Interlude II
(Warning: This post is a bit graphic in detail.)
Grallika hummed to himself as he stepped into the slave's tunnel. On either side of the tunnel were the cells. In here the halfling children mewed pitifully, some scrubbing the floors as they were told to, but all chained to the wall. This was Grallika's insurance that kept the little buggers working so hard out in the main cavern. One of the halfling females who was assigned to oversee the young called his name but he ignored her. An earlier day and he would have had her whipped for insolence, but time was of the essence.
He came to a solid stone door engraved with the symbol of the dragon below. It was not magical in any way, but as always he waved his hand and spoke a few words so that any slave who might be watching would be cowed. In reality entrance only required a certain mithril key that he always kept on his person. Centuries old, the door still pivoted perfectly when unlocked. He stepped through and then closed it behind him.
Unlike the dim slave's quarters, which were kept lit with only a handful of torches, this chamber was bright with several light stones surrounding a daylight stone set in the ceiling. Grallika had to blink as his eyes adjusted from the tunnels. For someone who posessed low-light vision, as all shifters did, it wasn't too bad an adjustment, but an adjustment it was.
Metal lockers stood at one end of the room, each with a small lock. In the middle of the room was a stone worktable, currently hodling the body of an inert warforged, with the machine's recovered greataxe next to him. Grallika could see the dim light behind the warforged's eyelids that told him the machine was not dead, just mortally wounded to insensibility. Warforged did not bleed to death, however, they merely shut down until repaired.
And repaired it was, or at least mostly. The captive in this room, an especially intelligent halfling smith and potion brewer named Pekah, who had been a respected leader of his tribe - until they ran afoul of Droamm slavers.
"Grallika," Pekah said from the table to the left where he was watching a vial suspended over coals bubble. "What can I do for you, hm?"
"You can get that oil of light repair finished," Grallika said. "Or I can take off another leg."
Pekah glancely briefly down at the stump, his eyes remembering the pain of being held down and watching Grallika saw it off. It made the shifter wizard/cleric grin a bit. Grallika did so enjoy inflicting pain.
"It's almost done," Pekah said. "It will be perhaps another minute or two."
"Yes, yes good. Wonderful. I have something for you Pekah," Grallika said with a broad grin. The halfling looked at him with trepidation, but all Grallika did was go over to a locker, produce another key, and bring out a covered tray. "A prestigidation spell kept it warm and fresh," he explained to the skeptical halfing. He oncovered the tray and there was a bowl of piping hot soup and a piece of grilled mutton and mashed potatoes. Grallika set the plate down on a small table and gestured. "Go ahead, go ahead, I shall watch the potion. I did say that I would treat you better if you got results, didn't I?"
Appetite beat out skepticism, as Grallika had been keeping the halfling on a near-starvation diet. Pekah grabbed his crutch, hobbled as fast as the chain attached to the collar around his neck would allow him to, and sat down to eat hurriedly before Grallika changed his mind.
Grallika kept an eye on the magical oil, waiting for the color to turn just the right shade of amber. He ignored the halfling's gobbling, he ignored the halfling's one or two attempts to question him about the welfare of the other halflings, and Grallika certainly ignored Pekah's gasps and gagging as the poison kicked in. Pekah tried to grab for Grallika's robe, but fell over dead, his skin already turning purplish and blotchy. The Emerald Claw terrorist who had supplied Grallika with the poison had been right about its effectiveness (which was good considering that Grallika's men had to torture the militaristic idiot for two days to get the location of the stash). Said Emerald Claw member was not at the bottom of the waters of the cavern.
"I could have just cut your throat, Pekah," Grallika laughed as the oil finally turned the right color. "But I did promise you better food if you performed, and I keep my word." He grabbed some tongs and took the oil off the coals, setting it on a stand to cool.
"Or at least I keep it when I feel like it," Grallika guffawed, going back to the lockers to pull out the costume and robes of a Silver Flame priest, as well as a potion that would give him incredible glibness for a while. Once he was disguised as one of the Thranish priests and he had drank the potion and magically enhanced his lying prowess he held the oil over the inert warforged.
"Wakey-wakey," Grallika said, pouring the oil into the wound.
Grallika hummed to himself as he stepped into the slave's tunnel. On either side of the tunnel were the cells. In here the halfling children mewed pitifully, some scrubbing the floors as they were told to, but all chained to the wall. This was Grallika's insurance that kept the little buggers working so hard out in the main cavern. One of the halfling females who was assigned to oversee the young called his name but he ignored her. An earlier day and he would have had her whipped for insolence, but time was of the essence.
He came to a solid stone door engraved with the symbol of the dragon below. It was not magical in any way, but as always he waved his hand and spoke a few words so that any slave who might be watching would be cowed. In reality entrance only required a certain mithril key that he always kept on his person. Centuries old, the door still pivoted perfectly when unlocked. He stepped through and then closed it behind him.
Unlike the dim slave's quarters, which were kept lit with only a handful of torches, this chamber was bright with several light stones surrounding a daylight stone set in the ceiling. Grallika had to blink as his eyes adjusted from the tunnels. For someone who posessed low-light vision, as all shifters did, it wasn't too bad an adjustment, but an adjustment it was.
Metal lockers stood at one end of the room, each with a small lock. In the middle of the room was a stone worktable, currently hodling the body of an inert warforged, with the machine's recovered greataxe next to him. Grallika could see the dim light behind the warforged's eyelids that told him the machine was not dead, just mortally wounded to insensibility. Warforged did not bleed to death, however, they merely shut down until repaired.
And repaired it was, or at least mostly. The captive in this room, an especially intelligent halfling smith and potion brewer named Pekah, who had been a respected leader of his tribe - until they ran afoul of Droamm slavers.
"Grallika," Pekah said from the table to the left where he was watching a vial suspended over coals bubble. "What can I do for you, hm?"
"You can get that oil of light repair finished," Grallika said. "Or I can take off another leg."
Pekah glancely briefly down at the stump, his eyes remembering the pain of being held down and watching Grallika saw it off. It made the shifter wizard/cleric grin a bit. Grallika did so enjoy inflicting pain.
"It's almost done," Pekah said. "It will be perhaps another minute or two."
"Yes, yes good. Wonderful. I have something for you Pekah," Grallika said with a broad grin. The halfling looked at him with trepidation, but all Grallika did was go over to a locker, produce another key, and bring out a covered tray. "A prestigidation spell kept it warm and fresh," he explained to the skeptical halfing. He oncovered the tray and there was a bowl of piping hot soup and a piece of grilled mutton and mashed potatoes. Grallika set the plate down on a small table and gestured. "Go ahead, go ahead, I shall watch the potion. I did say that I would treat you better if you got results, didn't I?"
Appetite beat out skepticism, as Grallika had been keeping the halfling on a near-starvation diet. Pekah grabbed his crutch, hobbled as fast as the chain attached to the collar around his neck would allow him to, and sat down to eat hurriedly before Grallika changed his mind.
Grallika kept an eye on the magical oil, waiting for the color to turn just the right shade of amber. He ignored the halfling's gobbling, he ignored the halfling's one or two attempts to question him about the welfare of the other halflings, and Grallika certainly ignored Pekah's gasps and gagging as the poison kicked in. Pekah tried to grab for Grallika's robe, but fell over dead, his skin already turning purplish and blotchy. The Emerald Claw terrorist who had supplied Grallika with the poison had been right about its effectiveness (which was good considering that Grallika's men had to torture the militaristic idiot for two days to get the location of the stash). Said Emerald Claw member was not at the bottom of the waters of the cavern.
"I could have just cut your throat, Pekah," Grallika laughed as the oil finally turned the right color. "But I did promise you better food if you performed, and I keep my word." He grabbed some tongs and took the oil off the coals, setting it on a stand to cool.
"Or at least I keep it when I feel like it," Grallika guffawed, going back to the lockers to pull out the costume and robes of a Silver Flame priest, as well as a potion that would give him incredible glibness for a while. Once he was disguised as one of the Thranish priests and he had drank the potion and magically enhanced his lying prowess he held the oil over the inert warforged.
"Wakey-wakey," Grallika said, pouring the oil into the wound.
posted by Charles
| 8:21 PM
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