for recovery he was already dashing straight back into the forest, hoping he could retrieve Orikahn in the same way before he either woke up or died.


Orikahn is gone when they come back to find him. Whether he came to, whether someone else found him first, or whether he was buried in the blizzard, one can only speculate.

Prisoner Cages

Amabella didn't seem too upset by the entire turn of events. She would have spat after cat at the very most, but no longer had the ability to physically do so. "Never trust a cat," Amabella advised the remaining company. With Hildegard and the other priestess no longer present, there was nothing really in the way of them getting to the point. The nail-ripper dropped down into the undead's bony hand as she held it out beneath the familiar. "Would you like to start, or I?" she turned to and asked Josleen, tossing the tool into the air and catching it a few times while awaiting a response.


Josleen eyes Amabella’s nail-ripping tool and is suddenly faced with a tough decision. Quave almost killed the bard. He attacked her lover, too. He’s sieged her home with dark magic. On the other hand, Hildegarde doesn’t want her prisoner to be harmed. Josleen herself has respect for due process, and strives to be the bigger person, even in the face of evil. What separates people like Josleen from people like Quave is her goodness, her humanity, her integrity. But she isn’t as good as Hildegarde. Her integrity, though championed as something Josleen likes about herself, can be corrupted by her baser instincts, such as revenge. She can’t bring herself to condone Amabella’s intentions, and instead simply turns her back on Quave and walks out. When a guard tries to rush into the cell, Josleen stalls him, thereby giving the undead more time to enjoy herself, and Josleen to feel a little guilty peace vicariously.


Amabella moved her hood and veil back with her free hand, revealing the charred remains of her neck and head; it was almost entirely skeletal down to the undead's breastbone. When Josleen gave her response in action instead of words, Amabella uttered a rough cackle. "A familiar sight, yes? Something to help you feel more comfortable," Amabella cooed to the captive. Further shade twisted out and formed more restrained bonds around Quave. A familiar chill ran through the man's body as part of the familiar's nature began to take hold, enfeebling him to the point where physically resisting was pointless. "The more you tell, the easier it gets on you," she explained while readying the device on one of the man's fingers. Amabella's 'eye's bore right into Quave's mind as he stared helplessly, wide-eyed in terror. Click, snap, and the most the drow can muster is a pained grunt. The lever of the device was squeezed, then released. The captive's thrashings were short-lived, and his breathing was already ragged. What was left of the bloody stump of a finger was displayed before the tool was readied once more. "You know--" click. Snap. "-- I particularly find the term 'instrument' to be..." Another pause, another entire fingernail left to drop to the floor. "It's very fitting! Oh, what beautiful sound!" Fourth nail gone. The grip was lessened to fit around the thumb better, then the treatment continued without delay. "How the metal can clang, and the beautiful voices that follow!" A break would be given if the poor sod began to speak at any point, just to allow a chance for something possibly useful to pass his shaking lips.


Josleen shudders violently as Quave screams in agony. Her knees knock weakly and her stomach churns. She, like anyone else, can debate the appropriateness of torture in the abstract from the safety of ignorance -- she's never tortured, been tortured, or witnessed it before -- but the visceral act in the flesh forces Josleen to choose the kind of person she wants to be and it's really no choice at all. She's made a horrible mistake. By the third nail (Amabella moves quick), she's fessing up to the guards and leading the charge back to Quave's cells. To the giants she shouts, "That undead woman is torturing him. I am so sorry I let this happen!" They overtake her and try to seize Amabella by encircling her with their swords. "You there! Stop! He is not to be tortured on order of the Steward!" Tears start to stream down Josleen's cheeks as she is overwhelmed by the bloody, twisted sight of another person. Yes, a half-drow and her enemy, but this isn't how it should be. She's ashamed and remorseful.


Amabella's enjoyment was cut short by the other kind of squealing. What a shame. The guards arrive before Amabella removed the device and proceeded to the next finger... which, for Quave, was rather unfortunate, as the undead gripped the tool and used it to break the gripped digit like it was a twig when turning to scowl at the guards. "Crime of all crimes! Can't you see I'm at work here?!" she shrieked, drow squirming even more within Amabella's hold. Not wanting to be the one in captivity, Amabella motions for her familiar to assist in departing, but... all it did was flee on its own and meld into the shade they arrived through. The small orbs of light within Amabella's eye sockets flared to life with fury, "YOU LITTLE..!" In quick thinking (or just out of habit from traveling with Linn so much), she moved to retrieve the scholar's anti-magic crystal from the ground. Amabella would throw the object as far away from them as possible if not properly restrained in time, despite her companion's request. "If you have half a mind in you left, fool, speak! The negation is gone!" she'd bark back to Quave, assuming he was still conscious by now and the gem was tossed.


Josleen dives out of the shadow familiar's way as it makes its escape. Amabella succeeds in tossing Linn's crystal just before the guards arrest her. They wrench her arms behind her back and cuff her with a shaman-enchanted chain. It should prevent the casting of low to moderate-level spells, though they are not foolproof. The shamans couldn't possibly have predicted every escape attempt in their enchantment, but they did cast a wide, prohibitive net. Josleen runs after the crystal that Amabella threw to retrieve it, and spends some time on her knees in the ice and snow searching for it. Quave, miraculously still conscious, rasps a hostile response back to Amabella, "The Savage Queen will enslave you all. The Shade Nightmare will join this plane and make your lives hell. Join Her now and curry Her favor. Oppose Her and suffer!" A guard enters his cell and replaces the magical silencing gag around his jaw like a muzzle. Amabella is led into the cell beside Quave's and her chain is attached to a metal loop on the floor. They have a silencing muzzle for her too, and barring anything unexpected, she's arrested in the same fashion as Quave. As for Josleen, although she did change her mind and alert the guards to Amabella's torturous game, they frost giants aren't stupid. They know that initially the bard helped Amabella. They also know she is Hildegarde's close friend. Unsure of whether or not they should arrest her, they settle for a looser version of incarceration If she runs, they will arrest her, but if she stays put in their line of sight and waits for further instruction from the Steward, they'll not use chains or bars. She complies and sits at a table with the guards and waits turning Linn's anti-magic crystal over and over in her hand. A slow half hour passes, then word finally arrives. The Hildegarde collapsed again, in the wilderness, and has been taken to the fort. Josleen should be transported there too. The group splits. Three guards stay at the prison with Amabella and Quave; the rest leave with Josleen for the fort.


Amabella was completely dumbfounded by the man's stupidity, so much so that there wasn't any further resistance when the giants bind her limbs and magical ability. Considering the undead's speech wasn't limited to bodily movements (it was clear there wasn't any flesh around her jaw, but the muzzle went on anyway), the main concern was the shackles. Manipulating, disconnecting, and reconnecting certain joints would be more time consuming than an actual issue-- however, the watchful eye of the guards easily dissuaded the attempt. Resigning to fate, Amabella patiently waited for things to progress on their own without adding more to the list of reasons to burn her to re-death.