Mistaken Identity

by Joe W

“Dr Holtz?”

“Hmm?…N-No, my name is Lamwick. Frederick Lamwick.” “Uh-huh. Come with me, doctor.” “I told you, you've got the wron-” *THWACK* — Edward Holtz came to suffering from a severe abrasion to the head (Left upper Geringer's Ridge) , a ringing in his ears suggesting the possibility of mild concussion, and a thick hemp sack over his head. All in all not very promising. On the positive side there was the fact they hadn't killed him yet; perhaps he'd get some sort of trial first. “You're a hard man to find, Doctor Holtz. Three months on the Wave Cutter, four on the Broken Rose, three more working in some godsforsaken village on the Breathing Isles, and then the past seven months on the Prince's Fury. We've had to go to quite some effort to find you.” That was an alarmingly accurate summary of the past year and a half of his life. “Err, there seems to be some mistake, you see my name is Lamwi-” *THWACK* Severe bruising to the chest (primarily left side) and minor trauma to the lungs. Holtz crashed to the floor in a heap, wheezing pathetically as someone placed a heavy foot on his hand and began to apply a steady, grinding pressure. “Now Doctor, perhaps you'll be kind enough to spare us the excuses and answer our questions. Truthfully. Now- why did you run?” Now that was a damned idiotic question, who wouldn't run? Did they just want him to admit it, want the confession before they burned him? Bloody unlucky to be captured alive; they were obviously professional hunters for the Temple of Ashes; if it'd just been adventurers they'd have stabbed him and been done with it. Maybe a nice, swift (messy) death by a blood curse; adventurers wouldn't mess around with the likes of him. Damned unlucky. “Doctor…” Heel crushing down onto his fingers. Clean break of the index finger (right hand). Goodness but his screaming sounded pathetic, loud and shrill. Still he'd had giants of men squealing like pigs on the table; you couldn't judge a fellow by how he screamed. Hopefully his captors were sufficiently enlightened not to make crude commentary on the matter. “He screams like a girl, Marr.” Savages. “Look Doctor, just tell us why you ran from the Brethren and all this will be over with nice and quick.” The Brethren. The Brethren. Ah. Well this was unexpected. And wonderful. Glorious, fantastic, stupendous news. “AAAAAAAAAHHHH!” Oh yes, the hand. (hairline fracture to ring finger(right)). He had best do something about that right away. The hood about his head crumbled into dull grey ash and puffed out across the floor at the force of his scream. Basher Briggs (AKA Brother Harold) gave a panicked squeal, leapt away from his hand and fumbled for a heavy billy club at his belt. On the other side of the room there is a jingle of chains as his other captor reaches urgently for the heavy iron choker about her neck. “aaaahhh… Ahem. Sister Marta, it's been a while. How are the girls? Errr. Listen, I can explain everything!” His hand was swelling and turning an interesting shade of purple. He was confronted by two armed and upset initiates of the Cloistered Brethren of Chains. Furthermore he appeared to have lost control of his bladder at some point in the last hour. Edward Holtz (Necromancer) smiled; things were looking up!

misc/fiction/midid.txt · Last modified: 2011/04/05 19:44 by osj01
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