Post by Campion on Apr 24, 2010 14:10:38 GMT -5
The letters that had been sent out were simple and straight-forward. All capos and underbosses were to report back to the Nagrand armoury, the one where they were first inducted and promoted, for a 'family meeting'. What this entailed was left unsaid, and there was no tone or clue as to what would occur or what was to be discussed. But the time and the place was given, and it's in every upper Kamil's best interest to be punctual.
The letter had been innocuous. The day, as well, was also innocuous. Lilifred read it over a fourty-sixth time, paper crinkling between her gloved fingers, before she finally managed to muster up the courage to turn the doorknob. The door was half open before she realized that it might have been prudent of her to knock. Eyes going wide, she yanked the door shut again and stared at it, discouraged. "Right, right." she muttered under her breath, "Always pays to be polite." and so she knocked three times.
There's a swift, almost irritated clopping of hooves across the metal, and Lilifred catches a flash of decrepit green flesh before the door SLAMS shut.
Times have been hard for the warlock known as Natharai ever since that night on the cliff in Stranglethorn, though he hasn't spoken a word of it to anyone since then. He's been fine as...fine can be. He'd has simply been working, quietly, and not making his presence known more than he had to. Though the work, none the less, was completed in his usual punctual manner. And like his usual punctual manner, he arrived to the armory in a timely fashion, tethering his gryphon to a nearby tree before wandering over towards Lilifred.
The door slam does give Natharai a moment's pause, his brow furrowing thoughtfully before looking to the gnome and gently clearing his throat. Something the matter...?
Lilifred's lips turn down quite theatrically. She nearly jumps at the sound of Natharai clearing his throat. Blinking, she cranes her head around and up to meet his confused gaze. She shrugs, answering his silent question with silence. Who knows?
Auroran does his best to arrive in a punctual manner as well, landing nearby on his usual flying carpet. He looks in much better shape than before, clad in his usual priest's robes and looking clean and tidy and awake. The kaldorei lurks a ways away for a bit. He scratches at a scar on the side of his face as he looks around nervously. Meetings of this sort are never a good thing, as far as he can tell. Necessary, but not good.
He also stares at those already gathered, as usual.
Campion arrives ON time. Not early, just on time. There's the flap of gryphon wings, the scrabble of talons, and the paladin lands and dismounts, tying the beast off at the nearby tree used for such. Just like last time. The reminders of the initiation aren't entirely pleasant. He turns to watch the darker gryphon only a short ways behind land as well. Him and Grinne have arrived together, of course.
Grinne ties Snaps well away from the other mounts, ambling up to stand silently, wishing he had a smoke. Or had time for a smoke. With a mournful hiss of air through his nose, he notes that nearly everyone is here, now. Probably no time. "'Lo," Grinne murmurs generally. He's very quiet. He ducks his head against the breeze. The thug is for once looking healthy, well rested and not strung out.
Natharai returns the greeting with a cordial nod of his own before looking to Grinne as he lingers nearby with his hands clasped behind his back. It's been a while since he's seen Waynolt and he seems to be at least somewhat pleased that he is safe and sound... Well, as much as his impassive expression implies but just MAYBE he's pleased.
Campion nods in greeting to the rest as they arrive (or were already present), then wanders closer to Grinne and may attempt to take his hand. Whatever, not like anyone here DOESN'T know or care about them. Well, Laz does, but Laz is a dick.
Aleyna arrives a little past the meeting time, flying down and landing with a hard whump on her beastly purple protodrake. She runs a hand through her hair and hops down, leaving it to wander as it pleases. It'll probably end up eating a wild roaming elekk at some point.
Her eyebrows raise, reguarding the group wordlessly as she walks over. Overall, she seems rather at ease.
Still frowning, Lilifred notes Aleyna's ease bitterly, "You look relaxed."
"Yeah?" The elf woman tilts her head down to Lilifred, giving her a sidelong look. It's not really an answer, but more of a filler. How irritating.
"Yeah?" Lilifred repeats testily, "Yeah?" she snorts and digs out a cigar with shaky hands. Ha ha ha, the longer this drags out, the more convinced she is they're all going to die. She lights the cigar and takes a long, calming drag off of it. Intellectually, she realizes that it's only her guilty conscience talking. Less peevish, she casts a fairly even look at Ley, "... uh, yeah. Right. What do you think this is about anyway?" Don't act suspicious Lilifred.
Auroran shuffles closer slowly, hovering around the edge of the gathered mobsters. He stares from person to person quietly. They'll notice him sooner or later, hellos are for normal people.
Lazaar is not as fashionably late as he would prefer to be, but late nonetheless. He's dressed in his good clothes and (thankfully) bathed into smelling half-normal. He arrives astride his "big, hairy elekk" and awkwardly dismounts to let the mountain of a beast graze around the armory. Lazaar forgoes any greetings other than a nod, as his mouth is busy holding a cigar and his hands are striking a match.
Metal slides against metal inside the building, and Grinne shifts his eyes to the door. It grinds open, and sunlight strikes Yeva, clad in sober black, smiling gently. "Come in," she beckons sweetly, and with a smooth turn of a hoof clops into the darkness, towards the stairs.
Auroran nods and follows swiftly. MUST OBEY MUST OBEY. Aleyna pats Lilifred on the head as she walks past, waltzing inside. Campion glances at the rest, uncertain of who should go first, and then follows the elves' lead, making sure Grinne keeps close as well . Might as well get this over with.
If being a demon's whipping boy has proven anything, Nath is a well-trained servant and does what his 'auntie' asks of him. He files in after the others calmly.
Lilifred doesn't act suspicious, not even when Aleyna pats her on the head like she's a kid of something. She inconcpicuously smokes as she inconspicuously follows Aleyna inside and leans against the wall in a totally inconcpicuous manner.
Lazaar follows, bringing up the rear, patently sick of this armory by now, after two initiation ceremonies and memories of people who are either dead or missing.
Grinne follows Campion and they head down the stairs: to the basement, where business is conducted. The old armory, as always, is swept meticulously clean. Torches once more line the walls, blazing solemnly, lighting the large space. The air smells faintly of torch tar and metal, and orange-white light shifts across an arrangement far different from the austere setup used for the group's initiations. Six wooden stools face inward in a semicircle, cheap and all alike, audience to two much more comfortable chairs. One is smaller, set a little farther back than the other. One has the air of a throne, though not the looks. A low table -- almost like a coffee table and very sturdy -- separates the stools and chairs. And in a line to the side…
Crates. Someone has dragged old crates in a line, and on top of them sit an assortment of objects. A curled short whip, cruel, of the kind that needs no skill to use. A large basin, filled with water. A set of knives that look old enough to have lost their shine and maybe their edge, alongside a branding iron of a curious shape that looks equally aged. A mirror, a reed, and a small paper-wrapped packet. A pair of brass knuckles.
It's all neat. It's all prepared.
Yeva coos, "Sit, laspushkas."
Campion balks. What...is all this. There's a look of uncertainty, glanced between Yeva, then to Grinne, then to Lazaar of all people. And then he hesitantly moves forward and takes a seat, as instructed, at then end of the semi-circle. A pit of worry is starting to slowly carve itself out in his guts.
Auroran is back in obedient mode, nodding and seating himself at a stool quietly. His face is neutral, and his fidgetting has ceased. His gaze is kept on Yeva. Inside? Well, he's pretty scared! Campion can likely sense this in their mind link.
Aleyna pauses and hesitates, shooting a look over the items gathered. Like others, worry and anxiety is worming it's way through her stomach and up to her heart. As she sits, she mentally tries to think of anything that she may have messed up. What had she done? What had THEY done? Things had been going good. ...Right?
Lazaar takes in the surroundings and feels a squirming, leaking sensation as his dead gut (or whatever might be living inside) tries to lamely warn him of impending danger. He tries to hide a surprised coughing choke on his cigar smoke.
Natharai seats himself without a hitch in his step upon one of the central spots. But that doesn't mean he didn't see what has been put on display... Nath knows what this is. Yeva earns a brief glance from the quiet dusky man, his brow furrowed, but even then his look does not meet her eyes but rather her collarbone. Apparently it is time to see how many hoops her little trained curs will leap through...
Lilifred's eyes sweep the room. The moment her mental cogs click into place and finish the few dreadful calculations it takes to understand the situation, the colour drains out of her face. Don't act suspicious, Lilifred. Obediently, she takes a seat. At the other end. Maybe Campy'll go first, that way she can be last. The shock and dread on the others' face is almost comforting. If they're all being punished, then it's a good bet that Yeva has no clue what specific things Lilifred has done wrong. Unless her punishment was going to be a public affair or something. Then... then... well, there was still a good chance that Yeva would torture Campion anyway, just as a warm up.
Grinne takes a seat by Campion if he can, brow furrowing, jaw set. Like Aleyna, his mind is racing, green eyes canny and troubled. What had they done? What had he done? He watches the floor as the desiccated mob boss seats herself, crosses her legs and twitches her clothing to rights in automatic, precise gestures made with skinny blackened fingers.
There's another set of dainty, clopping hooves on the metal overhead, then down the stairs. It's followed by a muffled, heavier thumping set of feet as well. Or two pairs? It's hard to tell, but SOMETHING is with the owner of the hooves. And then there's another draenei, primly picking her way down the stairs, blue and gold dress a bright contrast to Yeva's somber black. Luri smiles brightly, winningly, at those gathered, then takes a seat next to Auntie, while the massive white gorilla known as Shagohod takes a guard position on the stairs. No escape now.
Lilifred sits up a bit straighter. Oh shit, she brought a Gorilla. This is serious,
Auroran is practically screaming in his head. Outwardly? His focus is on Luri now. She's so beautiful, so TERRIFYING. He's trying his DAMNDEST to stay composed. C'mon Auro, you know better than to lose it in front of your family. Be a good boy.
There is not a great deal of change evident in Natharai's expression, even with the appearance of Luri. The gorilla, however, does earn a brief look. Oh, good lord... While the threat of a fierce jungle ape is bad enough, the warlock can't help but focus on the -smell- of the creature. He's not sure which has the worse stench; Lazaar or the gorilla.
Aleyna stays silent, but does chance a quick and fierce glance at Luri. Of course she's involved in this, she thinks bitterly. Lazaar gets a subtle brush of her arm against his, but there's no telling what she's trying to say. Maybe it's just to comfort herself in preperation of what's to come.
Lazaar fixes his eyes on Luri, briefly sizing up her "assets" as is his habit before stewing over exactly WHO she is and if she fits somewhere in his memory.
"I bring you here," Yeva soon begins softly, "because I see there is rot in discipline. Rot in respect. I have tried to win you with being gentle, friendly, kind, but now I fear I must turn to pain, milenkas." Yeva's bright eyes look at each in turn, unblinking, set deep in her sorrowful stretched-tight face. "You bring it upon yourselves."
"This woman, her name is Luri. She comes to me, she says, look at your family. At first I tell her no, she is wrong, cannot be right, my capos are good capos. But she speaks truth." The dead woman taps a finger sharply on her lips, once. "She is Old Kamil, and she speaks truth. Today, I deliver punishment. Tomorrow and ever after, her. Know her face. Is due respect, and fear."
Luri smiles sweetly still, primly brushing her bangs aside in a showy, primping gesture. Letting them indeed look upon her face, and what a lovely one it is.
"You are family, and the closest," Yeva continues, "carry mark of family on knees and heart. Heart, to mean your heart belongs to the Kamil te Kar. Knees because you are capo, you are underboss, you are heart of Kamil yourselves. Knees because you kneel to no one but the Kamil. To no one but each other, and me.
"Today you kneel to each other, and to me.
"Wrong has been done. Instead of punish one, today I punish all, because one piece of heart fails and the rest is weak, will blacken and die. You will all give punishment, you will all receive. Except you, Lazaar." Yeva's eyes settle flatly on the hulking dead man.
Lilifred tries not to cast a sidelong, hateful glance at Lazaar. Why is he so luck- oh wait. For the second time that day, her face blanches. She turns her head forwards and stares at the gorilla.
Aleyna can't help but look over to Lazaar. It's a questioning and furrowed glance, maybe just a little worried. Her ears droop a bit and she briefly wonders if he sold the rest of them out.
Lazaar pulls a cigar from his mouth and grunts out a cloud of smoke. He returns Yeva's look with a glare. "What? I'm just as much of a fuck-up as the rest.
Luri purses her lips and gives Lazaar a brief, simpering look of sympathy. Theatrical enough that one can doubt it's sincerity.
Campion can't help but lean over fractionally, just enough to look at the dead draenei. Wondering what sets him apart. WHY he's set apart. Does this mean he's being given special consideration? Or is he being treated worst of all?
Auroran breathes a slow, shuddering sigh. It only makes sense that this family would turn to pain and torture as well. He's gone through this before, he'll get better. Right now, he just has to brace himself. The shock and the pain is something you don't really grow dull to. The respect and fear for Luri has been there since the priest first laid eyes on her, at least. He won't question that.
Inside, he's frightened. And he sends a small, silent signal of distress to Campion. 'Miles I... Can you just, just stay linked with me for this? I don't want to break. I don't want to go crazy.' His telepathic voice follows this signal.
Another look flits to Auroran, and the paladin says mentally, 'Yes. I'll stay with you.' And then he sits back once more, doing his best to remain composed in the face of their impending punishment.
"You have been away from family;" Yeva explains to the indignant Lazaar. "You have separated yourself. Today, now, I separate you from punishment. You will not hurt or be hurt. You will watch." She smiles, a tiny, humorless smile. "But I give you chance to redeem yourself, yes? To put yourself back in family. You will help, yes? If someone needs holding, you will hold them down. You will read the punishments as if you are giving them yourself, to help you learn command. You will heat iron, you will make lines of DC, but you will not hurt or be hurt."
And if I DON'T help? What then?" Lazaar growls, tossing his cigar on the floor and grinding it out under a hoof with more aggression than necessary.
Yeva's eyes flick towards Shagohod. She shrugs bony shoulders. "You die. Natharai can take job."
No. Don't bring him into this, please. Natharai continues to keep his gaze on the floor as he listens to this, thin hands balled and resting upon his knees.
Shagohod growls, a deep and rumbling sound from his perch on the shadowy stairs, a looming mountain of muscle and hair. Luri looks at Lazaar with faint irritation.
Lazaar barks a laugh. "The ape? The APE is going to kill me? Is this a joke?"
Lilifred's brows crinkle slightly. She's still holding her cigar, but she hasn't smoked it since entering the room. Hasn't Laz LOOKED at the gorilla?
Shagohod answers the incredulous cry by grabbing a handful of handrail and twisting it off the wall with a loud, keening screech of metal. Now the ape is ARMED with a jagged piece of steel he just TORE off. Luri smiles and blows a little kiss at the massive animal. Her baby.
The warlock can't help but cringe slightly at this... But it was likely due to the shrieking of metal that pierced his sensitive ears rather than 'Oh no Lazaar is going to be gutted like a fish by railing'.
"You are very brave, milenka," Yeva says lowly after Shago's display. "So brave you run from us, abandon family. Run again, Lazaar."
Aleyna gives Lazaar another pointed look, but not of suspicion this time. Determination and a short nod. Do it, Laz. A nervous smile is added to the mix. It'll be okay, right?
Between the gorilla's show of strength and the look he receives from Aleyna, Lazaar's lip curls, but he nods his assent. "Fucking-- . . . FINE. Fine. I'll do it."
Yeva simply nods. Peregrinne has been staring at the floor determinedly, and only barely winces at the sound of the gorilla tearing metal.
Lilifred hates that gorilla. She sits straightbacked like there's a metal rod in her spine holding her up like the world's most horrified scarecrow. Oddly enough, her face is nearly emotionless- the gnome has a terrible poker face except in dire situations. Ha ha ha, don't act suspicious Lilifred.
Auroran is the same as before. Just spending his time staring at the two draenei women in neutral silence. It's just a matter of time now. His ears flatten at the sound of tearing metal, then flick back up when it's quiet again.
Yeva is back to being all business by now, everything in its place, proper and arranged. Now they can begin. "Luri. The bag. The first will be Lilifred and Campion. Stand and come center, Lilifred Bumblehurst and Miles Campion. Now you will apologize."
Grinne can't help it; he'd flinched when Miles' name was called, and now his eyes are up off the floor, watching. Waiting, dread slithering in his stomach just under his sternum. No.
Lilifred's eyes go a wide and round, the dark bags under them from near sleepless night emphasized by the grayish pallor of her dark skin. Listlessly, she drops her cigar on the rough floor and grinds it out with the toe of her boot as she stands. Dammnit, she thinks numbly, I chose the wrong chair. Furitively, she sends Campion a desperate look- a-at least we're in this together, right?
Campion startles when his name is called, but it's only a few seconds before he slowly pulls himself to his feet and approaches. Stops and stands at attention, hands clasped at the front, at his hips. Applying military procedure helps this all. Gives him something different to focus on alongside the prayers being said in his head over and over and over, which Auroran no doubt hears. He only gives Lil a brief, apologetic glance before looking to Yeva once more, blank-faced and waiting.
'I am here. We are all here. Be strong.' Auroran offers silent words of comfort. He knows it's probably not going to help what's going to happen, but hey. Just a reminder that no one is alone here.
Aleyna frowns to herself. It's going to be painful to watch all of this, as she generally likes all of her fellow capos. Even Lilifred shares this mutual rivialry that the elf loves to keep up. And Miles... Well. Her feelings towards him are obvious. Her bottom lip is worried between her teeth briefly before she sits back in her chair, trying to look as if she's still watching while staring at the side wall. Maybe if she's lucky she'll get to block all of this out.
Luri smiles brightly, and produces a silk bag that had been hanging from her sash. "The large one is drawing them, is he not?" She speaks in draenei, and refers to Lazaar. "And he will read them."
Lazaar catches Aleyna's tense body language and fights the urge to reach for her hand, afraid any show of affection will bring something worse down on her shoulders. Instead, he bats his tail at her legs. That'll do, he hopes. He's distracted from this by the sound of his native language being spoken and he returns to his glowering.
"He will draw them, and he will read them," Yeva affirms in pretty draenei. She takes the bag and holds it out in the air, to her left, where an empty space is. "Lazaar," she calls in the Azerothian common tongue. "You will stand here to draw."
The death knight rises to his feet at the summons and lumbers over to the place indicated, already feeling uncomfortably distant from the others.
Aleyna feels her heart sink a little more after Yeva calls for Lazaar. She had been hoping to keep her wall of distant comfort nearby, but even that's gone. The seat next to her feels devistatingly empty after he leaves. She sighs through her nose quietly and continues to stare at the wall.
Taking a deep, steadying breath through her teeth, Lilifred attempts to concentrate and make out what they're saying. It seems like another lifetime now that Elexine tried to teach an impatient "boss" rudimentary draenei, but she catches a word here and there and is disappointed when Yeva simply repeats her cryptic words in common tongue- great. It's a lottery then- no way to brace herself for what's coming.
Lazaar reaches into Yeva's deceptively delicate bag of tricks and fishes out a piece of paper. He unfolds it and reads the single word written in Yeva's horrible, delicate hand. He glances up at Lilifred and Campion, the barest hint of apology on his face.
"Flogging," he says.
Luri looks FAR too pretty and pleased with the going-ons here, giving both Lilifred AND Campion. She folds her hand in her lap and listens. Campion, meanwhile, goes pale.
"Here is what you will do," Yeva coos gently, immediately afterwards. "Lilifred, you will apologize to Mileschenka, and he will flog you. Luri will decide when your apology is sincere. Campion will not stop until she has decided." She looks at the rest, at Lazaar, too, and lifts her voice a little. She declares, to the lot of them. "You are apologizing for fucking. Up. You are apologizing for letting your friends fuck. Up. You are apologizing for your life. Go now," she hisses at the pair. "Say that you are sorry."
The dead woman jerks her chin at the crates.
Lazaar, meanwhile, has crumpled up the piece of paper until it's lost in one, huge fist.
Campion looks, well. Horrified. Slowly, he turns and looks down at the gnome, opens his mouth to say something...But he's speaking out of line. He shuts his mouth again, lips pressed into a thin, pale line, hands now wringing slightly. Don't make him do this, please don't make him do this. To endure it is one thing. To inflict...?
Don't make him do this.
When the word: "Flogging" falls from Lazaar's mouth without preamble Lilifred feels like her heart falls into her shoes in the good way because oh, oh okay that isn't so bad at all, compared to the brand and the drugs and the… she can handle flogging, she thinks. She can-
It’s the next part the yanks her heart right out through the soles, however. She turns to look up at Campion as he turns to look at her and there isn’t enough horror and loathing in her tiny body to twist her face into complicated enough an expression to show what she’s feeling right now.
“P-piece of cake, Campy.” she forces out, every word carved from stone, “I-I’ve got a lot to apologize for after all.” Lilifred has always prided herself on being able to crack a grin in every situation, but it doesn’t work this time. Anyone but Campion. She might have been able to handle this if it was anyone but Campion.
Campion is focused on no one but Lilifred now, and he kneels now, to be at her eye level. He doesn't care if this is uncalled for, if Yeva or Luri will yell for him to stand again. The man is on his knees now, at her gnomish height, and he remains silent. He only looks at her with apology, sadness and caring.
Campion's sorrowful look of apology is comforting, but it's also a liability. Lilifred just keeps up the utterly hollow smile and snaps, "Don't go getting all mushy. This is business, Miles." Don't you fuck this up, Campion- for... for *Light's* sake, don't be an idiot and go easy.
It's business, Miles, Grinne thinks, and hopes to god the paladin can separate the two out today where he never has been able to before. The blond man looks over at Aleyna, hoping for... something. Eye contact, comfort, anything. The stool to either side of him is empty.
Luri snaps in her accented common, "Gnome is arrogant! She is not sorry for what she has made this family into!" She shoots a look at Lazaar. "You will get the human whip. He will MAKE her sorry, if she is not now. And you will prepare gnome!" She jabs a finger at a metal ring from the ceiling, shackles looped through them. Time to string 'em up, Laz. Of course the smallest person here has to be hung up for this.
Auroran's neutral expression finally cracks into a frown. He silently urges Campion to keep going. We're all family here, after all. It was only a matter of time before the pain would come back. His attention is turned to the shackles now. Best to watch what's going on.
Oh for fuck's sake, Lilifred realizes presently that she has absolutely no idea how to act properly repentant. Her eyes travel up to the shackles, then to Lazaar. She's still grinning because she has no idea what else to do.
Lazaar opens his fist and lets the wadded piece of paper drop to the ground. He turns to the crate to gather the whip and shoves it at Campion, pointedly not looking him in the eye. Then he steps up to Lilifred. "The gnome can take off her own shirt, right?" Yes, he's depersonalizing 'the gnome' -- it's not STRICTLY racism.
"You will do it for Lilifred, Lazaar," Yeva states. "And you will call her by her name. She is your family."
Lilifred has already started unbuttoning her own shirt when Yeva answers. She stops immediately and tilts her head waaaaaay back to meet Lazaar's weird, glowing eyes. Lil's had years to learn how to read draenei expressions and can see the disgust and hesitation mingled in his. Great. She sighs and finally her smile melts away. She almost says: "Be gentle with me." but thinks better of it. Lexie was right- her smart mouth was going to get her killed one of these days.
Campion stares mutely down at the whip now in his hands, waiting for when he's told to do the deed. He can't look at anyone now, least of all Lilifred. He idly winds the thin, tapered tail of leather around one hand, then unwinds it. Wind and unwind, watching with blank eyes as he does so.
Lazaar rolls his eyes and kneels, still feeling disturbingly oversized compared to the gnome. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything," he mumbles, his breath probably reeking at this proximity as he plucks at the rest of her buttons. He tugs the shirt off her shoulders and sets it aside.
Her big nose most definitely picks up the unfortuante stench of death rolling out from between Lazaar's lips. She turns her head to the side both to avoid the smell and sight of the large draenei fumble with her tiny, gnome buttons. When the shirt is gone, all that's left is her chest bindings and an expanse of blemish free skin. Wow- for a former mercenary, Lilifred is sure lacking in good ol' manly scars. Administration work has treated her well.
The underboss pauses before he goes about finding the end of Lilifred's bindings and goes about unwrapping them, counting on her to lift her arms to make this easier. Soon enough, Lazaar has bared Lilifred's chest to her fellow capos. He pointedly looks away to toss her bindings on top of her shirt.
Luri gestures to the shackles. Time to hang her up. "Be swift. We have people waiting." She smiles at the others still seated. They'll have their turns.
Her arms instinctively cross over her bare breasts the moment they're exposed. What? It's chilly. Lilifred echos Luri's words without thinking, "Yeah, c'mon Laz. Everyone's waiting." the moment the words are out of her mouth she bites down on her lip so hard it almost draws blood. Why can't she ever shut up?
Lazaar grunts. Right. Better speed this up. Get this shit over with. He doesn't hesitate in lifting the gnome up with his luke-warm, clammy hands. He juggles keeping a hold on her with fastening the the shackles, all the while trying not to touch anything he shouldn't. He only pauses when he allows her weight to hang against the bindings, easing his grip slowly to make sure it holds adequately.
A strangled "Urk." escapes Lilifred when Laz checks the weight. The chains are loose despite the draenei's careful tightening and dig into her wrists painfully. She doesn't complain, however.
The draenei death knight steps back to give them room. He leans against a wall and stares at nothing in particular.
Luri nods, content with the action, then waves once more. "You! Red human!" Campion looks up, hollow-eyed and sorrowful. "You will whip now. Gnome. You will apologize. You will apologize until I say it is good."
He shuffles forward, looking down at the whip until he's next to where Lilifred is hung. He stays where he can't see her face. He can't face her as he does this. He can't bring himself to hurt ANYONE like this, he KNOWS how this feels, how many times has he been torn into like this...
The whip is brought up and snaps smartly with a practiced flick of the wrist, cracking against Lilifred's exposed back. The paladin flinches at the sound he himself caused.
This time, Lilifred does bite hard enough to break her lip. Oh fek that was way worse than she thought it would be. The crack of the whip registers before the pain does, but the pain- well, Lilifred likes to think herself tough but there's a line of raw, bubbling burn ripped across her back and under any other circumstance that might have been enough for her to give up. Unfortunately, Yeva is not so easily appeased. Lilifred swallows the blood in her mouth and says, hoarsely, "O-one whip i-isn't going to make anyone sorry. P-please, do it again."
"Lilifred..." He chokes out her name, and there's a brief moment of ANGER that flares hot behind his eyes. His arm is up and swung again--CRACK!--before he even thinks. Why is she MAKING him do this. Why would she ASK for more?
CRACK!
Why is she always trying to RUIN him!?
CRACK!
Why would she WANT to see him do this?! He doesn't want to DO THIS!
CRACK!
Only after so many blows does the anger and frustration pass, snuffed out quickly and with a look of horror and shame. He trembles faintly, arm stopping, but still poised to strike again. Just apologize. Please don't make him do this.
Afterwards Lilifred plans to pretend that making Campion angry was her master plan all along, but she isn’t quite prepared for the force of the whip with emotion behind it. She finally cries out on the third crack of the whip, her head spinning and her eyes going blurry from the pain. It’s a little horrifying to know that Campion has all this violence lurking just under his prickly-yet-compassionate demaneour, but Lilifred knows that she is no better. None of them are- she thinks of how easy it was when she was the torturer and a thick sob gurgles out from her throat. At the fifth crack, she manages to force out her first, “Sorry!”
“Sorry!” she chokes again, rasping, “S-sorry, I’m… I’m sorry!” She’s not apologizing to Yeva.
"For what." It's Luri's voice now, clear and all business. She needs to know she means it. She taps Campion's calf with one of her polished hooves, causing him to flinch and look at her. She tilts her head at the gnome, lips pursed.
The whip comes down again. CRACK. Campion is shaking harder now, eyes wide. Don't make him do this...
"S-sorry for..." CRACK, "I-I'm sorry for... for bringing rot to the family." That's what she wants to hear, right?
Yeva, still all this time, takes a breath so she can snort derision at Lilifred's answer. "Those are my words, Lilenka. Apologize!"
Luri still has her lips pursed, as if weighing this apology. She seems to come to the same conclusion as Yeva does. Her hoof taps Campion's leg again. He takes a sharp breath, like a cut-off, held sob. Don't...
CRACK.
"You apologize to human? To Yeva? To family? You said you have much to apologize to human for. You are doing this?"
Dammnit, Lilifred's head is too spinny to wordsmith efficiently, it's almost like she's DRUNK off the pain. CRACK, "I-I'm sorry," she gasps, "M-Miles, you're m-my family and I t-tried to hurt you because I ha- d-don't like myself. And I-" CRACK, "- I-I already fucking apologized and can't apologize enough and I'm sorry I-" she inhales sharply and cuts herself off. None of that now- is that what she really wants? For Lilifred to apologize to Campion? Her stomach lurches at the idea of the sick thrill the "boss" and her right hand woman must be getting out of this and it's almost worse than the pain. Her back is beginning to go numb, but the humiliation and shame is fresh and knife-sharp.
Campion speaks, his arm dropping a fraction, losing its tension. "L-Lilifred, I forgive-..."
"AHH!" Luri cuts him off, kicking out her hoof again, jabbing the sharp front of it into his leg. He shuts up immediately, still trembling, raising his arm again. The whip hisses once more.
CRACK.
Luri folds her hands in her dress, scowling, glaring at Campion in particular now. He can feel her gaze like cold pressure on the back of his neck, so he continues.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
Luri waits. She won't let them relent until the gnome begs and sobs. THAT is the level of sincerity and repentance she requires.
It’s not the cracks of the whip that break her, but rather the sound of Campion’s voice attempting to accept her apology in something that might have been a little like desperation. Oh give me a break, Campy, she could have said were her wits about her, You aren’t the freaking confessor, but the simplicity of that word- forgive- and the simplicity with which Campion says it is what finally brings those pathetic, hateful tears out.
“I’m sorry.” She cries, and every apology is a friend.
“I’m sorry-“ Xyria for leaving you with a mess and then forcing you to lose one more trusted friend to the darkness.
“I’m sorry-“ Taelie, for not living up to all the great things you had planned for me.
“I’m sorry-“ Wolfgang for being the worst sister in the whole entire world. You would do anything for me and I keep telling everyone that you’re a necrophiliac.
“I’m sorry-“ Aleyna, because we are friends, aren’t we? and I keep spitting that back in your face.
“I’m sorry-“ Marton, I should have never told you I loved you because I did it for me, not for you.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ Lexie. Lexie, you’re my sister and I didn’t think about what you would have wanted. I just wanted you by my side and now you’re a monster and I did it to you and I can never get you back-
- by the end, her throat is raw and her voice little more than a ragged whisper. She says, once more: “C-Campy… I-I’m sorry.” There are people in this room that she would have rather died than shown such weakness to. Unfortunately, Lilifred Bumblehurst is a coward and can’t stop herself from weeping.
Luri claps her hands. "Yes! Well done! You come down now, Lilifred." Obviously, this task is left to Lazaar. "You do very well with this one, red human. You hear how she cries? You see how well you do this thing? You look, you see."
Reluctantly, he does. He looks up, looks at the angry red welts and cuts left on the suspended gnome's back and it makes his stomach lurch. There's a small ludicrous thought in his head that laughs at how they'll have matching scars now. But his thoughts are interrupted by another tap from Luri's hoof. "You sit now. Sit!" she chirps. "You have done good work."
The paladin drops the whip right where he stands and numbly goes back to his seat, burying his face in his hands. Luri nudges the whip with her hoof, rolling it towards Lazaar. It's his job to put it away as well.
Lilifred doesn't even care anymore. No matter how capable she proves from this day on none of them are going to forget the pathetic sight of her sobbing apologies to invisible people, ghosts of the past. And no matter how confidently she grins, that Campion was forced to do this to her will never be erased.
Lazaar numbly goes about his implied tasks, seeing to Lilifred first. He gingerly unshackles the gnome, doing his best to avoid touching her back this time, even if it means touching other things that might have been awkward before. The gnome is gently placed on the seat she previously occupied. He doesn't let her go until he's certain she can sit on her own.
Lil pulls her shirt back on numbly and staggers back to her seat with Lazaar's aid. C'mon, she tells herself, T-that wasn't so bad at all. She repeats this as a mantra because Lilifred is good at nothing if not delusional affirmations. Folding her hands in her lap gently, she sits. And watches.
Yeva has watched impassively for most of the punishment, only speaking up to correct the gnome's apology. She sits forward now, and torchlight falls more strongly on her face. "Gooood," she says, and she is looking straight at Lilifred. "Is very well done." She's sincere; approving. She even offers the beaten woman a smile, small and warm.
It drops off her face as she surveys the rest of them. "Miles Campion, make apology to Peregrinne Waynolt," she declares, and the dead echo in her high voice rings strong.
Lazaar, who had retreated back to lean against the wall, once again moves to complete his assigned duty. He digs his hand in the bag, pulls out a slip of paper, flicks his eyes across it. "Beating," he grunts flatly as he wads up the paper and tosses it on the floor next to the previous one.
Campion, still holding his head in his hands, looks up sharply and startled. First at Yeva. Then slowly turning to stare where Peregrinne sits. The colour, what little was left, drains from his face and he stammers uselessly.
There's several moments of just this. He can't even SPEAK. The silence, broken only for his half-uttered syllables, is heavy and cloying.
"Ssss-...S-S-..." He stands, stumbles over to where Peregrinne is, eyes wide and hands trembling. "S-S-...I'm s-s-...S-Sooorry. Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He babbles it automatically, unthinking. What is he even apologizing FOR? Not for 'bringing rot into the family'. He's apologizing to Grinne for what he has to DO.
Throughout the entire duration of Lilifred's 'apology', Natharai continued to keep his gaze averted to the floor, hands tightly balled as they rest upon his knees, and staying completely silent. His figure was jostled by a slight flinch on some of the more 'meaty' sounding lashes, however, his stoic expression did slowly twist into a deep frown over the course of it. The smell of blood tints the air, stinging his nostrils, but he only lifts his head when he hears Campion's name called again. ...What? Miles has to go through the wringer -again-?!
The warlock's eyes wince narrower ever so slightly as he stares at the near-dumbstruck and nonsensical paladin, then to Yeva, then back to Campion. ...Why him again? No, he knows why.
On his wooden stool, eyes on the floor, Grinne almost doesn't process the message right off. He has to think about it. Still looking at the floor, he swallows and frowns. The skin tightens around his eyes, and that's the only thing left of an expression when he raises them to Miles, who's babbling an apology, who's standing in front of him almost broken already.
"Miles," he drawls. His mouth is a line.
"Shut up." It's as fond as it can be, given the circumstances. The shorter man stands up, begins to roll his sleeves up. "We been afraid it was comin' for a long time now, love," he mutters, much more quietly, before he goes to the crates to pick up the brass knuckles and heads to the center of the floor.
Campion flinches, but swallows hard. The pain is nothing. Pain is negligible. Pain is something you can endure. WHO is doing it, and WHY, though. It has been a long time coming. They talked about it even when they were just meeting and Ley laughed at Miles for making friends with his dealers.
'Might be sent after you, Miles,' he told him that time down at the docks, sitting by the ballistas. 'Don't mean nothin', though. Nothin' personal. It's just business.'
He looks down at the floor, one hand clasping the wrist of the other to try and stop their trembling. He waits. And Luri watches like a hawk, a predatory glint in her eyes and toothy smile on her face.
The weight of the weapons is one of the most familiar things in the blond thug's life. These aren't his, but the basic formula doesn't vary much. He fits them into his fists, flexes his fingers, bounces lightly, once, on the balls of his feet as he spreads them shoulder's-width apart. Just a job. Just a job, so it won't matter when he drives a fist into the fellow's stomach, kicks at his shin to make him fall. Not a big deal when he drops to the ground and pins him with his knees, pins the man with his body weight and sitting at just the right place to throw off any attempt at getting up, just a job when the fist drives straight into the gut again...
The first blow is punctuated by a pained and loud grunt, and Campion falls when his legs go out from under him. His head cracks on the stone floor and his vision swims, sounds go muted, thoughts go sluggish. He blinks owlishly, desperately, trying to get his head to clear. He can feel his hair at the back going warm and wet and matted.
There's a figure over him, and he knows those green eyes, he knows that face and that scar and that hair and he reaches to him. He needs his help, he needs to get back up, keep him safe until he's got his wits back, Grinne'll keep him safe, he ALWAYS keeps him safe, always looks out for him, always protects and goes after ones that wronged him or hurt him and scared him.
He reaches for Grinne, touches his face and rasps a faint, "Love..." before the fist drives into his stomach again, forces the air from him, makes him cry out loud again in pain.
Auroran flinches from where he's sitting. He managed to stay composed and still up until this point, but now he's visibly troubled and nervous now. The priest scratches at his neck idly as he continues to watch the spectacle.
"Shove it, Miles," Grinne growls. This is making it harder for him, it's only making it harder, and the skin's begun to split under his wedding ring where metal is crashing against metal. "Just fuckin' say you're sorry." He's not focusing on the man beneath him, and he can't focus on the eye contact. This isn't his crusader, it's just a bleeding job, and he scowls as he cracks the job in the jaw. He can't have the eye contact, so he has to break it.
Listlessly, Lilifred pulls out a cigar. Her hands are uncharacteristically steady as she lights it and takes a long, laboured drag. She's not quite looking at what happens... this is all kinds of fucked up.
Lazaar is transfixed by the whole spectacle. At some point, he even drops the bag of punishments and a few scatter on the floor. He doesn't even bother trying to look at them as he shovels them back in the bag.
His head whips to the side and a gout of blood sprays from his mouth as there's a crack of it connecting. The red that covers the floor just happens to fly in the direction of Luri, and she wrinkles her nose and pulls up her dress, shifting her hooves AWAY from where they might get dirtied by pinkskin blood.
Campion gurgles, and red dribbles past his lips and down his chin, coating his cheek as well. The sounds he's making are thick with blood and liquid, and he groans in pain underneath it. "L-Love...!" His head isn't clearing thanks to this, and he sounds scared now. His legs churn under where Grinne has his pinned, uselessly trying to get them under him again, but he can't even get them planted.
"Lo-Love, pl-...Grkk-..Please! Stop!"
Grinne doesn't know his face is contorting until he speaks, and the raw anger and frustration and pain, oh Light pain, please, Miles, just say the fucking words, please, please all comes out in his voice in a rush as he keeps hitting Campion. "I can't stop 'til you say the fucking words!"
By this point, Aleyna has worried part of her bottom lip into a bleeding sore. She gets a small satisfaction from the taste, but it does little to help her block out the noise happening near her. She can see the spectacle from the corner of her eye. The elf says a silent prayer for the two and closes her eyes with a deep breath. It's painful to watch.
"No, you will not stop until -I- say to stop!" Luri interjects over the pained cries of Campion being pummeled. His face is a mess by now. His eyebrow is split, his eye is blackened, the blood from his mouth just keeps COMING and he's choking on it now. He coughs and gurgles and sputters, the sounds bubbling in his throat and he thinks on the time Grinne told him how you never leave a job on their back, they'll drown in their own broken face's blood and it's a horrible fucking way to die, he's going to DROWN if Grinne doesn't STOP.
"S-..Ggkkkgl...S-...S-..." He pulls his arms up to try and shield his face, a stupid plan if Grinne is still swinging there. "S-So-...Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, love, I'm sorry! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!" His voice is still thick and choked, but he's screaming at this point, from pain and panic.
Grinne can hear the noise. Shit, shit, shit this isn't right, it's not a job, shit, shit, shit, it's all he can think, but he lurches to his feet and reaches down to drag the paladin upwards. He has to do it well enough to make the blueskin say stop. He has to. He grabs at Campion's shirt collar to keep him upright, forcefully, and works with just one fist now. "Hock and spit," he growls, hopefully too low for the draenei to hear.
He hears it, but he can't spit so much as drool. It's a current of blood pouring from his mouth, making a mess all down his front, on Grinne's fists and the floor. The floor is spattered all over with his blood. When he finally DOES manage to weakly spit, it's to dislodge something else that clatters on the floor, a bright flash of white amidst the crimson.
Well, Lilifred, there's a tooth for you. Luri looks down at it as well, then stoops in her seat and plucks it up, turning it over thoughtfully. It's a molar. Then she looks back to the violent spectacle going on, calmly watching as if it were nothing more than two dogs at play. She stays conspicuously silent, drawing it out, letting the solid sounds of Grinne's fists and blows, and Campion's pained sobs and cries, be all there is.
"...Is enough," she finally says, looking back to the tooth with an air of boredom.
The blond thug almost, almost, sobs with relief. He lets his right hand drop, left still clutching his husband's shirt, holding Miles up, holding up his crusader. Grinne looks at his beaten face and sets him down, gently. He goes to put the bloody brass knuckles away. There's nothing he can say, right now. There's not a damn thing he can say, and so he's silent, all the way back to his seat.
Campion slumps to the floor, broken and shuddering and bleeding. His sobs and breathing are ragged and wet, his posture wilted and limbs a tangle.
Luri sniffs and looks to Lazaar. "You move him if he does not move himself. We have more to see to."
Auroran stares at Campion's broken figure sadly. It hurts just to see it, hurts FEELING that pain. There are so many disadvantages to being an empath right now.
Lazaar snaps back to himself, staring as he was at the bloody pulp left of the paladin. He steps forward and hooks his hands under Campion's armpits to pull him up. "Gonna be alright," he mutters, low enough so that only he can hear him. He deposits him back in a seat.
Campion moans in pain when he's hauled up, but the one eye that isn't swollen shut meets Laz's briefly. But and when he's deposited back to his seat, he curls in on himself, one arm held to his chest, the other wrapped around it and himself. He doesn't stop trembling or whimpering. Things are probably broken.
"Is very good," coos a familiar voice. "Is very well done, you sic him like hound, Peregrinneshke." Yeva smiles again, but Grinne is focused on the ground again. She sits forward.
"Aleyna Greenpath," she calls. "Make apology to Natharai Ebonrook."
Aleyna feels her breath catch in her throat and finally opens her eyes. She glances over to Natharai, giving him a nervous smile. The elf stands at her full height and brushes off her pants like always. She waits silently for the verdict and tries to ignore how loudly her heart is beating.
Lazaar tenses up when he hears the next names spoken, but snaps up the bag once again. He sighs sharply through his nose before extracting the next slip of paper. His teeth clench and pop behind a deep frown. "Branding."
The death knight steps over to the crates of tools to reluctantly prepare for this punishment. He picks up the heavy, iron brand shaped like the talbuk that he remembers from the horn at his own initiation ceremony. He also takes a torch off the wall and begins heating the metal. He tries to remember . . . maybe hotter is better. Maybe hotter will hurt less.
Grinne flares his nostrils at the smell of the heating iron, but keeps his eyes on the floor, on his blood-flecked hands. He flexes the fingers, marveling at the pain under the wedding ring, and reaches over to touch Campion's back gingerly, hoping no one's looking. A square bloody thumb strokes the paladin's shirt. Poor Miles. Poor Ley. Poor Lazaar, of all people.
Luri titters girlishly and fiddles with Campion's dislodged tooth, rolling it between two fingers. She's looking forward to THIS one. "Apologize, dirty elf. You apologize now."
Natharai's eyes, which were previously focused on the bloodied mess that is now MIles Campion, snaps to meet Yeva's own. ...Well then. It seems that it is his turn to participate in this farce. He offers Aleyna a glance as he rises to his feet, but it is a guarded one. If it's one thing that Natharai excels at in times like these, it's keeping his poker face in place. He doesn't want to do this, no matter how many times he has wanted to throttle her in the past. But he must... they all must. So without a further thought, Natharai strides over to Lazaar and waits quietly for the instrument to be readied. He rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves, pockets his monocle, and tightens his ponytail in the meantime.
When he takes it from Lazaar, he studies the cherry red glow of the brand idly as he drones out "Disrobe, Greenpath..."
"As you wish," She says in a simple, nervous compliance. Her fingers fumble with her clothing as she pulls down zippers and undoes buttons, nervous for one of the few times that a situation called for nudity. She's careful to keep her pile of clothes out of Miles's puddle of blood and spit as she kicks them aside.
Aleyna's arms cross loosely over her stomach to keep from fidgeting nervously. Her face and collar bone flushes and she can hear her heart in her ears, so loud that she almost misses Luri's comment. Her sore lip is taken between her teeth again, pulling the raw skin between her teeth to keep herself from whipping around with a smart rebuttal to the draenei woman. It's not the time or the place.
"I'm sorry, Natharai," She starts, low voiced and almost a little sheepish sounding. This wasn't about to go anywhere good.
There's sorrow in his chest, and perhaps an honest apology won't be so hard to come by when it's his turn.
Luri appears impressed with Natharai's demenour, and she flicks away the tooth as she looks to the dark-skinned human. The tooth clatters merrily on the stone floor and is forgotten.
"You do it on ass, yes? Like animal." She flashes a white-toothed smile to Ley, malicious and vengeful. "Unless she is wanting it on OTHER cheek. One on FACE. Is options."
In some corner of his mind, he truly hopes that Aleyna has a very low pain threshold. The sooner she can be reduced to a sobbing mess, the better. Yet even though he thinks that... he knows Luri won't be satisfied so quickly. He saw that glint in her eyes, that cheerful laugh. She wants to savor this moment and, thusly, wants Natharai to be as cruel as humanly possible.
He can do cruel...
First thing is first... He has to introduce himself and show her–show the aunt and her wretched howler monkey–that he means business. 'I'm sorry, Aleyna," is a phrase that passes briefly through his mind as he advances towards her with heavy steps, winding up the hot brand as he prepares to crack it on the side of her head like a baseball bat. Things will only be worse if he is soft with her. Hopefully this will disorient her enough to where the act to follow will not hurt so much.
Lazaar grunts, hit with an unexpected wave of anger. But who should he be mad at? Natharai, for this improvisation? "Goddamn it, Nath. It said branding, not beating."
"Lazaar," Yeva snaps, but that's all she says.
Aleyna's self preservation is slow to die. Hundreds of years working as a backstabber, thief, assassin, adventurer and a long list of other odd jobs has kept her on her toes and she reacts before she even realizes she's done it. She catches Natharai's wrist in one of her noticeably larger and paler hands and keeps the brand from hitting her. She faulters in surprise and blinks with a sputter, "Uh, sorry. Wait, shit. I didn't mean to... Can we do that again?" Fuck.
Luri stamps one of her hooves and shrieks. "IMPUDENCE!" That word's said in Draenei, though, as she doesn't know it for common. Not pleased. Not pleased at ALL.
"Fuck you, witch," Lazaar breathes. Also in Draenei. How's that for impudence?
Yeva lifts her chin, looking at the both of them, the two draenei on either side of her. She purses her darkened, dead lips, and remains silent.
Luri whips a LIVID glare over at the undead draenei, and there's already the sounds of hurried, thumping gorilla hands and feet coming down the steps. The beast ROARS as it swings it's metal bar-bearing fist at the small of Lazaar's back, and the other fist goes to close around his tail. And it squeezes with a CRUNCH.
Even as this is going on, Luri is screeching again in draenei. "You will hold the elf! You will hold down your little longears fucktoy as she is branded!"
The gorilla is much faster than Lazaar would ever have anticipated. There's not much pain, or at least not the same quality as a living person may have felt, but the smashed vertebrae and the blow to the back rattles up his spine. It forces him to the floor with a hissed, "Ssssshit. Fucking monster." Whether he means the gorilla or Luri is open for interpretation. As his tail tries to whip back and forth in irritation, he can feel the shattered bones grinding together. His teeth gnash, but he's stopped his impudence for now.
The brand is stopped before it makes contact with the side of Aleyna's skull and actually manages manages to flabbergast Natharai...inwardly at least. On the surface, all he does is narrow his eyes a trifle and hitch his breath. Oh, dammit, Ley... You are digging your own grave. He can -feel- the quietly eager stares fixated on him and Ley...and Luri's outburst is not lost on him. Dammit. Dammit all to hell.
What is he going to do? He's a bookworm trying to rough up a Light damned -assassin-. Well... there is always another route–another improvisation. With a quiet murmur in demonic, that caustic and terrible sounding tongue that he employs only so often, he casts an agony spell upon the elf. This will slow her and, hopefully, gain some bonus points with the higher-ups on ending this sooner. Just...stay down, Ley. Please, for the love of all that is good. Of course, no such assuring words come from his lips.
Curses are such terrible things to Aleyna. For all her troubles with warlocks, you would think that she would at least be used to them by this point. It's the same every time, though. Her breath catches and for a second she feels her heart stop. Starting at the base of her neck and rushing downwards through the rest of her body, her nerves are lit on fire with pain. She chokes a cry and her legs give out on her. Knees crash hard against the stone floor as she falls. She manages to keep a grip on Natharai's wrist, but it's weak. The elf shudders and groans as another wave of the curse pulses through her.
At least when Lazaar is down, Shagohod backs off, trundling to the side, the metal bar he's armed himself with now in his mouth. He glares at the fallen death knight and growls low.
"Up! You get up and you hold her!" Luri's speaking in common now at least, jabbing a manicured finger at Ley's pain-wracked form. "And you!" She's standing now, and she snatches the brand from Natharai as she addresses him. Then she dips the heated end of the metal in one of the bloody pools left behind from Campion's beating, causing it to hiss. Coating it in salt-laden human blood.
She shoves it back into Natharai's hands. "You brand her! Lazaar hold her and you brand! You disobey and I will break all your bones!"
While Shagohod and Lazaar communicate in a meaningful fashion in the background, Natharai continues to focus on the task at hand....which is gently, almost carefully, removing Aleyna's hold from his wrist. The brand being snatched from his hand does earn Luri a blink, remaining quiet and placid as the harpy shrieks out her command. He doesn't seem that he is about to object as the tool is quickly returned to him. No words, no complaints. He watches Aleyna try to fight to remain standing as he circles around her, ultimately stopping behind her. For all his gentility seconds ago, that's quick to vanish as he sends the heel of his loafer towards the back of her knee...and repeats as much as needed to get her to get to her knees.
Natharai then looks to Lazaar and oh-so-quietly, yet firmly, says "Hold her," in his accented draenic tongue, tainted by both demonic and common influence. Why he replied in draenei, he doesn't know, but...do as the Romans do, he supposes.
Lazaar rises to his hooves, rubbing his back with a grimace and keeping his tail still. He kneels in front of Ley and wraps her upper arms in his large fists. He gives her a reassuring squeeze and a flat-lipped half-smile. It'll be alright.
Aleyna is easily pushed and held by Lazaar, as the curse has done it's job to slow her reactions. She shifts to rest as comfortably as she can on her knees, her feet tucked under her rear. She looks up to Lazaar and gives him a weak smile and braces for the worst. She had always hated burns.
The brand has already begun to start cooling, the glow of the metal dimming, but it was still fire hot. To Luri's gleeful instructions, he nudges her forward by placing a shoe on her back and pushing and places the brand upon her right buttock, the smell of seared flesh assailing his nostrils as steam hisses out in small plumes. The first is done, but it surely will not be enough.
The letter had been innocuous. The day, as well, was also innocuous. Lilifred read it over a fourty-sixth time, paper crinkling between her gloved fingers, before she finally managed to muster up the courage to turn the doorknob. The door was half open before she realized that it might have been prudent of her to knock. Eyes going wide, she yanked the door shut again and stared at it, discouraged. "Right, right." she muttered under her breath, "Always pays to be polite." and so she knocked three times.
There's a swift, almost irritated clopping of hooves across the metal, and Lilifred catches a flash of decrepit green flesh before the door SLAMS shut.
Times have been hard for the warlock known as Natharai ever since that night on the cliff in Stranglethorn, though he hasn't spoken a word of it to anyone since then. He's been fine as...fine can be. He'd has simply been working, quietly, and not making his presence known more than he had to. Though the work, none the less, was completed in his usual punctual manner. And like his usual punctual manner, he arrived to the armory in a timely fashion, tethering his gryphon to a nearby tree before wandering over towards Lilifred.
The door slam does give Natharai a moment's pause, his brow furrowing thoughtfully before looking to the gnome and gently clearing his throat. Something the matter...?
Lilifred's lips turn down quite theatrically. She nearly jumps at the sound of Natharai clearing his throat. Blinking, she cranes her head around and up to meet his confused gaze. She shrugs, answering his silent question with silence. Who knows?
Auroran does his best to arrive in a punctual manner as well, landing nearby on his usual flying carpet. He looks in much better shape than before, clad in his usual priest's robes and looking clean and tidy and awake. The kaldorei lurks a ways away for a bit. He scratches at a scar on the side of his face as he looks around nervously. Meetings of this sort are never a good thing, as far as he can tell. Necessary, but not good.
He also stares at those already gathered, as usual.
Campion arrives ON time. Not early, just on time. There's the flap of gryphon wings, the scrabble of talons, and the paladin lands and dismounts, tying the beast off at the nearby tree used for such. Just like last time. The reminders of the initiation aren't entirely pleasant. He turns to watch the darker gryphon only a short ways behind land as well. Him and Grinne have arrived together, of course.
Grinne ties Snaps well away from the other mounts, ambling up to stand silently, wishing he had a smoke. Or had time for a smoke. With a mournful hiss of air through his nose, he notes that nearly everyone is here, now. Probably no time. "'Lo," Grinne murmurs generally. He's very quiet. He ducks his head against the breeze. The thug is for once looking healthy, well rested and not strung out.
Natharai returns the greeting with a cordial nod of his own before looking to Grinne as he lingers nearby with his hands clasped behind his back. It's been a while since he's seen Waynolt and he seems to be at least somewhat pleased that he is safe and sound... Well, as much as his impassive expression implies but just MAYBE he's pleased.
Campion nods in greeting to the rest as they arrive (or were already present), then wanders closer to Grinne and may attempt to take his hand. Whatever, not like anyone here DOESN'T know or care about them. Well, Laz does, but Laz is a dick.
Aleyna arrives a little past the meeting time, flying down and landing with a hard whump on her beastly purple protodrake. She runs a hand through her hair and hops down, leaving it to wander as it pleases. It'll probably end up eating a wild roaming elekk at some point.
Her eyebrows raise, reguarding the group wordlessly as she walks over. Overall, she seems rather at ease.
Still frowning, Lilifred notes Aleyna's ease bitterly, "You look relaxed."
"Yeah?" The elf woman tilts her head down to Lilifred, giving her a sidelong look. It's not really an answer, but more of a filler. How irritating.
"Yeah?" Lilifred repeats testily, "Yeah?" she snorts and digs out a cigar with shaky hands. Ha ha ha, the longer this drags out, the more convinced she is they're all going to die. She lights the cigar and takes a long, calming drag off of it. Intellectually, she realizes that it's only her guilty conscience talking. Less peevish, she casts a fairly even look at Ley, "... uh, yeah. Right. What do you think this is about anyway?" Don't act suspicious Lilifred.
Auroran shuffles closer slowly, hovering around the edge of the gathered mobsters. He stares from person to person quietly. They'll notice him sooner or later, hellos are for normal people.
Lazaar is not as fashionably late as he would prefer to be, but late nonetheless. He's dressed in his good clothes and (thankfully) bathed into smelling half-normal. He arrives astride his "big, hairy elekk" and awkwardly dismounts to let the mountain of a beast graze around the armory. Lazaar forgoes any greetings other than a nod, as his mouth is busy holding a cigar and his hands are striking a match.
Metal slides against metal inside the building, and Grinne shifts his eyes to the door. It grinds open, and sunlight strikes Yeva, clad in sober black, smiling gently. "Come in," she beckons sweetly, and with a smooth turn of a hoof clops into the darkness, towards the stairs.
Auroran nods and follows swiftly. MUST OBEY MUST OBEY. Aleyna pats Lilifred on the head as she walks past, waltzing inside. Campion glances at the rest, uncertain of who should go first, and then follows the elves' lead, making sure Grinne keeps close as well . Might as well get this over with.
If being a demon's whipping boy has proven anything, Nath is a well-trained servant and does what his 'auntie' asks of him. He files in after the others calmly.
Lilifred doesn't act suspicious, not even when Aleyna pats her on the head like she's a kid of something. She inconcpicuously smokes as she inconspicuously follows Aleyna inside and leans against the wall in a totally inconcpicuous manner.
Lazaar follows, bringing up the rear, patently sick of this armory by now, after two initiation ceremonies and memories of people who are either dead or missing.
Grinne follows Campion and they head down the stairs: to the basement, where business is conducted. The old armory, as always, is swept meticulously clean. Torches once more line the walls, blazing solemnly, lighting the large space. The air smells faintly of torch tar and metal, and orange-white light shifts across an arrangement far different from the austere setup used for the group's initiations. Six wooden stools face inward in a semicircle, cheap and all alike, audience to two much more comfortable chairs. One is smaller, set a little farther back than the other. One has the air of a throne, though not the looks. A low table -- almost like a coffee table and very sturdy -- separates the stools and chairs. And in a line to the side…
Crates. Someone has dragged old crates in a line, and on top of them sit an assortment of objects. A curled short whip, cruel, of the kind that needs no skill to use. A large basin, filled with water. A set of knives that look old enough to have lost their shine and maybe their edge, alongside a branding iron of a curious shape that looks equally aged. A mirror, a reed, and a small paper-wrapped packet. A pair of brass knuckles.
It's all neat. It's all prepared.
Yeva coos, "Sit, laspushkas."
Campion balks. What...is all this. There's a look of uncertainty, glanced between Yeva, then to Grinne, then to Lazaar of all people. And then he hesitantly moves forward and takes a seat, as instructed, at then end of the semi-circle. A pit of worry is starting to slowly carve itself out in his guts.
Auroran is back in obedient mode, nodding and seating himself at a stool quietly. His face is neutral, and his fidgetting has ceased. His gaze is kept on Yeva. Inside? Well, he's pretty scared! Campion can likely sense this in their mind link.
Aleyna pauses and hesitates, shooting a look over the items gathered. Like others, worry and anxiety is worming it's way through her stomach and up to her heart. As she sits, she mentally tries to think of anything that she may have messed up. What had she done? What had THEY done? Things had been going good. ...Right?
Lazaar takes in the surroundings and feels a squirming, leaking sensation as his dead gut (or whatever might be living inside) tries to lamely warn him of impending danger. He tries to hide a surprised coughing choke on his cigar smoke.
Natharai seats himself without a hitch in his step upon one of the central spots. But that doesn't mean he didn't see what has been put on display... Nath knows what this is. Yeva earns a brief glance from the quiet dusky man, his brow furrowed, but even then his look does not meet her eyes but rather her collarbone. Apparently it is time to see how many hoops her little trained curs will leap through...
Lilifred's eyes sweep the room. The moment her mental cogs click into place and finish the few dreadful calculations it takes to understand the situation, the colour drains out of her face. Don't act suspicious, Lilifred. Obediently, she takes a seat. At the other end. Maybe Campy'll go first, that way she can be last. The shock and dread on the others' face is almost comforting. If they're all being punished, then it's a good bet that Yeva has no clue what specific things Lilifred has done wrong. Unless her punishment was going to be a public affair or something. Then... then... well, there was still a good chance that Yeva would torture Campion anyway, just as a warm up.
Grinne takes a seat by Campion if he can, brow furrowing, jaw set. Like Aleyna, his mind is racing, green eyes canny and troubled. What had they done? What had he done? He watches the floor as the desiccated mob boss seats herself, crosses her legs and twitches her clothing to rights in automatic, precise gestures made with skinny blackened fingers.
There's another set of dainty, clopping hooves on the metal overhead, then down the stairs. It's followed by a muffled, heavier thumping set of feet as well. Or two pairs? It's hard to tell, but SOMETHING is with the owner of the hooves. And then there's another draenei, primly picking her way down the stairs, blue and gold dress a bright contrast to Yeva's somber black. Luri smiles brightly, winningly, at those gathered, then takes a seat next to Auntie, while the massive white gorilla known as Shagohod takes a guard position on the stairs. No escape now.
Lilifred sits up a bit straighter. Oh shit, she brought a Gorilla. This is serious,
Auroran is practically screaming in his head. Outwardly? His focus is on Luri now. She's so beautiful, so TERRIFYING. He's trying his DAMNDEST to stay composed. C'mon Auro, you know better than to lose it in front of your family. Be a good boy.
There is not a great deal of change evident in Natharai's expression, even with the appearance of Luri. The gorilla, however, does earn a brief look. Oh, good lord... While the threat of a fierce jungle ape is bad enough, the warlock can't help but focus on the -smell- of the creature. He's not sure which has the worse stench; Lazaar or the gorilla.
Aleyna stays silent, but does chance a quick and fierce glance at Luri. Of course she's involved in this, she thinks bitterly. Lazaar gets a subtle brush of her arm against his, but there's no telling what she's trying to say. Maybe it's just to comfort herself in preperation of what's to come.
Lazaar fixes his eyes on Luri, briefly sizing up her "assets" as is his habit before stewing over exactly WHO she is and if she fits somewhere in his memory.
"I bring you here," Yeva soon begins softly, "because I see there is rot in discipline. Rot in respect. I have tried to win you with being gentle, friendly, kind, but now I fear I must turn to pain, milenkas." Yeva's bright eyes look at each in turn, unblinking, set deep in her sorrowful stretched-tight face. "You bring it upon yourselves."
"This woman, her name is Luri. She comes to me, she says, look at your family. At first I tell her no, she is wrong, cannot be right, my capos are good capos. But she speaks truth." The dead woman taps a finger sharply on her lips, once. "She is Old Kamil, and she speaks truth. Today, I deliver punishment. Tomorrow and ever after, her. Know her face. Is due respect, and fear."
Luri smiles sweetly still, primly brushing her bangs aside in a showy, primping gesture. Letting them indeed look upon her face, and what a lovely one it is.
"You are family, and the closest," Yeva continues, "carry mark of family on knees and heart. Heart, to mean your heart belongs to the Kamil te Kar. Knees because you are capo, you are underboss, you are heart of Kamil yourselves. Knees because you kneel to no one but the Kamil. To no one but each other, and me.
"Today you kneel to each other, and to me.
"Wrong has been done. Instead of punish one, today I punish all, because one piece of heart fails and the rest is weak, will blacken and die. You will all give punishment, you will all receive. Except you, Lazaar." Yeva's eyes settle flatly on the hulking dead man.
Lilifred tries not to cast a sidelong, hateful glance at Lazaar. Why is he so luck- oh wait. For the second time that day, her face blanches. She turns her head forwards and stares at the gorilla.
Aleyna can't help but look over to Lazaar. It's a questioning and furrowed glance, maybe just a little worried. Her ears droop a bit and she briefly wonders if he sold the rest of them out.
Lazaar pulls a cigar from his mouth and grunts out a cloud of smoke. He returns Yeva's look with a glare. "What? I'm just as much of a fuck-up as the rest.
Luri purses her lips and gives Lazaar a brief, simpering look of sympathy. Theatrical enough that one can doubt it's sincerity.
Campion can't help but lean over fractionally, just enough to look at the dead draenei. Wondering what sets him apart. WHY he's set apart. Does this mean he's being given special consideration? Or is he being treated worst of all?
Auroran breathes a slow, shuddering sigh. It only makes sense that this family would turn to pain and torture as well. He's gone through this before, he'll get better. Right now, he just has to brace himself. The shock and the pain is something you don't really grow dull to. The respect and fear for Luri has been there since the priest first laid eyes on her, at least. He won't question that.
Inside, he's frightened. And he sends a small, silent signal of distress to Campion. 'Miles I... Can you just, just stay linked with me for this? I don't want to break. I don't want to go crazy.' His telepathic voice follows this signal.
Another look flits to Auroran, and the paladin says mentally, 'Yes. I'll stay with you.' And then he sits back once more, doing his best to remain composed in the face of their impending punishment.
"You have been away from family;" Yeva explains to the indignant Lazaar. "You have separated yourself. Today, now, I separate you from punishment. You will not hurt or be hurt. You will watch." She smiles, a tiny, humorless smile. "But I give you chance to redeem yourself, yes? To put yourself back in family. You will help, yes? If someone needs holding, you will hold them down. You will read the punishments as if you are giving them yourself, to help you learn command. You will heat iron, you will make lines of DC, but you will not hurt or be hurt."
And if I DON'T help? What then?" Lazaar growls, tossing his cigar on the floor and grinding it out under a hoof with more aggression than necessary.
Yeva's eyes flick towards Shagohod. She shrugs bony shoulders. "You die. Natharai can take job."
No. Don't bring him into this, please. Natharai continues to keep his gaze on the floor as he listens to this, thin hands balled and resting upon his knees.
Shagohod growls, a deep and rumbling sound from his perch on the shadowy stairs, a looming mountain of muscle and hair. Luri looks at Lazaar with faint irritation.
Lazaar barks a laugh. "The ape? The APE is going to kill me? Is this a joke?"
Lilifred's brows crinkle slightly. She's still holding her cigar, but she hasn't smoked it since entering the room. Hasn't Laz LOOKED at the gorilla?
Shagohod answers the incredulous cry by grabbing a handful of handrail and twisting it off the wall with a loud, keening screech of metal. Now the ape is ARMED with a jagged piece of steel he just TORE off. Luri smiles and blows a little kiss at the massive animal. Her baby.
The warlock can't help but cringe slightly at this... But it was likely due to the shrieking of metal that pierced his sensitive ears rather than 'Oh no Lazaar is going to be gutted like a fish by railing'.
"You are very brave, milenka," Yeva says lowly after Shago's display. "So brave you run from us, abandon family. Run again, Lazaar."
Aleyna gives Lazaar another pointed look, but not of suspicion this time. Determination and a short nod. Do it, Laz. A nervous smile is added to the mix. It'll be okay, right?
Between the gorilla's show of strength and the look he receives from Aleyna, Lazaar's lip curls, but he nods his assent. "Fucking-- . . . FINE. Fine. I'll do it."
Yeva simply nods. Peregrinne has been staring at the floor determinedly, and only barely winces at the sound of the gorilla tearing metal.
Lilifred hates that gorilla. She sits straightbacked like there's a metal rod in her spine holding her up like the world's most horrified scarecrow. Oddly enough, her face is nearly emotionless- the gnome has a terrible poker face except in dire situations. Ha ha ha, don't act suspicious Lilifred.
Auroran is the same as before. Just spending his time staring at the two draenei women in neutral silence. It's just a matter of time now. His ears flatten at the sound of tearing metal, then flick back up when it's quiet again.
Yeva is back to being all business by now, everything in its place, proper and arranged. Now they can begin. "Luri. The bag. The first will be Lilifred and Campion. Stand and come center, Lilifred Bumblehurst and Miles Campion. Now you will apologize."
Grinne can't help it; he'd flinched when Miles' name was called, and now his eyes are up off the floor, watching. Waiting, dread slithering in his stomach just under his sternum. No.
Lilifred's eyes go a wide and round, the dark bags under them from near sleepless night emphasized by the grayish pallor of her dark skin. Listlessly, she drops her cigar on the rough floor and grinds it out with the toe of her boot as she stands. Dammnit, she thinks numbly, I chose the wrong chair. Furitively, she sends Campion a desperate look- a-at least we're in this together, right?
Campion startles when his name is called, but it's only a few seconds before he slowly pulls himself to his feet and approaches. Stops and stands at attention, hands clasped at the front, at his hips. Applying military procedure helps this all. Gives him something different to focus on alongside the prayers being said in his head over and over and over, which Auroran no doubt hears. He only gives Lil a brief, apologetic glance before looking to Yeva once more, blank-faced and waiting.
'I am here. We are all here. Be strong.' Auroran offers silent words of comfort. He knows it's probably not going to help what's going to happen, but hey. Just a reminder that no one is alone here.
Aleyna frowns to herself. It's going to be painful to watch all of this, as she generally likes all of her fellow capos. Even Lilifred shares this mutual rivialry that the elf loves to keep up. And Miles... Well. Her feelings towards him are obvious. Her bottom lip is worried between her teeth briefly before she sits back in her chair, trying to look as if she's still watching while staring at the side wall. Maybe if she's lucky she'll get to block all of this out.
Luri smiles brightly, and produces a silk bag that had been hanging from her sash. "The large one is drawing them, is he not?" She speaks in draenei, and refers to Lazaar. "And he will read them."
Lazaar catches Aleyna's tense body language and fights the urge to reach for her hand, afraid any show of affection will bring something worse down on her shoulders. Instead, he bats his tail at her legs. That'll do, he hopes. He's distracted from this by the sound of his native language being spoken and he returns to his glowering.
"He will draw them, and he will read them," Yeva affirms in pretty draenei. She takes the bag and holds it out in the air, to her left, where an empty space is. "Lazaar," she calls in the Azerothian common tongue. "You will stand here to draw."
The death knight rises to his feet at the summons and lumbers over to the place indicated, already feeling uncomfortably distant from the others.
Aleyna feels her heart sink a little more after Yeva calls for Lazaar. She had been hoping to keep her wall of distant comfort nearby, but even that's gone. The seat next to her feels devistatingly empty after he leaves. She sighs through her nose quietly and continues to stare at the wall.
Taking a deep, steadying breath through her teeth, Lilifred attempts to concentrate and make out what they're saying. It seems like another lifetime now that Elexine tried to teach an impatient "boss" rudimentary draenei, but she catches a word here and there and is disappointed when Yeva simply repeats her cryptic words in common tongue- great. It's a lottery then- no way to brace herself for what's coming.
Lazaar reaches into Yeva's deceptively delicate bag of tricks and fishes out a piece of paper. He unfolds it and reads the single word written in Yeva's horrible, delicate hand. He glances up at Lilifred and Campion, the barest hint of apology on his face.
"Flogging," he says.
Luri looks FAR too pretty and pleased with the going-ons here, giving both Lilifred AND Campion. She folds her hand in her lap and listens. Campion, meanwhile, goes pale.
"Here is what you will do," Yeva coos gently, immediately afterwards. "Lilifred, you will apologize to Mileschenka, and he will flog you. Luri will decide when your apology is sincere. Campion will not stop until she has decided." She looks at the rest, at Lazaar, too, and lifts her voice a little. She declares, to the lot of them. "You are apologizing for fucking. Up. You are apologizing for letting your friends fuck. Up. You are apologizing for your life. Go now," she hisses at the pair. "Say that you are sorry."
The dead woman jerks her chin at the crates.
Lazaar, meanwhile, has crumpled up the piece of paper until it's lost in one, huge fist.
Campion looks, well. Horrified. Slowly, he turns and looks down at the gnome, opens his mouth to say something...But he's speaking out of line. He shuts his mouth again, lips pressed into a thin, pale line, hands now wringing slightly. Don't make him do this, please don't make him do this. To endure it is one thing. To inflict...?
Don't make him do this.
When the word: "Flogging" falls from Lazaar's mouth without preamble Lilifred feels like her heart falls into her shoes in the good way because oh, oh okay that isn't so bad at all, compared to the brand and the drugs and the… she can handle flogging, she thinks. She can-
It’s the next part the yanks her heart right out through the soles, however. She turns to look up at Campion as he turns to look at her and there isn’t enough horror and loathing in her tiny body to twist her face into complicated enough an expression to show what she’s feeling right now.
“P-piece of cake, Campy.” she forces out, every word carved from stone, “I-I’ve got a lot to apologize for after all.” Lilifred has always prided herself on being able to crack a grin in every situation, but it doesn’t work this time. Anyone but Campion. She might have been able to handle this if it was anyone but Campion.
Campion is focused on no one but Lilifred now, and he kneels now, to be at her eye level. He doesn't care if this is uncalled for, if Yeva or Luri will yell for him to stand again. The man is on his knees now, at her gnomish height, and he remains silent. He only looks at her with apology, sadness and caring.
Campion's sorrowful look of apology is comforting, but it's also a liability. Lilifred just keeps up the utterly hollow smile and snaps, "Don't go getting all mushy. This is business, Miles." Don't you fuck this up, Campion- for... for *Light's* sake, don't be an idiot and go easy.
It's business, Miles, Grinne thinks, and hopes to god the paladin can separate the two out today where he never has been able to before. The blond man looks over at Aleyna, hoping for... something. Eye contact, comfort, anything. The stool to either side of him is empty.
Luri snaps in her accented common, "Gnome is arrogant! She is not sorry for what she has made this family into!" She shoots a look at Lazaar. "You will get the human whip. He will MAKE her sorry, if she is not now. And you will prepare gnome!" She jabs a finger at a metal ring from the ceiling, shackles looped through them. Time to string 'em up, Laz. Of course the smallest person here has to be hung up for this.
Auroran's neutral expression finally cracks into a frown. He silently urges Campion to keep going. We're all family here, after all. It was only a matter of time before the pain would come back. His attention is turned to the shackles now. Best to watch what's going on.
Oh for fuck's sake, Lilifred realizes presently that she has absolutely no idea how to act properly repentant. Her eyes travel up to the shackles, then to Lazaar. She's still grinning because she has no idea what else to do.
Lazaar opens his fist and lets the wadded piece of paper drop to the ground. He turns to the crate to gather the whip and shoves it at Campion, pointedly not looking him in the eye. Then he steps up to Lilifred. "The gnome can take off her own shirt, right?" Yes, he's depersonalizing 'the gnome' -- it's not STRICTLY racism.
"You will do it for Lilifred, Lazaar," Yeva states. "And you will call her by her name. She is your family."
Lilifred has already started unbuttoning her own shirt when Yeva answers. She stops immediately and tilts her head waaaaaay back to meet Lazaar's weird, glowing eyes. Lil's had years to learn how to read draenei expressions and can see the disgust and hesitation mingled in his. Great. She sighs and finally her smile melts away. She almost says: "Be gentle with me." but thinks better of it. Lexie was right- her smart mouth was going to get her killed one of these days.
Campion stares mutely down at the whip now in his hands, waiting for when he's told to do the deed. He can't look at anyone now, least of all Lilifred. He idly winds the thin, tapered tail of leather around one hand, then unwinds it. Wind and unwind, watching with blank eyes as he does so.
Lazaar rolls his eyes and kneels, still feeling disturbingly oversized compared to the gnome. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything," he mumbles, his breath probably reeking at this proximity as he plucks at the rest of her buttons. He tugs the shirt off her shoulders and sets it aside.
Her big nose most definitely picks up the unfortuante stench of death rolling out from between Lazaar's lips. She turns her head to the side both to avoid the smell and sight of the large draenei fumble with her tiny, gnome buttons. When the shirt is gone, all that's left is her chest bindings and an expanse of blemish free skin. Wow- for a former mercenary, Lilifred is sure lacking in good ol' manly scars. Administration work has treated her well.
The underboss pauses before he goes about finding the end of Lilifred's bindings and goes about unwrapping them, counting on her to lift her arms to make this easier. Soon enough, Lazaar has bared Lilifred's chest to her fellow capos. He pointedly looks away to toss her bindings on top of her shirt.
Luri gestures to the shackles. Time to hang her up. "Be swift. We have people waiting." She smiles at the others still seated. They'll have their turns.
Her arms instinctively cross over her bare breasts the moment they're exposed. What? It's chilly. Lilifred echos Luri's words without thinking, "Yeah, c'mon Laz. Everyone's waiting." the moment the words are out of her mouth she bites down on her lip so hard it almost draws blood. Why can't she ever shut up?
Lazaar grunts. Right. Better speed this up. Get this shit over with. He doesn't hesitate in lifting the gnome up with his luke-warm, clammy hands. He juggles keeping a hold on her with fastening the the shackles, all the while trying not to touch anything he shouldn't. He only pauses when he allows her weight to hang against the bindings, easing his grip slowly to make sure it holds adequately.
A strangled "Urk." escapes Lilifred when Laz checks the weight. The chains are loose despite the draenei's careful tightening and dig into her wrists painfully. She doesn't complain, however.
The draenei death knight steps back to give them room. He leans against a wall and stares at nothing in particular.
Luri nods, content with the action, then waves once more. "You! Red human!" Campion looks up, hollow-eyed and sorrowful. "You will whip now. Gnome. You will apologize. You will apologize until I say it is good."
He shuffles forward, looking down at the whip until he's next to where Lilifred is hung. He stays where he can't see her face. He can't face her as he does this. He can't bring himself to hurt ANYONE like this, he KNOWS how this feels, how many times has he been torn into like this...
The whip is brought up and snaps smartly with a practiced flick of the wrist, cracking against Lilifred's exposed back. The paladin flinches at the sound he himself caused.
This time, Lilifred does bite hard enough to break her lip. Oh fek that was way worse than she thought it would be. The crack of the whip registers before the pain does, but the pain- well, Lilifred likes to think herself tough but there's a line of raw, bubbling burn ripped across her back and under any other circumstance that might have been enough for her to give up. Unfortunately, Yeva is not so easily appeased. Lilifred swallows the blood in her mouth and says, hoarsely, "O-one whip i-isn't going to make anyone sorry. P-please, do it again."
"Lilifred..." He chokes out her name, and there's a brief moment of ANGER that flares hot behind his eyes. His arm is up and swung again--CRACK!--before he even thinks. Why is she MAKING him do this. Why would she ASK for more?
CRACK!
Why is she always trying to RUIN him!?
CRACK!
Why would she WANT to see him do this?! He doesn't want to DO THIS!
CRACK!
Only after so many blows does the anger and frustration pass, snuffed out quickly and with a look of horror and shame. He trembles faintly, arm stopping, but still poised to strike again. Just apologize. Please don't make him do this.
Afterwards Lilifred plans to pretend that making Campion angry was her master plan all along, but she isn’t quite prepared for the force of the whip with emotion behind it. She finally cries out on the third crack of the whip, her head spinning and her eyes going blurry from the pain. It’s a little horrifying to know that Campion has all this violence lurking just under his prickly-yet-compassionate demaneour, but Lilifred knows that she is no better. None of them are- she thinks of how easy it was when she was the torturer and a thick sob gurgles out from her throat. At the fifth crack, she manages to force out her first, “Sorry!”
“Sorry!” she chokes again, rasping, “S-sorry, I’m… I’m sorry!” She’s not apologizing to Yeva.
"For what." It's Luri's voice now, clear and all business. She needs to know she means it. She taps Campion's calf with one of her polished hooves, causing him to flinch and look at her. She tilts her head at the gnome, lips pursed.
The whip comes down again. CRACK. Campion is shaking harder now, eyes wide. Don't make him do this...
"S-sorry for..." CRACK, "I-I'm sorry for... for bringing rot to the family." That's what she wants to hear, right?
Yeva, still all this time, takes a breath so she can snort derision at Lilifred's answer. "Those are my words, Lilenka. Apologize!"
Luri still has her lips pursed, as if weighing this apology. She seems to come to the same conclusion as Yeva does. Her hoof taps Campion's leg again. He takes a sharp breath, like a cut-off, held sob. Don't...
CRACK.
"You apologize to human? To Yeva? To family? You said you have much to apologize to human for. You are doing this?"
Dammnit, Lilifred's head is too spinny to wordsmith efficiently, it's almost like she's DRUNK off the pain. CRACK, "I-I'm sorry," she gasps, "M-Miles, you're m-my family and I t-tried to hurt you because I ha- d-don't like myself. And I-" CRACK, "- I-I already fucking apologized and can't apologize enough and I'm sorry I-" she inhales sharply and cuts herself off. None of that now- is that what she really wants? For Lilifred to apologize to Campion? Her stomach lurches at the idea of the sick thrill the "boss" and her right hand woman must be getting out of this and it's almost worse than the pain. Her back is beginning to go numb, but the humiliation and shame is fresh and knife-sharp.
Campion speaks, his arm dropping a fraction, losing its tension. "L-Lilifred, I forgive-..."
"AHH!" Luri cuts him off, kicking out her hoof again, jabbing the sharp front of it into his leg. He shuts up immediately, still trembling, raising his arm again. The whip hisses once more.
CRACK.
Luri folds her hands in her dress, scowling, glaring at Campion in particular now. He can feel her gaze like cold pressure on the back of his neck, so he continues.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
Luri waits. She won't let them relent until the gnome begs and sobs. THAT is the level of sincerity and repentance she requires.
It’s not the cracks of the whip that break her, but rather the sound of Campion’s voice attempting to accept her apology in something that might have been a little like desperation. Oh give me a break, Campy, she could have said were her wits about her, You aren’t the freaking confessor, but the simplicity of that word- forgive- and the simplicity with which Campion says it is what finally brings those pathetic, hateful tears out.
“I’m sorry.” She cries, and every apology is a friend.
“I’m sorry-“ Xyria for leaving you with a mess and then forcing you to lose one more trusted friend to the darkness.
“I’m sorry-“ Taelie, for not living up to all the great things you had planned for me.
“I’m sorry-“ Wolfgang for being the worst sister in the whole entire world. You would do anything for me and I keep telling everyone that you’re a necrophiliac.
“I’m sorry-“ Aleyna, because we are friends, aren’t we? and I keep spitting that back in your face.
“I’m sorry-“ Marton, I should have never told you I loved you because I did it for me, not for you.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ Lexie. Lexie, you’re my sister and I didn’t think about what you would have wanted. I just wanted you by my side and now you’re a monster and I did it to you and I can never get you back-
- by the end, her throat is raw and her voice little more than a ragged whisper. She says, once more: “C-Campy… I-I’m sorry.” There are people in this room that she would have rather died than shown such weakness to. Unfortunately, Lilifred Bumblehurst is a coward and can’t stop herself from weeping.
Luri claps her hands. "Yes! Well done! You come down now, Lilifred." Obviously, this task is left to Lazaar. "You do very well with this one, red human. You hear how she cries? You see how well you do this thing? You look, you see."
Reluctantly, he does. He looks up, looks at the angry red welts and cuts left on the suspended gnome's back and it makes his stomach lurch. There's a small ludicrous thought in his head that laughs at how they'll have matching scars now. But his thoughts are interrupted by another tap from Luri's hoof. "You sit now. Sit!" she chirps. "You have done good work."
The paladin drops the whip right where he stands and numbly goes back to his seat, burying his face in his hands. Luri nudges the whip with her hoof, rolling it towards Lazaar. It's his job to put it away as well.
Lilifred doesn't even care anymore. No matter how capable she proves from this day on none of them are going to forget the pathetic sight of her sobbing apologies to invisible people, ghosts of the past. And no matter how confidently she grins, that Campion was forced to do this to her will never be erased.
Lazaar numbly goes about his implied tasks, seeing to Lilifred first. He gingerly unshackles the gnome, doing his best to avoid touching her back this time, even if it means touching other things that might have been awkward before. The gnome is gently placed on the seat she previously occupied. He doesn't let her go until he's certain she can sit on her own.
Lil pulls her shirt back on numbly and staggers back to her seat with Lazaar's aid. C'mon, she tells herself, T-that wasn't so bad at all. She repeats this as a mantra because Lilifred is good at nothing if not delusional affirmations. Folding her hands in her lap gently, she sits. And watches.
Yeva has watched impassively for most of the punishment, only speaking up to correct the gnome's apology. She sits forward now, and torchlight falls more strongly on her face. "Gooood," she says, and she is looking straight at Lilifred. "Is very well done." She's sincere; approving. She even offers the beaten woman a smile, small and warm.
It drops off her face as she surveys the rest of them. "Miles Campion, make apology to Peregrinne Waynolt," she declares, and the dead echo in her high voice rings strong.
Lazaar, who had retreated back to lean against the wall, once again moves to complete his assigned duty. He digs his hand in the bag, pulls out a slip of paper, flicks his eyes across it. "Beating," he grunts flatly as he wads up the paper and tosses it on the floor next to the previous one.
Campion, still holding his head in his hands, looks up sharply and startled. First at Yeva. Then slowly turning to stare where Peregrinne sits. The colour, what little was left, drains from his face and he stammers uselessly.
There's several moments of just this. He can't even SPEAK. The silence, broken only for his half-uttered syllables, is heavy and cloying.
"Ssss-...S-S-..." He stands, stumbles over to where Peregrinne is, eyes wide and hands trembling. "S-S-...I'm s-s-...S-Sooorry. Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He babbles it automatically, unthinking. What is he even apologizing FOR? Not for 'bringing rot into the family'. He's apologizing to Grinne for what he has to DO.
Throughout the entire duration of Lilifred's 'apology', Natharai continued to keep his gaze averted to the floor, hands tightly balled as they rest upon his knees, and staying completely silent. His figure was jostled by a slight flinch on some of the more 'meaty' sounding lashes, however, his stoic expression did slowly twist into a deep frown over the course of it. The smell of blood tints the air, stinging his nostrils, but he only lifts his head when he hears Campion's name called again. ...What? Miles has to go through the wringer -again-?!
The warlock's eyes wince narrower ever so slightly as he stares at the near-dumbstruck and nonsensical paladin, then to Yeva, then back to Campion. ...Why him again? No, he knows why.
On his wooden stool, eyes on the floor, Grinne almost doesn't process the message right off. He has to think about it. Still looking at the floor, he swallows and frowns. The skin tightens around his eyes, and that's the only thing left of an expression when he raises them to Miles, who's babbling an apology, who's standing in front of him almost broken already.
"Miles," he drawls. His mouth is a line.
"Shut up." It's as fond as it can be, given the circumstances. The shorter man stands up, begins to roll his sleeves up. "We been afraid it was comin' for a long time now, love," he mutters, much more quietly, before he goes to the crates to pick up the brass knuckles and heads to the center of the floor.
Campion flinches, but swallows hard. The pain is nothing. Pain is negligible. Pain is something you can endure. WHO is doing it, and WHY, though. It has been a long time coming. They talked about it even when they were just meeting and Ley laughed at Miles for making friends with his dealers.
'Might be sent after you, Miles,' he told him that time down at the docks, sitting by the ballistas. 'Don't mean nothin', though. Nothin' personal. It's just business.'
He looks down at the floor, one hand clasping the wrist of the other to try and stop their trembling. He waits. And Luri watches like a hawk, a predatory glint in her eyes and toothy smile on her face.
The weight of the weapons is one of the most familiar things in the blond thug's life. These aren't his, but the basic formula doesn't vary much. He fits them into his fists, flexes his fingers, bounces lightly, once, on the balls of his feet as he spreads them shoulder's-width apart. Just a job. Just a job, so it won't matter when he drives a fist into the fellow's stomach, kicks at his shin to make him fall. Not a big deal when he drops to the ground and pins him with his knees, pins the man with his body weight and sitting at just the right place to throw off any attempt at getting up, just a job when the fist drives straight into the gut again...
The first blow is punctuated by a pained and loud grunt, and Campion falls when his legs go out from under him. His head cracks on the stone floor and his vision swims, sounds go muted, thoughts go sluggish. He blinks owlishly, desperately, trying to get his head to clear. He can feel his hair at the back going warm and wet and matted.
There's a figure over him, and he knows those green eyes, he knows that face and that scar and that hair and he reaches to him. He needs his help, he needs to get back up, keep him safe until he's got his wits back, Grinne'll keep him safe, he ALWAYS keeps him safe, always looks out for him, always protects and goes after ones that wronged him or hurt him and scared him.
He reaches for Grinne, touches his face and rasps a faint, "Love..." before the fist drives into his stomach again, forces the air from him, makes him cry out loud again in pain.
Auroran flinches from where he's sitting. He managed to stay composed and still up until this point, but now he's visibly troubled and nervous now. The priest scratches at his neck idly as he continues to watch the spectacle.
"Shove it, Miles," Grinne growls. This is making it harder for him, it's only making it harder, and the skin's begun to split under his wedding ring where metal is crashing against metal. "Just fuckin' say you're sorry." He's not focusing on the man beneath him, and he can't focus on the eye contact. This isn't his crusader, it's just a bleeding job, and he scowls as he cracks the job in the jaw. He can't have the eye contact, so he has to break it.
Listlessly, Lilifred pulls out a cigar. Her hands are uncharacteristically steady as she lights it and takes a long, laboured drag. She's not quite looking at what happens... this is all kinds of fucked up.
Lazaar is transfixed by the whole spectacle. At some point, he even drops the bag of punishments and a few scatter on the floor. He doesn't even bother trying to look at them as he shovels them back in the bag.
His head whips to the side and a gout of blood sprays from his mouth as there's a crack of it connecting. The red that covers the floor just happens to fly in the direction of Luri, and she wrinkles her nose and pulls up her dress, shifting her hooves AWAY from where they might get dirtied by pinkskin blood.
Campion gurgles, and red dribbles past his lips and down his chin, coating his cheek as well. The sounds he's making are thick with blood and liquid, and he groans in pain underneath it. "L-Love...!" His head isn't clearing thanks to this, and he sounds scared now. His legs churn under where Grinne has his pinned, uselessly trying to get them under him again, but he can't even get them planted.
"Lo-Love, pl-...Grkk-..Please! Stop!"
Grinne doesn't know his face is contorting until he speaks, and the raw anger and frustration and pain, oh Light pain, please, Miles, just say the fucking words, please, please all comes out in his voice in a rush as he keeps hitting Campion. "I can't stop 'til you say the fucking words!"
By this point, Aleyna has worried part of her bottom lip into a bleeding sore. She gets a small satisfaction from the taste, but it does little to help her block out the noise happening near her. She can see the spectacle from the corner of her eye. The elf says a silent prayer for the two and closes her eyes with a deep breath. It's painful to watch.
"No, you will not stop until -I- say to stop!" Luri interjects over the pained cries of Campion being pummeled. His face is a mess by now. His eyebrow is split, his eye is blackened, the blood from his mouth just keeps COMING and he's choking on it now. He coughs and gurgles and sputters, the sounds bubbling in his throat and he thinks on the time Grinne told him how you never leave a job on their back, they'll drown in their own broken face's blood and it's a horrible fucking way to die, he's going to DROWN if Grinne doesn't STOP.
"S-..Ggkkkgl...S-...S-..." He pulls his arms up to try and shield his face, a stupid plan if Grinne is still swinging there. "S-So-...Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, love, I'm sorry! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!" His voice is still thick and choked, but he's screaming at this point, from pain and panic.
Grinne can hear the noise. Shit, shit, shit this isn't right, it's not a job, shit, shit, shit, it's all he can think, but he lurches to his feet and reaches down to drag the paladin upwards. He has to do it well enough to make the blueskin say stop. He has to. He grabs at Campion's shirt collar to keep him upright, forcefully, and works with just one fist now. "Hock and spit," he growls, hopefully too low for the draenei to hear.
He hears it, but he can't spit so much as drool. It's a current of blood pouring from his mouth, making a mess all down his front, on Grinne's fists and the floor. The floor is spattered all over with his blood. When he finally DOES manage to weakly spit, it's to dislodge something else that clatters on the floor, a bright flash of white amidst the crimson.
Well, Lilifred, there's a tooth for you. Luri looks down at it as well, then stoops in her seat and plucks it up, turning it over thoughtfully. It's a molar. Then she looks back to the violent spectacle going on, calmly watching as if it were nothing more than two dogs at play. She stays conspicuously silent, drawing it out, letting the solid sounds of Grinne's fists and blows, and Campion's pained sobs and cries, be all there is.
"...Is enough," she finally says, looking back to the tooth with an air of boredom.
The blond thug almost, almost, sobs with relief. He lets his right hand drop, left still clutching his husband's shirt, holding Miles up, holding up his crusader. Grinne looks at his beaten face and sets him down, gently. He goes to put the bloody brass knuckles away. There's nothing he can say, right now. There's not a damn thing he can say, and so he's silent, all the way back to his seat.
Campion slumps to the floor, broken and shuddering and bleeding. His sobs and breathing are ragged and wet, his posture wilted and limbs a tangle.
Luri sniffs and looks to Lazaar. "You move him if he does not move himself. We have more to see to."
Auroran stares at Campion's broken figure sadly. It hurts just to see it, hurts FEELING that pain. There are so many disadvantages to being an empath right now.
Lazaar snaps back to himself, staring as he was at the bloody pulp left of the paladin. He steps forward and hooks his hands under Campion's armpits to pull him up. "Gonna be alright," he mutters, low enough so that only he can hear him. He deposits him back in a seat.
Campion moans in pain when he's hauled up, but the one eye that isn't swollen shut meets Laz's briefly. But and when he's deposited back to his seat, he curls in on himself, one arm held to his chest, the other wrapped around it and himself. He doesn't stop trembling or whimpering. Things are probably broken.
"Is very good," coos a familiar voice. "Is very well done, you sic him like hound, Peregrinneshke." Yeva smiles again, but Grinne is focused on the ground again. She sits forward.
"Aleyna Greenpath," she calls. "Make apology to Natharai Ebonrook."
Aleyna feels her breath catch in her throat and finally opens her eyes. She glances over to Natharai, giving him a nervous smile. The elf stands at her full height and brushes off her pants like always. She waits silently for the verdict and tries to ignore how loudly her heart is beating.
Lazaar tenses up when he hears the next names spoken, but snaps up the bag once again. He sighs sharply through his nose before extracting the next slip of paper. His teeth clench and pop behind a deep frown. "Branding."
The death knight steps over to the crates of tools to reluctantly prepare for this punishment. He picks up the heavy, iron brand shaped like the talbuk that he remembers from the horn at his own initiation ceremony. He also takes a torch off the wall and begins heating the metal. He tries to remember . . . maybe hotter is better. Maybe hotter will hurt less.
Grinne flares his nostrils at the smell of the heating iron, but keeps his eyes on the floor, on his blood-flecked hands. He flexes the fingers, marveling at the pain under the wedding ring, and reaches over to touch Campion's back gingerly, hoping no one's looking. A square bloody thumb strokes the paladin's shirt. Poor Miles. Poor Ley. Poor Lazaar, of all people.
Luri titters girlishly and fiddles with Campion's dislodged tooth, rolling it between two fingers. She's looking forward to THIS one. "Apologize, dirty elf. You apologize now."
Natharai's eyes, which were previously focused on the bloodied mess that is now MIles Campion, snaps to meet Yeva's own. ...Well then. It seems that it is his turn to participate in this farce. He offers Aleyna a glance as he rises to his feet, but it is a guarded one. If it's one thing that Natharai excels at in times like these, it's keeping his poker face in place. He doesn't want to do this, no matter how many times he has wanted to throttle her in the past. But he must... they all must. So without a further thought, Natharai strides over to Lazaar and waits quietly for the instrument to be readied. He rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves, pockets his monocle, and tightens his ponytail in the meantime.
When he takes it from Lazaar, he studies the cherry red glow of the brand idly as he drones out "Disrobe, Greenpath..."
"As you wish," She says in a simple, nervous compliance. Her fingers fumble with her clothing as she pulls down zippers and undoes buttons, nervous for one of the few times that a situation called for nudity. She's careful to keep her pile of clothes out of Miles's puddle of blood and spit as she kicks them aside.
Aleyna's arms cross loosely over her stomach to keep from fidgeting nervously. Her face and collar bone flushes and she can hear her heart in her ears, so loud that she almost misses Luri's comment. Her sore lip is taken between her teeth again, pulling the raw skin between her teeth to keep herself from whipping around with a smart rebuttal to the draenei woman. It's not the time or the place.
"I'm sorry, Natharai," She starts, low voiced and almost a little sheepish sounding. This wasn't about to go anywhere good.
There's sorrow in his chest, and perhaps an honest apology won't be so hard to come by when it's his turn.
Luri appears impressed with Natharai's demenour, and she flicks away the tooth as she looks to the dark-skinned human. The tooth clatters merrily on the stone floor and is forgotten.
"You do it on ass, yes? Like animal." She flashes a white-toothed smile to Ley, malicious and vengeful. "Unless she is wanting it on OTHER cheek. One on FACE. Is options."
In some corner of his mind, he truly hopes that Aleyna has a very low pain threshold. The sooner she can be reduced to a sobbing mess, the better. Yet even though he thinks that... he knows Luri won't be satisfied so quickly. He saw that glint in her eyes, that cheerful laugh. She wants to savor this moment and, thusly, wants Natharai to be as cruel as humanly possible.
He can do cruel...
First thing is first... He has to introduce himself and show her–show the aunt and her wretched howler monkey–that he means business. 'I'm sorry, Aleyna," is a phrase that passes briefly through his mind as he advances towards her with heavy steps, winding up the hot brand as he prepares to crack it on the side of her head like a baseball bat. Things will only be worse if he is soft with her. Hopefully this will disorient her enough to where the act to follow will not hurt so much.
Lazaar grunts, hit with an unexpected wave of anger. But who should he be mad at? Natharai, for this improvisation? "Goddamn it, Nath. It said branding, not beating."
"Lazaar," Yeva snaps, but that's all she says.
Aleyna's self preservation is slow to die. Hundreds of years working as a backstabber, thief, assassin, adventurer and a long list of other odd jobs has kept her on her toes and she reacts before she even realizes she's done it. She catches Natharai's wrist in one of her noticeably larger and paler hands and keeps the brand from hitting her. She faulters in surprise and blinks with a sputter, "Uh, sorry. Wait, shit. I didn't mean to... Can we do that again?" Fuck.
Luri stamps one of her hooves and shrieks. "IMPUDENCE!" That word's said in Draenei, though, as she doesn't know it for common. Not pleased. Not pleased at ALL.
"Fuck you, witch," Lazaar breathes. Also in Draenei. How's that for impudence?
Yeva lifts her chin, looking at the both of them, the two draenei on either side of her. She purses her darkened, dead lips, and remains silent.
Luri whips a LIVID glare over at the undead draenei, and there's already the sounds of hurried, thumping gorilla hands and feet coming down the steps. The beast ROARS as it swings it's metal bar-bearing fist at the small of Lazaar's back, and the other fist goes to close around his tail. And it squeezes with a CRUNCH.
Even as this is going on, Luri is screeching again in draenei. "You will hold the elf! You will hold down your little longears fucktoy as she is branded!"
The gorilla is much faster than Lazaar would ever have anticipated. There's not much pain, or at least not the same quality as a living person may have felt, but the smashed vertebrae and the blow to the back rattles up his spine. It forces him to the floor with a hissed, "Ssssshit. Fucking monster." Whether he means the gorilla or Luri is open for interpretation. As his tail tries to whip back and forth in irritation, he can feel the shattered bones grinding together. His teeth gnash, but he's stopped his impudence for now.
The brand is stopped before it makes contact with the side of Aleyna's skull and actually manages manages to flabbergast Natharai...inwardly at least. On the surface, all he does is narrow his eyes a trifle and hitch his breath. Oh, dammit, Ley... You are digging your own grave. He can -feel- the quietly eager stares fixated on him and Ley...and Luri's outburst is not lost on him. Dammit. Dammit all to hell.
What is he going to do? He's a bookworm trying to rough up a Light damned -assassin-. Well... there is always another route–another improvisation. With a quiet murmur in demonic, that caustic and terrible sounding tongue that he employs only so often, he casts an agony spell upon the elf. This will slow her and, hopefully, gain some bonus points with the higher-ups on ending this sooner. Just...stay down, Ley. Please, for the love of all that is good. Of course, no such assuring words come from his lips.
Curses are such terrible things to Aleyna. For all her troubles with warlocks, you would think that she would at least be used to them by this point. It's the same every time, though. Her breath catches and for a second she feels her heart stop. Starting at the base of her neck and rushing downwards through the rest of her body, her nerves are lit on fire with pain. She chokes a cry and her legs give out on her. Knees crash hard against the stone floor as she falls. She manages to keep a grip on Natharai's wrist, but it's weak. The elf shudders and groans as another wave of the curse pulses through her.
At least when Lazaar is down, Shagohod backs off, trundling to the side, the metal bar he's armed himself with now in his mouth. He glares at the fallen death knight and growls low.
"Up! You get up and you hold her!" Luri's speaking in common now at least, jabbing a manicured finger at Ley's pain-wracked form. "And you!" She's standing now, and she snatches the brand from Natharai as she addresses him. Then she dips the heated end of the metal in one of the bloody pools left behind from Campion's beating, causing it to hiss. Coating it in salt-laden human blood.
She shoves it back into Natharai's hands. "You brand her! Lazaar hold her and you brand! You disobey and I will break all your bones!"
While Shagohod and Lazaar communicate in a meaningful fashion in the background, Natharai continues to focus on the task at hand....which is gently, almost carefully, removing Aleyna's hold from his wrist. The brand being snatched from his hand does earn Luri a blink, remaining quiet and placid as the harpy shrieks out her command. He doesn't seem that he is about to object as the tool is quickly returned to him. No words, no complaints. He watches Aleyna try to fight to remain standing as he circles around her, ultimately stopping behind her. For all his gentility seconds ago, that's quick to vanish as he sends the heel of his loafer towards the back of her knee...and repeats as much as needed to get her to get to her knees.
Natharai then looks to Lazaar and oh-so-quietly, yet firmly, says "Hold her," in his accented draenic tongue, tainted by both demonic and common influence. Why he replied in draenei, he doesn't know, but...do as the Romans do, he supposes.
Lazaar rises to his hooves, rubbing his back with a grimace and keeping his tail still. He kneels in front of Ley and wraps her upper arms in his large fists. He gives her a reassuring squeeze and a flat-lipped half-smile. It'll be alright.
Aleyna is easily pushed and held by Lazaar, as the curse has done it's job to slow her reactions. She shifts to rest as comfortably as she can on her knees, her feet tucked under her rear. She looks up to Lazaar and gives him a weak smile and braces for the worst. She had always hated burns.
The brand has already begun to start cooling, the glow of the metal dimming, but it was still fire hot. To Luri's gleeful instructions, he nudges her forward by placing a shoe on her back and pushing and places the brand upon her right buttock, the smell of seared flesh assailing his nostrils as steam hisses out in small plumes. The first is done, but it surely will not be enough.
