Raven's Reach [SIC]

Rolling.

The member 'Oberon' has done the following action : Dice roll

'EC Dice' : 1

OOC: OUCH.

The four travelers approached the gates of Araille, walking casually while trying to conceal their tension. They were dressed in unremarkable clothes of brown and green. Their only distinctive feature was their cloak pins: obviously Erynnen in origin. Their leader stepped forward, pushing back his hood to reveal the blond hair and pointed ears of an elf. His accent, when he spoke, was clear. "I am an emissary from the High Captain of Erynnen," he said. "I bring a message from him to--"

The captain in charge of the gate guards rolled his eyes. "Just give me your papers."

"Of course," said the elf, handing over a sheet of parchment. The captain looked it over, checking the name of the official who had signed it. Gaston Martell... Not anyone that I've heard of. He called over one of his subordinates. "Gaston Martell. Have you heard of him?"

"I think that you'll find everything is in order here," he added, holding up a gold coin. The captain's eyes widened, and he gripped the haft of his axe.

"You picked the wrong captain to bribe, elf," he growled. There were ten guards at the gate, sitting around looking bored. "Get them, lads!"

As the guards surged to their feet, the elves threw aside their cloaks, pulling out their swords. The elves had been halfway through the gateway when the order was given, and guards ran from before and behind, hemming them in.

Steel clashed on steel as the elves fought to retreat. The leader hewed down one guard who stood in his way, and the woman next to him neatly slipped a dagger under the arm of another. The elves broke through the gap and began running as fast as they could away from the gates. One of them, however, was less lucky. A dark-haired young elf woman caught the backstroke of a sword high on the arm and fell with a cry. The guards swarmed her, holding her down and preventing her escape.

"Keep her alive!" the captain shouted. "Someone will want to question her."

Alain Beaufoy looked over the prisoner's profile--that of Serith, the Elven prisoner they'd acquired after her attempt to break into the Marine Nationale base at Araille. A tough nut to crack, she was; initial questioning had been answered with a summary "fuck you". She had then passed from the Navy's hands into his. Of course, he wasn't about to try the same thing as his Naval comrades. He had a far more expansive mandate.

It had been two weeks since that fateful day and, throughout that time, various techniques had been attempted. It had started with isolation, which was kept up the entire time; she hadn't spoken to someone in fourteen days. Because that wasn't likely to be enough--and they had science to do--she hadn't been allowed to sleep much during those fourteen days, either, due mostly to the noise they continuously made throughout all hours of the day. It wasn't human; it was a low, chaotic hum.

It was, of course, the beehives they kept for certain other purposes; the prison was designed to echo for exactly this purpose. This relentless noise was accompanied the the occasional observation through screens, allowing them to dump water--or less savoury liquids--on her when she began to nod off.

But it had been two weeks, and now it was his turn to go along with his second method. As he closed the folder and made his way down the hallway, flanked on either side by armoured men with blunderbusses, the stench of excrement--and the god-awful sound of bees--hit him hard.

He came across the cell and pulled back the screen. Torchlight filled the room and revealed a starved, tired, confused, filthy, and, frankly, quite pathetic Elf twiddling her thumbs in the corner of a cold, unforgiving concrete cell.

"Serith," the agent said, injecting, as he always did, a sort of gentleness into his voice. "I am Alain. You will come with me."

It wasn't like she could resist, exactly. As three men placed her in shackles, Alain closed his eyes as her stench hit him. Truly, this was the worst part of this whole mess. But it was necessary; the Republic demanded it.

"I don't suppose you have anything to eat?" she asked, wearily. Most of the fight had gone from her after weeks of isolation and abuse.

"You shall see," Alain said, a gentle, almost comforting tone to his voice. "Just follow me, my dear."

Serith followed, shivering slightly. After the long darkness and almost claustrophobic closeness of the oubliette, being out in the open was almost unbearably cold. She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, wishing that she had a cloak or anything to cover herself.

Alain, catching the cue sent by the agent, nodded to one of the guards he passed. A cloak--grey and plain, but warm, and big enough to cover the Elf--was handed to her by one of the men. As she grabbed it, wrapping herself in its warmth, Alain continued.

"It'll be just a bit longer, my sweet," he said, smiling slightly. "Just a bit longer."

WIP