Post #2493039 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

Liliane, who seemed to be in the best shape of all the combatants at just that moment, moved forward to the head of the column, where Lucien had put down the matched pair of fighters, using a foot, to turn over the one that had fallen on her stomach. From the groan she issued, it would seem that she was coming to, and the stoic Chevalier frowned, calling something in Orlesian to her sister, who nodded and trotted her horse over to the supply cart, which had stopped a fair distance from the confrontation, when the horse Rilien had spooked apparently decided it was far enough away from the problem to graze on some of the sparse vegetation on the Wounded Coast. Returning a few moments later with a length of hemp rope, she tossed it to Liliane, who bent and used it to bind both siblings in what appeared to be a rather complicated system of knots. Considering it was designed to hold bards and other slippery types, it was.

Violette, meanwhile, dismounted, not in the least concerned about leaving her horse untethered. It, and those belonging to Lucien and her sister both, didn’t seem inclined to wander off, and for the most part just lingered in the same general area, content for the moment to ignore the goings on. “Eh, Lucien,” the captain said with a smile more amused than grim, “Any harder and you might have caved his skull in.”

The knight himself found it hard to share her levity, considering the state they were all in, but he’d always taken injury to his friends more personally than other people did. “That would be why I didn’t hit any harder, Vi. Is everyone all right?” He knew the types of answers he was likely to get, but he had to ask anyway. His mouth compressed into a thin line upon further observation of Sophia’s condition, and he did his best to suppress the flare of guilt. He was committed to giving people the chance to surrender—she knew that almost as well as he did by this point. It did not mean he liked it when it came back to bite, especially when it bit someone that wasn’t him. He also knew, however, that she accepted the risks of this when she agreed to come. Rational as it was, the reasoning didn’t seem to help much, and he sighed, turning to the twins and dragging a hand down his face.

He supposed it was time for an interrogation. Perhaps it would be better done in a prison, or some other place where the law was in charge, but if by chance something they had to say was time-sensitive, it seemed more prudent to get everything they’d willingly divulge now.

The taste of blood had steadily worked its way into Sophia's mouth, until she finally felt the need to tip over forward, using her left arm to brace herself, while she spat out a glob of it onto the sand. There was a high quantity of blood surrounding her, more of it belonging to her slain foes than herself, though she had contributed a fair deal. Most of it had leaked out onto her; much of her left side, from ribs to her knee, was colored a dark red, and plenty had seeped down her chest and back from the shoulder wound. She was quite certain this was the most wounded she'd ever been. Fitting, perhaps, that it was for a cause she cared most deeply about.

She wobbily made her way over to the rest of the group and their captives, using her sword as a sort of walking stick. "I'm..." she started, in response to Lucien's inquiry. "Well... I'll be alright." Upon reaching the rest, she had a sudden desire to put her weight against something. She supposed Lucien would be asking some questions shortly, and thus found a large boulder of a height with her along the side of the road, propping her sword up against it before she did the same for herself. Pulling her blood-drenched glove from her side, she found that it was still bleeding, and she could still feel warm drops running down her back to mingle with the others. She pulled a second healing potion from her pouch.

"Not a word of this to my father or Bran, please," she said, taking a small sip of the potion. Too much of a restorative too quickly couldn't be absorbed by the body, and she rather strongly wanted to avoid hurling the contents of her stomach right now.

“Understood,” Lucien said, his tone subdued. If he’d thought telling either of them would have helped anything, he would not have been so inclined to agree, but in the end, their knowledge would change nothing, and cause only more anxiety and difficulty. Given how much there already was to deal with, he did not find himself with the desire to add more. Still, the man appeared to be coming to as well, and actually got there faster than his sister, testing his bonds instinctively and finding them, for the moment at least, unlikely to yield. He blinked up at the assembled, apparently surprised to find the situation the way it was. Sparing a glance for his sister, he smoothed his face out to professional neutrality, though the look in his eye was more malevolent than anything as he returned his eyes to them. Clearing his throat, he spat at Lucien’s feet.

“You’d have been better served killing us. We have nothing to say to lordlings and Chevalier dogs.”

Interrogation was a matter on which Rilien had considerable knowledge. Part of being good at it was having or appearing to have very few moral compunctions. He had the definite sense that if Lucien was allowed to handle it, they would take forever to get nowhere, only a slight exaggeration. The Tranquil tossed his head just enough to clear the fringe of his hair from the sunburst mark on his forehead, such that it was clearly visible. It would save him a lot of trouble demonstrating that he would not be moved by emotion or much in the way of bargaining, which was really the most inefficient part of the whole procedure. "Is that so?” the Tranquil cut in dully. The knife at his left shoulder rang free of its sheath, and he turned it in his grip, treading forward briskly but not with too much haste.

His fingers wound into the woman’s hair, and he pulled until she was more or less upright. It was the man, however, that the Tranquil locked eyes with as he drew the flat of the knife slowly across her throat, then adjusted minutely so that the edge bit in, just enough to draw the thinnest of trickles from her neck. It slithered down beneath her dark leather armor, and Rilien tilted his head to the side. "Perhaps there is something you would have to say to me.” It wasn’t a question.

The man’s eyes widened, and he reflexively strained against his bonds, before remembering himself and stilling his motions. His glance flashed to the Chantry brand on Rilien’s head, and then over to the rest. Lucien didn’t look particularly pleased with how the situation was transpiring, but for the moment, he kept his peace, trusting Rilien to know when to stop. Perhaps not the wisest thing he’d ever done, considering their differences, but they knew quite well where the other stood, and he liked to think there was an understanding between them, one that meant his Bard friend wouldn’t push past the point Lucien felt was warranted. Right now, he was simply making threats, if implicit ones, and that, while not exactly kind, was understandable.

“And what would I have to say to a bootlicking elf?” the man replied venomously, clearly attempting to call the bluff. Lucien resisted the urge to flinch—this wasn’t going to end well unless they could—his train of thought stuttered for a moment when Violette volunteered her opinion, the sole of her metal boot catching the fellow in the chest and pushing him backwards against the sand. She left it there, not heavily enough to seriously impede his breathing, but definitely enough to make a point.

“Time to stop being brave and start being smart, pirate,” she said bluntly. “It suits you better.”

He squirmed, but it was evident enough that he was relenting. “Fine… just let me up, and call off your dog, all right?” Lucien frowned, and Violette pressed down harder, producing an audible wheeze, before she relented and stepped back, muttering something unkind beneath her breath. “Rilien,” Lucien said quietly, “If you would oblige me?” He waited until the Tranquil relinquished his hold, which he did without protest, before fixing a steady stare on the other man.

“Explain, please. And don’t leave anything out.”

Still struggling a bit to breathe, the man shot another glance at his sister. “Not much to explain,” he said bitterly. “Live life underneath the boots of Chevaliers for long enough, and you learn to want something else. When a man comes to you and offers you a lot of money to take another step to a free Orlais, you take it.” Lucien blinked, exhaling through his nose and crossing his arms over his chest. This sort of thing happened from time to time, it was true—citizens discontent with the disparity between rich and poor, noble and common, in Orlais began to think like revolutionaries. He wondered if this man and his sister had really felt the boots he spoke of, or if they just paid lip service to it in order to seem other than criminals motivated selfishly.

“Before you ask, I don’t know his name, or what he looks like. All I know was that he paid us up-front. Le Renard kills the Ambassador, frames the exiled prince. Two for one deal. It works even better if your powerful friends back home try to help you—then they’re covering up murder, see, and it’s just one more reason to be rid of the lot of you.” He watched the man in question run a hand down his face and shake his head, blue eyes narrowing. “I’d say someone wants you out of the way, Lordling.” He seemed somewhat amused by this fact, but it was tempered by the clear disadvantage of his position.

“I’m afraid someone always wants me out of the way, serah,” Lucien replied mildly. He turned to Sophia, then. “Assuming we can get this fellow to say the same thing to a magistrate, I think it would be best to let the courts of Kirkwall handle the trials of he and his sister, if you don’t mind.” They could be extradited—both Liliane and Violette had the authority to do that—but it would create a lot of inconvenience and quite possibly achieve the very purpose this man professed to want. He couldn’t exactly blame them for having profound dissatisfaction with some of the things that were true in Orlais, but nevertheless, they were criminals and had murdered a good man by contract. They should not go without punishment for that. Where he came from, they’d be executed, but perhaps there was a little more mercy to be found in the Free Marches.

Sophia was not normally inclined to agree with threatening to murder captured prisoners, but all the same, she found it hard to care about the plight of these two, given their willingness to murder innocent men and frame others for simple coin. She supposed their cause would be more important to them than riches, if asked, but no doubt the pile of money they were to receive made murder seem like hardly an obstacle. Still, it was good that no further violence was required, and that these two had confessed. It was what they needed to clear Lucien's name of the crime.

"I agree," Sophia said, after lightly clearing her throat. A mild nausea was setting in from the excess of health potion, but she'd finished the second one during the course of the brief interrogation, and by that point her wounds had ceased bleeding altogether, and she felt comfortable enough to stand without the support of the rock behind her. She set about cleaning her sword instead.

When they were ready to leave, the prisoners were escorted back to Kirkwall, though Sophia made a departure from the group to visit Nostariel at her clinic, donning her cloak again to better conceal the severity of her wounds in the city. There was a story that needed to be heard here, but it was about how Lucien cleared his name of slanderous charges, not about how any of his friends nearly died in the effort.

The Chanter's Board has been updated. Trial and Error has been completed.

Snippet #2493039

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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