Elsewhere throughout the cave, necromantic energies were swirled and directed towards assorted projects. Crows hung lifelessly from the stony outcroppings above, their dead eyes peering downwards at all that passed, unmoving from their silent vigil as they kept watch on everything occurring within the area. Noth was not entirely certain whether or not the necromancer in his employ was actually gazing through their eyes on a fairly regular basis, or whether they had simply been called to those places to give the impression of surveillance, but either way, there was an uncanny sensation of being observed the deeper one went into the cavernous depths.
Further still, chains rattled and shook constantly as the fiercer undead ravishingly grasped and clutched towards whatever meat had decided to make itself known to them. Their ferocity was unmatched in all of the denizens of the cavern, though even these stilled themselves into a catatonic absence as the twilight hybrid stepped by, their innate origins having been designed with him in mind. There were certain rules that their creator had implanted into their minds from conception that would not allow them to bring harm to the avian warlord, and even in his absence, such biological programming prevented them from bringing harm. Indeed, even the monstrosities of the cave were not permitted to lay a hand upon the Prince of Eternal Mercies, nor did they have any desire in him whatsoever, treating him just as they would treat any other dead thing.
A few further bits of travel passed as he navigated himself past the torch-lit tunnelways, finally reaching a series of smaller outcroppings which had been worked upon with manual labor in order to ensure that the metallic doors they had purchased were capable of fitting within them and not being knocked aside by stray kinetic energies. The groaning exhalations of the tortured and the imprisoned reached his ears, and brought forth a sigh of disappointment from the Avriel, both at the suffering which he had inflicted, and the further agony which must surely follow before their inevitable release into that which exists beyond mortal life. He was not, actually, the chief interrogator in many cases, and he had begun to deviate from much of the interrogation processes, allowing his assorted Hands to take up the work so that there was a lessened emotional strain placed upon him.
Most people didn’t consider the mental agony that followed after the torturer. No, they focused upon the immediate, the physical suffering which was inflicted by blade or brand. True, such agonies were not to be discounted, and they were often times truly pitiable to observe, but few considered what it must feel like to be obliged to press the brand into a fellow man’s chest, to lash a blade across his fingers or to pry away his fingernails until only the whimpering echoes of words were left upon the tip of his tongue, the howling shrieks driven so deep into the psyche that they awoke only as vivid nightmares when one finally lay down to rest. Even the murderous Avriel had a limit, though his especial talents made him pivotal to the extraction process in far too numerous cases to count.
Outside of a particular door awaited a Defier whose knowledge of the arcane school had made him an excellent guardian for the pair of prisoners within. The Avriel nodded towards him, outstretching a hand towards the door, and with a wordless nod the Defier had entered into the room ahead of him to bind the child once more and prevent his abilities from being manifested. Afterwards, the Black Guardsman; he had grown remarkably less emaciated in the last few days, as though a flicker of his strength had begun to return, was removed from the chamber as was standard, and the twilight hybrid himself entered into the dimly-lit place, immediately stricken by the stench of confined feces in the corner bucket and the rugged terrain underfoot. He’d certainly need to make sure that the chamber was being cleaned at more often intervals, he noted with a further sigh, shuddering the metallic door behind him with a shriek of metal agony not uncommon in the torturous pits.
“Good trial, Finn. I trust that your meal was acceptable?” He began, refusing to make mention of whether it was morning, day, or night, because it was part of the process itself to not inform the child of how long he had been present, even if the relative timing of the intervals for his arrival was fairly consistent.
“We have much to discuss as always, and then, I will allow you to rest again, alright?”