Things had changed very little in the city since Devasha had left. It seemed as if she still had the required ‘assets’ to survive quite well among the chaos which the Humans referred to as the ‘Cathedral District.’
Midway between the base and the apex of her cracked right horn resides a dark piercing which would appear to have been literally hammered directly into the bone in an effort to keep it from splitting further. Atop this ‘piercing’ sits a rather large black diamond which matches her skin tone quite closely
(Contains: Inferred Sexual Assault, Prisoner of War)
‘Great, now where am I?’ Devasha thought to herself as her dark eyes opened to the world once again. She was laying in a field among numerous others of her kind that were clearly in various states of consciousness… though the rotting stench and buzzing of flies made it abundantly clear that not all had survived long after arriving.
She pushed herself up slowly, the soft grass feeling quite odd against her palms after having been stuck on that disgusting battlefield for so long. Her nails instinctively dug into the ground as the pain in her head started to return. Her shattered horn had started to split apart fully which added a sharp pain to the already dull ache. There would be time to worry and deal with the pain later though. At present it was overwhelmingly apparent that she was far from safe and she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
She squinted through the pain and began to observe her surroundings with a dull gaze. Orcs of various colors, strange colors, were wandering by. There was a loud snap in the distance and screaming from something that sounded completely unfamiliar to her. A glance to her left revealed another Draenei who was quite similar to herself, though a bit more blue in tone. The woman seemed to be handling things much worse and Devasha puzzled a moment over the expression of terror plastered on the girls face.. things had not been that terrible to this point.. had they?
To her right was another woman who was unresponsive to the world but appeared to still be breathing. Devasha reached out quickly and pressed lightly upon the the woman’s neck with a fingertip to gauge if the young woman was still alive. There was a surprisingly strong pulse and Devasha quickly retracted her hand, not wishing to draw any attention to herself by moving about too much.
It was at this point that Devasha realized that she had not seen one guard or soldier watching the small group that she found herself in. Her brow furrowed, this was the first time that she had been trusted to be alone and it made no sense. Her gaze moved to the unconscious woman as she continued to wonder.. an idle expression of thought on her features. “Wait.. where is the muck and filth?” She had not meant to say this out loud, but the thought struck her with so much confusion that she had. Thankfully, and oddly, there was no answer to her inquiry by either a guard or one of her own kind. A quick peer down at herself had proven that she was also clean, though her armor had been replaced with some sort of dress made of what she could only assume was grass designed to make you itch yourself to death.
Again she turned to the woman on her left, “What is going on here? Where are the guards?” The blue skinned girl stared at her for a moment, seeming annoyed and petrified at the same time as she simply nodded her head to the left and began to chant quietly. Devasha leaned forward and settled her dim eyes off into the distance. There was a group of Orcs in various states of undress huddled around three or four other Draenei women. She quickly leaned back again so that she could not see what was taking place, “So, I guess that’s where the guards are?” Those in her immediate area were clearly not amused by her statement, but it didn’t matter much.
For the first time she was thankful for her murky eyes. It may not have been the case, but she credited them in some part for making her unattractive to the Orcs.. though she figured that Orcs were not overly picky. She exhaled loudly through her nose and shuffled her hooves in the grass, kicking up a bit of dirt as she tried to think of a plan. There was no time better than the present and, though she felt poorly for the victims to her left, it was doubtful a better opportunity to get out would present itself.
She nodded sharply in an effort to prepare herself or perhaps fool herself into thinking this was not ridiculous. With that she snapped her attention back to reality and looked up and ahead to try and plot out her route. If only the large Orc was not standing two paces in front of her. She frowned and wondered where the man had come from while peering up at him from her spot sitting on the grass. A quick glance around to those who had fallen silent was given to confirm that indeed the Orc was staring directly at her.
Devasha cleared her throat, this day.. or was it a week.. was just getting better and better it seemed. She spoke in her native language, “You don’t want me, look.” She did not know if he could understand what she was saying but it was worth a try.. pointing to her broken horn. “Broken, see, and my eyes are dull. Dull eyes. Do you understand?” The Orc simply grinned and motioned at her to stand and follow. Devasha continued, “No no, you don’t want me. No good at whatever you Orcs call it. Very bad.”
The Orc reaching out to grab her was enough to convince her that the statements she was making were relatively ineffective. She quickly stood up and curled her tail to the right tightly against her thigh before the Orc had reached her. She had no intention of being choked again. The Orc grinned more and turned, Devasha followed him and looked around as she did.. the others were all staring at her with what looked like pity. “Fuck!” (or the Draenic equivalent) she exclaimed.
(Contains: Violence, Blood, Gore, Prisoner of War, Death.)
She suddenly became quite aware of her own mortality, she was going to die. At present all of the stories the elders had spoken of in cautionary whispers during the late evening were unfolding before her eyes. On this day she would watch those she knew face their death. Though they generally did not speak to her or reciprocate her attempts at friendship, she still felt a certain sadness and closeness. They were all still her people and they were all good people simply trying to defend their home. Yet, here they were lined up and marching to their deaths with a pit of corpses next to them.
Devasha had only mere moments to ponder things before movement at the front of the line caught the attention of her dull eyes and tore her from her thoughts. The first prisoner in line was a rather imposing Draenei with his shoulders back and head held high. The young man carried an obvious aura of pride even when in defeat. Unfortunately the mans brave facade of strength briefly turned to a surprised exclamation of horror as a rather disgusting looking blade was hacked nearly through his neck in its entirety. A bright blue blood frothed and squirted from the jagged gash left behind by the dull instrument and, had it not been for a bit of meat and flesh remaining, for a moment it seemed as if his head would topple off from his shoulders. His shock would soon be replaced by a stillness as the light faded from his eyes, the peace of nothingness which came from his very being spilling forth onto the filthy ground. The orcs to either side who had been holding him still simply let the limp mass of empty flesh fall backward freely. Laughter and taunts soon followed as the body slid down a muddied side the large pit, which had been dug for this specific purpose, and crumpled into a heap upon a massive pile of decay.
It was quite strange, but watching this provided Devasha with a feeling of peace. She took solace in how efficiently the horde was performing executions today and that things would be over soon for as the line shuffled on slowly forward with the next Draenei taking the place of the first. As she neared closer to the front her eyes were able to peer upon the Orcs a bit closer. An important looking male with skulls of various beasts hanging from his belt was sitting on a felled tree with various guards flanking him. He would glance at each Draenei and give a dismissive flick of his filthy hand with as little effort as possible, his face eternally frowning as if in disgust of having to entertain the idea of sparing a prisoner. He appeared rugged and scarred from battle and she could only assume that he held some rank, though she knew little of how their command was structured.
In a macabre distraction to ease her mind she began to count the ratio of prisoners killed versus those taken away into what she assumed was slavery. To her surprise, one in some thirty five would be hauled off to an unknown fate. This was a much higher percentage of survival over what she understood to be true from the elders. Even more odd was the new question which would toy at her mind, would she rather be killed on the spot with a finality to her situation or be whisked away into a horrid existence? More importantly, why would she even entertain a question such as this when ‘the light’ clearly would value ones death and pride over any other solution?
As the line lumbered on she felt hollow inside, it was likely better to simply have a finality to it all and her questions were largely insignificant now. She sighed and glanced down to the mud which was stained with various fluids and trodden by many hooves before her. The muck soon went from being brown and clumped to one which smelled of death and was a much more slick texture which made it hard to keep from falling. Her dull eyes lifted and she found herself to be the seventh in line to meet her demise.
To her utter dismay, the Orc who had been performing the executions handed his rather bloodstained sword to a much smaller male Orc who seemed quite uncertain. At the next gesture of execution from the judicator the smaller Orc, who was wearing what appeared to be the skull of a goat as a taunt, would attempt to deliver the killing strike to the throat of the next victim. He was obviously training and missed horribly, striking the female Draenei in the face and nearly ripping her jaw off. While she screamed in horror and pain he swung again and missed. Devasha tensed at the image but relaxed as the third swing finally hit the side of the womans throat and brought death to the now disfigured and suffering woman. The line slowed with the inexperienced executioner now hacking away roughly like a lunatic. More often than not it would take him a swing or two to actually render his victim at least unconscious. After the second Draenei was hacked up beyond recognition by the inept executioner the Orcs holding the prisoners seemed to stop caring if the victims were dead or not and, in an effort to speed things up, only two attempts of the executioner were provided to each prisoner. In any case the dead or disfigured Draenei would be tossed into the ditch to rot or die horribly.
Devasha just shook her head slowly while muttering under her breath about the horrible luck that seemed to follow her through life. The man in front of her stepped forward and turned to face the executioner. He seemed to be as nervous as she felt and it made her wonder how she was perceived by those behind her. A glance back over her shoulder was met with hundreds of glowing eyes which all seemed lost in their own struggle with mortality. The commanding Orc yelled something to the executioner and the smaller Orc stepped to the side. As the commander stood his full height was revealed and he was quite massive to say the least. He slowly trudged forward, flanked by his two guards which he towered over. His eyes pierced into the Draenei and he suddenly rammed his fist into the prisoners abdomen in one fluid and unexpected motion. The young Draenei buckled over and coughed as he tried to catch his breath, the large Orc laughing the entire time and giving a nod of his head. At this the Draenei was grabbed roughly by two Orcs and wrestled out of the line to be taken away to some other fate.
Devasha froze in place as the Orcs all turned to look at her. The executioner moved to take a step forward and gave her a rather toothless grin of satisfaction. Her murky eyes suddenly lit up with arcs of blue and white which would zig-zag as if lightning through the bleak gray drop as fear started to rage within her. It was almost as if someone had flipped a light switch.
At noticing the remarkable display, the Commanding Orc paused and reached a rotten smelling hand out to firmly grasp a hold of her one remaining undamaged horn. He was far too strong and literally hoisted her rather light form from the ground, her hooves dripping muck and slime as they hung in the air. His eyes squinted as he moved her face closer to his and began to stare into her eyes. Devasha would return the stare, her eyes unblinking, though it was not of bravery but instead a panic which held her frozen. The dazzling display of color got even brighter as she nearly threw up at the stench of decay which came from the Orcs mouth as he grunted a few words.
Before she had a chance to fathom the situation the Orc tossed her rather roughly by her horn into the arms of yet a different Orc. This new Orc let out a bellowing laugh and she felt his fingers wrap tightly around her throat for a moment before everything went black.
