Awake (heron)

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It was cold, and damp. The sounds of water dripping into pools from above rung through Felshens ears as his eyes slipped open. The room was extremely dimly lit, to the point where he thought it could have not been lit at all, but when he held up his hand there was a slight shadow. His head was pounding, and he wasn't sure where he was, the only thing he could tell was that he was in a cage. A fate to him, worse than death. Silence surrounded him, but at least the sound of the dripping water soothed him. Water always soothed him.

He had to relax, he was growing frantic, the loss of memories was disorienting and concerning. Felshen winced at the throbbing in his head and he felt his face pull on some thing, he reached his hand up and touched the side of his face. Blood, crusted blood completely covered his right cheek and temple. He followed the trail up into his hairline and discovered painfully a large bump rising from his skull. He grew dizzy and lay down, he had to escape. He had to, he felt tentatively through his being and found his magic, but try and try as he might he couldn't reach it. He had never had this problem before, it was as if a fog had rolled in and obscured the location of his power.

He tried the cage, he knew it wouldn't be open, but the chance was still there. He reached for the cage door and found it, his eyes widened, unlocked. He pushed the iron cage door open, it hitting back on the metal walls with a resounding clang.

As he stepped out into the cave he realized he wasn't alone. Glowing red eyes peered at him from a dark face, Azazealyn? No, there was no purple in those eyes. Pure red.

A thickly accented femenine twang sprung from the direction of the eyes. "You have caused us much trouble. You were most difficult to find, Captain Cresting,"

Felshens vision swam before his eyes and he desperately tried to keep from sinking under, "Who are you?" He forced, he must have been hit harder than he thought.

The Drow slid off the stone on which she was sitting, and walked slowly over to him. She was tall shapely, and powerfully built. Her face wasn't beautiful like Azazealyn's, but she was far from ugly. She walked with a heavy sway in her hips, as if she was attempting to walk seductively. As if she put excessive thought into each step she took. It made her look ungainly and awkward.


"Who, I am is of no concern to you male," She snapped her fingers and two male Drow rushed into the room, Restraining Felshen they drug him over to what appeared to be a table. Felshen didn't resist. They out sized him by nearly two and a half each, and he wasn't one for hand to hand combat.

The Drow was dressed as a priestess and she approached slowly behind the ungainly presession to the table. The two Drow slammed Felshen hard against the crude granite slab and strapped him down by his wrists and ankles. The air had been blown from Felshens lungs at impact and he found himself coughing trying to draw back in air.

The Drow males abruptly turned, bowed to the priestess and left. The Drow priestess walked up beside Felshen and smiled as she drew her long sharp nail across Felshens torso, cutting the cloth of his nightshirt. She reached into the slice and ripped the shirt in two with ease. Felshen didn't start worrying until he saw the drow withdraw a red hot coal. Then the screaming began

[Azazealyn]

It had been at least a few months since the high priestess had been down to the drow city. Her eyes took in the many houses and castles here, as well as the alerted presence of the male guards in the city. Violet eyes narrowed as she passed by several of the Matrons vying for top positions in the city, none daring to come against the Matron Mother, Lytiiana Valkyriena. The high priestess pushed a strand of hair back, her spider companion on her shoulder and clicking in her ear. Apparently Lytiiana was not happy that Azazealyn had gone to the surface.

Azazealyn sighed, irritated both with her captain and her mother for starting this. Few of the drow realized the true power that the priestess possessed and the amount of favor bestowed on her by Lloth. There was a reason that she never used her Matron Mother’s last name, preferring to use one name and one name only; she did not want to be part of her mother’s house or her line. It was a dangerous thing when one felt that their House was on the slide to declining power. And Azazealyn had seen it long ago.

The fact that Lytiiana had ordered Felshen to be kidnapped only further served to darken the high priestess’ mood, enough so that she had a small whirlwind of power around her that others kept well away from or ran off to warn their own houses that the youngest of the Valkyrienas had returned. And from the looks of it, to wage war against her mother, which in and of itself was not an uncommon occurrence in the drow society. Azazealyn stormed straight to her mother’s house, the largest complex constructed from massive stalactites and stalagmites, walk ways connecting the upper portions while armed guards patrolled every aspect of the complex.

Reaching the ever closed webbed gate, she spread her hand in front of it, forcing the gate to bow down and open for her, something that Lloth herself had bestowed upon Azazealyn. Lytiiana had fallen from Lloth’s favor and it was time for the dark goddess to show what happened to those that were fallen from favor and refused to acknowledge it. Stepping through the gate, Azazealyn’s eyes glowed with an inner power from her dark goddess, stopping even the eldest brother in his tracks when he came to approach her.

Azazealyn took no notice of the other drow around her, instead storming straight into her mother’s throne room where she let out a pure ripple of power, summoning her mother and sisters there with merely a thought and hardly a care if they came decent or not. When Lytiiana appeared, she hardly seemed as if she were concerned about her youngest daughter’s sudden reappearance.

”Azazeyaln, how good of you to make your appearance with us again. Hopefully that foolish time on the surface has cleared your head again and you will serve among us once more,” she said with what could have been a charming smile.

Azazealyn did no more to acknowledge her mother’s words before she waved them away, silencing her mother with another ripple of power that was felt in every priestess of Lloth throughout the city. It was strong enough that Azazealyn clearly saw in her mind’s eye that several were brought to their knees. “Where is he,” she demanded, eyes glowing dangerously.
Her mother seemed to take no notice of Azazealyn’s power, having used it in the past. She did not believe that her youngest daughter would turn against her over a surface elf, a male surface elf at that. Waving a delicate hand, she fixed steady red eyes on Azazealyn. “Why are you so upset about him? It is not like he is anything important. We were planning on sacrificing him to Lloth since he took you away from us,” she said, as calmly as she could, but her eyes were burning with the fire of a zealot.

Azazealyn turned then, striding forward and stopping a scant few feet from her mother’s chair, the air around them in the chamber and complex shimmering with magick. It drew crowds outside to gather around the complex, watching and waiting with baited breath as to what was going to happen. The next pulse of power sent all of them scattering back to their complexes, praying that their own spells and wards held against the fury of the high priestess.

“You have long since fallen from Lloth’s favor, Lytiiana. You know it but refuse to admit it, taking from the smaller houses. Time has come for a change in the power of the city. No longer shall the Valkyrienas rule, instead the power shall come to the next house that has the might,” she said, her voice echoing not with her own power, but with the will of Lloth coming through.

At that moment, it seemed that Azazealyn and Lloth were one, superimposed over each other. Azazealyn’s voice was not quite hers and not quite Lloth’s, rather an enticing mixture of the two. Azazealyn rather looked like Lloth, which had added to her ability to gain favor, Lloth was happy that she had a vessel on this plane which to use.

Lytiiana was frozen in shock. It was not her daughter; rather their goddess who was speaking to them and it seemed that Lloth had no qualms with Azazealyn’s liking for the male elf. Her eyes darted unconsciously towards the side door before coming back to rest on the being that was her daughter yet not. She began to speak, but Azazealyn had enough. She swept through the door, ignoring her mother’s calls, intent on finding Felshen.

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Time and time again Felshen wished he could slip out of consciousness. But every time he felt sweet darkness coming to embrace his sore body the torment lightened, and left him panting in the darkness. The cave that had once been dim was pitch black now, the only things that could be seen were the Drow eyes around him.

The priestess had grown bored with his screams from the coals, and had long since put them away. Now she sat leisurely across the room and watched him with unblinking scarlet eyes. There was a smile in those eyes. A smile he didn't want to see in the least bit. It spoke of experience, it spoke of promise, and it spoke of pain. What that smile didn't hold was any compassion, mercy, or grace. It was the smile of a determined woman who loved her job. That's all he was to her, a job. Possibly a play thing, but no doll had ever known such torment as he felt now.

The only companions he had were his screams, but even they had faded and drew distant after the torment of the coals had graced his chest with fiery vengeance. He could tell now, that if he ever got out of here, he would never forget the agony felt here. The scent of his own flesh cooking would forever stain his senses, and the scars would never completely fade.

He had been burnt before, but oh a burn had never felt so good. He treasured the burn on his wrist. He had gotten it from saving Azazealyn. His Drow Priestess. He hoped she wasn't worried about him. Then again if she was, the world would need a hero, because that was the only thing that could save it from her wrath. Sometimes he wished he had warnings of when her mood would shift, but then again, any man who had interest in the fairer sex would love to have that one.

To say his chest was in pain was an understatement. Every breath caused him to seize up which consequently caused him more pain. It was a never ending cycle of pointless agony. He would choose being placed into a harem of vampire succubi stark naked and tied over this any day. At least they didn't know of his fear of vampires.

The Priestess snapped her fingers and two more sets of eyes entered the room. The two males entered and he heard the clinking of chains. Felshen shuddered and tried to reach for his magic. He still couldn't reach it, but he was undeniably closer. A glimmer of hope sparked up inside him but he concealed it on his face, he knew the Drow could see a smile in the dark. Once he could touch the very source of life, they would be the ones who knew pure agony. He smiled inwardly as he felt leather belts fasten on his ankles and wrists. He just had to endure for a little while longer.

The chains could be heard above and below him, clinking on stone floors and two loud click could be heard followed by a tightening of the chains. His heart began pounding in his ravaged chest as he heard the grating clicking of two gears being turned resulting in his legs and arms being stretched taut.

The Drowess beside him rose and came to his side, she seemed to glide in the darkness her eyes staying level. The smile in her eyes was still there, menacing and taunting him for all it was worth.

"Ah, Captain. I take it you are enjoying our hospitality? It truly has been such a long time since I've had a forest elf for company. I find you're type quite exotic. You really are quite the catch Captain Cresting," She drug her long finger nail along his jaw and paused under his chin drawing his lips up close to hers, she breathed heavily and that smile could be heard in her voice, "But I prefer my Men, taller."

She abruptly pushed his head back onto the stone slab and she snapped her fingers. That's when agony returned to him.

Grinding, turning, pulling. Such a simple device, he had similar on his ship for raising the masts. But now, such a benign device was being put to malignant use. He felt his joints pop and his spine stretch with every turn of the wheel. And with every turn he met a new agony, each unique like every new sunrise and just as blinding. Scarlet, orange, yellow, fire danced before his eyes and a screeching gale through a thin rocky crag escaped his lips. Now he understood why people feared the Drow, at home in their own personal hell, the screams matched the image of a place of eternal torment.

He reached for his magics, and he nearly reached them. The pain was giving him focus. And with every turn of the wheel, each of the rancorous new sunrises began melting the thin layer of fog that obscured the path to his power. Their torment was walking them blindly through the same fog toward the river they would sail straight to hell.

He reached again, his fingers grazed the power. It wouldn't be much longer until he could dip his fingers in. They would soon know their folly and they would regret the day the ever heard his name.

He winced, as the crank dropped into the next slot. He felt his back pop again. Now if only he could last long enough to reach salvation.

[Azazealyn]

The fury and power preceded the high priestess, igniting her rage and seeking every room and swirling around the occupants, searching for what Azazealyn was looking for. She tore through the house of her mother, and any who dared stand in her ways were pushed off to the side by invisible hands inflicting all kinds of pain upon them. She trusted the power and let him lead her, down to the dungeons of her mother’s house.

Azazealyn knew that aura of her oldest sister, Lydiina. The one who had not found enough favor to become the high priestess of Lloth. The one who was jealous of Azazealyn for being pretty. The one who hated the youngest daughter with a passion that not even their mother could match. Lydiina, the sister who had no real favor with Lloth.

Her power stormed through the room, the high priestess throwing caution to the wind as she came upon the door, willing it open. Lydiina would pay, she decided and in her mind, Lloth agreed, humming a delightful tune. Oh yes, Lydiina would pay dearly for this foolishness. The sight that was before her eyes was enough to enrage her further.

Lydiina grinning, Felshen screaming, and the two males were cowering and doing as they were told until the power tore them away, flinging them back against the wall and into unconsciousness. Lydiina turned, a purring smile on her face as she looked at her younger sister. “So have you come to join us? Give him to Lloth and earn her favor?” she asked, her voice seeming not to take note of the mood of the high priestess.

Mistake one. Azazealyn’s power moved through the room, a harsh wind that would cut as well as heal, protecting the forest elf from the ensuing battle of rage that would happen between the sisters. Drow were never known for love of any kind, except for their love of torture and warfare. Azazealyn may have been young, but she was not foolish, knowing full well how her race worked and knowing that killing her sister right out would be folly.

However, drawing her sister’s death out seemed like the better option, as violet eyes turned, narrowed with deadly intent. Azazealyn needed no words to convey her fury except for a few that were of Lloth’s bidding and completely unintelligible to everyone else but the dark goddess. Lydiina’s eyes widened as the last syllable fell from Azazealyn’s lips, her body contorting in a grotesque manner as a silent scream parted her lips.

It was a small satisfaction to the high priestess that her sister would die in a painful, yet silent way, no one daring to help her for fear of the wrath of Lloth. It was a scene that no one would soon forget, nor would they dare cross the high priestess ever again.