Nightshade
Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2022 8:07 pm
TIMESTAMP: 3 Ash 122
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NOTES: -
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Up until this point, Hector had only a few jobs on Inquisitorial business beyond his classes. Though he was now a Prior, that is still a senior Acolyte, not a full Inquisitor. He’d only even been in the Inquisition a couple months at most. When he’d received a missive requesting his presence, he didn’t think much of it, though he was used to receiving orders in writing as opposed to having to be instructed verbally. Was this…something of a more sensitive nature? Whatever else would have required no paper trail…
Nonetheless, he made his way over the Grand Cathedral of Saint Aegan, where the Inquisition had made its nest. Within, he wandered through the halls and down into its depths where a man stood in the hall he’d been told to go to, leaning up against a wall. Upon spotting Hector, he greeted the young elf, stoic, though amiable in nature. He said that he would be in charge of briefing Hector regarding the nature of the job he’d been summoned to do.
Opening the door he’d stood beside, the two Inquisitors entered. Within, there was little in regards to decoration, as was typical. It was a simple meeting room– a desk in the center, chairs on either side. Small and windowless, the walls were a clean gray, the floors were the same stone as elsewhere in the Cathedral. The senior of the Inquisitors withdrew a file from…somewhere. Traversion, probably. Though he didn’t make much of a flourish of it, it reminded him of the way Valentin would retrieve things. Within that larger file sat two distinct ones, both of which he withdrew and set on the table before him. The files had…names? Men’s names? Hector was a bit at a loss because he didn’t recognize the names at all.
Inquiring about the purpose of this, he was then told that they were going to have him ask these men some questions. Hector’s eyes squinted, he asked why him, what questions, for what purpose– a flurry of his own questions. It was then that the man properly explained everything. He leafed through papers within the folders, using them to illustrate his points about who the men were. Suspected Dawnmatyrs, apparently. The primary goal today would then be to have either of them admit to being as such. Again, Hector asked, why in the whole of the Imperium had they chosen him? The man stared him in the face, unflinching and responded with the simple statement that he was one of very, very few master Vampyres lurking within their ranks. Another being his companion Vergil, though the Inquisitor before him stated that the older of the pair did not have the appropriate…morality for the job. Hector scoffed, almost laughing, but in thinking about it, this was very, very true. Vergil could be as vicious as all of the terrible tales told about Vampyres, but only if provoked. Outside of necessity, he’d pledged to do no harm. So that left Hector.
The young Hytori just shrugged at that. Funny, maybe, but he supposed it made sense. Although, the Inquisitor did open his mouth one more time. He informed Hector that the other reason that put him at the top of the pile was that they were aware of the quirks of his magic, fancy little tricks he’d come up with, the other man said. He spoke of how Hector’s magic was specifically tuned for pain and sustained torture, which, at this point, was necessary. The elf, short for a man, giggled in a way most puerile at that remark, responding with an affirmative, saying he’d honed his magic like that on purpose.
The other Inquisitor gave him a bit more backstory on the two prisoners and then told him which rooms they were in, saying that he had free reign to do as he pleased provided he did not kill either of them without getting answers. Hector nodded in understanding. Placing the two profiles back into their folder, he slid it across the table to the elf, stating that he can keep them for reference should he need them and then bid the younger man farewell, abruptly getting up and leaving.
Hector was, well, shocked. He wasn’t expected to just be tossed a job like this and then left entirely alone to pursue his goal. In many ways, he found the situation absurd, but this was no deterrent. On his mind, however, was the decision of whom to visit first. Of course, he could go back and forth, but where would he start?
……
The handle to a door clicked open and stepping over the threshold was an elf, a bit over six feet, demure, soft features, pale yet sunkissed skin, with hair and eyes of an ethereal sort of lavender. He looked like a sweet little flower, not…an interrogator. He wore robes typical for Inquisitors, his in black.
Within the room sat the man entitled Barnell, Burton. To Hector’s surprise, the room was of the same wall and floors of the briefing room, yet entirely barren of any furniture and Burton was unbound, left freedom of movement. He was sitting against the wall on the left side of the room, closer to the door than not. With quick reaction to this, he froze the man with his Rhabdomancy, robbing him control of his musculoskeletal system in its entirety.
“My sincerest apologies…but, well, my physical strength is slim. Can’t have you moving freely, though I do understand most find Rhabdomancy’s hold uncomfortable. Give me…a moment, I’ll…make something else.” He spoke with an uncanny level of politeness, almost cheery sounding, face soft and amiable.
Growing claws from his nails with Vicissitude, he raised his forearm in front of him and slashed a wide laceration over the length of previously flawless skin. The blood flowed freely for only a second before it floated into the air, reacting to the mage’s aether manipulation through Thaumaturgy. With haste, he drew more, probably a little less than a litre in volume, floating it into the air in front of him, face casual as he did so.
Rapidly, the blood that drifted in wispy tendrils through the air began to darken and expand, turning nearly black, only burnished with red. He’d converted it using his Metallurgy, currently the liquid form of his blood-iron. Once the conversion was complete, he’d vastly multiplied the quantity, expending a large amount of aether to do so, but he didn’t flinch at all. As a master, his pool was deep. For a brief moment, the elf appeared lost in his own thoughts, ruminating about the kind of set-up he wanted. Given the fact that he could change it later to suit whatever his needs may be, he could start with something basic.
One of the channels of blood-iron quickly flowed toward the center of the room, forming the shape of a floating spire, nearly five feet in height, not very wide in any one of the sides. Probably half a foot, at most. The mysterious substance would appear to harden, gaining a metallic sheen as it did. Spire made, Hector slammed it down with brute force, impaling the floor while more of the dark substance floated around the rubble on left behind, effectively binding it in place. The sound was an ear splitting crash and screech of metal and stone, though the elf did not react. Grooves would appear near the top where the spire began to draw to a point, and into this grooves flowed more blood iron, taking the shape of heavy chains and flexibly binding to the spire. In total, there were about six. At the end of each chain, he carefully shaped hooks like one would find at an abattoir, common for hanging animal carcasses.
He sighed, a calculating look in his eye again as the chains floated in the air around the spire. Hector then relaxed his Rhabdomancy, returning freedom of movement to Burton. With no warning whatsoever, two of the chains struck with speed like a viper’s bite, hooks impaling the meatiest parts of the man's trapezius on either side of his neck, near the nape and shoulder of his back and violently yanking him back against the pillar, though not with enough force to rip through his muscle.
The man now bleeding, Hector stood in silence for about ten seconds before drawing what blood he’d shed and used it to draw a single sigil on the floor beneath him. Activating it with his aether, the sigil would appear to brighten, shimmering in a strange, eldritch way as light coruscated off of its surface. Without much of a ramp up, Burton would begin to feel as if he had a fever, his heart now beating much faster, and the pain of impalement would sting much sharper.
With a sweet expression of saccharine innocence, “...so! Let’s start simple. I’m sure you’ve heard this before, though not from me, so would you care to tell me of your affiliation with the Dawnmatyrs?”
Nonetheless, he made his way over the Grand Cathedral of Saint Aegan, where the Inquisition had made its nest. Within, he wandered through the halls and down into its depths where a man stood in the hall he’d been told to go to, leaning up against a wall. Upon spotting Hector, he greeted the young elf, stoic, though amiable in nature. He said that he would be in charge of briefing Hector regarding the nature of the job he’d been summoned to do.
Opening the door he’d stood beside, the two Inquisitors entered. Within, there was little in regards to decoration, as was typical. It was a simple meeting room– a desk in the center, chairs on either side. Small and windowless, the walls were a clean gray, the floors were the same stone as elsewhere in the Cathedral. The senior of the Inquisitors withdrew a file from…somewhere. Traversion, probably. Though he didn’t make much of a flourish of it, it reminded him of the way Valentin would retrieve things. Within that larger file sat two distinct ones, both of which he withdrew and set on the table before him. The files had…names? Men’s names? Hector was a bit at a loss because he didn’t recognize the names at all.
Inquiring about the purpose of this, he was then told that they were going to have him ask these men some questions. Hector’s eyes squinted, he asked why him, what questions, for what purpose– a flurry of his own questions. It was then that the man properly explained everything. He leafed through papers within the folders, using them to illustrate his points about who the men were. Suspected Dawnmatyrs, apparently. The primary goal today would then be to have either of them admit to being as such. Again, Hector asked, why in the whole of the Imperium had they chosen him? The man stared him in the face, unflinching and responded with the simple statement that he was one of very, very few master Vampyres lurking within their ranks. Another being his companion Vergil, though the Inquisitor before him stated that the older of the pair did not have the appropriate…morality for the job. Hector scoffed, almost laughing, but in thinking about it, this was very, very true. Vergil could be as vicious as all of the terrible tales told about Vampyres, but only if provoked. Outside of necessity, he’d pledged to do no harm. So that left Hector.
The young Hytori just shrugged at that. Funny, maybe, but he supposed it made sense. Although, the Inquisitor did open his mouth one more time. He informed Hector that the other reason that put him at the top of the pile was that they were aware of the quirks of his magic, fancy little tricks he’d come up with, the other man said. He spoke of how Hector’s magic was specifically tuned for pain and sustained torture, which, at this point, was necessary. The elf, short for a man, giggled in a way most puerile at that remark, responding with an affirmative, saying he’d honed his magic like that on purpose.
The other Inquisitor gave him a bit more backstory on the two prisoners and then told him which rooms they were in, saying that he had free reign to do as he pleased provided he did not kill either of them without getting answers. Hector nodded in understanding. Placing the two profiles back into their folder, he slid it across the table to the elf, stating that he can keep them for reference should he need them and then bid the younger man farewell, abruptly getting up and leaving.
Hector was, well, shocked. He wasn’t expected to just be tossed a job like this and then left entirely alone to pursue his goal. In many ways, he found the situation absurd, but this was no deterrent. On his mind, however, was the decision of whom to visit first. Of course, he could go back and forth, but where would he start?
……
The handle to a door clicked open and stepping over the threshold was an elf, a bit over six feet, demure, soft features, pale yet sunkissed skin, with hair and eyes of an ethereal sort of lavender. He looked like a sweet little flower, not…an interrogator. He wore robes typical for Inquisitors, his in black.
Within the room sat the man entitled Barnell, Burton. To Hector’s surprise, the room was of the same wall and floors of the briefing room, yet entirely barren of any furniture and Burton was unbound, left freedom of movement. He was sitting against the wall on the left side of the room, closer to the door than not. With quick reaction to this, he froze the man with his Rhabdomancy, robbing him control of his musculoskeletal system in its entirety.
“My sincerest apologies…but, well, my physical strength is slim. Can’t have you moving freely, though I do understand most find Rhabdomancy’s hold uncomfortable. Give me…a moment, I’ll…make something else.” He spoke with an uncanny level of politeness, almost cheery sounding, face soft and amiable.
Growing claws from his nails with Vicissitude, he raised his forearm in front of him and slashed a wide laceration over the length of previously flawless skin. The blood flowed freely for only a second before it floated into the air, reacting to the mage’s aether manipulation through Thaumaturgy. With haste, he drew more, probably a little less than a litre in volume, floating it into the air in front of him, face casual as he did so.
Rapidly, the blood that drifted in wispy tendrils through the air began to darken and expand, turning nearly black, only burnished with red. He’d converted it using his Metallurgy, currently the liquid form of his blood-iron. Once the conversion was complete, he’d vastly multiplied the quantity, expending a large amount of aether to do so, but he didn’t flinch at all. As a master, his pool was deep. For a brief moment, the elf appeared lost in his own thoughts, ruminating about the kind of set-up he wanted. Given the fact that he could change it later to suit whatever his needs may be, he could start with something basic.
One of the channels of blood-iron quickly flowed toward the center of the room, forming the shape of a floating spire, nearly five feet in height, not very wide in any one of the sides. Probably half a foot, at most. The mysterious substance would appear to harden, gaining a metallic sheen as it did. Spire made, Hector slammed it down with brute force, impaling the floor while more of the dark substance floated around the rubble on left behind, effectively binding it in place. The sound was an ear splitting crash and screech of metal and stone, though the elf did not react. Grooves would appear near the top where the spire began to draw to a point, and into this grooves flowed more blood iron, taking the shape of heavy chains and flexibly binding to the spire. In total, there were about six. At the end of each chain, he carefully shaped hooks like one would find at an abattoir, common for hanging animal carcasses.
He sighed, a calculating look in his eye again as the chains floated in the air around the spire. Hector then relaxed his Rhabdomancy, returning freedom of movement to Burton. With no warning whatsoever, two of the chains struck with speed like a viper’s bite, hooks impaling the meatiest parts of the man's trapezius on either side of his neck, near the nape and shoulder of his back and violently yanking him back against the pillar, though not with enough force to rip through his muscle.
The man now bleeding, Hector stood in silence for about ten seconds before drawing what blood he’d shed and used it to draw a single sigil on the floor beneath him. Activating it with his aether, the sigil would appear to brighten, shimmering in a strange, eldritch way as light coruscated off of its surface. Without much of a ramp up, Burton would begin to feel as if he had a fever, his heart now beating much faster, and the pain of impalement would sting much sharper.
With a sweet expression of saccharine innocence, “...so! Let’s start simple. I’m sure you’ve heard this before, though not from me, so would you care to tell me of your affiliation with the Dawnmatyrs?”
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Aidolon Speech
'Thoughts'
"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"