RP:Roldan punishes Mahri
Summary: Roldan executes the punishment for the murder of Beatrix
Characters: Roldan, Jacklin, Mahri
Location: Sheriff's Office
Roldan slams the door to Mahri's cell open with a bang. The sheriff is clad in his ornate armor, his face hidden behind the closed visor. His badge of office clasps his scaled greatcloak, and Judgment stands bared in his hand. "Your time has come, criminal," the cold voice says, echoing ominously from the confines of the helmet. With his words come Jonn and Ronnet, both looking rather weary from their vigilant watch of the prisoner. Their hands do not shake, however, as the unchain the woman, keeping her hands locked in manacles, her feet likewise. Ronnet takes hold of her arm, while Jonn holds that silver spear of his to her back.
Mahri jerks awake with the slamming of the door. How long had she slept? She didn't know, didn't care. Every muscle in her body screamed, and it only got worse when Jonn and Ronnet, who thus far had been able to ignore her tauntings (and the questionable workings of their manhood), brought her off the wall. Still, the lycan presses her lips tightly against any sound that might betray weakness. "My time, Sheriff?" she croaks, "You mean my time to die." She seems to have accepted such is to be her fate, even though she keeps her eyes from the chair that's been sitting in this cell. "Really," a slight wince as the spear tip prods her back and she shuffles forward a step or two, "you could have done with out the precautions."
Roldan ignores the woman's words as his two deputies march her over to the chair. It is a strange-looking device, with straps over the arms and legs, and one for the head. These, the sheriff fastens himself, arranging it so that Mahri's hands lie flat against the metal arm rests. At a nod from the knight, Ronnet leaves, only to return with a metal bowl, filled with glowing hot coals. This he sets on the floor near to the prisoner, and produces a brand, which he inserts into the coals. Roldan turns again to Mahri. "You are guilty of murder. The sentence is death. However, because you cooperated, the queen herself has modified your punishment. Be thankful."
Mahri struggles against the guards, naturally, jerking her arms and digging in her bare feet. Even cursing their suspect origins with some rather creative pairing of words. In the end though, weakened by silver and not yet fully healed, the lycan is forced into the chair and held stead while Roldan secured her to the seat. It's really a useless endeavor to try and see what is happening, but with her fingers clenching the arm-rest and her her shoulders straining so she can trun her head the slightest fraction, Mahri's eyes widen a touch when the boul of embers and a brand is seen from the corner of her eye. "Modified? How?" Her voice, stronger with anxiety, comes from behind stiff lips and a clenched jaw. The man had paraded her around, naked, to her den. Brought her back, chained her to the wall again and was now..what?..heating a brand? Not once had the murderess been offered so much as a stitch for warmth, and the sliver-laced shakles and collar wouldn't allow her to shift for the heat of fur..~Dear Gods, if they'd just kill me and get it over with!~ is the thought of the day. Somehow...Mahri suspected she knew what modifications had been made. And she'll be damned if anyone hears her scream again.
Roldan fully intends to hear Mahri scream. He slides Judgment back into its sheath, only to replace it with a hammer. It is a large, heavy chunk of iron fastened to a thick haft of oak. Lacking any ornamentation, it is truly an ugly piece of equipment. Without any other warning, the sheriff slams the hammer down, with full force, toward the lycan's left hand. The sheer weight of the weapon alone is enough to break bone; the added power of Roldan's swing elevates that to a crippling force. Calmly, the knight moves around to the other side of the chair, and readies his hammer again.
Mahri 's breath quickens, ever muscle tenses--all from the hazy glimpse of the hammer before it swings down to crush bone into powder. Jerking in the bonds of the chair, this seeming to be its only purpose, the lycan sucks in air and expells it rapidly between her teeth. Oh yeah, it's hurt like hell. Still did even though her hand is going numb. Really, it's not a hand anymore, but more of a bloody pulp-bag at the end of her arm. Fear, pain, fury--all are present in the hateful gaze she levels on the sheriff. Mahri knows she'll break eventually and scream. That won't be now, and it'll be a long time (she hoped) coming. Closing her eyes now, the lycan pursues other methods of pain management. Such as retreating into her own psyche. Already beads of sweat coat her skin, making it clamy to the touch. If anyone touched her.
Jacklin had heard the none-to-calm din from within the sheriff's office leaking from the windows and doors. Curiosity caused her turn in the path and movement towards the inner room where the mingled voices and palpable stress were being held. A few guards met her at the door, their steps leading them aside to allow Jacklin entry into the chamber. There was Mahri, strapped to a chair, and Roldan preparing for further festivities. For now the queen made no attempt to speak to either prey or predator. She was perfectly content in place…perfectly happy to hear the anguish from afar.
Roldan frowns slightly, behind his visor, as if disappointed that the woman did not cry out. He wastes no time in swinging the hammer yet again, this time at Mahri's right hand. So intent is he on his work that Jacklin goes unnoticed for now. Discarding the bloody hammer, he moves over to the coals. Ronnet hands him the brand; a steel shaft leads to a silver tip in the shape of the letter 'L,' crossed diagonally with a thin line. The metal glows a cherry red as the sheriff brings it with practiced ease to his prisoner's chest, over the heart. He pushes the brand into Mahri's skin, watching impassively as the flesh sears with a hiss and a wisp of smoke, burning the mark deeply into the woman's chest.
Mahri :: Jacklin isn't unnoticed by the lycan. Within the tranquility if her own mind, Mahri scents her. Above the blood, salty sweat, the acrid smell of heating metal. She smells the queen and her eyes snap open just as the hammer comes down once more, this time upon her right hand making it the twin of her left in terms of mangled flesh. This time, a sound does escape. Not a scream but surely it is something. Feral and filled with hatred and pain. Rather it's hard to describe, but it isn't a sound any mere human can make. It is not until the white hot brand, the scent of hot silver overriding that of the Queen, that she loses all reason and strains harder against the bonds holding her in place. Despite the swelling and throbbing of bruised flesh and powdered bones, Mahri jerks and twists, wrenching the steel straps against the bolts holding them down. She might even have managed to warp one out of shape. Not that she'll notice once the searing heat of the brand touches her skin. Now she screams, the short time it touches her skin an eternity. Normally, she'd have healed from any attempt at branding. But this..this was silver and gods it did more than burn! It sealed the mark not as a scar, but an indent into her flesh. Long after the metal is removed, the lycan is in agony, sobbing in shame, humiliation and pain as it felt to be burning deeper, even if it didn't.
Jacklin forcefully staid the warm, flushing chuckle building in the depths of her belly as the stoic wolf-thing strapped into the chair finally indulged in those primal instincts. Now certainly wasn't the time for mockery in the face of pain. Taking a step to the left for better view of the writhing beast she donned a dourer mask as the woman continued fighting against the current. They both knew she wasn't getting out anytime soon. "Bravo," came the tight, barely audible whisper sliding from the cracks of moistened lips. Quite possibly the woman was drooling over the punishment. For all Mahri had done to Jack…this was payback. It was payback tenfold, in fact. Had Parsithius been here she knew exactly what his reaction would be: Pure and unrefined joy. He hated the woman far more than she did for reasons he hadn't taken any interest in expressing. Though Jack had her ideas about it, wrong of right, they were still hers. Cobalt gaze remained on the face of Mahri as she continued her violent rebellion against the searing pressure applied just above her heart.
Roldan has yet more in store for the woman. After passing the cooled brand back to Ronnet, the knight turns to the chair itself. After a moment's fumbling he manages to activate it. Blue lightning arcs all over its surface, shaking the whole chair as they dart toward the strap that holds Mahri's head. The shaking grows more and more fierce as more and more bolts enter the woman's body, searing and sizzling as they target the brain. Louder and louder, stronger and stronger grow the chair's convulsions until, finally, the arms and legs bend and fall, the back crashes over, with Mahri attached, while the seat is sent spinning across the room to clatter against the wall. The chair's purpose - that is, to erase Mahri's memory of the event - is sure to have been accomplished, but the device itself, unable to take the punishment, is destroyed. Ronnet and Jonn free Mahri from the wreckage, while Roldan speaks the final punishment. "You are henceforth unwelcome in Larket. If business takes you here, you may enter, but only when escorted by one of Larket's guards. If you are found without one, you will be taken in and killed, without trial. Men, take her away." Jonn and Ronnet march off, Mahri hanging between them. They are bound south along the main street, to the bridge. Roldan turns to Jacklin now, pulling an item from his belt pouch. "The prisoner led us to this, my queen. All is set to rights, apart from the poor girl's death."
Mahri thought the brand would be the end of it. How wrong she'd been. Fire sizzled over her skin, into her brain and didn't burn so much as jolted her around along with the chair. Eyes rolling back and foam gathering in the corners of her mouth, the lycan spins with the chair and stares up, dazed as Roldan speaks to her. His voice is muffled and seems to come from a great distance as reality fades in and out. Being drug between the guards, Mahri is limp, her head lolling about her shoulders and her hands drip blood onto the floor. Not that it'd be easy to tell the fresh from old. Later, when she is able to think clearly, Mahri'll wonder just what she'd done to deserve this punishment. But that won't be for quite some time.
Jacklin watched the shocker chair do its duty without as much as a hitch in her bland expression. All the whirring and shocking was truly a sight to see as it lit the room in an electric blue bath. More than that her eyes swung back to the face of Mahri as she watched just exactly how good this machine was. The Avians had promised something very good and, judging from the sparks, she was getting her gold's worth on the product. Once the process was complete the queen gave a respectful dip of her head to Roldan while retrieving the opal from his hand, "You've done very well for Larket, Roldan. The family of Beatrix praises you I'm sure of it. This opal will be destroyed shortly. At a later date, after Beatrix is buried, I have a proposition for you. A reward, actually. For now I'm off to visit the family. Make certain that woman never so much as kills an insect in Larket again." Not bothering to grace the beast with another glance she removes herself from the scene.
Roldan offers Jacklin a salute, fist to chest, and turns back to the wreckage on the floor. He begins to clean up the mess, seemingly unfazed by the whole affair.
Mahri:: Ronnet and Jonn do their job and they do it well. Dropping the sagging form of the lycan to the ground, they romove the shakles and collar which had kept her bound and half kick, half nudge the broken woman across the bridge. Covered in nothing more than her hair, Mahri shakes uncontrollably. Curling into herself, hands pulled protectively against her body while trying not to jar them too much, she doesn't even flinch when the guards spit on her before turning on bootheels to leave. "Good riddence to bad rubbish," one is heard to mutter. Another insult to be filed away among many, she thinks to herself before losing consciousness once more.
Related Pages:
- Larket
- Part of the Case of the Burned Baker Arc