Interview at the Mill

Germain stood outside the old mill watching his companions disappear into the evening fog. The rush of his recent combat had long since subsided, and now his muscles ached and sweat sat cold and clammy on his skin. The past hour had been full of unpleasant surprises, none of which bode well for him or his allies. He was hoping, possibly in vain, that the next hour would be more pleasant.

He lingered a few thoughtful moments.

The faces of Gil and Holm flashed before his eyes--not the pathetic failed assassins he had interrogated six months ago, but the twisted abominations they had just put to rest for good. With the help of the pretty and deceptively delicate LE, he had coaxed some very valuable information past their lips. It seemed they had paid dearly for it, and he felt bad for them. Even Holm, who would have been no more alive today if he had stayed in Germain's custody, would at least not have spent these long months as whatever he died as today.

With a slow, deep breath, Germain recovered his composure and turned towards the mill. He pushed his shoulders back, stretching out muscles tight from swinging his sword and shield. Settling into a confident stance, he walked back inside.

Although the room was dim, his sharp eyes could still make out the four bound prisoners (spot check). One of them was partially conscious, and had propped herself up against the mill's hopper. He stood quietly, listening to the labored breathing of the captives, the stream outside flowing around the sluice, and the rats scampering around the rafters (listen check). Confident that they were alone, he began to light the candles ensconced in the wall, bathing the room in flickering yellow light.

Four prisoners, Germain thought, are much better than one. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and he doubted that all of them would be hardened or cunning criminals. (setup for future sense motive checks) Which one would be smart enough to open up? Which one would rat them out if they got free? What sorts of affections did they hold for each other? Who is in charge? These are the questions he would keep in mind as he got them talking. Hopefully, he could get through the evening with a minimal amount of suffering. He simply wasn't in the mood to make any enemies or spill any more blood tonight.

The woman against the hopper glared at him groggily. Her left eye was swollen and red, and coagulated blood was pooled around her lashes. He opened his wine skin and wet his handkerchief, and squatting beside her gently wiped the blood away from her eye. When he was done, he leveled a cool and discerning look at her. "Have a drink," he said, holding the wine skin to her lips. "It won't hurt." Not waiting for a response, he tipped it back (diplomacy check).

"I knew those two before... well... I don't know what, exactly," Germain said. "Looks like their friends in the Guild didn't take kindly to them cooperating with me. Not that I gave them much of a choice." He punctuated the last sentence with a brief but stern look. "If I could let you go without talking to you, believe me I would. They tried to kill me, and I still wouldn't wish what happened on them. Unfortunately, it's not an option--I need you to tell me everything you know. I promise if you work with me I'll do my best to keep you safe."