"I am true to Aroden, my lord," Tybain says, his voice carrying an almost enchanted tone, as a younger man would speak of a wench wooed for comic effect. "but I am also true in loyalty and kinship.
Tybain looks to Lazarod, and following the theme of the play he continues in his almost feminine tone now, "This man, though half-fiend his blood may turn, is bound to me in brotherhood, as I stand bound to him. Our blades both matched the enemies of Cheliax, and what faith divides, common cause unites."
"You cannot sunder me from his destiny," Tybain asserts, his gaze hard when staring down the inquisitor of the prince of hell. "I stand trial at his side, as is my right, if I so beclaim it. Is it not so, Dentris?"
With the sudden declaration from the pal-o-dine, Dentris turns toward Tybain, staring almost in disbelief. After pondering the question for a moment, Dentris turns toward the magistrate.
’Tis true, my lord. Pausing for emphasis. [b[ If the half-brained, light-blinded knight wishes to perish alongside my good master, he is within his lawful right.[/b] With this, Dentris steps back awaiting the response of the infernal judge.
Turning back to Haanderthan: Nay sir, though I wish nothing more. I turn my gaze from the magistrate to the accused. This boy, as wayward as his fancies take him, is in my care. Turning his gaze once more to the symbols of infernal law upon the walls of the courthouse, Dentris declares: I never waivered from his father’s service, and I shall not turn my back on the son. With this, Dentris steps beside the others.
Smiling back at the Magistrate without a glitter of fear in my eyes: There are worse fates, magistrate, than even can be promised on the deepest level of your Hell.
Turning to address the audience with a flare of his hands. To walk alive in a world, my duty undone, my sworn oath broken, is to walk through fires more smolderous than any Asmodeus keeps below. Pausing for effect before turning back to the Magistrate. Though he be a fool, and possessed of a diseased wit, Larazod is my master, and I shall stand by him. After another brief pause, Dentris step up to bench. Do your worst magistrate. I’ve rolled bones with demons, and gazed in dragons’ hearts. Let us have these trials and be done with my life, if the lords of darkness so command. With this, Dentris steps back and folds his arms across his chest while staring at the magistrate awaiting a response.
Haanderthan shakes his head sadly at Dentris's small speech. "Doddering old sack of bones. No demon’s dice, nor dragon’s musings await you—only torment beyond the stars’ most infinite imaginings. When you mewl out for merciful death, I shall look on in pleasure, as your soul’s wake burns
from a withered old corpse."
Turning towards Krona Haanderthan points gavel at her in an accusatory fashion. "Krona of the Belzeken go back to your homelands and trouble this court no further!"
Krona's voice drips with content when she refers to Haanderthan in the line. "The Prince of Darkness himself could no more separate me from him then you from your own false sense of grandeur!" Krona spits at Haanderthan.
"Bring forth your trials!" Straining again on the chains for dramatic effect, Krona almost roars, "Let them be tested by me!"
|"Insolent wench you have no idea the horrors that await you. But enough talk! If you wish to burn for eternity then so be it! Make ready, supplicants. The trials begin anon. May Asmodeus take pity on your blighted souls."
As the curtain falls things relax a bit as the councillor extras flee the stage at speed as a number of acolytes trailing behind the asmodean cleric wheel an iron torture device onto the stage. The "bailiff" chuckles as he sees the device. "Roight, now the fun part begins. Actually you should count yourself lucky berk. This is a rather appalling travesty of a torment compared to what we got on Avernus."
Levash is stripped down of all his gear and clothing leaving him little but a loincloth as he's attached to a device that is like a combination of the rack and the wheel pulling his limbs and twisting his body in horrific ways.
Delour is singing this whole time and the eerie, haunting melody is a shapr contrast to the rattling of chains and the dull chanting of acolytes as they begin their rites and prayers to ensure the working of the device.
Thesing watches with a gleeful grin on his face. Clearly he's enjoying the proceedings.
As Bloodless enters the stage one of the acolytes offers him a black whip with a bowed head. The whip glitters on its business end with shards of razor sharp broken glass. When he takes the whip the acolyte explains to bloodless carefully what he is to do in a calm matter of fact voice.
As the acolytes and the cleric vacate the stage the curtain rises once again and Thesing begins hardly giving you a moment to fully partake of what's about to happen.
"Good Keeper of Pain, Tormentor of Liars and Demonsuckling Miscreants, we are honored by your presence. Show these supplicants the favor of your stinging lash, and with rack and fire, purge lies from their lips. Break their souls, and let the mad and guilty appall our ears no more with ranting."
"Magistrate Maleficarum, I come before you a simple hand
whose lash is guided by the greater glory of Asmodeus,
may my scourge do him and this devoted tribunal proud.
With your permission I shall begin our first trial."
"Sorry Lazarod. he whispers...
Attempt NON LETHAL attack with lethal weapon.
Attack
Damage
Almost smiling as the lashes begin to fall: Fools, my good master may be a fool of a tiefling, but if you think to wrack his spine, and wheedle mewled recantation from his black lips, you are even greater fools than he.
I turn and scan back and forth across the assemblage: Larazod is no coward, and he sneers in the face of pain with true faith in Asmodeus—he cannot waver.
Then I walk beside the accused and turn toward the audience: He faced demon prince’s and hordes of their slime-ridden minions in battle. His coal-black soul did not quake then. He stands resolute now. You cannot break his spirit. I then turn back and continue to stare at the magistrate with a look of utter contempt. As the lashes fall, I simply smile (at least as long as he keeps missing the non-lethal attacks as even they hurt if they fall.)
When he is stripped of his gear, LeVash will pop his Goodberry in his mouth, but not bite down on it...looking at the device, he realizes there will be no opportunity for healing, so he'll take what he can get....
As Aerith speaks her lines, LeVash quietly asides to Bloodless, "gouge flesh with the next one..."
Lazarod slumps at first, looking at Drovalid, before suddenly twisting in the device, looking at Haanderthan, eyes blazing,
"I recant… nothing!"
Lazarod's attention moves away from Haanderthan, addressing the Council/the Audience.
"Grind on, honeyed torment. Sing sweetly as I may, no cries of 'recant' shall you hear. I hate lies, as I hate demon loving traitors."
Bejis looks into the audience, head slightly tilt, and says with a touch of mournfulness,
"To hear such cries from my beloved quickens my heart."
Krona's turns subtlety towards Drovalid, eyes widening in surprise and uncertainty. "But who is this fierce man of the lash whose own prowess might drive me into passion?"
After a quick dramatic pause, Krona roars out, "No! I will not betray my heart or my love!" With Krona's voice full of spite, "Damn him to the darkest pits!"
Lazarod's voice drips with contempt, "Had enough, Magistrate? Can you withstand it any longer? Please, give in and recant, for the only torment I cannot bear is your continued duplicity."
"Recant, Magistrate! Recant your own lies, and the Dark Lord may have mercy on your slimy soul."
[ooc]Tybain is next[/b]
Tybain gives every appearance to be enjoying himself upon the rack, after all, he is a man of faith traveling with a demon spawn, he must be simple. "Ha! Even in the face of soul-crushing pain, he taunts this ridiculous Magistrate of Hell!" he proclaims, and likely very few see that Asmodia is sweating in the heavy make-up, her copper hair damp beneath her helm.
Tybain tilts his head as far back as it will go to address the heavens "Hear me, Aroden, if Asmodeus has such as Larazod in his employ, all our efforts are doomed!" he roars in his stuppor. "Would that you could command such steadfast loyalty as this one here, who laughs at death and grins at the grimmest pain."