Saxon Interrogates Alain
Alain’s eyes narrow when Saxon returns.
“Interesting you’d have to put magic on yourself before you’d be willing to talk to me. Is that His doing? Want to slip any oaths or bonds you make to me, eh?”
His attitude had been standoffish before; now it is actively frosty.
“I don’t know how things work where you’re from, but where I’m from, the only thing that matters are the words we swear, the bond we have to each other and to what is right. If one of my brothers told me true, I wouldn’t second-guess and I wouldn’t need any magic to tell me he was being truthful. You are no brother of mine.”
He spits on the table.
“I’ll say it again for you, real slow. I have sworn. Not to say. A FUCKING thing. About what I’m doing. To anyone. Except my boss. You let me take you to them, or you put my head on a spike, but I ain’t giving you anything else.”
Serbasel may have a low opinion of the Oath. He may even think that the particular oath this man has sworn is a damned stupid one. But as he scrutinises the oath that this man has made, he can see just how strong it is.
Everything else about this man is unremarkable.
His skills as a saboteur? Mediocre.
His ability in combat? Average, for a guildsman.
His dissembling? Well. It is easy as day to read on his face that every word he’s spoken is true, as is his disgust at the perceived mistreatment.
But the power of that Oath is unbreakable. He has sworn it on his life, on his heart, on everything he is. It is a power that he can NOT be forced to break. Any magic that would pry information from him will kill him before the power of that Oath fails, and the Oath will stay strong even in death. It is part of him now, as sure and certain as his name is Alain Hannibal, he will NOT betray his fellows.
A Golden Haze
If the perceptive blessing hadn’t been in place, it is possible the assembled would have missed it. A subtle golden tint which suffuses the walls, ceiling and furniture of the room they are in. When it passes, the simple guardhouse is… different. The walls are sturdier, the bars on the cell are stronger, and Alain is shackled at the wrists and ankles, bound tightly to the chair on which he sits. Arrayed before Saxon are a variety of torture implements which could put the Ironbloods Serbasel was so familiar with to shame.
Alain does not seem to notice or react to the change in any way.
And three individuals in sharp red uniforms open the door to the Guardhouse. These are not militia. They carry themselves with authority and purpose. The bright gleam of fresh chainmail glints under the uniforms, across their backs are shields emblazoned with strange and eldritch runes, and at their hips they carry brutal maces of dark steel.
The leader – a stout Kuldisar woman with steel grey hair and a scar from brow to lip – stopped before Serbasel.
“High Judge.” She said, with a respectful nod. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter. I am Officer Coldwell. We’ll take it from here.” To the men she had entered with she gave a curt, “Secure the prisoner.”
A sharp salute, and the two other individuals with her moved towards the cell…
Officer Coldwell, meanwhile, produced a writ from her uniform for the High Judge’s inspection.
|Hand Over Alain||Interact||0|
|Examine Coldwell Magically||Interact||6|
|Examine the Guards Magically||Interact||4|
|Examine the Paperwork in Detail||Interact||5|
|Prevent the Guards Taking Alain||Interact||4-6 (Please note that if this action is not taken Hand Over Alain will automatically occur)|
|Distract the Guards||Interact||5-10 (This may prevent Hand Over Alain happening automatically)|
|Attack the Guards||Threat||10-15|