Private Tales One Toward the Past, One Toward the Future

[Hector]

Alliria, Outer City
The Tenpenny Hen, A Brothel
___________________________

"This your first time?" Syr Marta asked him.

Hector cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Syr?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Did I stutter, squire?"

Hector stammered. "I, I don't get your meaning,"

She shook her head. "What, you lose half your marbles when they took that ear off you?"

The half-elf's brow furrowed, and his lip set to a firm line. "Syr,"

"In the city lad, is it your first time in the city?" she muttered some curse beneath her breath. "Alliria curse m'dice, your report said you were tested, but you are about as green as green can be,"

A grumble rumbled in Hector's throat. "I've survived-"

"Stuff it, Half-ear" she said. "You are my second, and that means I'm trustin' my life to ya, you understand?"

Grim faced, Hector gave a nod. It was hard to hear over the din of the crowds inside the Tenpenny Hen. Workers and patrons mingled about in various states of undress and imbibement. Whether they were red-faced from the drink, or the swagger of hips and dangle of bits, well, it really depended on the table.

It was the last place Hector thought he would find himself on mission.

A server left two cups of ale on the table. Marta picked one up, and nod her thanks to the young man. He smiled, and she smiled back with an all too different raise of the brow. He welcomed it, but still made away. "You are too prim, too proper," she went on, and took a drink from her cup. Nod her head as she tilt back her chin and made a sound toward the tankard that was still there. Drink.

Hector took up the mug, and took a drink.

She moved the tankard from her lip, and wiped away the froth with the back of her wrist. "Still wearing your emblem, for fuck's sake," she laughed. "Lucky most folk know the order don't have a penny to pick, but" she nod again. "Your armor, your kit, its mighty fine steel ain't it?" she shook her head again. "Dress down, boy, blend in. You might not belong here, but you need to act like you do if you hope to survive the mission," she took another long drink, her eyes on the lithe server who weaved through the crowd with his winsome smile.

 

[Samantha Black]

Of all the places Ralene had traveled, she'd never quite managed to make it to Alliria. This far east had mostly been thought of as a non-concern to Vel Anir, though the power of Alliria trade was nothing to sniff at. Like Elbion before the Reckoning, Alliria thrived on the heartbeat of a merchant system and saw the trade of goods and the presence of peoples from nearly every corner of the world.

"There's a Master Crafter in Alliria by the name of Ulfruch Gildsblane," Captain Holstag told her late one night in the mess hall, "you're to go to him and train while your comrades here do the same."

Ral wasn't certain she liked the idea of leaving Davi in Vel Castere on his own so soon after their arrival, but she'd spent the majority of her life training, and living among, and mission-ing with Holstag's Knights. Her place was earned already and she knew how to work with her brothers and sisters in arms. Davi did not and, once he made his own way here, neither did Elias.

They would need time to integrate, to learn, to retrain their brains for teamwork. Had to prove themselves worthy of the title and rank. Ralene had no doubt they were capable, but she questioned the soundness of training them without her there. She knew them both, Elias more than Davi though she was coming to know Davi better by the day. They had history and trust between them. She knew they would both listen to her but...

"That's not the point," Holstag informed her, "they're proven Dreadlords, but they're not proven military soldiers. It's a different way of thinking, working, and living..."

She knew this, of course, and the boys would have to learn. So that is where her thoughts remain as her horse strode in to Alliria proper to mingle through its streets overflowing with merchandise, people, cultures, and races she'd not seen before. By the time she found her way to Tenpenny Hen she was beyond exhausted and looking forward to some good food, good drink, and good company for the night.

"Oh and Black," Holstag had stopped her before she left the table that night, "leave the Dreadlord behind. It'll cause you more trouble than it won't."

Right. Casual it was.

She'd not forgo some form of lighter armor and arming, even if she was to leave the Dreadlord behind. Old habits and lifestyles died hard, maybe, but the warrior clung beyond death. It garnered her no small amount of eyes or attention when she strode in through the entrance, pressing through a dangling bead curtain that rang like bells off her metal chestplate and pauldrons. But even as a foreigner to the city she was no stranger to flophouses or brothels, and found her way over to the Matron's desk to put in her needs.

"How long do you intend to stay?" the woman asked, clearly of the sort to have aged like such a fine wine that even Ral could not help her lingering gaze.

"A week," she replied, "maybe longer."

"Well, well, we don't often get extended stay visitors but for the right coin we can make anything work."

The bag of coin Ralene dropped on her table rang so profoundly that multiple courtesans standing nearby turned like dogs for a whistle, "I'll be your VIP then," Ralene replied.

The woman's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and she sat up a little straighter in her chair, "Right you will Lady ~"

"Black ..." Ral wanted to tell her to drop the Lady but she couldn't exactly tell her to use Dreadlord or even Lieutenant instead without turning far more eyes than she needed. Lord or Sir would just cause confusion. Lady would have to do.

"Lady Black, welcome to the Tenpenny Hen. Please find a table and I'll have a personal attendant assigned to you for the duration of your stay. Do you have a... preference...?" The Matron glanced over the warrior with clear consideration of her obviously questionable lean.

"Someone educated," Ral replied, though this wasn't exactly a Guild Hall and educated might be pushing it here, "and familiar with the city. I have business here."

"I'll see who I can conjure up." Matron impressed upon her a placating and charming smile with a languid gesture to the tables out in the main hall.

Ralene followed her hand and turned a disinterested gaze to the crowd through the broad archway. Socializing didn't normally bother her, but she wasn't sure she was in the mood tonight. She'd find herself a table off to the side and play the dark and grumpy looking stranger if she had to, so she began her wading into the hall in search for just the right place.

 

[Hector]

"So," Marta spoke plainly, leaned back against the plush cushioned back of the long divan that rest in their corner. Her face already rosy with some drinks. "What do you know?"

Hector's eyes looked about. Suspicion clear in the way he gazed about. "Know?"

Marta sighed. "About the mission, lad," she said in a harsh whisper. Raised her brows, expectant.

"That, we likely shouldn't talk about it in the open, Syr"

A grunt. "Cut the crap, Squire, and enough with the syr," her upper lip twitched, and she scrunched her nose as she rubbed her temples. "Just Marta, Hector, and it may not look it," she let her hand fall, and jut her chin to the open room before them, smoke hazy and warm lit as it all was. "But this here is a safe joint, a place I'm familiar with," she shoved the knight prospective. "You, need to trust my judgement," she huffed. "Bloody half-ear,"

Hector frowned, brows furrowed. "Sorry, S-"

Marta glared at him.

"Marta,"

She smirked, and leaned back again. Gave a nod. "Well let's hear it-" it was the sound of the curtains striking metal that cut Marta short, her eyes flicked their gaze toward the bead curtain, caught the gleam of cold steel plate, and her smirk turned to pleased smile. "My, ain't that a tall drink of please and thank you," she chuckled.

Hector squint. Shook his head. "We are searching for the sightless,"

Marta cleared her throat, brought her attention back to Hector, though her eyes seemed to drift back to where the newcomer and the Matron. "Yes, correct,"

"So why are we,"

"Shh, shut it," Marta hissed under her breath. The newcomer broke away from the desk, and by the time her steely gaze scanned the room, Marta had angled away, the look of pure disinterest upon her face.

Hector almost laughed. But took a drink instead.

A sharp whistle came from Marta, aimed at the tall drink. She nod her head toward the divan in friendly invitation.

 

[Samantha Black]

She would have been perfectly happy taking her looks and settling quietly, without fanfair, into a cozy little booth to await her food, drink, and escort for the week. A quiet chat to get to know them, the foreplay of wandering eyes and wandering hands, the smell of perfume chasing the taste of a fresh drink.

A shrill whistle cut through the din and Ralene's meandering imaginings of how her evening would go. Suddenly all eyes on the whistler, then on her. Ugh.

The Dreadlord closed her eyes for a moment as if deciding she'd maybe rather take her meal in her room, but upon opening them again to fix the whistler with a glacial stare she found herself belaying that train of thought with a thorough look. Seems she had kin in this neck of the world and she didn't even know it. Had Walter Banick been sowing his seeds this far east?

Unlikely.

Which meant only one thing: time to make herself acquainted with the other body that would be warming her bed tonight. Ral broke through the silence hanging in the air by resuming her path through the tables, her lack of strong reaction to essentially being cat-called giving the room no more reason to watch. She made her way over to the pair and, casual as a gator stalking up onto a flat rock to sun itself, set herself down on the divan next to the whistler.

"Have I faced you on the battlefield before?" she asked of the woman, the faint tick of a wry smirk catching the corner of her lips.

You better believe Hector was being ignored. For now.

 

[Hector]

Marta watched with easy eyes as the warrior made herself comfortable.

Have I faced you on the battlefield before?

Hector did his best to keep from chuckling. Drained his drink. Let the tankard "Let me go, grab us a round," he said calmly, and rose up, with a nod to the brusque newcomer. Sure strides saw him away.

Marta's smile widened, just a fraction more. "Can't say I've had fortune," her brows did a little dance, and her eyes looked her up and down. "Can go out back and cross blades if you'd like," she leaned a little closer, spoke with a warm hush. "Have a proper bout." she grinned, eased back in the seat, took up her drink, and jut her chin. "You can call me Marta," she sipped from her cup, though her eyes never quite left the newcomer. "Mighty fine kit you got..."

 

[Samantha Black]

Having settled in her brain that the elf was simply Marta's escort for the evening, she paid him no mind as he excused himself. He was doing all the right things: being polite, granting space, fetching drinks. A good escort, if not really of her own personal taste - who was she to judge?

The Dreadlord watched the woman with intent, icy blues taking in armor, weapons, build, and body language in the same way any well-trained and serious warrior would do. Sizing her up for all the usual reasons and thensome for to do anything less would have been offensive. Marta's forwardness earned her a sharp half-grin in return and Ralene leaned into it, closing the distance between them until her words flushed warm breath over Marta's cheek.

"I'd rather take you upstairs and cross scars," she replied smoothly, "Marta."

But she'd just sat down and that cute little elf was bringing them drinks. Couldn't let that go to waste. Ralene leaned back again and made herself comfortable on the divan, stretching her arms up along the top of the backrest and behind Marta on her right. Her gaze finally left the woman to glance down at her new armor, giving no hint of pride or sentimentality toward it, "Thanks. New set - still breaking it in. Not sure I like it. Bit too shiny, needs some scuff. Doesn't fit like my old set did..."

A sigh as she thought back on her prior armor. Custom made by herself, it had fit her like a second skin. She'd never been uncomfortable in it. This one? A generic set, albeit of high quality, that just felt ... hollow and cold. Ralene let her gaze wander to take in the locale now that she finally had a chance to do so. It was decent, all things considered.

"You local to Alliria?" her eyes returned to Marta, visually tracing a scar on her face down past her jawline to the marks of black peeking out from her collar.

 

[Hector]

Marta grinned wide at the warrior's retort. The husky tone had the hairs at the back of her neck stand, and a flush of warmth up her neck. "Well, aren't you a tough cookie," she bit her bottom lip as the warrior moved away. Didn't mind it none when she made herself comfortable.

"I know the feeling," Marta said with a smirk. Her own armor was well worn. No full plate, but most city work didn't need full plate. "Can take some time for a suit to feel like that second skin," she eyed the line of the warrior's line. Liked the swell of muscle she could see the leather straps round themselves against. Marta's eyes traced the muscles of the warrior's neck, and the scars that slashed across her strong features.

You a local to Alliria?

The warrior's sharp blue eyes found Marta's emerald greens. Her smile sure as she saw the warrior's gaze trace across her face. "Can't give a girl a name before you go and ask for, personals," she teased. Craned her head away, so that she could see Hector at the bar.

And to give her a better look of the ink she was eying, the old script and runes that traced down to her collar bone. Promised more if things went that far.

"Been here long enough," she said with something like pride. "Know my way around the districts," her eyes cut back to the warrior. "And you," she grinned, "Miss tall strong and bad ass," she eyed her up and down, from head to toe. Took her time with it before she met her eye again. Whispered. "Aren't a local,"

 

[Samantha Black]

"Mm," a thoughtful sound in response to the remark of second skin. It was good to share such chatter with another like herself from time to time. Another woman, especially, who had the ability and desire to hold a conversation. Men were simple and usually didn't want to talk but to skip to the good parts, and she didn't necessarily fault them for that - sometimes she liked simple and sometimes skipping to the good parts was all she really wanted.

But the conversation felt good, even if it was a bit stilted to start. Verbal tapping of mitts, playing coy to get a feel for the other. Ral enjoyed it, and granted Marta a shit-eating half smirk for her troubles of neglecting a name. That was fair, she thought to herself as her grin disappeared behind her drink, her eyes taking on a look of knowing at the flattery.

Flattery will get you everywhere... if you're the right person.

"Keen..." she replied with unabashed guilt and a side-eye, "name's Sam. Here on short for business with Ulfruch Gildsblane, the Master Smith, heard of him?"

 

[Hector]

"Sam," Marta tested on her tongue, let the single syllable hang between them as her own proud grin spread wide across her lips.

"Gildsblane?" came Hector's voice as he approached their corner of the hazy aired room. He set the fresh round of drinks upon the table. Tall pints, accompanied by small thimbles of amber colored glass. "That's a mighty name,"

Marta made little effort to move from neath Sam's wing as she eyed the squire with a narrowed eye. "What took you so long," she clicked her teeth, and picked up the small cup. then the tankard.

"Was just asking the mistress about goings on,"

"Tch, I bet you were, straight laced lit-" she huffed. Recomposed her cool. "Anything good?"

Hector's eyes shift to the stranger. "Nothing as interesting as Ulfruch Gildsblane," he said with a smile. "Custom piece?" he asked politely. But he couldn't hide his own curiosity.

 

[Samantha Black]

"No," Sam replied easily, "I make my own kit," eyeing the elf with a twinge of consternation. Had Marta just called him straight-laced? Odd terminology for an escort. In fact, now that she was looking at him properly, he was dressed all wrong for the job ... unless Marta was into plainsfolk? Odd taste, but to each their own.

"Here for training," she continued before clearing out her own drink and setting the tankard on the table, "not many dwarves willing to teach humans their secrets."

 

[Hector]

Hector eyed here once over as his eyes took in the kit. He let out a low whistle from his pursed lips. "Well then, a fellow iron heart, eh?" he smirked. Missed the suspicion in her eye. "Fancy that," he seemed to see her anew, or, more so the steel she wore than anything else. Noticed the shapes and details, the way parts hugged here, and went smooth there, and delicate shapes that were hammered out layered atop of one another. "Anirian learned?" he said near grinning.

A few of the Sworn swore by Anirian design. Master Alduin respected the adherence to form made to purpose. He would ask her to study it if he could but-

Marta was staring knives at him. "No," she added. Hector smiled wider and took a drink. "The old ways are oft guarded, to most of the world's detriment," Marta added. Shook her head and took a drink of her own.

 

[Samantha Black]

Iron heart? She found the term odd coming from an elf, but perhaps that was her old prejudices rearing their ugly little heads. Ralene tamped them back down with a furrowed brow and a drink to empty her cup.

"Anirian learned?"

That got Hector a dangerous look. The sort that smiled while carving out his tongue. Of course there would be no such savagery. She'd been told to keep a low profile, after all.

"Good eye," Sam said, instead, before glancing over to Marta and her words of truth, "too right. Though if everyone could make it the same," and the woman leaned forward to casually exchange her empty tankard for one of the fresh drinks the elf had brought over. Sam gave Marta a pointed, half-lidded look and smirked, "wouldn't be very special, would it?"

Ralene watched the elf over the rim of her cup, "Curious ... don't meet many consorts with an interest in smithing."

 

[Hector]

There was something about the look in the woman's eye that had Hector's smile curl, ever so. An unspoken tension that came between those who understood it. Competition.

He nod, acknowledging the compliment, and turned his eye toward the crowd when he could see the pull between Sam and Marta winding again. Took a sip from his mug.

Marta smiled, and cozied up some, let herself fall under Sam's spell. "No, 'spose it wouldn't"

don't meet many consorts with an interest in smithing,

Hector near choked on his drink, spilled a bit in the attempt to keep all from going up his nose. Marta laughed some. Laughed more. "Spose he does have to looks for one, doesn't he?"

The half elf grabbed a nearby rag, and dabbed up the mess. Still half smiling. "I'll take it as a compliment,"

Marta eased back.

"Mercenary," he said coolly, and put down the rag. There was a hint of distaste in his voice. As if the title did not agree with him.

Marta smiled. "He's tougher than he looks,"

 

[Samantha Black]

"Spose he does have to looks for one, doesn't he?"

"Mm," Ral agreed as she smirked into her drink at the elf's reaction to her words. He wasn't her type but it took all kinds, didn't it? If taking a glance around their present locale didn't paint that truth she didn't know what would. All types of suitors and companions for all types of tastes. Someone out there was lusting after an awkward, dark-skinned, knife-eared dweeb and she was certain they'd be quite happy with him.

"He's tougher than he looks."

"I'll take your word for it," she wasn't wanting to fold fists for nothing. Wasn't her usual speed, not that she didn't mind a good pit fight just to get her heart racing - but she had other and more pleasant options to meet that goal at hand. One of which was nestled to her right.

"Lady Black?" a smooth voice sounded from behind her and Ralene found a slim blue hand sliding over her left shoulder, long claws expertly manicured with shimmering gold paint tapped against her pauldron. When Ral turned to look at the owner of said hand, she found herself being smiled down at by a most ... curious creature.

He...she? It was difficult to say through the androgeny of their bare body, but there was definitely a strong feminine cast to an otherwise well-formed physique. Blue markings slashed elegantly across flesh pebbled by the gleam of cerulean scales. Horns sprouted from a mane of ebony waves and its eyes shone like sapphires in water. Gilt adornments flashed under the light of candelabras and for a moment the spell of their arrival had her captured.

"What...are you?" Ral managed to say after giving the consort a slow look over.

This did not seem to sway their mood as they gently stepped around the end of the bench to take up the empty seat on her other side, "I am a komodo and my name is Silviin," it smiled and the effect was equally threatening as it was alluring - there were a lot of very sharp and pointy teeth in that mouth.

"I understand you are looking for a guide," Silviin's gaze swept slowly across each face in attendance at the booth, "unless you have found one already?"

The base part of her Anirian soul was working very hard through the inane attraction she presently felt toward what any normal Anirian would find repulsive. Ral had never been much on racism, but this was far and well out of her wheelhouse. Within her expression she found a pleased smile, "That depends," and her gaze slipped back over to Marta who she had not in any way forgotten about, "how do you feel about sharing?"

Ralene's smile waxed with a dark mischief.

 

[Hector]

Hector blinked. Felt his face run hot. Shook his head and looked away.

Marta grinned all the wider. "When the company's good," she said as she looked up and down at the svelte and sinewy komodi, "The more the merrier," her eyes turned back to Sam. "But just to let you know, Lady Black" she leaned in closer, and pressed her lips against the other human's. Hungrily, she stole her lips till her own tingled. She pulled away, breath a little heavier. "I do like, attention," her teeth showed shameless, and bit into her lower lip.

"I," Hector's eyes flit, saw the other three, scanned the Komodi once more. "I'll see myself out," he nod as he made away.

 

[Samantha Black]

If everyone called her Lady Black with that tone she wouldn't be so terribly against it. The Dreadlord rested within the other warriors gaze as a veritable smug raltiir tiger contemplating the presence of a savannah lioness in its midst. The kiss landed on willing and waiting lips to which her arm, presently rested along the top of the bench behind Marta, folded down and around her in an embrace that might've made a normal woman flinch.

It was very strong.

Her glacial blues stuck on Marta the instant she broke from her, cold and honed within the dark khol painted about her eyes, "Then attention you will have. Silviir," Ralene turned away from Marta long enough to down the rest of her drink and set the empty flagon on the table, "lead the way."

"It would be my pleasure. Ladies..." and like liquid sapphire the komodi rose from the bench, bent to gently caress Marta's cheek with its fine claws and smiled upon them like venomous honey, "please follow me."

Sam released her companion from her arm and stood with a roll of her shoulders and a crackling of her spine within a stretch. Hector not even a lingering thought in her mind, what eyes that followed them gave her no pause or concern. There was far too much to look forward to for the evening to be distracted by strangers who had no intention of sharing her bed or her pleasure.

 

[Hector]

Marta let a rumble from her throat, a sound that shook through her bones as plate bumped plate, and the two women pressed with the wrap of Sam's powerful arm. A low and happy grunt came next.

"Not every day I meet a gal fitter than me," she gave, still biting into her lower lip, and watched the proud warrior drink down her flagon.

With Silviir's touch, and tease, Marta rose from the couch. A breath left her pursed lips, and she felt the heat still in her cheeks. She watched Sam Black walk on. And on. She grinned. This was gonna be good.

She followed after.

There room was well appointed, the bed plush and the sheets velvety and rich. Silviir flowed about the two warriors, aiding in the removal of their plate. Practiced hands made for light and quick work. Their lips pressed here. Their teeth sank there, as piece after piece came away, and more skin came to kiss candle light.

Warm laughter. Pleased sounds. The night started in true.

---

Above two naked bodies, broadshouldered men stood. "Why'd you got to go an sleep the big bitches, Silviir,"

The Komodi said nothing to the men as they dressed themselves, sept. "My pay,"

One of the goons clicked his tongue. "Thought one of them was a elf," he pulled a purse from his robes, and tossed it over.

The first goon moved over and hefted the unconscious Sam up. Strained. "Hoo," he said with a grunt. Laughed. "This one's even heavier than she looks, Hallond, help me with this one, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah,"

---

​

Rats squeaked. Water dripped and splashed in steady wet beat.

Cold sharp iron edge cut into sensitive tendons. Rubbed nerves raw and threatened to break skin. An icy clink of chains. A rattle of links as bodies' weight stirred with subtle shift's of muscles' strength.

Green eyes blinked open, in lazy flutters as the pain stabbed slow through the haze in her head. Her shoulders, aching and red at the joints with her arms strung up behind her. A groan. Marta shift, and felt the strain in her arms all the more.

"Strung up like a god damn pig," she thought aloud. Still vertical, though her legs ached under her weight. She looked down. Saw herself pale and naked. "Fucking damn it," she hissed, and looked across the cold damp stone. Saw spots darker than water. Slick and oily like old blood.

Saw the refraction of torch's light, orange and flickering across the ground. She tried to will her strength forward. But the pain from how she was bound kept her in check. She looked about. No one else was in her cell, but she could see the iron bars of others beyond the gate of her hold.

"This is absolutely fucked," she cursed. Worst part was, last thing she remembered was kissing a total babe. She grit her teeth. "Absolutely fucked,"

 

[Samantha Black]

Ralene's own return to consciousness was no more thrilling or exciting than Marta's. For her, however, the sensations were a bit different. The pain, the stench, the view ... damn, she felt like she was 16 again.

"Ugh..." but if one thing stood out to her it was the undeniable sensation of sludge in her blood and pounding in her head. Ral knew, with absolutely certainty before she'd really even reached full awareness, that she was bound and chained in a cell.

"Not again."

The heavy sense of nostalgia that hit her was odd. That such a setting and circumstance could leave her thinking fondly of her Academy days unsettled her more than knowing she'd been poisoned.

She didn't strain against her binds but they clinked all the same when she drew in a deep, stale breath of putrid air into her lungs, "Martaaa...." the Dreadlord said loudly, though it wasn't quite a yell, "you had my curiosity," she continued, "but if this is your form of sexplay...now you have my attention."

 

[Marta Martigan]

Marta could not quite reach her bindings. Fingers, just barely touching the cold iron bracelets that wrapped around her wrists. Besides, the pain that shot through her joints was... less than enjoyable.

Come the sound of her name, a grin crept across her lips. "Were it only," she muttered with a husky glee. "I'll keep that in mind if we make it out of this, Lady Black!" she called out. Sucked air in through her teeth when her binds caused a twinge in her shoulders. Kept her legs strong, as to not cause another flare of pain.

She took in a breath, long and cool, and thought for a moment. Felt her inner workings all... wrong. Her connection to her own well of magick, like trying to fill a basin with a siv. Likely the work of shade flower.

"Wouldn't happen to be a contortionist, would ya?" she said out loud.

 

[Samantha Black]

A grunt responded to the Lady name. In her private little cell, Sam smirked through the scowl. She didn't hate it so much coming from Marta. Her arms smarted at the back and upward angle while her blood continued to push through her veins like hot mud. The pounding of her head was so strong if she tried to pick it up her vision split double. She smartly decided to keep her head down.

"Noh-" Sam answered, rassp voice cracking over a parched throat. Wanted to make a joke about the contortionist she'd fucked in the far east, but the thought fell flat as her attempt to activate the runes over her liver failed.

"I've-" Sam tried again, just in case. It only made her blood burn, and not in a good way, "I've been poisoned. What's the last thing you remember?"

Was that footsteps she heard?

 

[Marta Martigan]

"Poison," she huffed. And felt her stomach turn some. "I," she laughed. "Just remember being tangled up with you and that Komodi at the Hen,"

The footsteps rang more clearly. The heavy working of a lock.

Marta cursed under her breath, and trust Sam to know the part.

The old iron hinges creaked open, and the stagnant air moved as if something had come open. Footfalls knocked against the stone floor. Marta let her head hang betwixt her shoulders. Acted knocked out. A hard knock came against the iron bars, like that of hard wood rung against metal. It clang-clanged against each bar in succession. Harsh and jarring against her poison addled mind.

She tried to keep it from showing on her face.

A broad man, with stout arms and a club clenched happily in his fist, grinned as he stopped before Sam's cage.

"Well then," he said with a certain relish. "Spose its time we go and move them,"

A smaller man, gaunt and skeletal, skittered behind the broad man. "Lan, just, well, just make sure they are out cold this time, hmm?" he said nervously, fiddling with the keys he kept on a ring.

Lan grinned wide and snaggle toothed. "Of course, Len, of course, just got a little... over eager last time, is all,"

Len huffed, and plucked up the right key, set it into the lock of Sam's cage door. Gave it a turn and the tumbles went click. Len shuffled in, keeping his distance from the chained up woman. "Really... quite the fine specimens this time, yes... strong... healthy... magical." he tittered.

Lan smacked his club in the palm of his hand, and turned his back to Len, eyed the bird in the other cage. "Yes, a welcome change from the last harvest,"

Fuck. Marta thought. This is absolutely fucked.

 

[Samantha Black]

There were so many dark facets to the education an Initiate received at the Dreadlord Academy. Ralene had been in attendance from the age of 4 to the ripe age of 18 as a graduate. Beyond constant torture methods to strengthen magical responses, the initiates had been caged like animals by their Proctors, but also sent as captors into the belly of various jails. Before the revolution in Vel Anir, it had been to weed out the weak. Those who escaped with their lives went on to the deeper, darker places.

It meant that in this moment, Sam wasn't scared - she was listening intently and willing her sluggish mind to take in every single minute detail it could while she hung there playing doped.

This wasn't fucked. This was fun (if a little annoying, considering the otherwise very pleasant evening she'd been having prior).

Lan's method of checking that she was out cold was whalloping her directly in the gut with his bat. It was with some luck that her hair had somehow come unbound from its braids at one point earlier in the night, by whose eager fingers she could not directly recall, and now hung down over her face covering the grimace. Sam's bare body swung slightly on its chains as an unconscious victim should and she bit back a sharp grunt.

Her bindings clinked and clattered as her tied up arms were loosed from the overhead hook. She slumped forward over Lan's big, meaty shoulder and he groaned loudly - not in a good way, "Hwwoooaaahg - Ain't never picked up a broad this heavy afore ... and that's includin' Big Bettie."

"Perhaps it's the magic," piped the smaller man, pointing to the array of inked sigils and runes across her back.

"Magic don't weight nuffin," replied Lan as he hefted her once more on his shoulder and slowly bouldered about to exit the cell, associate moving to open Marta's cell next.

 

[Marta Martigan]

As Lan moved through the dungeon, the smell of old blood would grow thicker in Sam's nose.

The door to Marta's cell came open, and Len hobbled over to her. He procured an iron rod from somewhere, and jabbed her side with it. Her body jerked, but no grunt or groan left her. Len narrowed his silvery eyes and prod her again. Another jerk, but nothing beyond the body's compulsion to move according to forces acted upon it.

At least, this is what Len deduced.

He smiled, and stepped closer to Marta.

"Well, the cutters should have a fun time with you, yes," he thought aloud. Thwacked the meaty part of her shoulder with the rod.

Lan entered a separate room, where there stood a raised stone table, gutters, slick with blood, seemed to drained whatever had been spilled across its hastily cleaned surface. With a grunt, Lan laid Sam down onto the stone Altar with all the tenderness one would allow a sack of potatoes. A huff of breath.

"Right heavy hag you are," he muttered, chuffed a breath, and wiped his brow.

Along the rooms walls hung mutilated beings. Humanoid, mostly, amputated like carcasses at the butchers, their innards devoid of organs and vitals. Whole heads, gone.

Along the far side of the room, a collection of glass jars with a strange translucent liquid that kept pieces afloat and preserved. Eyes. Hearts. Livers. A brain or two. Stocked and neatly organized.

Lan adjusted her wrist, and tried to get her arms into new manacles that would keep her chained to the table. A groan of frustration left him. "Blood Len has the keys," he grumbled, and tossed her wrist down. Let out a breath, and turned to go back to the previous chamber.

 

[Samantha Black]

The moment the man turned the sound of clinking chain followed him. Sam struck as a viper, with unexpected swiftness as she swung herself and her hands up and the chain that connected her wrists around the man's neck. Through the motion of heaving him back against her and pulling the chain so tight she could hear him gasping through the collapse of his trachea, Sam grit her teeth against the sudden wAVe of pOUndIng in her head.

Her heart leapt into overdrive, pumping that heated sludge through her veins and making her sick to the point that while the man gurgled and flailed, she was sputtering bile from her stomach all over her face.

There was absolutely no way in the nine levels of Pandemonium that Len did not hear this.

 

[Marta Martigan]

Lan grunt, choked, made ugly sounds as he tried to gasp through his throat, cinched so tight by the cold metal of the chains. His fingers, tried, and tried to dig under the metal binds as he struggled. But the angle was all wrong. His spine twist and bent. He bellowed out and tried to wrench himself up. Vein bulging and angry about his temple and neck with the effort.

As the shout came across the stone, Len stopped his prodding with his rod. Scowled at his prisoner. Huffed and made away with short angry strides.

Marta let her act fall. Pain clear on her face as she took in a breath. Head still hazy from, whatever the fuck they gave her still blocked the flows of her magick.

"Fucks, fuck!" she grunt as the clatters and pangs came from the other room. A shout. She clenched her jaw. Let out a cold breath. Growled and yanked down her hand. Felt the iron catch. She groaned, loud through her teeth as she forced her hand to shift. Pop. Break. A hand slipped free, and her eyes were wide with rage.

In the room over, Len hurried over to Lan's aid, metal rod in hand.