Renton Feland's Review of Eathon Banor

[Klapman]

Note: This Review is very intense, and pretty messed up. All players present were okay with it being logged and with it occurring in the first place. I did OOCly provide the out of allowing the victim to skip it and simply say it was very, very bad, and continued to do so during the course of the RP. This is pretty edgelordy, I know, but some people just really don't like to read this and I fully understand, and want to make it clear that Reviews like this are not mandatory to RP if you're unlucky enough to have Renton as your Inquisitor.

<In the Guardroom before the Cell Block of Ahalin Tower>

Renton points to the guard even as the guard bows to him. "You, guard. I want you to have one of your off-duty brethren wear common clothes, and move towards one of the private cells. Once there, I want him to scream loudly every five minutes or so." The guard opens his mouth to confirm, when Renton shakes his head. "You do not need to speak, only obey." He then turns his attention to a lean young man with deep green eyes. "Yes, yes. Good show, Page. Let us go meet our little friend."

Renton nods towards a lean young man with deep green eyes and Gothan Moritz. "Now then you two - Gothan knows this already, but you Page, you are unaware. This man spat on my shoes. He made obscene gestures at His Eminence Benicio ab Masson. And all this after so thoroughly disturbing a Baroness that she decided he was worth a whipping. And just to add to that, he cared not for the whip, seeming almost to spurn it." He pulls out a pair of gloves, putting them on delicately. "I intend to show him that pain is worthy of respect, and then to see what secrets he hides - but I believe that his destination will indeed be the cleansing pyre. Perhaps there is a chance for us to save him on this plane. As such, I will forsake no effort. This will not be pleasant for you. Be prepared."

Renton thinks to himself, "I want these two pissing themselves. Fear can reflect unto itself, creating more fear seemingly out of nothing."

Gothan Moritz keeps his palm fixed on the pommel of his sword, hanging from a scabbard on his hip as he regards Rentons speech. "Do you.. suspect his taint goes as far as Magery? His resistance to the pain of whipping.. was unusual." he replies, his eyes darting into the door of the cell. "Or maybe just a madman, drowning in heresy -and- taint."

Merick Ironwall says, "I heard about the spitting and heard he ran his mouth a bit, bah, disgusting behavior to be sure. Aye, Inquisitor."

Merick Ironwall claims to Gothan Moritz, "Some know how to block pain, ignore it, as a blacksmith sometimes you learn to ignore a spark or two, or worse, but... To ignore a whipping? that would take some real fortitude, or, yes, magery."

Renton smiles grimly at Gothan Moritz. "I do not quite believe him to be a Mage - but the possibility of such is why you are here, Squire, and why I have brought the Page as well. If he is a Mage, I believe you two capable of handling it. Be prepared at all times. Now, I will simply move towards the Interrogation Room upon entering the cells - I want you two to handle him. I have not had time to inspect my tools, and require only a moment. Get him robed and searched, and I will await you in the Interrogation Room. Understood?"

A lean young man with deep green eyes nods firmly, looking toward Gothan Moritz "I'll let you handle him for the most part and keep watch."

Gothan Moritz nods to Renton as he speaks, then casts his eyes to a lean young man with deep green eyes. "You've done this before, haven't you, Page Ironwall? You should show the Inquisitor what you're capable of and take lead on disrobing the man, and searched." he speaks stoicly, his eyes darting towards the cell door again - almost dreading what's coming next in his stance.
Renton claims, "Here we go, my little fledglings. Let's go meet your new best friend."

<They enter the Cells.>

Renton nods towards Mister Banor. "Get him up, you two, and take care of him. Mister Banor, be glad - you have the honor of being the one to experience my first Lithmorran Review. I can only hope our facilities are capable of meeting your satisfaction." He smiles as a new prisoner is roughly shoved into the room and then out into one of the private cells. The smile is not entirely comforting.

<Renton enters the Interrogation Room until Gothan and Merick process the prisoner properly>

Renton exits the interrogation chamber, rubbing his hands together. "What an -excellent- little room!" He says happily, his eyes gleaming in the torchlight. A loud scream is heard from the private cell the prisoner was recently sent to. "Right then, Mister Banor! Tell me, how -do- you feel?" His voice, his actions, his posture - they're all changed entirely. His teeth gleam in the darkness.
Gothan Moritz grimaces at the scream, his fingers tightening around his sword with the knuckles going white - he keeps his eyes fixed towards Mister Banor as the Inquisitor speaks to him, ready to spring inbetween them at a moments notice.

Merick Ironwall narrows his eyes faintly, snorting sharply toward one of the prisoners before refocusing on Mister Banor.

"how do you think I feel." Mister Banor answers, as he turns his eyes to Renton, "lovely place you have here.. just wonderful.. should tell all me friends.. about the acomidations.. blood and all, nice touch

Renton smiles kindly at Mister Banor, narrowing his eyes in affection. "How I -think-, you feel... Mister Banor?" He takes a step closer to Mister Banor. "I think you feel like a rat." Another step forward, his eyes burning with fury. "Trapped in a cage." A long, long step, and now he's standing right before Mister Banor. "With only the mercy of the pyre awaiting you." He leans downward, tipping Mister Banor's chin up, all the better to meet his eyes with. "And I think you feel fear, Mister Banor. I really do. Underneath all your bluster, all your rage, I can see it in the depths of your eyes." The scream echoes throughout the cells again, and now the smile becomes too wide and fierce to be called such. It is a snarl, a declaration of war. "And I intend to drag it out of you, kicking and screaming, so that the Lord might see there is still something worthy within you."

Gothan Moritz keeps his stance firm, his eyes locked to Mister Banor. He stands there unmoving, and silent - letting the Inquisitor do his work, but ready to step in if he is required.
Mister Banor lifts a shoulder in a shrug, "interesting belief you got.. to bad, you don' know me, so your assumin' with out no facts." the man shifts, trying to pull his chin back away from Renton, "do, keep yer hands off me, yeah?"

Renton nods at Mister Banor, his smile still fully present. "Oh yes, Mister Banor. Learn that last line, and be ready to repeat it with all you're worth later on. After all, before too long, you will be capable only of screams." He snaps, the sound echoing in the dry air of the common cells. Some of the prisoners slink back at that sound, trying to find some solace within the shadows - none of them want to be next. "Bring him in, Squire Moritz, Page. It is time to begin."

Mister Banor looks around a moment. "why." he asks.. "it was, just a slight, disagreement with a noble.. you jus happen to be there, wrong place, wrong time is all."

<Moved to the Interrogation Room>

Gothan Moritz leads Mister Banor into the room, as he casts a quick gaze around the room - setting his jaw as he notices the array of painful looking implements.. "Where would you like him, Inquisitior?" he asks, unsure, his eyes still darting around slightly.

Renton moves towards the Interrogator's chair, sinking into it with a relaxed sigh. "Put him on the stool, Squire Moritz. We will start with some preliminary questioning - I want to hear the poor excuses before the good ones." He waves a hand lazily towards Merick Ironwall. "Guard the door if you will, Page. It will most likely not be necessary, but who knows! Mister Banor may prove more interesting than most."

Gothan Moritz nods to Renton in response, silently. He hauls Mister Banor over towards the stool, and ushers him down onto it with his hands planted on the mans shoulders for a moment - before letting go once the man is situated, and he steps backwards - looking towards Renton for further instruction.

Merick Ironwall grunts faintly, keeping his arms down at his sides, watching everyone quietly, Mister Banor in particular.

Mister Banor grunts, wounds jarred more than he would like, and he stairs past Renton. "so.. we're here, you have me all tied up, and bloody, now what do you want."

Renton rests his chin in his right hand, only his silhouette visible due to the crackling flames of the oven behind him. "What I want is simple information, Mister Banor. We will start with simple things - what is your first name, and what is it that you did to the Baroness?"

Gothan Moritz steps a short step towards Renton, leaning in towards him.. and whispers quietly. "Perhaps it may be a good idea to send to a Physician.. or at least keep one on standby, we wouldn't want him to perish still laden with taint.." as he glances over Mister Banor's wounds in the corner of his eye.

Merick Ironwall trails off, "Hmmmm aye..."

Mister Banor shrugs. he shifts, trying to find a comfortable position. "eathon banor." he states, leaving the other question unanswered

Renton doesn't even turn to look at Gothan Moritz, instead keeping his eyes directly on his prisoner. "I am not so mediocre that I would allow a client to die, Squire Moritz. He will live, and be ungrateful for it." That finished, he asks once again. "Do not waste my time, Eathon Banor. The hard questions have not come yet. I will ask one last time - what did you do to the Baroness?"

Merick Ironwall snorts briefly.

Gothan Moritz nods his head to Renton as he replies, and steps back towards Mister Banor - hand still gripping onto a steel longsword boasting the Knights' crest on the pommel sheathed on his hip. He flashes a look towards Renton as he gets back into position, with an unconvinced look on his face.

"ask her.. I'm sure she'd tell you.. but, far as I see it, we had a disagreement.. do to her station, she took it wrong, and I got the worst of it." Mister Banor answers finally, glancing over to Gothan Moritz, and Merick Ironwall.. anywhere, but at Renton, seated in that chair

Renton nods at Mister Banor, pursing his lips gently. "I see, I see." He rises to his feet, slowly but surely making his way towards the oven. "I'm glad that we are beginning to become so willing to speak, Eathon Banor. Did you notice yet, by the way?" He asks, holding up one of the tools - a strange, segmented thing, that may look like it would - just- fit into a mouth. "That you didn't tell me your full name until just now, I mean. And yet, I've been calling you by your last this whole time. That is because I am very sharp, Eathon Banor." He says, opening the device - and then closing it with a clink. Another scream echoes through the little bars in the door, slipping their way into the room. He allows Merick Ironwall to speak, smiling grimly. Once the Page has finished, he nods. "Now tell me, Eathon Banor, what possessed you to spit at my feet? Surely you knew what was in store for you once you did that."

Mister Banor shrugs. "had my reasons." he answers, still, everting his gaze from Renton, so he may or may not see, what is in the inquisitor's hand. "call it, a stupid moment."

Merick Ironwall cringes faintly, putting a hand over his gut for a moment.

Gothan Moritz grimaces again at the scream from byond the hallway, blinking quickly - whilst keeping his attention fixed to Mister Banor.

Renton chuckles slightly, snapping the device shut once again, a narrow clink resounding through the room in the absence of the scream. He places it back where it was, instead choosing to grab a pair of tongs. "Yes, that would indeed be a stupid moment. That alone would not arouse my true suspicions - after all, you are a drunk. And yet..." He grabs one of the heated bits of coal, placing it on a nearby shelf and allowing it to cool. It burns against the wood slightly, creating a slight sizzling sound. Renton watches it carefully, ensuring it doesn't alight fully. "Then, his Eminence, Benicio ab Masson. You, well-" He laughs now, in disbelief. "You flicked him off, frankly. Now -that- is beyond a simple stupid moment. That is suspicious. Only a man who wishes for death would do such a thing." Renton grabs a small knife from one of the racks.

"no one, wants to die." Mister Banor answers, in a tone that is mostly even..

Renton is etching a Chalice symbol into the coal, with strokes that are both swift and precise. [Hidden]

Gothan Moritz flicks his eyes towards Renton as he starts etching, as quickly as a buzzing sparrow his eyes flick back to Mister Banor. [Hidden]

Gothan Moritz sets his jaw into a visage of stone, preparing himself to witness something -quite- horrible - he glances to Merick Ironwall in the corner of his eye, checking his position and raising a silent questioning eyebrow towards the man.

Renton finishes whatever he was doing with the knife, grabbing the coal with tongs once more. He holds it in the flames, not even bothering to squint at the heat assaulting his eyes. "Indeed. Nobody wants to die. Not without suitable motivation, at least. The thing I have found in my time on the battlefield, is that there comes a time when the pain is so great, so unimaginably potent, that every second lasts an hour, every hour a month, and every day a year." He twists the coal around, inspecting its heat. "Mister Moritz, this is rather a long shot, but are you experienced with the Pear?" He asks, his attention seemingly off Mister Banor for the moment.

Merick Ironwall gives Gothan Moritz a faint nod, barely noticible, keeping his own posture straight and stoic

Gothan Moritz shakes his head briefly. "I am not, Inquisitor. Devices such as that.. are not for the Knights to involve themselves in, our code does not allow to participate directly in a Review of faith - with all due respect, Inquisitor." he replies plainly, without any drapery of obvious emotion on his words with only the slow tensing of his jaw to give away any reaction to the question.

Renton winks at Gothan Moritz, mouthing "I know." [Hidden]

Mister Banor tenses, at the first mention of a tool. given he has not turned to watch the inquisitor, but he does now, seeing him work with the coal. "keep, your hands, off, me." he answers, tugging at his manacals.. "this, its not nessessary. I just came, to become a physcian.. so, what I have a few drinks.. not against the law, is it?"

Renton sighs, hearing the rocking of the stool as Mister Banor wriggles. "Squire Moritz, hold him still. Page, come here. I require you to hold this coal in the oven - and be certain it is this one. You should know it by sight." He says, resting it gently near the front of the pile. That said, he moves towards the Pear on the table once more. "This is one I used very well on the frontline. I had to use it for its more mundane purpose yes, but - well, shall I explain to you how it works?" He asks, grabbing and slowly, ever so slowly, moving his way to Mister Banor. "Or would you rather confess? One does not insult his Eminence on a mere whim, and one does not weather a storm of whips so adroitly, without having some kind of assistance. Would you not agree?" He asks, leaning in close to Mister Banor's face and snapping the Pear shut right before his eyes. Another scream echoes from the other room. "I fear that one isn't talking, by the sound of it."

Merick Ironwall nods as he slowly approaches, quietly grabbing tongs as he has before, though in a far more calm setting, checking the coal, giving it a slight turn.

Gothan Moritz gives a grim nod towards Renton as he approches Mister Banor from behind, he plants his wide hands onto the mans shoulders in a firm grip - holding the man steady and using his bulk and strength to fix him in place for whatever comes next. "Yes, Inquisitor." he speaks plainly, trying to rid himself of any hesitation of the order and instead setting himself in motion like a machine, preparing for the obvious horrible events that are about to transpire in his presence.

Mister Banor flinches, at the pair, so close to his face.. he ignores Renton, but as Gothan Moritz puts his hands on the man's shoulder, every single muscle, grows taught, ready to react.. if given the chance. "hands, off." he states to the squire in a tone no less than threatening

Merick Ironwall snorts, sticking the coal deeper into the oven, checking the temperature, infact warming it up a bit more, getting the coal well beyond simply red hot.

Renton sighs, the first flicker of annoyance present on his face. "It is clear that ignorance is your shield, rather than endurance. Very well - I will take away that shield, and shove it down your throat. Open your mouth, or I will break your teeth." He holds the Pear before Mister Banor's face, his eyes dancing with a sadistic delight.

Merick Ironwall looks toward Mister Banor, "Make this easier on yourself." He mutters.

Gothan Moritz grips onto Eaton's shoulders tightly, holding him in place like a statue - choosing to ignore his words in favor of remaining silent and steeling himself for what is about to happen. He gives a solemn nod towards Renton to signal he's ready, and a quick glance towards Merick Ironwall as he handles the coals.

Mister Banor considers a moment. he hears Merick Ironwall, but shakes his head, shutting his mouth, and lips, to try, and shield his teeth. the look he gives Renton, is one that clearly says, "you out of your mind?"

Renton thinks to himself, "Oh, here it is - the moment when they realize it's real, that they aren't some prince in a fairy tale. That nobody is coming to save them."

Merick Ironwall winces, his other hand rising up, covering his mouth.

Renton shakes his head, tutting. "If you are so against absolution, so fervently refusing an opportunity to show regret for your sins, then all I can do is simply ask you... to repent." He lowers the Pear, savoring any last moment of relief - and then clenches it tight, smashing it into Mister Banor's teeth as hard as he can. "Repent!" He roars, waiting a few seconds before doing it again. "Repent!" It tears into the man's skin, slowly revealing his teeth in little bloody chunks, his teeth already dyed red from what color they were before. "REPENT!" He roars, tearing into the man's face with reckless abandon, drool flying from his open lips, the light from the ovens like that of hellfire.

Merick Ironwall winces, his other hand rising up, covering his mouth.

Gothan Moritz puts his weight onto the man to hold him steady as he recives the hellish retribution from Renton - he grimaces heavily, his closed jaw tensing and biting his teeth together as he watches, afraid to close his eyes as they open wide.

Mister Banor tries to draw his bloody, and battered face back, blood, and bits of teeth and bone, pooring out of his mouth in chunks.. he cries out, at each blow, taking in ragged breaths, trying to press himself against Gothan Moritz, to ajust his angle to make it harder for Renton to continue the beating of his flesh, but at least, his mouth is open

Merick Ironwall winces at the sight of Mister Banor, focusing on the coal he's tending, shaking his head subtly as he turns the coal thrice over.

Renton takes the opportunity to ram the Pear into the man's mouth, immediately cranking it open, keeping the man from biting down. Renton leans in close to the man's ear, whispering. "This is not the painful part, my friend. You should have spoken. You could have spoken, and this would not have happened to you." He draws back, his face impassive now, fully in tune with the work. "Page! The coal." He keeps a firm grip on the Pear, making sure it stays well in place.

Renton thinks to himself, "Yes, yes! Finally he breaks, this most exquisite moment, it has finally arrived, and it is MINE!"

Merick Ironwall winces at the sudden order too, nodding as he quickly comes over, ready to pass the tongs to Renton, keeping his eyes off Mister Banor.

Gothan Moritz pushes back against Mister Banor as he struggles from the pain, he begins to look away - the scene almost overcoming him in the brutality. "Is.. this necessary, Inquisitor?" he speaks out, quietly, if heard at all over the cries of the unfortunate man.

Mister Banor tries to answer, but only a few words are ledegable.. as Renton whispers, his eyes travel to the coal, and he shakes his head, eyes trailing to anywhere, but the inquisitor maneack before him

Renton smiles grimly, taking the tongs from Merick Ironwall. "Thank you, Page. You may stand back, if you like." He says, right hand holding the Pear while the left holds the coal. His gaze flicks up to meet Gothan Moritz directly in the eyes. "Necessary? But of course, Squire. You have seen for yourself how recalcitrant this man was - he will not speak except after harsh motivation. This is the beginning of that motivation." His attention returns to Mister Banor. "Though, well - perhaps he is only meant for the pyre. Pull back your tongue, Eathon Banor. Else it may get burned." He reaches the tongs in between the Pear's gaps, and drops the coal.

Merick Ironwall nods as he does just that, infact he tumbles back, looking for an empty bucket, he takes a breath, a few breaths, looking as if he has nearly composed himself, but he suddenly leans over the bucket and throws up.

Mister Banor is only just able, to get his tongue out of the way, but by no means, can he avoid that coal landing on soft flesh inside his mouth.. and this, is met with a blood curtterling scream, almost piercing in intencity.. Merick Ironwall's puking, doesn't help matters, as the man emptys his belly, all over Renton, a mixture of bial, blood, and tooth chips but this, still doesn't get that coal out, whitch considering its overly hot state, creates more pain. the smell, of blood puke, and burnt flesh permeates the air.. this said, there is no sign, in the man's eyes, as to his thoughts, only the pain, rittled on his blood covered features

Gothan Moritz glares over to Merick Ironwall as the man loses his lunch in the bucket - a visage of concern strikes across his face, as he almost loosens his grip upon Mister Banor's shoulders to tend to Merick Ironwall. He clears his throat roughly, and turns up his nose at the sight and smell of Merick Ironwall vomiting - he angles his head to the side, looking away from the scene and grinding his teeth together, as he begins to twitch in empathy with the victims pain and motions.

Renton nods at the discharge that Mister Banor has covered with him, his expression growing a little more even now. "That's enough, I should think." He pulls the Pear out, allowing the man to spit out the coal if he should like. His voice is cold like a bared blade. He flicks most of the blood and vomit off of the Pear with a mild expression before holding it in the direction of Merick Ironwall. "Page, please take this. It will require cleaning." He then rests on his haunches, looking into Mister Banor's eyes. "Are you ready to repent, Eathon Banor?"

Merick Ironwall quickly wipes his mouth with a cloth, muttering to himself as he staggers, rising back to his feet, moving back toward Renton, taking the pear, putting it back where it was beforehand, quite gladly.

Mister Banor doesn't even bother to think. he shuts his mouth, murdered lips, shreded, working that coal to a place where it can be spit, and spit it is, trailing blood and peaces of flesh, landing in Renton's face, assuming its still hot. he takes in a few gasping breaths, tears running down his eyes, the salt from them landing in the cuts along the man's face. if still hot, enough to leave a mark its unclear if the spit at the inquisitor was intentuinal, or a desporate atempt to get it out of his abused mouth

Merick Ironwall looks over to check on Renton's face.

Gothan Moritz acts on pure reflex with his eyes darting back to the tortured man, his step jolts forward with his heels grinding on the slabs below and launches a heavy closed fist towards Mister Banor's head, just below the temple from standing behind the man - and yells out "How dare you!" before wrapping one of his arms around the mans front just below his neck, to restrain him further.

"Stupid, very stupid." Merick Ironwall says toward Eathon, looking toward Renton, "Are you alright?"

Renton screams as the still hot piece of coal rests against his face for a moment - perhaps the heat is lessened by the spit and blood, but the Page's efforts in heating it were very, very diligent. He swats it off his face, but the burn still rests upon it, the flesh smoking slightly. "You-!" He roars, nearly attacking the man; yet he freezes at the last moment. Gothan Moritz takes on his vengeance instead. Renton raises his hand to the burn, his fingers trembling as he touches it, a faint hiss coming from between his teeth. "Take him... to a cell, Squire Moritz." He speaks quietly, stiffly, each syllable seeming to shiver in his breath. "If even after all that, he would spit in my face... then he is truly Tainted. I shall recommend that he be burned." The look he shoots towards Merick Ironwall is blistering, and yet his voice doesn't change at all from before. "I am fine, Page. Follow Squire Moritz. I require some... time alone." He doesn't even pay attention to Mister Banor's moans anymore, instead focusing only on his own burn. The coal hisses lightly against the stone floor.

Merick Ironwall nods, "Yes Inquisitor."

Mister Banor shoots Renton, a look, but its, not hateful.. "sorry, didn', mean, spit." words are slered, "jus, wanted out of, mouth!"

Gothan Moritz looks between Renton and Mister Banor as he calms, he flexes his fingers from the punch - appearing to have pained ihm somewhat from the impact, blood staining his knuckles from the man's pulped flesh. He breaths in deeply, and out again before replying to the Inquisitor. "Yes... Inquisitor, as you wish..." he looks towards Merick Ironwall and urges him to follow him quickly, with a silent scream of his eyes. The squire hooks his arms under Mister Banor's, lifting him to his feet slowly and supporting him as he does lest he drop to the floor like a boned fish.

The look Renton sends Mister Banor certainly -is- hateful. "It seems you do many things you don't mean to. That will not continue, I assure you." He looks at Gothan Moritz, pulling a key from his belt and tossing it to the Squire. "Toss him in the Deep. And bring the key back to me as soon as you do. Then we shall leave this place. I could use a drink."

Merick Ironwall grunts as he assists in tugging Mister Banor along.

Mister Banor struggles, blood runing down freely, from the abuse he has taken. he continues to spit, to clear his mouth, his eyes, turning vicious, as he fights Gothan Moritz, manicals or not, trying to now, get to Renton, hands currled, as if he might, choke the man

(In the end, Mister Banor was escorted into the Deep by Squire Moritz and Page Ironwall. Unfortunately I had to leave urgently around this point, and couldn't see what happened next. It was probably unpleasant.)

[Klapman]

The Review of Mitch dul Ormonde

<In The Deep>

Renton walks down the stairs at a slow, steady pace. He is flanked on his right and left sides by grim-faced guards, each of them holding a lantern. They float through the darkness like will-o-the-wisps, seeming hardly to penetrate the dark despite their brightness. "Mitch dul Ormonde." Renton's voice is short and clipped, each word fired off like a sharpened arrow. "How was your bread and water? I hope it was quite delicious." Slowly, slowly, those lanterns bob downwards.

Toroni de Stonewall walks in, behind Renton, and he atempts to catch the inquisitor's atention.. if successful, he slides a letter with in the lantern light, but remains silent, giving the man a nod

Renton nods at Toroni de Stonewall, remaining silent for the moment while he reads the letter. An eyebrow rises on his face, one of the few things visible in the lanternlight. "I see, your Holy Honor. What an interesting development." He continues down the stairs now, until he's arrived just before Mitch dul Ormonde. "That is good, Mitch dul Ormonde. Very good indeed! If what I have just read in that letter is true, this may be a very -quick- judgment." He pauses, a thin smile on his face.

Toroni de Stonewall nods once.. "it does not change, the former letter, and his part." the man grumbles, eyes trailing now to Mitch dul Ormonde.. and now, the man is at the bottem of the stairs himself, and he finds a spot with in the shaddows to lerk

Face brightening for a moment, Mitch dul Ormonde stands. A tiny smile tugs at his lips as he allows himself a glimmer of hope. "Quick in what regard, Inquisitor?" He asks. After listening to Toroni de Stonewall for a moment, a brief look of confusion flashes across his pale features. [Mitch dul Ormonde]

Renton thinks to himself, "The first thing he does is hope - he shows no fear at the thought of a quick judgement. What a curious fellow."

The smile on Renton's face twists suddenly, into a deep frown. "What -are- you, Mitch dul Ormonde? At every step, you betray my expectations." He begins to pace, back and forth, back and forth, his expression perturbed. "I am clever, then I am kind, I am cruel, and every blasted time you are the perfect Davite. Not even suspiciously perfect! What kind of creature -are- you, Mitch dul Ormonde?!" He shouts, bringing his face directly in front of Mitch dul Ormonde's.

Toroni de Stonewall simply, watches.. eyes boaring holes, in to Mitch dul Ormonde, betraying no hent of the emotion behind the look. he seems, to aprove of Renton's action, his hands, finding a crimson leather utility belt

Mitch dul Ormonde's eyes widen as he recoils from Renton. He leans his had as far back as he can, against the wall. His gaze dances back and forth across Renton's face as he struggles for words. After a long, tense few moments, he barks another mirthless grunt of a laugh. "Perfect? I suppose not, Inquisitor." He shrugs, then holds Renton's gaze. "What kind of creature?" He scoffs. "A jeweler. A son. A younger brother. Something of a failure, if you'd ask my parents. And a thief, obviously."

"and, a lier prey tell?" Toroni de Stonewall asks, from somewhere with in the shaddows, circling around, to where he is now on the other side, of Mitch dul Ormonde, and Renton.. the man's lips currel up in an odd smile, as he watches the man, chained, and seated against the wall

Renton nods, his previous intensity already faded into a serene stare. "I see, I see. A thief? I do not care for thieves, but that depth of uncaring goes on even to their activities. What I care about, Mitch dul Ormonde-" He stares directly into Mitch dul Ormonde's eyes, unwavering. "Is whether or not you are a demon-to-be. A Mage. A Mage can be a jeweler, there is no doubt of that. Part of a family, certainly. So what we are going to find out, in my little room, is whether a Mage can be all of these things even under the utmost distress. In my experience, this is not so." He turns, gesturing to the guards - they take the hint immediately, moving to grab Mitch dul Ormonde.

Mitch dul Ormonde speaks quickly. "Tell me something first, Inquisitor, if you will?" He raises an eyebrow, and pauses for a moment, but does not wait for a reply. "What does all of this accomplish? Hmm?" He gestures about wildly, his voice shaky, yet oddly determined. "Surely there is evidence enough to convict me, one way or the other? Will you torture a man without the certainty that he deserves it? Is that what you stand for?"

Renton thinks to himself, "Hahahaha! He is spirited, this one. His tone is so strong, despite having languished in this pit for so long... How strange."

Toroni de Stonewall doesn't answer that, leaving it to Renton.. his thumbs remain hooked in his belt, and the only sound that is heard, is the creaking, of leathers.. though that sound is magnified, echoing around the room

Renton turns, clasping his hands behind his back. "It is no torture that I commit, Mitch dul Ormonde. Is there enough evidence to convict you? Many people seem to think so. They are of the opinion that you must be burned, posthaste, because the evidence stacked against you is so... convincing." He speaks quietly, his voice bouncing off against the walls like a poorly tuned musical instrument. "I, on the other hand, am not so easily convinced. As I said, your resistance is not unrealistic. The fear underlying your words does not seem feigned." He shakes his head, his eyes flashing in the poor light. "Frankly, if I had considered you suspicious enough, we would not be bothering with a Review. You would be on the pyre. Instead, you have the slightest chance at being allowed to live on this plane, free of supposed taint - if this Review shows you to be pious." He smiles widely. "Will you come, Mitch dul Ormonde? Or shall you burn?"

Mitch dul Ormonde inhales slowly. His small shivers make the chains jangle softly. He clenches his jaw for a moment and closes his eyes, squeezing out a single tear to streak the dirt and grime gathered on his cheeks. "Let's be off." He takes a small step forward.

Toroni de Stonewall nods. he watches Mitch dul Ormonde, "you think, we are monsters." he rumbles.. but, if we were, you would already be dead.. I gave you to the inquisitor, because I trust, his judgement.. if you are found a true davite, then you will be in a good place.. if not, you still, will be in a good place.. with the Lord. so, mister dul ormonde, you win, either way." and with that, the farin turns, and heads upward, the scrape of lock on wood heard

Renton nods towards the guardsmen, who grab Mitch dul Ormonde's arms. "Indeed, Mitch dul Ormonde. Whether you are a good Davite, or a filthy Mage - we shall see." He moves to follow behind Toroni de Stonewall. "To the Interrogation Room, I think. It is already prepared."

<In the Interrogation Room>

Renton enters the room, a concealing robe of crimson linen, edge sewn with chalices billowing out behind him. "Guards, put him in the chair and strap his hand into the device." The guards, looking distinctly uncomfortable, do as Renton orders unless they are otherwise stopped.

Toroni de Stonewall nods. he looks to Renton, "do you require anything, readyed?" he asks in a low rumble.. it seems the man is more than used to administering reviews, as well, as helping with them

Mitch dul Ormonde watches helplessly as he is strapped into the chair. He looks solemn and not just a little scared as he takes in the horrifying contents of the room.

Mitch dul Ormonde glances between Renton and Toroni de Stonewall, searching for a glimmer of mercy on either face. [Hidden]

Renton gestures towards the guards. One of the guards holds Mitch dul Ormonde's arm tight to the chair, and the other grabs the device, sliding it closer until Mitch dul Ormonde's hand is fully inside it. Mitch dul Ormonde can probably feel strange little blades beneath his fingernails, already drawing a little blood and causing some pain. "Not to worry, your Holy Honor." Renton speaks quietly, his eyes focused entirely on Mitch dul Ormonde. "I wouldn't trouble you with such minor things. Everything is already in place." He kicks one leg over the other, staring down at Mitch dul Ormonde. "Mitch dul Ormonde, your task is a simple one. On your right hand is a device I had specially made for use on the frontline, and it worked so well that I had to have it brought here, considering the general taint." He leans back into the chair, relaxing. "Above each of your knuckles is a button. Pressing this button will rip the fingernail of that finger off completely, and swiftly." He stares at Mitch dul Ormonde, no further comment coming from him.

Renton thinks to himself, "This is much more worthy of testing faith, I should think. A Mage will use it the first time without worry - and then the scorpion venom shall drop from the little canister contained inside, and... hahaha. This will hurt him quite deeply, I think. If he can take off all his nails, he is dedicated to Dav. That is the condition."

Toroni de Stonewall works a jaw, and he nods to Renton.. he is calmly watching, his eyes trailing to the little device, but there is no hent to the man's features

Despite the relative mundanity of the torture, the guards seem even more perturbed than before, one of them visibly sweating. [Renton]

Mitch dul Ormonde stares in horror at the object into which his hand has been placed. "My task, Inquisitor?" He asks, simply.

Renton clasps his hands together, resting his chin upon the steepled fingers. "Press the buttons, of course." The response is equally simple, and casual besides. The guard on Mitch dul Ormonde's right locks the mechanism in, restricting further movement of the man's right hand, but his left is held only with a long chain - more than long enough to press the buttons easily.

"Why on Urth would I ever," Mitch dul Ormonde inhales sharply, "Ever do that?" He gives Renton a blank stare.

Toroni de Stonewall doesn't speak. in fact, the man doesn't move.. the only hint that he is there, is the gleam of a hefty steel war hammer with a red-chased, black wood haft, that he wears on his belt, as well as a sharp steel throwing axe etched with a chalice on the bit. otherwise, the man, is a statue

Renton frowns, his eyes narrowing in a baleful stare. "You can choose to stop at any time, of course." He says, his tone much like that of a disappointed teacher. "If you do so, I will be forced to assume you are unrepentant, and disobeying the direct order of an Inquisitor. If you show yourself to be willing, on the other hand, even at extreme discomfort to yourself, perhaps I will be convinced that you are truly a good Davite." He doesn't smile now. "You have twenty seconds to choose, Mitch dul Ormonde. Everything is up... entirely to you." He flips a nearby hourglass over. "Starting now, Mitch dul Ormonde."

Renton thinks to himself, "I messed up my speech. I messed up my Arien-damned speech! Hell! This could ruin the atmosphere, the effect, could make him take it lightly... but perhaps that would be interesting as well. Yes, yes. I am in control. Absolutely in control."

Mitch dul Ormonde glances several times between Renton and his right hand. Renton, hand. Renton, hand. A pause on his hand. Renton. He raises his left hand above the device on his right. He takes a deep breath, then yells as he swings his hand down on the button corresponding to the blade under his index finger, holding Renton's gaze all the while. As the blade casually flicks away his fingernail, he gasps, and the scream stops. A horse croak claws its way from his throat, and another solitary tear streaks his face.

Renton watches Mitch dul Ormonde press the button, his eyes flashing with delight, though his face remains absolutely stoic. [Hidden]

As Mitch dul Ormonde croaks in pain, Renton holds up four fingers. One by one, they go down. Four. Three. Two. A slight smile, almost unnoticable due to the flames behind him. One. The machine discharges something into the fresh wound. It bubbles, hisses, and Renton stands. "I told you, Mitch dul Ormonde - a device from the frontline. There, the Daravi had this most curious tactic - they would throw little pots full of scorpions into our camps, and the scorpions would hide in the dark corners. Such as the tents, the latrines, such like." He stands, stalking towards Mitch dul Ormonde - but keeping a safe distance. "It was simple, getting scorpion venom in that situation, once I learned the trick. How is your finger, Mitch dul Ormonde?"

Toroni de Stonewall is doing his best, to keep his features unreadable.. but his eyes, flick to Renton briefly [Hidden]

Mitch dul Ormonde watches the terrifying venom digest part of his finger. He hisses through clenched teeth. "Like Arien herself chewed it up and spat it out."

Toroni de Stonewall nods. as the nail is so nicely removed, and the venum is released. "I would, assume, there, is some pain there." he rumbles, casually, watching Renton, and Mitch dul Ormonde

Renton nods, presumably satisfied. "I understand. Well, so much as I can in any case - I have certainly observed it enough." He returns to his seat. "I suggest you learn to thieve with one hand, Mitch dul Ormonde. Those nails would normally grow back, yes, but the venom will stunt the process immensely. It may be a full year before you are back at your best, and it will hurt all the while." He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the backrest. "Now I will ask - another finger, or the pyre? It is your choice, Mitch dul Ormonde, as it was before."

Mitch dul Ormonde takes a deep breath, staring at the button above his middle finger. "All due respect, Inquisitor," he says, dryly, as he smacks the button. Hissing once more through clenched teeth, he finishes, "But Arien curse you and yours."

"come now.." Toroni de Stonewall comments dryly "do you think, we have not heard such fruitless curses, before?" the man grins, a calm, odd little grin

Renton shrugs at Mitch dul Ormonde. "Four. Three. Two. One." He repeats once more, waiting for the poison to discharge before addressing him further. "If I must be cursed, so be it. I will deliver as many I can from the taint, no matter the cost to myself." The cost seems to be a moderately uncomfortable chair, as Renton shifts in his seat. The Inquisitor watches Mitch dul Ormonde's expression carefully, searching for something within it.

"I wonder." Toroni de Stonewall comments, now, stepping forward. he walks around, to behind Mitch dul Ormonde, "tell me, again, where you got thoes, glowing vials?" a pause, "and before you say <REDACTED>, we have already, proven that false.. we found, nothing, in his home. but, plenty to prove you, the one to have them."

Mitch dul Ormonde glares at Toroni de Stonewall. He grimaces and grinds his teeth, wordlessly, as the poison sets in. "I have told you where I took them from, and I know nothing else to tell you. If you found nothing else, well, perhaps it's because I took it all." He turns his gaze from Toroni de Stonewall, and pauses to stare at the buttons for another few moments. In a burst of bizarre enthusiasm, he smacks the two buttons above the other fingers. This time, he cannot contain the agonized howl that tears from his lips.

Renton looks on in shock as Mitch dul Ormonde pushes two of the buttons at the same time - he forgets even to perform the countdown. Slowly, a grin grows on his face, until it is a full on smile. "I see, Mitch dul Ormonde. Tell me - can you then explain what we found in your home?" He asks, leaning forward with a hunger in his eyes.

Toroni de Stonewall smiles. "I only know, that you lied to us.. we found nothing, that pins <REDACTED>.. as a mage.. in fact, he has complained about you, many, many times.. and the word of a faithful davite, goes a lot further, than the word, of a lier, and man, posibly tainted." he nods. "now, do explain, what can be found, in your home?"

Mitch dul Ormonde cocks his head to the side. "Perhaps I can, Inquisitor," he mumbles through his pain. "But then, for that, I'd need to know what it is that you found." He listens to Toroni de Stonewall for a moment. "How do you know that I lied to you? What makes him the faithful davite, and not I?"

Toroni de Stonewall shoots Renton a look, and a upturn of a sly grin at one corner of his mouth [Hidden]

Renton ignores the first statement from Mitch dul Ormonde, instead focusing on the second. "If you are upset that we consider you a liar, perhaps you should have re-considered becoming a thief. It tends to be in your best interest to lie, does it not? One more finger, Mitch dul Ormonde, one more bite of the tearing venom, and I shall be most interested in what you have to say." He leans forward, resting his head atop his clasped hands. "You have, as always, twenty seconds."

"as will I." Toroni de Stonewall answers, "though, do you know, what a lier is, in farin?" he asks, casually, reaching a hand out, resting it on mitches's shoulder..

Mitch dul Ormonde shrugs. "Fair enough." He stares blankly at Renton for a moment before pressing the button one final time. He grinds his teath and chokes down the scream that threatens to tear free of his throat. He gasps, and then, "No, Grand Inquisitor. I don't."

The guards, as one man, look relieved that it's over. With a single wave of the hand from Renton, they begin to free Mitch dul Ormonde of the device. The space where the man's fingernails used to be is a grotesque mash of purple and red, fresh blood and scorpion venom mixing together in a disgusting ooze. Renton, curious as to Toroni de Stonewall's intent, sits back and allows the man to complete his point.

"a man, who lies," Toroni de Stonewall answers, slowly applying pressure to Mitch dul Ormonde's shoulder, is not, even a man.. he is honorless, one step lower, than a mage, or heretic." a pause, and the man moves to stair in to the prisoner's eyes.. "tell us, the truth.. tell us the truth, now, and prove, that you are not, in such a state, as I have described.." another pause, "why, did you tell <REDACTED>, that the shaddows called to you, why, did you tell us, you found thoes vials, in the man's home.."

Mitch dul Ormonde frowns, puzzled. He stares blankly into Toroni de Stonewall's eyes. "Forgive me, Inquisitor, but you mean to say that liars are worse than mages? Than heretics?" He glances at Renton. "I may not read my Erra Patter every night, but I would still have to say that is wrong." He shakes his head in despair, closing his eyes to take a deep breath. "I never said such a thing to <REDACTED>!"

Renton holds a hand up, rising to his feet. "Your Holy Honor, this man has just ripped off every single finger of his right hand. As a thief, this is tantamount to suicide - or to dedicating oneself to a better path." He moves closer to Mitch dul Ormonde, the guards backing away at his approach. "He meant that only Mages and heretics are worse, though I don't fault you for being half-delirious. "I have read the files. Your Holy Honor, I have a proposition to make." He rises to his full height - not an impressive sight, really - and addresses Toroni de Stonewall. "I propose we let the man free. In each and every step of these Questionings, he has been acting naturally. I found little suspicious about him in the Deep, and I find even less now. Of course, perhaps in the face of the evidence that means little." He squats down, studying Mitch dul Ormonde's face. "Very well - should he, in fact, be a Mage or connected to one, I shall undergo the very same Review that he did today. Does this sound amenable, your Holy Honor?" He throws this idea out there as though it's hardly a trifle, staring at Mitch dul Ormonde's nails - or where they used to be, anyways. A smile touches his features.

<The two Inquisitors go out to talk over the specifics>

Toroni de Stonewall nods. he comes back in with Renton, "I will agree to the terms, however, I will leave it to the inquisitor, to explain your requirements, upon release."

Renton returns to the room first, an expression of mild relief on his face. "I have good news, Mitch dul Ormonde. Well, considering the circumstances." He returns to his seat once more, looking down at Mitch dul Ormonde. "You will receive ten lashes in the square, for harboring magical items without turning them in to the Inquisition. I will state your crimes while the lashings occur. After that..." The Inquisitor sighs, and smiles once again. "You will be required to seek confession with me regularly from now on. That is all."

Renton sneezes loudly.

Mitch dul Ormonde sighs the deepest sigh of relief of his entire life. He begins to cry, softly. "Thank you, Inquisitor. Thank you. Lord bless you for your mercy." He laughs a bizarre, confused laugh. "I will come to you gladly, as often as you like."

Toroni de Stonewall works a jaw. "understand, that should the inquisitor feel the need, he has full athority to act, should any more, issues arrize." Toroni de Stonewall grumbles from his place by the door, and he walks over, grabbing Mitch dul Ormonde by the manicals, and halling him to his feet, "shall we get this over with then, yes?"

Renton nods, the two guards moving to escort the Inquisitors and their captive out of the Interrogation Room. "Yes. It has been a long day, I should think - and Mister dul Ormonde is sure to enjoy the outside air more than this dank pit." He smiles to Mitch dul Ormonde, not unkindly. "Do your best to keep your head during the whipping, Mister dul Ormonde. It is no worse than what has already been done."

Renton thinks to himself, "Now then, let's get this over with. I have a hankering for something... spicy, if possible. Ah, I do miss the spices from the frontline, if nothing else..."

END