"Would you mind? I am writing my heart a letter and you continue to complain without telling me what I need to know."
After Paetr's brief tirade it became more quiet. The constant slow drip of water onto stalagmites below and a muffled whimper.
"There!"
Paetr signed the scroll with a flourish. One of his staff would almost certainly make him re-write some sections. He slowly stood up from behind the table. He walked towards his captive.
“Did you know that this is a common human trick for entertainment?” Paetr asked. “I don’t enjoy this. Well… I do enjoy this but using iron is so…”
Paetr came to stand over the Sidhe. He grimaced.
“It’s very crude.”
The sidhe was lying on a long bed of long, rusty iron nails. He had been captured by Paetr’s agents deep in northern territories. The winds were changing, Paetr could feel it. He didn’t want to be carried along with those winds, he wanted to master them. He wanted to shape his own destiny.
“All I want to know is exactly how Tulok moves around Tatkret. I know you’re part of his inner council and know his movements. It’s such a simple question.”
The sidhe, to his credit, managed to lift his head and spit at Paetr.
“Dissapointing.”
Paetr wanted to end the war with a master stroke. A bold assassination. If Saang Lusce ended up being the one to finish the war, then Paetr would never hear the end of it. Whilst he knew several ways to keep the Lord from using his mouth, they had hundreds of years for it to be lorded over him.
The war would stall as the weather changed. If he didn’t carry out his plan, the the southern forces would eventually grind out a victory but he wouldn’t get to take the glory himself.
The bed was formed of heavy wood. Wearing thick leather gloves, the torturer crawled beneath it and pulled a handful more nails free. They had repeated this process, removing more nails such that the remaining ones held more of the victim’s weight. Each time they applied more pressure. A fae could barely stand the touch of iron.
Paetr stepped closer. He pressed both his hands to a slab of stone lying across their captive’s chest.
The sidhe screamed. The nails finally broke his skin. Iron pushing into his back, into the backs of his legs.
Paetr stepped back. Of all those from Tulok’s inner circle, he had to find the one with some loyalty and a spine.
“Shit,” he spat. He knew he wasn’t going to break his resolve.
“Glove.” Paetr took the leather glove and picked up a particularly long nail. It was a typical execution method for those disgraced to have a nail driven into the back of the spine for a quick death.
“Disappointing,” he repeated as he took up a hammer and pressed the point of the nail to the front of his throat. Normally it was delivered from behind in front of a crowd of witnesses, but Paetr was in a bad mood.
Dearest Seryn Lusce ,
The weather has slowed the war. Whilst this brings much frustration as my plans for a decisive end have not played out, this brings opportunity.
I may travel east and attend some events should Queen Mab see fit to tolerate my presence.
Perhaps it is time, in spite of my troubling news, to make our courting known?
Paetr
After Paetr's brief tirade it became more quiet. The constant slow drip of water onto stalagmites below and a muffled whimper.
"There!"
Paetr signed the scroll with a flourish. One of his staff would almost certainly make him re-write some sections. He slowly stood up from behind the table. He walked towards his captive.
“Did you know that this is a common human trick for entertainment?” Paetr asked. “I don’t enjoy this. Well… I do enjoy this but using iron is so…”
Paetr came to stand over the Sidhe. He grimaced.
“It’s very crude.”
The sidhe was lying on a long bed of long, rusty iron nails. He had been captured by Paetr’s agents deep in northern territories. The winds were changing, Paetr could feel it. He didn’t want to be carried along with those winds, he wanted to master them. He wanted to shape his own destiny.
“All I want to know is exactly how Tulok moves around Tatkret. I know you’re part of his inner council and know his movements. It’s such a simple question.”
The sidhe, to his credit, managed to lift his head and spit at Paetr.
“Dissapointing.”
Paetr wanted to end the war with a master stroke. A bold assassination. If Saang Lusce ended up being the one to finish the war, then Paetr would never hear the end of it. Whilst he knew several ways to keep the Lord from using his mouth, they had hundreds of years for it to be lorded over him.
The war would stall as the weather changed. If he didn’t carry out his plan, the the southern forces would eventually grind out a victory but he wouldn’t get to take the glory himself.
The bed was formed of heavy wood. Wearing thick leather gloves, the torturer crawled beneath it and pulled a handful more nails free. They had repeated this process, removing more nails such that the remaining ones held more of the victim’s weight. Each time they applied more pressure. A fae could barely stand the touch of iron.
Paetr stepped closer. He pressed both his hands to a slab of stone lying across their captive’s chest.
The sidhe screamed. The nails finally broke his skin. Iron pushing into his back, into the backs of his legs.
Paetr stepped back. Of all those from Tulok’s inner circle, he had to find the one with some loyalty and a spine.
“Shit,” he spat. He knew he wasn’t going to break his resolve.
“Glove.” Paetr took the leather glove and picked up a particularly long nail. It was a typical execution method for those disgraced to have a nail driven into the back of the spine for a quick death.
“Disappointing,” he repeated as he took up a hammer and pressed the point of the nail to the front of his throat. Normally it was delivered from behind in front of a crowd of witnesses, but Paetr was in a bad mood.
Dearest Seryn Lusce ,
The weather has slowed the war. Whilst this brings much frustration as my plans for a decisive end have not played out, this brings opportunity.
I may travel east and attend some events should Queen Mab see fit to tolerate my presence.
Perhaps it is time, in spite of my troubling news, to make our courting known?
Paetr
