MysidiaDrakkenbane

The slaves’ pens underneath Deathfist Citadel were slightly better than the holding cell they placed her in when she arrived. But that really wasn’t saying much. She had a small cot flush against the left wall and a small pot in the far right corner to serve as her bathroom.

There were a few rats that chirped and skittered about and she found herself having to fight with them in order to keep them away from whatever slop the orcs fed her for the day.

They would take her out of her cell and force her to do usual manual labor. At first, she scrubbed and cleaned whatever they wanted her to; from pots and pans to bloodstained floors and slime covered corridors. As long as she kept to herself and kept silent, they pretty much left her alone.

During her travels around the citadel, she noticed several larger orcs walking towards a very large set of wooden doors. She could hear the unmistakable sound of orcs chanting and grunting in a sort of cheer and the slight scent of dust and death trickled its way out of the splintered cracks in the door.

She narrowed her eyes at the doorway for a moment before becoming startled as one of the orc guards rounded the corner. She quickly moved her attention to the floor in front of her and continued her scrubbing.

The orcs had grown accustomed to seeing her around the citadel and all of them took an unusual delight of having a Rydian as a slave within the confines of their stronghold.

“Ah. Dah slave woo-man is curious. Ha. Ha.”, the guard said as he caught her looking at the doors.

She didn’t answer but continued to scrub. She knew if she had asked, he would have hit her. They would have rather seen her working and not hear her at all.

“Do you want to know what’s inside?”, the orc said getting down fixating his gaze on her face. She looked up and furled her brows in curiosity, but still said nothing.

“Perhaps if you do good here, you will find out one day.”, the guard said and laughed evilly as he walked away.

As he rounded the corner, she stopped again and wiped her brow on her stained sleeve. She looked at the doors curiously once more and sighed, before finishing her floor.

That night, as she emptied her bucket onto the damp earth in the courtyard, four guards began to walk towards her, snickering and grunting in their language. She could understand them, as she had learned the language long before she ever fell into that deep slumber.

From what she could hear, they were up to mischief and most of it dealt with her in some form or fashion. She could feel her blood beginning to run cold as they walked closer.

The guard that was appointed to her, to make sure she didn’t run, started to laugh when he began to hear what his friends were talking about. Mysidia quietly began to grab one of the farming tools leaning up against the wall. She started to mix the water into the dirt with the tool, slowly twisting the metal part of the rake off of the wooden stick.

The four of them surrounded her and one of them reached out and grabbed her long blonde braid, feeling it between his fingers. She swallowed hard, feeling the lump of fear beginning to choke her.

She knew what they wanted. And up until that moment, she had kept far away from their contact to stay out of their minds with that kind of element. Her inner strength, no matter how fast it was fading, kept her silent and her mind open and thinking.

The orc that stood to the left of her ran a finger down her arm. She could feel the bile build up in the back of her throat. They all laughed and made a few crude comments about what actions they were going to take on her.

The situation was growing severe, quickly. They were beginning to draw a crowd. She looked up into the snickering and sneering faces of her captors. They began to circle around her and hopelessness clung thickly to the sweet night air around them.

One of them finally made the move and grabbed her wrist, causing her to freeze. He began to squeeze his hand, feeling her bones wriggle under his grasp. She winced slightly, but never loosened her grip on the rake she had.

“I’m tired of talk.”, the one orc said in his native tongue. He lunged for her, hoping to throw her off balance, making it easy for them on their vulgar attack.

“That is one freedom I will NOT allow.”, Mysidia recanted, speaking orc. She quickly tugged on the staff, causing the head of the rake to fall into the mud. Now she had a weapon she was proficient in using.

She swung it wide over her head, causing three of the orcs to back off. The fourth one, larger than the other three, lunged for her, since he was nearly at her backside. He crashed into her, causing her to stumble in the fresh mud she had made minutes earlier.

Using her weight and the strength of the staff, she pushed back, causing the orc to stagger in his steps. It gave her the perfect opportunity to strike him swiftly and hard in his nether region. Having the largest of the four down gave her a better advantage.

The orc, grabbing his groin region, dropped to his knees and crossed his eyes in the excruciating pain he was in. The other three orcs looked up shocked, but it quickly turned to anger as they all bum rushed her.

She managed to trip two of them, but the third tackled her to the ground. She fell hard, feeling the wind get knocked out of her from the blow of the fall.

The tackle apparently hurt the orc as well, since he barely moved after the fall. She rolled over onto her side and used her staff to get her up on her feet. She noticed the orc had hit his head on a rock and lay unconscious.

She staggered, gasping to get oxygen into her lungs. The scrapes she received when she fell, began to sting with the mud that had entered in them. Her slave tunic was ripped at the shoulder and fresh blood had bubbled up to the surface.

The orcs never gave her the chance to get her breathing regulated. The two charged her again and nearly tripped her. She held on to her staff, falling to her knees. She felt the sick thud of the slap against her skull and she yelped in pain. Her vision blurred from the blow.

She swung her staff outward in front of her and felt it catch against the side of one of the orcs. She could hear the distinct sound of a rib or two cracking under her force. Her vision snapped back just in time to see the last standing orc charging her. At this point, the crowd they had drawn were cheering and hollering at them. Some chanted “Get her!” others jeered at how well Mysidia was doing.

The remaining orc and her guard wizened up and drew their daggers they had sheathed. She held her staff out in front of her to stop whatever would come her way. One orc swung to the front of her and the other, around the back. They executed a pincer attack with little to no effort and Mysidia began to panic.

Before she could react, a dagger swiped at her arm, and she could feel her skin tear from the edge of the knife. She screamed as she felt the sharp pain mangle her flesh. She swung her staff high over her head and swiftly down, connecting it against one of the orc’s skull. A thick black stream of orc blood shot out of his nose and mouth.

High above the commotion, the elder orc watched with a morbid curiosity. His massive bodyguard grunted in a slight approval.

“For using what little she has, she is a rather agile fighter.”, the elder said approvingly.

“How can you let dish woo-man get away with such insholence?”, the large orc said.

“It’s their own fault they left such a weapon unguarded. Let this teach them the lesson. That way, I won’t have to.”, he replied.

The large orc winced as he watched Mysidia stab her staff into the unsuspecting skull of one of the orcs. She gave a grim satisfactory grin as she felt his skull cave into the pressure.

The elder held his hand up. “Enough!”, he roared.

Everyone stopped short and looked up at the interruption. Mysidia, who was bloody and gasping for breath, brushed aside a bloody strand of her hair, her violet eyes defiant.

The elder orc nodded to a few in the distance and before Mysidia could protest, the grabbed her by the arms. “Bring her to my chambers. The rest of you clean this up. You will be getting a reprimand later.”, he said.

Mysidia’s head was bagged with an old dusty burlap sack. She coughed as the copious amounts of dust invaded her mouth and nostrils. She could feel herself being dragged and sucked in her breath as she felt her wounds get pinched.

She heard the distant sound of heavy doors opening and she was thrown to the floor and the sack ripped off her head. She looked up sharply and saw the elder orc sitting on an ornate chair. Plates of food were scattered about the table in front of him and she felt her stomach knot under the hunger she felt.

“That was quite a show you put on.”, he started. She kept her silence.

“I can’t say that I’m pleased with your behavior, Mysidia.”, he said shoving a piece of mutton in his mouth. The smells of the food made her mouth water and she found herself swallowing quite often.

When the orc noticed her kept silence, he grunted. “You may speak.”

“Menial chores are one thing, but I will protect myself every chance I get. If they had not provoked me, I wouldn’t have attacked.”, she said gingerly bringing her legs closer to her. She looked at one of her shoulders and began to fidget with the wound, now angry and swollen from the mud that entered it.

“Noted. You do realize that I can’t let this indiscretion go unpunished.”, he said looking at her. She bit her lip and looked down, feeling the fear take hold of her again.

She fought with all her strength, to hold back the tears, but exhaustion, frustration, and fear forced through her iron will and they began to stream down her face. The orc watched her for a few moments before continuing.

“Twenty lashings I think should suffice.”, he said and watched her reaction, “..unless you can give me a more suitable punishment. I am not without reason.”, he said continuing his meal.

She looked up as two tears fell. “What would you want of me?”

The large bodyguard approached the elder and whispered something in his ear. The elder’s eyes lit up and he began to give a small laugh.

“Why, yes! I believe that is a wonderful idea.”, the elder exclaimed. “You will serve your punishment in the arena, Mysidia. If you survive your fight, you live to see another day. If you lose…well… No loss on my part and the beatings you will take will serve in place of your lashings.”

Mysidia’s eyes widen with disbelief. She looked down at her shackles. “Without my magic?”, she asked.

“Well.. yes. That would give you an unwarranted advantage and we can’t have that, now can we?”, he said grinning wickedly. He nodded to the guards that brought her there. “Take her to her cell and have the shaman see to her wounds. Rest well, Rydian. You will need it.”

When they placed the sack over her head again, she let the tears flow freely. She was doomed to die in that wretched place. At the very least, they were going to let her die in battle. She knew, however, that none of the ceremonies would have been done for her, none of the prayers or proper burial procedures. Tunare would simply have to forgive them. What was once a proud and thriving race has now been reduced to arena fodder.

They tossed her in her cell and locked the door behind them. She knew that the shaman, to treat her wounds, wouldn’t be by until much later. So with what little water they gave her, she began to clean and treat her wounds as best she could.

She watched a few rats scurry about and noticed them walking around this particular spot. She watched their behavior for a few moments before continuing on her wound. When she felt that the guards were no where in ear shot range, she spoke to the spot on the ground.

“You can go ahead and come out. There is no one around to catch you.”, Mysidia said to the ground.

As if on cue, the image shimmered and before Mysidia, stood a very well dressed and heavily adorned ratonga necromancer. Mysidia’s eyebrows furled with deep curiosity. And much to her surprise, the necromancer bowed with a deep respect.

“Meesa sorries to be sneakings up on youssa like dis. Buts meesa didn’t thinks that deys would gives meesa a private audiences…”, the ratonga said and smirked slightly.

“And you would probably be right.”, Mysidia said growing ever more curious about her “visitor”.

“And you are….?”, Mysidia asked.

“Oh! A thousand pardons. Meesa Aconitine, and meesa is very honored to meets youssa.”, Aconitine said and bowed again.

“Aconitine…”, Mysidia said and chuckled. “Wolfsbane?”

“Oh! Youssa knew messas twin!”, Aconitine said and gave a bright smile.

“Uh… no… Aconitine is… you know, never mind.”, Mysidia said shaking her head. She doubted that Aconitine knew the actual meaning of her name anyway, so she let the topic drop. “I’m not going to bother asking how you got in…”

“Meesa sneaks onto the ships that brings youssa here. Meesa had to brings youssa a message…”, Aconitine said, her face growing very serious.

“Well, you’re here. Go ahead.”, Mysidia said, easing onto her straw palate.

“Youssa in grave dangers, Queenie Lady.”, Aconitine said putting her head down.

Mysidia laughed outright. The moment her body began to shake under the laughter, the sharp pain shot through her insides and she winced slightly.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly safe, here.”, Mysidia said in a snarkish tone. “You’re a tad late on the deliverance, Aconitine.”

“No..”, Aconitine said shaking her head. “Youssa have a lot bigger problems than dis.”

“Oh? Like what?”, Mysidia asked slightly cross. Adding and compounding her horrific day wasn’t placing her in the best of moods.

“Not whats… Whos.”, Aconitine replied.

“Well?”, Mysidia said impatiently.

“Akahsha.”, Aconitine whispered.

__________________