8 Vult – Delver’s Dale Council Chamber
A hushed silence descended on the crowded chamber as he was led in. Khyber take them all. He controlled the momentary flash of anger that rose in his chest.
The four days immediately following his defeat had been a blur. He couldn’t remember the exact details of how he had come to be here. Snippets of tripping, impossibly tight bonds, and meager meals floated on the edges of his mind. What he did remember in exact detail was the damnable tiefling. The emissary’s words had somehow lost their power and promise as he had trudged with these filthy creatures back to this hole of a place. He knew that he had failed the test. It nagged at him. The tiefling had used him. Test indeed. It was of little consequence whether he and his bodyguard had bested the intruders or not. The blasted warlock had already claimed his prize and secured his escape route.
He would pay someday. Revenge would be exacted. Today was not that day however.
His thoughts drifted back to his predicament. He had been held in some pit of a cell for nearly a week as far as he could figure. His guards had shown him no mercy. It was expected. He had shown none to his own prisoners. Use them for information and entertainment before turning them over to the wight. Such was the manner of their arrangement – sacrifices in exchange for use of the crypt. Simple and effective.
His head was pounding from lack of food and his beatings but he wasn’t about to show fear to these worthless beings. He held his head up high and glared at anyone foolish enough to catch his eye. Oddly enough the only creature able to return his stare for more than a few seconds was the young human who he had captured two weeks ago. Utter defiance and hatred was in the child's eyes. The hobgoblin almost felt a little respect for the orphan. Almost. A sudden jerk on his bonds snapped him back to his surroundings.
Clinking chains were the only sound as the procession stopped in the centre of the semi-circular dais upon which his apparent judges were settled. The four humans and one half-elf look down on him with a mixture of disgust and anger. If only he had his spiked chain. A quick flick of the wrist, a trip, and a stomp to the head would make quick work of these pasty aristocrats.
After a moment the half-elf spoke. “Are you the hobgoblin known as Sinruth?”
The hobgoblin’s only reply was a carefully orchestrated spit and a nod.
“Then, Sinruth, under the laws of our lands you are charged with murder, kidnapping, robbery, and general hatemongering. Should you be found guilty of these charges you shall be put to death. What say you?”
Sinruth thought for a moment. These people had already sentenced him. He could see it in their eyes and demeanor. No use in parlaying with these fools.
“I say that my only mistake was not finishing the job. Mind if I borrow my weapon for a few moments?” He spit again and leered at one of the humans on the dais.
Surprised gasps ran through the crowd. A shout of “Hang ‘em high!” echoed throughout the room. The half-elf raised his hands calling for silence. As his wish was granted he spoke again.
“I take your reply as admission of your guilt. Your fate will be determined by this council within the next few days.” His gaze moved to Sinruth’s guards. “Return him to his cell.
As he turned he caught sight of the group that had captured him. They would pay. If he had to return from the pits of hell, they would pay.