As i’m sure you know, i’ve been stagnant on our plans to invade the plane known as Daznook. You will have to forgive me, as of late I have been distracted with more personal business pertaining to that of the wedding and that which comes after. Though, as I have picked back up the business of silk, so have I returned to my work in planning and research for this excursion to the demonic prison plane.
This, my friend, is where you are to come into play. I know you and your kind to be excellent in hunting down a demon, and a hunt it is I have for you. I am afraid that this hunt, of course, will not immediately end in a treat as savory as a kill, but it is finding this demon that I need the most.
You may or may not be familiar with the demon Gurthana. An imp mother, as more commonly placed, but one with valuable information to our cause. I have a want to garner here precise location rather than perform a more risky summoning. I have heard, in my passes through various associates of mine, that she may or may not be currently in Azeroth’s world rather than laying in wait in the twisting nether. I would like this to be confirmed, and if possible, find a way for us to set up a meeting with her so that we may garner ourselves an ally in our fight.
I believe this is the path we should take. Your thoughts on this, of course, are welcome at any time. As would be your ever so brilliant sight.
Again, the demons came. Again, they dragged away another person.
Faervell was biding his time, on edge for when he’d be taken. It surely would not be long, he thought. It surely would be him next. Every time the cage was approached, a lump formed in his throat and the smog of the air seemed to thicken and choke him. Most of the time, the demons simply passed, their wants set on other unfortunate people in the adjacent cages.
Again, the demons came. Again, he felt fear well up.
Finally, he was taken.
The claw which dragged him from the cage was massive in comparison to him. He didn’t even try to resist. He knew better than to make such an attempt. It would only strain his wounds and cause him more pain. Even so, it did not dampen the fear that threatened to drown him. The unnerving thoughts of what could be awaiting for him, and where he’d be taken.
If he’d even be alive after this.
No. He would live. He wouldn’t allow himself to die to such a thing; he was stronger than this.
He scrambled to try and get up from the ground but ended up stumbling over himself and falling to his hands and knees, a sharp feeling of pain from his left hand. He’d barely registered the hot irons that had formed over his neck, wrists, and ankles. Nor had he realized that already, the chains had lifted to be held by the demon whom had pulled him out of the cage in the first place.
Faervell’s lack of awareness would cost him, as the chains grew taut and lunged him forward until he was laying flat on the ground. His arms were pulled above his head as he was dragged across the sharp stones and dark ash that seemed to cling to everything. He grit his teeth, struggling to draw his knees up to perhaps get a moment to find his way back to his feet and off of that unforgiving ground. Alas, it was not to be, as other prisoners would fall into him, making it all the more difficult to move with everything else happening. The most he was able to do was turn himself over, saving his face and chest from the rough ground while his skin was already raw from the mere moments.
He was breathing heavier, managing to watch as the first stone was approached. His eyes trailed over the dark surface and the runes, trying to quickly understand what it was that was etched there. He managed to pull a few of the runes out, things of destruction and lingering pain, that much he was certain. After all, he’d spent countless hours creating curses and spells that included those same things.
In his intense attention to the stone, he nearly missed as his chains went lax. As though they’d disappeared completely. He blinked, looking up just as the intense pressure surrounded him, lifting his form in an unforgiving way that stole his breath and made him feel as though it would crush him right then and there.
The rawness of his back made the next motion all the worse. The comfortable and thin shirt he’d worn was already starting to tear just from the move from the cage to where he was presently, leaving bare skin to press against blazing hot runes. It was the shooting pain that made him cry out in surprise more than anything.
Faervell did not resist the chains’ pull of his arms and feet. He couldn’t fight against it, even if he had the thought to with all else that was happening.
The demon was upon him already, long claws painfully digging into his cheeks and lifting his head upwards. The rush of sounds that drowned his thoughts were overwhelming, and then he saw it. Saw all of it.
Each moment of his life seemed to flash by at a speed that he thought impossible. Every secret, every private moment, every pain and happiness. He hadn’t expected it and was forced to watch all of his memories once more, leading to that very point in time.
He couldn’t think with all the sound, every attempt to focus scrambled as the sounds seemed to grow louder. Still he tried. So hard, he tried to overwhelm the demon’s prodding, to push it away from his mind to save himself.
The noise stopped and he felt a sickening slide of the sharp claws slipping out of his skin. It was only then that he could register all that had occurred. The burning pain at the activation of the runes on the stone and the shaking of his entire body. His eyes dropped to the ground and his breathing heavy as he tried to steady himself again.
The demon’s rattling voice, like a wasp’s wings, spoke up. “You will give what you know.”
He knew damn well enough what it wanted, and he knew what would happen if he simply gave up there. It would be so easy to spill things such as military strategy and the defenses that he commonly saw and knew. Ways to find them, to sense them, to break them. All his interests in the past and present still.
Despite the pain in the runes behind his back that felt as if a dozen embers had been dumped upon his skin, he looked up to the inquisitor and its floating eyes. With a grit of his teeth, he gave what he knew for certain…
“Fuck you.”
It seemed the creature didn’t care to argue with him, lashing out with a green tether that wrapped around Faervell and caused more suffering than even that of the stone at his back. It would be his punishment each time, he knew that much.
Yet he wouldn’t give up. He was stronger than the damned demon.
Endless hours passed.
Faervell didn’t try to understand how long he’d been there anymore. He just knew it had been a span of time that felt like an eternity for each second. It was a terrifying concept to be so disconnected from the time that passed and how long he’d truly spent there.
His arms were sore and his wrists and ankles were raw from the heated bindings that still kept hold of him against that accursed rock.
That place.
He hated it so very much. Each subtle motion continued to send a fresh wash of pain over and through him, causing his breathing to struggle again. Even so, in some sick way, he’d gotten accustomed to it…prefered it, even, in comparison to the demon’s actions when they would come.
Hours.
He’d resisted for hours against the Inquisitor, finding ways to twist his mind and to push back, despite the overwhelming sounds that were the constant threat to his wall of defense. He rarely allowed the demon to prod back through his mind as it had the first time. He had quickly learned and, in turn, pushed back.
Each question given, he simply cursed the demon. Mocked it. Tried to be anything but an easy target to harvest information from.
And he had been punished for it.
Bruises lined his throat. Multiple punctures that had been widened from his struggling now lined his cheeks, even above the shaggy beard that had lost its clean appearance long before. More burns interwove with his already twisted skin, searing and further ruining him.
The demon’s attentions were painful, yet even it had given up after a time and left him on the stone to hang just low enough for passing felhounds to nip at his heels. Perhaps that was the worst. To be left alone- completely. To be left hanging from that punishing block, only hearing screams of pain or wails from those who died around the area.
His only indication of time passing was when the imps would come back, forcing sustenance of some kind into his mouth to keep him alive, if only barely. They mocked him, clawing and clinging to him in manners that forced him to move against those damned runes again.
It was painful.
It was humiliating.
Faervell hated it.
Hated it. Hated it. Hated it.
Each painful shift or claw of an imp upon him or sharp bite of a felhound only fueled him further. His anger pushed him to continue resisting, his thoughts lingered only on how he would find ways out of this. He had to think, had to find some way. He wouldn’t die there… he didn’t dare to allow himself that thought again.
Not here, not now.
Time passed, and eventually the horrendous sight of the demon approaching made itself known. Something was off though, no eyes following it this time. It caused slight concern for him, knowing well enough that such things never meant anything good. Or perhaps it was merely his mind playing tricks upon him. Already, despite how sore and tired he now was, he steeled himself once more for the sharp claws and the searing tethers that the demon would once more use against him.
Faervell’s defiant gaze did not leave the demon. He took in deeper breaths in a near animalistic manner, further preparing himself to curse the Inquisitor once more while fending off its prods into his mind. But this was different…
… Something was wrong…
There was a shift in its jaws, something unnatural to its motions as its hand spread in front of Faervell’s face. Something in the motion caused him to feel vertigo, threatening to upturn the sparse meal that had been fed to him by the imps. There was a gnawing feeling at the back of his mind as something oddly familiar sent a shiver down his spine.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the same demon. Even so, he knew it. He knew that feeling.
Once again, the distraction of his thoughts caused him to be open to the attacks, and abruptly his entire head was grabbed by the hand. Long fingers wrapped completely around him, as if threatening to crush both his head and his mind.
Burning.
It burnt so bad that it caused tears to rise to his eyes without want. He could see through the gaps of its fingers, and there was something so wrong with it…a shift of its features, a turn of its boney smile that allowed one to see beneath the hood…beneath, where there were three pairs of eyes, bright with corruption and staring right at him.
Everything fell silent around him. His eyes widened.
No longer did he feel the burning sensations or the sores that he’d grown so used to from endless hours on the stone.
All he felt was a chill. A coldness that sank deep into his soul and mind. A coldness that shattered his defenses, and left him completely at the whims of the demon before him.
There was a tightening of its fingers around his head, furthering the grip on his mind. He felt sick with the fear, the taste of it on his tongue while the voices reached his ear. The unnaturally soft whispers of a thousand voices that sank deep to his mind.
Just like that Valiriel was free again…in a manner of speaking.
She had been so sure that she would be spared. She had very nearly squirreled herself away behind someone else when suddenly she was plucked from the cage, immediately acting much like a frantic cat being dragged to a bath. Throwing her arms out, she tried to cling and claw at anything she could, be it an iron bar or someone nearby. As if doing so would cause the demon to decide she was too much trouble and leave her behind.
Adrenaline caused the pain in her side to dull, chest hammering as she was tossed with the other chosen. She had only just awoken and already the cycle of panic and anguish had exhausted her. So much that she fell unceremoniously on the rough ground when dropped instead of catching her footing.
The cage was shut after her departure, and soon, she was lowered to an Eredar who inspected each of the three individually. With a low grumble and click of a tongue, there was a sudden pain. Hot iron seared her throat, wrists, and ankles, causing a discomforting sound to gurgle in her throat while others around her continued to sob and wail. Soon, the chains were seen, leading to the larger demons free hand, binding them to his movements should he move the hand.
She could handle this, she told herself, she would be fine. Maybe she would even be gifted the opportunity to escape.
Optimism kept her barely afloat even as the chains and shackles bound to her yanked her at her harshly and threatened to topple her seconds after rising to her feet. She looked to the others that were in the demon’s hand and saw that chains had been created just like her own, linking them to the demon like leashes to a master.
There was another brief word, one she thought had been, ‘moving along’, and she was shoved to her feet instead of being held. She had all of five seconds before the chains grew taut and she was dragged like the rest. The pace set was too much for her, far too wide of steps to follow with her own. After a short distance the ground slipped from beneath her once more. She was dragged, her skin quickly turning from irritated to raw to scratched and bleeding helpless to the environment’s harsh conditions. The other prisoners certainly made it all the harder to find herself upright again, feet constantly nearly trampling her while she tried to hold the chains connecting to her wrists so that she did not find them separating and dislocating.
It was a cruel way to deliver the prisoners, but it worked for demons such as these.
For what seemed like an eternity and a half, she and the others were dragged upwards, then down again…and then they stopped. One chain was pulled and delivered to an awaiting demon; one in a long robe that brushed nearly to the ground. Its legs were unseen, if it even had any, and around it were a multitude of eyes. There had been others like that one, and it was clear that was whom she would be delivered to…eventually.
The first of the poor souls that had been handed off found themselves quickly lifted, the chains shifting and disconnecting from the cruel creature that dragged them here. Before they could find relief in such, they were slammed into a rock formation nearby that was coated in blood and demonic runes. They emitted a sound of pain from the movement, but it was far from over.
The chains began to shift and move around the poor soul, but the demon dragged the rest of the group along already. They were on their way once more.
Valiriel spared a glance back and saw the chains had tightened to each side, pulling the individual’s limbs wide and spread, squeezing them back against the stone behind them and leaving them defenseless.
Such was to await her.
The process continued, pleads and whimpers made by some, while others simply remained resigned to their fate in the end. Screams from ones such as those were hoarse from having gone through this process multiple times already.
And then it came down to two: Valiriel and a human with a broken nose. She clung to the hope that she was not next, that perhaps this human would be tossed up and she would not have to go, but such a wish was futile. The next demon awaited, a cruel grin almost seen across its twisted visage as it watched its victim pulled forward aggressively, the chain already dispersing from her restraints.
Valiriel did not have time to catch her footing. She was tossed up from the ground and back onto it again with the harshness of the first tug, left there before the next demon.
Only a moment’s pause was given for her and the process that she had witnessed multiple times now happened to her. An intense pressure surrounded her and she was lifted as if she were being grabbed by some great, invisible hand that threatened to crush the life out of her. Before she realized it, she was tossed back to the stone.
She had always once prided herself on her ability to withstand certain pains and abuse, whether it was an accurate belief or not was beside the point though, because this...this was unlike what she had ever experienced. The searing heat from the stone bit against her back, her lungs struggling to expand and fall when she was thrust and pulled against it. It was as if a thousand embers bit at her completely.
Her chains moved as they had the others, leaving her throat and drawing her legs and hands apart. Every movement that was causing her to be pressed against the stone left her with that biting pain again, and and again, and again…and when she stopped moving, it only turned into a dull throbbing sensation.
The runes reacted to movements, and she had just enough room in her bindings that she could move just a bit. But even the smallest shift caused that horrendous agony to shoot wherever her skin touched the stone.
And then there was the demon before her, and only the demon. Its floating eyes of fel stared down at her from a multitude of angles, the pressure of their gaze alone enough to suffocate her. The demon grew closer until it was looming over her on the stone. In the blink of an eye, the claws of the creature came out, so calculated in where they grabbed her jaw, the sharp points digging into her flesh to cause small punctures.
Pride. Pride. Pride.
It always got the best of her and at that moment it was biting into the inside of her cheek, willing every ounce of her being to swallow the screams and wails bubbling in her throat. Once, in her youth, when she lay shattered and agonizing on the garden floor her nurses and attendants had told her to cry and that it would make things hurt less. She could hear their voices buzzing in her head, little snap shots of the women cooing and fawning over her, the broken little mistress of the house. And then it was gone, fluttering away while demonic claws bit into her cheeks and the roar of blood in her ears nearly deafened her.
She should have pulled away – she wanted nothing more – but the cuts would only grow worse, widen, hurt more, and cause the runes behind to react. She knew it well enough.
A strange buzz of a spell vibrated through the claws and directly into her mind. While there was no sound in her ears, there was that in her head. It was like a thousand cicadas deafeningly singing their song, causing her thoughts to scatter completely.
Whatever the demon was subjecting her to caused her memories to flit by like a rolodex, moving from one to the next like a vague game of word association. It felt so intrusive, so terrible like she could feel the creature groping at her mind first hand. But writhing and struggling, when left for too long, caused her such an immense pain. It didn't feel all that much better when she stopped but it was just enough of a dull throb for her to breathe, to not feel her diaphragm seize up.
She felt the prodding sensation, but her focus would be ruined. Nothing could stop the damned creature. She was forced to simply stay there as her mind was being prodded. Her memories flipped by like silent movies, nothing more in her ears or head aside from the horrific chattering of the spell.
And then it subsided; the cicadas fell silent.
In the place of buzzing, all she heard was screaming, hoarse and desperate, sustained but quivering. Pain seared hot in her throat and it was only then that she realized the screams were her own.
They were wrong.
She realized this for second time in her life as bitter tears poured down her cheeks.
Crying didn't help the pain at all.
The demon had retracted its long fingers – if you could even call them such – from her head and her mind. There was a 'pleased' hissing sound from its open jaws, and the eyes that floated about grew closed, as if it could peer through her very soul. There was a cruelness as the creature’s rough tongue and it spoke in a creaking sort of way, "You will give all you know until you are broken, small warlock."
What more was there to give? Perhaps it was looking for locations best suited to send demonic gates? Perhaps it was looking to find any plans or information that might be crucial to the other points of invasions, on Quel'thalas, or perhaps even on the Cradle itself. All that was certain was that the demon meant true on its words. The towers of mostly drained and broken people locked away in barbed metals were a testament to that.
"You will tell," it’s horrible words came again, a demand this time, perhaps giving her a chance to betray her own people? Her own land?
Valiriel took the moment of relief if only for those brief seconds away from the invading claws. Of course the shackles and bindings still bit at her, coming back in full force when she reactively shifted away from the demon. Her cheeks burned hot, flushed and stained with tears that still spilled over. Her eyes stung, either from the frustration or from the choking demonic smog that seemed to linger in all parts of the planet.
"I don't know anything." She protested, trying to swallow the prideful streak in her that wanted to believe otherwise. "Certainly nothing that would help…augh…you." Valiriel hissed in pain against the rock, writhing away from the invisible pin pricks but it only intensified them all the more.
"You will tell all in time, elf."
In place of the horrendous fingers stretching into her mind, there was a stream of energy conjured between its claws. Slow at first, it would create a steady line, slowly going towards her like a slithering snake to its prey.
"Tell of weaknesses in your lands."
Valiriel eyed the stream with a quiet but clear revulsion. No matter how much it hurt or how much she could not lean away any further, she at least tried. She flattened herself to the platform that she was chained to. Before she could think all that much on it, she spat out the first word she could think of. She didn't know of it exactly as a weakness but what else was she to say? "Isolated! We're isolated from most everything."
"Most everything?" The stream would curl around, starting to tease as if it would actually go forth.
"People. Mostly," she replied hurriedly. Perhaps some part of her should have felt bad so quickly offering whatever morsel of information she had, but to be fair, the isolationist habits of the Cradle was nothing all that new. But it was also all she had. "I have no connections to the greater Quel'thalas area. I can give you nothing more. Your time is wasted, demon." She had half a mind to spit at the foul creature but for once, she bit her tongue and held back.
The demon watched her with judgement, and at the sound of a click from its teeth, the eyes around her suddenly stretched in a perfect semicircle. Threads of the same energy lashed out like hard spikes, piercing into her body without even having to puncture her pale skin. There was a raw feeling of heat and then waves of pain, aiming to make her writhe against those runes behind her.
The demon’s own snake-like tendril curled around her throat, choking her screams for the time as he spoke.
"You will tell in time. We simply must teach you."
Of course, she should have expected nothing less but still, disappointment struck her as the torture that the demon thrust upon her did. She moved to scream, the red hot flames bursting in her body tormenting her, but she found her throat crushed and struggling much more than panicked gasps of air. The animalistic drive to survive kicked in and despite knowing it foolish, her limbs kicked and failed. Or rather, they attempted to. The flurry of movement only lasted a heartbeat really, but the lingering stabs and pains that assaulted her in return drew out longer
"I have no...no answers!" she croaked when the strangulation so much as paused. "But I can...I can direct you to someone who does."
She expected another bout of choking and when the demon so much as moved closer towards her, she panicked and hurried to cut in. "In the cage! In the cage!" she had yelped. "In the same cage I came from, there is someone who knows much more than I. I'll show you him!"
Slowly the pain receded, and the eyes released their torment while the thread around her throat pulled back.
"What do they know." The expectant tone demanded immediate answer.
Valiriel dared for a moment to take a breath as the demon relented, but she was sure to not let it drag too long. "He spoke of escape! Of…of mounting attacks against the Legion both here and I believe elsewhere." She rotated her hands in their cuffs, taking her time free of pain to flex and accommodate the muscles better. "I've seen him before. He has ties to something powerful." She paused a moment, almost as if thinking but bursting into words once more to divert suspicion.
"Military ties," Valiriel ended finally, eying the demon and glancing wearily at the eyes that crowded around them. "Take me back and I'll point him out to you."
The demon grew closer to her, "You have seen him...then you will show me. You will think of him..." Slowly, the claws would once more reach up, and she knew what would come of that. "Show me your secrets."
It was far from what Valiriel wanted but expected nonetheless.
She recoiled against the stone when the demon raised its hand, her teeth gritting as she felt her world twist and become strangled under its probing fingers. There came the rolodex again and she did her best to guide it. To guide it in toward the man she had seen in the cage and of who she had embellished a few key facts.
Instead of Faervell, the scene that was conjured in her head was that of another man. An equally injured and unkempt, bearded man whom she had fixed her gaze on at least once or twice in the cage. He had sat just beyond Faervell, leaning against the iron bars. The man’s mouth moved in the haunting recreation of her memories and for a drawn out moment, not sound came. Eventually a voice did trickle in but it was that of the presently unseen Faervell. With little other knowledge, it must have merely looked like two clouded memories of the same unknown man, overlapping as memories of memories were oft to do.
"There!" Valiriel managed to cry out amidst the torture, nearly biting off her tongue in the process as she tried to convince the demon to divert his gaze to someone outside of herself.
Like a blade being pulled from her flesh, the pain left her. All of it had left her so quickly that it drew the very breath from her lungs, leaving her dizzy and gasping as she peered up at the inquisitor. For the moment, she was able to breathe, able to see the demon as it spread its claw, holding an odd twisted reflection of her memories within them.
What an odd thing, she had a moment of clarity to consider, but before long, the demon turned without a word.
For a moment, Valiriel had the hope that she would be relieved, that she would be let down, but as the demon left and abandoned her, the shackled woman grew panicked and shrieking once more. As it was, the planet was rife with the wild demons. With the dominating inquisitor leaving off for where surely this individual was, there was the growls of felhounds about her. It did not seem good for her.
"Take me down!" she cried out before immediately shrinking back at the sound of fel hounds.
She endured hours… perhaps days of the torture from the draining, pained bites of the felhounds that nipped at her feet. She was barely able to lift herself out of their reach, but only if she pulled her legs upwards. It would activate the stone’s runes with her struggle and it was painful.
It left her beyond exhausted for when she finally found herself pulled down and tossed like a broken doll. She had all of one moment to gather herself, the chains still heavy on her as they transitioned again to choke her throat and weigh her hands and feet down.
Once more, Valiriel was leashed by the forsaken demon and dragged to it’s whims. She stumbled as though trying to run, but the large demon tasked for taking hold of her made a sharp sound of a laugh, then pulled back. Like a dog, she was tugged and she tumbled, given no time to recover before the flesh-tearing dragging on stone would commence.
They did not go back to where she was before. There was no sign of the towers of iron barbs above the flaming hot fel pools. No. This place was cold and unforgiving. A dark void what most would see outside the high valley walls that kept all from seeing anything other than cages and the void. Cries of pain rang out, pleas to be released for help, for food or water were given, but the demons cared little for it.
Valiriel and a few others were tossed into a new cage. Emptier than the others. All of those inside were in a same state as she was. The chains would disperse, yet felt as if they were still on them, biting at their skin and leaving them to feel heavier and heavier. There was that ever lingering feeling of despair that was thick as the smog here, and it left Valiriel feeling less than great about that escape plan.
She had been left.
She could feel it in her bones, broken and bruised. No more would she be drawn from the cage, not for a while. The others were pulled at times. Few came back as time had gone on. How long would it be? Hours? Days? Weeks? How could one tell time in such a place, such a hell? All that signaled any pass of time were the rare occasions that the demons cared to take care of their prisoners.
They enjoyed to watch their prisoners, like viewing mad dogs fight, few pieces of food would be given, something of water as well. Only enough to feed or help one or two of the people in the cages, leaving more to starve. Those too weak to fight on would die, left to decay and be forgotten in this prison.
She had been left.
Curling up into herself, she prepared herself for the worst, glaring at the others in the cage with her. She found a spot in the corner, looking outwards and knowing that she would not find comfort or sleep here. There was the seed of doubt and fear that was slowly beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach, and she did all she could to swallow it down and wipe away the weakness.
Valiriel had been left.
Surripio Story Index Here
Credit to @shadowrabbits for half of the writing/use of her character.
Time drew on in this place. There was no significant sign of day or night, no idea of if the endless moments had been mere seconds or hours. Perhaps days had passed; perhaps weeks? It certainly felt like an eternity.
At points, the demons would come to the cage, the barbed metal twisting around a large hand while some of the unfortunate souls stuck there were dragged out, screaming or clinging to others, as if that would keep them from what would occur. Some did not come back, while those that did held odd wounds and burns, shook with fear, and dared not say a thing of what was to come for them all.
He’d managed to avoid being dragged away. Perhaps somehow being curled and looking just as dead as the others helped him. He was glad for that. He did not want to go with the demons, nor did anyone else. They were looking for something, surely; information to aid in their invasions, and he knew better than to make himself a target. He knew plenty of things that might be considered ‘helpful’.
More victims came, tossed into the cage like trash. None looked very interesting to him. More quivering souls or unconscious bodies waiting to awaken much like he had. Most would panic, scream, or go crazed for a time. There was no blame for those that did, merely understanding. Those that were still in their packed cage would simply keep quiet, stay out of the way, stay in their space to not lose any of the sparse ground they had.
Faervell tried to think of anything but his situation. A plan to escape seemed impossible, considering. He’d seen the punishments that would reign down on even a small uprising: immediately taken, and no chance the instigator would ever come back. They had ran into their own death.
His thoughts obsessed over how he’d even gotten there, his teeth clenching at the thought of -her-. Shahrissa. Running through the movements, the moments where he’d seen his misstep, his failure, his mistake.
Mistake.
It felt like peeling back a scab on an old wound to think of it, pain renewed at his own failures. He had been so confident that he’d had it right, set the circle up so carefully, placed all he could. Stupidly, he hadn’t let the circle’s paint settle. He had thought himself to be strong enough to keep his placement. After all, it wasn’t like the shivarra could do much in such a case. He had held her in lesser conditions, so this wouldn’t be anything. How stupid of him.
His thoughts were abruptly cut off. A woman began to rouse, and just like others, she began to panic. She backed towards the bars with such rapid movements that she knocked her own head against the bars with an audible bang. She turned after that, suddenly calling out to a passing demon that currently dragged a new batch of poor victims behind it.
“Demon!” Her voice carried so well, filled with feigned strength. She was on her knees then, grabbing the bars.
Faervell was half concerned that her shout would draw too much attention to them, but soon the Demon spat back, “Whine at someone else, whelpling.” There was a disgusting gurgling noise that might have been a laugh right before the vile creature continued on its way with its gathered victims.
For some reason, watching the all too familiar scene caused him to speak up. Perhaps to stop her before she made more of a fuss, or worse: did what he had.
“You’ll get nowhere like that.” There was a twinge of pain as speaking cracked his dried lips, reminding him of the thirst that had begun to bother him.
That caused her to look at him through her mess of pale curls. Fear was obvious in the snap of her head, her wild eyes, like a trapped animal’s, and her voice as she said, “What is there to do, then? Do I sit here and… and… wallow in my misfortune and anguish like them?” She gestured wildly as she spoke, pointing to the others in the cage, huddled and wailing or simply staring with that look of pain and despair.
He watched her, waiting until she was done before he went on, “Well you could start by not yelling and getting attention drawn to yourself… The more you do that, the quicker you’ll be taken to be broken. And then you -will- be sitting in anguish like these ones.” He motioned toward a particular human woman who seemed dead, just staring with a look of defeat. She had not been mentally there since she’d come back to the cage, the signs of the torture and her break clear.
The pale-haired woman frowned, her brows coming together as she started to settle back. “Duly noted.” She rubbed across her face, back into her mess of curls to comb it down and out of the way, showing the filth that clung to ivory skin. Again, she spoke up, “I don’t suppose you know where we are or why?”
His eyes lidded, as if his exhaustion threatened to overtake him. “I’m not specifically sure, but from what I’ve overheard, it is something along the lines of a broken planet named Daznook. One of their prisons made specifically for this sort of thing.” There was a twitch of his expression, remembering having overheard the demons speaking so vaguely of such things, mentioning other names he’d never heard of. He could only have assumed the names to be other locations where the demons were keeping people as well. “As to why, I don’t know. I haven’t been taken yet to know what they’re looking for, and I don’t much want to go.”
She offered a nod of acknowledgement at first, curling up tightly within herself. It almost pained him at how she mimicked his own motions not so long ago. Her eyes lingered on a prisoner who muttered and mumbled, picking at wounds and finding it to be suitable to eat the scabs for nourishment.
Faervell assumed that was the end of the conversation, and was glad at least that it seemed to calm her down to stop drawing attention to their cage. Though soon, he heard her voice once more.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to realize how fucked we are,” he murmured in return. “Maybe… Maybe a day or two longer than you. I can’t tell, though it feels as if it’s been so much longer and I have yet to be taken.” He glanced warily to the others in the cage that -had- gone, then back to the newest addition.
“Ah,” she said in short, giving a deep sigh.
He watched as there was a catch to her breath, then as she pressed her hand to her side as if to hold down something while she spoke a soft curse. An injury, perhaps, but there didn’t seem to be a wound. He assumed something internally had gone wrong. Not that surprising, considering the conditions they had been in since arriving and the manner in which they were treated in the delivery to their cages. Not to mention however they had gotten to that accursed planet in the first place.
“You said… You’re more likely to be taken if you make a scene, right?”
Her question had unsettled him, but slowly he’d nod his head. “More than likely.”
The woman crawled forward through the cage, lowering down onto the ground completely in front of a man using rocks to scribble half legible runes and figures on the ground. Faervell watched as she grabbed hold of the man’s hair, whispering something that surely was nothing good.
The howl that came from the man afterwards was horrendous, and most importantly, loud. He rolled onto his back and clawed at his already torn up face with no signs that he’d stop anytime soon. It was so obvious.
She’d cursed him.
Already, the woman scrambled to a spot next to Faervell, suddenly trying to look more natural to the others who curled away from the poor man, who now was cursing and thrashing in unseen pain.
Faervell frowned, his eyes narrowed as he muttered lowly, very quickly, “What are you trying to -do-? Get us all tossed out and put to whatever the fuck torture they’re dealing out?” There was anger or perhaps a twinge of fear at the prospect.
“Only him!” she hissed back to him, watching as a demon came to their cage. It knocked against the bars and hissed at the poor man in the center.
Everyone flinched as the sharp tongue of the demon barked out, “SHUT IT!” Yet… no quiet would come. The screaming continued until finally, the cage was opened and the man was snatched out by his legs.
The screaming could be heard as he was carried away, and slowly, the sounds returned to normal; a newfound weeping across the way was the only sign of change. Perhaps someone that cared, or perhaps only someone that feared for their own fate.
The breath of the sea filled his nose and warmth was at his side. He curled closer, his sleep addled mind wanting nothing but to spend a few more moments with her, just a while longer before he had to wake. He was comfortable and had no need to hide the happy smile to be in their bed, with her there.
There was no awkwardness in his movement, reaching forward to take hold around her and pull her closer. He expected the softness of her skin, but when his fingers touched her, he felt pain.
Horrible, horrible pain.
Faervell suddenly would awake, his head rushing with a certain dizziness and he screamed, pulling his hand from whatever had pained him so badly. It just so turns out that it was another person. Ragged looking and confused as they’d been roused from sleep- or what little sleep they’d managed to get. The heavy, dark bags under their eyes spoke of a exhaustion that he couldn’t even understand.
What had caused the pain specifically was his twisted, split left hand, barely pulled away from the others backside which had rolled over it.
There was so much confusion, his blood rushing with adrenaline suddenly as he tried to figure out where he was. Barbed metal, the overwhelming heat and the press of other bodies against him, tightly packed into the small space. There was a thickness to the air, and fear pressed in closer even more so than the cage that he’d found himself in.
He tried to back up, cradling the broken and burning hand with his other, glancing around with wild eyes like an animal. It took him all of a second before he was shoved roughly from another who was still in the cage, feeling a pain rip at him from his shoulder. He glared back, enraged from the pain.
Faervell didn’t care. Faervell did not hold back.
Fel flames struck up, hot and relentless on what they would touch, brought on by sudden anger from pain and fear. He saw the wide eyes, the lips curled back from whatever they were going to say. He saw the features turn bright green, felt the woman under his flames diminish and lose her life with a disgusting gurgling pop.
The smell was the worst, having curled his stomach to the point of losing its contents in the past, but he had grown accustomed to it in his later years. It still bothered him; it clung to him and marked him for what he was and what he had done.
He didn’t stop till she was gone. All his fear and anger for what happened drained into fel flames that consumed her body and soul till there was nothing. Nothing but the fragment of bones and ashes and that vile, damned smell mixed with the rest of that wretched air.
When it ended, he felt their eyes on him. The handful of people of various races, ages, and wounds sitting and staring at the sudden commotion the warlock had caused. There was something that stirred in his chest, a discomfort. He did not like their eyes. He hated them.
With a hiss, he addressed them all, “Look elsewhere.” Even if they did not understand the thalassian tongue, the sharp, commanding tone was enough to send the others to either bury their heads back to their knees or find other things they’d rather look at to lose the warlocks attention.
Faervell couldn’t seem to relax at all, for as his rush of adrenaline wore off, he felt the pain and wanted to cry out. The moments that he showed himself to be so aggressive and terrifying were overwritten by the wave of this agony. His body shivered and he curled up closer, his knees close to his chest with his broken hand between to protect it in a sense. His movements had caused strain upon his wounds, and unknowingly he’d allowed himself to stretch the broken hand to attack the dead woman now at his side.
He tried to breathe, tried to calm himself. He buried his head to his knees and closed his eyes, blocking out everything to try and dim the pain that sent him into this maddening state of torture. His mind raced. He reached out for what comfort he might find, a plea for help from the one he so often called for in his states of pain. Like a child, he begged in his mind.
‘Please.’
‘Please make it stop.’
‘Sister, please, make it stop.’
Tears had sprung up, and a sob threatened to overtake him. His throat burned and the pain just would not subside, causing him to shake.
Ciaragan would not hear him. He knew she was not there. He felt disconnected from her, from everyone he knew.
He knew, and slowly was accepting, that he was not near to any place that could be considered home. This was not where he’d find his sister. This was not where he’d find that familiar scent of sea along soft covers.
That was gone.
He was gone.
Fear crawled into his pain-addled mind, and for a brief moment he heard some distant voice in his mind speak one thought into it:
