The return to consciousness was an unwelcome journey up a blood red tunnel of pain.
Kendrick of Rell, sometime horse merchant, sometime purveyor of less reputable goods, lay very still and tried to consider his situation.
He had never been a handsome man, but he had prided himself on still having all his own teeth. The probing of his swollen tongue assured him that this was no longer the case.
He was also not a brave man. His captors had learnt this early on in the proceedings. The sight of his own blood had always roused an abject terror in the little man. Before the first blow had ever been struck, the first blade applied to his flesh, he had been falling over himself to spill his guts. Names of contacts, crooked officers, bent guardsmen. All had babbled from his lips in a desperate bid to prevent the onset of pain.
To no avail.
First had come the questions.
Why had he been there?
What had he seen?
Who did he work for?
His answers had not satisfied his captors, and so the beatings had begun.
He had tried to please them. Desperately tried to read the subtext beneath the questions to find the right answers.
To no avail.
And so the knives had come out.
Although Kendrick was aware that his captors had come to despise him he was unable to show any bravery. Screaming and weeping he had soiled himself long before the first cut. Mercifully he’d quickly lost consciousness.
Cheated of their sport his captors had apparently vented some of their frustration on his comatose body. The sharp pains associated with each breath he drew suggested that at least one of his ribs was broken. The gods only knew what would come next, but Kendrick was certain it would not be anything good.
The crying shame of it all was that he still had no idea who his captors were, or what they really wanted.
The gift
Moderator: Lords of The Realm
With a low moan Kendrick parted parched lips and used his swollen tongue to push out the shards of what had once been a tooth.
“Ah. Awake at last”.
Fear surged through Kendrick. Wheezing and snuffling he struggled to turn his head and open an eye.
Sat on a stool beside the soiled cot on which he had been dumped, his latest visitor was dressed immaculately. Silver and gold adorned his ears and fingers, while his hair was cut ascetically short. Prominently displayed on the man’s shoulder was a sigil Kendrick had hoped to never see in the flesh, that of an Imperial Inquisitor.
“I had hoped we might talk a short while, to see if we can avoid any further unpleasantness”
His visitor leaned forward, tender concern visible on his face.
Absurdly Kendrick felt a faint glimmer of hope. Perhaps this man would listen and know that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding. He was a good servant of the emperor. He would be set free. Perhaps with a purse of gold as an apology for his suffering.
The next sentence from the man brought Kendrick’s fantasy to a crashing halt.
“Just admit who you are and we can cease all this stupidity”
His visitor leaned closer still.
“We know who you are, and who you work for.”
Word for word it was the same phrases as those used by his previous tormentors.
Kendrick tried to explain. He really did. Despite the pain of a shattered nose; of broken teeth; the stabbing agony of his ribs. Wheezing and groaning he slurred his way through his story. He told how he had followed the army to the plains before Cana. How he made his living providing to the soldiers of Emperor Hallaathrad, and by picking clean the bodies of the dead. He had meant no harm. He loved the Emperor.
At the end of his tale his visitor gave a disappointed sigh and stood.
“As you wish. I assure you we can play this game for as long as you care to.”
Stepping lightly through the filth of the cell the man left.
And so it began, again.
“Ah. Awake at last”.
Fear surged through Kendrick. Wheezing and snuffling he struggled to turn his head and open an eye.
Sat on a stool beside the soiled cot on which he had been dumped, his latest visitor was dressed immaculately. Silver and gold adorned his ears and fingers, while his hair was cut ascetically short. Prominently displayed on the man’s shoulder was a sigil Kendrick had hoped to never see in the flesh, that of an Imperial Inquisitor.
“I had hoped we might talk a short while, to see if we can avoid any further unpleasantness”
His visitor leaned forward, tender concern visible on his face.
Absurdly Kendrick felt a faint glimmer of hope. Perhaps this man would listen and know that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding. He was a good servant of the emperor. He would be set free. Perhaps with a purse of gold as an apology for his suffering.
The next sentence from the man brought Kendrick’s fantasy to a crashing halt.
“Just admit who you are and we can cease all this stupidity”
His visitor leaned closer still.
“We know who you are, and who you work for.”
Word for word it was the same phrases as those used by his previous tormentors.
Kendrick tried to explain. He really did. Despite the pain of a shattered nose; of broken teeth; the stabbing agony of his ribs. Wheezing and groaning he slurred his way through his story. He told how he had followed the army to the plains before Cana. How he made his living providing to the soldiers of Emperor Hallaathrad, and by picking clean the bodies of the dead. He had meant no harm. He loved the Emperor.
At the end of his tale his visitor gave a disappointed sigh and stood.
“As you wish. I assure you we can play this game for as long as you care to.”
Stepping lightly through the filth of the cell the man left.
And so it began, again.
