[Black Hole] Duplicity (Inoadar)

[Nemesis]

As the Warden held the burning root close to the poisoner's orifices, he noticed that the smoke began to slow, and the dead plant was burning slower than normal. He pulled it away for mere ticks in order to help the burning along with fire once again, and then he returned it. Surprisingly, whilst the poison was burning right against the man, the poison crafter was speaking, shouting, once again hurling harsh, desperate words at the Druvin. Ematho wasn't entirely sure if it was the man's arrogance that led him to think he had a better chance of surviving a double dose if he spoke whilst being poisoned.

He held the root until he began to feel his fingers flare up from the heat of the burning root. Then, and only then, did he let it drop down to the damp ground, where he stamped it out with his foot. The Druvin straightened himself out and observed his prisoner, who had now stopped talking. He was coughing, and appeared to be trying to hold back some of the coughs on occasion. Ematho knew that he had inhaled the poison. He did not know how much, but he knew that the man had had to breathe, and some would be in his system.

“No, you're right, Master Parnell, I don't want you to die. I wanted you to answer my questions, yet you have fought me all the way. Tell me, do you think that is the sign of a true Ravokian? An innocent one? A Ravokian who is desperate to be of use to his city?” Ematho shook his head, his displeasure evident on his face, “No.”

Taking a small step away from the chair, the Warden waved his arm theatrically in front of his face before he pulled the makeshift cloth mask away from his face. “The innocent do not hide behind façades of sarcasm. They do not become defensive to the point of violent anger. It is a sign of guilt, of pathetic desperation. And you proclaim innocence through this veil.” Every word that the Warden spoke as fact - he knew it just as he knew Rhysol existed. There was no uncertainty I'm his voice, nothing that Inoadar would be able to latch onto to feed his anger.

No, the Druvin knew that the captive chained up in front of him was guilty. At the very least, he was guilty of impersonating a citizen. And his words strongly implied further guilt of other deeds. Yet there was no certainty, no proof. And, when the Druvin, one of Rhysol's most trusted, stared into Inoadar's eyes, he saw no fear of discovery, no fear of consequences for any action or inaction. Ematho sighed, “I am limited in my options: either I let you go, or I have you executed. Neither of those options will offer me a favourable result.” Eyes roamed over the bloodied body sat in front of him, and he voiced the internal debate.
*
OOCSorry it took me so long to get a reply in for you for this thread... things have been a little difficult on my own but I think we're nearing the end!

[Inoadar]

Inoadar sat, his head high, but not in some expression of triumph or pride. It was the only way to keep from wrenching his larynx, while he coughed himself free of the toxin. Eventually he shook the sweaty strands of hair from his face. He spoke between deep panting breaths, "I am sorry...I have nothing else...to offer you...to aid you in...making this decision." His breaths stabilized and he continued, but did not face the Warden. "Then either release me or kill me. But kill me on my FEET, instead of sitting in that chair like some kind of traitor. I have NOT lied to you. What truths I have withheld were not done to conceal any treachery, they are just the natural tendencies that anyone vying for power learns to do without thinking. You know this is true. If you will not believe me, then we are finished here. What point is there in forcing me to tell lies just so you can call them 'truth'. After you have gloated over getting my 'confession', the facts will prove it false, and then it is YOU that will be disgraced." He assumed the Warden would be angered by this, and shook his head sincerely. "No...please...I do not say this in defiance, but in my last ability to say something of genuine value. If you think this is some attempt to escape death, you are wrong. I fear neither death nor you. Only irrelevance. And as long as you keep me here, where I can not serve Our Lord, cutting bits off of me until I am a useless lump of maimed flesh, with no purpose, remembered only as an object of contempt and pity, this is what I am destined to be. And I will not have it so." Now the anger colored his cheeks again, and his voice rose in challenge, "But I WILL say that if you insist on rendering me into a waste of flesh, then I will give you a display of defiance and contempt to haunt you for the rest of eternity, for I will have no other goal to strive for. I will gladly die seeing you pound the floor in frustration. I have told you all I know about the fish. You have refused to hear me, refused to consider that someone else might be gaining from the beast's existence. Refused to consider that Rhysol himself may wish the beast's existence! Could something exist is His lake without His grace? Perhaps He waits to see who rises from the rank-and-file to display the resourcefulness to destroy it! Not to run and wail in fear, hiding and praying for deliverance like a bunch of cowards! It is no wonder He visits this punishment upon us! Give me a chance and I will see it destroyed!"

[Nemesis]

The words that the Druvin spoke aloud were not rhetorical, thus when Inoadar offered an answer, a very long-winded answer that was interspersed with coughing and gagging from the remnants of the fumes that the poisoner had had no choice but to inhale, Ematho was barely listening. As of yet, Inoadar could offer the Warden nothing of value, nothing that could be useful in solving the crises that threatened Rhysol’s beloved city. What could be said now, other than pleas to spare a life?

Instead, the Warden of the Black Hole, one of the Defiler’s Priests, stood in silence, staring at his captive, as his mind traversed the various options. First, execution, which was a quick and efficient method of disposal. All he need do is pass it on to the relevant members of the Ebonstryfe and the gallows could be prepared for two or three days hence. It was, without a doubt, a favourite method to rid any threats to the city, and it would hopefully end any further threats or plans that the prisoner might have. Things would not get worse.

The difficulty was that Ematho had not received an actual confession from Inoadar, thus he had not learnt of the methods that the poison crafter had used to achieve these results. Without knowing the methods, he did not have any notion of how this threat of the monster in the water might be stopped. Keeping someone such as Nolan Parnell alive was dangerous, but it was conceivably just as dangerous to kill him.

Digging into the folds of his robes, he fumbled around to find the citizenship papers that had been found on Inoadar when he had been arrested at the end of the previous season. Nolan Parnell is what they said on them, a human. Looking at Inoadar, he looked bloodied and beaten, slightly less than human right now, yet the Druvin did not doubt that he was as such. What Ematho did doubt, however, was whether or not the poisoner had ever sworn allegiance to the city, or loyalty to Rhysol and the Black Sun. It was impossible to know how long her had been here, or how many identities the man had cycled through.

“If I am to release you – yes, you will be released – I require a few things from you.” The Warden stepped forward and gently tucked the papers of Nolan Parnell into one of the intact pockets, “Traditionally, to receive citizenship papers, one must verbally pledge loyalty to Rhysol and the Black Sun, and to obey the laws of the city. I will require such a vow from you.”

Assuming Inoadar made the vow, Ematho would nod and leave the papers with his captive. “Assuming your associate, Verin Rush, is true, not many know that you are here. For the present, that can remain as is. But your name is marked, and you will be watched. Commander.” The final word was called a little louder, addressed to the soldier who waited a little down the corridor, who rounded the door and entered the room. The sulky expression had not left his face since he had been asked to leave the room.
*

[Inoadar]

Inoadar glared from his bindings. "This is meaningless! I HAVE sworn to the Black Sun. Or to one of their agents anyway. It just wasn't done in the Temple, or the Registry Office. I was ready to DIE for my transgressions, and My Lord forgave me! He saw potential in me, and overlooked the things I'd done. MY whole mission is to appear unaffiliated. To draw the disloyal to me, thinking I will aid them." The Commander smacked him across the face. Inoadar slowly turned back to direct his glare at the underling. "Oh, well done, Commander. You successfully hit a target strapped in place! Hit me again. Maybe they'll make you a Paladin! My comments are not directed at you." He turned as best he could to show that he was speaking to the Warden again. "Didn't you say some time ago that you did NOT doubt my loyalty? Yet now you demand an oath from me? In THIS place? What good is beating me into saying what you want? What good is an oath spoken just to avoid punishment? A petching Rising Dawn WHORE would do that!" His eyes flared with defiance bordering on madness. Fear was unknown, pain was irrelevant, There was only pride and hate, fueling his strength, feeding his defiance, to empower the circle again. "You want an oath of LOYALTY? Would I show such loyalty to the God of Strength by cringing from another beating? Hit me again! DO IT! I SPIT ON YOUR DEMAND!" Sweat and froth flew from him as he raged. "You'll get the only oath from me that I will give ANYONE other than RHYSOL HIMSELF! And that is my oath NOT to submit! HEAR ME LORD!..." his head raised to turn his face to the ceiling. "I GIVE MY OATH TO YOU! MY OATH TO PRAY FOR MY DEATH SHOULD I DO YOU DISSERVICE. MY OATH TO SUFFER SHOULD I HESITATE! BUT I DO NOT GIVE IT WHEN AND WHERE IT COULD LATER BE SAID TO HAVE BEEN DONE OUT OF FEAR! YOU ALONE ARE LORD ABOVE ALL! THE ONLY LORD WORTHY OF UNQUESTIONING OBEDIENCE!" He took several deep breaths, waiting to see if he'd be beaten for his insolent delivery of his oath. When none was forthcoming, he continued, in a more respectful tone. "And now, my Lord, I stand ready to accept whatever punishment your loyal servants feel I merit for my disrespect. I know those above me are placed their by your grace, and I am not to question that. From here on, I obey them as I would you, feeling only that my gesture was in the true spirit of your worship. I seek only to demonstrate that I do not submit, to make things easier for myself." Tears formed in his eyes as he weighed his actions, tears of shame and regret. "Your warden says what oath he requires, and I give it willingly. I swear on my life and my name, Trandino Adarius, I know only one true God. I worship only that one God, holding him to be rightful ruler above all other gods, and all that is, and ever shall be. And that god is Rhysol, he that protects Ravok and requires the loyalty of his subjects. I acknowledge that my actions do not always represent my devotion. I am only mortal and lack the full understanding of his will. I acknowledge my error in thinking that I know the truest path, when it is at odds with the commands of his servants, my superiors, being those chosen by his will to direct my actions. "I swear undivided loyalty to You, my Lord, to your city, Ravok, and to it's guardians and directors, of both body and mind, your Ebonstryfe and Black Sun. All other priorities are secondary. I swear this before your Warden, on the shamefully latent realization that it is by your will that this is the situation where I am bid to give my statement. My pride made me feel it should be in some grand circumstance, and so I tried to set myself above your will. I can not offer sufficient apology, I can only strive to make amends."

[Nemesis]

There could have been no doubt in the minds of either the Warden or the Ebonstryfe Commander that their prisoner was a mouthy one. Though it had become clear to both over their days of communication with the poison crafter, but never was it so plain as it was now that the man had a gift of manipulating words. It was most probably this gift which had allowed the man to go for so long undetected in Rhysol's stronghold. And it was this gift which could be used to further the Defiler's vision for the lake-city of Ravok... or raze it to the waters.

The Commander sneered as the poisoner spoke, finding it hard to believe that one so laden with such a history - with actions that were not always in the best interests of Ravok - could profess undying loyalty to a God such as Rhysol. The words, however persuasive they might seem, were just that. Words. Mere lip service in front of one of the Defiler's own Druvin, as he attempted to save his own skin. When the mention of a third identity as shared! the soldier could not contain himself any linger. He made to step forward, arm prepare to take aim, and tongue ready to interrupt, but he was stopped from putting the insolent poisoner in his place by a small, wordless wave of his superior's hand. Seething, he stepped back again.

It would soon become obvious, however, that the soldier would be disappointed; there would be no execution, as the Druvin was not of the same opinion. While Nolan Parnell... Inoadar... Trandino Ardarius spoke, the Druvin had a gift which was not shared by, or as potent in, the Commander. With pure white, apparently unseeing, eyes, Ematho could look beyond the shell of skin and clothing that encased the essence of Inoadar. Whilst the language was quipped and barred, with sarcasm dripping from the icy words as they thawed leaving his tongue, the soul shared a different story.

Yes, the man was beyond frustrated, but he was also frightened. Not of any material consequences to his own body, no... it was only Rhysol whom he seemed to please. The the others in the cell were merely witnesses, am audience, towards which his sharp tongue were the victims. And Ematho's confidence that he was providing the city with a service were only solidified. When Inoadar was finished, a silence dragged on in the room, one only broken by the menacing breaths of the Stryfe soldier.

A small smile had settled upon Ematho's features during the course of Inoadar's monologue, yet it was not one which would bring the prisoner comfort. It was one of amusement, over the mam's words, or the Commander's reaction, it would never be clear, because when the Warden did deign to finally speak, there was no hint of mirth in his voice. “It is a shame that so many... unsavoury events can be associated with any one of your names, poison crafter. Even for a man of your profession.”

Once more, he searched the man, pleased with the barely concealed desperation that he saw. Rhysol's desire for loyalty needed to find root in something stronger than allowing his subjects to feel only fear. “Yet it appears that, had those events not come to pass, you would not have received the opportunity to truly accept Rhysol as your true patron.” the Commander's jaw dropped as the less favourable outcome became more and more apparent, but the Druvin ignored him, save only for his lips curling up a little more. “It seems to be Rhysol's will that you be allowed to continue to serve the city in a manner that is truly... unique.”

Ematho signalled to the Commander to release the bonds that secured Inoadar to the seat, though not other bonds. “You will be permitted to retain the alias and citizenship papers that you currently possess, as the previous owner, fortunately, has no need of them. But you are reminded that this is all offered by the grace of the Defiler, and he can remove what he offers. You will be watched, poisoner.” Inoadar might not consciously recognise the subtle changes in Ematho's tone as, one final time, he allowed Chaos to seep into his words, passing from the Druvin into the mind and soul of the captive - a final warning that his position was by no means secure.
*

[Inoadar]

Inoadar's hopes swelled hesitantly. This was a common enough tactic in an interrogation, the playing on the victim's hopes, to dash them to ever greater depths. But the Warden's words seemed crafted to acknowledge this possibility, and dismiss it out of hand. It looked as though he was truly to be released. The Druvin even recognized the bizarre chain of events that had resulted in this ordeal. Inoadar had often embraced the belief that he had been graced by the harsh will of Rhysol, tested for both resolve and endurance. He had felt his position to be "unique" ever since Marcus had made it available to him. There was just a flash of nostalgia over the whereabouts and fate of his old acquaintance. He hesitated to call Marcus a friend, seeing as they had very nearly killed each other. He would not even consider taking a contrary position to the Warden now, but he could not help but feel a twisted pride in the notion of "so many unsavory events being associated with any of his names." A small additional victory in being allowed to keep his hard-earned papers. He actually had to make an effort to keep tears of gratitude from spilling forth at the mention of "the Grace of the Defiler". But then an odd tingling crept up his spine. He would be watched. At first there was a flash of indignation, the desire to point out that if he'd been so carefully watched, the Black Sun would have known this entire exercise was unnecessary, that his devotion was unquestioned. But then a different interpretation sneaked into his subconscious. This grace could be removed...he would be watched... He had always known that Rhysol could remove whatever he granted. This was obvious to anyone that held reverence for absolute power. No, there was a different implication here. There would be those watching...watching for cause to remove it...cause to serve themselves at his expense...by manipulating facts and appearances...to taint Inoadar's name and simultaneously glorify their own...Yes...he would have to be more careful than ever. He looked up at the Druvin, and his hint of a smile. There was no threat there, of course. The Warden's station was so far above his own, he'd have nothing to gain through the poisoner's ruin. The same was true of the Commander, slack jawed disbelief and all. Though Inoadar could not discount the possibility of the man harboring ill-intent out of pure, frustrated malice. Even as the soldier escorted him back up through the catacomb-like passages to the surface, Inoadar stopped at every cell he could, burning the image of every face into his fevered mind, and earning the additional wrath of the Commander at all the pauses. By the time he was released, he had already conceived of several plots already being perpetrated against him by his friends. No...he had no friends....

[Nemesis]

Inoadar

Knowledge :

Skills

Skill	XP
Acting	+1
Endurance	+4
Intimidation	+2
Investigation	+1
Negotiation	+3
Persuasion	+4
Philosophy	+4
Rhetoric	+5
Socialisation	+2
Subterfuge	+3

Lores

*Black Sun: Know Who I Am
*Chaon: Effects
*Ematho: Warden of the Black Hole
*Rhysol: Pledging Allegiance

Micellaneous :

Injuries

*Whole of fifth finger removed. Cauterised on the day. Will never heal.
*Tip of fourth finger removed. Cauterised on the day. Will never heal.
*Effects of poison - lungs weak for two days following release
*Fractured rib from soldier's unofficial beating, never properly treated, healed within forty days, flares up when blows dealt to the left side.

Loot/Expenses

*Permission to continue as "Nolan Parnell"
*Freedom!

____________________________________________

Notes

*You are a gentleman and a scholar, Ino. It was an a true pleasure to write with you and I'm glad that you were such a willing victims and humoured me from the beginning.
*I maxed you out on Rhetoric before even reading the thread again, just so you know...
*P.S. Third centenary post for you! (Again).

*Also... sorry.

Feel free to PM me with questions, comments, or concerns, if you have any.
Also, remember to either delete your grade request or edit it as 'graded'.
Thank ye!