The prisoner

"Yeah!" George beamed. "Ain't I good?"

TB put his head in his hands as the sound of chatter rose outside, signalling to him that the lead caravan had probably entered the holding compound. Half an hour until the merchants and riders and guards would flood out into the streets, including Me'tha into his tent. He hoped it was enough time to straighten George and Lenny out.

-----

The darkness surrounding Rastilina's head was not the dark cowl of the craved oblivion of death. The hood she wore was not tight enough to cut off her breathing, and the hands at her back guided her firmly, not even allowing her the off-chance that she would trip and impale herself on something.

She sighed heavily, the air smelling of baked meats and spices, her ears filled with the shouting of merchants vying for attention - a market obviously. And she was with a nut of an elf who thought she had been transformed instead of transchroniated, and had kept going on about sceptres of power or some such nonsense. It was enough to make a girl depressed, if she weren't already suicidal.

And since he seemed sure that she had this information, they were sure not to kill her. First the torturing, trying to get her to cough up the information that she might have had, then transporting to check it, then more torture for the 'truth'; it was a vicious cycle that had no promise of ending except by some unforseen blessing like rampaging barbarians or hungry animals, or...why, any number of things that could happen far enough off the beaten track.

Rastilina smiled darkly inside the blackness of shadow her hood provided. So, they wanted to know where a sceptre might be, did they? Shame about such items of great magical power: always found in the most deathly of areas.

-----

Far away, the possesor of one of the thirteen sceptres paused and sneezed. "Huh," he muttered, idly stunning a fly with his tail. "Perhaps Da Man should call for something to warm him up. Like one the beautiful ladies. But which one? They all love Da Man." He sighed, pondering. "It's hard to be Da Man, sometime," he complained.

------

TB folded his fingers together and rested his hands on the desk. "So, Me'tha. So good to see you. Who's your friend?" TB asked pleasantly, smiling as the elf entered. Behind him, given a focus, George and Lenny managed to glower quite intimidatingly.

"She's our reason for journey. You might want to be ready for a shock, though. She's somewhat strange looking," Me'tha managed.

TB sat emotionless, but in the back of his head a number increased. Me'tha had been drinking. He could tell. That certainly raised the prices he could ask. "I'm already sitting down. Would you like to? Or perhaps a drink?"