Closed [IHL] Begging the Question (Irriari)

[Orin Fenix]

Dorian grimaced. The amount of information that Irriari recalled was pitiful, and he revised his earlier beliefs about her potential intelligence sharply downward. She seemed to remember only the information that she felt was immediately useful to her and discarded everything else. This wasn’t a game he was playing, and she had to learn that sooner rather than later. There was an art involved in his craft and if she didn’t respect that she had no right to waste his time. It had been silly to think that a Zith would make a valuable pupil or a member of the Ebonstryfe in general and Dorian made a resolution to talk to however had admitted her to their order. Perhaps it was time to tighten the requirements for applicants. However, that wasn’t his call to make and he had a more immediate problem on his hands. ”The reason I ask again is simple, and this is the number one rule I want you to take away. If you forget everything else, remember this. Pain and fear are wonderful motivational tools. They spur people’s actions and thoughts more than any other emotions. So use them. And specifically in regards to my work, they help sharpen people’s memories. It’s amazing the details people can dredge up when they have the proper encouragement.” Turning away from her, Dorian picked up a scalpel. ”While I have you here, I want to test some theories about Zith anatomy. How similar are you to humans anyway?” Dorian traced the outline of Irriari’s left wing with the flat of his blade, lingering in an almost seductive manner. ”And then there are these. How sensitive are they? How much damage can they take and still allow you to fly? What holds them together?” Dorian smiled like a small child with a piece of candy. Or, in his case, a child with a helpless animal he could do whatever he wanted with. ”You and I are going to have so much fun together!” The utter lack of emotion in his voice was carefully trained and had terrified people with a stronger willpower than this creature on his rack. Moving downward, Dorian looked at Irriari’s feet. ”Now, on a human, the hands and the feet have the most tactile sensations. That also means they hurt the most. I wonder if that’s the same for you?” Dorian picked up Irriari’s right foot, which caused the shackles on her ankle to rattle slightly. Tilting his scalpel, he cut into the sole of her foot, a small incision, and watched the blood start to drip. Then, he moved the scalpel upwards slowly, peeling off a thin strip of her skin. He left the skin attached, although he was sorely tempted to simply continue and flay her alive. It had been ages since he’d done that to anything, even a pet. Holding up the scalpel and examining it in the light where Irriari could she her blood on it, Dorian watched her out of the corners of his eyes. ”Are you sure you can’t remember anything else?”

[Irriari]

The zith favored the commander with a withering look. Pain and fear were wonderful motivational tools? How very apt. Did he know nothing of her race? They had perfected terrifying humans in ways that he could never dream of accomplishing. He did not have her hearing or her nightvision. During the darkness that Leth reigned over, the commander was just as weak as the merchants her colony had slain. He would fall just as easily as the rest, throwing knives be damned. His next words shook the zith to her core. The torture that the members of her colony feared above all else was playing out in front of her, and she was too weak to move a finger in protest. Her body shuddered involuntarily as the scalpel touched her wings. The paranoia returned, flooding her mind with images of the corpses of her fallen brethren that had their wings torn off. The few that survived the massive blood loss had begged to be killed, and the Elders of the colony obliged, using the dictate of their last wish to send them into oblivion. Fun. This petching human had no idea of what fun was. He was too weak to fight her so he had poisoned her. There was no ‘fun’ to be had in torturing something that had no ability to lash out. She had felt a small amount of kinship with him in the past, believing that the twisted side of his psyche somehow mirrored her own. No, this human was further from her than the weakest of the crippled humans she found on the canal edges of Ravok. He was a coward. In a show of defiance, Irriari clenched her teeth, refusing to take the bait that he offered. She would survive, and then she would show him what true pain was. After a bell, he would be crying out for the slightest bit of warmth, the tiniest reprieve. She would give him none. Her thoughts of revenge kept the rampant paranoia at bay and chained to the far recesses of her mind. As long as she could focus on something beyond the nausea building in her stomach, she would be safe. As she began to calm down, a sharp pain brought her mind rushing back to the hell that she occupied. Blood dripped down her foot from the shallow wound he had cut with a blade. She whimpered through clenched teeth. While the wound was minor compared to many she had felt before, the paranoia enhanced the pain and sharpened her focus until she could think of nothing else. It took a half chime before she could focus on the question he had asked. Half paralyzed by her paranoia, half fueled by rage, her snarl of an answer was a testament to the nature of the beast that he had chained. “No.”

[Orin Fenix]

Dorian sighed. Irriari’s performance was contemptible. Obviously his initial beliefs at the mental acuity of Zith were correct. And her pain tolerance was laughable. She was acting like the beast she was instead of the human the Ebonstryfe would need her to be if she ever hoped to achieve any prominence or usefulness in their ranks. She wasn’t even providing him with pleasure in her torture, since she was proving to be such a pliable subject. Dorian debated his options. He could kill her now, and save everyone time, effort, or energy. He could leave her chained to the table. Starving her to death held the promise of a bit of enjoyment for him. However, he needed the use of this room and the Ebonstryfe tended to frown upon needless sacrifice. Sacrifice that brought them some gain beyond personal satisfaction was all well and good, of course, but this would be seen as a waste. Then Dorian smiled. The most delicious irony of all would be to let her go, thinking she had worth. The Crucible would be the death of her, and Dorian would gain the most pleasure from knowing the thoughts of failure running through her mind at the end. The death of hope was so delicious. And Dorian had no doubts that this whelp would fail the Crucible. Walking to his desk, Dorian placed the bloody scalpel on a cloth. He would clean it later. Pulling up his chair, Dorian left it by the rack. He released her ankles and he wrists, knowing the poison would last for a while longer. And he was confident he could overpower her if it came to a fight. Although, Dorian was prudent as always. Before letting her go completely, he removed anything that could be seen as a weapon, placing it outside for her to pick up when she finally left. Sitting, Dorian smiled thinly at her. ”A poor showing, my dear.” Leaning forward, Dorian narrowed his eyes at her. ”Can you at least tell me any of the number of techniques I used on you just now? Or am I going to have to do all the work for you?” Dorian let the scorn he normally hid out. It practically dripped from his voice. Taking his knife, he rolled it back and forth in his palms. It looked as if he couldn’t quickly use it, but Dorian had long ago mastered how to look nonchalant. He didn’t actually expect her to attack right then. He had bested her for now, and like all animals she respected force. He would have to watch his back around her in the future, however.

[Irriari]

OOCI finally wrote the first post in this thread that I'm proud of. I'll be. Irriari closed her eyes and listened for the distinct sounds of metal against wood, wood against walls, and boots against floorboards. Any of them alone could spell her destruction, and a combination could detail her descent into something far deeper than paranoia. Her teeth were gritted against each other in defiance of what the commander wanted. He wanted her to beg, plead, and break before him like a storm cloud full to bursting. She was a zith. Floorboards, wood, and metal be damned. He walked back towards her, the heels of his boots echoing ominously against the oak planks. Irriari ceased to acknowledge him and held her eyes firmly shut. No matter how cruel he was or how much skin the commander pulled off of her motionless body, she refused to let him think that he had won. The zith were not so easily broken, and thoughts of winning were reserved for those who actually played the game. Children like the commander were simply fooling themselves into thinking that they were warriors because they held a blade. Irriari’s eyes snapped open as she felt the tightness of the restraints fading away. The leather straps had been removed and she was as free as a motionless body could be. Elation and purpose surged through her, driving her towards action, movement, and vindication. The zith reached for the blood sight again, fueling her rage with the images of Sevrai’s tattered corpse. Raw pain and emotion flooded into her, threatening to hasten the effects of the paranoia. She fought against it, and focused all of her energy on the goal that mattered most: surviving long enough to see that the commander ended up in her position. After a half-chime, the zith felt painful tingling in her extremities, signaling the return of control of her toes and fingertips. The important muscles that she needed were dormant under her skin, still struggling against the influence of the poisoned wine. The commander’s questions infuriated her. Did he expect that she would suddenly transform into a complacent zith? Was he enough of a fool to believe that such creatures existed? Irriari snarled at the thought of one of her brethren being reduced to such a sorry state. She would not help him. Humans were undeserving of what her kind had to offer, especially when they reveled in betraying her. Irriari continued ignoring him and waited until she could feel both of her arms. She moved her fingertips and then bowed her elbows outward, testing that she had enough control to push herself upward. Falling back onto the table wasn’t an option she dared to consider. Irriari reached for the blood sight again. This time it roared to life inside of her, electrifying her veins and sharpening every sense two fold. The commander’s voice echoed in her head loudly and she continued ignoring it as she pushed her arms underneath her torso and forced her body to sit upright on the rack. It was uncomfortable. Her arms shook violently from the effort, threatening to undermine her precarious position. Regardless of the pain, she had succeeded in defying him. The gauntlet had been throw down, and in that moment she desired nothing more than to up the ante. “Please, do all the work for me. You’ve been loving the sound of your voice for the last two bells. I’d hate to deny you the pleasure of the commander’s greatest lecture against his cornered prey. Tell me about your tremendous battle, fearsome one.” The venom in his voice was mirrored in snarling tone. The grudging respect that she had begun to cultivate under his tutelage had been stripped away the moment she lost control of her body. Waiting for his answer, a single thought filled her mind and overtook everything else. Finally, she had a chance at the game.

[Orin Fenix]

Dorian watched Irriari’s struggles with amusement. At her outburst, he actually laughed at her. She obviously still thought that physical strength was the only form of strength that mattered. If after everything she’d been through, she hadn’t figured out how wrong that assumption was, Dorian saw no way to disabuse her of her beliefs. The zith was stubborn, if nothing else. While strength of will was encouraged, stupidity was not. A good operative and a person in general needed to know when to quit, learn to acknowledge when another was superior, and try to salvage what they can out of any situation. This refusal to cave of Irriari was admirable, but misguided. The strongest tree can be snapped in the face of enough force. A flexible one, however, will bend beneath the wind and spring back, better than ever. Watching Irriari through narrowed eyes, Dorian was tempted to give her up as a lost cause. Perhaps he shouldn’t have let his anger show, but her response was unacceptable. She came to him to learn. She should have expected, especially when he had repeatedly reminded her, that any lessons he gave would be at his discretion. It was a waste of his time to teach someone so obviously unsuited to the work he did. ”Get out. If you can’t keep even the most simple of lessons in your head, you have no place here.” Though Dorian was disgusted, he kept his voice flat, not letting his outer façade crack at all. He would not lose his cool because of an upstart zith. Scraping his chair backwards, he brought it back to his desk and sat in it. He began cleaning under his fingernails with his knife, pointedly ignoring her. He kept a careful watch on any sudden movements from her, not putting it past her to try a physical confrontation. When his nails were clean, he glanced up and acted surprised that she was still there. ”What’s keeping you?” Dorian smiled grimly at her, since he knew very well she would be feeling the effects of the poison for a while yet. ”Well, since you seem to be dying for me to teach you, I guess I must oblige. Never let it be said that I shirked even the most distasteful of tasks,” his tone implying that Irriari obviously couldn’t be trusted with even the most basic assignments. Laying his knife down, Dorian steepled his fingers and rested his chin upon them. ”Well, lesson number one, which you should know already: control. If you are in complete control of every situation then you’ll always get the results you want. Even if you’re not, learn to fake it.” Leaning back, Dorian faked a yawn, acting bored by the situation. If she couldn’t tell that it was yet another way for him to gain mastery over her, Dorian didn’t feel compelled to point it out. ”Obviously, physical pain is a useful interrogation tool. But it’s clumsy and incredibly inelegant. It’s also the quickest way to push your subject past their breaking point. After that, they’ll tell you anything to make the pain stop, so any information you gain is suspect.” Dorian glared at her. ”While I doubt you have the capacity for anything more subtle, I’ll tell you a few of the techniques employed by a master.” ”Psychological torture is the best. First of all, killing your prisoner is relatively rare, which is obviously a plus. However, it’s also more sure.” Dorian narrowed his eyes at her, unsure if any of this was penetrating her thick skull. ”Time is on your side. For instance, the bell of silence probably felt much longer to you, didn’t it? It gave you ample opportunity to make up nefarious uses for every tool I displayed. Trust me, what you came up with was much worse than their actual intended purposes.” Dorian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ”However, I’ve always found threats to be incredibly effective. For instance, find out what is most precious to them and put it in danger. For you it was quite easy. Obviously, my verbal and non-verbal threats to your wings gave me the biggest rise out of you.” Dorian placed his hands on his desk, driving his final point home. ”Anger tells me just as much about someone as fear does. You would do well to keep that in mind.” Standing up and crossing his arms across his chest, Dorian stared at Irriari. ”Any questions?’

[Irriari]

OOCI’m just playing at my novice skill level with a zith attitude and he thinks she’s incompetent. QQ The commander taunted her, telling her to leave. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was effectively chained. Her arms barely did her bidding, and her legs were even worse. On top of that, the zith felt like her torso was made of iron. Even breathing hurt, and it was becoming harder to ignore the prickling pain that blossomed throughout her chest. It was her own damn petching fault for trusting a human and enrolling in the IHL. She had sought to fill the void of loneliness by training and learning about skills she enjoyed. It was one of the few things that made Ravok hospitable when she was starting to settle in. After a bell of being chained to the rack the zith realized that the IHL was no stranger to the chaos of the city. The manicured façade only served to make the chaos seem a bit more refined. It was an illusion that had ensnared Irriari quite handily. There was a price to be paid for falling into such a trap—her stinging and bleeding body attested to that. The zith listened to his lessons carefully, knowing that the commander favored pop quizzes at random times. Until she got control of her own body, memorizing his lectures would be her key to survival. Lesson number one was simple enough, and one that the zith had been taught from the cradle. Control of a situation was key to the success of the hunting packs. Without control and coordination, the humans could potentially get the upper hand. Control ensured that they never had a chance to do so. The second lesson annoyed Irriari, but she did her best to school her expression into one that showed rapt attention to a fascinating subject. ‘Pretend it’s about poison or you’re listening to one of Sevrai’s stories’. Psychological torture wasn’t a new concept. The zith employed it against their slaves. Hell, they even placed bets on how many days it would take for the particularly strong willed slaves to crack. They were kept awake for far too many bells and then fed rotting food. The zith that served them would feign a nice demeanor and apologize for the lack of ‘real food’. It went on and on with various zith alternating between good and bad making sure that the environment was always in a state of flux. Irriari’s façade slipped at the mention of using threats. It was a stupid human tactic. Why threaten your prey when you could simply enact the torture that you promised? A couple of threats at the start of a hunt were entertaining but interrogation was used for the purpose of getting information. Irriari filed the information away in her mind and continued listening to the commander. By the time the commander reached his talk about anger, the zith could barely control her own rage. Her fingers clenched together rapidly and unfurled, providing a distraction for a moment. “Of course anger tells you something. It tells you that you’re hurting someone. Do you expect a caged animal to be happy? Do you expect someone tied to this rack to be calm? People get angry when they are hurt. Anger is a fuel to keep you from cracking under the pressure, nothing more.” Irriari continued, “I don’t understand why you think information obtained using pain is so suspect to you. I can promise you that if I hurt someone for a long enough period and hold them there until they’ve given up all hope of being saved, they’ll crack. They’ll stop lying and start telling me what I want to hear.”

[Orin Fenix]

Dorian leaned back. The monster seemed almost as if she was listening to his lecture, and he was shocked. He honestly didn’t think she had the capacity or the patience for actual learning and he felt his evaluation of her change again. While she was still rash, uncivilized and barely in control of her emotions, she possessed a base cunning and perhaps wasn’t exactly stupid. Dorian narrowed his eyes, thinking about how to proceed. He had been planning to throw her out entirely and never let her return. If she had come back he would’ve crippled her, effectively ruining her small world. However, if she could learn even the rudiments of his craft perhaps she could still be useful, if he kept a tight leash on her. She was full of contradictions for what he had been brought up to believe. Maybe a careful study of her was in order, and the best way to do that was to keep her around. At the very least, the information might come in handy if he ever encountered a zith pupil again. Still, he didn’t want her to think he had caved. Dorian stood up and stretched languorously, as if to rub in her face that he had control of his body while she was still struggling to regain hers. He rolled his neck, wincing at the cracks. He needed to get out of his office and into the field more often. Moving towards her, Dorian propped her up, knowing that staying upright would help return sensation more quickly. He danced away before she could react, wary of her even in her downed state. Crossing his arms against his chest, Dorian set about to correct some of her misconceptions. ”Anger can tell you more than that. The type and quality of anger is important. Not everyone reacts as you do under pressure or to pain. That’s good to remember.” Taking a careful step forward Dorian continued. ”Anger can tell you that you need to change tactics if the will of the person you’re questioning is too strong. It can also help you determine what they’re truly afraid of. If you can figure out that they’re using anger as a disguise for their true emotions or a protection mechanism then you’re one step closer to finding out the key to their thoughts.” Dorian couldn’t believe quite how foolish Irriari’s last statement was. Sighing a little at her complete and utter lack of understanding, he debated how to respond. Perhaps this gave him the perfect opportunity to test whether she was worth his time. ”Sure, you can hurt someone until they tell you exactly what you want to hear. But I want you to think about something for me. Is telling you what you want to hear necessarily a good thing?” Crossing back behind his desk, Dorian sat. ”If you can come up with a satisfactory answer for me, then come back and I might consider continuing these lessons. Until then, once you regain the ability to move, I don’t want to see your face.” This time it was an actual and a clear dismissal.