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Post by tiasha on Jun 26, 2011 22:52:16 GMT -6
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;] Tiasha was glaring at the men leading her down into what they called 'The Chamber'. Their comments were grotesque and crude, a mixture of cruelty and vulgarity in them. One would make her skin crawl imagining the pain the blades and other tools mentioned could inflict upon her, and the next would make her fight back just thinking about someone touching her body there.
The other slaves, when she arrived in the barracks, had told her tales of the room. One or two, haggard looking with terrible scars, described it in detail. But according to the slaves, over a dozen people had been taken their this month alone, and only one survived whatever it was they did to them. She had hope of surviving, though. One of the slaves had heard she wasn't for the Queen herself, but a present for a man who was coming up in the ranks. None of those taken to the Chamber for Panthea herself had left it alive.
Now wasn't the time for her to contemplate whether she would live or die, however. She should be thinking of ways to escape her prison. But the shackles here secure, and the chains were too heavy for her delicate wings to lift. Not to mention how uncomfortable the leather covered bit was in her mouth. She was proud of that bit, it had only taken a day after her capture for the slavers to gag her with it, only taking it off for meals, and even then they kept hands far away from her mouth. One of them had lost a thumb, and that was enough to keep them cautious. And then her first act upon being sold was to spit in a guards eye. That bit had only been taken off for meals since, and the guards had kept their distance. The bit they gagged her with held her teeth marks clearly now, and she grinned proudly around it.
The walk was finally drawing to a close, and the guards tugging at her chains had gone mercifully silent, letting her put all thoughts from her mind. Carefully blank, anyone in here wouldn't see fear from her eyes. But she didn't get a chance to see anyone as they attached her chains to hooks on the wall. She was facing it, feeling the cold stone against her skin, and unable to see anything behind her, or really anywhere in the room. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the guards leaving, a quickness in their step. For the first time, a real shiver of fear ran up her spine, causing her dark blue wings to flutter nervously. What was bad enough the guards would run away from it, if it wasn't the dark queen herself?
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Post by corson on Jun 27, 2011 11:12:12 GMT -6
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let's get down with the sickness
It wasn't all that surprising that Andras couldn't find something to do with himself today, because that happened almost every moment of his life when it didn't revolve around something sadistically sexual or particularly violent. If that was the case, he was usually found in the library, sitting in one of the chairs, propping one booted feet up on the table as he sprawled across the seat, candles lighting the room as he practiced a new technique. The shadows of the flickering flames seemed to cast a fairly morbid shadow across his face, and anyone who passed would have been a little unnerved when he turned his orbs upwards to give them a once over before going back to reading. That was why no one had bothered him today. However, there was the case of a messenger earlier, informing him that he had a present, given from the lovely Thea herself, he had scampered out with a quickness that Andras didn't even know he was capable of before he could ask what it was.
One could only guess.
His fingers flexed over the pages of the book, gripping the spine then the binding as he moved his hands to flip the page, run them over the words, then lifting it to brush his bangs to the side. Taking a breath, he pursed his lips pensively before heaving a sigh and closing his eyes. The flame beside him seem to spike upwards, trying find some sort of connection to spread further and outwards. But before he could really do anything with it, the sound of shuffling feet broke his concentration, and along with it- the flame reduced back to the weak little source of light. He scowled and turned his attention to the door, demanding for them to enter in a harsh, jarring voice, the voice of something who clearly wasn't amused at being disturbed. The faded worn book in his hands were closed with a loud snap before being tossed carelessly on the table as he stood and straightened up, watching the approaching figures with a face contorted into annoyance.
Three of them- apparently it took three simpletons to send a message that his new plaything was ready. The look on the dark sorcerer's face send them into a frenzy of stories, fabricating excuses in hopes of being pardoned. Standing, he waved them off, with a promise that he would deal with them later, but not before receiving a warning of his own. 'She bites, my l-' he dropped his gaze to the missing thumb with a snort before waving them off again.
Pulling a cloak around his shoulders, he made his way to the chambers, a servant by his side. Stepping down to the depths of the castle, his eyes roamed the musky walls and the dank mood that clogged the air. His ears could pick up the faintest of rustling, the clacking of chains, the sound of... wings. He groaned. Idiots.
Stopping at the sight of her, his lips pulled into a wicked smile. 'Well well,' he drawled casually, making his way over to the little one, pulling out a dagger from the sleeves. He ran the blade across her mouthpiece lightly. 'I've heard you've caused my men some trouble- no doubt I never cared for much commoners but you will pay for the time I had to stand there and listen to him,' he promised, stepping back and look around the walls carefully. Where were his toys?
'I assure you, if you bite me or spit at me with your nasty mouth, you'll be eating the nasty horse droppings in the barn for the rest of your life,' he added, looking at her with all the seriousness of a king condemning the wrong doings of a murderer. 'Any questions? Didn't think so,' he waltzed off to the other room, looking for his whip. 'Move her to the middle of the room, bolt the chains to the bars on the floor,' he demanded the guards as he passed them.
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Post by tiasha on Jun 27, 2011 14:09:40 GMT -6
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;] Tiasha sneered at the man as he ran the knife over the bit that was her gag. Her teeth barred as she growled, hearing the threats, but unwilling to let the fight go away. Maybe if she was honery enough he'd just kill her, she could hope that was the case. At least if she got punished she could feel good about making his life that much more difficult. Not that she was likely to get the chance to spit in his eye with the bit still in her mouth.
He sounded so high and mighty on his throne, and she knew she'd love to take him down a notch or five dozen. Now she was being moved, and she tugged violently at the chains. She didn't care that her wrists were becoming more bruised each time, her pale skin marred by the ugly purple marks. In the center of the room, she could see more of what was around her. Though she was stuck in place by the gains that were taunt, she could turn her head to survey the tools on the walls. Whips, thin chains, blades, and other things she didn't have names for, but knew were there to help others bring her pain.
Others like this man, with a sour expression and dark hair. She felt a pang as she stared at him. He was taller, true, but the similarities were striking, even down to the way he talked down to her. Just like her little brother in expression, attitude, and voice. That made her anger at him even greater, though she could do nothing about it. Her brother had been the one person in her life she might have hated, the one person she never got along with, and now she was going to be tortured by someone that reminded her so much of him. 'Just my luck,' she thought to herself, glaring at the man as he picked out a whip. 'Maybe I can bust his eardrums too.' she smirked around the bit at that thought. He was going to try and make her scream? Good, because she had one hell of a set of lungs.
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Post by corson on Jun 27, 2011 15:26:52 GMT -6
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let's get down with the sickness
Reaching with one hand out with the whip, his other hand ran its course through his hair, roughing up the back of it before brushing his bangs to the side again. Damn thing. At the last moment, he paused, picking a slick blade, tossing it and catching it thoughtfully, the flat of the blade and the hilt smacked against his skin as he tossed and caught, an air of options swirling around him. Hearing the clatter of chains finally cease (how annoying), he slide the dagger into his sleeve before picking up the whip again. Of course, he did have his selected favorite of weapons to use- of all the options that hung in the wall, he found that there were some that he couldn't help but bring into play. Like the whip, three leather strips attached to one useful little handle for him to hold- or the dagger, instead of two blades there were three, its rather amusing for him to push the tip into a wound and twist. Options, they were to trivial.
Heading back to the room, he looked at her small frame, then to the fire that lit her eyes. What was more fun to him then to see the light drain dry? How would it extinguish? Slowly crumble until there was nothing left? Maybe just suddenly crash down without a warning? He was a little impressed, most of them, by the time they were strapped down, the fight was already gone. Pale bare skin, his white canvas, an artwork was waiting for him somewhere within the depths and folds of her skin- it was a matter of bringing to the surface, wasn't it? He chuckled at the thought, stepping forward and snapping his hand out, the heel bruising her vocal chords and snapping her neck back as far as it would go before he muttered a spell and released the clasp that held the gag together- the miserable thing falling beside her.
Moving around behind her, he inspected the condition of her wings with mild interest. 'Such an interesting shade of color- you wings,' he commented slowly, loud enough for her to hear, but low and deadly. 'I have a growing collection of colors in the hall that reads to my bedroom,' he said, deadpanned. 'Perhaps, if you live, I'll show you them- I have all colors and all sorts of shades... all but gold- depressing, isn't it? Maybe one day I'll complete it,' a wicked smirk appeared on his features. 'Until then, yours would be nice on the wall too- but since I already have blue.. should I just burn it?' he reached forward and violently tugged at the wing. The thing was, he didn't want to use the whip- chancing damages on the wing, better not take any chances- he was never a fan of art, but there were some things he just had to have.
And he always got what he wants.
'Ah- well, if this hurts, bit your tongue- in fact, bite it off, saves me time from cutting it off later,' he drawled to her flippantly. Dropping the whip, he pulled out the flat bladed dagger before pressing the tip against her skin, right above where her wings sprouted from her skin. Taking a Handful of the fluttering bother, he started to carve it out; just as he had done before. Red lines poured from the wound- making stripes on the canvas before spotting the faded red on the ground. It was a masterpiece, really. He could sell his work for some sort of profit. He pried the wings off her back, his eyes alight with concentration.
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Post by tiasha on Jun 28, 2011 11:37:32 GMT -6
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;] He didn't take long to choose his torture implements, from what Tiasha could see. He picked a three stranded whip and a dagger that she didn't want to know what it was for, though there was a growing uneasiness in her stomach after seeing it. The uneasiness had nothing to do with the slop they called food that she'd have to eat, but more to do with the thoughts of what a blade like that could do to her.
All too soon, his attention was back on her. Her body shivered under his gaze, wings fluttering, but her eyes stayed defiant. She didn't know how long she could last here before breaking, but she'd last as long as she could. She was no flower petal to be crushed under the heel of his foot, she never had been. She grunted as he roughly pushed her head back, feeling the familiar deep pain of her vocal chords being bruised. Just last month, her brother had learned this new move and insisted on demonstrating on her, the bastard. She felt the gag fall away, her teeth snapping closed harshly from the position he was holding her head in.
When he let go, her head fell forward and she spit at the ground, grimacing at the taste and sight of a little blood. It had happened like this when her brother did it too. She tensed as he began to speak, eyes going wide as she heard about his collection. All but gold, all but the color of their queen's. There were as many different colors of wings as their were fairy's, almost. How many had he butchered to collect so many? The thought terrified her, keeping her silent and still even as she winced from his none to gentle treatment of her wings. She wanted to give him some scathing remark, but her pride wouldn't let her. Her voice would be shaky and hoarse from the bruising and the fear. He was discussing the fate of her wings like they weren't an intrinsic part of her, as if they were a distasteful article of clothing.
She almost growled at him in defiance when she was distracted by seeing the whip fall to the ground. That left one tool for him to use. Her body went rigid at the feel of that sharp tip pressing into her skin. Then, with a deep, quivering breath, she relaxed, tears falling down her cheek in a poor imitation of the blood she could feel flowing down her back. He was carving out her wings, and as much as she wanted to fight back, she couldn't bring herself to do it when it could cause him to slip with the knife, perhaps shredding them. They were her everything, her joy, her identity, and the way he was treating them, like trophies to adorn a wall, caused her to straighten again, head held high as the blade worked its way down. “What a coward.” she whispered, staring straight ahead, and grunting a little between words from the pain. “Taking wings is easy when they're chained, isn't it? When they've been half-starved for a month.” she laughed, choking up a little more blood, and spitting it emphatically by the fallen gag on the ground.
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Post by corson on Jun 29, 2011 16:12:19 GMT -6
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let's get down with the sickness
Andras chuckled at the reaction he had caused from the small cut. However, the blade slipped (purposely) to the side, ripping the skin away from her wings as she spoke. He scowled in annoyance, not taking any chances in destroying the fragile thing, then he snorted. 'Admittedly, I would rather chain them up because I adore them screaming for mercy, unchained, they tend to flutter and shred the wings,' he murmured with a casual shrug, as if discussing the right ingredients to put into a love potion. 'However, I have taken wings without them chained or starved- you could say I was out and about, and they were in the wrong place at the wrong time,' he smiled lightly, the movement turning his face from casual to cruel and contorted his features in a demented and evil way. However, despite the tone, he was annoyed at her bold words- daring him to get mad at her. However, unlike Thea, who showed her annoyance, he didn't- it was more introverted then her. So as he was speaking, he reached to his magic reserve, pulling out the spell he was looking for; and immediately put it to use. The fingers that rested against her skin curled, digging into her skin, as if that was what he was doing to her lungs- the more he clenched his fingers into a fist, the harder the pressure was on her lungs- no doubt making it hard to breath, let alone speak.
And then released the spell, not wanting her to completely stop breathing- the fun would be over if that was the case. Instead, he went back to the taking of her wings. He planned to cut facing each other on both sides, then pull out the wings like he would a wedge of bread and cheese. It would be a little messy, but he knew it would work, because he had done it before- granted, as long as she doesn't twitch and start convulsing, they tend to do that and all his hard work would go to waste.
And that's exactly what he did. Two deep cuts into her back that faced each other, all while he pried the wings off her skin, holding it gingerly at the base as he peeled it off like a farmer would peel his skin off after a sunburn. The edge of the blade was also used to left the sinews of her skin and muscles if they refused to budge, the tip used as leverage when all else failed and he fretted that the damn things would rip. The dagger was gripped tightly as he did the same to her other wing, setting the first one he had rightfully stolen from her on the ground, away from the pooling liquid at his booted feet, or rather, both of their feet (and a body). When both were separated from her back, he picked up them, barked at a servant to take it and preserve them and hang them in the next available space in his hallway. He turned and looked at the crimson poison that seeped from her back- artfully trailing down the curve of her bent figure and dripping off the edge of her body to the ground.
'You're bleeding all over the floor,' he grumbled, then frowned, she was bleeding more then he wanted to. He stepped over to where there was a candle that lit up a table in the hall, picking it up and heading back to where he was chained up, tipping the candle over so the melted wax poured over the wounds. 'There, at least you stopped,' he mused lightly, tipping his head to the side and inspecting her back. His gaze slid from her bottom up to her neck, her bowed head, over to the chains that kept her hands tense.
Oh, now the fun can begin.
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Post by tiasha on Jul 7, 2011 20:44:25 GMT -6
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;] Tiasha cringed, grimacing as the blade took a thin layer off her delicate wing. The muscles in her arms visibly strained as they pulled against the heavy chains and she struggled to keep mostly still. It was a twisted pride that cringed more at the damage to her precious, perfect wings than the fact they were shortly going to be ripped from her body. Even knowing that, she still cringed at the idea of the perfect wings she loved so much being damaged.
Her worry over he wings only lasted so long, though, as she began to feel a tightness in her chest. It was like she was flying to high, unable to get air into her lungs, and she could feel it squeeze out of them as she tried to gasp for oxygen. In part of her mind, she could feel the fingers digging into her back, and she registered that they were the catalyst, as they gripped tighter it became harder for her to breathe. “You bastard,” she whispered, so faintly she couldn't even hear it herself, with the last of her breath before he let go, allowing her back to hunch as she gratefully gulped at the air, panting from the lack of it, still.
Her relief, though, was short lived as she felt the blade digging into her back once more. His words echoed in her head, and she was grateful for that and the screams that tore out of her throat. She didn't scream so much from the pain as she did from the horror of hearing the blade as it created the woulds in her back, tearing at her flesh. Hearing his voice taunting her in her mind was preferable to that. Hearing her screams as they grew harsher with every cut of the blade through her body. She wasn't screaming for mercy, though, and her back was barely convulsing. It was more quivering, each muscle section having it's own private spasm instead of all spasming at once in the same direction. It was all she could do, to endure, to feel the wings she held so dear torn from her body while all she could do was scream.
As he finished, and part of her brain registered seeing them being set beside her feet, away from the mass of blood pooling on the ground. She let out a small sob, the sound almost a gasp, except anyone could see the tears that began to flow down her cheeks. Her life, gone, her freedom, her joy, left in a pile on the ground at her feet. And then they were gone, taken by a servant to be placed in his collection. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. If she survived, he had promised to show them to her again.
Her thin form didn't stop shaking, even though she tried to stand still. It was the blood loss, she knew, she had lost a lot of it, and the sticky pool coated her feet as they shuffled in it, trying not to slip on the slick stones. It was when the hot wax was poured over her would that she lost her footing, falling to her knees with nothing but her chains to try and hold her up. She didn't have the strength to stand anymore, and she could feel her vocal chords anguish as a dull thrum under the larger thrum of the pain in her back. She could do nothing to answer him, nothing but give him dead silence. She wanted to laugh at him, to grin and say something smart, but she couldn't focus, she couldn't think about anything yet. Later, she promised herself, later she would find her way to take revenge.
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Post by corson on Jul 8, 2011 22:01:22 GMT -6
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let's get down with the sickness
Andras couldn't help but let out a satisfied smile at the echoing notes of her screams, no doubt drifting out the hall and bouncing off the stones that made up the barriers. For a moment, he wondered if he should mute the sound, but decided against it- he was almost done anyways, there was no need when they only had a bit more to go. Not to add on to the fact that when she screamed, the more satisfied he felt, little biting twit, he didn't have time for such things, all she had to know was that the pains would only get worse, the more so struggled and dreamed to be free, the harder he was going to cram the heel of his boots against and crush it to the ground. Once they were in his control, they could never leave, the only good side was that he went through his toys rather quickly before killing them off. He had no interest in keeping a toy for that long... well, some of them, he just loved to toy with. He did have his favorites, after all.
Stepping back, he crossed his arms and took a step back, then another, only looking back at her once the servant was gone, it didn't take that long, so he wanted to see it when he was on his way back to his bedroom, and it better be crisp, or else there would be hell to pay. Turning to look at her back with dark eyes, he dropped the blade somewhere, expecting it to be cleaned and hung back to its proper place when he came back. He eyed her naked flesh thoughtfully. 'If you live, when you can stand, I will take you to see your wings; you can see it whenever, however, it's bolted on the wall, don't brother trying to take it,' he snorted. She wouldn't be the first, some wanted to take it, though it wasn't on their back anymore. Fools. What false hope made them believe that they could have it back after he took the time to pry it off their backs like he was picking at flowers in a garden (although, unlike the flowers, he didn't crush it after wards). But who said he wasn't fair? Well, he wasn't doing it to be nice, he was gloating- guess what I've stolen from you. Your pride, your joy, your freedom, and I'll take you life next.
Walking around her as the hot wax melted, he noticed how much blood pooled in the front, due to her hunched up position. He sighed before scoffing. 'Fairies,' he grumbled, calling out for the guards. He stepped forward and took her chin in his hand, his thin and long fingers trailing up her jaw and cheeks as he held her head in place, looking into her eyes. She was growing weak from the blood, too weak for him to play with- it was going to have to be moved to another day. He pushed her back as he let go, spinning in his feet and walking away.
'Take her to get them treated. I next time I see her, she should be alive and moving- weak is expected, but no fresh wounds, or you'll have me to deal with,' he glared at the men, knowing their brutality to prisoners, but she wasn't a prisoner, she was a slave, and the only one who could soil and corrupt her is him.
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