Autumn 4986, 30 Aoimoth
Veon-Zih focused on his breath. He wasn't meditating, but he used the technique anyway to keep himself centered, focused, and as detached as he could from the scene before him.
An elderly woman sat strapped tightly to a high-backed metal chair. Her arms strapped at the wrist and biceps, her legs at the knee and ankle. Another strap circled her waist and the last her neck. She was crying silent tears of pure terror as the Paladin in black armor paced around her, one foot on either side of the silver circle embedded in the ground around the chair.
"When did you last see your son?" the Paladin of Horsa asked calmly.
"I don't... I don't remember." immediately, she began thrashing, biting her lip to keep from calling out as the shocks from the truth spell wracked her body.
Unnecessarily a second knight called out "Lie."
A third Paladin stood beside Veon-Zih, his hands clasped behind his back in a position that seemed a mockery of Rasnah's professionalism. "You realize this is the same spell your allies in Clearhelm use, don't you?" the General asked Veon-Zih softly.
The Monk could only nod, focusing on his breath. The questioning Paladin knelt before the crying woman, "Let's try this again, shall we? When did you last see your son?"
"It... it was summer. Ten years ago... but I don't remember the exact day! I swear it!"
"Truth."
The questioning Paladin stood looking down his nose at the woman, "So you thought to work around our questions with vague half-truths? What are you hiding, madam?"
"Nothing, noth... AHHH," the woman screamed behind her clenched jaw as the spell's punishment hit her again.
Veon-Zih clenched his fists, resisting the urge to drive them into any and all of the black-clad Paladins. They didn't so much as flinch at the woman's agony. "This is pointless," he hissed at the Horsa General, "Everyone is hiding something, usually personal and completely unrelated to this investigation." the spell wouldn't be able to tell the difference, and these knights knew it. They used the broad question as a torture tactic.
"Lie." the caller announced again.
"We shall see, Monk..." the General responded cooly.
"Master." Veon-Zih corrected like ice.
"Madam Roslin..." the questioning Paladin addressed the woman again, resuming his walk around the ring, "We know your son was pronounced dead ten years ago, without a body, burned beyond recognition in an 'accident' on your property." the woman's soft sobs sent shivers up Veon-Zih's spine. The Horsa knight continued, "We also know that he was actually found, burned to death for truth this time, in Clearhelm, two weeks ago..." his heels snapped together, and he pivoted sharply to face her again, "Why was your son in Clearhelm when he should have been dead ten years ago?
The woman's entire body shook in terror. She opened her mouth and closed it twice before starting, "I... I don't..."
The Paladin interrupted her answer with a lifted finger he waggled back and forth, "Be careful, Madam Roslin." he stepped closer and crouched before her again, bringing his eyes to hers, "We do not enjoy causing you pain..." he stopped to look at the calling Paladin. Now that he was entirely in the circle, the spell would affect him as well.
"Truth."
Veon-Zih could barely resist snorting.
The General noticed, "Master Monk," he whispered, "in Swailand, the strong rule the weak through divine providence. As it should be. But the weak also serve a purpose. They perform the basic functions that keep society running smoothly, and they can only do that if they are kept safe and comfortable. We do not torture or torment our citizens, no matter what Hengist," he spoke the name like a curse, "may have taught you. But we cannot keep honorable citizens safe if the dishonorable ones are permitted to disregard our laws..."
Within the circle, the questioning Paladin continued, "Your son was found in the presence of Warlocks Madam Roslin. The forming of a Warlock pact is not only against Swailand's laws but the kingdom's. He is already dead, but if you are hiding anything that could point to more of his ilk, then you will be tried along with them."
The woman closed her eyes and tried to turn away. The strap around her neck prevented the motion, "He was a Sorcerer... we faked his death so he could flee to Lenare." she braced for another shock, but when none came, she continued, "I don't know what happened to him after the fire ten years ago."
"Truth."
"That is very good, Madam Roslin," the Paladin reached an armored hand forward to wipe a tear gently from her face.
Damn, so even after all that, this was a dead-end as well.
The door to the interrogation room opened with a soft hiss. "I think it's time to release the witnesses, General," a fourth Paladin entered, his uniform dark gray and purple. The kingdom had finally made its appearance. "You have no evidence to keep them for this case." Veon-Zih sighed, amazed how he could feel grateful for their intervention here, and frustrated at them in Clearhelm. Perhaps he wasn't as unbiased as he wished.
The Saint Giorgos knight hadn't kept his voice low, and at his words Madam Roslin actually looked hopeful for the first time. "I agree." The Horsa General said, ordering the questioning and calling Paladins, "Have the others returned to their homes. Take Madam Roslin to the dungeons..." the woman let out a strangled sob, going limp in her bindings, "She is to be tried for falsifying province documents, hiding the presence of a Sorcerer, and aiding in illegal immigration," the General glanced sideways at Veon-Zih, his lip twitched in the hint of a sneer, "Assuming Lenare wishes to press charges."
"They may wish to take custody for a trial of their own." Veon-Zih was glad he was still able to keep his voice deadpan, hiding the hope that that would be the case. Hengist trials and punishments showed more mercy than Horsa would. The woman was just trying to protect her son from an antimagic tattoo...
The General turned away from the crying woman, gesturing Veon-Zih and the Saint Giorgos Paladin towards the door, "They will have a long wait. Her other charges are taken seriously in Swailand..." meaning there was a good chance she would be executed, "Endangering fellow citizens by hiding an undocumented Sorcerer...tisk," the General shook his head and Veon-Zih snapped,
"Protecting," The Monk spat, "her son."
The General lifted his eyebrows in sarcastic surprise and looked pointedly to the Saint Giorgos Paladin, letting him do the dirty work. The kingdom representative cleared his throat, "You are aware of the dangers of untrained Sorcerer magic, Master Veon-Zih. For the same reasons we cannot allow the presence of Warlocks, whose magic is destructive and unpredictable, the kingdom requires that all Sorcerers be either trained or sealed. The woman knew the laws of her province when she chose to break them."
"Lawlessness is like a disease, Master Monk, you allow one to carry it, and it will soon spread to another." the General turned his back on Veon-Zih to address the Saint Giorgos Paladin. Far from being offended, Veon-Zih was glad he didn't have to look at the man's gloating face any longer than necessary. Getting back to the issue at hand, the Horsa General presented his case, "It seems to me that Clearhelm had a Warlock problem and that they were recruiting from outside the province. There is no evidence to suggest that there are any such magic users within our own borders."
The Saint Giorgos Paladin nodded in agreement but added, "Even so, General, his majesty expects your Temple to continue to keep your eyes open to the possibility of more. Even if they are only here recruiting, Warlocks are not to be suffered in the kingdom of Daanlin."
"I will need copies of all documents from these interrogations," Veon-Zih stated to both men, "Even if the Warlocks in question were indeed a Clearhelm problem, we should work together to enforce kingdom law."
The Horsa Paladin started to sneer again, but the Saint Giorgos representative spoke over him, "Very well, Master Veon-Zih. I thank you for your continued assistance in this most serious matter."
Veon-Zih brought his right fist up to rest in his left palm and bowed to the kingdom Paladin, "It is my duty and honor to protect the people of Daanlin." he just hoped the Temple of Horsa wouldn't drag things out to spite Hengist. He wanted to return to Rasnah, and Shon, as soon as possible.
***
This particular tribe of draken had their gray scales pained with blotches of red that looked more like dried blood than the ruby of a red dragon's scales. Even from above the trees, Shaloon could see them clearly, her eyes enchanted for greater distance and detail as she counted their number and searched out the leader.
Only one of the tribe possessed wings, and as soon as she spotted them, she allowed herself to slip from the wyvern's neck. Enacting a spell to slow her fall, she floated into the midst of the draken horde. They hissed curses in their broken draconic and brandished heavy weapons in clawed hands but wouldn't dare attack her with the wyvern still circling above. Anyone that could command one of their gods was not to be taken lightly.
Shaloon took a long time to look over the winged draken, taking in their necklace of human and kobold skulls as well as their apparent lack of a weapon. So not the leader then... The shaman. "I call the crimson blood tribe to arms," she announced to the group at large in crystal clear draconic.
"Only chief call arms." the shaman hissed between sharp teeth, their short-muzzled face twisting in rage as they pointed skyward, "Only dragon can challenge!" so they had heard of her already.
Shaloon had spent her time gathering disjoined draken tribes under her banner. It was a delicate procedure to keep the blood-thirsty race from eating each other. Still, she only needed them long enough to serve as a distraction.
The Shaman continued to point towards the circling wyvern and another beast, shorter but with a huge chest and even larger double ax, forced their way forward, "Why dragon let live?" the chief demanded of Shaloon.
In response, Shaloon huffed, holding her palm out to the draken chief as if offering to take their hand. They didn't step back, not wanting to look weak in front of their tribe. Each warrior in the group was only a single challenge away from taking the leader's head and place. It was their mistake. Shaloon summoned her sword.
It materialized in her hand, the blade forming solid already embedded in the draken's neck.
Dark blood spluttered between their teeth, and the weight of their falling body pulled Shaloon's arm down. Flicking her wrist, she let her sword slice out the side of the brute's neck. It convulsed on the ground, and before the tribe could respond, Shaloon held up her sword and let out a shrill whistle. Draken scattered as the wyvern swooped, landing beside Shaloon and biting the corpse of the former chief in half.
"The sky dragon calls the Crimson Blood tribe to arms!" Shaloon shouted again, weaving unseen outer magic with her voice, "The humans of the fortress have hunted your kind for too long." Fear. Anger. "Denying you honorable pray," Resentment. Hunger. "The sky dragon has come to lead your people, your race, to a great victory!" Pride. Hope. "Let us gorge ourselves on their flesh and become stronger in destroying their weakness!"
The tribe of draken had already forgotten their chief, too weak to even stand against a human woman. Never mind that that same human woman seemed to command a 'dragon.' They cheered, bashing stolen weapons against crude shields.
Shaloon scoffed and didn't bother to hide it. The wyvern was not a dragon, merely a failed attempt by her Warlock ancestors to make one. But she would utilize the ignorance of these fellow failed experiments to retrieve one of their successes from the Paladins.
