An Ill-Conceived Interrogation

1:24PM
Sub-Level H: Invisum Conservavit

“Excuse me?”

John repeated himself for the inattentive old man, though his eye never left the man Juniluny called Ibis Lazarus. “Did you know this guy over here, the Confessor, is a Cabal agent?”

“Interesting,” the old man muttered, “I wonder how you might have gleaned such a past... or mistaken it for the present. Confessor Lazarus has not been working with the Cabal since he requested the right to repent in service. I would say we’d have known by now were he still loyal to the Cabal.”

Lazarus bowed his head in humility at Cornelius’ kind defense. The woman held no reaction save to keep her unwelcome glare on John. “Except,” John interrupted, “if it turns out he’s the reason some statues were-”

“I understand your worry, Warlock,” Lazarus interrupted, “but I assure you I shall treat you no different from any other Confessor you might hope for.”

John heard the promise, there.

If the Sage heard it, he didn’t show any sign of it being strange. “You needn’t reassure this man, Lazarus: you’ve proven yourself for far longer and far better than he has, after all,” Cornelius grumbled.

John would’ve shaken his head had he the liberty to do so. “Does he ever leave the mansion? How often? Does he get to look the statues over before they’re handed around-” Cornelius turned and began to leave the room. The white and red robes did not follow him around. “Hey! I’m talking to you! Get Moira down here-”

“I leave it in your hands, Lazarus, Redd. Please do your best to show our guest the folly of his ways.”

“You think Moira’s going to be alright with this?!” John yelled at the old man’s back.

The Sage stopped in the mechanical doorframe.

“She wouldn’t be, would she? Whatever this is... it’s her father that’s really ordering it, isn’t it? Is it alright, disobeying your Warden like this?”

The minions were silent. The Sage turned, his eyes squinting in disbelief. “You think to use my faith against me, child? The Warden would have us speak to you, to convince you to cease your treacherous ways and abandon the Cabalist to our authority. She did not prescribe the means of our mediation, but she will witness their efficacy.”

“You’re just twisting her orders, then!”

“Leave him to us, sir,” Redd suddenly declared with a low, gravely rumble in her voice, “and we’ll work to make sure he has manners when next you speak to him.”

John didn’t break from the Sage’s stare. “I know what’s coming... I’ve seen what you do.”

The Sage turned... and took slow, measured steps towards the bound mage. “I don’t expect she had occasion to, but... did the Warden ever tell you of when she fell ill as a child?”

“No... but I saw it in your information. You saved her, I know.”

The Sage nodded, seemingly unsurprised. “She was set to perish years before the Golden Rose could preserve her against the magical sickness--a curse and disease hybrid, really--that had been inflicted upon her as part of a conspiracy to defeat the Order. Lord Brighton might share the story of that plot’s end one day... but mine is the more humble tale. I toiled and worked out a careful cure involving ten pounds of rat fur and the horn of a demon distilled into a vile concoction that, as my studies proved, could translate certain chemicals into physical and magical channels along the body simultaneously.”

The Sage was now inches from John as he spoke. As if in response, the rack slowly moved forward to prop John up and **** him to stand on bound legs. Cornelius continued, “I cured that child with a tincture that would kill an elephant if not for that horrid extraction... but with that mixture, I killed a biological curse, an unprecedented vector of attack that had baffled our Hospitalers, though wise and talented they be." The old man shrugged as he pressed his wrinkled robe. "Of course, once the youth got a hold of it, the Order has ten panaceas developed as a result of my work, each one costing far less resources... such is the power of the new ways. But that day, perhaps for the last time, the old ways won the day. The enemy was defeated, the child was saved... and the Brighton line of Wardens was secured.”

“Thank you.” The Sage flicked a confused glance at John as he spoke. "Thank you for saving Moira."

The Sage’s expression softened. “All I did and do is for the Lady... but you’re welcome. But how do you think the Warden-to-be took this?” John remained silent. “Grateful, hmm? Humble, perhaps, in how narrowly she escaped her enemies? I don't seek praise, of course... but certainly one would expect something. But I'll tell you what our noble Warden did in her young years: she kicked me! Her mouth tasted of rat fur for a week, you see, and so she asked who cured her... and then she walked right into my sanctuary and kicked me, right in the shin!” the Sage exclaimed with a coarse, throaty laugh, slapping his left thigh as he continued, “A bruise for weeks and a sore bone for saving her life and defeating a new plague! A kick! Oh, and if you think a child’s kick is nothing, pray tell, let a Brighton child toe your poor legs right on with polished dance shoes before a-!”

“This isn’t the same,” John hissed, "not by a long shot."

“But it is,” the Sage sighed as his laughter faded, “because she remains my student, Warlock... and this will prove an invaluable lesson as to her duties not yet detailed by the Lady. So play with words and make your assertions all you like: perhaps she would object to this, just as she would object to the flavor of rats. As ever, I will do what is best for her because, by the Lady's inspiration, I know what is best for her.” The Sage turned and marched spiritedly through the doorway. “But if you truly care for her, John Newman, then spare her this bitter medicine, this foul taste of your tenure in this hole... and give up the Cabalist.”

The doors began to close as John yelled after the old man, “I can’t do that in this barrier and without mana-!”

“You wouldn’t, either... not as you are now.”

The Sage’s last reply was neatly ended by the automated doors slamming shut... leaving John with his “caretakers.” He eyed them to take in their tools and appearances: the Hospitaler wore the red stole of her merciful station, and no additional tools could be seen anywhere apparent on her robes. Though she was likely still in her late 20's, her bitter expression and narrow face gave her decades of age beyond her own. The Confessor’s surplice, woven in lace of that same dark crimson, poorly hid what appeared to be some form of utility belt with pouches, though their contents remained obfuscated. Lazarus, black-haired and triangular in his almost chinless, clean-shaven face, was the first to open his mouth, but his was a hushed, humble tone after the Sage's exit. “You do not trust me... and I do not blame you. The Cabal is a horrible institution... and even its former members are guilty of being horrible enough to survive within it at some point."

“All the more reason to release the fiend you think worthy of protecting,” Redd added, “and beg the Warden for forgiveness.”

The Hospitaler used Moment of Peace, but you’re immune to illusions!

John continued to stare back in defiance. Redd scowled at the bound boy. “Then it’s true: he cannot be **** into peace.”

“Perhaps... or perhaps there is something more. I was told an absurd detail by one of the knights who required healing... let us see if it is true.”

Lazarus vanished to John’s left and out of sight, worrying the Gamer.

-0HP

A minor, dull pain on John’s shin suggested the source of the damage, and his body jerked in reaction as cool metal slid across his skin.

“Incredible...” John’s eye struggled to see Lazarus as he spoke to his left, but the Confessor had done well to hide himself. “Perhaps Lord Brighton’s hallowed blade can overcome this enchantment... but even this blessed tool? Not a scratch.”

Redd watched with a quiet interest.

“A full body enchantment, to ignore the mundane frailties of flesh? Such sorceries do not come without a price, surely...” Lazarus’ hand briefly flashed into sight before stabbing John with what looked to be a golden kris.

-2HP

A sharpened but still minor pain reached John, enough to tighten his jaw, but his damage resists and regeneration patched the damage as quickly as it came. The Gamer continued to say nothing.

“Look, not so much as a dent!”

“He is warded alright,” Redd muttered, “but what does that matter against the rods of penance?”

“Man,” John hissed, “I hope that’s not as kinky as it sounds.”

Redd glowered at the tied up teen. “Penance, you filthy-minded Warlock, not penis!”

“I didn’t say that; you did.”

“That’s quite enough,” the Confessor muttered. John waiting in the awful silence of Lazarus’ work, save for the occasional shuffle of cloth or ring of metal. John felt a pressure on his hip, something stiff and unwelcome, and so the Gamer immediately prayed to any god that would listen:

Please don’t let that be his fucking d-

Confessor tried to use Wand of Pain I, but you’re immune!

Please don't let that be the name of his fucking d-

“Not so much as a wince or a wail,” Lazarus sighed as he stood into view, his hands holding aloft the thinnest of the row of golden wands he had holstered.

Thank fucking Jesus.

He tapped its warm touch to John’s neck, shoving it uncomfortably against his throat, but the inert rod simply caused the same message to pop up three more times. Lazarus swapped tools, lifting towards John’s face the thickest, fattest, nearly cock-like shaft he had. Redd watched with rapt, wide-eyed attention.

Confessor tried to use Wand of Pain VI, but you’re immune!

“You touch yourself thinking about days like these, don’t you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Lazarus replied.

Redd said nothing. John winked at her... though given his only visible eye, it seemed more a blink. Still, Redd continued to watch in irritated silence.

“Curious... immune to peace and pain alike, clear reactions to being stabbed... yet the flesh turns away any harm...”

“Immunity to magic, then?” Reds offered.

“We would not be draining his mana if it were so; even these devices are built on some arcane infrastructure.”

“Ah..."

Lazarus stared at his fat stick before holstering it. “The rods of penance do not inflict harm but merely the feeling of harm... and the peace prayer Hospitalers are taught puts them... yes, yes...” Lazarus grinned with a bright-eyed realization. “Perhaps... he resists the power of the Lady? These infernal mana-drainers are drawn from the designs of a rogue mage in the 19th century... let us see..." Lazarus pulled up his sleeves before he began tapping rapidly on his left forearm with his fingers in random sequences. John watched the bizarre process with curiosity.

Redd was far less curious. "Lazarus, are you using your-"

"Only ever the safe ones," the Confessor quickly muttered, "lest my soul risk taint anew."

John eyed the continuing gestures, brushes, and taps of the strange, almost sign language-like casting. The Hospitaler's unease was soon his own. This isn't Order magic... or else it's something he's not supposed to-

The gestures broke into the middle-aged Confessor slamming his fists together twice.

Lazarus tried to cast Tear the Peasant Mind on you, but you're immune!

"For someone who says they're not Cabal, 'Tear the Peasant Mind' sure sounds like a Cabal spell."

Lazarus blinked in wonder. "How did you... no, how did you know its... who are you, Mr. Newman?"

"What did the Warlock do? Did it work?"

"N-No," the ex-Cabalist whispered, "not only did it not work, but... but he knows the original name of that spell. Only one of the Sages in London... or a Cabalist... would know such a thing!"

<What a piece of work.>

What did he try to do?

<It's not a particularly good spell; you just saw how long and how complicated its somatic component is, nevermind that this pissy pain priest probably put pitiful pails of power behind it. It's also outdated: **** the **** Brain has far more user-friendly features that->

Juni.

<Hmpf... aye, it's just a memory editor... or memory eraser, more like.>

"We know he's no Sage... and he harbors a Cabalist. I believe you've discovered the truth, Confessor Lazarus-"

"You guys are jumping," John interrupted, "I can just tell the names of spells you jerks keep trying to cast. Moment of Peace, Bindings of Confession, all that."

Lazarus fell into silent brooding.

I've got to convince them of the truth... The Gamer glanced once at his interface to center it over his hand, brought up the small menu for his auras... and flicked on the one he had all but sworn not to use.

You've enabled Cult of Personality.

Their information sheets were still hidden from John, so he couldn't be sure of their levels or relationship scores... but Redd's face eased considerably. If Lazarus' had been affected, he didn't seem to show it.

Cult of Personality has reached level 3!

"Look," John suddenly declared, breaking the oppressive silence, "you want Juniluny. Maybe you think she has information you can use, maybe you want to **** her for justice, I don't know."

"We would never-"

"The point is that you can just ask me any question you'd ask her, and I will **** her to give you the answers you want as a show of good faith. How about it?"

"Hardly a clever ploy," Lazarus retorted, "given what little she'd know."

Juni, give me something to work with.

<Why are you playing your hand so sodding early-my safehouse is in Sunny Heights, an apartment building. Mine is 201. The mattress has an illusion spell hiding the fact that I carved out half of it to hold my materials and portable alchemy laboratory- you blighted boy! Wretching wrangler of... wrought...!>

Will that impress them?

<Probably, but don't you focking dare! I haven't cleaned the place out; I've still got schematics there that I didn't have the time or mind to stash in my Maze laboratory! I can save those, at least, before these golden gotchas get their gruesome grips on->

Schematics?

<Of the school, of a device to construct to fight back against that awful witch, and a whole plot you tinkled away by putting me in this gods damned Temple.>

Ah... so nothing valuable enough to keep.

<Oh-ho-ho, aren't you a cheeky little-!>

"I know the location she was working out of. You could confirm that easily enough, right?" Lazarus rubbed his chin as Juniluny cried foul between John's ears. Redd watched with rapt attention... though now John saw that her eyes were drifting all about his mostly nude body. Oh boy...

"That's... a proposition..."

"What do we do?" Redd whispered, albeit uselessly in this tight, quiet chamber.

"Shh... it's fine."

John looked between them with suspicion. What are they worried about...?

"There are traps, I'm sure?"

John closed his eye as he battled with Juniluny for the information. "Yes," he finally replied, "but it's deactivated manually: five knocks on the doorframe, followed by a fairly accurate rendition of the starting portion of 'Shave and a Haircut' on the door just below the knob. If you do it correctly, the door unlocks. If you do it incorrectly, the door finishes the melody." A pause of disbelieving, irritated stares. "She's a hobbit, you know."

<Halfling, you crude beast! Bad enough you think my people aren't even real-!>

"So she is. No other traps?"

"The entire room is warded to explode on entry if the door remains engaged."

"A lazy practitioner... if she speaks the truth." More angry barks from the halfling that John quieted with a command. Lazarus weighed his options... and John continued to suspect the reason for his hesitation. "I will go alone and verify this information. Give me the address."

"Give me your word that you won't bother torturing me anymore if you find what you're looking for."

Lazarus nodded without hesitation. "I give you my word without question: you will not be tortured should the alleged Cabalist's information prove true."

A few minutes passed as John covered the details Juniluny managed to provide. Satisfied, the Confessor gave John one more look as he considered his position. C'mon, you fucking Cabal-Order stooge... give this up, go play detective, and let me try and bust the fuck out of here!

"Hospitaler Redd," Lazarus declared without looking at her.

Said Hospitaler stopped ogling John with a startled, "Oh! Y-Yes?"

"Would you remain in this cell while I investigate this claim?"

"Ah... are you certain? You should not go alone-"

"I am certain. We cannot rely on the Knights, and I trust no Hospitaller more than you to ensure that his 'treatment' continues without error."

John raised his only visible eyebrow at that. What's the problem with Knights?

"As... you wish, Confessor Lazarus. Go with the Lady's protection." The two colleagues bowed, and with the delay of the huge, mechanical door, the Confessor departed... leaving John with a blushing, middle-aged woman who had seemed intent on helping to **** him only moments ago.

"Redd, was it?"

"Please, do not speak."

"Moira doesn't know what you two are doing here, does she?" The Hospitaler remained silent. "I wonder if even her dad knows."

"Be silent."

"Your secret's safe with me," John offered humbly. "I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you."

"I... can hardly believe that," she hesitantly scoffed.

"Well, Lazarus, maybe... but I know you trust him, so I'll trust him for now. But definitely not to you." Time to see how far this Charisma score can get me.