RP:Treason! An Arrest
Part of the Defection Arc
High Commander's Office
Synopsis: Josleen rifles through Eliason's desk looking for clues to his personal mission in Vailkrin in order to better send him aid. Anann, officer of the ranger sub-regiment of the Chartsend army, walks in and suspects Josleen of espionage. Josleen explains her relationship with Eliason. Unsatisfied, Anann and her man Glyn (NPC) make the arrest which an unarmed Josleen does not resist. In the process, Josleen is beaten, bound, and kicked down stairs.
This rp took place on November 16th, 2013.
Behind the closed, but unlocked door of the High Commander’s office, a woman rifles through the High Commander’s desk. She is neither a legionnaire nor a Chartsend guard. No one would ever confuse her with such a station in life. She dons a breezy floral dress and leather sandals - the uniform of a civilian who’s never lifted sword or fist. A silver barrette keeps her long bangs tucked behind an ear and out of her eyes as she searches drawers, files, cabinets, notebooks.
Anann throws the door open. It bangs hard into a cabinet and the wood cracks due to the excessive force generated by the archer's thick muscles. "Ye bleedin' well goin' te tell me where dem tunics have gone?" She exclaims in a loud, booming voice that is perfectly placed on a parade ground. She instantly sees the commander is not here though, instead there is a woman in a floral dress riffling through the papers in the office "Who de bleedin' hell are ye?"
Josleen jumps at the bang, letting out a terrified yelp like a visitor at a peek-a-boo haunted house. She hides a notebook behind her bum, eyes wide like a newbie larson caught in the act. Shock causes the typically eloquent bard to trip over her words for a moment. “Uh, I- Well,” but quickly she regains control of herself. It isn’t long before she remembers who she is, where she is, and what she can and can’t do. She rights herself, sets the notebook down on the desk, and reasseses Anann, this time focusing on the elf’s face and demeanor. “Are you looking for Commander Eliason? Are you a legionnaire?”
Anann narrows her eyes and slowly reaches down with her left hand, her leathery fingers pulling out a broadhead and laying it over her stave. She raises the huge yew war bow and pulls the cord to half draw. "I'm in charge o' trainin' de Chartsend Ranger regiment." She nods to the woman, her gaze shifting slightly to her bum "Wha're ye hiding dere pet? Show us, will ye?" The cord twitches a bit and the archer carefully adjusts her aim to point the barbed broadhead at the womans stomach "I can shoot a bleedin' freckle o' yer nose at two hundred paces, be sure I won' miss from here..."
Josleen balks her head back in disbelief at the threat - both verbal and physical. Her expression levels thinly, unamused. “Perhaps you should practice your judgment as well as your aim. I’m Commander Eliason’s wife.” Not quite, but the bard has a tendency to pick words for impact rather than accuracy. The word ‘girlfriend’ certainly lacks some punch. This habit of hers has certainly gotten Josleen into trouble. She drops the hidden notebook on the desk, open and facing Anann. It’s an inventory of garrison supplies. She shifts her weight onto one leg, hip pushing to the side under crossed arms and an even more cross expression that patiently waits for the threat to be rescinded.
Anann snorts "Ye're not bleedin' well behavin' like his wife." However, the archer does relax the cord of her bow, but she keeps the shaft over the stave and the thick leather pads that are the fingers of her left hand keeps the shaft knocked. She has a quick look at the open booklet and then turns her eyes back to the woman "Whatche be wantin' wi'h dat now?" She gives the woman a smile, but it's a very unconvincing one, especially with the shaft still across the lowered stave, the broadhead still pointing ominously at the woman's stomach.
Josleen purses her lips at Anann’s quip. She takes a step behind a wooden chair so that its back shields her stomach from the arrow. It’s ineffective protection given the speed with which Anann could no doubt readjust and release an arrow for a fleshier target. The elf’s empty smile only turns up the dial on the room’s tension. Josleen finds herself atypically irritated and frightened. Collin’s dangerous mission has left her feeling vulnerable, and like a wounded wild animal, she’s more prone to bite. Feeling the beginnings of a snarl, the bard trains herself to take a deep breath and try to diffuse the situation with charm. She laughs, her voice like a bell, and sweeps her hair over one shoulder. “Boy, this sure has escalated quickly, hasn’t it?” She smiles, waving away the arrow casually. “I highly recommend putting that arrow away. You shan’t be needing it. We’re both friends of Collin and of Chartsend. Let’s start over. I’m Josleen.”
Anann is highly unimpressed by the charm offensive, even if she is partial to a pretty face, and makes no move to take the arrow of the stave "Me name's Anann, no idea who Collin is, an' friend o' Chartsend is a bit relative like." She speaks calmly, in a gentle tone, but it's the sort of tone and use of voice that will give a hardened private the willies. It's forceful and threatening, without actually being threatening or rough, and almost rude in its politeness. "Now what was it ye were wantin' wi'h dat list o' supplies den?" She continues in the same tone, now forcing a smile and a small flick of her own locks.
Despite Josleen’s best efforts, Anann’s dead set on keeping things tense and threatening. Her eyes drop to the arrowhead, then lift back up to Anann’s severe face. “Collin is Commander Eliason’s given name,” she explains matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want the supply list - it’s simply what I found. I am after something else, but I don’t feel at liberty to discuss it. Sooo…” Her lips roll inwardly, shoulders shrug. “I guess this is where we part then.” She tests her assumed freedom to leave by taking a single step towards the door, stalling for Anann to lower her weapon and let her exit.
Anann nods at her words and then steps back, placing her bulk in the doorframe. Her massive shoulders, grown to a rather unwomanly size through years and years of shooting the war bow, block the door. The bow, levelled and lowered still have the arrow on it though. "If ye're not after de supply list, but after somet-hin' else, sure I can' jus' let ye go until ye tell me right." She purses her lips and pushes her chest forward, breathing deep "Ye're a servin' member o' de garrison too?" She asks, her tone still flat and unmoved.
Josleen narrows her eyes at Anann’s backpedal, demeanor, and still loaded bow. The whole situation seems oddly ‘off’ to the socially astute bard. She’s often struggled to connect with soldiers - current bed warming company aside. Perhaps something in the soldier psyche lends itself to a bit of sociopathy. “No, I am not,” she responds evasively. “I do not serve the garrison. I’m a bard, and, as I explained previously, I’m attached to Collin.” She pauses. Her back prickles. She feels cornered. “I’m not your enemy, Anann, but not all allies must share all secrets.” Confident that this won’t satisfy the ranger, she starts to reach for her satchel slowly while announcing like the prisoner she currently is, “I’m going to retrieve a letter from Collin to prove my connection with him, alright?” She folds the letter to occult its body and reveal only the signature then extends it towards Anann for her to read the words, ‘With all my love, Collin.’ There is no formal signature unfortunately. The envelope’s broken wax seal is that of the Desert Legion, but doesn’t indicate any rank.
Anann smiles brightly at the sight of the letter and looks Josleen straight in the eye "Sure ye migh' be attached to de commander, an' we migh' be allies. An' o' course lovers don' tell each odder everytin', yet dey still make love..." She then draws a deep breath, narrowing her eyes again "Bu' how many times has it happened a pretty lass has gone te sleep wi'h an officer in de hope he'll not use his tongue properly in bed.... sure I've done dat like... in any case, ye're snoopin' roun' in dese papers, which means I should arrest ye as a spy." With that she raises her voice "Sergeant Glyn!" she calls in that parade ground voice.
Josleen glares at the accusation and barks back, “Do you really think Collin is that stupid? Have you no better opinion of your own commander?” But it’s of little use. Already Anann calls for a sergeant whom Josleen does not recognize. “I am not a spy! I am looking for information to help me,” she cuts herself off. Anann’s cold handling of the situation doesn’t endear the elf to the bard. She feels uncomfortable divulging the full extent of her snooping, even if it is with noble intentions. Anann doesn’t seem like the right person to involve in Eliason’s latest peril, and thus the woman refrains. “Look, I can’t talk about it, but if you arrest me, you’ll be sorry. I am not a spy.”
Anann steps aside as sergeant Glyn, a broadshouldered archer, steps into the room, followed by another archer. "Use bowcord." She instructs the sergeant, who waits for her to finalise the command. "Ye see, dat lookin' fer information would be wha' a spy would do too, wouldn' it?" She keeps staring at the woman as the sergeant draws a piece of hemp cord from his satchel. He has seen the woman before, but never really spoke to her as the soldiers didn't really get on with her. He himself was a veteran of the Garrison, recently promoted to sergeant in the newly formed Chartsend Rangers, but the man accompanying him is a totally new face in this city, being a recruit from the Western Plains. They wait for that command from Anann, the woman in charge of training and organising the regiment. But she waits, as a thought does strike her "Ye best tell me now. Even if it has te do wi'h de commanders absence..."
Josleen has grown accustomed to not being well liked in Chartsend. She’s been the subject of much gossip as of late. Some of the soldiers, Glyn included, have taken to actively disliking her for an affair that left a comrade of theirs heartbroken and humiliated. Do Josleen’s eyes deceive her or does Glyn seem unprofessionally eager to bind and arrest her? His disdain puts her on the hostile defensive. She stands stiffly. The recently courteous, charming, and willing bard is replaced by a stranger both truculent and bitter. She meets Anann’s question with a glare. A gulf of distrust has grown between them. She unwisely mouths off, “Piss off.”
Anann just shrugs "Arrest HER!" The emphasis is on the second word in the command, the usual parade ground way to complete a command. The two men step in, both stepping instantly to flank her and reach behind her. Their archers bulk fills the room and they corner the bard, fired by the disrespect. Sergeant Glyn well remembers the incident that set the garrison against the woman, but the archer only heard it in passing. Both men though feel an utter loathing for the woman now for her disrespect to the woman they owe their loyalty to at this moment. Being paid soldiers, they follow the people who inspire trust and loyalty in them, and Anann has done that more than anyone so far. Sergeant Glyn has the cord ready, a loop already in it to bind the womans wrists together. Meanwhile, Anann has stepped back into the door frame, her bow now raised, the cord half drawn. She won't draw the cord fully, all the way back to her ear, because at this distance half strength will send a broadhead flying to pierce flesh, but it will struggle to pierce the mail and leather the two men are wearing.
Josleen doesn’t resist arrest. She must be a really terrible spy, or not a spy at all. Off to the dungeon with her!
Anann glowers at the woman as she has her hands bound with the rough hempen bow cord and is roughly grabbed by the two archers, who are not at all sensitive about her being a woman. They push her forward to Anann and the door, but she halts them "Horses are outside, tie her legs as well an' bring her te de camp in de plains." She addresses the woman again, her bow now lowered "Sure, de lads don' seem te like ye. So I will take ye te de trainin' camp we use... or radder, I'll let de sergeant an' some men-at-arms take ye dere. I'm sure ye'll survive de trip, dough in wha' state I can only guess..." She keeps her gaze on the woman "Now... if ye have anytin' te tell me, especially if it has te do wi'h de commanders absence, tell me now, or I will gadder a court martial, bring dem te de camp an' have ye tried as a spy... ye know full well wha' de penalty fer dat is, an' de commander is not goin' te intervene..."
Josleen tries to minimize any abuse by complying fully. The men don’t let her off so easy, seeming to enjoy pushing her around a bit and choking her wrists with the cord. She handles the rough-housing like a champ, buoyed by the knowledge that this will be temporary. Word will get to someone in the know, like Alicia or hopefully Eliason if he is home soon, and then - RECORD SCRATCH. Hold up. What?!?!?!? Did Anann just threaten her with rape? Her stomach sinks and takes the color out of her face with it. A numbness sets in and she feels immediately nauseous. The threat produces more physical discomfort than the men’s rough housing. It’s every woman’s worst fear, made worse by the fact it is horrifically prevalent in this violent world. It’s an act of aggression, not lust. It is a tool used to conquer, suppress, degrade, and even punish women. It is meant to cow women, and good lord is it effective for so few weapons can so poignantly inflict pain, both the physical and emotional, while stripping the victim of all her dignity. Anann employs this tool with a malice so rare in women and most men. It certainly sets Anann apart from other women into a breed of her own with a brutality of which few would be proud. Although Josleen knows deep within that the men would not dare commit such a heinous act against the love of their commander (indeed, most of these men would not commit such a heinous act period, regardless of Josleen’s relationship status), it’s nearly impossible for a woman bound, weak, and utterly powerless to act on that knowledge - to take that bet. No woman would risk that without significant motivation, and Josleen, shaken to her core, caves. She doesn’t look at Anann as she speaks. She speaks to the floor. “I-I don’t know.” Her trembling intensifies. She’s terrified beyond reason and it affects her speech. “He’s in Vailkrin last I heard. His sister, Aela, is missing. He is looking for her. I don’t know what happened or why he is searching for her there. That’s why I came here. To hunt for clues so I can better assist him. I wrote to Alicia asking for help.”
Anann turns as the woman finally talks, under the threat of being taken by these men to the camp, and all the perils of that, and under the threat of a court martial and a possible hanging. "HALT" she commands the men, who instantly obey her, but add a malicious touch of their own by throwing Josleen roughly to the stone floor right in front of the steps down. Anann glowers, crouching down besides the woman "I bleedin' well know where he is an' wha' he's doin'. Yer nosing t-hrough de documents pertainin' te de troops o' Chartsend is not lookin' fer clues te help him dough, it's bleedin' spyin'...." She leaves the words hanging between them, to the pleasure of the men who see Josleen's discomfort and very much enjoy seeing her like that. Anann gives a little nod, encouraging the woman to speak and explain further.
The court martial and hanging never really registered for Josleen. It still doesn’t. It’s such a foreign possibility to her. She falls onto the floor, unable to catch herself with her bound hands. Her jaw crashes down on the stone, sending her teeth knocking against each other and the tip of her tongue. She curls fetally, face pinched against the pain. Why was this happening? It doesn’t make any sense to her. The tears come easily. Anann demands more and more, but she can’t speak through the pain and now bleeding tongue. She simply shakes her head back and forth slightly to indicate she has no more to say. That’s it. That’s all of it.
Anann sighs and shrugs. She stands up "Tryin' te find clues te help him, while lookin' t-hrough de administration is jus' no' good enough..." She turns to the men and gives them a nod. "Bind her legs an' take her te de camp. Don' care how she arrives dere as long as she can face court martial. De 2nd Guards are on guard duty. Lieutenant Patroklos an' his platoon are mannin' de gate. Tell him te gadder officers o' de garrison an' de Legion fer court martial at de camp." She is businesslike, hard and cold, the complete opposite from the person who causes such discomfort for the commander by her constant light-hearted flirting. "When ye get te de camp, get de Sergeant Major te put de men on parade an' set up a gallows. If she tries te escape, ye may report it te de Sergeant Major an' give her a hundred lashes at parade." It was cruel, beyond cruel perhaps. Maybe vicious was the best word, but that was the only way spies could be treated. And it was the only way to protect the men she was training, given the threats that lead to her being given the task of raising a Ranger regiment.
Josleen cries quietly, trying to make herself as small as possible. None of this makes any sense to her. Is this how justice is delivered? Through abuse? When Anann reiterates to the men that rape is acceptable, Josleen audibly cries once before clamping a hand over her mouth. Hopefully, and most likely, the men will prove to be of a better moral character than the woman who commands them. Josleen will most likely make it to the camp with a bruised jaw, wrists, and ankles, a bloody mouth, and her dignity intact. But right now, her brain isn’t running on reason. Fear pumps through her. Stress saturates her small frame. She’s more akin to a bird with a broken wing than a captured spy. She’ll not resist. She won’t try to escape.
Anann looks on as Sergeant Glyn draws another cord from his pouch and binds the womans ankles tightly together, making the rough cord bite into her skin. Then she turns away to grab a piece of paper and a pen from the desk, scribbling down a note to the commander. As she does, the archer doesn't even bother picking up the prisoner, instead he just shoves her down the stairs with his boot. Both men follow her down, kicking her further down when needed, and Anann follows in their wake. Downstairs, the sergeant picks up the alleged spy and throws her roughly over the pommel of the saddle of one of the horses standing ready. Anann makes for her own mount, a chestnut stallion called Boru, which she "found" in the plains. She never did like these things, but they are necessary in war, or even in cold war. And being rough but ready sure beats being kind, meek and dead…
The tumble down the stairs breaks a nose, sprains a wrist, mildly concusses, dislocates a shoulder, twists a knee. It’s a fun pack of non-lethal injuries!
Anann mounts her horse and walks it past the men and the injured 'spy'. "I'll be comin' te de camp shortly. I have te check on Sergeant Azarah's position. She can' be wanderin' te close to Venturil." She gives a short nod "Proceed" she draws out the first syllable of that word and adds force to the second, then slowly trots along, leaving the woman in the capable hands of the men.