Catching a killer [closed]

[arlathvhen]

WHO: Melys, Marisol, Iorveth, and Beleth
WHAT: Ostwick is having issues with a murderer and has asked the Inquisition to help. Which they do, for better or worse.
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Ostwick
NOTES: Killing, fake marriage plots, Melys,

Top levels will be in the post!

Comments

[aenseidhe]

Sleeping in trees or on the forest floor for the last hundred years has thankfully left Iorveth a light sleeper. While he doesn't wake at the beginning of the noise, the persistence of it starts to rouse him, especially once the window cracks completely open and a body starts to pass through.

His eye doesn't open more than a tiny slit to see the shape of the invader through, and he waits, still as the dead, until he can feel the floor boards near where he's laid shift with the weight.

Of course he's sleeping with a dagger in his hand. You really do not know Iorveth if you're surprised by that, and that's the blade that strikes out like a viper, sinking into the shadow's Achilles tendon before ripping outward.

"Beleth!" He calls out, as he rolls up to try getting a grip on the murderer's leg and bring them down, the other reaching for the arm holding the knife still.

also rolled a 2 rifp

[arlathvhen]

It's not her name being called that rouses Beleth, who was deeply enough asleep to go unperturbed at an entire parade going through the room. The figure, however, lets out a sharp, pained scream when Iorveth strikes, completely unprepared for an elf to be armed, or to be trained in using it.

It's the scream that rouses her--training makes her sit up immediately, the dagger that had been under her pillow now in her hand. But even training can't clear the sleep-fog from her head, and without an immediate danger to her person, she just stares at the two figures fighting with a dull surprise.

The figure falls to the floor with a heavy thud, but now that they're aware of Iorveth, even in pain they manage to swipe at Iorveth with their own dagger, their uninjured leg trying to kick out. "What the fuck--Who gave you a dagger?" He--for the voice is distinctly masculine--snarls, managing to be indignant even while wrestling on the ground.

Beleth, at this point, has managed to puzzle out that something is up, and has her own wrestling match with the blankets. "Just--wait, just a--I'm up--" And then, the dull thud of Beleth hitting the ground can be heard. Truly, a scoutmaster of renown.

[aenseidhe]

If Iorveth weren't busy trying to wrestle a knife away from a serial-killer, he might have laughed his fucking ass off at the elegant fall Beleth takes from the bed as she tries to get her wits together. Maybe she should've slept on the floor while he take the expensive comfy bed, keep her a little more awake while they wait to be murdered.

But he is busy, so Beleth's tumble goes unmocked (for now), as Iorveth's much more occupied trying to catch the leg still kicking at him, before he can draw the dagger still in his hand against some important tendons and ligaments at the back of his knee.

"The dead human I claimed it off as trophy, varh'he." Iorveth snarls, blocking the hand that swings the knife at him, trying to grab hold a tight hold of it. "I'll be glad to collect yours as well."

If he's able to capture that arm, he'll start to twist and twist and twist until the fingers release the blade. Soon as he's able, the man's palm will be shoves to the floor, and a dagger (either one now free, probably Iorveth's own) will be punched through his hand and into the floor below to pin him.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth is distantly glad that whatever mockery will ensue for her graceful rise from bed will have to wait. It’s embarrassing enough as it is, right in the moment.

Even the would-be killer is too preoccupied by Iorveth to take notice of the second occupant of the room, trying to struggle to keep hold of his dagger. A loud curse follows the sound of it dropping, and several more insults about armed elves follow, only cut short by the scream of pain when his hand is pinned to the floor by Iorveth’s dagger.

By now, Beleth has managed to gather enough of her senses to actually come help. The arm of the attacker that hasn’t been daggered to the floor gets a knee pressed into it as she slides over, and grabs the fallen dagger, handing it to Iorveth. The attacker struggles under the two of them, and settles for hissing threats of what he’ll do once he’s free, which start out unpleasant, and get worse, until Beleth grabs his chin, pressing her thumb into the flesh under the jaw.

“We should probably interrogate him, but killing him would satisfy the contract, I believe.”

[aenseidhe]

It's good Beleth leaves the option of simply killing him as one they'd seemingly have no concern about going with. Interrogation is no good if the prisoner doesn't fully believe they'll die as consequence.

"I suppose. Perhaps, if he can tell us something valuable, we can hand him to local authorities, rather than manage our own execution." Iorveth speaks, in the low, rough voice of a soldier with no scruples about murder, and no lack of experience in the art of it, eyes remaining on the criminal trapped under him. "Which, I promise you, will not be nearly so humane. Especially after such flattering comments on my people."

You've pissed him off, good job. Pulling up the dagger that'd been dropped, the point of it comes to rest against the man's throat, Iorveth leaning in to snarl over him.

"For every lie you tell, I'll claim a finger. Best hope you're convincing."

With that, he leaves Beleth to ask the questions, Iorveth taking up the role of executioner, if needed.