Post by Asenath Parnell on Jun 29, 2018 6:26:53 GMT -5
Captured by one particularly ambitious and ruthless Inquisitor, the prisoner found himself chained to a sturdy, metal chair, which in turn was welded to the floor. Above him a blinding light to illuminate the room and rob him of merciful sleep. Four walls, no windows, barren of anything noteworthy save for a hose curled on the floor, a table situated behind the prisoner and a metal rod carelessly leaning against a corner. The uncomfortably humid and hot air reeked of sweat and faeces. No food or water whatsoever to ease the captive’s suffering. Just a steady, unstoppable tick-tock of a chronometer hammering the passing of time into one’s very soul. It had been like that for hours – or had it been days already? The fallen Jedi was forgotten by all, left to defecate into his pants, rotting alive, starving, restrained for so long he wouldn’t be able to move even if some kind soul removed his binds.
Hissing, the door in front of him slid open, revealing a familiar figure who wielded a satchel in hands. With her came a breath of fresh air, driving off the stench of dying. Unlike the last time the two met, Asenath wasn’t covered in sweat and bruises. Clean, tidied, with her flaxen blond hair proudly displaying a perfectly coiffured bob, carrying a soft scent of Nlorna flower perfume, she was the exact opposite of the miserable living corpse that used to be a man. As soon as the pair of shiny black boots brought her in, the door behind shut closed.
“Arkan Wren. Or whatever your name is. Did you miss me?” The fair-haired interrogator inquired with a hint of a smile written over her lips, albeit her voice was devoid of humour and her fiery eyes remained awfully cold.
Dressed in a crisp, clean uniform, she reflected the ruthless efficiency Inquisitors were known for. Regarding the prisoner with a sneer, the Inquisitor walked by the imprisoned heap of flesh and removed her gloves first. Both pieces of leather smacked against the table, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the metal. Many more thuds followed as she unpacked additional tools from the satchel.
“You must be bored. Let’s liven up the place,” mocked the dark side practitioner and turned on her antique audiobulb.
Music soon started to emanate from the device, its tune reaching every corner of the chamber. Meanwhile, the hose slithered over the floor like a snake, obeying the interrogator’s telekinetic command to crawl into her hand.
“You stink, Jedi.”
A fact none could deny. Flipping the lever, Asenath unleashed a powerful blast of ice cold water upon the man’s hapless body. All his nerves screamed in agony, suddenly awakened by sheer shock and experiencing a stabbing pain of thousands upon thousands of needles.
“Jedi truly are nothing but filthy garbage.”
The stream ceased, leaving the prisoner soaking wet and almost freezing.
Hissing, the door in front of him slid open, revealing a familiar figure who wielded a satchel in hands. With her came a breath of fresh air, driving off the stench of dying. Unlike the last time the two met, Asenath wasn’t covered in sweat and bruises. Clean, tidied, with her flaxen blond hair proudly displaying a perfectly coiffured bob, carrying a soft scent of Nlorna flower perfume, she was the exact opposite of the miserable living corpse that used to be a man. As soon as the pair of shiny black boots brought her in, the door behind shut closed.
“Arkan Wren. Or whatever your name is. Did you miss me?” The fair-haired interrogator inquired with a hint of a smile written over her lips, albeit her voice was devoid of humour and her fiery eyes remained awfully cold.
Dressed in a crisp, clean uniform, she reflected the ruthless efficiency Inquisitors were known for. Regarding the prisoner with a sneer, the Inquisitor walked by the imprisoned heap of flesh and removed her gloves first. Both pieces of leather smacked against the table, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the metal. Many more thuds followed as she unpacked additional tools from the satchel.
“You must be bored. Let’s liven up the place,” mocked the dark side practitioner and turned on her antique audiobulb.
Music soon started to emanate from the device, its tune reaching every corner of the chamber. Meanwhile, the hose slithered over the floor like a snake, obeying the interrogator’s telekinetic command to crawl into her hand.
“You stink, Jedi.”
A fact none could deny. Flipping the lever, Asenath unleashed a powerful blast of ice cold water upon the man’s hapless body. All his nerves screamed in agony, suddenly awakened by sheer shock and experiencing a stabbing pain of thousands upon thousands of needles.
“Jedi truly are nothing but filthy garbage.”
The stream ceased, leaving the prisoner soaking wet and almost freezing.
“Are you thirsty, Arkan?” Asenath asked patronizingly, every word dripping with cruel irony.