"As one of…Gwyn's knights, you'll have responsibilities to the kingdom." Ornstein held open a door, letting Artorias into a chamber that saw little to no public access. A horrible scream issued from somewhere inside the humid chambers. "Welcome to the Executioner's chambers."
Artorias wrinkled his nose at the smell. "What would possess me to come here willingly?"
The captain's face was stone. "Duty. The most important thing a man can serve." He knocked on a heavy wooden door. "Smough, are you here?"
There was silence for a moment, followed by a pained sound, and heavy footsteps could be heard approaching the door from a ways off.
"Ah, Executioner Smough. We had an unfortunate meeting recently."
Ornstein didn't look at him. "That seems to be a most popular experience."
The door was flung open to reveal the executioner. The man was incredibly muscled and had perpetual dark circles under his half-lidded eyes. Artorias got the impression that he spent much more time working on his body than his mind or spirit.
The big man looked down on them both and grimaced in the imitation of a smile. "Well, well, well. If it isn't my two favorite Knights." He spat the last word out, and his smile twitched. "Come in, I was just in the middle of supper."
Smough's dinner turned out to be a rather plain looking cut of meat and bread. What made Artorias's stomach churn was the audience the man had. He barely recognized the three men as those that he had captured by the gate the other day. They were covered with bruises but virtually unshackled. The only instrument appeared to be an iron wrought collar set into the wall. They had inward-facing spikes on them that could be adjusted so as to fit a neck. The spines were adjusted so that they touched the flesh of their necks only very slightly. They were also set into tracks on the wall, allowing adjustment for height. These were all adjusted so that the men had to keep their knees slightly bent to avoid being punctured.
"You brought them out to watch you eat? Do you not feed them?"
The huge man settled at the table and picked up the rare meat with his hands. "I make sure to feed and water them twice a day, as my Lord requests." He bit into the meat, its juice running down his hands and face. He swallowed noisily and wiped his hands on his pant legs. "That's what makes this a lousy torture chamber if you ask me." He gestured to the closest man. "Isn't that right, manling?"
The man stared vacantly at the opposite wall and shook with fatigue.
"The only torture I give them is to…make them stand up for themselves." An unpleasant smile split his face.
It dawned on Artorias; these men were kept at this crouched position to induce fatigue. Any attempt to lean against the wall or do anything other than half-crouch with one's neck anything but ramrod straight would result in their necks being stabbed. Looking at their trembling forms, he wondered how long they had been made to do so for.
He turned to Smough, who was sucking the remnants of his meal off of his fingers. "How can you do this to them?! This is inhumane!"
The Executioner leaned over the table and took a crunching bite of his bread. "I am not human, you filth."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The man, who was called Jekob as Ciaran found out, stared at her with wide eyes and held his bloody nose as he sat with his back against the bed. She had her back to him, and was making a show of examining her knife. She hadn't done any more than flip him over a table and punch him in the nose, and had no plans to kill him, but he didn't need to know that.
"T-the Hawkeye said we w-would just have a talk!" The man's voice was nasally as he covered his nose to stop the moderate bleeding. It looked a lot worse than it was. She mentally patted herself on the back.
"Aren't we talking, Jekob?" She whirled around to him and fixed him with the icy stare of her mask as she stood up a chair that had been knocked over in the earlier ruckus. She was at his side faster than the man would've liked, hand gripping his shoulder tightly. "Just two friends enjoying casual conversation about treason?"
He scrambled, scooting away against the bed. "Treason?! I-I don't know what you mean!" He got up and tried to make a break for the door, but found she was already in front of him. She lashed out with a high kick to his chest, and fell back into the chair she had just stood up.
The Lord's Blade gripped his arms tightly. "Listen Jekob, I admit I don't care much for your kind. But what do you hope to gain through betrayal that the Great Lord Gwyn has not already granted mankind?"
"Me? I'm naught but a h-humble farmer, m'lady! I do alright for meself! You just don't understand—"
"Then make me understand, Jekob."
The man nervously cleared his throat. "Some of us…aren't doing so well. It…it might be…difficult for you to see that from these heights is all."
She hadn't quite expected the forlorn note in his voice. Her grip relaxed. "The human population in Anor Londo is surely satisfied?"
Jekob rubbed his shaved head. "Yes, but most of us don't live in here." He had gained more confidence after seeing the change in her. "And New Londo is doing…alright, I think. But all the outlying towns…they're seeing some real trouble these days."
She stared intently into his eyes. These were not the eyes of a savage, to her surprise. She took a moment to straighten the man's collar, then walked over to the bedside table to grab a cloth. "How does Velka fit into this?"
A nervous look came over the farmer. "That one is stirring up a right mess, she is. Talkin' to the impoverished of revenge and the like."
She handed the cloth to Jekob. "Explaining the previous incident."
He nodded and dabbed at his nose.
She thought for a moment and left the room, pausing in the doorway. "I…apologize, Jekob. You're free to go."
He stood hurriedly. "Just please be gentle with them, they just want to protect their home."
"So do I, Jekob. So do I."
As the door closed, she dismissed the guards and found that Artorias was leaning against the wall with them. She felt a twinge of shame thinking that he may have heard her terrorizing the man, but one of the useful functions of the mask was that it obscured one's expressions.
He gave her a little smile. "You did the right thing at the end there."
"You've been here…?"
"Long enough."
Once she had composed her face, she removed the mask and held it under her arm. "I'm surprised you didn't come crashing in, given your background."
"I had faith in thee."
She was surprised even more at the thrill that fluttered through her at his words. What was coming over her?
Ornstein appeared around the corner. "We've waited long enough. There are some…"
He trailed off as a stunning figure made her way down the hall. Ciaran immediately identified her as Queyla, a Daughter of Chaos. Most beings of her status would require a bow and an address, which were not Ciaran's forte, but the folk from Izalith were an oddly loose sort and asked for none of that. She simply nodded and received a nod back.
She wore a very dark maroon dress that fit snugly around her hips and cut off at her shoulders. Intricate gold bracelets on each wrist and a fine golden choker around her neck complimented her dark hair and eyes. Everything about her walk suggested beauty and confidence. She stopped before Ornstein as if no one else existed and clasped her hands in front of herself.
"I wanted to apologize for the other night, Dragonslayer. It occurs to me that I was perhaps too…much."
Artorias looked to Ciaran and made a gesture suggesting they move off a ways. When they had escaped earshot, he bent down to her level and spoke in a low tone. "And who is that?"
The Lord's Blade raised an eyebrow. "See something you like?"
He ignored her comment. "She must be important to talk to Ornstein in…the way that she is."
The Daughter of Chaos had her hands pressed against the Captain's chest and had a smoldering light in her eyes.
"Oh, she's important all right. That's Queyla, Daughter of Chaos, and Sixth Witch of Izalith." She widened her eyes for emphasis. "And she really, really wants the prestigious Captain Ornstein as a bedfellow."
He chuckled. "In that case," He gave a mock bow and gestured down the hall. "Shall we?"