Hello there. I'm new, and I'm not too sure about the correct etiquette for posting these things, so please feel free to correct me/move this if it is in the wrong place or anything. Also a bit petrified about throwing stuff I've done out there for criticism, but it's needed! So, thank you in advance for reading.
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Chapter One
Where Fire And Steel Yield
An Unwanted Crop
Shadows danced on the walls of the corridor as wall mounted torches flickered sporadically. Though the light was dim, the figure walked along the passage quickly, with purpose, the sound of his heavily booted feet echoing loudly. His tall, gaunt frame should have had difficulty with the low ceiling of his surroundings, but he moved as one who had navigated this corridor and many others like it for decades. Twenty silent minutes passed before he reached his destination, a large heavy wooden door, iron hinged and bolted securely from the other side. Without hesitation, he thumped definitely three times upon it, then took a step back as a small opening appeared. A dark eye, barely distinguishable from the shadows around it, looked harshly at him for a second, then the opening was closed once again. The figure heard the sound of the heavy bolts being drawn back, and deftly entered as the door was swung inward.
The room was sparsely furnished, with only one torch hanging from the moss laden stone walls. In the centre of the chamber lay a flimsy metal table, with a collection of small metallic tools strewn about it's surface, laying haphazardly atop a ragged cloth that had clearly never been washed. About five foot from the table, suspended in mid-air by chains from the ceiling, was a mangled, quivering body, stripped bare of all clothing and covered in all manner of scars, cuts and burn marks, only a few of which looked fresh. From his legs hung chains connecting him to the floor, restricting his movements to a bare minimum, ensuring that any wild thrashing he may have engaged in posed no threat. The simple, gothic looking restraints seemed completely unnecessary at that moment in time though, as the only movement coming from the half-dead wretch was the slight quivering of ruined muscles, accompanied by the occasional dry moan. Beside him stood a woman. As she saw the figure enter, she turned.
“Why, General Mordhein, you do our humble department great honour by journeying all the way to our insignificant corner of the Imperial city,” she said to the newcomer, her tone full of false surprise and more than a hint of sarcasm. “What manner of assistance could we provide that would be so important that the war council felt the need to send an officer of your prestige here in person?”
The general entered the room fully, and walked towards the woman, eyeing her humourlessly. Stopping a few feet in front of her, the pair stared silently at each other for several second, his face solemn and emotionless, hers full of wry mirth. Neither reacted at the sound of the doorman closing the door and sliding the bolts back into place. Finally, Mordhein spoke.
“Your attempts to bait me are both futile and unappreciated, Taelkaezar,” he responded coldly. “And you know full well the reason why the council has sent me to this squalid, vermin infested hole you call a work-room. You've failed to send the requested report regarding the Kenkah. When we sent you orders to reveal any and all information gleaned from the captive, we were not aware our tone implied that the decision to comply was entirely in your hands. It seems you have forgotten one of the prime tenants of imperial law...allow me to reacquaint you with it. All requests and/or commands issued by an imperial organisation are mandatory, to be fulfilled with the utmost haste or within the time frame issued by said organisation. No group or individual is exempt, save the Emperor himself, and then only when certain circumstances are met. Which means, Taelkaezar, with all that said, it would be very beneficial to your immediate interests to have extracted something of such incredible magnitude from that thing hanging over there by the wall, that the council forgets about your previous indiscretions, gives you a nice little speech about how well you've served the empire, and lets you continue your disgusting little occupation down here in this mouldy little pit. So...the report, if you'd be so kind.”
General Mordhein's lips almost betrayed a smile as he looked at the woman's face, twisted as it was with barely contained fury. He had ample opportunity to assess her more closely as he waited for her to calm enough to respond. She was a fairly attractive female, he thought – almost as tall as him, athletic, with milky green eyes that would have looked quite large had they not been half closed in a scowl at that moment, and shining black hair cut short, to the neck. Her black robes served to hint at her figure without being revealing. She would have been an attractive female, he reflected, if she had not been an interrogator.
Interrogators had been a relatively recent addition to the Gaadvian imperial system compared to the other professions and establishments considered integral to the protection and welfare of the state, having been instituted less than a millennium previously, and practitioners of the art had come to be regarded with almost pariah-like distaste by the majority of society. Their instigation had been deemed necessary when the Kenkah nations to the west had become more organised, the primitive ape like creatures starting to band together to form towns, cities...civilisations which, if left unchecked, could have posed a threat, however small, to the entire empire, unchallenged as it had been without any potential rivals for thousands of years. The small aspiring communities in the direct vicinity of Gaadvian territory had been quickly crushed, it's people eradicated and the land remodelled and prepared for possible future expansion of the empire, should the need demand it. That was, however, but a fraction of the race's entirety, and the more elusive groups, as well as ones too far from the empire to be practically reached, had formed crude alliances to take precedence over their petty infighting. Over the years, their raiding parties and attempts to infiltrate the border states, and even the imperial city of Rash'haema itself, had grown increasingly bold and organised, yet to date the empire had competently and quickly smothered invasion efforts and flushed out spies and assassins alike. Occasionally, fate conspired to place a live Kenkah in the hands of the Gaadvian military (usually a particularly careless saboteur, or a weak willed young soldier who's gut could not stomach the stage that was the battlefield, and had a misplaced faith in Gaadvian hospitality towards those who chose surrender over a swift death in combat), and thus the need for the interrogator's unique trade was born.
Looking at Taelkaezar, he could see the marks of her trade in every facet of her being. Like all practitioners of her unique profession, she had been taken from whatever couple had birthed her at the earliest age possible, and indoctrinated into the ranks after nine gruelling years of harsh physical and mental abuse at the hands of her superiors – the general consensus of the few experts in the field had remained unchanged for hundreds of years, it being that the only way to truly learn one's art was to be subjected to it. Mordhein could see the faded scar tissue etched across her face and hands, the once broken fingers that had healed in strange, crooked positions...and in her distinctly alien attitude, broken and remoulded time after time by her superiors and tormentors, at once so incomprehensible to any kinsman of even moderate normalcy, yet seemingly revelling in a repressed eccentricity and delight in the physical manifestation of deranged, morbid fantasies and emotions that betrayed a glimpse of what sadism and debauchery her race was capable of, despite it's overall willingness and capability to repress such thoughts and actions on a level of extremity itself bordering on fanaticism.
Taelkaezar had finally regained at least a portion of her former composure, that much was clear – the unbridled fury in her eyes had been replaced by that familiar cunning maliciousness as she turned from the general, and strode defiantly toward the suspended prisoner, now motionless. Reaching the wretched figure, and placing one crooked hand gently against his face in an almost affectionate display, she turned her head to once more meet Mordhein's gaze full on.
“Such brashness, such openly expressed impatience, general! Surely, the councils have not abolished common courtesy in their haste to establish strategic superiority in the name of defending the homeland?” As she spoke, Taelkaezar kissed the Kenkah lightly on the forehead with her thin, cruel mouth, and softly stroked his blood-matted hair. “For certain, they have not altered their policy of regarding every action unrelated to pretty swords or the defence of miles of uninhabited marshland with complete and unabated ignorance. You may find solace in the thought of mindlessly following orders, barking them along the chain of command to your inferiors, and haphazardly hacking apart these swampy little apes for some great sense of fulfilment at having done some oh so virtuous service to your stoic, stale emperor - but my work is art! If I were to go blundering in, blades whirling, fists pummelling, why, we'd get nothing accomplished other than provide those quaint little farmsteads beyond the city walls with an abundance of cheap fertiliser. Oh, no no, precision, patience, and attention to the little details...oh, and how attentive I've been! Why, merely ask my dear Hemley here.” A subtle movement of her eyes indicated that she referred to the prisoner, still being fondled in the manner of a child affectionately petting an old favoured dog. “Yes, my little pet can testify to the thoroughness of my work. See? He whispers many secrets...many secrets, and only to me...”
Turning her attention from Mordhein, she grasped the prisoner's head in both hands, and, leaning into him, whispered something into his ear that was inaudible to the general, like the hushed promises of a young woman to a lover, delightful in tone and laced with sounds of excited giggling. The man seemed unresponsive at first. A few seconds passed before he began stirring, gradually letting out a low moan and attempting to move his arms and legs, still bound to the floor and ceiling by the thick metal chains. His moaning grew louder, then louder still, until in the moment it had turned into maniacal laughter, so seemingly uncontrollable that it caused his torso to contort with painful spasm-like motions. The black clad interrogator shared his amusement, laughing in a sickeningly sweet pitch that contrasted heavily with his deep crazed bellows. Her fingernails dug into the ruined flesh of his face, yet he seemed not to notice, so hilarious he must have found the private joke between his torturer and himself to be. Or perhaps he had gone far beyond the point of coherent thought, and his mind had already slipped from the terrible embrace of sanity long ago. Certainly, his behaviour gave no hint of which possibility was the more likely, though Mordhein, having occasionally seen the results of Taelkaezar's work before, thought he had a fair idea.
Taelkaezar's arm whirled, and a loud crack sounded. Hemley's head slouched sideways, and there was silence.
Leaving the limp corpse of the Kenkah swaying slightly, she strode dramatically toward the general until she was once again directly in front of him, staring him in the face, her eyes once more full of fire and fury, but a smile of triumph spread across her lips instead of the expression of contempt and malice they had worn before.
“So you see, general, that a great labour of love has now come to an abrupt end. For over a month, that man has been hanging there...a month! And why so long?” The woman flashed Mordhein a smile consisting of two rows of not entirely immaculate teeth, each filed to a rough point. “Because by this time, oh mighty slayer of apes, oh burly sword of righteous imperial rule, oh defender of the crop and most venerable enforcer of prompt tax payment, by this time, I can be sure that the very thought of pandering false information to his most esteemed hosts would seem to my beloved tenant as alien a concept as a field of violet grasses, or a militant unit of fish riding down upon him atop steeds of albino rodents...his mind would force nonsense to appear as the most logical thing in the world before it would let him lie to me. Well, it would have. A shame, I do get quite attached to them after a while. Ah well...Rintre'aex, papers!”
These last few words were orders, barked at the large figure stationed by the entrance. The silent doorman moved from his position in front of the large wooden door, where he had been diligently waiting motionlessly for over half an hour, and walked towards his mistress, removing a leather envelope from the inside of his tunic as he went. After stiffly handing them to the interrogator, he walked noiselessly back to his original position, once again taking up his role as if some fleshy gargoyle turned doorman.
“Thank you, my dear Rintre'aex,” she said, flashing that sardonic smile in the direction of her servant, who gave no sign that he'd acknowledged it. The woman made no indication of either her approval or displeasure at this, instead handing the bulky package to Mordhein, her face still stretched by that uniquely discomforting grin. “You surely know how I detest paperwork, general...yet your council seems to want half my waking life spent in front of a desk. None the less, here, I have your report – and quite the report it is too, a work of literary art that I'm sure someone of even your dour persuasion will find a far superior read than any old bard's saga.” She giggled. Mordhein's demeanour didn't sway. “And oh, how I do so hope the plethora of information within makes amends for my previous attitude...I assure you, I am nothing but a most humble woman in service to the mighty, mighty Empire, and most assuredly had no intention of acting in any way blasphemously, treasonously...or rudely, even! And please, pass along my respects to our glorious chieftains, our lords, overseers, our shepherds...for they do gloriously shield both ourselves and the Empire from any who would strike us down, whether it be the renegade parasites devouring from within, or the barbaric monkey tribes, hurling their pointed sticks at our mighty walls, mocking and threatening our very way of life with their primitive knuckle dragging.”
The evident mocking tone accompanying Taelkaezar's little speech was lost on Mordhein. The old general had dealt with the interrogator and others of her kind for decades, and had never come to understand their eccentricities and manner, nor the meaning behind them. He regarded their flamboyant speech and twists of wording as little more of a poor use for language – a waste, even. He had little patience for those who were prone to be less than direct, and would not have tolerated even a fraction of the interrogator's incoherent drivel from the men under his command, a stance he knew for certain any other officer held to, and had for centuries. Many others forced to deal with the interrogators had adopted a policy of intense reaction to the incomprehensible women's metaphors, jibes, and outright treasonous retorts – indeed, Mordhein knew many, particularly amongst the younger men of rank, who had resorted to violence when overcome with frustration at the interrogators elusive and infuriating manner. A fruitless endeavour...fury was the reaction these women sought to provoke in their visitors, for whatever twisted reasoning on their part, and an angry beating, however sound, meant little to a being for whom the near entirety of adolescence had been a literal continuous torture session.
