Nehor (prime)/Velvet Glove, Iron First

Velvet Glove, Iron First

Originally posted on the official forums by FUDGEHJ on 01/15/2020 at 02:58 AM CST.

The sharp tick tock of Nehors boots echoed through the hall of their makeshift headquarters, set up in a warehouse just outside of the Eastern Docks district. It was not the Flockmasters first choice, but it was located where it needed to be in order to most efficiently fulfill its purpose. The Isle's humidity had not been kind to the structure and the place reeked of mold and sweat. It seemed to suck the will out of anyone in it, those old beams and rotted boards. It was structurally sound...but barely. The main hallway was hardened with old stone and thus that is where most of the business was taking place. The warehouse was crowded now with dejected residents, most of them frightened and scared. He pitied them, being woken up just before dawn, dragged out of their houses by armed guards...but this was necessary. Their community was where most of the violence had taken place. Many of his guard had been killed and injured, Flock Loyalists had been assaulted in the street...and while not everyone they had rounded up was guilty, they had to cast a very wide net to ensure they caught all who were.

His adjutant tagged along, her short shuffling steps struggling to keep up. Standing at a mere five feet, she was of mixed race: part elf and part human. She had only just joined with the Flock, but in that short time she had proven both capable and loyal. She passed on several missives and orders to the various squads that were still cleaning up after this mornings operation. As Nehor watched, two breathless young men ran up in avian masks, passing her a few more notes which she read silently to herself. Not deeming them worthy of bringing to the Flockmasters attention, she put them in her satchel, scratched something he couldn't make out on her clipboard and ripped the paper off to give to the man on the right. Both saluted and left. The half-elf noticed Nehor's gaze and shook her head slightly. Nothing of note.

"...and as you can see here, we've separated the detainees into three groups."

The Faendryl escorting them spoke in crisp, correct common. The type of common that only one expertly educated but not used to speaking it could pull off. His words held no tone besides professionalism and Nehor found himself immediately annoyed at the man. Where was the inflection? The sense of theatrics? He shook his head and ran a hand over his tired features, his eyes baggy and hair disheveled. He had not had any time to look his best, so he could forgive this one his lack of passion.

As they stopped at the entrance to the part of the facility dedicated to detainee processing, Nehor asked "So tell me of your method." The Flockmaster looked around as he spoke, slightly distracted by the sounds of orders being yelled and the soft whimpering of families huddled together, awaiting their turn to be processed.

The Faendryl in the tailored suit, not a wrinkle in sight, waited patiently for the Flockmasters attention and, when he received it, continued in that toneless common of his: "It is quite effective. When your guard went in, those who did not resist were placed in group one. They were questioned by your sergeants and then sent on their way, unless the questioning came up with something they felt was pertinent, then they joined group two...the ones who resisted but without violence." He continued on with some minutiae about the sorting process and they rounded the corner, finding themselves at the back of two lines. The right line was the longest and by the relative care the guards were showing to the inhabitants of this group, Nehor supposed it to be the non-resistors. One of the guards had a large wicker basket and was going through the line to ensure each family and person received their due ration. Out of the corner of his eye he caught his adjutant slipping one of the children a sweet with unpracticed stealth. The child accepted with a look of stunned awe and its parents, wary still, smiled weakly at the half-elf. She flashed an overly stern expression at the kid, which giggled and buried it's face in their mothers skirts.

The left line was decidedly less well treated.

As they walked between the two lines, they passed several flock guard with heavy looking truncheons who were shaking down individuals in the left line while a serious looking Faendryl with a white lily on her lapel supervised. This line shuffled slowly forward into one of the rooms at the end of the hall. Their destination in fact. Two Flockguard shoved a few of the detainees roughly aside as the trio slipped past and into the large room.

"As you can see, Flockmaster, the procedure is relatively quick and...if they cooperate...mostly painless."

A man in a healers robe stepped forward, touching a nervous looking human girl of no more than 17 summers. He maintained contact and nodded to a Faendryl with the same cold eyes as his guide, who began asking a series of questions.

What was your favorite color? How long have you been working with Socius? How old are you? When did you first decide to rebel against the Isle? Do you enjoy the water? How many Flockguard have you killed? How many have you wanted to kill? Do you like sweets? How long have you been working with Socius?

On and on, rapidly, the dark elf went through his questions. The girl, getting more and more nervous, began to cry. The inquisition stopped until she suddenly grew more calm and composed, and then the questioning continued.

"We ask a series of questions while the detainee is linked to an Empath. The Empath maintains the link to measure heart rate and respiratory levels, as well as to calm them if they get over-wrought. There is a bit more to it than that, but let us not dwell on needless details." The man waved a well manicured hand in a idle dismissive gesture that still managed to convey a certain grace...which Nehor had always found quite infuriating in elves.

"If the detainee is not found to be violent or harbor violent intent, they are sent to be fined for resisting or set free if circumstances deem that expedient." The Faendryl shrugged. "A case by case basis, you understand."

Nehor nodded along, watching as an observer made a few marks on a pad and shook his head at the questioner. The questioner nodded to the Empath who broke the link and the girl was shuffled into a relatively sedate looking cell. None of them seemed overly nervous, so Nehor supposed this was for the people who were found to 'not be violent or harbor violent intent'. In this spacious area, five interrogations were being held simultaneously. Efficient and quick, most were sent to the cage at the far end of the room, which in itself was being processed, groups sent out to other areas...presumably to be fined or released. As he watched though, one man's Empath suddenly went rigid and the interrogator nodded to one of the guards, who began to viciously beat the detainee over the head. "Violent Tendencies. Lying about connections to Socius. Possibly feeding Intel to the Rebels. Put him in with group three."

The man paled visibly. "No. No! I promise! I'm...I'm innocent! I didn't do anything! I...I've been set up!" The interrogator looked at the Empath, who nodded once more...this time more firmly. With their cold, pitiless dark elven eyes the Faendryl looked down upon the weeping, beaten, pleading man. In the same tone he'd used if he was ordering a coffee from the local bakery, he repeated "Put him in with group three."

The man screamed as the guards drug him to the door opposite the caged area.

Nehor pondered this for a moment, turning to his guide. In a curious tone he asked "Do you ever get it wrong?"

The Faendryl shrugged and nodded his head. "It is not a perfect method. However, we are confident that our rate of accuracy is within acceptable bounds."

"What are 'acceptable bounds', exactly?" Nehor drawled.

"Eighty-one percent."

It sounded good to Nehor, so he nodded and they moved to the next room, following the poor sod that had been dragged there.

"And here we have group three." His guide informed him, rather needlessly at this point.

Violent offenders. Those who had taken up arms, attacked a guard, or otherwise tried to forcefully injure the Flock or its Loyalists. The people were manacled and then tethered together, their feet hobbled with heavy iron chain. They turned as Nehor entered, and a combination of hate and terror shone in their gazes. Whilst the other lines had fear and worry, a pall of grim hopelessness hung over these ones like a cloud.

"Did we ever catch the one who beheaded that poor sod in the Pawnshop, by the by?" his Adjutant asked, her voice lilting with an accent Nehor couldn't quite place. The Faendryl turned almost imperceptibly and there was a flash of something in those icy, cold eyes. Nehor marveled...all this time the dark elf had exuded a cool professionalism, with not a hint of emotion in tone or gaze...but that hot lance of disdain he had seen as his adjutant addressed him? Well. If Nehor had to choose between the ice or the sheer hate he had just glimpsed for an instant, he would prefer the ice. After what seemed like a solid minute, Nehor piped up with "It's a fair question. Did we?" The lily bearer shook his head. "The matter is being handled, Flockmaster. My people will suss them out."

Nehor let the matter drop, and eyed his adjutant, silently willing her to do the same.

The smell of sweat and blood was strong in this room, and the slow cloying air, protected from any refreshing breezes by a relatively solid wall (the sturdiest in this cursed structure, he noted) added to the oppressive atmosphere. Each man was taken, one by one, to be questioned...in a far more forceful manner. Every time they refused to answer, or tried to deceive the questioners, one of their fingers would snap or in one case the mans jaw. The jaw was mended swiftly, so that the questioning could continue. The fingers were not.

"Well it seems that there are not too many here. Much smaller group than the other two."

His guide nodded absently, seemingly uninterested in the size of each group. He did however, pose a question in a very careful tone.

"What would you have us do with the ones found...irredeemable?"

Nehor thought a moment, carefully considering. These people had violently attacked his forces. They were a grave threat to peace and stability...and for the council's plan to work, they MUST have stability.

He turned and asked the Adjutant: "Do we have sufficient rope for those here who are in group three?"

She looked around, her mouth moving slightly as she counted to herself "Yes, we've collected much in the way of such resources from the Tithes."

"Mmmm..." Nehor mused out loud "...still. Good rope is expensive.

"Shall we charge it to...?" the adjutant began, and Nehor quickly interrupted speaking over the woman who almost (but not quite) hid her annoyance: "Yes. An excellent idea. Bill the families for every length used, increasing their mandatory tithe."

The half elf nodded and he could have sworn he saw the Faendryl's lips curl up into a smirk for a moment.

"Very well." The lily bearer acknowledged the order, whispering to one of the guards who passed the order along.

The group left the warehouse, but as they were walking back toward the entrance suddenly there was a commotion. From the first group a man stepped out, quickly, wielding a vicious looking shiv and heading straight for Nehor. He stood frozen, paralyzed with terror. Not again. The pain of being stabbed...immense...no, he couldn't- His thoughts were interrupted by a single syllable, a small thin grey beam connected the Faendryl and his assailant, and then suddenly the assailant simply *ceased to be*. He didn't scream, there was no blood, there was just...nothing. It was as if the man had never existed.

A nervous looking avian masked guard came up, panting. "Flockmaster! Are you alright?"

Recovering, trying to smooth out his even more disheveled hair, Nehor tersely snapped "I would be more alright if you would do your job, man! Search these folk again, and have someone competent assist you."

The masked guard gulped audibly, saluted and went to once again frisk the line of agitated detainees, who protested audibly but did not otherwise resist. The adjutant received another missive, this one she deemed important enough to share. "Sir, the collections proceed as planned. We've scheduled the third delivery for one hours time. We've been sending them alternately to the Moot Hall and dock warehouses in the Landing."

Nodding, Nehor said "Good, tell me if there are any hiccups. And distribution to the Isle residents?"

"Proceeds as planned. They should be fine to last till the next distribution."

A cry went out from one of the people in line listening "Ya gotsa be kiddin! I ken barely feed me kin on such meager rations! We're gon all be skin n bone by the time ye done with us, crow!"

The Faendryl and Nehor merely observed as the adjutant stepped forward, a fiery heat in her eyes as she clenched her clipboard so hard it threatened to snap. "You will be fine! You don't even know what its like to be hungry! The people down there are ACTUALLY starving. Just because you can't gorge like the glutton you are doesn't mean you can talk that way to us!"

Nehor placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke in soothing tones "There is no need for such harshness. The man is merely concerned." He turned to address the one who had spoken up. "Sir, believe me, I feel your pain. I too have had to sacrifice. But the good of the many must outweigh our comfort. Know that your donations are going to a good cause."

The man spat at the Flockmasters feet. "Donations. Of all the nerve, ye ha' the gall to-" his rant was cut off by a heavy cudgel to the face applied by a nearby guard, and Nehor frowned down.

"...put this one in group two."

The guards saluted and moved to comply, as the man's family began to wail.