RP:Roldan captures a criminal
Synopsis - Roldan tracks Mahri down, and apprehends her. Interrogation begins.
Characters - Roldan, Mahri, Jacklin
At a Lake in Chartsend
Roldan approaches the lake, along with seven of his most trusted guards. Jonn and Ronnet are there, the latter holding the leashes of three immense, ugly hounds. The party has come prepared for their task; in addition to the hounds, each man is armed with a crossbow, which is fitted with silver-tipped bolts. Swords and cudgels hang from every belt, along with silver dirks, freshly-bought. Jonn even carries a long, ceremonial spear of the substance, engraved with runes. The Sheriff himself carries only Judgment, a black scale glimmering darkly from the pommel. As they near the lake, the dogs begin to bay, and Roldan barks a command. Ronnet releases one of the animals, while the other men begins to spread out, crossbows at the ready. The red knight watches the loose dog, following its every movement as it follows Mahri's scent.
Mahri has been exploring her place of hiding and is just rounding the curve of the lake when the sound of dogs brings her head snapping upwards. Cursing under her breath, the lycan forces herself not to look at the lodge just to be sure that Finn hadn't returned. She didn't catch any fresh scent of him, but then again, she hadn't scented the posse either. The metalic scent of silver was everywhere, making her sneeze once or twice. A mistake, surely, since it was bound to catch attention. So, she had two choices. Run--which was a blow to the ego and pride that the alpha couldn't fathom--or fight, a prospect that pumped adrenaline into her veins. Decision made, the lycan prushes past cattails and other lake-side grasses to stroll as casually as possible towards the deck of the lodge, pretending she was not aware of the pursuers.
Roldan does not catch the sound of the sneeze over the frenzied barking of the dogs...but he cannot miss the sight of his target strolling so casually along the lake. A heavy hand slams shut the visor of his greathelm, and his voice booms out, magnified by the enclosing walls of metal. "After her! Loose the hounds!" Ronnet obeys at once, letting the other two animals free. While the three dogs bound after Mahri, swiftly closing the distance to lunge, snapping, for her legs and arms, the human contingent moves like a well-oiled machine; forming a semi-circle, the men march forward at the double, closing around their prey, at whom they aim their silvered crossbows. Again the sheriff speaks, loud enough to be heard over the dogs; "Give yourself up, criminal, or my men will loose these bolts."
Mahri is ready for the dogs and damned if it isn't the fasted shift she's ever made. Clothes are flying, her boots rip, even the dagger strapped to her thigh drops to the round as the woman manages to turn on one heel and grow about two feet. She has not morphed fully into a wolf, but looks more like a hybrid of human and animal. That's not to say it wasn't painful, Gods knew her joints and muscles were screaming in agony but she ignores it in favore of swiping one huge paw at the leaping dogs. One goes flying to land in shrubbery, not moving. Another catches a blow to its ribs, sending it scurrying back with yelps of pain. However, even for the wolf there are too many to defend. Bites and clawmarks rip into her flesh and the deck is stained with her lifeforce before she sinks down. Beady silvery eyes dart from one silver tipped bolt to another, her muzzle curling in a snarl of useless rage. Yeah, they had her caught and as her grotesque features soften and melt partly into a more human visage, her voice comes out in gravelly roughness, "Aye? An' what for? B'cause ye guards are greedy fools? Releasin' me even t'ough ye own king'd said I were to go free?"
Roldan and his circles press ever closer, unfazed by the woman's transformation, until the red knight holds up his hand to signal a halt. No sense in getting too close. While the creature speaks, the sheriff pulls the shield from his back; a circular expanse of dragonbone, painted with his personal crest. Finally, he speaks. "The traitors that set you free are dead, but not before yielding to me every last scrap of information they had. The queen herself wants you back, and so back you will come." The fearsome helm turns back to glance at the lodge, then again to Mahri. "She wants you back alive, if at all possible, but I will not hesitate to kill you. As well, the guards spoke of the man that came to set you free...him, the queen left out of her instructions. Now, if you submit to the chains, and come peacefully, then he will receive the same, civil treatment as you. If you fight, and make me force you into captivity, I will find him next, and kill him slowly. Make your choice now."
Mahri doesn't have to think about it. Not really, but she does shake her head. "No, I'll come wit' you if he's left alone." The stubborn set of her jaw, now clearly human as is the rest of her--awkward given that her clothes and weapon are scattered leaving her..well..bare. "I won' fight ye. E'en I know when I cannae win." A wry twist of her lips is offered, but no fear. She won't give them the satisfaction of seeing her scared. "But I will fight, if ye dinnae make this deal, an' I'll take as many o' ye wit' me as I c'n."
Roldan sheathes Judgment, and signals to Jonn. The two of them approach, the latter with his spear pointed at the beast, the former producing heavy chains. The other guards keep their crossbows at the ready. "I am a man of my word," the knight declares. In a sudden movement, he kicks her weapon into the lake. "Now, you may dress, then lie down on your stomach, hands behind your head and legs stretched out. Do it slowly."
Mahri looks at the remains of her clothes and mourns the loss of her dagger, but only for a moment. She hesitates to comply, following orders hardly being in her nature, "Ye might be a man o' ye word, but tha' don' mean ye be agreein' wit' my terms." As far as getting dressed? She had clothes in the room she shared with Finn, but she isn't about to ask to get them. Pride before the fall and all. Whether or not the Sheriff gives confirmation of agreement, the woman's moving to heed directions previously given, muttering under her breath, "Ye best 'ave silver t' tie me wit'." At the same time, she's hoping he makes the same mistake as Parsithius. Of course, that's before she remembers that now, it's not only her freedom at stake, but that of her lover.
Roldan has come very prepared. The chains are steel, for the most part; thick links that only a giant could hope to shatter. These buckle about Mahri's wrists and ankles, twisting her back into an awkward, uncomfortable position. However, when the sheriff stands back to take the spear from Jonn, the younger guard comes forward with smaller chains of solid silver, that twine about the woman's ankles, thighs, wrists, elbows, shoulders and neck. When these are added, more metal is visible than flesh. During the binding, one of the guards disappears, only to return leading a horse and cart. The cart is open, but for a small steel cage, into which the sheriff and his companion place their prisoner. "Your friend will be left alone, for now," Roldan says.
Mahri seeths, weakly due to the silver and steel not to mention the cage she's placed into. A show of temper really isn't going to do her any good. Not really. All the lycan can do is lay there and endure the ride back. Too bad she couldn't have left a note. Not that she would, but the chance to turn down the offer would have been nice. "Sir Red, when I get outta here, ye best be lookin' ove' ye shoulder if anyt'in' 'appens to him." As far as threats go, it's the best she can do for now. During the rest of the journey, Mahri will remain silent, only glaring with barely concealed hatred at the men and their dogs. Wisely, she'll do as told and not cause too much of a fuss. For now.
Roldan simply ignores the woman, driving the cart back over the hills and valleys to the prison that waits beneath his office.
At the Sheriff's Office
Roldan and his guards carry Mahri bodily into the office, since she is still bound hand and foot. Further in they go, to a tiny cell with no windows, no bed, no table...simply blank, stone walls, broken only by manacles bolted into the wall. Roldan removes the heavy steel chains, and then locks her into the wall restraints. They hold her out, spread-eagled, a foot above the ground. For decency's sake, the sheriff tucks a moldy old blanket around the prisoner. Turning to his men, he says, "Jonn, Ronnet...one of you two will watch this door at all times. Each will have another guard with you. Change the watch regularly, but change the exact time each time." To Mahri, he continues, "I will summon the queen. If you are lucky, you will get a trial. Now, where is the opal?"
Mahri is alternatley horrified and slightly surprised by the kidness shown in the simple covering of her body. From the fall of her hair, thick and inky black, she peers intently at her new interrogater *sp sucks right now*. Despite the discomfort in her current position, Mahri's arrogance and pride won't allow her to show how her shoulders ache and that the manacles digging into her wrists are rather painful, to say the least. Lifting the corners of her mouth in a slow grin, she shakes her head, "I don' know what ye're e'en talkin' 'bout." Denial, it's what she's good at.
Roldan inspects the intricate scales on his right gauntlet for a moment, before marching over to the prisoner. "Let me explain to you how this procedure works. I ask you a question, and you answer me. You speak the entire truth the first time, or else suffer the consequences." The flat, grey eyes stare directly into Mahri's own, shadowed by the dragon helm's visor. "And you do not want that, I assure you. Now, this is your last chance; where is the opal?"
Mahri sucks in a breath through her nose, drawing a good wad of green and yellow goo, before spitting it directly into Roldan's face. She may not get the satisfaction of hitting his face. Leaning her head back against the wall, she stares right back as coldly as his eyes are flat, "Bite me."
Roldan withdraws a small square of linen and wipes the spittle from his armor, calm as a still pond. "That is not at all what I plan to do," he says, his voice more icy than before. Without warning, he rears back, letting loose a punch with all his weight behind it. The gauntlet-covered hand slams toward Mahri's side, where it is intended to drive the wind from her body, and perhaps crack a rib or two. "Where is the opal," he says again, almost mildly.
Mahri 's breath escapes with a hiss and she struggles to take another even as livid bruises begin to appear. Gasping, the lycan winces from the jab of a broken rib. It's a few minutes before she can give an answer, and even then it's not really much of one. "Sure ye don' want a diamond? Worth more y'know." It's going to take a bit more than some broken ribs to make her talk. Small beads of sweat sprinkle her body, making her wrists slip in their bonds. The edges cut into flesh and blood trickles down her arms. Mahri twists her left wrist, testing just how secure and tight it is. After all, it would be easy enough to slip the thumbless hand out..after that, her plan is rather hazy..just so long as Roldan doesn't notice the movement, or takes it for the woman trying to make herself more 'comfortable'.
Roldan is no fool, nor is he unobservant. He withdraws a slim, silver knife from his belt and, with a sudden yank, tears the blanket away from his prisoner. To his credit, not once does the cold stare linger on the woman's body as he shoves the knife up to her throat, its needle-sharp point tickling at her chin. "Try to escape again, and we'll simply kill you. Now, I will ask you one more time, because of the severity of the punishment you will receive; where is the opal?" The silver knife does not shake, even as Roldan reaches up to secure the woman's maimed hand.
Mahri 's breath comes in pants, jerking her head away from the deadly sliver of silver now teasing her jaw. "Ye cannae get one yeself?," she grinds out between clenched teeth, "I t'ought a man o' ye means would be able t'buy one if he wanted." She is perfectly aware that it's a specific stone, and not just any generic one that he's looking for, but damnit, she's determined not to crack. No reason to make it easy. Nostrils flaring with each quick breath, Mahri lets her mouth slide into a grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "Answer me a question: Did ye t'ink t'at when I 'elped ye kill the Red ye might one day be beatin' up on me? I certainly didnae see t'is comin'."
Jacklin steps past the few guards lingering in the hallway, their tongues immediately ceasing to wag about the newly recaptured murderer. After all these days it had turned out to be her. With a rap of knuckles against wooden doorframe she cautiously moved in on Roldan and Mahri, Mahri gaining her steely view of course. "The courier burst into my office with a letter of your hand, Sir Roldan. I praise you for your swift action against this…beast." Trading the face of Mahri for Roldan's she lifted a sheet of neatly folded paper and turned at the knock resounding where she'd been moments earlier. Handing the paper to Roldan quickly she stepped out of the way of the Larket guards hauling some sort of chair into the prison area. "This," she gestured at the ghastly machine, "is an Avian gift. A shocker chair from what I was told. It will be used on that thing you've apprehended after your questioning is complete. With the chair settled in the corner the troops exited and again the three remained. "That list is punishments. You may pick the ones most suited to your opinions, Red."
Roldan looks back as Jacklin enters, eyeing the chair with mild interest. "Aye, queen," he says, taking a moment to tuck the paper away, before resuming his grip on the prisoner's wrist. "After I am done here, I will write up a full report for you." That said, the knight brings the silver blade over to the fingers of the hand that Mahri has attempted to free. The fingers, where there are the most nerve endings. It is there that he begins his work; the slow beginning of a live flaying, where the deft, sharp little knife will part the skin from the muscle beneath, all the while burning the lycan's very blood. As he cuts, he speaks again, still infuriatingly calm. "The opal, that you pulled from the mutilated corpse of Beatrix Huxley, the baker's daughter. That exact stone is the one I want, and none other. Tell me where it is." The woman's question goes unanswered; to Roldan, it is as if she had never asked it, so intent is he on getting the answers he wants.
Mahri stares with disinterest at both the chair and the queen of Larket. It's clear the woman hates her, after all, Jacklin had called her a beast, though Mahri thinks it's from jealousy and insecurity rather than..well..no. The woman hated her and the feeling wasn't all that mutual. Mahri felt pity for the monarch. Flexing her fingers, trying to get blood working through them again, is short lived when Roldan returns his attention to them, as well as that wickedly poisonous knife. Screams lodge in her throat, distending it unnaturally. Vein's, arteries and tendons stand out in stark relief as she jerks in the bindings. From behind clenched jaws, sound rises. Not exactly human...but painfilled all the same as her face morphs, taking on sharp angles and deep hollows as her body attempts to change despite the silver encasing her. To escape the pain, a mangled howl rips from her throat. "Go to hell!" Spittle flies, foaming and tinged with blood from a punctured lung.
Roldan, without hesitation, pulls the knife away and slams his fist, clenched around the knife, into Mahri's face; he will not risk her transforming, and harming the queen. His intention is to knock her out cold, so that he can secure her hand again, more tightly this time. "Jonn, Ronnet," he says. "You have your orders. No one is to enter this cell but myself, the queen, or the king consort. A promotion awaits you for this."
Mahri knows nothing after the fist slams into her face. From her unwilling perch on the wall, she hangs limp, chin to chest and breathing raggedly. Healing will be a very slow process, what with the silver touching skin and all. If the healing even begins. Which is doubtful. Til then, she'll be losing a lot of blood unless patched up in some manner.
Jacklin tilts her head as she watched the woman in all her desperation. Had Jack been another type of ruler it would surely be pity which reached her eyes at this point. Cobalt gaze widened ever so briefly as the silver does its job in keeping the thing chained. There was no more escaping this time. No more dirty deals with the guards, the dead men. Taking a step closer to Mahri she bends at the waist, eye to eye, she speaks in a softer tone. Scarily sort for one known so much for whiskey-stained tones, "I don't plan on visiting just yet, Mahri." Exchanging a look with Roldan and the guards she finished her conversation, "This could have turned out a lot different if you would use your brain and stop putting me in bad situations." Straightening she took a step away, turned, and departed from the office without another word save for a barely audible delivery of gratitude to Roldan as she passed.
Roldan sets himself to binding up the prisoner's worst wounds, stemming the blood flow as best as he can, albeit begrudgingly.
Related Pages:
- Larket
- Part of the Case of the Burned Baker Arc