The Hunt: Chapter I
"We drink to our youth, to days come and gone…"
The blade slipped in gently. Just a little prick was all it took for the tender flesh to part, and for the crimson, liquid miracle of life to slowly swell from the wound. The slightest change in pressure, and more sinews began to smoothly pull apart, like the inferior stitching of an old fishwife's hand-made tunics.
"For the age of aggression is just about done." Lillandril Stormbinder's voice was low and placid, his words rolling out like sweet honey, or shared words between starry-eyed lovers. Taking the place of his fair maiden, then, was the emaciated prisoner bound in a chair, bleeding and stubbornly refusing to cry out for mercy.
The man was a Nord, a Stormcloak, if memory served Lillandril. His superiors would have used the phrase "heretic," but Lillandril went a step further; his word for opposition to the White-Gold Concordant was "game." Someone- perhaps hidden of the ranks of his own detachment of soldiers- had started the rumor that Lillandril enjoyed…well, "savoring" the spoils of his macabre hunt. Just as Lillandril preferred, most of his subordinates left it at that.
A few more deft flicks of the blade, and Lillandril had finally crushed the will of his charge. What had once been oafish, savage grunts behind gritted teeth began tremulous wails. Tremulous wails became thunderous roars, before drifting down to distressed sobbing. Such a marvelous range of emotion was on display, indeed! Oh, if only dear older brother Gallandril could see this. Yes…I'd force him down into an adjacent chair, force him to watch, then slit his throat afterwards. T'would be such a perfect ending to a perfect evening…
"Nine…by…by the Nine, please! I-I'll tell you where o-o-our camp is! Just please, stop this…this…"
The Nord then broke down into a cascade of unintelligible blubbering, his dirty, bloodied hair hanging over his face, thankfully concealing the ruins that was his nose, bottom lip, and teeth (or what was left of them).
Lillandril greeted this…breakthrough with a raised eyebrow. Gazing at him with his hungry, tawny eyes, he sneered, "Troop positions, then?"
A light of hope seemed to radiate through the Nord's remaining eye as he looked up. Then again, anyone would, if they saw an imminent catharsis to their rather painful tribulation. Well, in his case, "torture" would be more appropriate.
"Yes! Just, please, something f-for th-the pain. I-it…I can't take it anymore. Please, anything to s-soothe the…"
"What made you think I wanted to know about troop positions?" Lillandril laughed. "As you've likely noticed, I'm not like other Justiciars. You humans are a…damn it, what's the word- ah, yes, 'pestilence.' Still incredulous? Well, let's go through a basic rundown- your race is filled with uneducated cretins whose idea of a good time is sticking each other with swords. You hate everyone that doesn't have blunted ears like yours, and refuse to trust anything or anyone that doesn't use brawn. With that being said, your kind isn't even worth enslaving for menial tasks, and you seem to enjoy worshipping your deceased dictators- sorry, emperors, don't you? Ugh, and the taste! Dreadful! It is like…pork mixed with ash yams, molded cheese, and sodding troll droppings!"
Lillandril took a deep breath, the weight of countless, previously stigmatic opinions being lifted from his chest. This outburst had provided such liberation of spirit only slightly outshone by the deed that had preceded it. Sadly, though, their time together was drawing towards an inevitable end. It was during periods such as this that the act of breaking a heretic's will proved increasingly unsatisfactory. Like a stale joke, it lingered just long enough to quickly grow tedious with its mere presence. Thus, it was time to end this wondrous spectacle, lest it turn into a listless chore.
"More importantly," Lillandril said as he drew the dagger across the Nord's throat, "I've enough funding to do whatever I damn well please, and my employers enjoy the zealous work that I do. So, in short, you can go kindly piss off and die."
(A shout-out to Kalathon the Comical's forum, "The Adventure Has Only Begun." Without this forum, I would not have had much reason to join this website, nor to actually set about creating such…vivid characters like Lillandril Stormbinder. Hopefully, they shall not mind me using this character, but just in case, I feel that some sort of recompense is necessary. If anyone would like the opportunity for some good old-fashioned RPing, then thou art in luck. I suggest- for those of you who like making wondrous tales of your own- that you visit the aforementioned forum. Come on in, and join this enclave of writers. We have cookies…)