Poleaxes, Daggers, Assassins, Oh My! (Angster)

[Elloria]

Gregory trots over to the head of the table where the mysterious man has sat down and places the tray of food he was carrying in front of the man. He steps back a respectful distance as the man starts devouring the stew. Gregory can appreciate the man’s response to the food – Count Genji’s exotic food was generally quite tasty, despite its odd appearance. He wonders if perhaps he should head back to the kitchen, since Cook Crystal and the rest are all super busy making Count Genji’s food for tonight’s dinner. And besides, he needs to be ready to serve Count Genji and he was in the middle of a really interesting story about a dragon and a fox when Cook Crystal had told him to make himself useful. Cook Michelle had been giggling the whole time he was telling it, so he was sure it was a good story. He takes a quick peek at Lord Raiden, seeking permission to return to the kitchen. But a slight quirk of the Itasan’s eyebrow tells Gregory that he’d better stay put until he’s dismissed.

Well…if Cook Crystal yells at him, maybe he can just say that Lord Raiden insisted he stay and wait. She can’t be angry with him if it was something Lord Raiden wants. Even Gregory can tell she can’t be mad at Lord Raiden. She thought he was so handsome. Gregroy gives a small sigh and turns his attention back to the mystery man. If he’s gotta stay, maybe the man will be friendly and entertain him. He’s about to ask the man what his name is and his age, but he’s stopped by the man’s looks. The man is so scrawny. Gregory’s never seen anyone so thin who wasn’t a little kid like him! And his face is kinda puffy and bruised – like he got into a fight with someone much bigger than him. But it’s the man’s eyes that really worry Gregory – grey and dead…like his mama’s corpse. Gregory felt his own eyes widen at the thought. What sorts of things did this man see to give him such dead eyes? He really wanted to know so bad. But the man is so busy eating, Gregory is certain that he shouldn’t ask. He can feel himself leaning in a bit closer, in spite of himself. When the man turns and looks at him, Gregory doesn’t react. He hears a very quiet snort from behind him and knows that Lord Raiden probably thinks he looks a bit silly with how eagerly he drinks in the man’s appearance. Then again, Lord Raiden tends to find anything Gregory does to be somewhat amusing. Whatever makes him happy, Gregory supposes.

"How old are you, Gregory?"

Gregory blinks slowly. And then his already comically wide eyes widen just a tad further. The mysterious man knows his name? But Cook Crystal only said it once and that was ages ago! Well, okay not ages but most people didn’t remember small things like a slave’s name so long after its mentioned. Not in Gregory’s experience anyway. And he’s met lots of people in this crazy place. “You must have really good memory, mister, to remember my name like that,” he says. His voice is still high and soft, though he’s already eleven. Sometimes he wishes his voice would start to crack like some of the bigger boys. Maybe then they wouldn’t think he was so girly and let him play as a human when they played elves and humans.

He glances back at Lord Raiden, who gives a short nod of approval. Gregory turns back to the man with a grin. “I’m eleven,” he continues excitedly. “Most people think I’m a lot younger than that on account of me being so small for my age, but nope. I’m eleven. What about you, mister? What’s your name? How old are you? Where are you from? What do you do? You look like you don’t get to eat much or have much fun. Why’s that, mister?” He moves a bit closer with each question, clutching at his shirt and wrinkling it in his excitement. His eyes shine with his curiosity and he can only hope that the man will answer every question he’s got. And man does he have a lot of them!

~~~~~~~~~~

Raiden’s face remained inscrutable as Tiernan asked about Gregory’s age. He thought little of it at first until Gregory said that the man must have good memory to remember the slave’s name. He allowed the boy to answer the question – doubting that it would really make much difference to know how old Gregory was – but his mind was suddenly spinning. Even as the boy started bombarding Tiernan with questions, Raiden let his gaze drift to the high windows and appeared to not be paying attention. Tiernan had remembered Gregory’s name. Why on earth would the man remember such a trivial bit of information?

(Gregory’s not really an NPC, but I wasn’t bothered by your powerplaying. I figured I would just introduce another character that Teiris might interact with during his stay, if you wanted.)

[Angmor]

Inwardly, Teiris winced at his error. Of course he had remembered the child's name; what he hadn't remembered was that most people would not have. As casually as he could, he threw a glance up at Raiden. His captor was no longer looking at him, only appearing thoughtful as he idly turned his face to the light streaming from the windows above. It might have registered, or it might not. Teiris didn't know enough about the foreign face to make a judgement. But if he did make a note, it could very well make for some awkward explaining to do. Even more, Teiris felt that the error had brought up an even more disturbing thought; Was his gift so much a part of him now, that he was beginning to forget he had it?

Perhaps fortunately, Gregory's guileless talking did not give him a chance to pursue the thought. “Most people think I’m a lot younger than that on account of me being so small for my age, but nope. I’m eleven," He said, his huge eyes glowing with pride, and then narrowing with curiosity. "What about you, mister? What’s your name? How old are you? Where are you from? What do you do? You look like you don’t get to eat much or have much fun. Why’s that, mister?”

With each innocent question, the boy took a step closer, tiny hands fiddling with his shirt as if he was unable to contain his excitement. Even Teiris could not suppress a chuckle. It was refreshing and yet incongruous at the same time, seeing someone without a single scrap of guile or deceit in him, someone that didn't weigh the value of information or thought to his own advantage. Someone who asked questions just because he wanted to know.
So, this is how the interrogation starts. Not with the thumbscrews, but with the questions of an adorable child, He thought jokingly to himself. Clever bastards.
"Woah, slow down," Teiris answered, smiling. "I can't answer them all at once, just give me a moment." He made a point to finish the last morsels of his stew, watching out of the corner of his eye as Gregory practically jumped up and down with impatience. Finally, Teiris swallowed the last of the meal, settling back contentedly in his seat. It felt good to have a full belly again, perhaps for the first time in months. At last, he took pity on the child.

"My name is Solus," he answered. "From the Tears of Leona, if you know where that is. And I'm newly nineteen. As for what I do..." He thought about it. He really had been busy in those nineteen years. Did he answer that he was a noble, or a servant, or a slave? He shook his head. "I've actually done a lot of things. And you're right, I don't have much fun. My friends always told me I had a sour face." Teiris twisted his features into a a ridiculously exaggerated frown. "I can't imagine why. Can you?"

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Gregory squirms as the mysterious man finishes eating his stew. It’s really, really, really hard to not beg the man to answer his questions. But the man’s so skinny and looks so hungry. Gregory just can’t bring himself to stand between the man and what’s probably his first decent meal in a long time. He’s been hungry before. Not just ‘I missed a meal or two’ hungry, but ‘I haven’t really eaten in weeks’ hungry. Right after his mama died, it seemed like all the older boys just ganged up on him and wouldn’t let him eat much of anything. It wasn’t until Count Genji started asking for Gregory to serve him that the bullying wasn’t so bad. It was a while ago, but he remembers it quite well. So he reins in his impatience and need to know until the man finishes his stew. And then the answers start coming.


"My name is Solus," the man answers. "From the Tears of Leona, if you know where that is.” No, Gregory’s never heard of the Tears of Leona. Perhaps the nobles or some of the older servants will know about it? Or he could just ask Solus. He seems nice enough. Gregory files the question away as Solus continues. “And I'm newly nineteen. As for what I do...” Solus pauses for a moment, obviously thinking. Why does he have to think about the question? He must have done lots of things while growing up. Maybe he was a pirate. Or worked for the army. Or maybe he was an assassin! Oh wow, was that why Lord Raiden was keeping a close eye on Solus? Did he try assassinating someone and Count Genji’s maybe interested in his work? Gregory’s eyes widen at the thought and examine Solus from head to toe. The man doesn’t really look like an assassin. Lord Raiden’s an assassin, after all. Gregory’s heard plenty of stories about that. Of course, maybe assassins don’t all look or act alike. He pulls away from these thoughts as Solus shakes his head. "I've actually done a lot of things. And you're right, I don't have much fun. My friends always told me I had a sour face." Solus twists his face into a deep frown. It just looks a little scary, to be honest. Gregory’s pretty sure that’s not what Solus meant it to look like, but that’s how it is. "I can't imagine why. Can you?"

Gregory blinks, his normally smiling face quite solemn for once. His eyes are as solemn as the rest of his face, instantly aging him. “It’s because your eyes are dead,” he says, his tone innocent and matter-of-fact. “Maybe you should think happy thoughts more often. There’s always something happy to think about. Like just being alive.” He nods in something of a sagely manner. He looks at Solus and smiles, bringing back his natural playfulness. “What kinds of things have you done, Mister Solus? I’ve only ever done servant’s work. What other things are there to do in the world for people who aren’t of noble birth?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raiden watched Gregory’s ‘interrogation’ from the corner of his eye. The child seemed unusually solemn, but irrepressible as ever. Perhaps he would speak to Kazan-sama about allowing the boy to attend to Tiernan during the man’s stay. As always, Gregory had a knack for softening others and drawing them out. And perhaps more observant than he was given credit for.

[Angmor]

Teiris had been expecting a laugh, or at least an amused grin. Once, a long time ago, he'd been good at making children laugh. It was for that reason that Gregory's change of mood came as a complete surprise. The round, wide-eyed face suddenly lost all trace of levity, and instead of child, Teiris was given the image of a thinking young man.
"It's because your eyes are dead," He pronounced matter-of-factly. "Maybe you should think happy thoughts more often. There's always something happy to think about. Like just being alive."
Teiris felt a frown crease his forehead. was so surprised at the sage words that he could not even begin to think of an answer. The child, seemingly unaware of his own sudden insight, simply smiled. The moment faded, and he was merely a happy child again. "What kinds of things have you done, Mister Solus? I’ve only ever done servant’s work. What other things are there to do in the world for people who aren’t of noble birth?”

That was an interesting thing to hear. Perhaps a sad thing, coming from one so young. Teiris realized the irony that he had sampled both sides of the spectrum, starting in noble birth and then falling to the work of a slave. In hindsight, there wasn't a whole lot of difference between the two. He had not been in charge of his own destiny in either case. But what came after that...
That was definitely worse.
"There are a lot of things," He answered, dodging the question as best he could. "Worse things. It sounds like you have a good life here, Gregory, and a lot of it left to go. Don't concern yourself with the darkness outside it." He put on a smile. "So what about you? What do you do around here, besides cook and clean? And your master? What's he like?"
One thing was certain; Teiris couldn't contend with this kind of curiosity, not with Raiden standing with waiting ears. It would be far better for Genji to hear his story in its entirety, without any more preconceptions than he had already. Hopefully, he could hold Gregory's attention off himself long enough for his captor to get bored.

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Gregory pouts. Mister Solus hasn’t answered his questions at all. That doesn’t seem right to him. He’s never liked when people are so secretive. He’s never seen a reason to be. He has nothing to hide and he believes that no one should. But that is not how the world works and he knows that. He doesn’t like it and never will, he’s sure, but he can’t change it. Can he? Gregory isn’t a nobleman. Well…if his mama was telling the truth, then he supposes he is. But no one would believe him anyway. He’s not Count Genji, after all. No one has to listen to anything Gregory says. Doesn’t Mister Solus know that darkness can be found anywhere? That he, Gregory, lives in it every day because no one believes he’s more than a slave? That he can be so much more if they would just let him? He’s nearly bursting with the need to say all this and more, but he just can’t find the words. Feelings are so much different from stories.

"So what about you? What do you do around here, besides cook and clean? And your master? What's he like?"

Gregory blinks in surprise. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice when Mister Solus smiled. He barely registered the questions. He points to himself, incredulous. “Me?” Why would Mister Solus care at all about Gregory? That’s just silly. Gregory’s a slave. Slaves aren’t important to other people at all. But Mister Solus has asked and Gregory can’t just be rude like him and not give a proper answer. He scrunches up his face to think of a good answer. “I don’t do either. That’s for the older slaves and servants,” he answers slowly. “Mostly, I run errands for the cooks or help gather ingredients. But most important, I serve Count Genji when he eats.” He looks up at Mister Solus and grins. “He likes me best because I sing for him and don’t act scared around him. All the rest of the slaves and servants are scared of him. I kind of am, too, but it’s okay so long as I don’t mess up. We don’t make mistakes around here.” His face becomes serious again as he looks at the table. He knows that makes Count Genji sound like a mean person and that’s the wrong way to describe his master. But it’s true. They don’t make mistakes here because it makes Count Genji angry. “He treats us well,” he continues thoughtfully. “We always have food and good clothes and a warm, safe, cozy place to sleep. He’s not…nice, like some masters but he’s not really cruel either. He just expects the best.”

“And why should he not?”

Gregory whips around at the silvery, dulcet tone of Lady Mami’s accented Common. He had quite forgotten that Lord Raiden was present and apparently Lady Mami had joined him. They were like cats, every last one of them! So sneaky and quiet! But Lady Mami was the worst! “W-w-well, Lady M-m-m-mami…I d-didn’t-”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raiden continued to listen as Tiernan neatly deflected the boy’s questions. He hadn’t really expected much to be pulled out by Gregory’s innocent curiosity but, as the Alagaesians said, it was worth the shot. As Tiernan attempted to distract the boy from his questions, the door to the dining room slid silently open. Mami slipped through and held out a clean white shirt towards Raiden. Mami kept an eye on Tiernan and Gregory as Raiden tugged the shirt on. Raiden was only partly paying attention to what Gregory was saying. It didn’t seem particularly offensive towards Kazan-sama or overly revealing about his lord’s character. But Mami apparently felt otherwise, for she snapped at Gregory…or as close to ‘snapping’ as an Itasan could get.

“Kazan-sama has more than earned the right to expect his loyal servants to be as near to perfection as is humanly possible.”

Mami’s voice never grew in volume, but it was certainly as cold as Raiden had ever heard it and it effectively silenced the poor boy’s stuttered response. Raiden adjusted his shirt so that it hung loosely from his trim frame and then rested his hand gently on Mami’s shoulder. “Not everyone will believe as we do, Fukakawa,” he murmured. “No harm was meant, was it Gregory?” He looked at the boy, who fervently nodded his head in agreement. Raiden gave Gregory a small smile and gestured towards the table. The boy glanced at it and, noting the dishes still sitting there, hurriedly gathered them together onto the tray. “Run along to the kitchens, Gregory. I’m sure it is nearing the time for Count Genji’s meal and Crystal-san is surely wondering where you are at. Leave the pitcher and glass behind.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gregory nods and carefully sets the pitcher and glass back on the table. Cheeks burning with embarrassment and the fear of Lady Mami’s apparent displeasure with him, he picks up the tray, darts through the door and trots down the hallway. He can hear the door quietly closing behind him and hopes that Lady Mami won’t be too harsh with Mister Solus because of Gregory’s loose tongue. He seems like such a nice man.

[Angmor]

“He likes me best because I sing for him and don’t act scared around him. All the rest of the slaves and servants are scared of him. I kind of am, too, but it’s okay so long as I don’t mess up. We don’t make mistakes around here.”
Teiris listened to the child's earnest words, nodding attentively even while frowning inwardly. So, he had asked for news of his opponent, and the news wasn't good. From the sound of it, Teiris was being held by a hard, calculating man, ruthless and intelligent. Immediately, Teiris banished any thought of telling his true story. There was no way that such a man could be moved by mercy. Although he didn't think that he would be returned to the Hand, he now feared even more that the Count would learn of his ability and seek some way to profit himself. He didn't even know how a noble could use a memory that could not be lost, but he was sure the possibilities were lucrative.
Don't give up. There's a way to beat this man. There's always a place, always a weakness. Find it and use it.
As he mulled it over, his eye was drawn to a movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, he noticed that one of the Count's female bodyguards, the one who had carried the bullwhip, had entered the room.
Damn, she moves like a cat. Even as he watched, her movements made no sound as she approached Raiden, offering a clean shirt similar to the one he had stained with Paladin blood earlier that day. If Teiris hadn't been facing the door, he would never have noticed.
“He treats us well,” Gregory went out, oblivious to the woman's frowning regard from behind him. “We always have food and good clothes and a warm, safe, cozy place to sleep. He’s not…nice, like some masters but he’s not really cruel either. He just expects the best.”
“And why should he not?”

Even though he knew she was there, Teiris still jumped. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing someone who had entered so quietly speak up so sharply. For Gregory, it was worse. He whirled around, jumping as if he had been scalded as he tried to stammer some kind of response.
“W-w-well, Lady M-m-m-mami…I d-didn’t-”
“Kazan-sama has more than earned the right to expect his loyal servants to be as near to perfection as is humanly possible.” The woman said, cutting him off as effectively as the knife to which her tone carried a resemblance. For the first time since arriving, Teiris felt as if he was an outside observer. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to decipher what he was looking at. The woman's stance was not one of intimidation, and she didn't seem truly angry. She merely looked intently at Gregory's cringing face, without any sort of expression at all. And yet, there was some kind of simmering undertones there that Teiris could catch.
Interesting. She clearly has the self-control of a statue, but when she heard a child speaking of Genji, she has to step in. Probable; emotional connection to the Count. Lovers? Possible, but unsupported. Don't act under such an assumption without evidence.

Finally, Raiden stepped in, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. “Not everyone will believe as we do, Fukakawa,” He said quietly. “No harm was meant, was it Gregory?” At last, the tension was broken, and the moment passed. Gregory nodded his head vigorously, looking very small.
“Run along to the kitchens, Gregory," Raiden instructed gently. "I’m sure it is nearing the time for Count Genji’s meal and Crystal-san is surely wondering where you are at. Leave the pitcher and glass behind.” Gregory hurried to obey, setting the requested dishes carefully back on the table. As he did, Teiris attempted to catch the boy's eye and offer an apologetic glance, but Gregory's eyes were rooted to the floor, as if it was a default response to the wrath of his superiors. It probably was. Teiris had learned of such things himself, but the kindness of his previous master had meant he rarely had to use it. His task finished, the boy took the tray and darted from the room, face burning. Teiris watched after him, feeling a stab of pity in his heart. He resolved then and there to apologize, assuming that they would ever see each other again.
Assuming that he left this room alive.
Strangely, he found that the former concern overshadowed the latter. Good. Perhaps his heart was not getting as hard as he thought.

Her movements languid as ever, the woman shut the door quietly after Gregory, turning to regard Teiris with a cold gaze. Teiris gazed back, his own concern for Gregory overriding his caution. "You didn't have to do that," He said. "He was just stating an opinion, and not an unflattering one either. Did that deserve a reprimand?"

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Raiden gave a mental sigh. He could never understand why Mami was so quick to defend Kazan-sama against every perceived insult, no matter how small. It was beyond exasperating. The other two women certainly had never felt the need to behave in such a manner. Why on earth did she insist on being so different? It wasn’t as if her behavior impressed Kazan-sama. On the contrary, he found it contemptibly amusing. It didn’t stop her, of course. It was as if their lord’s honor was her personal honor. Which in a way, it was – this was true for all four of them – but even so. He could understand why Kazan-sama had so little patience with women.

"You didn't have to do that. He was just stating an opinion, and not an unflattering one either. Did that deserve a reprimand?"

Raiden blinked. So did Mami. Silence settled on the room like the blinding snows in the mountains of his home. It stretched on for entirely too long, in his humble opinion, and he was on the verge of breaking it when Mami shifted slightly. It was subtle, but even an Alagaesian would be able to see the aggression of her stance. Honestly, the Fukakawa too easily worked themselves up into furious tempests. “Clearly we have different views on what constitutes an unflattering opinion, Alagaesian.” Raiden felt a shiver run up his spine. Her silky tone was sweet as honey, but her slight emphasis on that final word was chilling to him. He knew that she, more than any of their little nakama – more even than Kazan-sama – despised this land and its people. She ever delighted in torturing any Alagaesian foolish enough to cross their lord and was far crueler about it than strictly necessary. “A slave such as that boy has no business speaking any ill against a lord who is as fair as Kazan-sama,” she continued, taking a single step towards Tiernan.

“You cannot teach an Alagaesian, Fukakawa,” Raiden cut in, lazily reclining against the wall to hide his concern. If she decided to punish Tiernan right here for his insolence, word would reach Kazan-sama before the captive was ‘put somewhere out of sight.’ There was no danger of Tiernan making an escape. Violence, therefore, was not needed. But he could not just drag her back from her intended purpose. That would make it seem as if a wedge could be driven between them. The only thing holding their misfit group together was a deep-seated respect and affection for Kazan-sama. But Tiernan didn’t need to know that.

Mami, meanwhile, had paused at Raiden’s calm words. He knew she was undoubtedly staring coldly at Tiernan, desiring nothing more than to beat the man senseless. Raiden couldn’t allow that. “They are ignorant and blissfully so. Kazan-sama will tend to it. You know he likes to deal with insolence personally.” Slowly, she pulled herself back until she too leaned against the wall to Raiden’s right. He could tell she was seething, but she hid it admirably. Satisfied that she would retain her composure for the time being, he turned his attention to the source of her ire. Tiernan must have some sort of death wish if he was going to try and provoke his captors.

Raiden closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m certain you’ve already gathered this, but our lord is not a particularly gentle man. He’s never been allowed to be gentle.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Mami shifting again to protest. He didn’t allow her the chance. “He is harsh towards and demanding of his subjects, but no more so than he is with himself. At times, this makes him seem heartless and cruel. But that is an unavoidable side effect.” He gestured towards Mami. “It is why Fukakawa is so quick to defend him. Keep that in mind when formulating your own opinion of him. Doubly so if you express it. Fair enough?”

[Angmor]

As the silence dragged on, Teiris felt a flush of victory. If what he figured was about to happen did, he might very well have made a huge breakthrough...
Finally the silence was broken, not with an outburst, but with a blast of cold air. "Clearly, the woman intoned, "We have different views on what constitutes an unflattering opinion, Alagaesian." Now, the woman herself was about the same as the rest of the Itasans Teiris had seen that day, with all of the blank face and guarded eyes that seemed to afford. And yet, the way the words were spoken in their light, musical form somehow managed to communicate more hatred than any angry outburst ever could. and even so, Teiris, who knew that he should have felt chastened and afraid, was having trouble not to smile.

In the days of his youth, his uncle would often talk of pressure points in people and situations. He defined these as persons or organizations which, if given the correct input, would respond with a consistent and predictable reaction. The more intense the input, the more violent the reaction. His uncle had always told him that when he was looking for victory, to find the pressure points in the people standing in his way. Because if he could find the pressure point, then he had the power. Twice now, this woman had reacted; first to Gregory's perceived insult, and again to Teiris' implication of unfairness. The latter input had been more intense, and her reaction had increased to match.
Teiris had found a pressure point.
It was only when the woman spoke again when he realized it might it might not have been as good a discovery as he thought.
"A slave such as that boy has no business speaking ill against a lord who is as fair as Kazan-sama," She said, taking long, almost lurching step towards him, in almost exactly the same manner as an animal about to pounce...
A moment before, he was perfectly ready to apply even more pressure. He had found that something about an insecure woman bullying a tiny child had raised his ire to the point of recklessness.It was then that Teiris realized that the predictable action was to make the woman angry, perhaps fatally so, at him personally. It was then that he felt the fear.

"You cannot teach an Alagaesian, Fukakawa," Raiden cut her off midway through the second step, seemingly at ease. Teiris actually watched the anger fade from the woman's eyes as she regarded her counterpart's words. "They are ignorant and blissfully so. Kazan-sama will tend to it. You know he likes to deal with insolence personally."
Insolence? Making an off-hand comment about the treatment of a slave boy, and that was called insolence? If that was the case, Teiris thought, he had not yet begun to be insolent. For her part, the woman seemed to hover on the brink of following her lord's preference, or deciding that hurting him would be worth the reprimand. Teiris waited, not challenging but not cowering either, fighting down his fear with the knowledge that, whatever she would do to him, he'd experienced worse. Finally, her good sense seemed to win, and she settled back into the relaxed stance she had come from. For his part, Raiden seemed almost exasperated, although if the feeling came from his behavior or the woman's, Teiris could not tell. "I'm certain you've already gathered this, but our lord is not a particularly gentle man," Raiden said, in a disctinctly I'm-laying-out-the-facts tone. "He's never been allowed to be gentle." Teiris noted the woman's reaction, proving in his mind the existence of the pressure point beyond doubt, but Raiden cut her off before she could get any further. "He is harsh towards and demanding of his subjects, but no more so than he is with himself. At times, this makes him seem heartless and cruel. But that is an unavoidable side effect. It is why Fukakawa is so quick to defend him. Keep that in mind when formulating your own opinion of him. Doubly so if you express it. Fair enough?"

About a dozen flippant responses flashed immediately to Teiris' mind, but something in his captor's face made him reject them all. He realized that Raiden was honestly trying to throw him a lifeline here, letting him know the established facts of life around the Citadel, and imploring him not to do something stupid enough to force his comrade to cause him serious bodily harm. Raiden probably only did this out of concern for his master's disapproval, but motivation aside, Raiden was telling him the rules of survival around here. Faced with the realization, Teiris let out a small breath, gathering up and expelling his own anger.
Play the game. Play the game until you have them playing yours. He nodded. "Fair enough. You've been extremely civilized about this until now. I'll make sure to impose the same civility on my tongue, and watch my words very carefully," He said, shooting a final glance at the woman. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, but otherwise she did not react.
Pressure point.
Now if only he could figure out what to do with the anger of an insecure but highly-trained woman with a bullwhip, it might even be useful.
"So," Teiris asked, shifting his eyes back to Raiden. "What happens now?"

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

What little tension Raiden had felt while waiting for Tiernan to decide melted away at the man’s civil answer. Was he pleased that the man felt the need to pointedly look at Mami? Not particularly. He didn’t like the way Tiernan seemed to be attacking her weak points. It could mean any number of things, but Raiden had some suspicions about it. At least Mami didn’t leap across the room to start strangling him…or worse, start cracking her whip to make him ‘dance.’ He would have to keep an eye on her and inform Kazan-sama about it. He had a feeling that Mami and Tiernan left alone in a room would cause nothing but frustration and pain. And that was the last thing he needed. What can one learn from a dead man? Very, very little.

“So…What happens now?”

Raiden pulled himself from his dark thoughts. Had that question really just been asked? Well…he supposed it was a fairly reasonable one. At best, Tiernan only had a vague idea of what was going to happen to him. But interrogation wouldn’t happen until much later. Raiden crossed his arms as he looked steadily at Tiernan. “You’ll be kept in the room Kazan-sama is setting aside for you until such a time as he calls on you.”

“Though you do not deserve such a courtesy. The dungeons are perfect accommodations for your filth,” Mami muttered under her breath.

Raiden gave no indication that he had heard her. “After that…Well, that will depend largely on you and Kazan-sama.” As the words left his mouth, the door opened once more. This time, it was opened wide and Hiroshi stepped through. She was followed by four large, burly guards. Raiden knew immediately that something was wrong. There was a slight wrinkle between her brows – the only sign she ever gave when deeply disturbed or upset. “…Kiyokaze?”

“There has been…a slight change of plans,” she said shortly. She gestured towards Tiernan and the guards with her strode over and roughly pulled him from the chair. “Take him to the dungeons and keep an eye on him.” As they escorted Tiernan from the room, Raiden pushed away from the wall. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do, but for some reason he had no desire to see Tiernan down in the dungeons. Nothing good ever came of that sort of arrangement. But a stern look from Hiroshi held him in place. “Kazan-sama wishes to have a word with you, Hiroisora.” Now it was Raiden’s turn to frown.

========================

“What took ya so long, Gregory! Hurry up and change inta yer liveries ‘fore I catch ya a good one upside yer head! This food is supposed to be sent up in ten minutes!”

Gregory winces as he rushes to his quarters to change. He knew Cook Crystal was gonna yell at him if he didn’t return immediately and wasn’t he right? He didn’t even get a chance to defend himself. And he isn’t going to have a chance, either. He scrambles around his room to find the proper color of livery to wear. One of the other servers he works with, a girl named Sara, pokes her head into his room. “Gregory…Crystal said we should all wear something summery. Do you still have that light purple set from last year?” Gregory looks blankly at her. It’s summertime so of course Lord Genji’s gonna want something in a light color. Light purple? Yeah, that would be good. He digs through his clothes and finds the outfit she’s talking about. Without hesitation, he strips to his skivvies and hurriedly puts on the outfit. He carefully straightens it all out and when he’s satisfied, he follows Sara back to the kitchens.

The food is all on serving trays and several of the larger servants have already taken some of it upstairs. Gregory grabs one of the smaller trays and trots with the other servers out of the kitchens. As they wind through the corridors up to Lord Genji’s grand dining hall, Gregory is distracted when four large guards drag Mister Solus past. And by the looks of things, they are taking him to the dungeons. He pauses, watching the five men until they are almost out of sight. Oh boy…did he get Mister Solus into so much trouble that they’re sticking him in the dungeons? “Gregory! Hurry!” He jumps slightly and resumes his march. He hopes Mister Solus is okay. Maybe he can go down to the dungeons later and visit him.


(OOC: Sorry for the powerplaying. Let me know if it’s too much.)

[Angmor]

When the question was asked, Raiden seemed to visibly come back to himself, fixing him with a glance that might very well have been surprised. Well, that was something, at least. It seemed that gap between the Itasan way of thinking and his own worked both ways. Hopefully, Raiden has having just as much trouble reading him as he did for Raiden.
“You’ll be kept in the room Kazan-sama is setting aside for you until such a time as he calls on you.”
The woman muttered something that Teiris didn't quite make out, although from the tone, he could easily ascertain the meaning. Raiden carried on without missing a beat. “After that…Well, that will depend largely on you and Kazan-sama.”
On me and him. Teiris thought. Interesting choice of words, to admit that I still have some control here. Of course, he means on how well I behave. But still, that is not a mistake an interrogater would make. So he won't be the one to start the questioning...

Just then, the door opened sharply, jarring him from his thoughts. Even more alarming were the approaching figures of four city guards, lead by the woman bodyguard who had carried the crossbow. Teiris felt his heart sink. This, he could tell, was not a friendly visit, or a simple messenger call. Each of the soldiers carried that intent, on-a-mission walk of men who were expecting trouble. And unless he was very much mistaken, that could only mean that they planned to do something that might make him want to make trouble. At least somewhat comforting was the fact that Raiden seemed just as surprised to see them, and equally alarmed.
“…Kiyokaze?”
“There has been," The woman said, "…A slight change of plans.”
In Teiris experience, changes of plan were never good things. A moment later, his experience was confirmed as two of the guards pulled him roughly from his chair. Wincing a little as his bruises were disturbed, he made sure that the force would be totally unnecessary. There was no possible way to escape with four guards and three of the count's elite present, so he would make sure to be the very picture of a compliant prisoner. A moment later, he found himself boxed between the four men with himself in the middle, feeling very small amid the heavy armor and burly muscles.
“Take him to the dungeons and keep an eye on him,” The second woman said, gesturing imperiously. With a shove from behind, Teiris found himself marched from the room. As he passed, he noticed Raiden make a move to follow, but the woman halted him just as a guard's shoulder blocked Teiris' view. Then they turned a corner, and his last threads of familiarity were gone.

***

As he was marched down into the lower areas of the citadel, the realities of his new situation started to sink in. While the room he had been envisioning for his placement would hardly have been a sieve, he figured he would at least have a chance. But from the dungeons... the dungeons were designed to keep people, often with far more skill than he, to stay where they were put. They restricted his options to almost zero, leaving him unable to do anything but react to the moves of his opponents.
Well Teiris, He told himself, That will have to do, because you don't have any choice in the matter. Just stay sharp. You survived the Hand, you can survive this.

Finally, after traversing through corridors that became less and less ornate, the passed through a narrow doorway and down a damp stone staircase, smelling of mildew and saltwater. Beyond this, Teiris was led down a long corridor, lined on either side with reinforced timber doors. From what he could glimpse from the center of his walking box, Teiris got the impression of peering eyes and darting figures behind each of these, like rats behind a wall. Finally, they came to a bank of doors standing ajar, like open traps. Teiris was shoved roughly into a convenient opening, several doors removed from any other prisoners, he noticed. As the bolt was finally set behind him with an emphatic clunk, Teiris felt a sudden sense of claustrophobia set in on him, constricting his throat. It could have been the exact same cell. The one in which he had awoken, after the soldiers had dragged him from his home all those years ago, and clubbed him into unconsciousness for fighting back. Even the bruises he carried were similar. Any second now, the soldiers could have been returning to bring him to the slave markets, one of whom would cheerily let him know that his uncle was dead.

Teiris swallowed hard, swatting the memories aside before they could overwhelm him. There wasn't time for that. Besides, what was he so worried about? He wasn't in some deep catacomb, locked in a tiny cage. He was barely five feet below the ground, with a narrow beam of sunlight all his own, in a cell big enough in which to stand upright, and even move. Five paces by eight; practically a suite. There was even a bed of straw against one wall, which didn't seem too moldy. All in all, better accommodations than he had spent the previous year. And anyway, it would appear that he would finally have some time to himself. That was one thing all prisoners had in abundance; time to be filled. And time was his ally. Because while his captors would spend most of their time attending other matters, and taking very little notice of him, he would spend every available second devising a way to escape. The more time they gave him, the better the plan. No, he thought, settling himself more or less comfortably in a sitting position with his back against the wall, No, they haven't won. Not yet.

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

2 hours ago:
Once they reached the “medical wing” of the dungeons, Rikuto unceremoniously dropped her end of the corpse she and Mami were carrying. She wondered if perhaps she should speak with Kazan-sama about what was troubling her. He was far more clever than she…surely he had picked up on the prisoner’s familiar visage? He didn’t need her pointing out something so blatantly obvious. Raiden-oppa hadn’t recognized the prisoner. Raiden-oppa never missed something like that. His was the eye that could catch those small details – the eye of an assassin. But…he hadn’t noticed. He was so distracted lately. It was dangerous. No, she had to double-check. Perhaps the prisoner wasn’t the man from the posters…the wanted man from the Tears of Leona. She left the medical wing at a hurried pace, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip.

“Rikuto! Where are you going? We have to fetch Raiden fresh clothes.”

She called over her shoulder as she made her way to the record room on the other end of the dungeons. “There is something I wish to look over, Mami-unnie. Go ahead. I will meet you all later for Kazan-sama’s dinner with Colin Swain and the other nobles of the new order.” She didn’t wait for Mami’s reply. Rikuto strode purposefully through the dungeons, ignoring the various prisoners that occasionally called out to her. Nothing was more important than making sure she was wrong. She soon arrived at the records room and began digging through the scrolls and tomes in which copies of every wanted poster in the city were kept. Someone who looked like Solus Tiernan had surely not been among the records…right? As her search continued, she found no trace of a Tiernan in the records. Either she was mistaken or it wasn’t his real name. What was the name on that poster…the one that had been posted months ago from the Tears? The name had been similar to Tiernan, but…Tiernan had not been the surname. What was it? She growled as she stubbornly tried to recall. It was bizarre, even by Alagaesian standards. It had started with a v. Vizard? Visconti? Voive…No, but that was closer. She slammed her fist on the table. What was the blasted name?! Her eyes widened as it finally came to her.

Vorthain!

Rikuto hurriedly dug out the ‘V’ tome and flipped through it until she came to rest upon the poster she sought. She frowned as she carefully pulled the slip of paper out before replacing the tome on its shelf. How had Raiden-oppa missed this?

===============

30 minutes ago:
A soft knock on the door of his study barely tugged at Genji’s attention. “Enter.”

The door slowly creaked open and Hiroshi stepped through. “The preparations are nearly complete, Kazan-sama. I need only your approval of the guards I selected and everything will be ready.”

Genji didn’t look up from the trade papers he had been perusing. Trade had been declining ever since the Fukakawa had gained the upper hand in Itasus. He was becoming ever concerned about it as the months passed because he knew Manami was taking Itasan trade elsewhere as often as possible – drawing away as many other traders as she could. Just because he had beaten her in combat more times than either cared to count, she was bound and determined to ruin him even if it meant harming Itasus in the process. Yawata no Kami curse her every day.

“Hiroshi, I trust your judgment. After Raiden…” He paused for a moment as he reconsidered the statement he was about to make. Raiden was not always as sensible as he appeared. The man’s desires tended to interfere with reasonable thinking as often as not…though it hadn’t today. He had purposely chosen this kimono to draw some sort of reaction from Raiden and had received nothing for his troubles beyond a brief pause. Genji frowned. “No. Even more so than Raiden, you make the most sensible decisions and rarely have I ever found fault with you. I fail to see why-”

“Kazan-sama!”

Genji’s head jerked up at the harsh shout that could only have come from Rikuto. His eyes narrowed in irritation as aforementioned guard suddenly appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath. He motioned for her to enter. She all but sprinted for his desk and slammed something down on it. Genji felt an eye twitch at the total lack of decorum she was exhibiting. Admittedly, she was the least graceful and tactful of his guards but that was hardly an excuse for this atrocious behavior. But before he could reprimand her, she lifted her hand from the paper she had slammed onto his desk and said, “Solus Tiernan is an escaped slave known as Teiris Vorthain. And he is wanted for murder in the Tears.”

===============

Present:
“I am on the brink of achieving the first phase of a goal that has been more than TEN kami cursed years in the making and it is all about to be for NOTHING because of your utter incompetence!”

Raiden kept his eyes downcast while Genji railed at him. He winced slightly as a paperweight sailed past his ear – missing by millimeters – but made no move to avoid the projectiles his lord occasionally launched at him. He had been hit by several already, leaving large welts where they had only landed glancing blows and lovely bruises where they had struck head-on. There really was nothing to say or do. He had made many mistakes this day. Mistakes were not tolerated.

“I have trusted you with my life more times than I care to count and on the very eve of my first victory, THIS is what you do to me?! Bring a thieving, murderous wretch into MY citadel, bring a PALADIN’S CORPSE with said wretch, and expect EVERYTHING to just turn out PEACHY KEEN?!”

A chair went flying by, clipping Raiden’s arm. He hissed, holding his ground. He had failed as the tool that was meant to make Genji’s life easier. He had been nothing but a source of frustration since his return from the Tears and this punishment was justified. He had shamed his clan with his failure. He had shamed Itasus with his idiocy. Worst of all, he had shamed and hurt Genji. At least his lord looked glorious in his rage with that early summer kimono fluttering around him.

“Would you be less useless to me if you were dead?!”

Raiden felt himself pulled out of the way of another chair.

“Rikuto, leave that thrice-damned, maladroit SLUT right where he stands! I’m not finished with him yet!”

Hiroshi and Mami gripped Genji’s arms, barely holding him in place as he struggled to reach for something else to throw. “Calm yourself, Kazan-sama!” Hiroshi cried. “We can salvage this situation! All is not lost!”

“Be reasonable, Kazan-sama. No one yet knows we have hold of the criminal. We can simply turn him in to the Harlot and be done with it. Besides, you will ruin the kimono your mother gave you,” Mami murmured soothingly.

Rikuto gently examined Raiden’s wounds, seemingly oblivious to Genji’s continued attempts to reach and maim the assassin. Several minutes passed before a particularly loud screech from Genji pulled her attention from her examination. “Kazan-sama. You are being foolish.” Genji let out an indignant noise which Rikuto smoothly talked over. “I know I informed you of Tiernan’s true nature, but there is something profoundly wrong with the accusations leveled against the man. Neither Raiden nor I saw any indication that the man is even capable of murder. Perhaps self-defense gone wrong, but not cold-blooded murder.” She looked at Genji. “Besides…why would Malandra send Paladins after a murderer? That would be beneath her notice.”

Silence settled over the study at her statements. Genji stood frozen in mid-pull as he stared at Rikuto. She had once again managed to point out the blatantly obvious fact that everyone else had missed. The Vorthain had said it himself – the Harlot didn’t give a damn about human life. Probably life in general, if they were going to be honest with themselves. Which meant there was something far more sinister – and by extension, far more important – currently sitting in a cell three floors below in the dungeons. Genji slowly lowered his arms, allowing Mami and Hiroshi to let go of him now that there was no likelihood of him harming anyone. They all remained in their respective positions as Genji mulled over the situation. He finally threw his hands in the air in exasperation before rubbing at his temples. “I am already late for the feast and I cannot afford to waste any more time on this. Hiroshi and Mami, you will accompany me to the dining hall. Rikuto…” He gestured towards Raiden. “Clean him up and head down to the dungeons to keep an eye on Teiris. Raiden…once Rikuto is done, you will wait in my chambers so that we may discuss this matter in further detail later.” Mami and Hiroshi straightened the kimono as Genji spoke, smoothing the wrinkles and rearranging the obi so that it was all perfectly put together again. When all was finished, Genji swept from the study and made his way to the feast.

Rikuto shook her head as he left. They would have to do something for Kazan-sama later to relax him. He was far too tense right now if he was willing to try and kill his most trusted follower. With a sigh, she pulled Raiden to his feet. “Come along, oppa. Let’s get you tended to,” she murmured as she led the dazed assassin from the study.

===============

20 minutes later:
Rikuto slowly opened the door to the cell that held the man who had tried to pass himself off as Solus Tiernan. She looked at the man for a few moments before stepping in, shutting the door behind her and flicking her eyes over all the drab details of the cell. At least it wasn’t the internment camps run by her clan. Suppressing a shudder, she glanced at the window, decided it was not large enough to cause concerns about possible escapes, and finally returned her attention to the occupant of the room. He was sitting against the wall to the left of the door, eying her warily. At least she assumed it was warily. For an Alagaesian, this Vorthain was somewhat difficult to read. “You are comfortable?” she asked, her voice rough, low and heavily accented but gentle nonetheless.

(OOC: You can have Rikuto stay for a while with Teiris or have her leave. Doesn’t really matter.)

[Angmor]

Idle solitude was a challenge for most individuals, and Teiris was no exception. While he spent nearly all of his hours alone, his time was always filled with some kind of activity, whether it was the business of survival or simple things to pass the time. Now, confronted with no one to talk to and literally nothing to do, he found the oddest and most unsettling thoughts creeping up on him. Questions and idle wonderings, fragments of memories, all flitting through his mind without reason or order.
The feeling of stone sliding across the well-worn wood of the chessboard, smiling at his uncle's dismay.
What was happening out there? What had startled everyone into putting him in here?
Cold. Cold clawing its way through him from the outside, trying to meet the hunger clawing its way out from within.
Whatever happened to his uncle's estate? Who in the Tears would have bought that sort of thing?
What would the Count do if his attempted escape failed? If he was taken out and beheaded, would both parts be buried together?
"You have a nice laugh," Myrei chuckled. "You should use it more often,"
Teiris raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't laughing."
She smiled knowingly, leaning in a bit closer. "You laugh with your eyes."
How would he get out of here?
Did he want to get out of here?
Did this prison keep him safe from the Hand?
"You are young yet, Teiris," His uncle intoned, fingers steepled on the desk. "Your inquisitiveness is to expected, and indeed healthy. But remember that victory is not obtained by asking questions, but by finding answers."

Knowing he needed to get his scattered thoughts back under his control, Teiris drew in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he envisioned all of his distractions leaving his head like the air that was leaving his lungs.
Answers. Look for answers.
Yes, he did need to get out of here, as soon as possible. While the Count might have thought him safe in here, behind stone walls and barred doors, Teiris knew just how far the Hand could reach. He did not believe for one moment that the two guards would stop a Paladin determined to reach him. While he was in just as much danger outside, at least there he would have someplace to run. No, he had to get out, the only remaining question was how.
Think. Options. What do you have?
He had the affection of a small child. He had the enmity of someone close to the Count's inner circle. He had the full use of his arms and legs, something that he did not take for granted. He had a sharp stone, still pressed against the hollow of his throat. He had the clothes on his back, including the durable leather of his boots, jacket, and belt. It was, in short, a beginning. Somewhere amid those elements, he knew, was the one thing that would crack the situation open. He just didn't know how to put the pieces together.

He sighed. It would help if he had some kind of visual medium, something he could use to outline his thoughts. Even with his eidetic memory, he found that it helped him to think when he could see it with his eyes. No point in wishing for a quill and parchment, though. Even the hard-packed dirt of the cell floor did not carry enough dust...
He stopped, a thought occurring to him. He moved his forefinger experimentally, his hand moving as if he was writing a word.
Let's try this.
Sure enough, his eidetic memory tracked the movement of his fingers, and his imagination was easily able to make up for the rest. The effect was rather like writing in the air. Teiris paused, blinking. Up until now, he'd always considered his altered mind as a curse, a burden. Here and there it would intrude with something marginally worthwhile, but he'd never before considered that it might actually be useful. It was a disturbing thought. He wasn't even sure if he wanted it to be useful. he simply wanted rid of it. But such a thing was a silly dream, and deep down, he already knew it. Even if they would want to, he doubted that the Oracles could reverse the transformation. It was time to face facts. He was never going to be normal again. And if he wasn't going to get rid of it, it was time that he started to make it work for him. Squaring his jaw, he set about 'writing' his thoughts, looking for the element that would set him free.

Over the course of the next hour, Teiris filled the air around him with memories of words and diagrams, even images here and there, everything that came to mind. It had to look ridiculous, to see a grown man tracing invisible patterns in the air and then staring intently at them, but thankfully, the Count had been kind enough to isolate him from such things.
After he was finished, he settled back against the wall, surveying all he had collected. It was a tangled web of information. He had his assets and his abilities. His position, the layout of the Citadel based on what he had seen, and conjecture for what he had not. He had guard strengths and numbers, possible patrol routes, points of intersection. In short, he found that he had known even more than he had thought. There was so much, he was unsure which thread to untangle first.
One thing at a time. Start with the first step. How do I get out of this cell?

He was unsure how long he sat there, editing and rearranging, fitting pieces of information together into a comprehensible whole, but by the end, he had it. He had his plan. It was simple, yet complicated enough to be incredibly risky. There was a high probability of failure, and he would need to gather more resources before it could be carried out. But it could work.
It could work.
Just then, the sound of a bolt sliding home startled him instantly back to reality, drawing his eyes to the cell door. He tensed, waiting as the door creaked slowly open, revealing the soft, expressionless face of an Itasan woman. After an instant, Teiris recognized her as Rikuto, the first of the bodyguards he'd met that morning.
The one who had been so suspicious.
Immediately, Teiris figured he knew why he was in the cell.

She simply stared at him, searching his eyes for several moments. Teiris stared calmly back, fighting the ridiculous urge to wipe away his imaginary outlines.
Get a grip. It's not like she can see them. Strictly speaking, neither can you.
Finally, the woman stepped all the way into the cell, shutting the door behind her. Interesting. So, it was to be a social visit. Teiris said nothing, allowing her to have a good look around his accommodations. It was a good guess that she had never seen the dungeons before, and it was telling that she would choose to now. After a moment, she turned her attention back toward him.
“You are comfortable?” She asked blandly, without any detectable trace of sarcasm that would have been inevitable in an Alagaesian. Teiris huffed in amusement, wondering what sort of question that was. Still, he got the idea that the woman was in earnest. Just doing her job, as the phrase went. Even so, Teiris couldn't quite resist the comeback.
"Oh, aye," He answered, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Good times. Good earthy smell down here, and I expect I shall soon make friends with the rats. Best cell I've ever been in, really." That much, he realized, was actually true. He sighed, growing more serious. "You're obviously not here to take me out of here with a sincere apology, and I doubt you're here to ask questions. So what is this about?"

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Rikuto blinked. She supposed she should have expected Vorthain’s less than friendly response. But really, didn’t he realize that these accommodations were more than a prisoner should hope for? While they certainly weren’t the room Kazan-sama had intended to give him, at least the Alagaesian was safe from the elements. And the rats here were hardly a problem. And the food was about what one might expect for prison food, minus the presence of maggots and dirt – like the camps on Kashidis, where you were as likely to be fed filth as you were to receive proper nourishment. “Forgive me for expressing concern,” she said mildly. “I am simply recalling the prisons on Kashidis. These dungeons are…palaces in comparison, but I know that some Alagaesians do not realize how good they may have it here.” She leaned against the door and crossed her arms. “But I doubt you would care to hear about that. One only really knows what one has experienced and anything else is simply excess information that tends to be irrelevant. I will tell you if you are interested, but I doubt it will do you any good. Things are very different here.” Her gaze remained fixed on Vorthain, never wavering – the look the Ishinomori had mastered to make prisoners uncomfortable. It was neither harsh nor contemptuous. It wasn’t even one of interest. One might think it was almost an expression of boredom, save for one thing – the clan member almost never blinked and when they did, the pattern of it was so random as to be non-existent. When questioned about it, they attributed it to a familiarity with the arid, stony land of the second largest island in Itasus – where the creatures blended in too well and being able to see them was a matter of course. “I am here to watch you,” she said after several minutes, followed by a blink. “That is what we do.”

-----------------
Meanwhile:
“Sons and daughters of Teirm: today marks the true beginning of a new era. Young you may be – as yet untested in battle – but it is your youth that makes you indispensable to the future of this grand city! You watched this city fall from the heights during the end of the war, failing as it was under the leadership of my noble father. You have watched it struggle to recover during this period of rebuilding as your parents – may they rest in peace – doggedly stuck to the old ways. But today, we have at last swept out the old order and are ready to boldly step forward into a bright, new future led by a new order of nobility – you! Together, let us create an era of peace and prosperity unlike any that have been or will ever be!”

Thunderous applause filled the dining hall as Genji raised his glass to the gathered nobles. When it had died down – which took several minutes, during which he was nothing short of irritated – he waited until they had all raised their cups with him. “To Teirm!”

“To Teirm!”

He drained his glass, hoping that he wasn’t wasting good Itasan wine on these plebeians. He sat at last, waving towards the wide array of dishes – both Itasan and Alagaesian – set upon the table. “Enjoy our victory feast with me.” As the assembled nobles began digging into the feast, he turned to Gregory who stood beside him holding a platter of nikudango. He plucked one up and popped it into his mouth as he began mulling over the Vorthain situation.

[Angmor]

"I simply recalling the prisons on Kashidis. These dungeons are... palaces in comparison, but I know that some Alagaesians do not realize how good they have it here."
As he listened, Teiris reflected on his good fortune that his uncle had worked so hard to train his self-control. If not, he probably would not have been able to resist laughing. It was exactly as his uncle had said several times, railing against the excuses made by society:
"I don't understand people sometimes, Teiris," Tierce said, removing his jacket and sliding into his customary chair behind he desk. "I really don't. In particular, I don't understand the tendency they have to have competitions of misery."
Teiris frowned, sitting up straight in his own chair with his hands clasped on his lap. "What do you mean, uncle?"
"Oh, I've just been visiting the textile mills today. Overhearing the workers talk. And a common among all the conversations was how bad they all had it, and how much worse they have it than anyone else. Why is that, Teiris?" He asked suddenly, turning his dark eyes on his young nephew. Teiris was used to such sudden queries by now. It had been the main feature of his life for the past two years. He frowned, thinking over the past discussions on the various flaws of the human condition. There was, he realized, quite a bit of that.
"Is it laziness, uncle? Inability to take responsibility?"
"Precisely. Well done. Yes, they credit the circumstances with their lack of success, thus ensuring that they will never achieve it. Why?"
Teiris frowned, thinking hard... "Because if the circumstances determine success, then they have handed the course of their lives to something that they can never control."
"Again, well done. Now why is it, as bad as that is, they feel the need to convince any and all that they meet that their lot is worse than any other?"
"...To justify themselves to each other? To pass off the success of others as the result of better circumstance?"
Tierce nodded slowly, leaning forward intently. "I never want to hear that from you, Teiris. Those who achieve success no better: Our present circumstances are the result of our past choices. As a society, and as individuals. You will always have a choice."
It was also a good thing that Teiris had taken those instructions so firmly to heart, because he could now truly become a champion within such 'competitions of misery.' As bad as these prisons of Kashidis were, he doubted that they had chained prisoners to stone slabs and drained the lifeblood from them, harvesting its essence to summon creatures from the depths of hell itself, or skinned them and left them alive, purely so that the Oracles could study all the viscera inside. Whatever the woman had seen, Teiris was able to say with absolute certainty that he had lived through worse.
"But I doubt you would care to hear about that," The woman said, snapping him from his thoughts. "On only really knows what one has experienced and anything else is simply excess information that tends to be irrelevant. I will tell you if you are interested, but I doubt it will do you any good. Things are very different here."

As she finished, she fixed him with an odd gaze, not angry or saddened, buy utterly blank. Teiris immediately felt a small flush of guilt for his contemptuous thoughts. She had merely been stating fact, rather than trying to win some kind of sympathy from him. Inwardly, he frowned, trying to fathom this woman and her motivations. In his interactions with nearly all of the Itasans he had encountered today, they managed to be frustratingly hard to read. They were a curious blend of aloof and passionate, honorable and pragmatic, rage and calculation. Did they view Alagaesian behavior with the same confusion? Could the gap of several thousand miles really produce such variance among the same species? And why was Rikuto staying silent for so long, giving him so much time to ponder this?

Looking up, he saw that her stance hadn't changed. At all. Her eyes remained fixed on him, blank, without emotion. Teiris stared back, his eyes narrowing. What was this about, then? Was she trying to decide something about him, then? See if something he did or said confirmed her obvious suspicions? Teiris tried to hold the gaze for several seconds, but quickly found it to be an impossible task. His eyes dried out quickly, while to all appearances, Rikuto did not blink at all.
"I am here to watch you," She said at last, only her lips moving. "That is what we do."
Teiris raised an eyebrow. "So... you're just here to stare at me, then? What do you expect to see?"
No response.
"Is this considered fun in Itasus? Gods, you must be easily entertained."
Nothing.
He frowned, fighting the feeling of discomfort working its way through him. That was, after all, the point. This was merely a subtle form of torture to wring incriminating behavior from him. It was, he had to admit, an approach he wasn't expecting. Although, on second thought, what he had been expecting was worse. Of all the forms of torture he had withstood, while perhaps the most relentless, this was by far the mildest.
Well, He thought, glancing around at his imaginary drawings, Nothing more I can do there. I guess it's time for a book.
Lacing his fingers behind his head, glanced up at Rikuto, looking for some kind of change. There was none. He shrugged.
"Alright, suit yourself." With that, he shut his eyes, burying himself in a memory of his reading The Mad Dragon King, turning the pages within his mind.

[/blockquote]

Blegh. Not much there, obviously. I do have an idea that might extend it, but it would be a really clumsy transition into it.

[Elloria]

There was nothing more to be said as far as Rikuto was concerned. She did not expect anything beyond what a prisoner might typically do. And that meant never taking her eyes off of this Vorthain until Kazan-sama had relieved her of her duty. So instead of answering his questions – or even showing her displeasure at his assumptions about her people – Rikuto simply continued to stare at the Vorthain. She felt a small measure of pride at how discomfited he seemed to be. She had never been quite as skilled at The Look as some of her cousins and siblings, but that had only been because of how much time she had devoted to Kazan-sama. What talent she did possess was usually more than sufficient to aggravate some of the most hardened criminals in Teirm. As Kazan-sama would say, there was nothing quite like some foreigner staring at you unceasingly with alien eyes to loosen one’s tongue.

The Vorthain gave her one final look before leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. “Alright, suit yourself.” Rikuto raised an eyebrow in surprise. Strange. What had the Vorthain experienced that left him calm in the face of such unrelenting scrutiny? His mind was surely scarred deeply. But how? She rolled this thought around in her mind for perhaps an hour, attacking it from every angle she could, when the door beside her suddenly swung open. She was in a fighting stance instantly before relaxing again and bowing deeply. “Kazan-sama,” she murmured.

----------------
Meanwhile:

Genji could stand it no longer. These nobles had absolutely no tolerance for alcohol! Even with the heavy foods meant to help counteract the intoxication, they were all thoroughly drunk. And making a right mess of his dining hall, no less. The wine hadn’t even been flowing that freely! His eye twitched as he continued to sip at his tenth cup of wine. What was he supposed to do with these imbeciles? While they certainly wouldn’t be opposing him anytime soon, he often felt they were easily swayed by mere trinkets. He sighed and set down his chalice. Gregory immediately trotted over with a bottle of wine. “More wine for you, Count Lantieri?” he murmured politely.

“No, Gregory.” Genji’s tone was sharp, but his eyes never strayed from the nobles. “And there shall be no more for these…nobles, either. Inform the rest of the servants and make sure that all they are given for the rest of their time here is either water or that rotgut Alagaesians call wine.” Gregory nodded as Genji rose from his seat. He smoothed his kimono before gradually attracting the attention of the gathered nobles. “Forgive me, honored nobles. I am afraid I am rather tired from my duties today. You are welcome to continue your celebration until the wine runs out.” He laughed along with the nobles, though the joke was neither clever nor amusing. He bowed slightly to them before taking leave. Even as he swept through the large doors with Mami and Hiroshi, the noise level immediately rocketed to its original level and he was grateful when the doors muffled the raucous revelry. He simply stood in the hall for a moment, rubbing gingerly at his temples. There was so much he needed to consider right now. There was the daily tasks of running the city, naturally…his impending marriage to the princess – Yawata no Kami grant him strength for it – not to mention Manami stealing away his trade. You just couldn’t trust Fukakawa women! And now Raiden’s misstep and this Vorthain creature. Did he trust the Harlot’s description of the Vorthain’s crimes? Not particularly. The Vorthain had not been lying when stating the Harlot cared not for human life. Or life at all. But what approach was in his best interest? “Tch.”

He turned towards the dungeons and made his way downwards, Mami and Hiroshi close behind. When they reached the foot of the stairs, Genji turned expectantly towards Hiroshi. Nodding, she strode forward and led the way to the Vorthain’s cell, grabbing the jailer along the way. Their zori quietly swept the ground as they came to a halt. The jailer hurried ahead and unlocked the door, stepping aside with a bow as Genji pushed open the door and entered the cell. He noted Rikuto’s fighting stance, pleased that her reactions were still sharp even as she relaxed and bowed low. “Kazan-sama.” He grunted and waved her aside, indicating that she and the rest of his guard should leave. He gave them all a look that clearly said he would brook no argument from any of them and so they exited silently, leaving the door slightly open just in case. When he was satisfied they would not interfere any time soon, Genji carefully smoothed his kimono once more and looked at the Vorthain. He simply gazed at the man with his usual look of complete disdain and waited…for several minutes.

Then Vorthain stirred and Genji thought perhaps the man would finally respond. “I'm sorry…Him or me...I won't go back...” Genji’s eye twitched. The Vorthain…was asleep? His fists clenched and he took a deep breath. No…he really should not just kick the idiot where it lay…he should not find something to beat the Vorthain soundly over the head with…he should not…

“Fuck it,” he muttered. He stepped forward and grabbed the Vorthain’s collar in both hands. With practiced ease Genji jerked the Vorthain to its feet, pivoted his body and hurled the scrawny Alagaesian at the wall behind him. There was a satisfying thud and crack, though there was no blood on the wall this time – he must be getting soft. Or perhaps he subconsciously felt the Vorthain might prove to be more useful alive than dead. As the Vorthain struggled to compose itself, Genji slipped his hands into the opposite sleeves and settled his now crossed arms against his stomach. “Now that we’re nice and awake, perhaps you will deign to converse with me,” he said mildly.

[Angmor]

"...Teiris? Are you asleep?"
"No." He answered, snapping awake from his momentary doze. "I'm wide awake. What were you saying?"
Myrei laughed her silvery, musical laugh that he had come to know so well over the past days. He could listen to it for hours.
"Oh really?" She said, her mirth subsiding. "Then what was I just saying?"
Wincing as his bluff was called, he searched his memory...
“Mm… Something… About the Journey?” He said finally, smiling. It was generally a good guess, considering it was her favorite subject to talk about.
“Yes… But what about it?”
“No idea. I was asleep.”
They both laughed at that...
...Three more steps. That was all that stood between him and freedom. Three more steps, and a single sentry, guarding the exit to the cathedral. Teiris remained in the shadows, watching. It would be so easy. The man's back was to him, distracted smoking his pipe. A dagger was sheathed on the back of his belt, easily in reach. After whatever the Oracle had done to him, he could remember Tahn's voice like his old master was whispering it in his ear, instructing his sons on just how this operation worked. And yet, he hesitated. Could he do it? Could he really just go forward and end a man's life?
He could feel his heart pounding. His escape from the cages down below could be uncovered any second. There could be a Paladin hunting him right this moment. Freedom from this horrible place was close, close enough that he could taste it, and they only thing that it would cost him would be the life of another. Could he do it? Could he become a killer?
After one more moment, the answer was yes.
His mind made up, he inched forward, listening to the instructions from his past on how to stalk a target. His bare feet made no sound on the stone floor.
Two more steps...
One...
He reached out his hand, inching toward the sheathed dagger...
With an explosive burst of motion, he ripped the blade from its place. Before the man could even begin to turn around, Teiris had clamped a hand over his mouth, tilted the head up, and slit his throat.
He was surprised at how little resistance there was. The blade cut easily through the flesh, feeling just like he was slicing meat at the dinner-table.
The man was dead before he hit the ground...
...He shifted, trying to get comfortable. As with countless previous attempts, it was only so much wasted effort, resulting in only s slight rattling noise and causing his perch to sway slightly, as if in a breeze. He finally gave up.
There was just no way to be comfortable in a cage.
For the past two months, this cage had been his life, more than half his reality. He would have almost described it as a coffin, except a coffin would have been longer. He finally settled for lying on his back, knees slightly bent, neck tilted to one side. This was as far as he was allowed to stretch out, usually causing his neck to ache and his legs to go numb. By that point, he was usually happy they did.

There wasn't much use distracted himself by turning his attention outside the close-knit bars, either. The view was just as depressing, with endless columns and rows of identical cages, suspended from the cavern ceiling with chains. Nothing to see crushing stone and biting metal, containing wasted scraps of humanity. Nothing to hear but a child's endless crying eight cages down, or the frenzied prayers of a woman on the opposite row. Neither, he knew, would do any good. Their captors were not human enough to be moved by pity. And there could be no gods in this place.
Taking a deep breath, Teiris forced himself to focus. He was determined to survive this, and now that meant concentrating on something besides the astronomical odds against that happening. In this place, time and thought was the worst killer. Knowing this, he shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, running through the ingrained lessons of his uncle, over and over and over. Strangely, he found that the pain actually helped to center him. The long, slightly healed cut on his forearm burned with hot slashes with each beat of his heart, coupled with the dull pain of the older gashes. He had seven of them now. Seven times taken, seven times his blood drained to fuel some ghastly ritual that he barely understood. And despite all the laws, he had never died from it. He could only conclude one thing from that; they intended to use him as long as possible, so using him up before throwing him away.
It doesn't matter. I can outlast them. I can escape. Just wait for the opportunity.

Just then, there was a metallic screech somewhere in the gloom, followed by a dull, rumbling boom. Those would be the great iron doors that sealed off the cavern. He could hear the clatter of boots on the stone, indicating the arrival of a Paladin and his guards. It seemed that the Oracles needed new stock already. Sure enough, the Paladin himself appeared a moment later, the torch he was holding illuminating a square, heavy-set man, the hard lines of his face etched with a perpetual appraising frown, imitated by the guards accompanying him. Immediately, the prisoners around Teiris began a cacophony of begging and pleading for their lives, the noise soon filling the space. The Paladin stood amid it all like a rock amidst a river, glancing around the pleading humanity around him with no more recognition than would be given to caged animals. Teiris himself himself remained silent, watching. In hindsight, this was probably the reason for what happened next. The Paladin's hard eyes swept across him, and for a moment, their eyes met. Teiris caught the faintest flicker of decision before the man turned to his guards, pointing.
"That one."
Teiris swore as he cage was opened, scrambling back even though he knew there was nowhere to go.
Gods, no, not again, not so soon...
The soldiers seized him roughly by the shoulders, pulling him from the cage...

Crack!

He let out a gasp of pain as his back and head impacted with something hard, knocking the breath from him and sending colored lights swimming before his eyes. Unable to stop himself, he fell to the floor in a dazed heap, only just managing to protect his face. Scrambling for full awareness, he rolled onto his back, bringing his arms up to protect his head from the assault he was sure was coming...
“Now that we’re nice and awake," Rang out a voice in the gloomd, "Perhaps you will deign to converse with me.”
His eyes widening, Teiris looked up, finding not torchlit form of a Paladin, but the soft-featured, elegantly dressed from of Count Lantieri. Instead of a prison cavern echoing with the screams of a thousand soon-to-be-dead, there was only a cramped dungeon cell, with the loudest noise the sound of his own elevated breathing. He was awake, he wasn't back there.
It was just a memory.
Finally his attention settled back on the Count, still waiting with his arms crossed.
"Aye, sorry about that," Teiris panted, looking for a placeholder while he collected his breath. "I had a busy day. But I'll be ready for you next time."
Despite his extreme action of the past moment, the Count's smooth Itasan face showed only what Teiris would read as mild annoyance. Something about those two pieces of information was significant, but between the after-effects of a massive adrenaline dump, the disorientation of waking up from a vivid dream, and a rapidly developing headache, he couldn't quite wrap his perception around why.
Your enemy does not wait until you are ready. He will not fight fair, and he will kick you while you're down. You can only get up fast.
Struggling to collect his thoughts, Teiris gathered himself into a slightly more dignified crouch, one foot back. He didn't quite stand up, figuring Lantieri's newly shortened temper would benefit from the psychological advantage of being the tallest one in the room.
"Talking sounds like a good idea, if you're... feeling better."

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Genji almost snorted at the Vorthain’s wild attempt to protect its head from further injury. Had it been tortured before its arrival in Teirm that made it wary of violent action? Not an unreasonable assumption, particularly if the Vorthain really had been a slave. Somehow, Genji suspected that wasn’t quite the case. Not if the Harlot was involved, anyway.

“Aye, sorry about that.” The Vorthain seemed to be getting its breath back. Good. Genji wasn’t the most patient of individuals when what he desired was directly within reach – no, that was not one of the virtues Yawata no Kami had bestowed upon him. “I had a busy day. But I'll be ready for you next time.” That really did draw a quiet snort from the count. For all that the Vorthain was an Alagaesian and utterly beneath him, it had a cynical attitude that Genji could not fault it. But he did not let that show on his face. No, he simply gazed upon it with something akin to annoyance, since he could not think of a better word for it. As the Vorthain moved into a low crouch, it said, “Talking sounds like a good idea, if you're... feeling better.”

Genji’s eyes narrowed. What did the Vorthain mean by that? What did it know of Genji’s own state of affairs that it would think he was unwell? Calm, Genji. Remember your training on Itasus. Calm is ever your ally, when fury does no good. He took a steadying breath, then looked back at the Vorthain. “Your concern for my health is…touching. Tell me…Tiernan,” he said, placing particular emphasis on the Vorthain’s alias. “What brings you to my fine city? And even finer dungeon?”

[Angmor]

Now comes the questioning, Teiris thought, blowing out a breath. About bloody time.
Teiris had never been an interrogator, but he had been trained as a negotiator. He figured that the same was true in both professions: strike while the iron was hot. Don't give the opponent time to think too much and rally his defenses for the long haul. Get them to concede before they even knew they were doing it. Apparently, Itasans were far more patient in that regard. He had been allowed all the time he needed and more to rally a convenient backstory, checked and thrice-checked over for errors. Now, of course, wasn't quite the perfect time. His body was sore from the abuse he had taken earlier that day, of which the bruise forming on his back was merely the most recent. His head still rang from the impact with the wall, adding to the headache left by his nightmares. But even with such distractions, Teiris was a ready as he was ever going to be.
Here goes everything.

"Well... That's actually a very long story," He said in answer. "Where would you like me to start?" Truly an inane statement. Calculatedly so. One that had the desired effect upon its target.
"Well," The Count droned, "Seeing as a tale is never properly told when one starts in the middle, perhaps you could see fit to...oh, I do not know...start at the beginning?"
Working against his headache, Teiris had to lock down a surprised frown before it reached his face, holding it behind his eyes. While he wanted a negative reaction, he never expected blatant sarcasm this early in the game. It was like sitting down to a chess game, only to find his pieces were already halfway to checkmate. Just to probe further, he tried something else. "Alright..." He said, making a show of thinking hard before giving a frown. "It really is a long tale. Are you sure you don't want to sit down?"
Lanteiri's look of utter disbeliving disdane, complete with a slightly raised eyebrow clearly communicated that he was not even going to dignify the comment with an answer. Teiris made his assessment official. As if his throbbing head was not indication enough, something had rattled the glacial calm the Count had been so careful to display on their first meeting, leaving him clearly angry and annoyed. For Teiris, this was good.
Anger and annoyance were things he could use.
Still hiding behind his addled, sleepy veneer, he gave a sigh. "Well, suit yourself," He said, settling himself in a more comfortable sitting position. He could use the Count's annoyance, but later. First he had a story to spin.

"Just to get the basics out of the way, I was born in Belatona, about nineteen years ago," He began, setting his gaze on the ceiling as if thinking it over. "My mother was a slave in a noble's household there. I never knew my father, other than my mother telling me he died when I was very young. I think she was lying, though. Illegitimate perhaps, or else he just walked away." He shook his head. "Anyway, my fate would pretty much have been the same as hers, except for that the the noble's son was a lonely child, and needed a playmate. We were about the same age, so I was chosen. A good choice, as it turned out. We were a good match, and remained the best of friends well into our teens. I probably would have remained at his right hand all his life, had it ended up being longer." He sighed, bringing his gaze back to that of his listener. "One night, shortly after I turned sixteen, soldiers raided the house. They rounded up everyone, my friend and his father included. I found out later that the noble had been convicted of treason, conspiring with the elves during the Blue Divide. You'll notice I haven't told you the noble's name. This is because it would do you no good. As you might already know, the part of the punishment for treason in those days was to strike any mention of the traitor's name and family history from any record, anywhere. Even if I were to give you the name, you wouldn't be able to look it up."
The Count snorted quietly, his reaction predictable. "How convenient for you, that we cannot verify your story."
"It would seem to me," Teiris answered, looking Lanteiri straight in the eye, "to be most inconvenient. But I can only tell you the truth as I know it, and whether you believe me or not is up to you." That was true enough, anyway. Even if he had told the entire truth, his story would go just as unverified. As far as Broddring records were concerned, Teiris Vorthain had never existed until he had escaped his master and murdered a man in the Tears. This way however, he could avoid the charges associated with the name, while giving him the ability to hold Lanteiri's eyes with confidence as he said, "Now shall I continue?"
After a moment, the Count nodded, waving a hand dismissively. Teiris gave an inner sigh of relief. So far so good. Now on to the good parts.

From that point on, his story was more or less the truth. His foray into slavery, his purchase by a kind master, his time in the streets before nearly freezing to death, and his rescue by the mission of mercy. Even his relationship with Myrei, although glossed over without mentioning her name. After that came the part of the story that was the most important, to which all others were simply prelude; The Cathedral, and the Hand of Leona. It was difficult for Teiris, even now. Even though he did his best to tell the story as clinically as possible, the emotion he had trouble holding back was all too real. He described his torture in passable detail, removing the leather bracers he wore to reveal the ugly lattice of scars underneath, tracing the origin of a few of them for emphasis. Finally, it came down to his escape.

He blew out a breath, steadying himself carefully. He would need all of his wits about him if he was to pull off the lie that was to come. "I should have died there," He went on, rolling his sleeves back down. "Some might say I did, depending on how you look at it. Finally, one of the Oracles wanted to try something new, and needed an educated subject for the procedure. To this day, I couldn't tell you what they were trying to do to me. All I know that it hurt so much that I couldn't even begin to describe it to you. You'll just have to imagine your own pain, compressed into minutes or hours, until there is nothing else." He paused for a moment, carefully observing the Count for any hint of a reaction. In the flickering shadows from the torchlights outside the cell, only Lantierie's eyes were clear, along with the almost luminous red dragon embroidered on his garment. Teiris thought he might have caught a flicker behind those eyes, although it could just as easily have been a trick of the light. He looked away, shaking his head. "I must have blacked out eventually, or perhaps more than that. When I woke up, I was sitting on a refuse pile. A near mountain of bones and half-rotted corpses, apparently where the Oracles left their toys after they had broken. It is only conjecture, but the only explanation I can think of is that I had appeared dead after the Oracle's procedure was finished, and so I was left to rot with the rest. Outside of my cage, it was much easier to make my escape, except... there was a guard. So... I killed him. I had no other choice. Of course, with a man missing, the Hand soon realized their mistake. I've been on the run ever since. For the past seven months, I've hid in villages, towns, barns, mountains... And the Paladins have pursued me through them all, even as far as Teirm itself. That was who your man killed when he found me earlier today. And that's how I come to you here, after all this time."

At last finished, Teiris settled himself against the wall, happy to let the silence drag on. It was a rather odd feeling. It was not the first time he had told the story since his escape. But now he pondered the consequences of telling a man with such power what exactly was behind Broddring's state religion. He forced down the thought. Even with his intellect, he could not foresee such ends. He could only act as best he could, and trust that he was doing the right thing.

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Genji waited impatiently for the Vorthain to begin. They were not off to a particularly good start and he did not envision this little chat improving his mood at all. He was therefore not disappointed – though further irritated – when the Vorthain asked where it should begin its tale. “Well, seeing as a tale is never properly told when one starts in the middle, perhaps you could see fit to...oh, I do not know...start at the beginning?” His face never shifted from his general disdainful look, but his voice was very heavily laced with sarcasm. In other words, it would not be difficult for even an Alagaesian to pick up on the tone. The Vorthain appeared somewhat disconcerted by this reaction. Good. Let it stay on its toes while it tried to spin some bilious lie about its presence in his city. He had given it plenty of time to come up with something reasonable, so he hoped it had used its time wisely.

And instead it invited him to sit down for this tale. Wha…had it seriously just asked him to sit down? He was wearing an incredibly expensive kimono and these dungeons were disgusting compared to the rest of the citadel. And it expected him to sit on these filthy floors or waste time getting a chair? He didn’t even bother hiding his disbelief or disgust, nor did he deign to properly answer. He merely raised one eyebrow slightly, communicating everything in that simple gesture. “Well, suit yourself,” it said, settling itself into a more comfortable position. Once it was satisfied, it finally started its tale. It was nineteen, born in Belatona, the childhood friend of its master’s son. “You'll notice I haven't told you the noble's name. This is because it would do you no good. As you might already know, the part of the punishment for treason in those days was to strike any mention of the traitor's name and family history from any record, anywhere. Even if I were to give you the name, you wouldn't be able to look it up.”

Genji snorted quietly. “How convenient for you, that we cannot verify your story.” Who might the noble have been? There had been many nobles that were named traitors after the Blue Divide had occurred. And while Carvala probably did not possess any more records of those nobles and their families, this did not mean that the memories of them did not still exist within the remaining nobility.

“It would seem to me to be most inconvenient.” It looked him brazenly in the eyes, as if challenging Genji to argue the validity if its argument. He almost laughed as it continued. “But I can only tell you the truth as I know it, and whether you believe me or not is up to you. Now shall I continue?” He regarded the Vorthain for a moment, tempted to simply call its bluff now. But that would do him no good. There was much more to this story and while this bit was certainly full of falsehood, what was to come would surely prove more informative, more useful, and infinitely more interesting. So he would leave this part of the tale for now. He waved his hand dismissively, indicating that the Vorthain should continue its tale. Genji was not disappointed – enslaved after the execution of its former masters, the kindly master who cared for it, its brush with death on the streets of the Tears and subsequent rescue by the Cathedral’s acolytes. Oh yes, this was certainly good and it rang far truer than the first part of its tale. The rescue by the Cathedral, in particular, fell in line with what little Raiden had been able to recall of his experiences in the Tears. That thought caused a slight frown to crease Genji’s brow. His guard’s startling lack of memory was disconcerting and the Vorthain was surely going to have something in its tale that might explain it.

And then, for the first time in many years, Genji found himself completely shocked. A distant part of himself was rather proud that he had not let even the slightest flicker of it show through. The rest of him was simply horrified. Torture, experimentation on human life, dabbling in arts so dark and foul that Zhayu surely laughed with glee and Yawata no Kami surely wept…this was what the Harlot was doing beneath the Cathedral of Leona? She was truly so monstrous? Yes, here were scars more numerous than Genji had seen on even the most battle-hardened war veterans latticed on the Vorthain’s arms alone. Here was an escaped experiment trying its best to clinically describe this experience that nearly broke him. Nearly, because there was still pain in the man’s voice. He was not yet dead and as much as Genji hated to admit it, he had to hold some respect for what this man had endured and the strength such a feat required. Did that excuse the lies from earlier? No. Not in the slightest. But Genji supposed he could put down mitigating circumstances when deciding how to deal with the Vorthain. Sympathy flickered briefly in Genji’s eyes – hopefully too quickly for the Vorthain to catch, because that was the last thing he needed this man to realize. The Vorthain didn’t seem to notice as he continued his tale, causing Genji to give an internal sigh of relief. “…the Paladins have pursued me through them all, even as far as Teirm itself. That was who your man killed when he found me earlier today. And that's how I come to you here, after all this time.”

Genji finally shifted his stance from one foot to the other, realizing at last how sore his feet and body were. It had indeed been a long tale. Now what do I do with all this information? The silence stretched on as he turned it all over in his mind, rapidly filing it in order of importance and the implications of each. In all that time, his eyes never left the Vorthain. However, his gaze was not disdainful for once. His features had settled into peaceful contemplation, though his brain was working furiously. Who do I go to with this? I surely cannot approach the king. If the rumors about him and the Harlot are true, then he is sanctioning this experimentation under the guise of this empire’s religion. A truly despicable method if ever I have seen one, to use the righteous deities for foul actions. If I tell Nayeli, it may get back to Azuan, which again is not what I want. I am not really in any position to do something about it myself at the moment – my power is not yet fully consolidated, despite the fact the nobles are now in my pocket more surely than they were before. If I could get away with it, there are the Riders. And it is possible this extends beyond simply a human matter…

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and exhaled harshly. This…was an absolutely horrendous position. He needed to take this one step at a time. First, deal with the Vorthain at least initially. Then reprimand Raiden for his lapse in judgment. And then return to examining this conundrum he now had in his lap and adjust his treatment of the Vorthain accordingly. “You…have given me much to consider, Tiernan.” His voice was little more than a whisper, meant for the Vorthain’s ears only. “Or perhaps I should call you Vorthain instead.” His gaze hardened into a nearly lethal glare, boring into the Vorthain’s eyes. Never rising above that same chilling whisper, he continued. “Yes, I know who you are and what you are accused of. But for now, that shall remain between us and my bodyguards. I am inclined to believe that from your enslavement onwards your tale is true, though I suspect your little prelude of your origins is not. I’ve no time to pry into that just now, but let me make something perfectly clear to you.” He stepped forward and squatted until his eyes were level with the Vorthain’s. “If you tell me such falsehoods again, I will not hesitate to send you back from whence you escaped. I hold no love for the Harlot or what you claim she is doing, but I may decide it is in my best interest to curry favor with her before making my move.” He stood and stepped back. “You are very lucky that it worked in your favor this time. Have I made myself clear?”

[Angmor]

Teiris waited under the Count's gaze, counting the heartbeats until the latter finally spoke his mind. There was very little else to hear. The three women outside were quiet as alley cats as per usual, any sound they might have made masked by the slight crackle of the torch. Teiris almost wished he could peek around the doorframe to try and gauge their thoughts on his tale, although he rather doubted they would be any more expressive than the Count. For his part, Lantieri's countenance was about emotional as a stone, but the slight unfocus to his eyes indicated the presence of deep consideration. An absent part of Teiris suddenly realized that his life literally depended on what this man said next. By telling his story, he had basically cast himself into a dark abyss, and was now waiting to find out if sharp rocks awaited him at the bottom. His hands tightened around his knees as he fought down a sudden spike of apprehension.
Relax. Risk is just a part of the game. You've played the best hand you have, the rest is up to fate.
Finally, the Count stirred, shutting his eyes and drawing out a long breath. Teiris almost felt sympathy for the man's stress. In his position, Teiris wouldn't want to deal with such a revelation either. “You…have given me much to consider, Tiernan,” The Count said at last, voice soft as the shadows, eyes harder than steel. “Or perhaps I should call you Vorthain instead.”

Teiris felt the floor tilt beneath him. Shit... Shit, I'm dead.
“Yes, I know who you are and what you are accused of. But for now, that shall remain between us and my bodyguards," The Count went on, voice unchanging, although the lack of emotion and made it all the more terrifying. Despite his fear, Teiris felt something slot into place. Of course. That's why his interrogation had been so long in coming. It wasn't because the Itasans were lazy, or ignorant, or any other bull-headedly stupid reason he had sold himself; it was because they already knew.
That Rikuto woman. It had to be. She suspected, and then actually had the initiative to check it out. You underestimated her, and now it's going to cost you.
"I am inclined to believe that from your enslavement onwards your tale is true, though I suspect your little prelude of your origins is not. I’ve no time to pry into that just now, but let me make something perfectly clear to you," The Count was saying, suddenly leaning down to fix him with a look that was colder than a blast of wind.If you tell me such falsehoods again, I will not hesitate to send you back from whence you escaped. I hold no love for the Harlot or what you claim she is doing, but I may decide it is in my best interest to curry favor with her before making my move.” Teiris felt a chill of fear run down his spine as the Count stood away. “You are very lucky that it worked in your favor this time. Have I made myself clear?”

Working against surprise, Teiris struggled to regain his mental footing. It would seem that the revelation of his true identity was not enough to condemn him as much as he had first thought. In fact, now that his story was out in the open, his real name didn't really change anything. The Count was smart enough to know that if a prisoner had escaped from the Hand with a tale to tell, the first logical step would be to discredit his word by making him a criminal. As for his story, the multitude of scars on his body bore witness that something horrendous had happened to him, and as for the details... could anyone honest believe him capable of making it up? His story was crazy, he would admit that.
Crazy enough to be true.
"You've made yourself very clear," Teiris answered after a moment, calming himself. "Yes, I am Teiris Vorthain. Yes, I am wanted by the Broddring government for a murder of which I am not entirely innocent. Yes, I lied to you. But I don't see how I could have avoided it. The first I had ever heard of you was from your bodyguard this morning. For all I knew, upon first hearing my name, you could have been swept up in a fervor for justice and put my head on a pike before I could even say a word." He blew out a weary sigh. "I did not become what I am today by choice. I have no one to rely on but myself. Put yourself in my position; would you have done any differently?"

It was, as far as he could tell, a logical argument. He could only hope that the Count was logical, as well as ruthless. After what the man had said, Teiris was now completely certain he would receive no mercy here. Upon hearing of his escape from the depths of hell itself, the very first thing the Count had done was threaten to send him back into it. The fact that Teiris was a living breathing man, just like himself, probably hadn't even crossed his mind.
What is it with these people and extending ultimatums? He wondered, thinking back to Raiden's words to him that morning;
“If you truly despise the Prophet, you need as many allies as you can find, Solus. And if you are wise, you will not make an enemy of me.”
Could there never be any middle ground? Did it always have to be either friend, or enemy? Why could he he not simply leave well enough alone, as he wished to be left? But whatever his wish, the facts didn't change. It was his fate to be an enemy of the powerful, it seemed. The price of friendship was simply too high.
Then I guess my plans don't change, either, he resolved, I have to get out of here.

[/blockquote]