35th of Zi'da, Arc 712
A cacophonous range of sounds rushed upward from the Oubliette that led from the upper prisons of Andaris, into the depths of the dungeon. Like a cascade of rusty hinges, razor blades, and despairing cries, they washed over Woe as he descended the spiral leading into the expanse below. The stones had heard the pleas of a legion of the condemned through the arcs. Their formless pleas made many appeals ranging in tone and emotional cadence. All asking for the same thing: Mercy.
It was a term that wasn't often heard from those administering to the clients dwelling in those galleries far beneath the light of the sun. To those that dwelt in the light, it meant a few things. When one brought the concept into the dwelling of anguish and pain, those meanings fractured and multiplied. Desperation drove people to wish for things that ordinary citizens would consider unimaginable. The appeals some made could turn the stomach. Bargaining for their release with the lives of innocent people. At times the torturers below received permission to offer their clients false information. Here, they would confide that they wished one person or another dead, divested of belongings or disgraced. The more desperate prisoners, who've already undergone a round of 'treatment', often jump at these as opportunities. Even those whose guilt is not completely certain gave in to these appeals. With the torturers, these wretches attempt to ingratiate themselves if it means early mercy. They would sell their own sister or brother for a release if they are foolish enough to entertain hope.
Of course, the purpose of these false leaks were to confirm their guilt. The warden would hand the compromising testimony to the magistrate, should the prisoner be so lucky to find himself in judgement. Most who rotted in the lower levels, would never see the light of day. Those who would, didn't come out of the Oubliette the same person. One way or another, the men and women descending the spiral into the dungeon ceased to be.
Woe landed with his feet at the bottom of the spiral descent. There, he made his way past the gallery of cells on either side of him. No sound issued from them. Some of the doors, he knew to be sound proof. The purpose of this was to maintain a controlled environment to manipulate prisoners. Men and women who still required interrogation.
There was one prisoner that Woe had heard from many nights before. He'd undergone many rounds of investigation. He found himself in front of the man's cell shortly after arriving, where his supervisor was standing, waiting for Woe. "You're Erastus' man?" He nodded toward the young Woe.
Then he inclined his head toward the cell in front of them. "I think it's about time for me to explain a bit about what we do here. While you're not a torturer or employed by us, Erastus has spent a small fortune to arrange your education at this facility. So I will take the responsibility serious. Erastus is a good man, and well respected by the Warden and Magistrate."
So saying, he unlocked the cell with a key from a hefty-looking keyring. The door swung outward.
Inside, before he stepped one foot inside Woe could hear the inmate's voice, rambling on end. After entering the cell, he began to make out what was being said. "I will to my Lord be true and faithful. I will hate his enemies, and protect his kin as my own." Thus he recited the oath of Knighthood and allegience. On and on it went.
The interrogator turned his head aside, muttering to Woe, "He's been at that for tentrials times three. He hasn't strayed from that line at all, despite our efforts. I rather suspect he's either mad, or it's some technique developed to hold his tongue against a torturer."
"It's almost a shame to destroy a man so determined to hold his tongue. Such strength could be turned to the Kingdom's benefit. Yet, orders for his penitence came from the father of the lordling or princess he served as bodyguard for. It's not too often we get a knight in house. Quite the honor, wouldn't you say? They may be the lowest of the upper class, but they represent a narrow avenue through which a commoner may rise to nobility. What isn't to admire about that?"
Woe shrugged, then narrowed his eyes to try and make out the features of the knight, who continued to administer his oath to himself.
The jailer in training approached the iron encasement that held the prisoner. The knight was held in the iron maiden, a suit of metal that held them upright so that they were deprived of sleep. It was designed to break down their will, as a man deprived of sleep could be very susceptible to emotional manipulation. Something that Woe in particular excelled at. Woe walked back and forth in front of the iron coffin, looking into the visor to see if he could detect the eyes flickering behind it.
Sure enough, he saw the whites of the knight’s eyes moving as he tracked the torturer’s movements. Woe sighed to himself.
”Well, I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted. Give Erastus my best when you do see him alright? And let one of the guards know when you’re done.”
Woe wasn’t one for idle diversions or passionate side tracking. He was here with a singular purpose. And that included getting what information he needed from this knight. It seemed odd to him, that Erastus would ask him to try and elicit a very specific response. Why bother when one could fabricate and put the words in the knight’s mouth through heresay? But no, there was something else going on that went beyond Woe’s ken. Truth be told, he didn’t want or need to know. He was here to serve his master, and hopefully get one step closer to attaining a longer and far more flexible leash.
”You are a knight then? Who is your lord?” Woe asked.
”I am true to my lord.” Said the knight in his rote repetitious way.
”Is your lord true to you?” Woe asked, pacing the iron encasement. He left to the side of the coffin, and sneaked up to the knight’s blindside. ”Rumor has it, you failed your duty to him. And so your fealty and his responsibility for you have lapsed. Strange the laws of loyalty. There’s something perverse about them, isn’t there?”
Woe came up from the side, to face the knight dead on, a grim look on his face, ”Loyalty is a poor rubric for social order. Men are here for but a short while, so what use is loyalty? You may as well write your code into a sandy beach, and watch how it lasts.”
”That’s what I never understood about chivalry, or at least chivalry as we Rynmere folk do it. Our system seems built to fail, writ as it is on the flesh of a broken man’s hide.”
”I am true to my lord! I will hate what he hates, and shun which he shuns.”
”He shuns you.” Woe said, his jaw tensing. ”So bugger your oaths. They’ve all the lasting impact of a man’s death rattle.”
”I will not forfeit his claims, or the claims of his rightful heirs.” The knight insisted. ”My lord shall not deprive me of my lands and freedom.”
”What is freedom?” Woe wondered aloud, looking sideways at the various torture implements lining the walls. He didn’t feel he’d need them, especially given his progress of moving the Knight away from his original lines. Then again, perhaps he was being led in circles. A few more moments with the knight would determine that.
”You are free to die for your loyalty, your flesh-bound oaths, written with the slime of maggots.” Woe wasn’t used to letting such coarse language pour out of his own mouth, but he was in a bit of a rush. There were other things he’d prefer to be spending his time on, other than lingering in this depressing Oubliette. ”Even now your lord reclaims your land to gift to another, who will serve him until his usefulness is similarly spent.”
The knight seemed to break at this, his voice cracking into a sob. ”I will to my Lord be True and Faithful! I will shun all which…”
”There’s no redemption to be had here, sir. The only gifts I bear forth are mercy.” Woe paused a moment, then took out a small razor blade from his belt pouch. He held it in front of the iron coffins visor, so the knight inside could see it. ”You can choose peace and justice, or loyalty and that band of blood and carnage we call war, plague, famine, and misery. What will it be?”
There was a long pause lasting a few bits. Then the knight said the words Woe was waiting to hear. ”My Lord bid me show mercy upon his daughter. She was a witch. There is no dishonor in killing a witch.”
Oddly intrigued yet also disgusted by what he heard, Woe nodded, and slipped the razor into the visor, where the knight would be able to move it into his mouth to cut his tongue off. He would be drowned in his own blood before the night was come. The jailers would be none the wiser, until Woe was long gone. Erastus had assured Woe that he had an arrangement with the Warden, and that this would not come back to bite him.
Woe held no such illusions, but left the Oubliette as instructed, all the same.
