Vizier Accomplice

[*Viann]

Nica offered a firm shake of the administrators hand before loosing the hold herself mutually. Their polite smile managing to draw one on her own lips, though it seemed unnatural, she didn't have lines on her face that'd indicate it to be a familiar emotion on her face. And it didn't last long.

"The prisoner has been identified as..."

She inhaled, walking to the measure at the front desk, inquiring for the proper documentation, an official Fated letter it'd seem. Displaying a flat expression at the Administrator after skimming through it and continued with a dry and sarcastic tone.

"... a tiefling named Hilurk Axedane. At least so "his Fated badge" suggests. According to the report I received from the Fated, the said Fated Namer has gone missing, shocking, and we can assume that extra charges of impersonating official, theft and potential murder can be considered under such pretenses. After all he has been witnessed utilising this fake identity in public collecting taxes, aggressively at that."

She did relax a little. Settling the Fated letter back to the desk, and instead reached down to her own notes of the case from a cylindrical metal case dangling on her belt. Nodding here and there as she listened to the administrator while re-familiarising herself with all the details.

"I can stand in the prosecution for the Harmonium, given enough warning to prepare and gather witnesses. Which shouldn't be all too hard. I've heard he is quite popular among the Planewalkers."

Still the tone dripping sarcasm as she offered a polite smile of her own. But she did get promptly more serious in the matter rather than delve with a poor attitude.

"Out of curiosity, how do you imagine the bail will be paid? Upon his possession was only what he wore, and the badge that's not even his, not a single jink. And his only known relations with the Fated are dispelled, and the other accomplices that they are known to have are wanted criminals. And I'm rather certain whichever random person will walk here with money will be mind-controlled at best, thus an indictable offense of Domination."

((Also calm down Shadowcryer, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. =) ))

[*Scintilla]

The Guvner proceeded to quietly scribble down several additional notes with the new information, the enchanted quill in hand scurrying across one parchment of many contained within her file. Absently nodding a few times as the Measure spoke, the raven haired woman shifted her papers in order and finally looked up from her notes.

"If I have learnt anything in this city, Ma'am, it's that if there is a will, all too often there is a way;" Chersk offered in response, a small smile returning to her visage beyond the crease of brows that came with concentrated thought. "A few extra cogs spared for hired basher will do wonders in such an instance. I am quite sure his associates with will be able to figure it out." The woman's ruby lips twitched briefly with a mild hint of amusement behind the dour mask of professionalism. "Regardless, it is not my problem."

The flicker of expression was one that passed as quickly as it had appeared, the tiefling returning her attention to the growing file in hand and leafing through several pieces of parchment. After what seemed a very drawn out minute or three, a secondary piece of paper was offered in the Measure's direction detailing court procedures and explanation. All information Nica would be aware of, but alas Guvners are nothing if not thorough. "Very well then, Measure." the fiendish Administrator spoke in conclusion. "I shall be in further contact as required."

With that, the busy tiefling turned on heel with a flick of spade-tipped tail, and moved for the exit; muttering to herself about trials, defendants and judges all the while.

[*rapsam2003]

Several days after the bail was posted, long enough for the general public to know of the bail and its amount...a mute female slave arrives at the Barracks. She holds a note in one hand & a large bag of jink in the other hand. The handwriting in the note is blocky and barely readable.

For the tiefling Hilurk's bail, accept this 5000 jink.

When questioned as to where she comes from or who her master or mistress is, the slave holds open her mouth. She has no tongue. She also points to her ears, which appear mangled. The slave then shrugs and tries to leave, depositing the note and the bag of jink on the desk of the Notary on duty.

[*Scintilla]

The woman's arrival was greeted by a grunt from the Measure, the bald-headed man readjusting his eyepatch with a squint for her current state of being. Whether this was because her dirty feet had left marks upon the recently mopped floor, or because he somehow pitied the waif that stood before him, the Hardhead's dark brows creased in a mild frown and he reached out to pluck the note from the slave's grasp.

"Hilurk? Ain't got no one..." the words trailed off with another quiet grunt and the shake of his head, the leftmost side of his upper lip curling into a faint sneer. "Right, of course they'd still be referrin' to him by that name..." Tossing down the wrinkled piece of parchment, he simply shook his head and jotted a note in the nearest binder under the given alias "Roland", Bail: Paid.

Standing shortly after, the Measure moved to approach the mangled woman; his one good eye roving over her person for signs of a brand or collar that would identify her as a slave. Failing that, a simple, "Papers?" was questioned with an expectant extend of gloved hand.

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Further down the hall, under the guidance of Measure One Gramodur, several armed and armored Harmonium move to secure the room with the steady march of booted strides. From the evidence locker, a box is delivered by a runtish Namer; the figure a-tremble in his first week 'on the job'. Within, Archibald's personal effects rest collected - tattered robes and the discarded bandages that wrapped his hands and and feet, as well as any additional belongings.

"Get up, scrub." the half-orc grunted with the heavy thwap of his halberd on the bars, the sound ringing to echo in the most abrasive of waking alarms. The jingle of keys would follow as the looming figure unhooked the ring from his belt with large, brutish hands, but he did not yet move to unlock the cell. "Bail's been paid," he explained begrudgingly through thick tusks, eyeing the bald-headed man with beady eyes.

"This is how things are goin' to work, Roland," continued Gramodur, key in hand. "The terms of ya bail are as follow: Ya don't leave the city. Ya don't engage in any unlawful activities - inclusive of fraternizing with known criminals. Ya turn up to ya court date. Failure to comply with this rule of three means ya give up ya rights to a fair trial, meanin' you break 'em? Ya found guilty, an' tha Mercykillers get tha fun of dealin' with ya sorry arse. Won't be no savin' you then. Understood?"

The Measure stood, glaring down the length of his wide nose as he peered into the cell. Broad shoulders rolling with a dull clank of crimson armor as he waited a response from the man within.

[*rapsam2003]

As soon as the Measure held out his hand for her papers, the slave tried to scurry towards the door. She looked back, an emotion that was not quite terror but more than fear on her face. From the general view of her face at this angle, she'd be pretty if she wasn't afraid and a body overlooked her ears. The woman makes a whining noise as she attempts to leave. The slave very obviously has no desire to be here when the prisoner arrives in the outer hall.

[*Shadowcryer]

The first thing one entered could notice, was a very strong odor of brimstone, like cell being full of barrels with gunpowder. When half-orc entered, Archibald remained in his meditation pose, like he was not moving for days, but his bed suggested otherwise. As jailer arrived, criminal produced a demonstrative sigh.
Sorcerer was not quick to show any joy of situation, neither to get up, atleast, while door is closed. Sitting with crossed legs on the floor, he turned his eyes up to the Gramodur.

-Yet I am not aware about the date of a trial. And how exactly it usually happens. - He said that almost like he was not actually care of it, just showing a fake interest instead.

[*Scintilla]

As the enslaved woman reaches the door, both heavy halberd of the guarding Harmonium dip to cross and barr the exit with a clash of iron. Shaking his head and slowly bringing a gloved hand up in backward sweep of bald head, the towering man sighed and moved away from his desk to pace after the mangled figure; weathered features softening just slightly. The Measure himself would proceed to check over the woman, for mark, brand or collar; something to simply identify her as owned property and not a dominated subject.

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Measure Gramodur, on the other hand, was far less patient as he remained standing on the outside of the cell; barred gate remaining locked tight. The questioning drew from him a gutteral murmur and the commanding bark to nearest Namer that would add dual sheets of parchment to the man's belongings, one Court Order whilst the second would explain the legal process.

Lifting her voice, that same Namer would clear her throat and offer explanation. "Mister Roland, Court is to convene on the ((TBA)) of 132Ha. The Fraternity of Order will assign a lawyer to your case, whom will attempt to make contact with you in arrange of legal defense against charges made. He, she, they or it will walk you through the appropriate steps to ensure the process is as streamlined as possible..." The woman's explanation was cut short by the grunt of the half-orc anew, and with the look that came her way, she quietened with a small nod of her helmet in understanding.

Gramodur's beady eyes returned to the bald-headed captive, evidently awaiting his conformation of rights before even entertaining the idea of unlocking the cell door. "Ya don't leave the city. Ya don't engage in any unlawful activities and ya turn up to ya court date." the Measure repeated in a rumbling baritone, silver key tapping against the lock in a steady, rhythmical motion. "We clear?

[*Viann]

Measure one Nica does intervene along side the process twice. First is that among the warlocks possessions, the Fated badge is getting confiscated, if it is being requested, her reply is simple.

"This badge is property of the Fated, for the duration of the investigation and legal matters, it remains confiscated by the Harmonium. Waiting for its due return to the Fated. If you indeed are a member of the Fated, you will need to go to the Hall of Records and sort this out through official venues. But we have a reasonable doubt that you are not."

The second count where Nica intervenes with the due process is indeed to lead the supposed slave messenger. She looked at the mutilated figure with disgust, although the emotion didn't appear aimed at the figure itself, it was deeper than that.

"I need to talk with the slave in private. I have reasons to believe that there may be faulty play at hand."

She'd look at the Fraternity member at the last part. Her lips had thinned to an even line as she displayed her usual stern and stoic expression. Then looked back at the slave, a more sympathetic gaze cast at the mutilated female. She'd approach them, and do nothing stupid like attempt to talk to them. It had been proven ineffectual after all. Instead she elected to use her body language, giving softer gestures for her to follow, firm, but polite. Incase such attempt is met with a failure, she would proceed down the route of silence, and instead get an empty parchment from the front desk to quill them a message.

"We need to communicate, in private."

Then she proceeded to take her to the private, her finally earned ever so tiny office. Documentation storage more like, but then she was merely a measure. She'd have them both seated, and food and drink produced, for the slave. She'd quill down another message for the mutilated female.

"You are currently kept under protective custody, until the legality of any slave ownership permits can be verified conclusively. That means of course that I'm going to need to know your, legally speaking, owners name."

Nica would then offer the quill and paper to the woman. Gesturing her to write as she pleased, but she would not rush her, nor force her.

((fixed! My bad, not sure how I got that wrong because you are right!))

[*rapsam2003]

The slave looks rather relieved once she is out of the outer hall. When ushered into a room with Measure Nica, the slave looks rather confused. The woman cann tell that Nica is talking, but all she does is make gurgling sounds and half-whiny noises. When the note is put in front of her, she looks even more confused. Finally, seeming to get a vague idea, the slave repeatedly points at at the brand on the back of her neck, pushing her ragged hair out of the way. The brand only shows that the slave was sold in the City of Brass. There doesn't seem to be any identifying marks indicating owner. Presumably, the owner has her papers of ownership, but the owner didn't see fit to put his or her own mark on the slave.

After a short time, the slave just sits there, smiling and occasionally making noises akin to hiccups. Apparently, this is her way of expressing happiness.

((Edit: To clarify, the slave isn't stupid or mentally impaired. She just can't talk, hear, read, or write. Her only form of vocalization are noises that come from her throat.))

[*Shadowcryer]

A cruel smile appeared on Archibald's face.
-Of course we are... - He said, getting ready to stand up.