Interrogation sequence

[Caged Maiden]

Thank you for helping me work through these scenes and maximize their impact. For anyone viewing this thread without the background info, it is here on this thread: http://mythicscribes.com/forums/wri...shmlllows-should-they-rasberry-flavour-4.html

I'm trying to build consecutively on each scene. Any criticism is welcome regarding how to get the most bang for my buck here. I want to trim the whole chapter but didn't know whether that could be best achieved by just cutting the first scene or what. PLEASE ignore my grammar/ punctuation. This is a first draft and while I try to clean things before I post to the Showcase, this is in rough draft and needs to be edited I'm mostly concerned with word choices, tone, pacing, that sort of stuff. I promise to fix my grammar later after I have something I'm not debating cutting completely.

THANK YOU to all you guys who already weighed-in. I really appreciate your time, and I know how difficult it is to offer opinions on a passage in the middle of the book.

So here's the background info:

Raven is the mistress of a powerful crime boss. She is a tough woman, tempered by the streets of a corrupt city. She finds out through a friend that a madman used a magical mirror to find a descendant of a famous mage, and it showed her face. She knows it's a mistake, but she prepares to flee her home anyways, knowing arguing will be useless. But before she can leave, armed men storm in the door and demand she be turned over to them. Martin, a bard she's less than friendly with, tries to help her escape but they are both captured and imprisoned. Okay so that brings up up to chapter 6.

 

[Caged Maiden]

CHAPTER 6

“The cell” was a damp and filthy place. It was a large round stone dungeon that smelled of mold and excrement. The room was about fifty feet to the far wall and the walls were approximately thirty or thirty-five feet high, and made of smooth stones, impossible to climb. A large grate left part of the roof open to the sunlight and fresh air, and the matching grate on the floor served as a toilet, the smell of which was so powerful Raven wished for rain just to wash away the odors. Raven could make out the stars in the night sky above.

The cell was wet from what rain had fallen previously, and the air was thick with spores of mold and mildew. Raven leaned against the stone wall upon a rotting straw mattress, one of four in the room. She’d had neither food nor water since she had been locked in the cell the previous night.
Raven’s hands were still bound, but she could freely move around the large dungeon. She sat in silence, knowing that no one could hear her anyway, even if she screamed. She had taxed herself, yelling for help the first night she’d spent down in the pit, but no one had responded. The stone walls were thick and the grate above so far away.

A clanging sounded at the door. Raven stood. A moment later, the door opened and Dimata’s men entered the cell, followed by the mage, Simon.

Raven stared steadily ahead.

The guards stood at attention at the door as the mage approached her. Raven smelled fear upon him. It was quite clear to her that he was a novice at magic, even though she had little knowledge of the ways of wizards. He lacked confidence. He had duped Dimata. What did he want with her?

“Have you anything to tell me?” asked the awkward wizard in a sniveling voice, “or are you enjoying your stay in the cell?” He snickered rudely.

Raven said nothing.

“If you don’t feel like talking to me, that’s fine. Dimata has ways to make you talk.”

Raven glared a him. “But not you? If that is the case, I will wait for the real interrogators to arrive.”

When Simon grew angry, she was pleased.

“Guard!” he shouted.

One of the men stepped forward.

“Your sword,” demanded Simon, holding out his hand.

Raven did not blink. She would give nothing away to him.

The guard also made no motion. The mage looked at the guard expectantly.

“My Lord has not given me instructions to hand my weapon over to anyone,” the guard said, apologetically.

Simon’s frustration grew.

Forgetting all reason Raven smirked, playing the game of the Dons; manipulation, intimidation, and domination.

She laughed a long rude laugh as Simon’s face turned red. He was furious.

“A sword? A real mage would threaten with a fireball or lightning bolt!” she roared. “Or had he not that, then at least a curse. But all that this one can think of to threaten with is a sword!”
She wiped fake tears from her eyes. “And he cannot command the guard to relinquish the weapon because his authority is as impotent as his magic!”

The mage took a swing at her.

She caught the clumsy, desperate blow with the chain between her two wrist shackles. Simon’s eyes went wide as she twisted the very short chain, pinching his wrist painfully.

“Heed me well, false-mage,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I know you have no power, but for now you have your master fooled. You tricked him somehow with that mirror; you and I both know it.”

He struggled to free his hand.

Raven noticed that the soldiers had not immediately gone to free Simon. Instead, they exchanged knowing glances between themselves and a faint smile flickered upon the near one’s face.

“Pray that he does not find out,” continued Raven, squeezing his hand tighter. “He’d be displeased with all the energy he’s put into detaining me for naught.”

The guard finally moved forward threateningly, and Raven let up a little on the pressure. Simon snatched his hand back and staggered away from her. He left the cell with the two guards in tow.

Raven slumped down on her mattress and leaned against the cold wall. She could not stop her hands from shaking. Adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream and her heart pounded in her chest.


* * *

 

[Caged Maiden]

The nights in the cell were worse than the days. The sounds from above told her that she was near the dockyard. Metal bells clanged on ships and gulls screeched in the bay. As Raven made her way to the middle of the chamber to look up into the night sky her sensitive ears picked up something curious.

Outside her cell and down the hall a door opened.

Raven knelt at her door. She could hear voices; one of them belonged to Dimata.

“Have you found anything?” he asked.

“There was nothing in her room.” said the other voice, “and The Lion is displeased to have lost his little bird. He has been asking questions around town. We may have to move her.”

“Her companion, the bard is being questioned by Torvu,” said Dimata. “If he doesn’t know anything, we can use him to make her talk.”

“If she knows anything, I will get it out,” said the other man, “she cannot lie to me.”

The men were almost at her door, so on quivering knees she crawled back to the mattress.

The two men entered the cell, Dimata led, followed by a man whose very presence sent chills up her spine. His hair was blonde and his eyes cold blue. He stood several inches over six feet tall and a hideous scar ran from his left eye to his jaw.
He wore a dark cloak over his dark clothing, adding to his frightening appearance.

As the strange man approached her, Raven could sense his aggression. This is not a man who plays games, she thought to herself.

Raven stood as he drew near.

The intimidating man stopped, and Raven fought hard to not show her fear. She inclined her chin to meet his gaze. Silently he studied her face.

“Leave us,” he demanded of Dimata, “I will question her alone.”

Dimata left without a word. Neither Raven nor the interrogator took any notice of him as he went.

Much to Raven’s surprise, the man spoke softly to her, “If you sing for me, little bird, I will free you from your cage.”
“I do not know the words to the song you wish to hear,” she said.

“Tell me where the crypt is located,” he said.

“I cannot,” she said, “I don’t know anything about it.”

He grabbed her chain in his hand and jerked her forward a step. “I warn you not to try my patience,” he growled. “I want to know where to find it.”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“What town?”

Raven shook her head. “I have no guess. I have never heard of it before.”


Violently he pushed her, driving her back into the stone wall. He pressed his weight upon her body and said, “Surely you do. Think back to your childhood. Where did you live? What did your parents do for a living? What did the land look like? What town were you raised in?

His voice was forceful. Raven wracked her brain at his command.

“I...,” she stammered, “I never met my parents. I was raised by an old woman. We lived in a cottage near a great forest. Lode was the nearest town, but it was quite far. We barely ever went there.”

“When I was eleven, I came alone to Brazelton and worked as a laundress. I am not a mage’s heir, nor have I any key. I know nothing about a crypt or a treasure.”

She was near to tears despite her efforts to remain composed. “I cannot help you find the crypt. Even if I were the heir, which I am certain I am not, I remember little of my childhood. I do not have any answers to the questions you ask.”
He let go of her and backed up a few steps.

“Dimata will open the crypt. He is quite obsessed with the treasure within, and quite mad as well.”
“And yet you work for him,” she said softly.

“I am a mercenary, little bird. I work for whoever pays my fee.”

He took another step away and said, “I’d start thinking up some answers. He’s in there now softening up your dearie and when he’s done, he’ll be back here to get his answers from you.”


The mercenary turned and left Raven alone in the cell, shaking in the damp darkness.

She was afraid. It was obvious that Dimata was a lunatic. How would she escape from his dungeon? And what of poor Martin who had gotten mixed up in the situation through no fault of his own?

Raven pulled her skirts up around her legs and sat upon her mattress attempting to stay warm. Hunger was making the cold less manageable, and she worked hard to keep out the nighttime draft.


* * *

 

[Caged Maiden]

Raven was awakened by a loud clanging at her door. Someone opened the cell door and entered.
She sat up abruptly, rubbing her eyes as they adjusted in the darkness.

It was Dimata. He set the torch he carried into one of the holders on the wall. Behind him followed two of his men carrying a well-beaten Martin, each holding one of his arms.

The smell of blood, coppery and warm filled Raven’s nose, turning her empty stomach.

Dimata commanded the two guards to chain Martin, and they fitted manacles, which were chained to the floor, upon his wrists. The two-foot chains affixed to each of his hands would not allow him to go far at all. He’d not even be able to stand with such short chains.

Dimata approached Raven. He violently jerked her to her feet by the front of her dress.

“
I am out of patience with you,” he shouted into her face, spittle landing on her cheek and chin. Raven’s knees gave out and she fell to Dimata’s feet. Thirst and hunger had made her weak. She tried to find her feet again, ashamed by her frailty.

“Such an insolent bitch!” cried Dimata, pulling her to standing again. He brought back his hand and cuffed her hard across the face.

“Tell me what I want to know!” he shouted at her.

“I can’t,” she cried, “I don’t know where it is.”


 He slapped her again, sending her back to her knees. “No more lies,” he roared, drawing a knife from his belt. “If you will not talk, then perhaps your friend would like to.”


In the dim torchlight Raven could see the damage that had been done to Martin. He was battered. Blood had dried all over his face, making it impossible to see where it had flowed from.
He knelt pathetically, chained to the floor in an awful state. She was amazed he was able to even hold himself up after the violence he’d withstood.

Dimata grabbed the chain which ran between her wrists and threw her to her hands and knees on the floor in front of Martin. Kneeling beside her, he held her head up, her chin in his hand; her eyes wide and her breath quick.

She knelt face to face with the bloodied bard, her whole body shaking, frightened beyond all imagination. Martin briefly glanced into her eyes before returning his gaze to the floor. Damn the gods for their cruelty, thought Raven. She and Martin were in the lair of a power-hungry psychopath. Why had fate dealt her this ugly hand?

They were already dead, she realized, then. There was no chance of leaving. No matter what she did, Dimata would not let her go. She would either die by his hands immediately for not telling him what he wanted to know, or she would die later, when he finally realized that she had nothing to tell.

“Let him go,” she said softly, the words out before she even knew that she was speaking, “Martin shouldn’t be here. He has nothing to do with this.”

The bard looked up in confusion, but Dimata pulled her up to her feet again before she could do more than give a brief smile of comfort.

“Tell me where it is,” he snarled in her face.

“I don’t know where it is,” she whimpered, “I told your mercenary everything I knew earlier.
Please, spare Martin, he cannot help you, surely you know that. You already have me. Let him go.”

Dimata laughed. He put the long knife against her throat, and then to Martin said, “Do I have two birdies who cannot sing? Or will one of them decide to save the other?”

Martin flexed his arms, but the heavy chains held him fast. He glared up at Dimata.


Raven tried to move away, but Dimata’s knife hand was clumsy, and her eyes went wide as the blade pressed into her flesh. Blood ran from her neck down into her dress. She took a step backwards, involuntarily, and soon Dimata held her fast again.

He slid the blade into the front of her dress. Pressing downwards, he slowly, one by one cut the buttons off, leaving the front hanging open and Raven shivering.

He brought the knife up and caressed her cheek with it. “Someone is going to start talking,” he growled into her ear.

Raven tried to pull from his grasp.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, grabbing her by the back of the neck. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

He pointed the knife at her throat again and began unbuckling his belt.

Raven struggled, the knife’s point drew blood from the soft underside of her jaw. “Please,” she whimpered, “I don’t know anything.”

He unbuttoned his codpiece. “More’s the pity,” he said callously, “but your friend does, and I’ve been unable to convince him to spill it. Perhaps you will have better luck than I did.”

He ripped the front of her shirt open, buttons flying everywhere, and he forced her to the floor, his hand crushing her windpipe as he held the knife with the other. She gasped for breath.
She felt the cold steel run along the side of her neck as she lay on the floor. Any sudden movement might cause her greater injury. She tried to hold still, though she shivered and shook.
Dimata straddled her as he played his blade across her exposed body. She closed her eyes so she did not have to watch the mad delight in his eyes. He brought the blade over her bared breasts and she flinched. He laughed.

“Stop it!” she shouted, “get off of me.” She tried to roll him off of her. He briefly lost his balance and his knife sliced across her ribs. She cried out in pain as blood ran from the wound. “Get off of me,” Raven screamed as she kicked her feet, attempting to free herself from his weight.
Dimata laughed again.

As she struggled, he spun around atop her and began cutting off her linen knickers. “Stop!” she cried, “what are you doing?”

When he was done, he threw the linen scraps and forced his way between her thighs.

What followed was a humiliating and mortifying display of his domination over her weakened body. Raven struggled initially, but after taking a couple blows from his heavy fists, she relented to the abuse.


Though Raven had a few times given her body to men unwillingly, she had never been violently raped before. She knew that it was an experience which stayed with a woman forever, but then, she was strong, tempered by the streets of Brazelton.

She took herself to her sanctuary at Lion’s. She imagined her green walls and embroidered bedding. Her eternal summer filled her mind. She heard the familiar tune which she loved and Cherie’s laugh as she played with the little music box.

“You are even sweeter than I thought you’d be,” said Dimata, “and never mind your plain appearances; your accommodating flesh makes up for it.”

Raven felt like vomiting. She tried to push him away with her hands, but he held her down to the floor, his face right on top of hers. She turned her head to the side so that she’d not have his breath in her face.

“That’s right,” he purred, “I know just what you like.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled hard, turning her face right around to face Martin. “Your tightness is a pleasant surprise,” he hissed in her ear, “for one who has probably been ridden hard in her life. If only all whores could please a man so much as you do.”

His breath beat her about the face as he grunted into her ear, thrusting harder against her though she held her thighs as tightly as she could. It was the ultimate cruelness, but she felt relieved when she felt his release and prayed that he’d leave her on the floor and not touch her again.

Though Raven had had to relent to the abuse, she had not allowed him what he really wanted from her. She had not cried out or begged. Indeed, when Dimata rose from her she still did not move or make a sound.


“What think you now?” Dimata shouted, buttoning his codpiece and buckling his belt, “have you still nothing to say to me?”

Raven thought he was speaking to her, her eyes still closed, but when she opened them, she realized that he hovered over the kneeling bard. Martin’s head hung, his gaze upon the grimy stone floor where Raven’s blood had spilled.

When Martin still said nothing, Dimata kicked him in the ribs twice and then punched him in the side of the head, knocking him cold. Martin crumpled onto the stone floor, face first.

Dimata left the cell, his guards in tow, taking the torch with them.

 

[Caged Maiden]

Raven did not mind being left in the darkness. The moon illuminated the cell well enough for her to see.

It was several moments later that she dared to move. The sounds of the footsteps had completely faded, and she knew that she was again alone.

She pulled her dress closed as well as she could and pressed the cloth to her ribs. The bleeding slowed, and she crawled to Martin’s side to see to him. She put her hand gently to his head. He barely breathed, still unconscious. Using what little strength she had, she rolled Martin onto his side to assess the damage.

His face was a mess, his nose broken, both eyes bruised and cut and swelling, and a sizable cut on the bridge of his nose which had bled profusely.

Despite his face being covered with blood, two fresh white lines cut down his cheeks where recently shed tears had washed away the blood. She gasped. He had wept for her.

Raven collected the linen scraps of her knickers off of the floor and sucked on the corners. Cradling Martin’s head gently in her lap, she carefully wiped the blood from his face.


When Martin finally awoke, the sky was just beginning to lighten. “What time is it?” he asked, groggily, his head still resting upon her crossed legs.

“Perhaps an hour ‘ere dawn,” she said, soothingly. She brushed the hair away from his eyes softly with her fingertips, “the bells chimed four quite a while ago.”

“Come,” he said, rising. “We need to get out of here.”

Raven set down the blood-tinged scraps of linen and said, “There is no way out, Martin, I have tried.” She held her dress closed with one hand, while she stuffed the bloody linen scraps against her own wound.

Her voice was weak and raspy from thirst. “I’ve been here for days with no food or water. I have no energy left from trying to get out.”


Martin winced in pain as he knelt on his hands and knees before her. His ribs were probably broken, she thought. Dimata had not held back with his heavy boots.

“Oh gods!” Raven gasped, bringing her hands to cover her face, “what have they done to you?”
The hopelessness of their situation became very real to her all of a sudden. Tears attempted to fall from her painfully dry eyes. She and Martin were beaten and battered. How could they hope to escape?

“I’m so sorry,” she wept, wiping her tearless, stinging eyes with the sleeves of her filthy dress. “I‘m so sorry that you are here, Martin. You should not be. Gods! If you’d not tried to defend me.... you’d not be here bleeding and.....”

“Do not waste your tears on me,” he said quietly, not bothering to take his eyes off the floor in front of him, “I am not worth it.”
She crouched next to him and put her hand gently upon his back, “You’re very seriously injured,” she said. “We cannot hope to escape. We are hardly strong enough to crawl, let alone break our chains and scale the wall. If we cannot find a way to talk our way out of here, I’m afraid our fates are sealed.”

“No,” insisted Martin, “I can get us out of here.”

Raven shook her head. She had tried to climb the walls, and it was impossible with her hands bound. How could Martin hope to escape with his two wrists shackled to the floor? The chains could not be broken.

“How?” she asked, “you are in no condition to move. Your ribs are probably broken. You may be bleeding internally.”


Martin began unbuckling his belt and pulled it from his trousers. He handed it to her, “Here,” he said, “belt your dress closed, we are going to have to climb out.”

She took it and looked confused. Was he oblivious to the fact that he was chained to the floor?
She belted her dress closed as he’d asked, glad at least for the warmth. The morning air was freezing. She sat back down and looked up at the grate above. It was so high up. Truly, it was impossible to reach, even if her hands had not been bound.

“Martin,” she said, “I cannot make it. I cannot climb the wall. I have no strength left.”

“Shhh,” he shushed her.

In the dark they listened. There were voices coming from down the hall.

“I can bring the girl up to my office if you wish to have a bit of fun before you go,” said Dimata
“No,” said the blonde mercenary, that had interrogated her earlier; she recognized his voice. “I am not interested in ****ing your prisoner. I have already questioned her. She has no knowledge of the crypt.”

“So she says,” snapped Dimata.

“She does not know,” insisted the mercenary.

Raven’s heart fluttered with momentary hope. Perhaps if they knew that she spoke the truth they would let her go. There was still a chance to hope for.

“Then she is useless,” said Dimata.

“No, “said the mercenary, “if she is the heir she alone can open the crypt now that the key is destroyed.”

“But I thought she had the key.”

“She may be the key. But, if that is the case, she will only be useful if we can locate the crypt, and right now, we do not even know which town to begin looking in.”

“Question the other prisoner,” suggested Dimata.

“The bard that you stole from the Don? Why?” asked the mercenary. “I thought he was mistakenly captured with the girl.”

“He was,” admitted Dimata quietly, “but now I am sure he knows something.”

“That’s ridiculous. How could he?”

“I don’t know, but he does.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Torvu said that he has not uttered a word since arriving,” said Dimata. “How many men say nothing after a visit with Torvu?”

Silence.

“An innocent man would have been begging Torvu’s mercy before he had to bring out his toys.”
“How far did he go?” the mercenary asked in a low tone.

“Far enough.”

“Then the man is probably in shock. Torvu is too heavy-handed for interrogation. You cannot read too far into this. Torvu has killed men too quickly before.”

“I told him if that happens again he is out of a job!” snapped Dimata. “Question the bard and find out for yourself. I’m sure he knows about the crypt.”

“If you wish, I’ll interrogate him; later,” agreed the mercenary, “though I believe it will be fruitless.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Dimata, “Use what force is necessary. If we can’t get him to talk to save his life, then he dies.”

The door closed again and the footsteps moved further away.

Raven looked at Martin. “They mean to return to finish the job with you,” she whispered, frantically.

Martin looked startled. “You could hear them?” he asked.

She nodded.

“But......” he began.

“Martin, he’s going to kill you,” she hissed, “if you can get out, then do it. You may be able to use the pin from your belt to pick your locks.”

“We must go together,” he said with conviction.

“I can’t,” she shook her head, “even if my hands were freed, I couldn’t climb the wall. My hands have turned feeble. They shake constantly now, and not from cold.”

“Then I will carry you,” he said sternly.

“You can’t,” she sighed. “Leave me here. I am too heavy to carry and it would be stupid for you to try if you are certain that you can climb the wall. I will only slow you down and ruin both of our chances. Here, pick your locks.”

Martin grabbed her hand as she went to unbuckle the belt. His grip was firm but not unkind.

Raven looked down at his bloody hands and then back to his battered face. He must be in unimaginable pain. How could he still fight?

“I can get us both out of here,” he said quietly, “but I demand your word that you will never speak of this to anyone.”

She tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was like steel. She was unable to free her wrist from his grasp, the chains jingling as she tried. “You’re frightening me, Martin,” she said, pulling on her hand, “let go of me.”

He hung his head and released her. “Logan,” he said with a sigh.

“What?” she asked.

“My name is not Martin,” he said, shaking his head as if he did not yet understand why he was saying those words to her. “I am not a bard. My name is Logan, and I am Sayan, a shape shifter.”

“Shape shifter?” she asked.

“I am telling you this so you are not frightened,” he continued, as he unbuttoned and took off his bloody shirt, letting it slide onto the chains, cuffs first. His ribs already showed extensive deep purple bruising from Dimata’s ruthlessness.

He unbuttoned his trousers and slipped out of them, then handed them to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked nervously.

“Saving my clothes from being destroyed,” he said. “Keep them for me, we may have to run when we reach the top.”

She stared silently, not sure what she was supposed to say.

He knelt, completely nude before her in the stone cell. “Swear it,” he said, his head down, and his eyes closed. “Our secrets keep us alive. Swear you’ll keep my secret.”

“I swear it,” she said, nervously kneeling in front of him.

He nodded and said, “Don’t be frightened, this is our only way out.” His back arched even before he’d finished his sentence. His naked body trembled as though wracked with horrific pain. Raven backed away and watched, terrified, as Logan’s muscles flexed and bulged. His eyes were tightly shut; whether from pain or embarrassment, she could not tell. His hands and feet became massive deadly claws and his skin transformed into thick fur. His face changed into a great, frightening canine muzzle, his ears pointed and long. His coat was deepest black, like a moonless night.

 

[Caged Maiden]

Okay, whew. So that's pretty much the whole chapter. I cut it short, but there's only another few paragraphs as they escape.

I'm not very poetic writer, and I tend to be minimalistic on the details, but I'd like to strengthen this chapter because it sets up later conflict, mostly between these two characters.

 

[Penpilot]

You know, the second and third parts of this chapter work quite well. They have that emotional content I mentioned was missing from the first part, and on their own are fine. What I do think is missing is the transition from defiance to frightened wreck. Raven goes from defiance in the first part right to frightened in the second part, and it's kind of jarring because the jump isn't really explained or felt enough. Just because the blond merc looks scary, to me, just doesn't do it because of how in control she was in the first part.

Where's the point where the crossover from defiance to fear happens? To me it would be nice if it happen in the second part with the blond merc. When the blond merc comes in, I think she should still be defiant and he should do and say things that make her scared. Find that aha moment where the blond merc says something, and she realizes Martin and her maybe royally frakked, and when she deflates from that, play it up emotionally.

Now in terms of trimming words, here are a few places and things to think about. It all has to do with redundancy.

“You’re very seriously injured,”

This could be shorter. I don’t think ‘very’ and ‘seriously’ add much because it's established he's been pretty badly beat up, so it's kind of repetition.

“How?” she asked, “you are in no condition to move. Your ribs are probably broken. You may be bleeding internally.”

The last two sentences of this are probably unnecessary. His ribs being broken was already stated earlier and speculating about internal bleeding doesn’t add much because it’s already established that he’d pretty badly beaten up.

“No,” said the blonde mercenary, that had interrogated her earlier; she recognized his voice.

You don’t need “that had interrogated her earlier; she recognized his voice.” It makes sense she’d recognize his voice without having to state it. Trust the reader more to make sense of things in this case.

My name is Logan, and I am Sayan, a shape shifter.”

“Shape shifter?” she asked.

You don’t need “a shape shifter.” clause in Martin’s dialogue here because Raven reveals what a Sayan is with her bit of dialogue.

Hope this helps.

 

[Reaver]

HOLY SH*T, KIDDO!

You sure this is a first go-round?

You gotta finish this. Don't leave me hangin'!

 

[Robert Donnell]

Let me talk about interrogation, if you want to know a bit about interrogation read about the experiences of US Soldiers held as POWs. It is informative. My experience is that I got interrogated by the police in a small town, they were idiots, they screwed up the Good Cop/Bad Cop thing, then I caught them in a lie, I was thinking that I was dealing with the keystone cops. It is not just me I have friends who have gone through the same. Interrogation is often done by some not too bright interrogators.

 

[Caged Maiden]

Yeah I had a police run-in when I was 21. I cooperated but was scared out of my mind, and it ended with two cops tackling me to the ground and laying on top of me screaming in me face. No matter how I begged, they just kept shouting at me until I had a panic attack and they called an ambulance. That was my first panic attack ever and when my dad and I went to the police station to review the video (because I was stuck with a $1000 bill from the ER and ambulance which I wanted the police to pay for) I had to leave the room because I couldn't watch the video. Then, in the waiting room, the cop who had assaulted me walked in and I panicked again, crawling around on the floor of a locked room trying to hide under a chair screaming. In fact, my hands are shaking as I'm typing this...

I know the scene needs work as it's in first draft and unedited, but I will take all this on board as I try to create more realism when I edit. Thanks for the suggestions.

 

[ascanius]

A personal experience *TW*

Use that experience.

I don't know how critical you want these replies, so use what you want.
I don't get something though, It sounds like Raven is strong and well used to a life on the streets but It doesn't really seem like what happened affected her. Is that what you were going for? is it established previously in the book that she is capable of enduring very difficult situations.

Also rape is about power and control and what I don't get is why Dimata didn't just beat her until the bard told. I mean what was the point of the rape, it would have been much more effective to put Ravens life in the bards hands. He either speaks or she is severely hurt. I thought what you wrote was well written but.....

I have seen someone almost get raped, I am not gonna tell you what happened, only I will never forget her eyes. That look of terror is not something I will ever forget. She didn't move, nothing just stared off as the m*th*r f****** ***h*l* tried to..... Even when I buttoned up her pants and pulled her shirt down, she didn't move but just stared at me in absolute terror. She was terrified of me, I was in control, as much as the SOB was in control moments before, I could have done anything to her and she wouldn't have said or done anything. (I don't know how to explain this only that she was so removed from the situation that I could tell she was extremely vulnerable and not capable of doing anything) I ended up pulling the SOB off her and got her dressed then took her back to her dorm and left the *** outside to freeze. My point with this is that rape is about control. In that instant that girl had no control over what was happening, he was in control, and fear is very powerful.

In that specific part what was the point of the rape. To get the bard to talk yes but rape is about control and power. If that guys is twisted enough to rape someone in his custody playing with power and control would come really easily. What I mean is he gives the bard the power and control over what happens to Raven because now Dimata has power and control over both people.

Also that part where the Bard has to watch. Describe the look in her eyes from his point of view. Those eyes are not something I can forget, I doubt your character would either. They haunt you even when you did nothing wrong. It would be made worse knowing that he could have stopped it. That's a lot of guilt to carry especially when he has to take care/remain with her afterwards. He is going to feel anything but good about himself. Even from me looking back I wish I could have done more for that girl, I really wish I had beaten the hell out of the guy.

One other thing the part where she thinks about when she was in her sanctuary at Lion’s part. Are you familiar with dissociation cuz it sounds like what she was doing. Like she was leaving her body to the safety of her mind. is that what you were going for?

Yeah, I had a f'd up childhood that left me f'd up. Well that's just what I thought. I do think what you have already written is going to get interesting between these two characters later on, something I would defenetly read. Good luck.

 

[Robert Donnell]

I read the whole thing, it is okay. The Dungeon Guard should say: “I have orders to never relinquish my weapon.” Not “I don’t have orders to relinquish my weapon.” Or just “Screw you Mage.” Otherwise it seems to be pretty good.

As far as rape and fear in interrogation, people can be very sick puppies, If you want to be that dark keep in mind that this may turn off your audience. You can just have her fear all kinds of things but have the bad guys stop short because she is worth more alive and unharmed than dead. Even if your character knows that they don't dare harm her, that does not mean that they would not torture her.
By the way you really can’t go for more than 3 days without water, the second and third days you would be in very bad shape. Food you can go for weeks without.