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[Vryn Vhae'Naliek]

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"You took from me," Vryn stated flatly, holding up two fingers slathered gold in raw, gelatinous honey.

"Now I take from you."

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There was nothing.

Nothing in his thoughts. Nothing in his soul. Nothing that touched him.

There was silence only. An unwelcomed, crushing silence.

The Humanis woman bled well. Vryn knew he had skirted the edges of some of her most deep seeded fears, and had perfect faith that humiliation would cut her as coldly as any pain he could ever inflict upon her.

Each piece layered, if played correctly, and built atop the other multiplying the desired effect.

Joanna Weaver was a woman on a grim precipice well before Vryn had ever abducted her. A fact easily recognized if one just stopped a moment and looked. To shove her now, whilst she stood so close was just far too mundane.

It lacked patience.

It lacked artistry.

She would feel the freedom of that abyss soon enough.

He should have felt like some debauched king of old. Glorious in his work. Eager to paint varied hurts and misery upon her naked, fleshy canvas.

Draping skeletons in the skin of sorrows and pains long remembered.

Instead, the dark skinned Magincian, hobbled cruelly, stripped bare, and collared, had torn hollows into him with a singled word.

"Lost."

[Vryn Vhae'Naliek]

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The slave Dal'Bok, bare chest and face wet with his efforts, methodically pounded the stakes into the ground, pulling the coarse ropes taut, and following Vryn's vision to the smallest detail.

The humid jungle air was without breeze and hung oppressively. The noon sun high, a fiery white blob in azure drapery.

Her bronze skin shone with a thin layer of sweat, vulnerable in its stark nakedness. A dark, living contrast to the green grass she lay upon.

"Arms and legs spread wide Dal'Bok," Vryn said quietly, "No need to be gentle."

[Joanna Weaver]

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"A sub-set of the elf and vile beyond words, the drow is far worse then an elf. It is a liar and a murderer. Born in darkness, it lives to destroy culture and to bring down the Philosophe. It kidnaps human children and kills them to heathen gods just for the fun of it.

These beasts have no good qualities." ~ Khay'Thall, The Manifesto Of The Human Nation

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Every inch of her was on fire. What had started as humiliation had long since given way to fear, panic, and ultimately, the constant burning pain that wracked her swollen body.

"You are a feast, lady."

How long had she lain, naked and staked spread eagle beneath the jungle canopy? Did it matter... She'd thought that it had hurt when they'd cruelly torn one of her painted fingernails from her. Foolish girl. She hadn't imagined this brand of torture. Her civilized mind couldn't have dreamed up such a horror.

Joanna baked in the midday heat. A feast indeed, glazed with the honey that the black-skinned fiend had seen fit to coat her in. Every inch of her had been given a generous dollop.. even there.

The demon sat back in his chair, relaxed and patient, waiting for his miniscule "guests" to arrive. And they'd come. One by one at first and then later in droves to the glorious banquet.

The first pinching bite, intentional or otherwise, had sparked her imagination. Her raw back, torn from being dragged across the spikes of an iron maiden, was tender and felt each scratching blade of rough tropical grass as a potential assailant. Her mind kindled into panic as the horror of her situation set in. She'd be eaten alive.

She'd long ago exhausted herself thrashing frantically against the ropes that held her down. Her throat was raw from all the frightened screaming. Now her body lay limp and inflamed. Sometime hours ago, she'd hoped that the swelling of so many stinging bites would bring numbing relief. It hadn't. Her sunburned flesh felt every nibble, every hungry, clawing scratch. Everything burned.

She could only stare at the jungle ceiling in wide-eyed horror as thousands of tiny diners crawled about on her skin, searching for a place to tuck in.
_________________
"Art and architecture must combine to create something larger than either." ~ Robert Campbell

[Vryn Vhae'Naliek]

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(OOC note: Just a warning, a little graphic at the end here.)





"I hate this place," Vryn said conversationally.

He crouched upon her chest, drizzling honey onto her face in long, thick, ropey strands.

"I hate the heat. I hate the jungle. Most of all...I hate the uncountable, teeming life on this isle."

Pausing to watch Joanna choke on the syrupy globs running over her features, he tossed the now empty jar nonchalantly.

"The ants. The fruit flies. The rats," he smiled.

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Clutching the torn scalp, stark in its contrast to his ebon skin, Vryn paced away most of the night. His mind whorled in possibilty, and measured concern.

He knew trusting the Humanis was a mistake he could not afford, as keenly as he knew discarding this offer was just as foolish.

He wanted Shri'hrae back. He needed her, there was nothing more to it.

Re-reading Isk's missive for an uncounted time, Vryn let caution color his plans. Vengeance will keep. A drow's life was long, as was his memory. He had nothing but time.

He would let Isk's shaved ape write her letter. Let her allay the fool's fears, and gift him with a hope that could only state that she still breathed life. She would never be the same...and after the letter left her hands, Vryn would see to that with finality.

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Vryn's thin fingers made a wet sucking sound as they left the thrashing woman's body having deposited their sugary gift within.

His red eyes monstrous, and devoid of life, locked upon her's. Wild with unspoken fear.

"May the ants eat your insides."

[Joanna Weaver]

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Her bindings were slightly looser than when they'd cruelly manacled her arms behind her back to the collar around her throat. They hadn't eased them at all, just her body was thinner and half starved. Her rings kept threatening to slip off. It was so very, very humid and her breathing was labored. She couldn't remember when they'd fed her or given her water last. Had it been days? Weeks? She kept her cheek pressed to the flagstones, they felt so refreshing against her bare flesh.

The cell was empty, for now. No new friends since the rats and spiders they'd assembled around her. Unless one counted the corpses that lay, posed so eerily similar to herself, on the floor beside her. She hadn't bothered or had the energy to check them for missing toes.

She wanted to die.

No, she wanted to live.

Better still to just melt into the wall and forget everything.. and yet..

Hope lingered, faint, grasping, weak, and only a trickle, but it was there.

She tilted her head slightly, the action dragging her necklaces against the stones with a grinding scrape. She squinted her eyes against the rays of the tropic sun, which though filtered in through the panes of colored glass, still gave her ill-adjusted eyes cause to object. As she lay in the brightly patterned sunbeam, she fought off the waves of hopelessness that continued to court her company.

The same sun still shone over Magincia.
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"Art and architecture must combine to create something larger than either." ~ Robert Campbell