Last of the Mastiff Riders, Part 4

Tirn shifted uncomfortably in the creaking chair, feeling the weight of the room bearing down on him. His eyes darted around, taking in the dimly lit surroundings and the formidable mastiffs that flanked him, their low growls resonating in the air. With a mix of fear and desperation etched on his face, he turned his attention back to Yesola.

A bead of sweat trickled down Tirn's forehead as he stammered, his voice laced with apprehension. "H-Hold on there," he pleaded, his hands trembling slightly. "I-I'll answer anything you want to know."

Yesola's piercing gaze bore into Tirn, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of skepticism and determination. She knew the value of the information he held, and it was unlikely he would be so willing to part with anything true or valuable.

Her gaze bore into Tirn with unwavering determination, her eyes narrowed in a stern and unyielding manner. She could sense his apprehension, the weight of the situation pressing upon him. With a firm voice, she cut through the tension in the room, her words laced with authority.

"We're tracking some potential Numenarian agents," Yesola began, her tone leaving no room for evasion. "Some of them were spotted in your tavern a fortnight ago. What do you know about them?"

Tirn shifted uncomfortably in the chair, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He glanced between Yesola and Ferun, searching for any hint of leniency, but found none. With a mixture of fear and desperation, he stammered out a response.

"I-I don't know anything about any Numenarians, what could they want ‘round these parts" Tirn protested, his voice laced with unease. "All I’ve seen lately is the usual crowd, and a few traveling merchants."

Yesola's expression remained unyielding, her eyes piercing through Tirn's feeble attempts at denial. She leaned in closer, her voice now a low, commanding whisper.

"We've heard otherwise, Tirn," she said, her voice filled with an unspoken warning. "We know they were here. And if you don't tell us what you know, you'll be complicit in their crimes."

“I swear it, i-it’s only been the usual crowd lately”, a desperate attempt that Yesola easily dismissed.

Yesola's acknowledged the futility of expecting Tirn to willingly divulge the information she sought. It was clear that more drastic measures were required. With a swift motion of her hand, she gave Isaree and Narian a command to pin Tirn's wrists with their mouths, preventing any attempt to resist. Isaree lunged forward grabbing the first wrist with Narian a moment slower, just long enough for Ferun to give a nod of approval.

Drawing closer to Tirn, Yesola focused her magical energy, a dark intensity emanating from her very being. She knew the depths of her power, the ability to shape her healing magic into something it wasn’t. Placing her hand on Tirn's chest, she channeled her energy, weaving the threads of her spell with precision.

The effects were immediate. Tirn's breathing grew labored, his chest tightening as if invisible hands clenched around his lungs. The constriction of his blood vessels caused a rapid decrease in oxygen supply, leaving him gasping for air. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as panic set in, his body instinctively fighting against the invisible force that gripped him.

Ferun, witnessing the scene unfold, observed Yesola's calculated manipulation of her healing magic. The transformation of her abilities, from a force of restoration to a tool of intimidation, left him momentarily stunned. It was a testament to Yesola's mastery and adaptability, her understanding of how to bend her powers to suit her needs.In their line of work, sometimes the most effective tools were the ones that skirted the boundaries of morality. It was a testament to their commitment to the mission, to go to whatever lengths were required to ensure the safety of their people.

As Tirn struggled for breath, his eyes wide with fear, Yesola maintained her unwavering focus. She knew the line she treaded, the delicate balance between extracting the necessary information and causing lasting harm.

As the effects of Yesola's spell continued to take hold, the room filled with a palpable tension. Time seemed to slow, every passing second feeling like an eternity as Tirn's struggles intensified. Yesola, unyielding in her pursuit of the truth, maintained her unwavering gaze, her voice cutting through the haze of panic.

"Now, Tirn," Yesola spoke, her tone laced with a mix of authority and urgency. "Tell us what we need to know, and this pain will end."

Tirn's relentless denial continued even as Yesola allowed for intermittent breaks in the torment. Hours had passed, the night enveloping them in its silent darkness. Yesola, her determination unwavering, sighed with a mix of frustration and grim resolve. She knew she had to escalate her methods to break through Tirn's resistance.

With a deep breath, Yesola locked her gaze on Tirn, her palms finding their place on either side of his temples. She drew upon the wellspring of her magical energy, channeling it into a new spell. A dark, purple fog materialized from her hands, swirling and coiling with an ominous aura. The fog slowly expanded, enveloping Tirn's head, obscuring his vision and filling his senses with an oppressive presence.

The agony that washed over Tirn was far more intense than anything he had experienced before. A scream tore from his throat, his entire body convulsing in a desperate attempt to escape the torment but remained pinned to his spot by the mastiff’s powerful jaws. Yesola's words cut through his cries of pain, her voice resolute and unyielding. "You can scream as loud as you want, Tirn," she declared, her tone carrying a chilling certainty. "But my barriers ensure that no one will hear us."

Thrashing about in a futile struggle, Tirn's resistance began to crumble. The relentless assault of Yesola's magic tore at the fabric of his being, shattering his defenses. The torment became unbearable, pushing him to the brink of his endurance. Finally, in a moment of desperate surrender, Tirn screamed, his voice laced with anguish, "Stop, please! Okay, I'll tell you anything, just please, stop!"

Yesola, sensing Tirn's breaking point, released him from her spell, her hands slowly retreating from his temples. As the dark fog dissipated, Tirn's head dropped, his body trembling from the aftershocks of pain. A few tear drops escaped his eyes, cascading down his face before falling from the tip of his nose. In that vulnerable moment, he looked up at Yesola, his gaze a mixture of fear and defeat.

"There were some strange folks," Tirn began, his voice strained and weary. "They came by a fortnight ago, stayed in the tavern for a day before moving on." The words spilled forth, the dam of resistance finally breached.

She allowed Tirn a moment to collect himself, to catch his breath and steady his shaking form. The weight of their actions hung heavy in the air, the remnants of pain and desperation lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

“What else Tirn, what did you hear while they stayed in your tavern?”

Tirn picked up his head, locking eyes Yesola and slowly began speaking, his breathing still labored, “they barely spoke a word the whole time they were here, something abou’ meeting up with others in the Dead Wood. The next day, after they had gon’, a couple of hunters came in talking about what must have been them heading south east. I’d swear on anythin’, this is all I know.”

Yesola, her expression a mix of relief and grim satisfaction, nodded in acknowledgement. She had obtained the information they needed, but the toll it had taken on both Tirn and herself was undeniable. Magic was not without its cost, and the effects were beginning to exhaust her.

"We are done here," Yesola said softly.