VIENDA | MORNING
Evandria and Emric would both find themselves travelling the city streets on this hot, horrible Yaris day, summoned to Vienda Gaol by Captain D’Arthe. It seemed that Head Office were in need of extra hands these past seasons, and with good reason. By now, most officers would have heard about the interrogations, or alternatively been interrogated themselves. Rumours and stories mostly, but it seemed that the Seventen were questioning suspected Resistance folk, pushing to find the cell members where ever they could.
There were some interesting rumours too. Ruthless methods, and questionable actions, even against their own people.
The two Seventen would be greeted by Damen personally when they arrived at the gaol, sun beaming down heavily on him, brow speckled in sweat and blue eyes glittering with barely contained frustration.
“Leverenz. Sericks.” He grunted by way of greeting, nodding to each of them as he pulled a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed it to his face.
“About clocking time. This way.” The Bastian said shortly, spinning on his heel and moving rapidly into the oppressive still air of the gaol office. They would have to walk fast to keep pace, Damen striding through and past an officer holding the door to the cells open. Inside, the heat was worse, and from the cells prisoners whines for relief.
So hot! Some water please!
Yards! Put us in the yards!
It fell on deaf ears, as they strode through the wide hall between the small barred rooms. At the end, the Captain stopped and turned to look at them again.
“I have heard good things about you both from Berowyn. Takes some mettle to be posted in the Tors.” Reaching into his pocket, Damen retrieved a set of keys, searching for the right one before turning to a heavy wood door. He unlocked it, the mechanism clanking thickly, and the hinges squeaking as he pushed it open.
“Downstairs. Do not speak to anyone lest I tell you to speak.” With that, he took a nearby lantern from the wall and shut the door behind them, leading the two officers down along a stone spiraling staircase.
“Tell me, Sergeant Sericks, what do you know about prisoner interrogation?” From somewhere far below the faint sound of a wrenching scream would reach their ears, and the smell of sweaty panic would reach their nostrils.