It was always raining here.
The figure was dark – ebon skin, dark and rain-slicked hair that fluttered freely like a banner, black cloak slick with rain, fluttering heavily in the wind, black leather foot wraps pulled tight by silver buckles, leather pants with more buckles running down their sides, pulling the gaunt fabric tighter, leather sleeveless tunic, buckles tight across the midsection like a corset, wraps buckled tightly over upper arms and along the wrists and forearms. Dark bruises, dark scars. Always here things were dark, and could be no different without someone taking notice.
Dark as midnight, save for shining fuchsiac violet eyes.
Standing on a spire of the Twilight Citadel, the figure looked out over the city of Freeport; it was not the first time nor the last time the figure would stand atop the Overlord’s palace because it was one place it was able to remember death clearly. Dark birds flocked amid the skies over the vile city, their clamor an eerie and off-key song above the din of city life. One of the larger ones broke away from the milling dance, it’s talons coming to rest in the stone of a nearby spire – they looked at each other for a long moment, something passing between them, and then the figure raised it’s arms out as it fell backwards.
It was familiar, the feeling of falling from such an immense height as the dark sides of the floating citadel rushed past. Each time the mind returned to the first time this experience was given, as though it were only yesterday the throat was cut open and the body broke the glass of the window.
Despite knowing that something won’t kill, life still passes before the eyes – the last few hours of life compressed into seconds…
Life stirred within her belly, sickening her not only by nature but also by reminding her of the torturer’s hands on her body, his nightly demands to be inside her. There was just the beginning of a belly on her; only visible due to her forced starvation by the obsessive master she had known for longer than a decade. Part of him was now part of her, resting helplessly against her womb as he continued his work…she loved the child and she Hated it.
There was hope that the starvations, the daily abuse, and the nightly violence would destroy the child before her torturer noticed; perhaps the being she felt growing within her would escape the hell of the floating citadel and move on. She never wanted the being – she knew it was male, at least – and she knew that his birth would be just another death sentence in the City of the Free.
When the guards came to the small chamber the torturer kept her suspended in, she found herself lowered to the ground, the vicious hooks removed from their well worn holes in her back as the lacerating ropes were untied from her arms, wrists and neck. The guards lifted her from the floor, and she forced her body to remain limp in their hands, as though she were physically unable to do more than lift her head. She was taken to a room where a grizzled man cleaned her up by roughly rubbing her body down with wet rags before he helped her dress in a black robe. With a decrepit brush, she combed the tangles out of her nearly knee-length locks before loosely tying them back at her neck.
Half carried by the guards, she and the torturer had been taken up the seemingly never-ending staircases within the Twilight Citadel. It was rumor that far above the torture dens were elegant rooms where the Overlord and his closest advisors carried out their debauchery with the cacophony of screams for background music. Confusion began to fill the air about them, and it was unclear of why they were being brought out of the pits into such beauty.
The heavy carved double doors opened slowly, and the guards parted and lined the glimmering walls. The Overlord was seated behind an elegant desk, several pristine parchments laid out before him even though a scribe that bowed and backed out of the room read them to him. Despite never having seen the man before, she knew he was a calm cauldron of Hate and Corruption and that at this moment, it was to be directed at her.
With a motion, he indicated that they should sit, and she found herself dumped into one of two chairs opposite him. The torturer bowed several times before taking a seat next to her, his posture perfect in the face of his Master. The withering gaze the Overlord leveled at her made her breath stop for a moment.
“Shade, it is well known that you were on the path to becoming a very prominent Knight in my Order. Your cruelty to your own kind,” he growled, lips barely moving, “was also a well known fact. And as far as the public also knows, you were found to be a Qeynosian sympathizer providing information to those known as the Rodor – the Queen’s loyal scouts.”
Leaning over the desk, his hands grasped one another and rested on top of the parchments that the scribe had left. Reflexively, her eyes traced his scar before staring back into the soulless eyes of the Overlord. Ignoring her study, the man continued to stare her down as though waiting for something within her to break.
“For nearly eleven years Osarosce has attempted to explore your very essence, to find what motivations drive your actions,” the lich continued, “to find if you truly were loyal to me or if the evidence was falsely placed.”
There was a long pause as they stared each other down. Though it was terrifying to stare into those depthless eyes and find nothing behind them resembling humanity, Shade continued to keep her gaze level with his. There was something he was waiting for, perhaps a sudden confession of consorting with the enemy and sharing the inner workings of the Lucanic Knights with them.
“It is clear that a mistake has been made, however such an error would only frighten the masses in ways that would in turn make them question my power. Such inconsistencies cannot exist,” he explained, eyes still burning into hers, “and so despite the promise you have shown, your life is to be terminated. Immediately – Executioner, this pariah bores me, end the drama now.”
From behind a curtain, a lithe Teir`Dal stepped into the open, a wickedly curved silver axe in her hands. Believing her weak, only two guards stepped forward to lift Shade from her seat and began to move her towards the executioner. For a moment, the torturer begged D`Lere to turn her over to him as a slave, promising that she would remain within the walls of the Twilight Citadel and out of the site of the masses; a raised hand from the Overlord silenced his arguments.
Before they were half way across the room, but a good distance from the guards, Shade stumbled slightly. As the guards were caught off guard, she twisted her body and lashed out with one leg, causing one to release her arm as his hands reached for his broken nose. Spinning about, the woman planted her fist into the second man’s face with enough force to feel the entire area crush beneath her fingers. The other guards moved into action, the closest reaching for her with his chain-clad hands.
Taking them into her own, the woman turned and threw him over her shoulder and into another oncoming guard. As the pair crashed to the ground she turned to meet another three that attempted to circle her. With a practiced brutality, she spun as she held her fists steady, assaulting the three guards before concentrating another forceful kick into the chest of the closest. Her hands found the second guard’s head and with a swift motion she twisted his neck until she heard a satisfying snap. His body before her own, she turned and blocked the other guard’s oncoming sword with his compatriot’s chest before pushing the dying man onto his former associate.
Standing with his hands resting almost casually on the desk, the Overlord watched with interest while the torturer cowered behind him. A trace of a smirk could be seen on his lips, as if he was getting exactly what he wanted out of the woman – as though it were just a game to him.
The last two guards were hesitant to move against her after watching their comrades fall beneath her fists. Circling about her with raised swords, one feinted left as the other feinted to his right. Despite their attempted trickery, Shade surprised them by jumping vertically and lashing both legs out, firmly planting her feet square into their noses before giving another spinning assault. One fell backward, tumbling over what was a seemingly expensive vase while the other tried to charge her with his sword.
Dropping to one knee, Shade caught the blade between her hands before rising to lash another kick out to the man’s chest. Caught off guard, the man fell backwards as his hands released his sword; the woman turned it and threw it into his chest before he could stand.
Hearing the executioner finally step forward, she rolled sideways to find the other woman’s axe whistling past her side before impacting with the floor. The silver rang loudly as the elf lifted the axe for another swing at the prisoner. Shade rolled again, this time tumbling between the executioner’s legs before turning as she stood. Calling forth her fading energy, she forced both hands against the axe-wielder’s back and released the built up power – armour bent beneath her palms and she felt flesh-spilt blood, but it wasn’t enough to keep the other woman from continuing the fight.
Roaring with pain and anger, she turned with swinging axe upon the woman, forcing her to step rapidly backward. The elaborate stain glass window loomed behind her, though her concentration was on her attacker. With another swing, the blade of the axe came dangerously close to splitting her midsection, but another well placed roll kept her from being cut in two.
The axe was on a longer handle, and it was nearly impossible to get past it and attack the other elf, so Shade waited for an opportunity by dodging her attacks. Weakened by the years of torture, the months of starvation, her pregnancy and the ravishing of the obsessed torturer, she was quickly losing steam and knew that she may very well die here – but she would die fighting.
Again and again the other elf lashed out with her axe, until finally she was too close to the wall to completely avoid the executioner’s anger. Blood exploded from her neck as the blade bit into her flesh, though she had moved far enough to avoid losing even her voice. Ducking sideways, she rolled before the window and stood to face the woman, summoning up the last bit of her energy for a final defense.
The world slowed as the woman advanced, axe poised to strike her down. Blood flowed over her chest, down her arms and onto the floor but it was forgotten in her last attempt to save her own life. Before the axe fell, she released the energy on the other woman with outstretched hands…
…it was not enough to stop her advance, but it turned the axe sidways…
…the force of her energy impacting on the executioner, the turning of her blade to it’s flat…
…the stunned look in the eyes of the executioner, echoes of loss within them…
…the sound of breaking glass…
…the pain of unnumbered lacerations on her back…
…the sharp edge of the first piece to cut her face…
…the second cut she felt above the rest, again on her face…
…the life slipping away from her…
…the eternity of falling…
…the edifices of the citadel rushing past…
The leather clad Teir`Dal woman fell through the air, her shadowed companion diving beside her as they were joined by the other milling ravens. She kept her arms out beside her and her legs straight out from her hips, as though nailed to a cross, eyes open and staring into her past without blinking as she dropped.
Back impacting brutally onto the ground, bones crushing from the force of the fall, her descent was stopped as brutally as it had been the first time. Staring up at her shadow and the murder above her, those unblinking eyes remembered the first time she made that fall perfectly.
Her eyes closed against the visions.
It was as vivid as it had been the first time – dying midair didn’t stop it then, and dying upon impact didn’t stop it now.
Be careful what you wish for…
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