"And maybe you should study the kopflos Ritter before you draw the wrong assumptions. It vas he who knew your name. I merely sent him in your direktion."
Shrike gave her a blank look, he disliked riddles on principle and disliked people mischaracterizing what they were doing as one. Claiming something to be a riddle implied there was only one correct answer. For someone tied to a chair, she was awfully playful. Of course, they were all aware of the magics that could be used to prevent information leaks and make captured assets worthless. He had a geas of his own skulking in the back of his head, always of the verge of perception. It bickered with the other things in there every now and then.
"You could be confident in the geas your commanders have likely layered on you or whatever anti-torture training you've received, seeking to sow disinformation among the enemy, buying time for your associates, or just playing silly buggers. Frankly it is irrelevant, much like yourself Frau Hilde. I am mostly killing time until I reach a conclusion as to whether or not your death would be useful."
He sighed and drummed his fingers on a knee. Without a gesture, the executioner's sword floated forward. "When I signed up I might have been happy to say that the death of a nazi was justification enough. Some small part of me does still believe that, but I'd much rather invest my time in dealing with someone other than an expendable asset. Anyone care to think up a reason to keep her alive?"
Sam hangs back, considering the woman and letting the others work the interrogation. 'This is going nowhere fast. Though...wonder if that thing might work. She's strong-willed, and I'm not sure if it'll work with the geas, but maybe worth a shot.'
"Might have an idea. Something I learned back in my school days, may or may not work, but I can give it a try."
Sam steps up, and her eyes flash. "Why are you in Belfast?" she says.
You clench your teeth, overcome the disgust and revulsion caused by these twisted deformities, and push towards her conscious mind to find just another layer of perversion; she appears to have developed some form of a morbid obsession with death and pain. There are conscious processes to be grasped here, but nothing more than variations of sadism, masochism and thanatophilia at the thought of her impending demise.
Pushing further, you reach a hard core inside her warped atrocity of a mind, fortified by the geas. You could attempt to look inside, but it would be a hard endeavor, and not a pleasant one, putting your mind at the risk of a backslash.
Hilde twists her face into a snarl, snapping at Sam and L. "Get out of there!" she hisses. "You won't like what you find!"
Seeing inside of this midscape L sees many parallels to his own. Resolving himself, he attempts to force open the door of the geas.
Most people's ability to resist mental attacks is based solely on their willpower. But as they say, the best defense is a good offense, and it is the same force of personality as that which powers her spellcasting that reinforces Sam's mind, and drives her thoughts like a lance into the geas.
An eerie smile creeps onto her face, even as the psychic whiplash hits. Sam doesn't hesitate for even a moment.
Hilde starts contorting in the spasms of a seizure, screaming incoherently as the wards in her mind are undone.
With a last shriek, Hilde jerks in her chair, serrating her jaw. A spurt of black blood flows out as her severed tongue falls to the ground, and finally her head lolls on her chest, blood flowing from her mouth. She is still alive, but her eyes are empty and unfocused.
Tomasz pokes his head inside the door, holding a folio of neatly-drawn mechanical diagrams and rows upon rows of equations. "What was that... oh." He shrugs. "Well, not entirely unexpected. Even under Wirth, the geasa of the Ahnenerbe-SS lacked subtlety. You all, I trust, learned something before she ceased?"
"Well assuming our compatriots have not boiled their own brains inside of their skulls, it will be up to them to report," James noted, looking down with annoyance at where Hilde's last mess had managed to splatter on one of his shoes and part of a trouser leg. He sighed and dismissed the blade that had been accompanying him without visible effort.
Sam lurches backwards, hardly even noticing the blood on her pant legs. She turns on her heel, a hand over her eye and a crooked smile on her face. "Oh, Tomasz, where were you? You missed the good part!" She pulls her hand away, and a blood vessel in her eye has burst.
She steeples her hands, and spoke with a light lilting tone. "Hmmm, let's see, before the geas burnt out her head, there was that beautiful castle with dark spires here in Belfast, some human sacrifice, a map of the province, and a drawing of what looked to be a banshee?" She points at Hilde. "There's nothing left in there, don't know how you would dispose of it, though. Oi, L, are you still with us? You see anything else in there?"
Opening his eyes and breathing erratically, L waivers then speaks. "I believe..," L waivers again, "..that the aforementioned 'banshee' was riding a dark colored stagecoach." After these words, Agent L falls slightly into the wall he had posted next to. With his eyes closed he holds his head for several moments, blood now quite visible coming from his ears.
Tomasz snorts, loudly. "The castle! But of course it is the castle, they are Nazis. Like rats they are, pretentious ones. The castle would likely be favorable, geomantically-speaking, as well - perhaps we should request a tour?" A thought passes, and his expression sours. "You did not, perhaps, uncover how she was knowing we were here?"
"No, sir," L replies, his words muffled by his hands.
"They were probably watching for a motley crew to arrive at select government buildings after they set up shop in town. We are not exactly the average home guard," Shrike stood. After a long day, he was clearly more reliant on his cane than he had been previously. "We already have a guide for the castle. Time to wake up Mr. Connor and have a little chat about angels."
"in the mean time, her body should probably be sent to R&D or wjoever, see if that can find anything out about the thing"
"Actually I'm not even certain if she's dead yet, nevertheless, not sure what you could find out from liquified brain matter," Sam says. "Not to mention, I'm a little concerned that there could be some kind of failsafe on her. Something magical that kicks in when her heart stops. Personally, I'm in favor of just incinerating the body."
Sam shrugs, then actually thinks about what she said, and goes to the opposite side of the room from the mess. "Keep in mind I can only do that trick once a day or so, we'll have to get any information out of whatshisface the old-fashioned way."
"Her soul has fled her body, she is but a husk now. Such things can be useful, but I fear we lack the skills to use them - best to simply dispose of it. Shoot it and toss it into the bay."
Pierce frowns but nods
"Let me try talking to him and we'll see where that gets us," Shrike said, looking to Pierce. "I don't think we'll be needing the knives out on this one. The man has plenty of openings already."
"yes yes of course. This man isn't a nazi"
Connor regains consciousness with just a few slaps, grunting in pain as his broken ribs ache at every breath. "Saved me for the rifling squad, did you? Merciful."
Shrike repeated the simple act of bringing a chair into the room and sitting down to take the weight off of his bad leg. He did not so much as acknowledge Connor's jab at his actions.
"Are you a terribly religious man, Mr. Connor?" Shrike's flat look told Connor that he knew the history of the IRA and was asking on a more personal level.
Connor raises an eyebrow at the unexpected question. "Well, I'm not the best at following the scriptures, but I say my prayers and go to Mass. Why?"
"Because I'm curious about as to what sort of penance a man guilty of a rather rare sin might expect and I thought a practicing Catholic might have better insight than myself, a mere scholar. It is not every day I find a man guilty of the sin of destroying another's soul, much less more than one," Shrike said this with the composure of a man discussing an interesting news story.
"A what? How the heck would I go around destroying souls? Charge me with sedition or high treason, I can understand. Yes, I cooperated with German agents. Yes, it was a bad idea. But what's this talk of souls?"
"You don't even know what you're culpable of," Shrike said with a slightly disbelieving sigh. He would have to tread carefully, it appeared Mr. Connor still had not picked up on the supernatural elements in his life yet. He could feel the geas in the back of his mind shifting uncomfortably. Shrike changed tracks, sticking to the mundane facts.
"I've got bodies. Bodies without a mark on them, laying on their slabs like the life was pulled right out of them. Then it happens to your boy, the one we picked up as he sat in our cells. Aneurysm and stroke our medical professional says. Irishmen, Mr. Connor. Your people, Mr. Connor." Finally Shrike looked Connor in the eye, his grey gaze cold and hard. His gaze challenged Connor to hide behind the usual accusations. Shrike knew how the Irish were treated by the English, he knew whole miserable history of it.
"You let the devils in and they made themselves right at home, so I've come to talk to you about penance."
Connor's face grows red in rage and shame at the accusation. "You think you're my father to make big speeches of sin and penance? The devils've been in Ireland for centuries, as the bloody English, a pox on the land! And I'd deal with Satan himself to rid the place of 'em, and mayhaps I did!"
He winces as the outburst clearly hurt him, wheezing for breath, and when he speaks again he looks calmer. "I did what I thought I had to do. I realize it was a bad call, that I've been used, and I'll tell you what I know, but don't get started on good and evil or I swear on me Da's grave I'll tell you nothing."
"That woman came here before Christmas, introduced herself as Mary Carroll. Said that her and her partners were looking to collapse the government, that it would be our chance for rebellion and seizing power; in exchange she wanted reports from our moles in the army, myself and Doherty, who I understand you took as well."
"We followed her, she was slippery as a fish but we managed to trace her to Belfast Castle, so I guess that's where she and her friends were staying. The only other thing of some interest I know is that one time she asked me about how to reach bloody Rathlin Island."
Tomasz brow furrows into well-worn lines. "Well then. That is unwelcome news, and an unfortunate choice of words. Another question then: This Mary, how were you communicating with her. Radio, perhaps?"
Connor shakes his head. "She came when we met, like earlier, and we could spoke afterwards. The others didn't know about her, and she didn't want to be contacted."
Pierce writes down everything that is said, making sure to keep accurate records.
L stands silently in the corner.
Sam will put down Hilde if she hasn't bled out, and then make arrangements for the disposal of the body, by incineration if possible.
Given the blood flowing from her ears and nose, it's easy to smother Hilde and have the body disposed of, passing it off as a stroke. Cavendish gives you a funny look, making your geas tingle, but gives dispositions without further questions. It's highly likely that the man will need Laundry conscription soon. That, or a generous helping of whiskey.
"Much as I am pleased by this castle revelation, I fear it must wait. This ritual on the island, it cannot be allowed to be completed. This storm, it is the perfect cover to be moving the homeless with so I fear we will need to leave now. We may leave word with our superiors about the castle, that they may have the chance to deal with it."
Agent L walks out of the room without word and goes to prepare a vehicle.
"I'll pass word along with the requisite security measures. We can't let them have another ritual site to work whatever madness they intend to unleash. Hopefully they can task some extra manpower to at least keep an eye on things here while we strike at Rathlin Island," Shrike says as he collects himself and sets off to contact the Laundry home office.
Sam returns to the others after cleaning herself up and changing her bandages. "Business is taken care of, the Lieutenant may be needing some special attention before too long. Not that I blame him for getting suspicious, but it's still another thing to be aware of, if lower on the list of priorities."
It takes a special kind of crazy to drive through a snowstorm at midnight, running on the rocky Ulster roads at the maximum speed provided by a Ford GPW, sliding over ice. But L ans Tomasz are as good drivers as they come, keeping control of the jeep with white-burning focus and dark coffee as the others try to get a couple hours' rest.
As you arrive, around 3 in the morning, the snow has subsided, but the wind is even fiercer, feeling like tiny icy blades on your skin. The sea around Rathlin Island is roaring in wine-colored waves as you reach a fisherman's shack that also served as a ferry in better days. The titular fisherman seems to be missing, and the burnt wreckage of a fishing boat lies on the beach, still-warm embers glowing.
But what gets your attention is the bridge. The seven kilometers between your location and the island are covered in a thick sheet of white ice, wide enough for a truck to pass over it, waves crashing against the edges. Tire tracks are still visible on it.
Agent L stops the truck and turns to the passengers, "It is advisable that weight be distributed across ice. A logical conclusion is to vacate the truck save the driver and rope the rest to be pulled behind."
"I don't like how narrow that bridge is, we might end up swept into the water if we try to cross it outside of the car," Shrike noted, "My vote is to stay in the car and try our luck."
"I'll cede the decision making to the car enthusiasts.
"None of that is my concern. They will be watching; we will be exposed. Stay in the car, we will need to be as quick as possible so we are not left stranded when they begin to shoot at us."
Shrike started rolling down his window and climbed halfway out into the freezing cold. He gripped the side and for once called upon his weapons before an enemy was in sight. He was making himself a target but needed a clear range for his weapon of choice and could hopefully provide some protection for the car.
Ice or not, the bridge is solid and the tires manage to grip the surface without skidding. As the jeep speeds away from the shores, the waves become larger and start crashing on the vehicle, splashing everyone with salty water.
It only takes a few minutes to get close to Rathlin, and James' vigilance is rewarded as soon as a large-caliber bullet flies at Tomasz's chest, only to be deflected by a phantasmal spear and sent tumbling into the water. Three more shots follow, harmlessly discharging against the front of the car, as you get to see the shore. The muzzle flashes indicate that enemy soldiers are hiding behind a low embankment or sandbags, and their accuracy in the dark of night suggest that they have some sort of night-vision enhancement.
Standard Action: Fire Mind Dagger at the Nazis
Ready to use Panoply Counter the next round as well
Light: 6/6
One-H: 6/6
Two-H: 6/6
Sodden, irritated, and tooled up for violence, Shrike focuses and keeps the majority of his arsenal swirling about the car like a flock of particularly sharp starlings. An arrow, the shaft broken about halfway down the length, peels off from swarm of archaic death and hurtles towards the nazi gun nest. It scythes through the whipping snow and out over the roiling waters as though weather had no dominion over it.
Pierce swears under his breath at the attack and charges his return fire with as much psychic energy as he can safely manage, knowing that the shot would explode on contact. He didn't need to actually hit to do the job this time, hopefully the explosion and release of light would take out whatever vision enhancement they were using if that wasn't enough to kill them.
'And here I though this was just going to be some simple counter-espionage, root out some terrorists, collect information, g$& d++n it I am a hypnotist not a f+%*ing marine,' Sam thinks. She pulls out her wand and casts a protection spell on herself.
Tomasz ducks behind the dash at the crack of the rifle and floors it, driving as fast as he can and not bothering to turn.