Another day, another meager handful of coppers. Riven sighs as she shoves the small dirty coins back into her pocket, the faint torchlight slipping through the corner of her post momentary making the low-value currency shine like the eyes of the monsters she is supposed to be guarding. The white-haired Templar sighs once more as her tired maroon-colored glare wanders across the rows of heavy wooden doors hiding an assortment of dangerous spell casters from prying eyes. Most of the prisoners are fortunately silent for the time being, attempting to sleep wrapped inside their torn filthy rags or licking their wounds after a particularly harsh interrogation.

That's a relief. Riven grimaces as her gaze returns back to the deserted underground stone corridor and its ancient dusty walls. The young Templar had always hated having to beat a defenseless witch with drained mana up simply because her superiors demanded that she made the filth shut their heretic mouths, as they would so nicely put it.

But who was Riven to disobey the Grand Templar's orders or the will of the High Council? She was just a relatively new recruit after all, and while yes she might be a lot better with a blade than the average Jhin there was no shortage of ex-soldiers and crooks that could replace her and take her job in less than a heartbeat. The young Templar needed this job no matter how much she despised her actions, and other guards excluding herself of course would probably attack the prisoners with the intention of maiming and crippling them instead of merely silencing their angry yells and knocking the poor spell casters unconscious. Riven's presence here was a small mercy, the young white-haired woman thought bitterly, but that was all the mercy those tormented people would find inside these cursed dungeons.

The sounds of displeased voices and loud footsteps suddenly draws the female jailer's attention and Riven can almost feel the men and women behind the locked heavy doors cowering away from the shifting torchlight as four armored figures and a cloaked form hurriedly move across the dimly lit dungeon. The young Templar recruit instantly stands up and salutes her gruff-looking comrades as the ominous parade stops in front of her dusty table. Garen, one of the men clad in blue, white and silver offers the rookie Templar an exhausted curt nod before the chained witch panting among the guards is harshly shoved forward and onto the oaken table.

Riven easily sidesteps the stumbling woman's collapsing form and makes sure that she keeps her visage calm and emotionless as the Templar Captain's eyes roam her features searching for any signs of pity or unease. Garen will find none of course. Riven has long since learned to hide her feelings behind a cold neutral mask of indifference even though the Templar Captain would probably let her keep her job even if he did recognize the unease lurking just underneath her serious pale visage. Garen didn't enjoy tormenting his captives after all, the earnest man had still a soul unlike the majority of the other Templars that likened themselves as pious holy warriors bathed in honor and hymns and pure golden sunlight.

Pompous bastards they were all, their precious righteous souls more muddled than the cheap ale served in the shady watering holes they so frequently inhabited.

The cloaked woman straightens her back as she slowly rises to glare at the young Templar recruit with piercing honey-colored orbs, the golden diadem perched on top of the stranger's raven-black trenches flashing brightly under the wavering torchlight and the rookie Templar dully wonders how come the accessory hasn't already been confiscated by the company of greedy pigs that are masquerading as Templar Knights. Riven almost flinches under the dark witch's stare before another Templar shoves the captured spell caster back on the ground and the bruised witch doubles over next to the jailer's chair.

"This vile witch's name is Evaine Leblanc, a wretched dark spell caster also known as the Deceiver. She specializes in illusions and trickery and is responsible for the deaths of at least a dozen innocent men and women. The witch was apprehended by Sir Garen Crownguard himself a few hours before dawn.

The young Templar recruit nods and grabs a pen and a torn piece of scroll to write down the prisoner's details before Evaine is violently led into one of the empty cells and the door slams shut behind the vile dark sorceress trapping her inside. Garen spares a few more seconds to make sure that the cell's door has been locked properly before he tosses a couple of copper coins on top of the dusty oaken table.

"Thank you Captain."

The new Templar recruit states after she glances at the offered coins, as usual Garen has left her a few more coppers than he has to pay her for her jailer services.

"This woman is extremely dangerous. Make sure that you give her the potion between each meal and keep your weapon close at all times."

The white-haired warrior and the Captain exchange quick salutes before the looming intimidating assortment of armor-clad giants decides to leave and so the unit heads out of the narrow dark corridor leaving the young jailer to fulfill her duties in peace. The silent torchlight dances against the burly men's silver breastplates and their sheathed great swords, the mighty steel glimmering under the starving flames like the fangs of a burning dragon. The eerie veil of the darkness soon devours the stern Templar Knights as one of the prisoners start whimpering inside his pitiful gloomy prison.

Riven sighs as she hurriedly thumbs her collection of rusty scratched keys and approaches the locked door with hasty and determined strides. The white-haired swordswoman has to silence the stupid bloke quickly after all lest one of the Templars returns and breaks the poor mage's spine.