Sometime before Veltom the 20th.

"Heavenherds, of course yes, one of them owes me a great favor, and he could -"

The air fled from his lungs mid-sentence. Vureel toppled into the wall of the cell. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue rebelled, and forced it's way down his throat. He started choking.
"Speaking from experience," the interrogator began, "you should only answer truthfully if you are going to bother to answer at all. This process is significantly more pleasant than the other methods I have employed to gather information."

As Vureel gasped for air, the interrogator turned back to the guardsmen watching the door to the room. He gestured calmly. One of the three human guardsmen ran off and returned rapidly with a glass of water.

The Interrogator pushed the glass into Vureels hands as he sat on the floor against the wooden wall of the small room.

"Haven-herds" he said "do you have a book of their spells?"

Vureel seemed to be fighting against a pathological habit of lying. He mouthed something meaningless, but shook his head several times quickly.

"Do you know who does?"

Vureel's eyes shot up to the interrogator, and then rapidly fell away. There was no connection there, just a small peircing red disk floating before an expressionless metallic mask, reflecting his own crumpled figure.

Vureel's struggle was apparent. He slowly lowered his head, and brought it up again.

"Then I expect you will know what your new purpose is?"

Vureel immediately had no compulsion to lie. He shook his head.

"I can't, they will kill me for sure. They almost did twice, and now there are more of them!"

The interrogator raised a gloved finger to the front of his mask, and pressed it gently against Vureels lips. He flinched.

"You will have an opportunity. Right now, the Havenherds, an order of Masters decended from Messias himself are preparing to retrieve some stolen items, currently in possession of these Seven. You will take this opportunity to be among those bracing the attack. I have measured your abilities carefully, and you should have no problem impersonating one of the NightsWing. Once in place, you are to simply recover a few things for me. Does that sound unreasonable?"

Vureel turned his face down to the ground. His eyes revealing his search for a way out.

The interogator reached within his tight-formed coat and pulled out a small pouch. He emptied the contents into the palm of his gloved hand. It was a gem - about four inches long and cut jagged on the edges, like a fishhook. It shined in the dim light, even though it was almost coal black. If the stone could speak it would produce a neverending scream. The interogator held it between his gloved fingers, and lifted it up before his "face", appearing to examine it.

"Your cooperation is not optional. There are two ways this can be done..." he said conversationally.

Vureel's eyes grew wide, and he quickly answered. "I don't need that - I will do it... as... a challenge to myself."

The interrogator turned his head towards the prisoner, snapping the gem up in his fist.

"Good. That is the answer I expected. Stand up. You shall recieve a liason from us shortly. She will assist you in this endeavor."

Vureel stood cautiously, bowing his head slightly to avoid hitting the cramped ceiling of the cabin.
The interogator stood as well. Vureel half-started a motion to follow him out the door, but the interrogator didn't budge.

"Hold him." the interogator said calmly.

The guards rushed like a tidal wave, slamming Vureels frame against the wall and then the ground as he struggled. He uttered a shrill and panicked cry.

"NO! NO, I WILL DO IT!" Vureel screamed. He tried to squirm out of the guardsmen's grip, but the three of them overpowered him tremendously.

"As I said, there are two ways this can be done. With you dead, or with your unquestioning cooperation."
Vureel kicked and screamed, but one of the guardsmen put a gloved hand over his mouth.
"Struggling will only make this much more painful than I am intending it to be, human."
The interogator pulled open Vureel's shirt. His sweating chest was pounding up and down with his desperate breaths. "Calm your heart, little living thing, or all this might be for nothing."

He positioned the shard in his fingers like a scalpel and knelt before the shreiking prisoner.