Closed to Bardulf

[phandalin]

[The last thing that Bardulf sees before he's taken is the foray of fight that's occurring to secure his safety. There's a penchant for a certain level of certained victory that Frulam has, and watching as they take her offer, she smiles wickedly to herself. There's never been a day in her life where she's been any different- from her younger days at Candlekeep as a yearning scholar, up until the day the great Wyrmspeaker proposed to her a type of life that she couldn't put down. To have power. To wield power. To bring destruction upon those who wished for balance. Frulam has only ever been this way; ruthless, demanding, all consuming. Her avarice had known no bounds and had only grown once she donned the purple robes.

And anyone with eyes could see the way that Langdedrosa Cyanwrath looks at her. A broodling... a possible lover. His loyalty to her is beyond the level of visceral that a half dragon ought, but it's her tenacity, her hatred that burns a bright and glorious path down the way for those to follow behind her. Frulam, of course, knows this, but cares little for her companions. For her, it's all business. There's no room for love in this twisted heart of hers, one that has seen too much and tasted the waters of Tiamat's eternal glory. She's too far gone, too broken to care about anyone that could try to reach her already dead heart. Maybe, maybe there was a time and a place for that in the past, but now? She only hungers to see those who wish to do good in the world suffer. She had learned the hard, cruel way- those that you open your heart to, those that are too pure and just in the world, are cut down by unworthy hands.

Unworthy hands like Bardulf's, and as he's crucified in position like the halfling was just a night ago, her look is cold and distant. Nothing can pierce her heart, not again.]

Tell me, Champion of Greenest.

Tell me your story.

Comments

[tablestop]

[The last thing Bardulf remembers is telling his companions to take that offer for a safe retreat before being knocked unconscious. Again. He would have loved for them to stay and fight for his retrieval, but they weren't strong enough for that. At least not in the state they were in at the time, but he doesn't expect them to return either. They barely knew him after all.

Bardulf has no clue how long he's been out for, but it's clear it's been long enough that his limbs already ache from being crucified like the man they'd rescued. He doesn't struggle against the bonds that hold him, only stares coldly back at Frulam.]

Fuck you.

[It's not said with the amount of force that he would normally say it with to someone he wants dead, but the vitriol he feels is still evident in his tone. His gut instinct is to spit in her face, but Bardulf hesitates to do so long enough that the moment for it to have any impact passes, and he continues to glare at her instead.]

[phandalin]

Is that how it's going to be my little mouse?

[Frulom was hoping it would come to this, hoping that she would have just the tiniest excuse to turn on Bardulf, to make him regret ever stepping foot into this nest of raiders. There's a dark smile that comes across her face as Langdedrosa is called forward.]

Electrocute him until he decides he's ready to talk. Bring a cleric, make sure he remains alive.

[And the dragon begins his long, painful torture of the man. It's not honorable to him to do this- but at the cornerstone of everything, his honor means nothing in the light of command.]

[tablestop]

[The threat means little to him at the time it's made. He knows he's a resilient man. He can handle whatever they throw his way when they're going to make sure he stays alive.]

Go to hell.

[It's the last thing he says before Frulam leaves him in the hands of Langdedrosa, and the last thing he says for quite some time. Bardulf has no clue how long it's been since the torture started, but it has to have been at least a few hours now. It could have been less than that, but it sure as hell doesn't feel like it. Regardless, he definitely overestimated his ability to not buckle.]

Stop.

[His voice is gravelly because he's growled his throat raw at this point and he sounds resigned to his fate when he finally speaks. Bardulf had done all he can to keep from giving Frulam the satisfaction of hearing him scream out in pain, resorting to only growling and grunting.]

[phandalin]

[Frulam is alerted a few hours later, sipping her afternoon tea in the delight of a broken human being, asserting her dominance over him like a feral canine turned domesticated. Nothing makes her happier than this sight and as she approaches Bardulf, she hums softly.]

It's okay. It's okay. [Cajoling and horrible in all its glory.] I'm here now, little one. Are you ready to talk? Are you ready to explain yourself? Or does the champion need a few more reminders of his place in this camp?

[Her twistedness knows no bounds, and an almost (almost?) apologetic half dragon watches on. Not honor.]

[tablestop]

[Even as broken down as he is, Bardulf still finds it in him to glare at her.]

You seem to know who I am, so what more do you need from me? What can I tell you that you don't already know?

[Stalling for time? Possibly. Even if he's ready to talk, it doesn't mean he's ready to show all his cards.]

[phandalin]

[That wasn't satisfactory enough. She shakes her head, sighs to her dismay. There's something... exhausting about playing a game where she knows she's going to win, but happenstance has it that it seems farther off than she'd imagine. This time, she doesn't use her general to do her bidding, and produces a long, darkly dyed leather whip.]

The tip is poisoned, you see. It leaves a welt that doesn't go away no matter how much you heal and makes you hallucinate eldritch horrors as well.

[Raising it, she wastes no time and cracks the first bit of skin it can touch, flush snap against Bardulf's chest.]

[tablestop]

[Bardulf hisses in pain as the whip hits him. It stings more than he thought it would. The effects of the poison don't take hold immediately, but sure enough, it doesn't take long for him to know that he was not lied to about what it would do.

As strongly as it tore into his flesh, it was tearing into his mind. His ability to focus was fading fast as hallucinations begin to crop up in the corner of his vision, and unearthly sounds fill his ears. He knows it's not real, but with each second that passes, it's harder to accept that as the truth.]

You bitch.

[There's a madness to his tone as his diminishing lucidity is starting to seep out.]

I'll kill you.