Dark Suspicions or Paranoia [ATTN: Investigators] [Repost]

[Marak]

OOC: Of course! Bring on the Myrddraal! (Of course, we won't turn Drenn to the Shadow, but it's an awesome threat, especially for someone who hates the Shadow)

 

IC: Aginor's face was marred by a sudden expression of sheer hatred, his face twisted into monstrous rage. After a moment, however, the remembered blow to his pride was quickly overtaken by his self-control.

 

"Hmph. Pitiable. With training, you would've risen high in the Shadow. It matters not, however."

 

Another weave of Fire, Aginor's face impassive all the while. He had never been the best at torture, but, after all, his speciality was to make new creatures. And to create anew, you must know of the old. And he knew human physiology very well, perhaps the best of his Age.

 

He felt a jerk at his shield. Strange. Someone had the power to resist him, if only by a tiny bit. He wove again, the strands of water streaming together to douse the man's body in cool water. It was simply to constrast the pain, heat would seem far more devastating on a cold man than on a hot one.

 

Aginor allowed himself to stop talking, and let a little chuckle escape his lips, before rubbing his hands together in glee.

 

He didn't intend to take the time to actually carry out such a turning, but the threat had frightened hardened men and women in his Age, frightened them more than Semirhage's delights, or Sammael's hordes, or Graendal's Compulsion. To be turned to willingly serve the Shadow, to be twisted to serve the Shadow, was the greatest fear any of the true brave, he had found. Everyone had a weakness, and some were pitifully easy to find..

 

He ceased moving his hands, and spoke, intoning each word slowly so that the man he was torturing would manage to hear every single word.

 

"Tell me. Thirteen Myrddraal, and thirteen Dreadlords. Have you listened well to your bards, Asha'man? Their tales are truer than you might know.."

 

 

 

 

- - - - - - - - - -

 

 

 

 

OOC Note: Could the people who are now around Marak please.. well.. do something? It'll be a bit anticlimatic if I torture Drenn, he gets rescued, and Marak wanders out of the Black Towers because no-one's there to interrogate him.

[Guest Estel]

And the room was empty. There was no sound but the crackling of the fire and his breathing, still steadying from the exhilaration of the chase. As he sat in his chair, staring at the man across the room, dark thoughts entered his mind. ~If the man is a Darkfriend, doesn’t he deserve whatever you do to him?~ The voice was back, chilling him to the bone. But it was entertaining a thought not at all foreign to Isha’s mind. He needed information and there was only one way he was going to get it out of that man.

 

‘So I am reduced to torture then, like some over-zealous Whitecloak?’

 

~What are the alternatives?~

 

‘So I’m to employ the same methods, despised by the Light and used by the Dark for centuries?’

 

~Few things are black and white... Most of this moral issues in the world are grey... They have good aspects and bad aspects... It’s what you use it for~

 

‘I still don’t like it.’

 

~When you do... Stop~

 

Suddenly, Isha realized what he was doing and horrified, drowned the voice from his head. The expression must have passed to his face because his captive suddenly seemed too interested. Giving himself a shake, the Attack Leader steeled himself for what would come. He had never in his life thought of torturing a man- or at least not seriously, as a boy, because of his size he was often teased and in anger he had wished to break one of those children’s arms, but this was different.

 

Adopting the cold air he had so often used for training- ‘But Light, this isn’t like training at all.’- he advanced on the man. “Let’s start with your name. Any question you refuse to answer will be met with enough pain to leave you crippled for the rest of your Light forsaken, worthless life.†He couldn’t allow any scrap of his self-doubt enter his voice nor appear on his face. Perhaps having those scars running across, marring what could have been something normal was not so bad after all.

 

ooc: sorry...

[Marak]

OOC: Everyone gets tortured at some time in their life. I call it a character building experience. Of course, I define 'character building', as 'mad urge to destroy world', but, what's the difference, in the end?

 

IC: Marak looked up the man, and spat. It was a silly defiant gesture, but the pain he might endure now was worth it.

 

Although he couldn't move, and he was shielded, he tried another small gesture. He pushed against the shield, and was easily rebuffed. The Shadow consume him!, he thought, and kept his silence.

 

No-one else was there, and he snarled, and spoke. "You want to know something?", in a compliant, suddenly almost 'nice' tone. "Fine". His lips twitched maniacally as he began to spoke, his syrupy tones overtaken occasionally by the tiniest bit of laughter, hiccuping out through his voice.

 

"Your pitiful little Tower is going to burn. The Shadow will consume it!".

 

The first sentence, he spoke in the same tone, the second, his voice grew quickly to rage, and malice, his voice raised to a yell as his voice quickly gained in volume and anger.

 

As the man looked at him, Marak laughed. He had never been tortured before, and nor would he welcome the experience, but let the Shadow take them! The Shadow would take them all, and, when he was rescued, he would exact vengeance for this slight that he had endured.

 

His body trembled as he stopped shouting, partially out of fear, partially out of anger, and partially out of excitement, as he stood there, not trying to escape, simply waiting, waiting for the man to make his move.

 

His hair was dirty, and jumbled, his face had a thin layer of dust on it, he was short, and he was hardly intimidating in any form of physical prowess, but.. something about him was frightening. Perhaps it was the madness that stemmed from the Shadow, the hate, and the will to dominate. Or perhaps it was simply the strangeness of his behaviour, acting in ways he never himself expected when particular situations rose up upon him..

[Death Incarnate]

Nostros could feel the power of Saidin being used heavily within the house as the imposter flew through the door. What made the petty human believe he had the right to wear the cloak of his brethren anyway? He would pay for that. Suddenly everything stopped but only for a second. Then a second person leapt through the window and he felt them channeling once more. As before though it was very brief and the little body of the boy who had jumped in frantically scrambled out and onto a little platform that appeared in a hole in the air. Resourceful little creature regardless of how pitiful they were. Then he felt the master disappear from inside using his hole in the air but he knew to where he disappeared. Stepping back into a shadow he began to fade. He loved the sensation of the fade as he flitted from shadow to shadow.

 

The master always kept a shadow available within his quarters and Nostros put it to good use. He appeared a few meters behind the two and watched with pride as his creator toyed with the insolent one while pinning it to a table. He relished in the screams as they filled him with bliss. His master was good at what he did. He only wished that he himself were up to such standards. He had heard what some of the other Chosen could do with their power but he had never had the honor of watching them work. It was even more exhilarating then his own kills. Maybe the master would allow him to try his hand at torturing the insolent one as well. He smiled at the mere idea...

_________________________________________________

 

Drenn watched with some sense of pride as the saw the brazen hate bloom over the Forsaken's face. He remembered. To his disappointment though he quickly regained his composure and glared back down with a face of stone. Now Drenn knew he was going to pay for that.

 

"Hmph. Pitiable. With training, you would've risen high in the Shadow. It matters not, however." Suddenly he felt the weaves begin again and his skim burned once more. He let out a slew of curses as he yelled out in pain until the pain overtook him and her could no long move his mouth. He pushed as hard as he could against the shield that held him. He needed Saidin! He struggle was in vain though as the shield held firm. He was trapped. Suddenly he felt something he hadn't expected. He felt cold water all over him. It was so refreshing and eased the pain significantly. Then he noticed the look in his captor’s eyes. There was something behind this refresher that he knew he would regret when it came.

 

"Tell me. Thirteen Myrddraal, and thirteen Dreadlords. Have you listened well to your bards, Asha'man? Their tales are truer than you might know..." Drenn's face blanched. He knew the stories of how a man could be turned to the shadow against his will. His soul corrupted until he would hurt those he cared for most... He began to struggle again even more frantically then before. He through everything he had into breaking that shield. He had to get away! And if he couldn't... He didn't even have a way to end his own life.

__________________________________________________

 

Thirteen? Nostros thought. His excitement growing even more by the second. Would they? Could they? He knew now it was his time to make his presence known. He could see how the man was struggling and knew well the effect his presence would have. The man's eyes went wide and his face paled even more as Nostros stepped forward. His face a cold, eyeless stare that froze even the bravest of men in their tracks. And then he did something that caused even more fear to spread through their hearts. He smiled with a malicious grin of the most evil intent. It was common knowledge that Myrddraal couldn't or didn't smile. But he did. The man's struggling simply stopped and he just stared. Nostros could tell by the look in his eyes that he was remembering the last of his brethren he had seen but this time he was powerless.

 

"The Great Lord of the Dark will have you this time boy.†He turned to his creator now. To simply be in the presence of the one who had created him and his brethren was an honor, as such he had never had before. "Master, How shall we proceed?" He wanted to make the insolent one pay for his crimes against his brother whose cloak he now wore like a trophy but he would not overstep his position.

[Marak]

OOC: Letting Nostros torture Drenn means that you don't need to wait on anyone else, gives you complete creative control. Plus, I feel Nostros would have a grudge against someone wearing one of his cloaks..

 

"Ah, Fade. What absolute and utter perfect timing. Tell me, would you like to take care of this.. guardian for me?"

 

Aginor didn't really have time to continue torturing the man. He didn't really see the point in it, either. It was a means to an end, he didn't take the pleasure that Semirhage, or most of the other Chosen took in their torture of others.

 

The man was obviously not going to tell him what he needed, and probably didn't know, to boot. Aginor reached out to the True Source, and filled himself, head-to-toe full of saidin. He would be like a beacon to any Asha'man, but, at this time, he didn't care.

 

He settled new weaves of Air on the hapless man, tying him down securely. Without moving, he spoke. "I will give one last chance. Look at it this way. You tell me what you know, and I'll just knot my web, and leave you somewhere quiet. If you continue to refuse me.. You will be among the foremost of my servants."

 

Aginor cursed internally. If he had any Talent with Compulsion, this would be much, much easier. As it was, the best he could do was make the man deliriously obedient, but, if he used that much Compulsion on the man, he'd be too incoherent with joy to answer any questions.

 

He was ill-suited to the task, but he doubted if any Fade could not outdo him in the art of torture. After all, they delighted in it, and, as he well knew, you were generally good at what you liked.

 

"Oh, yes. I'll give you a few seconds to answer me. After that, I'll turn you over to the tender ministrations of my gentle friend here."

 

Aginor smiled. It was something that did not evoke fear by itself, like a Myrddraal's smile, or better described as a grim, humourless stretching of the lips, did. It was something that looked perfectly harmless, like a somewhat gentle old man, smiling almost grandfatherly at the man.

 

It was made all the more frightening by the fact the gentle old man was wielding enough saidin to level a town, and was spattered with the occasional dot of blood, his somewhat wrinkled hands pressed together, not in eagerness, or in nervousness, but almost as if he was praying..

 

Aginor, of course, did not intend to give that impression. However, he was a scientist, not an actor. There really wasn't much more to do, he knew. Nonetheless, he shivered briefly as he waited, he would not truly call in the effort of thirteen Dreadlords, and thirteen Myrddraal, they had recruited enough new Acolytes here that such a wasteage of effort would simply not be feasible, especially considering the fact it'd risk far more than he stood to gain.

 

However, he turned, and began purposefully striding to the door. He strode slowly, however, waiting for the man to speak..

[Guest Estel]

The fireplace suddenly blinked out, throwing the room into blackness just as the man’s last words rang through the air. Isha let long moments drag out before he made his next move. Holding saidin, the sound of the man’s breathing was loud in his ears. It was quicker than it should have been. Fear? ‘Good. Let him fear the wrath of the Light.’ ~As long as you are using it for the Light, boy~ Ruthlessly Isha shut the voice out.

 

Whether or not it was really Isha weaving could be disputed by the world’s top scholars, but the next thing the big man knew, he was holding a bar of Fire and Air. Surprised, the Void nearly crumbled and it took him a moment to regain his composure. Shaking his head, he leaned over the first man he would ever torture.

 

“I asked for your name, boy.†His voice held a sort of contained fury and before the last word had left his twisted lips, he had begun drawing the Power-wrought poker across the man’s cheek. The smell of burning flesh assaulted his nose, but within the Void he did not feel the need to vomit.

 

Slowly Isha worked, dragging the poker slowly across the man’s other cheek in an identical line to that on the other. He had unconsciously woven a barrier against sound, blocking the man’s agony from reaching the rest of the Tower. “Shall I ask again?†The smile was cruel and hard.

 

ooc: we're having a few more 'senior' Ashies join us now, shoudl make this more interesting. And sorry for my slow posting, I'm struggling to keep up and I get home from work half the time too exhausted to write. Again my apologies...

[Guest Dalinar]

Dalinar rested in a casual slouch against the wall still hidden from most prying eyes. He watched and listened curiously. The scene before him had him slightly bewildered and the manner that the baijan'm'hael had assumed was almost disturbing. Dalinar wondered briefly if Isha was starting to lose touch with reality.

 

Still, the man must have his reasons, and for now Dalinar was prepared to see them through. If things got beyond control then he could always intervene. And he felt he could learn more from the shadows than in the open.

 

Dalinar blinked his eyes as darkness descended on the room, adjusting them to the change. Without saidin in his grasp he felt sadly lacking in the gloom until a few moments later, a bright bar of fire appeared in one of Isha's hand, the Asha'man's face bent low and close over the bound form at his feet.

 

Isha growled something in a low voice at the man which Dalinar did not catch, and moments later there was the faint hiss and crackle of charring flesh in the air and the pungent, cloying scent that accompanied it as thin ribbons of smoke whisped their way off the man's face and dissipated into nothing.

 

The man bit off a harsh groan but had not yet replied to his scarred torturer's demands. Dalinar's eyes clouded over as he detached himself from the horror of the scene before him and settled into a mode of objective observation. He wondered what this all had to do with Vykor's injury in the first place...

 

Dalinarius Traachanshield,

M'Hael.

[Cabroci]

OOC: Okay, so here I am...thought hard how to be able to have him walk in on the scene, then figured it out. So lemme know if it's okay or I'll edit

 

IC: Zbynek followed Covai around the farm, making himself familiar with the new surroundings. Suddenly he thought of something and interrupted his tour guide. "Coming back is all well and good, but I think I need to speak with Dalinarius as well. He's still M'hael, is he not?" Covai nodded his agreement and took a left turn, making his way towards a central building. A guard was in attendance, a long man with dark hair and a mustache who obviously disliked his duty. "What do you want?" Zbynek's mouth tightened slightly in disapproval and Covai said: "We wish to speak to the M'hael." It was never wise to offend a guard, so they did not mention the disrespect but Zbynek wouldn't forget and knowing Covai, neither would he. "He's not in." A smirk betrayed his pleasure at denying them. "Where is he?" Zbynek said friendly, showing a coin. "In the training halls." Zbynek smiled coldly and let the coin disappear back into his pocket. They left the guard behind an even unhappier man. Dalinarius could not be found there either, but a man there told them he had been called away to heal someone at Ishtar's house. On their way there, Covai excused himself, having other matters on his mind as well, and pointed out the way to her house.

 

A few minutes later Zbynek arrived, walking straight up to the door and knocking softly. Then he noticed that there was someone channeling inside and whatever it was, it wasn't healing. Seizing saidin, he channeled to break away the lock from the door and stepped in. The scene he entered was interesting, to say the least. He saw a man lying on a table with another man leaning over him, holding a shield on him and bringing a bar of Fire and Air to bear on the face of the shielded Asha'man. "Well," Zbynek drew deep on the source as he said it," Well..that is interesting." He prepared two very nasty weaves and continued: "Tie off the shield and release the source, if ya please." The bar of Air and Fire disappeared and the other standing man turned towards him. Another Asha'man. Interesting indeed.

Zbynek.

Interrupting

[Death Incarnate]

OOC: Can't resist the chance to draw a little more pain onto Drenn... and maybe to form a bit more of a grudge.

 

IC: Drenn watched with horror as the fade walked up towards him with that unwavering glare on its eyeless face. Could the forsaken be telling the truth? If there was one he could easily have 13. His mind began to frantically search in vain for a way to escape again. His mind was brought back once more to the fade as it did something he had been told was impossible. It smiled. It was a mirthless grin that every now and then, through a slight twitch, showed a few dark teeth. He was frozen. He couldn't even blink. At that point the weave of air holding him was not necessary, he couldn't have moved even if he was free. His mind was filled with the hear he'd felt last time he'd encountered a fade. He remembered all to well how it had simply walked out of the shadows. Even with his eyesight he hadn't seen it coming before hand. He had felt it though he hadn't known at the time what it meant.

 

"The Great Lord of the Dark will have you this time boy.†Drenn felt suddenly cold now as he was reminded of his past. His family. The Myddraal had told him that it had been the Dark ones efforts that had caused those dreams. Caused his family's death. Sudden rage ran through him. Rage that had been pent up for a long time now. The fade turned away from him and brought its attention to Aginor. "Master, How shall we proceed?"

 

 

"Ah, Fade. What absolute and utter perfect timing. Tell me, would you like to take care of this.. guardian for me?" Drenn could almost feel the eagerness in the fade to put its efforts into causing pain. Aginor on the other hand turned his attention once again back to Drenn and continued. "I will give one last chance. Look at it this way. You tell me what you know, and I'll just knot my web, and leave you somewhere quiet. If you continue to refuse me.. You will be among the foremost of my servants." Drenn knew that no matter what he said the outcome would be the same. But, he would not give the Forsaken the pleasure of an answer. He would not break! "Oh, yes. I'll give you a few seconds to answer me. After that, I'll turn you over to the tender ministrations of my gentle friend here." and that was when the slow realization came to him. He was not going to be turned. If he was then they would have been about it by now. no, he was likely going to die at the hands of this Myrddraal. Aginor on the other hand stood their patiently with his hands pressed together and a fake smile on his face. Drenn almost laughed at that as the man looked positively like an idiot. After a few more moments of this aginor turned and slowly started walking towards the door. Then Drenn did laugh.

 

It started as a small and inaudible chuckle but slowly rose to be an obvious laugh. The laugh in itself stopped the Forsaken in his tracks but Drenn wasn't finished. Now, with the weaves that had been gagging his mouth gone he found his voice.

 

"I win." he said simply. thoughts were running through Drenn's head rapidly and most were thinking he must truly be mad to speak to a forsaken in such a manner. Then he quickly realized he no longer cared. he was going to die. What mattered? Aginor on the other hand turned around to look back at Drenn when he said this. "I win forsaken. You have failed.†As he laughed, his only thoughts were that he must be mad.

[Marak]

More men were walking into the room. Marak barely noticed them as pain seared across his face. Physical pain was something he was unused to. Emotional pain, yes. Mental pain, and even touches of insanity were bearable.

 

However, the sheer pain of fire on skin, blistering as it touched, was something he was unused to bearing. He had disliked being hurt, since ever he could remember, and no love of it, indeed, he was somewhat scared of pain.

 

Rather than let the torture continue, he spoke up, contempt ringing through his tones. "My name is Marak.". He fell silent again. He hurt. Crying, or breaking was not something he could do, would do, he had cried out the last of his tears some time ago.

 

He waited then, the contempt showing clearly through the clenching of teeth, and pain, as he stayed silent. After all, any torture would be repaid tenfold, he thought, any pain, any scars he received here, he would be certain to repay, every chance he got..

 

 

 

 

 

Aginor laughed maliciously. "Lost?! Oh, you pitiful little fool. I have not lost. I have failed to get what I want. Do you honestly believe you are important?!".

 

He laughed again, in sheer spite. The fool thought that he played a large part in the scheme of things, in truth, he would take his newly-found servants, and leave this.. 'tower'. Upon the Day of Return, the pitiful lightfools would be slaughtered entirely, and those who could not channel enslaved. A minor misstep here, however, could make him weaker among the Chosen.

 

He spoke again. "You are scarcely worth a minute of my time. Let me tell you something. The world is failing. The Shadow has begun the destruction of the borderlands, the Great Lord awakes. What I do here means nothing, nothing to the inevitable victory of the Shadow. This is merely a.. personal pursuit, an interest, if you will, to occupy myself before the Shadow swallows the world."

 

He almost left. It was time to gather the ten or so men Marak had gathered, and take them to the Blight. He had not truly expected to conquer the Black Tower, although he had hoped. However, ten new servants, bent to his will, was worth this effort. He did not rule a nation, like the other Chosen, and every loyal servant was a step closer to being Nae'blis.

 

However, he had a parting.. gift, for the foolish channeler. It was a shield. It was something he'd never tried before, knotting a shield. But this was not a simply knotted shield, which could be done easily. This was elaborately tied off, knotted again, wrapped around itself.. as he walked away, the weave intensified, and, he'd be surprised if the man could break it at all alone, and it'd take him some time, even with help.

 

He smiled. One more thing. Compulsion. An elaborate weave settled inside the room, on Drenn, like a carpet woven entirely by hand, a few weaves out of place, but still complex, and beautiful. The man would deliriously worship him. No, not him. He made a few subtle changes, hopefully producing the result he wanted. He would see the Myrddraal as a wonderful master, who he wished to serve. Naturally, the man would be too incoherent to answer any but the most basic questions, but, from what he had seen, the self-loathing it would evoke in the man was worth it..

 

He smiled as he walked away, his pearly white teeth showing as he did so. He was prepared for anything - any attack, any betrayal. In a few minutes, he would drop the Compulsion weave - it amused him to torture the man's mind, especially such an insolent fool's mind..

[Guest Estel]

Isha let the weave dissipate as a man came barging through the door. Immediately he drew more of the One Power into himself and he now held all he could. ~I am weaker than I once was~ The voice hit Isha like a full cavalry charge. Saidin suddenly surged within him and fiery tides rose up to engulf him. Like the warrior he was, Isha fought but still it was a very near thing.

 

Breathing deep, the big man turned to get a better look of the intruder. A Asha’man? Interesting indeed. ~Kill him you fool! Kill him before he kills you!~ Isha repressed a shudder. Light where was this coming from? ‘Blood and ashes, I can’t be going mad. No. I’m not going mad. It’s just this torture. Burn me if I’m beginning to understand the Whitecloaks’ madness.’

 

Again, Isha set his mind to the man in front of him. If only his thoughts would stop interrupting him! If this came to a fight... Well, it better not. That would mean losing the prisoner and either he or the man in his doorway dead. The man was stronger than him but here Isha also had the advantage of rank. Light, if this came to a duel though, rank wouldn’t help him.

 

A cold stare was set upon the man and Isha spoke from the emptiness of the Void. “That I will not.†By the set of the man’s body, those words were the words to provoke an attack. Isha held up a big hand and gave a warning glare. “You come barging through the door of an Attack Leader, unannounced. Then without knowing the situation demand that he release the Source and take a chance of letting a confessed Darkfriend escape. Now, if you will please state you name and why you came bursting through my door. Oh, and whether or not you are a Dreadlord.†There was still the chance this man was here to save the other.

 

It was at this point that the man decided to answer. â€My name is Marak.†Without taking his eyes from the stranger, Isha backed up until he was behind his prisoner.

[Cabroci]

“You come barging through the door of an Attack Leader, unannounced. Then without knowing the situation demand that he release the Source and take a chance of letting a confessed Darkfriend escape. Now, if you will please state you name and why you came bursting through my door. Oh, and whether or not you are a Dreadlord.†Zbynek almost chuckled at the fierce answer. He'd probably like this man, once he realized that throwing rank around wasn't going to get him anywhere. But Darkfriends were a filthy business. He grimaced at the man stating his name. A confessed Darkfriend... by the name of Marak. Zbynek raised an eyebrow at the Attack Leader. "He's a pitifull little thing, ain't he?" The eyes watching him didn't soften and he shrugged. Some people were just to serious about some things. "My name is Zbynek," he watched for a reaction that didn't come," and I didn't just barge in here, I came looking for the M'hael. But I'm guessing he isn't here." Zbynek smiled slightly, letting his eyes run over the prisoner.

 

"If I was a dreadlord, or a Darkfriend Asha'man, or whatever it is called nowadays, I'd hardly come in here alone and then first make smalltalk with you. I'd come with as many as I could gather and just blow the entire building out of the ground. But then again, I'm not a subtle man. But neither am I a darkfriend. You can even check the records for that, I've already been charged with it once." That charge still galled him even though it had been cleared beyond doubt. Andar had been wrong there, but Zbynek understood, somewhat. Weakharted men always sought for excuses for why they could not when others could. Not that Andar was weakharted, but he was such a.. good man. Not one to order the dead of a witness if the witness was innocent. Zbynek shook himself...enough musings. He focused on the Attack Leader again. "Well, in any case, if you need a hand to help torturing him, consider the offer made..I've got quite a lot of experience and even if he didn't talk, you might learn something of the human body in the process." Zbynek let a knife slip out of his sleeve and started to clean his nails, letting the source slip away to a bare minimum as a peace offering.

Z

[Guest Estel]

A small smile cracked Isha’s face. He still wasn’t quite sure of this Zybnek... Zybnek, that name sounded familiar. More important now was the man’s offer. Isha had never tortured a man before and the experience would be invaluable. “Alright Zybnek, I could use the help. As for this son of a spavined goat,†the big man jabbed his thumb backwards, indicating Marak behind him “I caught him after one of my mentees was attacked. I was just starting when you came in.â€

 

To demonstrate that he would take the other’s lead, he stepped back and stopped up the floodgate so he held only a trickle of saidin.

[Cabroci]

Zbynek nodded grimly at the Attack Leader before moving his eyes to the blade he was holding, checking it for flaws. There were none, as he had sharpened it this morning, but it never hurt to check. Then he walked over to the prisoner and looked into his eyes. Angry eyes that were just a bit too fanatical in meeting his. Perhaps some information could be gained here. Not too likely though.

 

"Very well Marak. This must be your lucky day. Now..I'll explain this nice and simple, so even you can understand it. I'm not going to ask you questions. I'll probably dismiss most of what you scream at me and there's definitely no way to leave this room alive. No one knows where you are and no one will find out. I'm just going to hurt you very much and for a very long time. Is that clear?" Zbynek didn't even listen to his reply as he walked over to the Asha'man on the other side of the prisoner. "Can you turn him over, he needs to lie on his belly for this. I would do this myself but I think you'd rather not have me channel. Until you trust me, that is."

 

Zbynek turned back to the prisoner who was now laying down on his belly and walked past him until reaching the calves. There he used his knife to quickly strip the pants of the Darkfriend's right calve, using the cloth to blindfold him afterwards. As he did this, he explained to the other man that depriving him of some of his senses heightened his other senses, thus making the torture slightly more painful. It also took away anything he might try to focus on with his eyes. After he was done preparing, he turned to the Attack Leader with a blank look on his face. "First of all, do you have a name, sir Attack Leader? And second of all, are you sure you want to witness this? It's not pretty." The man raised an eyebrow at him and said: "The name is Isha and I think I'll live."

 

Zbynek nodded. "Very well." Then he checked his knife one more time and turned to the leg. He let his fingers run over it lightly, feeling for muscles, bones and veins. Finding the right spot, or so he hoped, he slipped his knife between two muscles. "You see, the point is," he said as he wriggled his knife between the two muscles, producing screams from the prisoner and a bit more room between the muscles," not to damage the victim, but to create as much pain with as little damage. Now humans have these nice little things called nerves through there entire body," Zbynek smiled as he reached the nerve with his knife, producing a howl from the prisoner," which produce quite a bit of pain when touched." Zbynek channeled a bit of fire, cauterizing the wounds to stop the bleeding. He cleaned his knife and put it away. Then he put his finger inside the Darkfriend's calve, pressing the nerve slightly, creating another howl of pain. "Now we just keep it up until he starts screaming sense." Zbynek didn't have to fake the pleased smile that came to him then.

Z

I know, I'm psycho and I've watched too much discovery :P