Rotom checks and rechecks her notes, preparing a plan for the questioning.
It would be better to keep the suspects separated during the interrogations.
The initial suspect should be the one DePoe knocked out. He was in the fight longer, saw the other kobold get knocked out, so he knows there are other members of his gang in custody if he cares about loyalty. If he doesn't, he also saw the shifter run and leave him and the others for dead.
But first, the way to a kobold's heart is through his gizzard. Rotom asks the desk sergeant for the prisoner's nightly meal. The sergeant lazily thumbs over to a platter before licking the same thumb to turn the page on his crown-store romance printed by house Sivis. Each suspect was allocated a cup of water, a bowl of oat-mush for calories, a boiled strip of some low grade mystery meat for protein, and a half of a lemon for warding off scurvy.
Rotom sighed,
“It's no kettle-fried spider, but it is something to work with.” The artificer opens one of her dry rations. Some nuts and figs to make the mush palatable, some proper jerky, and of course some much needed spices for everything. The final touch, a spray from her tools, to give the boiled meat the smell of Grist from back home. A bit of a cheat, but it nobody would expect troll sausage in Sharn to taste the same anyway. The kobold dumped what was left of the ration in with the other prisoner's food, and went to present the dish.
“Could you bring that one into the interrogation room, please?” Rotom asks the sergeant before nodding at Korra and Liutbrand.
The sergeant gives a groan as he gets up, but otherwise has little trouble muscling the bound kobold out of the cell and into the room, slamming the door behind him.
Rotom sets the food down in front of the suspect, who cautiously sniffs at it.
“It wouldn't make sense to go though all this trouble, just to poison you now.” She affirms, before loosening the ropes around his hands.
The kobold waits, but soon hunger takes over. Rotom lets him eat most of it before starting the questions.
“I am Throtominarr, this is Korra.” She says, gesturing at imposing physique of her companion.
“We know you were sent to silence Coal.”
The prisoner snarks.
“That much is obvious.”
Rotom gives a cold reptilian stare.
“We know about the dig: Alden d’Orien, his kidnapped son Caden, the Warforged Laborers, and the Ogres diving them like slaves. What is your name? It would be cumbersome to call you 'prisoner' all the time."
The suspect twitches a bit as the thought of being denied even a name proves to be a bridge too far. "You can call me Vuks."
“Vuks, we know your employers don't particularly care for you, or what's left of your gang.” Her face softens in contrast to the harshness of the words.
”It's common that the dokaal treat us as disposable. I saw that shifter leave you to die so they could escape. Typical really.”
The air hung thick with that last idea. Vuks stopped eating and swallowed.
“So what's this about then?”
“Why should you get stuck in here while they roam free?” Rotom asked.
”We want their names, their location, where they are planning to go.”
Vuks looked into the cup of water, as if trying to divine a sign from the gods. He turned his gaze to Rotom, then up to Korra before settling on looking into the far corner of the room.
"They would want me dead for this..."
