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[Joanna Weaver]

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It was something she didn't look forward to doing, returning to Buc's Den. Truth be told, she couldn't be sure that she was ever actually imprisoned there. The only clues that might have given some hint had been the glinting sea and the waxen jungle flora. So when The Magnate announced that they were going to that infamous den, she had been beside herself with nervousness.

"The janissaries will guard you," the general had assured them.

Though in truth Cuthbert had been addressing Lord Isk, she took those words for herself and found some comfort in them. Gazing to each of the newer Magincians in turn, she felt a bit of her own courage restored. Demoriel, Schmitty, Khaliq, and Forest were all strong and able and would give their lives for the Magnate and any Magincian citizen. As she would, also, for one of them.

Tonight, Magincia would seek Justice.

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The orders were to take the first drow they came across.

They hadn't wandered far in the dust-laden air of the city before Janissary Schmitty was hauling a female from the jungle to them. As Joanna gazed at the captive, she felt the sting of angry recognition. The tell-tale blue hair, unnatural for those dark-skinned fiends, gave one of her torturers away.

"Do you recognize her, Joanna?" The Magnate had asked.

For that moment, it was as if she had been back in the cell.

They were fitting a cage over her head and locking it into place. Her mouth was still slathered with the grease from one of the only meals they had given her, a chicken which they'd ordered her to eat every bit of off the floor. She'd been so broken that she hadn't noticed the extra door at the top of the cage until they were dropping a squirming and very hungry rat into it. Bound as she was, with her arms behind her back and chained to her neck, she could only writhe uselessly in their hold, trying frantically to keep the rat from clawing and biting at her face, until she lost consciousness from the effort.

"Yes, I recognize her. She was one of my torturers."

The news delighted Lord Isk and he ordered a gate be quickly made back to Magincia, lest other drow come from the shadows and hamper them.

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Joanna wondered if the blue-haired wretch noticed the grooves in the stair from the previous recipients of Humanis Justice as she was dragged up them and into the Cultural Center to add her own death to countless ones before. She would be one of many whom would feel the sting of revenge for crimes against Humanity. Though not all crimes were as obvious as this fiend's had been.

Each of the janissaries took turns dealing punishment to the drow, who continued to spit forth her angry insults at them, Joanna in particular. It was beyond the Administrator to understand the purpose behind such useless provocation, even though it angered her. This ignorant drow, it practically insured that she would be injured twice as much as she would have been, had she chosen to remain silent. Many times, Joanna had to look away, it was so brutal, even though she herself wished she had the fortitude and streak of cruelty in her to seek her own revenge.

In the end, they went with poison.

There was some irony to it. Drow were known for their despicable use of poison. As Joanna gazed at the form of the black elf, writhing in pain on the floor, the anger at what the dark woman had done to her welled up within. Her countenance hardened as she relived in her mind the terror this wretch had brought upon her, the torture and damage, and she actually felt the first stirrings of hatred burn. This woman had fed her to rats and spiders. She would repay the kindness.

"Cut her corpse into pieces and feed her to the vermin she loves so much."
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"Art and architecture must combine to create something larger than either." ~ Robert Campbell

[Khaliq]

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The order came from Isk to strike the wretch down. Khaliq looked into the drow woman's eyes as his sword pierced her throat. This was no time to hesitate. Death was called for, and death was delivered.

As he knelt to pray afterwards, the words brought him comfort as they washed the stain of violence from his soul. The filth's Chaos, her wretched infectious ways would not take root. He was pure. Clean. Perfect.

Human.

Thou seest, O mighty spirit of the Philosophe, how those true to your example have been encompassed by the rebellious amongst Chaos' creatures and the wicked beings woven from the unraveled. No land remaineth but the lamentation of thy chosen ones were lifted up therein. I beseech thee by the blood in my veins, the flesh on my bones to draw forth the hand of power from the bounty of thy might and to assist therewith all Humanity that honors thee.

Thou beholdest, O spirit, their eyes turned towards thy example, their gaze fixed upon the children of thy blood, those beholded of thy might and thy loving providence. Transmute, O perfection, their abasement into glory, their poverty into wealth, and their weakness into a strength born of those of your pure human blood.

United, we live pure, we stand with you and our elders as an example. In thy name, we hold humanity high.