I was naked, gagged and chained against the cold stone wall of some unknown dungeon. My senses were still on high from my transformation and all I could smell was the tangy, metallic scent of blood and a sickly sweet burning smell. I strained against the chains futilely, pulling at my bonds.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How the fuck did I get here?
A dull metallic scrape echoed down the corridor and two pairs of loud footsteps followed, getting closer. I tried to calm my breathing and the growing fury that had to be from the beast now inside me. It was a wounded fury, that of a caged trapped beast that would fight to the last to be free, but it would not help me. I needed to be calm. Rational.
The two men were in my sight now, one a grey-green skinned Orc with two large tusks and the other a small Breton man. They were wearing the same uniform as the mercenaries who had ambushed Farkas and I back in Dustman's Cairn. The Silver Hand.
The Breton's hands blossomed with lightning in the gloom of the dungeon. I kept my eyes fixed on him, unable to look away as he approached me. The Orc stepped to my side and yanked my hair, pulling my head up painfully, "Now, bitch, we're going to burn you. If you use your ward you might just stop yourself from the worst but we're going to keep going until you're drained. Understand?"
They wanted to drain my magicka. I grimaced behind the gag but managed to pull my ward up be-fore the first bolt of lightning cascaded towards me.
Soon it wasn't enough and I screamed as the bolt finally caught me, locking my muscles together in a rictus of agony, making me twitch and spasm against the chains. The bastard kept going for a minute longer until he finally stopped. I lay there suspended by the chains, I could smell an acrid tang in the air and my limbs still involuntarily twitched.
I hung there limply, whimpering, trying to fight both my pain and my imagination as I envisioned what would come next. The Breton stepped in close, "She's a pretty one, isn't she?" He stroked my face. Dimly I thought of trying to resist, to pull away, but it just seemed like too much effort. "Yeah," the Orc grunted, his voice guttural and hoarse, "She's a real lady." His hand stroked roughly at my breast before spiralling in to pinch my nipple. I grunted with pain and the Breton laughed softly, "All the lady needs is some pretty jewellery."
A burning pain seared through my finger and for a moment I thought the bastards had cut it off. I screamed, instinctively glancing across to where my hand dangled limply against the manacle. A thick silver ring had been shoved onto my finger. Underneath the skin looked unblemished but my brain could feel the metal searing into my skin, a flaming agony. The same sensation came from my other hand as the Breton forced another ring on my fingers and I cursed and swore and grunted behind my gag, pulling at the chains that bound me.
I will kill you. I will Shout you apart. I will-fuck!
My litany was cut off with a scream as the Oblivion-spawned bastard of a Breton draped a silver pendant over my head, searing pain coursing through my neck and chest. A shorter, thicker silver collar was also fastened round my throat, and I screamed again. Any thought of resistance, all my fight, had gone. All I could think of was the pain. And making it stop. When the Orc turned round with a silver circlet in his hand I whimpered, hanging limply in my chains. It descended and my entire body lit up in a blaze of agony.
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timeasmymeasure
Call of the Blood 10.1/?
Date: 2013-07-08 03:40 pm (UTC)Waking up did not come easily.
I was naked, gagged and chained against the cold stone wall of some unknown dungeon. My senses were still on high from my transformation and all I could smell was the tangy, metallic scent of blood and a sickly sweet burning smell. I strained against the chains futilely, pulling at my bonds.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How the fuck did I get here?
A dull metallic scrape echoed down the corridor and two pairs of loud footsteps followed, getting closer. I tried to calm my breathing and the growing fury that had to be from the beast now inside me. It was a wounded fury, that of a caged trapped beast that would fight to the last to be free, but it would not help me. I needed to be calm. Rational.
The two men were in my sight now, one a grey-green skinned Orc with two large tusks and the other a small Breton man. They were wearing the same uniform as the mercenaries who had ambushed Farkas and I back in Dustman's Cairn. The Silver Hand.
The Breton's hands blossomed with lightning in the gloom of the dungeon. I kept my eyes fixed on him, unable to look away as he approached me. The Orc stepped to my side and yanked my hair, pulling my head up painfully, "Now, bitch, we're going to burn you. If you use your ward you might just stop yourself from the worst but we're going to keep going until you're drained. Understand?"
They wanted to drain my magicka. I grimaced behind the gag but managed to pull my ward up be-fore the first bolt of lightning cascaded towards me.
Soon it wasn't enough and I screamed as the bolt finally caught me, locking my muscles together in a rictus of agony, making me twitch and spasm against the chains. The bastard kept going for a minute longer until he finally stopped. I lay there suspended by the chains, I could smell an acrid tang in the air and my limbs still involuntarily twitched.
I hung there limply, whimpering, trying to fight both my pain and my imagination as I envisioned what would come next. The Breton stepped in close, "She's a pretty one, isn't she?" He stroked my face. Dimly I thought of trying to resist, to pull away, but it just seemed like too much effort.
"Yeah," the Orc grunted, his voice guttural and hoarse, "She's a real lady." His hand stroked roughly at my breast before spiralling in to pinch my nipple. I grunted with pain and the Breton laughed softly, "All the lady needs is some pretty jewellery."
A burning pain seared through my finger and for a moment I thought the bastards had cut it off. I screamed, instinctively glancing across to where my hand dangled limply against the manacle. A thick silver ring had been shoved onto my finger. Underneath the skin looked unblemished but my brain could feel the metal searing into my skin, a flaming agony. The same sensation came from my other hand as the Breton forced another ring on my fingers and I cursed and swore and grunted behind my gag, pulling at the chains that bound me.
I will kill you. I will Shout you apart. I will-fuck!
My litany was cut off with a scream as the Oblivion-spawned bastard of a Breton draped a silver pendant over my head, searing pain coursing through my neck and chest. A shorter, thicker silver collar was also fastened round my throat, and I screamed again. Any thought of resistance, all my fight, had gone. All I could think of was the pain. And making it stop. When the Orc turned round with a silver circlet in his hand I whimpered, hanging limply in my chains. It descended and my entire body lit up in a blaze of agony.
Then I mercifully blacked out.