Chess' days began to settle in somewhat of a routine. A jailor would come in the morning, and deliver a pot of some melange of boiled grains with the occasional odd bit of greasy meat - no doubt accidental - contained therein.
After his one and only meal for the day was finished, the jailor would leave, taking the bowl with him. Jon would have a short time, his wounds stiff and painful, until he was visited by the Unsympathetic Man. He was a human, standing a little shorter than chess himself, with the same kind of lean, whipcord build so common among those working for SI:7. The fellow would haul Chess up from the ground, and set him in a heavy-framed wooden chair. Then the fellow would pour an alchemical healing potion down Jon's throat.
A potion laced with Sa'Diablo. Sa'Diablo was a substance made by Warlock alchemists using soul shard fragments drained from living creatures. Ingesting the substance magically healed physical damage, while filling the user with euphoria. It was mildly hallucinogenic and very addictive; withdrawal from the drug caused symptoms similar to the Wretched mana addicts of the Sin'dorei and Quel'dorei.
Jon had overheard the discussion of the Dark Lady with the fellow in charge of his ordeal, who Jon had named the Unsympathetic Man, on the other side of the cell door.
"Break him, and don't feel you need to be overly gentle about it - we can heal what damage you do, and if you go too far... well, while I would prefer to break him and rebuild him to my leash, there are others to use." The Dark Lady had laughed. "There are always others, are there not? But I digress - break him, and I'll rebuild what is left."
After the potion came what the interrogation experts of SI:7 referred to as "conditional stress", which started with beatings and often escalated to other unpleasant tactics. Broken bones. Shattered teeth. Flayed skin. All administered with a professional care to leave Jonathan Chess able to scream his vocal chords raw into the night.
The session would end when the Unsympathetic Man would douse Chess with cold brine water, and leave him to shiver and ache in the darkness.
Jon last track of how long this routine had gone on. He had prayed to the Light for rescue. He had prayed to the Light for the simple surcease of death. Jon had tried using some of the shadow magic he had learned from books taken from the arakkoa of Veil Shadar, books used by outcast priests of Anzu, their Raven God of dark power, but even these rudimentary skills failed him. Jon speculated that in addition to Sa'Diablo, they had laced his food with a mixture of Dust of Deterioration and Essence of Agony, long known to inhibit all manner of spell-casting.
((Yes, I still have the recipes for the long-removed Rogue poison making!))
For Jonathan, the worst part is that they didn't seem to want any information from him. They asked no questions, even when Jon was long past being able to deny them anything they wanted to know, even if he had to make things up.
One day, the routine was broken. After breakfast, Jonathan was left alone; no beating, no visitors, no cold brine water. He spent the day shivering in anticipatory dread. Worst of all, he knew this tactic; how you gave your victim a rest and the hope that perhaps their ordeal was finished - and then you smashed that hope flat.
When this happened again on the second day, he wanted to cry, although with relief or terror he couldn't say.
He was almost relieved when the Dark Lady came visiting after breakfast on the third day of his "vacation".
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