[h1][color=slategray]Lord of Owls[/color][/h1]
 
A needle.

A needle in the shoulder. Burrowing, deeper and deeper. The soldier's vision quickly reinstates itself as he pries his eyes open, grunting in pain. A low yell as the needle scrapes against a bone, and suddenly, it retreats. The soldier hangs his head, breathing heavily. He feels his hands and feet bound by chains. He feels the splintered wooden chair pressing into his back. There is the faintest light from a lantern, seated on the rocky floor below. He slowly looks up at the figure conducting this cruelty. Regal garbs lead upward to a head lost in the darkness of the room, save for two enormous, blank white eyes. Peering through his own.
 
"Name." The figure says with a stern, muffled voice.
 
The soldier hesitated, but soon enough, he cracked. "Daron..." He said through short breaths, "Daronais... Wellant..."
 
"Role." The figure says.
 
"Go to hell..." The soldier replies halfheartedly.
 
The figure raises his hand and drives the needle through Daronais's other shoulder. He yells in agony, attempting to kick his feet and writhe free of his binds. All of his attempts are fruitless. Eventually he yields, and the needle is slowly removed. "Wess-... Wesserius..." He mutters, "I am... one of Wesserius'... reconnaissance agents..."
 
"Which places you upon a higher echelon than his troops. I stole you away while you crept upon Alscae in the night. Near the Tartarus mountain range." The torturer says, "[i]You[/i] have value."
 
"He doesn't [i]value[/i] any of us..." Daronais snapped back.
 
"Of course he doesn't." Sounded the figure, "You're nothing but tools to him. To me, however, you are flesh. Life. Sentience. And that's well enough to aid me in my pursuits." He leaned in closer to Daronais, revealing his horrid visage - dark, matted feathers, and a pointed beak. "You will tell me what you know of Wesserius's plans. Where he is going. What he intends to do. [i]Everything[/i]. You have two excuses. If you lie to me... the needle will tear the flesh again. Twice more beyond that... and you will regret your answers."
 
"I don't know anything..." Daronais says to him.
 
The torturer promptly raises his needle and pushes it between the soldier's lips, scraping the roof of his mouth before violently waving it out of his teeth. Daronais gags, spitting a bit of blood on the rock floor beneath his chair. He picks at the wound with his tongue as his captor wipes the blood off of the needle. "Lies..." He says, "Will only bring you [i]closer[/i] and [i]closer[/i] to the brink of the [i]alternative[/i] method. You do [i]not[/i] desire such. I know this. And many before you have as well." He paced around Daronais, holding the needle near his head. "Many nights. Many encampments. Many men lost in the dark. Few returned, [i]writhing[/i] in their sleep, spilling horrid things from between their bruised lips."
 
A cold, gloved hand rests itself upon Daronais's shoulder. He feels the needle at his cheek. And the faintest of whispers in his ear...
 
"[sub][i]Do you know who I am.[/i][/sub]"
 
"[sub]The...[/sub]" Daronais whispers back, "[sub]The Lord... the Lord of Owls...[/sub]"
 
The needle leaves his cheek.
 
"The Red Legion speaks little of me." The Lord of Owls says to him, "I am but chatter and gossip among your lessers. A rumor. A joke, even. [i]Especially[/i] to one such as Wesserius, so... [i]devoid[/i] of concern. But he's [i]sloppy[/i]... leaving a still-scorching [i]trail[/i]..."
 
The needle is once again set before Daronais's face.
 
"You have used one of your two excuses. Lie to me [i]twice more[/i]... and you will know true fear."
 
"It's the truth, I swear..." He replies, cringing, "The General... Wesserius, he, he never even delegates his charts or plans to us, he just... makes everything up as he goes along!" His answer was met with a slash across his forehead, which began to bleed rather profusely for such a small cut. "You've no exuses left. One more lie..." He gently placed his upon the soldier's shoulder and raised the needle to his eye.
 
"South!" Daronais said through quick breaths and sweat. "South! South, he's... I heard him say he was moving south, that's it, I [i]swear[/i]..."
 
The needle retreats.
 
"There's not much shortly south of Ignion worth burning." The Lord of Owls says, "The Wilderness... all mysteries and folklore. I know what he truly wishes to burn. People. Establishments. Civilization." He looks down at Daronais with those horrible eyes again. "He's headed for Maceron." The soldier does not respond, but merely hangs his head in shame, knowing he's outlived his usefulness by now. "Just... [i]kill[/i] me..." He mutters, "You got what you want, just..."
 
"No."
 
The needle raises under Daronais's chin, cutting him as the Lord of Owls meets his gaze. "I will send you back to him." He says, "I will have you tell him what you experienced here. You will tell him the Lord of Owls is [i]real[/i], and that I [i]am[/i] coming for him. He [i]will[/i] know fear that breaks down his wall of arrogance. And this time, so they have cause to listen to what they would normally denounce as inane [i]babble[/i]..."
 
He pulls a contraption from within his cloak and swiftly clamps it down on Daronais's head. Bars and wires shift and spread, firmly grasping his cranium and pulling his eyelids apart. He sees a differnent needle now... a red one... inch further and further towards his eye.
 
"You will be [i]marked[/i]."
 
There are screams. But no one hears them.
 
No one who cares.