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Tyria
Meteorite
- Joined
- Aug 11, 2014
There were only few things that always got Sabrae Aleanval positively fuming; namely, those moments when some poor bastard with brain capacity of an empty nutshell interrupted her in the middle of her speech, occasions when a greedy innkeeper tried to pass off some cheap dishwater for a fancy wine and learning bad news. If the three things mentioned were to compete in intensity of annoyance they could induce in the white-haired female, the last item on her short list would beat combined efforts of its two opponents even with one metaphorical hand tied behind its back. Of course, being the bitch it was, life adored to present her with these unpleasant surprises. Today, unfortunately, wasn't any exception. Sabrae looked up from her paperwork slowly, flickering flames of various torches strategically placed on her office's walls painting strange shadows on her face. It would have been a rather pretty face - a delicate features so typical for the elven race, blue almond-shaped eyes, full lips that almost begged for attention - if she currently didn't look like a cobra eyeing its dinner.
"What?" she hissed, which was quite an accomplishment when taking into account the word didn't contain any sibilance. The messenger boy kneeling in front of her shivered as if death itself touched him; considering Sabrae's reputation, he probably thought such an outcome wouldn't be exactly out of realm of possibility. Of course, the captain would never hurt the messenger just because the news he brought increased her blood pressure, mainly because good messengers were impossibly hard to find these days, but he didn't have to know. A reasonable dose of fear was an essential component of leadership.
"A-another victim has been found, madam," the boy repeated, his gaze never leaving the ground. Really? In such a short interval? By Lolth's web, the little bastards are getting cheekier and cheekier with every passing minute. Someone should give them a lesson in humility. Sabrae put away her quill in a distinctly annoyed manner, sighed and began massaging her temples; it was painfully obvious that 'someone' would have to be her as her comrades did everything within their power to stay as far from this conflict as physically possible while still pretending to work. To be perfectly honest, she understood their motives for slacking off. After all, the whole rebellion thing was pretty embarrassing. A bunch of lowly men with silly ideas about freedom had run away from their rightful homes, stolen some weapons of quality so questionable every smith worth her title would commit suicide upon manufacturing such an abomination and set out on their personal crusade to break the shackles of their brothers. It would have been a pure comedy gold if they actually weren't relatively successful. Sure, murdering few civilians certainly didn't melt their society's infrastructure and personally, Sabrae stood by the opinion anyone incompetent enough to get caught off-guard by few runaway slaves deserved their grim fate, but the iron fist of panic was slowly beginning to paralyze once vibrant life in the town. The captain would gladly level her beloved city to the ground rather than to see its once proud denizens cowering in fear. What was even worse, activities of the so-called rebels weren't exactly setting up the best example for obedient slaves; sooner or later, their numbers would grow exponentially if she didn't show them the only reward for uprising was a swift decapitation.
"Let me make a wild guess. The body was discarded in the sewer, her eyes cut out and stuffed in her mouth, correct?" The boy just nodded shortly, confirming presence of their morbid signature. "I also assume no new clue appeared." He shook his head this time; Sabrae would have been disappointed if her expectations weren't so low to begin with. Frankly, she was glad he had made it all the way into her office without getting lost in the process and starving to death on the streets. Anticipating learning something useful from their conversation would have been the pinnacle of naivety. "Do we know identity of the victim?" Yet another head shake, yet another small disappointment. "Alright, spread the message to other officers. You're dismissed for now." As the door closed behind him, the drow suppressed her urge to hit her head against the wall; they were getting absolutely nowhere with their investigation. Well, on the plus side, we do have a lot of spare bodies for our experiments with necromancy now, though I somewhat doubt the weeping families will be especially happy about this exciting new development. Sabrae knew they needed a new approach to crack this case, something unconventional that would break this fruitless routine, but nothing really occurred to her... At least until an obtrusive thought crept into her mind, uninvited and practically without her permission. Wait a second. We've been holding the key to rooting out this nonsensical rebellion for a while, haven't we?
They had been fortunate enough to capture a certain individual bearing the name Rothrin. From what Sabrae understood, he was a fairly low-ranking member of their group - someone unworthy of any real attention and thus a flashy public execution - but he could certainly lead her to his former comrades. The rebels hadn't even tried to free him, so he definitely could feel some resentment towards them and even if he didn't, well, let's just say a proper motivation worked wonders. Promises of freedom or threats to slowly skin the person in question alive never went out of style. Sabrae was aware old alliances could die very slowly sometimes and that he could just as easily turn against her at the first opportunity, but she would have chosen a different job if taking risks scared her. Fine, time to make him deserve all that perfectly good food we wasted on him, the woman thought, getting up from her comfy chair. The situation required immediate actions and it wasn't like anything kept Rothrin busy enough to be unable to receive her visit; his beauty sleep could wait.
The local prison was close, so she didn't have to endure the cold night air gnawing at her skin for long. It took just a few minutes and she was knocking on the door urgently. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" a female voice answered, visibly irritated at the late night visitor's stubbornness. Her sour mood, however, dissolved into alarmed politeness once she spotted her superior's face. "Ah, captain Aleanval! Good evening. What a... surprise for you to honor us with your presence," she began, insincerity ringing in her tone so loudly even a deaf person would be able to pick on it. No, nobody liked seeing her, especially if she came unannounced; that usually meant a surprise inspection and Sabrae was almost universally despised for being very, very thorough. "What is your wish?"
"Good evening to you, too," Sabrae returned her the greeting, her expression carefully neutral, "I came to visit one of the prisoners. Specifically, one of the rebels you caught some time ago. His name is Rothrin, if my memory serves correctly." A question flashed in the woman's eyes, but it remained unspoken; if the captain wanted to have a chat with the prisoner, it meant she hadn't come to stick her nose when it didn't belong and the guardian was down with that. "Sure, by all means come in. He's probably asleep now, but I shall take care of that for you." And so Sabrae descended to the dungeons with the guardian as her guide. The combined smell of unwashed bodies, urine and rot almost made her gag, but her facial muscles betrayed no emotion; she'd rather cut off her own right hand before revealing any kind of weakness in front of anyone. "There he is," her companion exclaimed when they arrived to a dim cell, and poked the sleeping man with a stick harshly. "Wake up, you good-for-nothing bastard! Captain Aleanval wishes to speak to you and trust me, you don't wanna keep her waiting." A small, cruel smirk formed on Sabrae's lips as she watched his sad situation. "Indeed, I believe we have a lot to discuss," she stated in a velvety tone incompatible with her expression. "How have you been enjoying our hospitality, for instance? Is everything here to your liking?" What? Sabrae may have been here to do business, but she couldn't resist a good chance for a sarcastic jab.
"What?" she hissed, which was quite an accomplishment when taking into account the word didn't contain any sibilance. The messenger boy kneeling in front of her shivered as if death itself touched him; considering Sabrae's reputation, he probably thought such an outcome wouldn't be exactly out of realm of possibility. Of course, the captain would never hurt the messenger just because the news he brought increased her blood pressure, mainly because good messengers were impossibly hard to find these days, but he didn't have to know. A reasonable dose of fear was an essential component of leadership.
"A-another victim has been found, madam," the boy repeated, his gaze never leaving the ground. Really? In such a short interval? By Lolth's web, the little bastards are getting cheekier and cheekier with every passing minute. Someone should give them a lesson in humility. Sabrae put away her quill in a distinctly annoyed manner, sighed and began massaging her temples; it was painfully obvious that 'someone' would have to be her as her comrades did everything within their power to stay as far from this conflict as physically possible while still pretending to work. To be perfectly honest, she understood their motives for slacking off. After all, the whole rebellion thing was pretty embarrassing. A bunch of lowly men with silly ideas about freedom had run away from their rightful homes, stolen some weapons of quality so questionable every smith worth her title would commit suicide upon manufacturing such an abomination and set out on their personal crusade to break the shackles of their brothers. It would have been a pure comedy gold if they actually weren't relatively successful. Sure, murdering few civilians certainly didn't melt their society's infrastructure and personally, Sabrae stood by the opinion anyone incompetent enough to get caught off-guard by few runaway slaves deserved their grim fate, but the iron fist of panic was slowly beginning to paralyze once vibrant life in the town. The captain would gladly level her beloved city to the ground rather than to see its once proud denizens cowering in fear. What was even worse, activities of the so-called rebels weren't exactly setting up the best example for obedient slaves; sooner or later, their numbers would grow exponentially if she didn't show them the only reward for uprising was a swift decapitation.
"Let me make a wild guess. The body was discarded in the sewer, her eyes cut out and stuffed in her mouth, correct?" The boy just nodded shortly, confirming presence of their morbid signature. "I also assume no new clue appeared." He shook his head this time; Sabrae would have been disappointed if her expectations weren't so low to begin with. Frankly, she was glad he had made it all the way into her office without getting lost in the process and starving to death on the streets. Anticipating learning something useful from their conversation would have been the pinnacle of naivety. "Do we know identity of the victim?" Yet another head shake, yet another small disappointment. "Alright, spread the message to other officers. You're dismissed for now." As the door closed behind him, the drow suppressed her urge to hit her head against the wall; they were getting absolutely nowhere with their investigation. Well, on the plus side, we do have a lot of spare bodies for our experiments with necromancy now, though I somewhat doubt the weeping families will be especially happy about this exciting new development. Sabrae knew they needed a new approach to crack this case, something unconventional that would break this fruitless routine, but nothing really occurred to her... At least until an obtrusive thought crept into her mind, uninvited and practically without her permission. Wait a second. We've been holding the key to rooting out this nonsensical rebellion for a while, haven't we?
They had been fortunate enough to capture a certain individual bearing the name Rothrin. From what Sabrae understood, he was a fairly low-ranking member of their group - someone unworthy of any real attention and thus a flashy public execution - but he could certainly lead her to his former comrades. The rebels hadn't even tried to free him, so he definitely could feel some resentment towards them and even if he didn't, well, let's just say a proper motivation worked wonders. Promises of freedom or threats to slowly skin the person in question alive never went out of style. Sabrae was aware old alliances could die very slowly sometimes and that he could just as easily turn against her at the first opportunity, but she would have chosen a different job if taking risks scared her. Fine, time to make him deserve all that perfectly good food we wasted on him, the woman thought, getting up from her comfy chair. The situation required immediate actions and it wasn't like anything kept Rothrin busy enough to be unable to receive her visit; his beauty sleep could wait.
The local prison was close, so she didn't have to endure the cold night air gnawing at her skin for long. It took just a few minutes and she was knocking on the door urgently. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" a female voice answered, visibly irritated at the late night visitor's stubbornness. Her sour mood, however, dissolved into alarmed politeness once she spotted her superior's face. "Ah, captain Aleanval! Good evening. What a... surprise for you to honor us with your presence," she began, insincerity ringing in her tone so loudly even a deaf person would be able to pick on it. No, nobody liked seeing her, especially if she came unannounced; that usually meant a surprise inspection and Sabrae was almost universally despised for being very, very thorough. "What is your wish?"
"Good evening to you, too," Sabrae returned her the greeting, her expression carefully neutral, "I came to visit one of the prisoners. Specifically, one of the rebels you caught some time ago. His name is Rothrin, if my memory serves correctly." A question flashed in the woman's eyes, but it remained unspoken; if the captain wanted to have a chat with the prisoner, it meant she hadn't come to stick her nose when it didn't belong and the guardian was down with that. "Sure, by all means come in. He's probably asleep now, but I shall take care of that for you." And so Sabrae descended to the dungeons with the guardian as her guide. The combined smell of unwashed bodies, urine and rot almost made her gag, but her facial muscles betrayed no emotion; she'd rather cut off her own right hand before revealing any kind of weakness in front of anyone. "There he is," her companion exclaimed when they arrived to a dim cell, and poked the sleeping man with a stick harshly. "Wake up, you good-for-nothing bastard! Captain Aleanval wishes to speak to you and trust me, you don't wanna keep her waiting." A small, cruel smirk formed on Sabrae's lips as she watched his sad situation. "Indeed, I believe we have a lot to discuss," she stated in a velvety tone incompatible with her expression. "How have you been enjoying our hospitality, for instance? Is everything here to your liking?" What? Sabrae may have been here to do business, but she couldn't resist a good chance for a sarcastic jab.