"Our purpose here is two-fold, Count Elm.  First, we are doing what we can to help the dwarves.  Their able-bodies protectors have been depleted by the war and illness such that they could not even keep clear an infestation of the rust monsters.  By Iehovah's will, their disease is gone.  We brought them here to find shelter and safety behind your walls since they are allies of yours."  Sypher spreads his hands wide.  "Second, my unit is a special operations unit called Eisenwolf out of Langdon.  We specialize in stealth and guerilla tactics doing jobs larger units can't.  In short, we're here to help."  He gives a slight bow and lowers his hands.

Shiaran wanders about seeming at random.  Her path takes her close to Rebort whom she pats on the shoulder.  "Hey big guy.  How was the trip?"  She keeps her voice low so as not to overpower Sypher's voice in Elm's magical listening glass.  "I know things are a bit odd.  Just remember, Sypher is a good commander.  Let him do the talking and we'll be okay.  He's as honest as they come, eh?  If you have any questions, I'll answer them in a more comfortable setting, okay?"

R.E.B.O.R.T. looks at Shiaran's hand upon his shoulder, then looks at her. "This line of questioning does not concern me. Our presence here harbors no ill intent. Should the Count's loyalty lie with the crown, we will be free soon enough. The trip, however, was quite eventful. All sorts of new lichen and subterranean life to catalog."

"I see.. and who commissioned this Eisenwolf unit at Langdon without so much as sending a memo to the Crown".

"Grand Admiral Driggs was the primary officer in charge of the commission, sir.  Also present at our inception were Lieutenant Commander Haskell, Captain Amithra, and Commander Brask among a lot of others.  It was at a dinner at Langdon just before the PCA attack that wiped out the base and the surrounding city.  I have the commission papers in my pack."  Sypher's voice is matter of fact, calm and composed with no hint of subterfuge.  Considering Glenn's undercover actions and the lack of communication admitted by the count, Sypher did not consider himself at liberty to discuss the Admiral with him and so left him out.

"And I take it then you are this expositions leader, Mr..?".

"Lieutenant Sypherion Whiteraven, sir.  Yes sir, I am the commander of the unit."

There is a long and uncomfortable pause. "Of.. house, Whiteraven then?".

"Yes, sir."  Sypher is instantly on edge from the tone of the Count, though he does not understand much of why the Count would act the way he is toward the name.  Though aware of the history of his family, the significance of his family was not conveyed to him by the monks.  This was probably done to protect him and Shiaran...or more likely to protect others from them.

Sypher never learned who ordered the genocide that reduced House Whiteraven to only himself and Shiaran.  As far as he had been concerned, it no longer mattered.  Now, it seems, it might.

There is another long and uncomfortable pause. A different voice emanates in the room this time. Shiaran and Beloc will recognize it as Wilson Wyck, the man who detained them and brought them to the questioning room. His tone is peculiar, as if he was put on the spot.

"The Count has some business to attend, so I will continue this interrogation. Did one Orodoth Garamune ever mention a certain artifact, known as a phylactery? If so, did he divulge any location to you?".

With monolithic patience, Sypher takes the switch up in stride.  "I'm sorry sir, he did not.  Oro was the quiet type when he was with us which has not been long or often. "

"So no one here recalls him saying anything about then?".

Gazra pipes up with "You're wasting your time Wyck. Oro would never tell anyone where he hid it, especially not a dirt bag like you".

"You hold your tongue, traitor!" says Wilson in a loud and commanding voice. A bright and near blinding light fills the room as a wall sigil comes to life. A bolt of electricity arcs out, striking Gazra in the arm. The jolt spins him around and sends him toppling to the floor. He lays there groaning and breathing heavily through the pain, not willing to get up. As everyone watches Gazra fall, several seem to move towards him for aid, but hesitate as Wilson cuts them off. "No one touches the oaf. No one".

Wyck resumes his questioning in his normal, smooth voice. He sounds extremely calm, as if hurting someone soothed his nerves. "Now then... as I was saying. No one recalls hearing anything about a phylactery, ever?".

"With all due respect," Beloc pauses a moment as he looks at Sypher. "that question has been asked, and it has been answered. Do you have any other questions that have not yet been addressed?"

"Mind your words, elf, or you'll find yourself laying next to the idiot on the floor. I don't entertain insolence. Especially not the thinly veiled and backhanded type. Now.. moving forward, I think we all see eye to eye here. To what business do members of our military have in mingling with enemies of the state? Surely you must have reasoned their cloak and dagger mannerisms were unbecoming of the company of officers? That there was something not quite right about them? And surely you must have found it peculiar they were on the run? What lies did they feed you to make you take pity on their cause.. the cause of upsetting the state and creating anarchy?".

Beloc grits through his teeth. "Your kindness has been noted."

He looks over at Sypher, awaiting a response.

Sypher looks at Shiaran and shakes his head subtly.  Then he slowly lowers himself to his knees and sits back on his heels.  He folds his hands in front of him and closes his eyes.  To all, it looks like he is either meditating or praying silently.

Shiaran sees Sypher's warning and rolls her eyes at the heavens.  "Skubalon!"  She starts to pace the room like a caged, angry puma.

"No answers then. Very well". The slight hum of the scrying sigil fades as it blends back in with the white of the walls. Green runes begin to glow all around the room. A pale blue light filters in. Everyone save for Rebort is overcome with immediate drowsiness. Krem slumps over first, and Gazra has never bothered getting up. Sigurd grits his teeth, fighting to keep his eyes open. Those who maintain consciousness are entirely too fatigued and sleepy to do anything. The door to the room opens, and several armed men entire. They begin placing manacles on everyone's hands first, before noticing Rebort is unaffected.

"Wot in the bloody 'ells is tha?" one asks.
"No idear. I thot e' was in a suit a' armor"
"I think e' is armor"
"You there. Armor man. You stay put, you 'ear? Jonesy, clap en' in irons"
"I'm not goin' anywhere near tha' thing. Make Percival do it"
"Me? Why me?"
"Cause you're the junior man"
""Ah shite"
"Quit belly achin' an' do it".

The man referred to as Percival moves towards Rebort, manacles in hand.
"Alright you. Come quietly, we's jist doin' our jobs".

For the most part, R.E.B.O.R.T. has remained relatively motionless during the questioning. As the little man moves toward warforged, without moving his feet, he leans forward and lowers himself to eye level. He narrows his eyes, as if challenging him in a nonaggressive manner to go ahead and try it.

Before the man can move, he positions himself between the men and Sypher.

Through the spell-enduced haze, Sypher breathes deep.  When Rebort steps in between, he wills himself to speak through the haze.  "Rebort...It's o...kay.  Stand...down."

Shiaran snores softly in a rather cute way over against one of the walls.  Even asleep, her hair seems to have fallen perfectly over her shoulders, framing her face in an alluring fashion.  Her arms are placed so that she appears a damsel in distress rather than a lethal blade waiting to strike.

R.E.B.O.R.T. raises his arms, fist closed and wrists pointed downward. One at Jonesy, and the other at Percival, the man charged with shackling him. Sypher and the others are well aware of the gestures meaning, but as Sypher speaks, he brings his arms inward, opens his palms, and rotates his wrists upward.

"Jist doin' my job", he says in a voice almost identical to Percival. It's hard to tell if he is mocking the soldier or just echoing his sentiments.

Percival hesitantly locks the irons on Rebort. A bead of sweat forms on his forehead as he secures the clasps. "Aw'right then, come along".

Several more guards enter the room. They are armed and armored in gear meant to protect their faces and groins. Everyone is pulled to their feet, save for Rebort. The guards use enough strength to lift everyone for transport, but they don't outright manhandle the party.

Everyone is brought out and down a short hallway, where a large spiral staircase waits. Rebort notes that they were all brought to a room on the fourth floor, and the trip down carries them six floors. A series of heavy iron gates are passed through, before another long hallway. Dim slivers of slanted light filter into the space from one side as the sun sits low on a dreary sky. Thick wooden cell doors line either side of the hallway, with small iron grates located head level for viewing. The group is split up into smaller groups from here and placed in cells all lining the same side of the hallway. Shiaran and Sypher, Beloc and Rebort, Gazra and Sigurd are how everyone is arranged, with Krem being placed in an empty cell by himself. Each cell has two uncomfortable looking cots fixed to the wall, and a single chamber pot with a grate in the floor to empty them. The grate itself is barely 4 inches wide, with the piping underneath not discernible. The only source of light on this side is through the window, with torchlight glowing through the viewing port in the door. The entire jail area looks like it has been frozen in time for several hundred years.

It is several hours before anyone comes to and shakes the effects of the interrogation room. Iron barred windows sit at the back wall of each cell. A peek through them gives an idea of the general location in the keep. Only around a foot above the moat, to the point that minnows are easily spotted picking at the slime and algae growing on the outer wall. Outside of each cell sits a lightly humming orb held fast to the wall in a fixture. No other sounds come from outside the doors, leaving it to anyone's guess how close guards are.

A familiar voice whispers into the window of Shiaran and Sypher's cell. "Bit of a pickle to be in, eh?". An almost completely transparent Kallium allows his face to show behind the bars.

"What can you tell us?"  Sypher sits up and enters a meditative technique to clear out the last vestiges of...whatever that was.

R.E.B.O.R.T. begins to hear the others stir within their cells. When someone finally speaks, he is relieved to hear Sypher's voice.

"They used a sigil in the room to induce fatigue and subdue everyone. A surprisingly pacifist approach for an individual expressing so much hostility. However, they did not take into account my internal defense mechanisms and their effort did not affect me. It seems we traveled quite some distance from the interrogation room and now reside on sub-level two of whatever building we are in. Our escorts did not speak, so there were no clues to be offered there."