-- - inspired by Kadin, specifically by a setting he came up with a while ago and reminded me of today -Slow, painful waking... stretching does no good, can't move enough... air tastes of blood and filth and death. Your eyes open slowly, straining to look around the dim enclosure you are apparently captive in, trying to understand what happened.
The first real clue you have is the gaze. Cold, dead, and yet starving. You've never seen that much unabashed hunger on any living creature's face. You can't look at the eyes for more than a moment before desperately yanking your head around, looking at the floor, the arched roof of the tent, the bonds keeping your body tied firmly to the pair of posts in the center of the floor... even at her, much as that too troubles you. You'd come all this way to protect her, your strength and speed and skills enough to defeat every enemy of hers that might be waiting, easily enough to fend off the bandits and robbers along the back roads you traveled. You'd begun to love her, too. Easy enough to do when you saw how bravely she faced every danger and how utterly devoted she was to her cause... and then later, how devoted she'd become to you. You were always there for her, her protector, her savior.
Now she was bruised, blood still trickling from a deep cut somewhere on her scalp, her terror-wide eyes darting around the tent, looking at you, looking at the thing that kept watch, looking at the broken, dusty fragments of skeletons swept off into the corners, human bones treated as nothing more than a bit of dirt. You could almost feel her trembling even from across the room, certainly you could see her uneven, gasping breath and her bound hands scrabbling unconsciously at the rope that tied them together and to her throat. She was sitting, each ankle roped to a slender pole driven into the dirt floor, legs spread several feet apart, the remains of the squire's uniform she'd been wearing as a halfhearted disguise almost completely ripped off. There was blood in her hair, spattered along one arm, seeping from some small wound on her thigh, and more came from her mouth when she spit, nearly gagging on it.
Whenever she shifts the terrible creature turns its head toward her, moistly snuffling at the air, catching her scent. The eyes seem almost secondary to that, one eye kept focused on you while the other seems to roam at random around the tent. You're almost grateful for that - the few times both eyes make contact with yours you feel utterly filthy, disgusted at yourself, and at the same time afraid. It's the sort of fear small rodents experience in front of, say, a hawk - the urge to freeze motionless, your heart racing, every inch of you screaming that you're about to die.
Twice now some particular movement on her part or some unconscious reaction on yours has set the monstrosity to quivering, eager, that horrific hunger etched across its fragile, disturbing face. Something seems to be keeping it leashed; what exactly you can only guess at, until the moment its' keeper stalks into the room. There's no question now, the thing that might once have been human is now little more than a fawning, mewling beast crouching at the foot of its creator. It seems suddenly harmless, pathetic even, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you finally manage to look away from it long enough to take in the fourth figure now in the room.
About five seconds later, you realize you are wishing, praying out loud, that this is just a nightmare. Nothing has been done, not a hand laid on you since you struggled back to consciousness, the thing that had you so terrified seems to frighten you much less now... but you know that face. That body. A part of you has to fight back laughter; here in front of you is someone every member of the Resistance would die trying to get this close to just on the off chance that they might inconvenience her. You had been trying much the same thing, an attempt to set off a series of arcane explosions, with the young mage's apprentice who is now sobbing on the floor across from you brought along to set off the pattern. No one else with enough skill to keep from blowing themselves up in the process was willing to go, but she volunteered. 'Stupid but brave', you remember thinking. Admirable, in her own way. You learned more about her on the journey here, arriving days ahead of anyone else, laying many of the supplies and minispells in before the army camp had even begun to take shape.
A hand touches your cheek, gently turning your face until she can see it clearly, and just from that soft touch you can feel tears starting to spill. You know her, by reputation and, a long time ago, you knew her in person. You know what she is. You know what she'll do - anything and everything - to someone who has even attempted to harm her, just because it might amuse her. And now that you are forced to meet her eyes, you know also what the hellish mockery of a human is that scrabbles for attention at her feet. A Husk, one of her more recent 'projects', created when she decided that it was wasteful to destroy an entire body just for one skeleton warrior. Now, she peels off the skin while they still live, binding it with nerves and blood vessels, set to beat and retain a semblance of life while the bones and sinews from within are out fighting her battles. There had been... rumors... of these Husks. Not of their existance, it's more or less fact now, but hints of what they are capable of DOING are the ghost stories around the campfires these last few weeks.
Her smile is as beautiful as ever it was, even touched with madness and the strange, almost drugged glaze her eyes get when she's been casting too many spells that day. Dark lips, dark eyes with flecks of green dancing in their depths, dark hair framing her face, softening it with wisps of shadow. She seems oblivious to the thing at her feet, for the moment focused only on you, looking deep into your eyes. You simply wait, not without a shudder, certain she will recognize you and unable to guess whether such recognition will help or hurt. A moment later you have your answer as her eyes light up, lips curving into a pleased expression, even her tone light, cheerful, almost friendly.
"What d'you know... I thought you were dead, boy. Dead and gone. I suppose a necromancer should know better than to assume such things but really, you'd lost so MUCH blood, I thought just tossing you in the river would finish the job." Her smile broadens, letting slip a hint of sharp, bone-white fang. "Seems I'll have to try harder this time."
Hurt, definitely. Whatever she does this time, you know it's going to hurt, it's going to have you begging and pleading for mercy you know you won't get, it'll leave you praying you were dead every second of whatever torture she's devised, and when it's done not having the strength or self-will left to kill yourself. Calm, deep breaths. Try not to think about it; try not to think about the girl either, so far she's said nothing about the second captive, maybe she'll just have her throat slit. It'd be a kindness if that's all she does. Some slight movement must have given your hope away though, as suddenly she is prowling over to the girl on the floor, prodding her chin lightly with the tip of one boot... then kicking, hard, when her head isn't raised as swiftly as expected.
"And who are you, hm? The boy clearly thinks of you fondly, you can see it every time I hurt you, he'd beg me not to touch you if he thought it would help... wouldn't you, boy?"
Don't fight, save your strength for later. "Y..yes. She hasn't done anything, please don't h..hurt her, please..." With quite a bit of effort you manage to close your mouth and keep it that way, biting off anything else you might have said, offered. You've already made it clear enough how much the girl matters, there's no real point in hiding it any more, but you can't bring yourself to just tell her everything. Old habits die hard.
"Guess what, boy? I'm going to be ~nice~. I'll give you my word that I won't hurt her, that I won't even lay a FINGER on her, won't cast any spells on her, none of that, if you'll tell me where the Resistance headquarters is this month, how many people you have, and exactly what your plan was, sneaking in here."
You cringe; half the information she asks for you don't know, the other half might be enough to hurt quite a few other people. You knew when you came here that your life was forfeit if you were caught, that the same would apply to the girl, and holding fast to that knowledge you find the courage to look back up at her and shake your head.
A flicker of utter rage illuminates her eyes, lasting only for a split second... but it is enough, for you, to warn you of what's coming next. Her hand lashes out, sharp-heeled boot following, knocking the young girl onto her back and pinning her there, the heel driving painfully down into her shoulder, griding against the bones there. A scream... you close your eyes, unwilling to watch this, knowing the girl will be looking to you for salvation and eventually cursing you for bringing her here to her death. It won't be the first time you've had to sit and watch as someone you cared for was torn to shreds by the shadow-cloaked Necromancer.
"Oh, stop yowling, you little cunt. I'm not doing anything too horrible to you yet. Besides, ~I~ am not even going to be the one who does it. I'll leave the pleasure of breaking you, then killing you, to my lovely little pet here."
Your eyes fly wide open, staring at her, at her hand... which is gesturing, not at the Husk at her feet, but at you. --
