Chapter Text
Shadowhand Essek Thelyss glided through the Dungeon of Penance silently, hovering menacingly with the heavy mantle on his shoulders. In the deeper level lay, for over a month now, the one who was allegedly the dungeon’s toughest but to crack.
Gliding into the small cell, the Shadowhand took in the scene in front of him.
The man he was faced with seemed like he’d never been particularly well built, but now he was gaunt and ragged. He was hanging from two chains on his arms, holding him up and pulling them taut. He had long, unkempt hair, falling in a curtain around his face. He was bloodied and scarred and bruised and burned, his clothes in tatters.
“Good morning, Scourger.” He said casually, earning a hum from his prisoner. He didn’t look up. “Copper for your thoughts?”
“It’s cute how you try to disorient me, Herr Shadowhand.” He said lazily, as if he wasn’t being tortured in a dungeon. “Trying to make the prisoner lose their sense of time, to stop trusting their reality. Irregular feeding hours, complete darkness, inappropriate greetings of time, distorted sleep schedules… textbook, really. I know, for a fact, it is now 3:47 in the afternoon.” Essek was quite impressed. He was right to the minute.
“And how would you know that, Scourger?” He tilted his head, voice curious and casual, as though they were sitting in a cafe down the street and not in this room so deep under the ground no prisoner ever saw the sky again. The Scourger looked up, piercing eyes surprisingly lucid for his condition.
“Why, Shadowhand, I always know the time.” His bright eyes were a surprise. Sharp and cold and determined, even after weeks of torture. He couldn’t quite seem to find Essek in the dark, so the effect was somewhat diminished, but… still impressive.
“… you’ve gone through quite a lot here, didn’t you, Scourger? Let’s see. Starvation, strangulation, fire, acid… yet you didn’t break. I have to admit, I’m quite impressed. Most of your kin crack by now.” He hummed to himself, organising the torture devices on their tray casually. He knew the Scourger would recognise the sound. Looking at him, he could see his muscles go taut as he tensed to brace for the coming torture.
“You’re a liar, Shadowhand. My kin, as you called them, would never crack under this kind of torture.” He said quietly, serious.
“I think you overestimate your fellow scourgers.” He spoke in a very soft voice.
“I think you underestimate the training we’ve gone through. Your people offered my life for information, even. Ha! What a joke. There’s one secret I’m willing to give you for free.” The Scourger looked right at him with serious eyes.
“And what would that be?” He glided closer, standing right in front of him.
“The worst you can do to me is kill me. If I come back home after this, my death would be the best case scenario.” There was a cruel, bitter grin on his lips. “Good luck breaking a man who has nothing to lose.” He was slightly taken aback by that. Preferring death over failure was to be expected from the fanatic nationalism of the Empire-trained assassins.
But this wasn’t it.
No, this was a man for whom death was preferable to returning home because of what would be done to him. Even if he didn’t break. Even if he told them nothing. That was certainly something to think about.
“Is that why you have a nightshade capsule sewn into your shirt?” He asked idly. “So you won’t return to your home empty handed?” The Scourger laughed. The man was hanging by his arms from magic dampening chains, tortured and beaten, and he was laughing.
“Didn’t I tell you I’ll only give you one secret for free?” The human sounded amused.
“And what would it take to make a secret worth your time?” The Shadowhand leaned over him, voice tempting and dangerous and he dragged one capped finger down the man’s cheek. Only the slight tensing of muscles was present to indicate his surprise.
“You’re asking what it would take for me to betray my country? The country I gave everything for? There’s nothing you can offer me that will be worth it.” He glared at him seriously, and it was more than empty words. Essek believed that this man truly did give everything to his country.
“… what about freedom?” He asked, voice soft. Shadowhand wasn’t just a creative torturer. His job was… more delicate. Convincing. Manipulating. Strategising. He was here to have a chat with his prisoner. Who was now raising an eyebrow, like he’s very sceptical.
“I’ll tell you how I see it. I believe you. I believe every word you said to me today. I believe that you know exactly what time it is. I believe you gave up everything for the Empire. I believe that death would be a preferable option to you than returning home after being captured. Ikithon is the man responsible for you scourgers, right?” He said nothing, but the tension in his muscles said it was true. It was hard for humans to school their features in the dark. Dark made them… vulnerable. Open.
“I know of him. Truly a repulsive man, from what we gathered. He keeps you like attack dogs on a leash. I don’t know what he does to train you into that, but…” he traced his capped finger, with the silver claw, over the thick black tattoo on the man’s arm. He jolted, trying to thrash away from his touch, and Essek retreated. “He hurt you, didn’t he?” His voice was soft and sympathetic. “Those are scars we’ve seen on every scourger we captured. It took us some times to realise it was more than just a tattoo.”
He examined the scourger closely. He seemed slightly rattled still, eyes wide and searching for Essek. With his gliding and the complete darkness of the room, the man had no way to succeed.
“I won’t betray master Ikithon.” He rasped, uncertain. “You know nothing about us. We gave everything for our country, and if you think I would betray that for you, you are more stupid than I thought.” There was anger there, but it seemed to be born from desperation.
“I would never ask you to betray your countrymen. I don’t wish to harm your people, and that is the simple truth.” It was. Essek had no desire to harm the common folks of the empire. He was even reasonably sure the Bright Queen had no intention of doing so, if not provoked. “I only wish to protect my own from men like your master. That is my job.”
“Then why do your people attack our garrisons?” The scourger looked in the general direction his voice came from. Essek knew how hard that was to pinpoint, with the echos in this room. It was made like that by design. “These are my people too. Most of these soldiers are common folks, farmers looking to get some extra coin to feed their children and make sure they have warm clothes for the winter.”
“Soldiers attack soldiers. Such is the way of war. Your people attacked mine just as mine attacked yours. But none of us wants to see children get hurt in the crossfire, I’m sure.” Essek’s voice was soft, and his mind calculating. The man was a patriot of the type that believed they are protecting the children of their country. Dirtying their hands so that the civilians can sleep in peace. “Do you have family in the military?” Silence. “I did. My late father was a soldier.” He said casually. No harm in that information. Most likely one the scourger already had.
“… mine too.” The man seemed to deflate. So family was a sensitive topic, for better or worse. It could be useful for interrogation.
“I am sorry for your loss. Truly. And if it is as you’ve said, fathers going to war to protect their children at home… it seems cruel to me, for the high and mighty to abuse those same children to make more war. I don’t know what has been done to you, Scourger - and forgive me for only calling you that, but you hadn’t given us a name to use for you - but you had been hurt. Hurt by the authorities of your country.” He moved slightly further away.
“I offer you freedom. A chance to escape him. Going home you said a fate worse than death awaits you. And I’d hate for you to waste away here. I’ve seen your work, you clearly have a brilliant mind, especially for someone so young. I’d hate to see such skill go to waste. Just… consider my offer. That is all I ask.” He looked at the man, who seemed to slump forward, like this conversation exhausted him more than the weeks of torture. He turned away, to the guards at the door.
“See to it that the scourger receives food and water.” He ordered as they opened the door for him.
“Caleb.” The man said quietly, and Essek turned.
“What was that?” He asked, curious.
“You said I didn’t give you a name. Call me Caleb. Widogast.” His voice was raspy and exhausted, and he looked toward the door where Essek was. He knew the human wouldn’t see it, but he nodded either way.
“Alright, Caleb Widogast. I will see you again.” He said in a calm voice, leaving in complete silence as the door locked behind him.