Fantasy Children of Blood and Shadows - Devil's Walkway

[Ririn]

Feeling his aura touch hers was like an annoying yet tickling sensation that made her want to pull away immediately and laugh at the same time. Yet she stayed there for a moment longer, not wanting to move away too fast, she liked knowing his mind was thinking his changes against her, thinking how he could possibly hurt her or even kill her from where she was standing. He wouldn't take the bait, she didn't expect him to, but his mind would think about it anyway. And Ivorel enjoyed knowing that!

Ivorel shrugged, doing a spin which ment that for a few seconds she had her back turned at him while still being in his range, then she walked away, closing in on the large table again.
"Well, I do know what our armies have done, yes. I was just wondering what happened to you, in particular. You know?" She asked, turning to look at him from afar, getting a bite from the plum she had chosen from the fruit bowl.

"Why did you attack the carriage?" Ivorel asked and though she had finally asked something that had to do with why he was here, her voice was just as soft as always, as she slowly ate her fruit, leaning on the table with one hand behind her back, looking at her prison thinking if she would tight his chains before or after the first round of whiping.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox did not reply to her first question, falling silent. That was not a question he was willing to answer any time soon. There were too many painful memories and emotions that were still raw, after all these years.

A head swam in his vision, beautiful but horrifying. A face he had loved. A face at the end of a elf's spear.

He couldn't help it, he looked away and was grateful for her turned back a s he composed himself, reconstructing his mask of hate one chip at a time. When he looked back, his face was wiped of any vulnerability she could use against him. She turned around, plum in her hand. He watched her teeth dig in to the tender plum flesh like it was the most important thing in the world. Watching the simple normal act of someone eating anchored him.

As she asked about the reasons for the attack, he threw back his head and laughed, back to his normal self. His mouth opened wide, displaying sharp teeth in all their glory.
"Why did I attack the carriage? Isn't it obvious?" His eyes were back on her gray ones, filled with amusement. "Is that your best torturers question?To kill the lordling of course." he sneered at her. "Must have felt great for you, failing your race like that".

 

[Ririn]

Finally, Vox had managed to erase the smile off her face with his last question. Ivorel had expected Demons to not like the idea of a marriage that could lead to peace, even Elves weren't sure how to feel about it and her race had much more unity than theirs but having him laugh in her face about it made her angry.

Still standing against the table, she finished with her plum, leaving the seed on a small empty plate, licking her fingers clean, one at a time.
"Torture's questions." She repeated his words mocking him, walking up to him, disappearing behind his back, standing there knowing that, for now, he could turn his head sideways and look at her if he wanted to, as she observed his body structure.

The Demon was bulky. Tall. He still wore most of his camouflage uniform, perhaps even more clothes awaited for her beneath that. She didn't mind. The whip would strip him of everything soon enough.

"You were the leader of that attack, it was easy to figure that out. But why were you there? Why kill the Lord? Do you really opposed the wedding so much or did someone else send you? You strike me as a lap dog you know." Ivorel noticed, now smiling again, the right side of her lips slightly higher.

She bend, picking up the chain of his left arm, wrapping it around her palm and wrist, pulling it with her as she took a few steps back, making his hand unwillingly follow the motion, stretched above his head.

"You do know what a lap dog is, right?" She asked, pulling the chain even more, knowing she was stretching his left arm exactly to the point where it would be painful for him, but not enough to dislocate his shoulder. Yet.
"Someone who obeys their master, someone who runs when their is a whistle in the air and do as he is told for a pat on the head or a coin in his pouch." Ivorel went on securing the chain, repeating the procedure with the right arm's chain as well, securing it too but not yet moving from behind him.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox's eyes followed her as she circled behind him as she licked the plum off her fingers. He knew that look on her face, it spoke of sadistic pain and the pleasure she would take in inflicting it. His eyes never left her face, his expression carefully blank as he twisted to look over his shoulder. The yank of the chain came next, stretching the left side of his body. Unwillingly, he followed the motion, having to get up from his knees. The chain rattled around his ankles as he stood.

He briefly considered pulling back on the chain that now wrapped around her wrist. He looked at the mechanism discretely. Yes, he could pit his strength against hers, he could snap the mechanism as long as she held it in her hand, unhooked.

He didn't. Not yet.

The right hand came next, as his arms stretched uncomfortably above him, muscles bulging against the fabric of his clothing. The blood drained from his arms as they remained in that position, a numb prickling flowing over his flesh. He knew his legs would probably come next, alongside the vicious bite of the whip.

He laughed, a deep guttural rumble in his throat. "No, I'm no lap dog. I was just offered something I couldn't refuse. The blood of elves is more valuable than any amount of gold one could offer me." He sneered over his shoulder. "But tell me, now that you have failed, how will your fellow elves treat you? Disgust? Shame? Will you go back to your king with your tail tucked between your legs, begging for forgiveness?"

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel stood in silence even as he went on, offending and provoking her with his words that spoke of her failure. She should have expected answers wouldn't be easily given to her questions, if he gave any at all. But she was tired, she didn't want to do this now, fuck! She didn't want to do this at all anymore but here she was, having a Demon in chains ready to start torturing him for days or weeks if necessary. That marriage was supposed to be the first step in what was her career's ending in the military. That's why she had supported it so passionately, that's why she was given this mission. Because she would never be one to sabotage it herself. And now... All was fucked.

Still silent the elf went for the chains on his legs, adjusting the tension first on the left one, then the right one forcing him to open them up, stand almost in the same triangle shape as the structure around him stood.

"I have nothing to beg for." Ivorel said, looking up at him, as she knelt down securing the last chain, getting back up again, only to walk up to his face, now more close than before as he wouldn't be able to move. Her eyes pierced his, as she tried to read all those he refused to say but in vain.

Her right hand went behind him, almost as if she was about to hug him, close the small space that was left between them but instead she tugged on his horn, pulling his head backwards, exposing his wounded throat. Slowly, her fingers touched the bruised skin, tracing the markings without having to look at them.
"A whip is such a weird weapon." She said, her voice a low whisper almost seductive to listen to. "Nobody brings one to the war, to the frontline except if it's for his horse, you know? But I've lived through countless battles with it by my side. And as a torturing instrument? Well, it's very common right? So I had to make sure mine would be different. More painfull. More... Cruel." Ivorel smiled, still feeling his wounds under her fingertips, still looking in his eyes, still holding him forcefully in place, still speaking softly. It was hard to tell if it was an act or not, she did look almost mesmerized, a fade smiling curving her lips.
"It has more than 2,000 tiny sharp blades that open up like a dragon's scales. 2,000 sharp, little teeth that first sink in and then pull flesh from bone. Sometimes even, pull bone too, exposing the marrow. It takes a lot of skill to use it and not kill someone and I did such a good job with you back in the forest." She concluded, licking her lips, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly.
"Wouldn't you agree Berserker?" She asked in her never changing tone.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

The flicker in her eyes told Vox he had hit a nerve with his provocations. There was rage in them, mostly at him, perhaps even at directed at the world. But he thought he caught a flicker that looked suspiciously like... pain. It was gone as quickly as he noticed it and he wondered if he might have imagined it. He wondered briefly if she had demons of her own clawing at her mind like he had.

She tightened the chains. His muscles strained against the shackles, digging into his flesh. The poles didn't move. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

She moved in, her face close to his, close enough to kiss. Her hot breath almost scalded his bronze skin and he felt something close to thrill coarse though his body at her closeness. Elf or not, he was male and she was very, very female. That was until she yanked on his horn. His neck stretched painfully and his mouth formed a silent snarl. A muscle pulsed in his throat as she drawled on and on about her whip, nostrils flaring angrily. He was unimpressed and frankly furious at her hands on his horns.

He allowed her to finish before he made his move. He knew it would bode badly for him, but he considered himself a dead-man anyway. He jerked his head, twisting it slightly. The motion caused her hand to slip from the bone and graze the metal plating that decorated his horns, sliding off. His head freed, he aimed for her neck. She was so much shorter than him, so he couldn't get the best angle, straining against his cuffs until it hurt. Then his sharp canines sank in to the smooth flesh of her slender neck. He snapped his jaws shut, tearing though flesh and sinew, trying to do as much damage as possible before she pulled away from his grasp. He felt her tense; pull away. He didn't unclasp his jaw, forcing her to rip herself apart in order to move away from him.

He stood and straightened. A maddened smile adorned his now blood soaked mouth, teeth pained a deep crimson. Her blood adorned his skin, dripping down his neck and seeping onto his tattered armour. A laugh bubbled up in his chest, starting as a low rumble before it echoed and reverberated in the confined space. He licked his lips, running his tongue over his bloodstained teeth, tasting her.
"Now my teeth have marked you as well, a souvenir to remember me by after I'm gone."

His smile stretched wider as he felt her blood spark that ancient power seeping though his veins. So much power in an elf's blood.... A searing sensation flooded his veins and his muscles almost trembled with it, breath coming out in a tremor. The sensation pooled around his neck, spilling over his torn skin. The frayed wound moved on its own accord, stretching, knitting together, doing what months of healing would have done in mere seconds. All that was left of the bruises and tares was a faint necklace of scars, another mark to add to his growing collection. He lowered his head again, a challenge in his eyes as he licked the last of the blood off his lips.

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel gasped at the sudden flow of pain through her body as his teeth sunk deep into the soft flesh of her neck, bitting her own lips in order to keep her self from screaming, narrowing it down to a moan of pain.
She tried to find his horns again with her hands but with his teeth on her refusing to let go, she couldn't reach behind him. He was taller and too broad for her arms to reach the back of his head right now.
She felt the blood, what didn't end up in his mouth stained her clothes, giving her that wet sensation she hated.

Breathing heavily, she put her elbows on his chest, pushing him as far back as the chains allowed, pulling her self away, skin pilling away as she did.

She backed away, bringing her hand up, pressing it on the wound that didn't stop bleeding, breathing heavily through her nostrils, trying to fight back the sudden need to scream.

The guards, having heard the prisoner suddenly laugh loud enough to make the tent shake, entered, spears ready, freezing in shock when they saw their Captain bleeding and the Demon getting healed.

"Captain..."
"Bring me Conor." Ivorel said, walking up to the table, eyes filled with pure rage now, not giving a damn about what the two of them thought, as long as they disappeared from her sight, something that they were smart enough to do. With shaking hands she dumped a cloth in the water, cleaning her wound with sloppy moves that, realistically, were just hurting her more. Her aura was pulsing in the same fast pace as her heart. It wasn't so much the pain that caused the reaction, rather it was his attitude about it. Ivorel growled, bringing her fist down on the table hard enough for everything on it to rattle.

"You fucking animal!" She said under her breath knowing that he would hear her anyway. And as she was leaning over the table, trying to gather her self up, her mind replayed the scene where The Berserker licked his lips off her blood and Ivorel snapped for good.

She turned around, facing him as she walked towards him, freeing her whip in a single motion, letting it extend fully before sending it to fly on his body. The whip cut a straight line starting from the right shoulder going all the way down to the left hip, cutting clothes and armor and skin in it's way. Ivorel repeated the same motion from the other side, forming an 'X' wound on his torso, shredding his armor almost completely.
Standing firmly infront of Vox, the elf repeated both her hits, much faster and almost perfectly hitting the same spots as before.

And then Ivorel did the same thing a third time. With no camouflage or armor left on his torso anymore, there was absolutely nothing to even slightly slow down the whip, that sunk in flesh and tore away at it immediately, each time getting a little deeper inside his body, drawing more blood.
Ivorel did the same thing a fourth and a fifth and a sixth time watching her whip change colour, going from silver to a dark red, watching his taned body soaking as she went, watching everything with a stoic face, only her heavy breathing giving away she was aware of what was happening.
Ivorel went in a seventh time. And an eighth. And when Conor walked in, he was greated by a sight he had seen before but never failed to make his stomach turn.

Between Ivorel and the prisoner there was now a bloody trail of blood that became less as it reached her. The Demon's upper body was like scorched ground, dirt that hadn't seen rain in months, all opened up like it had cracked, forming a weird 'X' pattern. Conor knew once the blood would wash away, the sight would be worse. And his Captain and friend... Conor closed his eyes for a second, like that would make her image change but when he opened them again, she was still looking ill, even more pale than usual and utterly zoned out, with a grin that didn't look natural across her lips.

"Ivorel." Conor said taking another step towards her and that finally made the movement of the whip stop.
"What the hell happened?" He asked, moving in to check the wound on her neck.
"The fucking animal bite me." She said casually, retrieving the whip and while still bloody, putting it back on her waist. "I need you to clean it up."
"You are going to the infirmary." Conor said with a stern voice that received an equally stern look from her. Sighting, Conor led her to sit down, retrieving the chair closest to the Demon, to sit next to her, examining the wound. "Alright, wait here." He said getting up again, racing to the infirmary to get some more things.

"You shouldn't have done that." Ivorel said, back to her normal calm self. "Look at all your fucked up tribal tattoos now." She shook her head in disappointment before falling into silence again.

When Conor returned with his hands full, he found both of them where he had left them, as expected.
Working fast, he cleaned the wound with water again, putting a few drops of some dark green liquid on it before, as gently as possible, he started applying a thick balm that made Ivorel clench her fists and moan in discomfort.
"Don't be a baby." Conor teased, making her grin but when he touched her again, Ivorel moaned again.

"You terrorised the guards I heard." Conor said after he had dressed the wound and washed his hands.
"Did I?" Ivorel asked, sipping wine.
"What did they do?"
She shrugged, moving her neck right and left checking her mobility. She was lucky he hadn't found an artery or muscle but the pain was still very much there.

"You should eat. Sleep in a proper bed. He isn't going anywhere." Conor tried to convince her but she just laughed in his face.
"Nah, I'm good. Who needs a bed when you were such a knight and left your cloak behind?" She asked teasing him.
They went on talking, ignoring the prisoner's existence in the same space as them not trying to irritate him but rather trying to lighten up their own moods. After all, they had both fucked up on the mission.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

The first strike of the whip took his breath away, the force of it expelling all the air from his lungs. If she had stopped at that, he would have been left with deep bruises that would have lasted for weeks. The second strike tore at the surface of his flesh as it stripped away what was left of his armour. It feel away like peel from an orange, exposing bulging muscles carefully inked with swirling symbols, glyphs and patterns, their meaning unknown to any that were not Bal'Narathu. The ink wound around both smooth flesh and scar tissue, having being layered over an over in a cacophony of patterns unlike anything Ivorel had every seen. And the scars... they seemed to mar every available surface. Cuts, gashes, jagged lines, massive mounds of malformed flesh. They told a tale of horror and pain. They were faded pale against his bronze skin, healed over an over with the gift of the old blood. Any number of them could have proved fatal. But they hadn't.

At the thrid strike, the whip tore into his flesh, unhindered, stripping it away like it was nothing, Vox gritted his teeth at the searing pain it sent though his chest, wrists tight on the shackles as he took the blow. The fourth strike made him want to scream, but he refused to. His jaw clamped down harder, and he bit his tongue. Blood trailed out of the corner of his mouth. By the fifth strike, it wasn't just his chest on fire but his whole body too. His gaze wandered across the room, trying to focus on anything, trying to keep conscious. His eyes fell on the plum pip, disregarded at the side of the table. Something normal and ordinary to keep his focus.

After the sixth round, he stopped counting, Each strike dug deeper into his flesh, and he could have sworn he felt the grating of bone. There was a point where he couldn't have screamed anymore even if he had wanted to. He stopped feeling the whip cutting into his flesh and he knew his nerves were too damaged to feel anything apart from the searing agony. And then there was a point where he felt he was floating, He wasn't unconscious; no. He still saw the room and some part of his mind perceived that the sound of the whip had stopped. The room was painted scarlet. He didn't remember the colour of the tent being so vibrant. He caught snippets here and there of the two elves, every image a mosaic. Every snapshot was different from the next, the elves having moved significantly from their previous position to make him think that there were gaps in his memory.

He wandered if this was it. Was this the end? Was he going to die? A warm sensation flooded his mind, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Yes, death. He welcomed it. He wanted to die. He had been looking for death since that fateful day all those years ago, the day his world had shattered. The day he should have died. He had been living in a haze, chasing death and looking for something that could finally release him from this mortal plain so that he could join his ancestors. So that he could join his mate and unborn child. The scars on his body attested to his search to find that opponent who would allow it all to end. He closed his eyes, welcoming his fate.

Yet the warm sensation pulsed though his veins, familiar to him by now. The old blood hummed inside him as if it had a mind of its own. It sought life and blood to ignite its slumber. And just like that, tendrils of the power shot out, searching. It started in the tent and curled around the two elves, unbeknownst to them. Vox could see it move like the disembodied tentacles of a monstrous sea creature, invisible to all but him. It wrapped around Ivorel, searching the wound on her neck. Yet the blood had clotted and her life was sealed inside her, away from it's reach. It lost interest and it expanded even further. Vox followed it, like a puppet pulled on strings.

Vox could feel rather than see the camp. Every creature in his radius was like a hot pulsing mass of life. Yet their life force was Inaccessible. So the power searched.

Beyond the wooden walls, a fox rummaged in the underbrush. Its paws were soft on the mossy ground, eyes intent on it's prey. It pounced, jaws clamping around the mouse, snuffing out the little heartbeat in an instant. Too small, the power whispered, and moved on.

A pair of elven soldiers sparred, swords drawn. The metal rang in the air as they exchanged blows within the outpost's walls. The male got a lucky blow, sword dancing lightly across the other's upper arm. A crimson line appeared on the elf's flesh and he drew back. He placed his palm on his wound and laughed bantering with his partner. The power latched to it, like a leach sucking away at the life force. It could absorb very little. Too far, the power whispered again, flitting across the camp.

It paused by a tent not far from Vox. The clang of pots and pans could be heard as the cooks prepared for dinner. The flaps of the tent bellowed outward as a slender elf made his way to the animal shed, a butchers knife in his hand. A lone goat and a crate of chickens waited by the slaughter shed. The cook took the goat by the lead, entering the shed. The power lapped up the goat's life force like a kitten with cream as the knife came down. It flared, stronger than before, attaching itself to the chickens as their life fled them. Not enough, it whispered unsatisfied with simple animal blood. More. it moaned.

Vox's eyes opened. The tent had returned to its original colour. The wound on his chest had stopped bleeding. He coughed feeling his tongue swollen from where he had bitten it, but it was already half healed. He was far from fully healed, but he was no longer at risk of death and some of the pain had faded. A sense of hopelessness filled him. Alive, yet again. Why did he have to be fucking alive?

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel's eyes immediately turned to her prisoner when his breathing changed pace. He was coming around finally. Sooner than she had expected but why? Could it be that her blood inside him was still helping him? She didn't want that or... A thought passed by, too fast for her to grasp yet but it would come around later on.

"Conor, I need you to go now. Me and our friend here have things to talk about." She said getting up, smiling as she realised she was already feeling much better. That was good. She needed her strength and she needed her mind in place for what was to come.
"I'll start sending things over then." Conor said, standing up too, avoiding to glance over at the Demon. He didn't want to see the aftermath of what his companion had done. Again.
"Gather everything and then bring them over. I don't want people coming and going all the time in here."
"Whatever suits you Captain." Conor said, standing one moment longer wanting to say something he hadn't found the words for. Then he nodded, leaving the tent and it's too residents to be.

Now that they were alone, Ivorel walked closer to the Demon, inspecting her work, finding it marvelous as it usually was. Almost all of the strikes had fallen on the same spot, digging the flesh deep. But to her surprise, he wasn't bleeding anymore. The wounds, though crucial, just existed on him but the blood vessels weren't open suddenly. What blood was on him, was from earlier. Ivorel raised an eyebrow, looking up to his face, meeting with his gaze.

"You are up!" She noticed cheerfully. And that's when she noticed blood on his face too. That was odd, she hadn't touched him there right? On her tiptoes Ivorel got closer to him again, like she didn't have a wound that would stay for ever on her neck because of his canines.
"Don't spoil my fun and hurt yourself on your own Berserker." She said softly, rubbing the blood away with her fingers, then pulling away from him.

She brought the chair back at its original spot, infront of him but of course far out his reach, sitting down crossing her legs.

"Do you want water?" She asked with a smile.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox's eyes surveyed the elves when he woke, He hefted himself upright; he had slumped in his chains whilst the power in his blood had pulled him along for the ride. He could still feel it now, around the camp, searching for life to absorb, an ever hungry presence. It did all this autonomously and he could do nothing to stop it until it receded on its own, all the while siphoning life to him. Ever so slowly, he could feel the skin on his chest pulsing and stretching every time it came across a life. It would take hours or days at this rate, but he would heal, leaving behind a shiny new scar. He had only awakened this power a handful of times in the past; all of them when he was close to death's door. He hated it, with every bone in his body, never allowing him the warrior's death that he craved.

His eyes followed Ivorel as she approached. Even as she leaned in to touch his face, he was still as a statue. He didn't try to bite her again although he could have nipped at her hand. He had proven his point and she had proven hers. His tongue moved in his mouth, thick as leather and he spat a glob of blood on the tent floor.

"I really don't understand you." His voice was raspy, strained. "You call me this, 'Berserker' name; you whip me half to death and then you offer me water?" No sneer, the amusement was whipped of his face. His eyes bore into hers, searching, trying to understand his captor. "You know I will never talk. I will withstand any torture you throw at me. You should just kill me"

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel observed him from her sit, looking and looking at that man with the strange to her form, that had the strength and the mind capacity to form sentences that even made sense after her whiping.

Why was she offering him water? A good question indeed. Was it because she was trying to play with him? Act kind when she wasn't slushing his flesh open? Was it that she believed she was truly noble because she offered water to a prisoner? Or was it something else completely?

"You haven't told me your name yet you know mine. Berserker is..."Ivorel paused, letting out a deep sigh, crossing her legs the other way. "A name, you have among my kind. Because of how you fight." She concluded, licking her lips, thinking how he had finally stopped acting like cocky. Was it the beating or something else that made him finally change his attitude?
"As for water, it can actually make you feel much better." She said, skipping the part where she explained how she knew that. The Demon didn't need that information and he sure as hell wasn't getting it any time soon. "Killing sounds merciful don't you agree? I never kill my prisoners. They die." Ivorel now leaned forward on her chair, hands crossed over her lap so she could better look at him, wanting to closely monitor his reaction to what she was about to say.

"But you can't really die, can you? Not unless I brake your neck or put a dagger through your rotten heart."

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

The amused smile returned to Vox's lips "Now why would I tell you my name?" He wasn't stupid; names held power. They told a lot about a person, where they are from, their beliefs, their powers.
"But you haven't answered my question either. Why are you offering me water? Why do you care if it makes me feel better or not?" His lip curled as he poked at her, like picking at a scab to see what is underneath.

The smirk froze on his face at her remark. He blinked once keeping his expression as careful as possible. She could feel her gaze searching his features. "I don't know what you are talking about. I haven't died yet, if that's what you are asking. Shall I assume that you can't die either, since you're not dead?" He tried to shrug, the chains around his wrists rattling at the motion. "I just haven't met an opponent worthy enough to fell me" He scrunched up his nose in disgust "It appears to me that I still haven't met that opponent. I don't think you have the balls to do it".

 

[Ririn]

Of course he wouldn't tell her his name, Demons were often like that, hidding their names especially from the Elves as if she could make sense of what it ment for him or others like him.

But he kept insisting about the damn water. Why? It wasn't a crucial question. It was nothing, yet he kept at it.
"Why do you care about the water? You want it or you don't. Why does it matter how why I'm offering it?" She asked back, amusement written on her face.

But then came the good part. If she wasn't paying as much attention, she would have missed it but for a second, his face changed, smile frozen. Then he snapped out of it, but it was too late. She sat back, smiling.

"Oh, you do know what I'm talking about. It's not the lack of worthy opponents. It's what runs inside you that doesn't make it easy. Right?" She asked raising an eyebrow, wondering if he would admit it or try to hide it even though it had been obvious.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

His eyebrow arched at her answer. She pretended to be nonchalant about it. A glass of water, what of it? But it really didn't make sense to him. Why try to ease his thirst when she would just torture him afterwards. And it hadn't been the first time she had offered. The first time, when he woke. Again, after the guards left. And a third time now. Why? His mind whirled, gears clicking into place. Unless.... Unless she knew of his thirst...

"Who whipped you? It couldn't have been my kind, they would have done a lot worse than that to a elf captain. It must have been one of your fellow elves" He smiled, a vicious smile "Was it someone you know? Your general? Your King? Your... father perhaps?" His eyes searched her face for any reaction to his words

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel managed to retain her smile though her heart skipped a beat, her arched eyebrow, slowly falling to it's original place. For the first time since the Demon had fucked her mission in the forest, she felt exposed. It was for a moment, a small, tiny moment but it was enough to shake her. Now she had to hide it until she felt sure of herself again.

Tilting her head just a bit, like she often did, Ivorel looked at him.
"So I'm offering you water out of sympathy for your pain while I'm also inflicting it to you?" She asked and just the sound of that made her feel amused. "Come on, even an animal like yourself can do better than this." She encouraged him, pushing him to keep talking. Maybe through his questions regarding her, Ivorel could find out something about him too.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox's smile widened, teeth still lined with a combination of the elf's and his own blood. He shifted his weight, feeling the position put a strain on the open wound of his chest. He ran a wet tongue over his lips. He had hit a nerve, he knew he had, All he had to do was prod where it hurt. He wondered what creature would climb out from under the upturned rock he was poking at.

"I bet you were chained up for days, thirsty and in pain." he chuckled. " If I tore your clothes off, where would I find the scars? Your back or your chest? Was your tormentor looking you in the eyes as he brought down the whip? Or was he out of your sight, as you trembled in terror, not knowing when the next blow would split your skin?" His eyes were intent on her face, analyzing every micro-expression he could add to his arsenal for him to use later.
"I bet that that is why you use the whip as a weapon. You cannot get over that pain and want to inflict it on your enemies instead. Or perhaps..."He continued "Perhaps it was your weapon used against you?" He mused.

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel wasn't amused anymore, he was starting to really get on her nerves which wasn't good. Yet she smiled still, managing to not move around even though she felt her muscles tensed under her clothes and skin.

"Such deep thoughts for someone of your kind. Is that how you chose your weapons? Pick up what your fathers used to beat you with and turn it on us? And each other?" She asked, knowing she could have done better but for now, the small victory of keeping herself calm would have to do. "Why don't you tell me about your horns. I know most of you have them, though not all. I also know it's a sing of power, you hated me for touching you before and you clearly showed it to me." She said, meaning his small attack on her neck earlier. "What would it mean if I took them from you? Send you back without them?" She asked, a glow burning in her eyes just at the thought of doing that.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

If Vox's grin could get any wider, the skin on his face would split. Bingo, a slip of the tongue, unnoticed by her.

"Ah, so Daddy dearest was the one who beat you. Perhaps he locked you up and punished you as the whip fell on your skin. I wasn't far off." He laughed "Is Daddy's girl getting upset? How would he feel about his little girl failing her mission so badly? Would he bring down the whip again? I bet you would let him as well."

He laughed at her pathetic attempt at unnerving him. "It shocks me how little you know about my kind. Besides, If you think I have a sentimental value towards my horns, then you are about five years too late. Even if you sawed them off, there is nobody left who would morn their loss or understand the significance. So go ahead." His last sentence came out as a snarl.

 

[Ririn]

Listening to him speak, becoming his old cocky self again, was exactly what she needed to cheer up. Unable to hide his certainty, rushing to celebrate a false victory he had rumbled about her father, bringing the amusement back in the game for her.

"You are very bad at this game." She noticed with a smile, crossing her legs the other way again. "First you almost get close to something then a few words of mine that seem to make a story and here you go, thinking that you can set me off by poking at a wound that isn't there." Ivorel shook her head in disapproval, her lips pouting mockingly. "You have to do better than that if you want to not lose your mind in this tent."

Was she being honest? For the most part, yes. And was he right? For the most part, no. But to some truths he had come extremely close to. She didn't mind. What mattered now was his little comment, about his horns meaning nothing to him for the last five years.
Five years... What had happened then? Her mind starting working, going backwards. Five years. What was it that happened? What had he lost?

"Oh, story time is it? Who did you lose?" She answered, leaning her head on her hand, supporting it on her knee, giving him her full attention. "Your parents? No, not them. Someone that ment more. Right?" She teased "A... Very close friend? A life companion? Do animals like you even have life companions or do you just fuck to breed and move to the next bitch in heat? Like you said, I don't know a lot about your kind." Ivorel concluded with a wide smile, licking her lips.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox's gaze turned thoughtful. What had he missed? He thought he was onto something. He knew she had been whipped. Perhaps not by her father. But someone close to her? Or was it just an enemy? No, he recognized pain like that, it came from being betrayed, but who abused her? He shook his head slightly.

An amused expression curled the edge of his mouth. "Give me some time, I will figure you out" He said, almost playfully. For a brief moment, he found himself enjoying their little rapport before he caught himself. No, this was his enemy. These were the people he had pitted himself against. She would not sway him. Her next words hardened his demeanor even further.

"Your ignorance is astounding. If anything, you are more animals than us. At least my race has the common sense to understand our enemy."

 

[Ririn]

Without noticing it, the white haired elf laughed at his comment about figuring her out. What was it about him that even in a situation like that he still asked questions, trying to figure her out? Why irritate someone like her when it would only lead to more pain? She narrowed her eyes. Maybe that's what he was after. Not pain per say, but death. He had even asked her to kill him. He had even provoked her, saying she didn't have the balls to do it. Did he really wanted to die that much?

His next words, angry words made her laugh again. The Demon might knew her name but he knew nothing of who she was. Being a spy ment Ivorel had seen the Demon's lifestyle and ways up close. But it was useful to have him think she knew nothing about that. It made him angry and cocky and she needed him like that. Angry prisoners talked more than scared ones.

"Is that what you are trying to do then? Use your common sense to understand the enemy?" She asked, pointing at herself with a smile. "I'll tell you what..." Ivorel stood up, circling around him, kicking his shredded armor out of her way, inspecting his naked back. A living breathing map of wars, his skin was covered in scars of all kinds, deformed scars where he had been wounded again and again. The tribal markings of his people, filling up every inch of empty space they could find, even covering up scars too, in which case the patterns were messed up. Unhealthy skin wasn't appropriate for such designs, Ivorel knew that first hand.

"I don't care what you think you know about me. I don't care why you are a suicidal warrior that had his black heart broken five years ago and now is as ready to die as anyone could be." She softly spoke, taking a step closer to his back, measuring, carefully, the difference of their heights determined to not allow him to hurt her again. "What I care about..." She said, dropping her tone a little more, returning to that almost seductive one he had heard earlier, "is..."
Ivorel closed the little distance between them, pressing her body against his, wrapping her hands around his torso, like a soft, carrying embrace, fingers tracing the open wounds on his chest, light as only a woman's touch could be.
"Would you really care about my scars if you could tear my clothes right now?" She asked her lips so close to his skin that her hot breath brushed against him.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

His eyes were intent on her as she circled him, a predatory look in her gaze. He even strained his neck as far as it could go to keep track of her, shoulders tight a mass of muscles as she walked out of his field of vision. Her whispering voice sent a shiver down his back, flesh coming out in goosebumps.

And then her arms were around him, slender limbs around his midriff. The heat of her body almost overwhelming against his cold and clammy self. Her fingers circled the deep open gash on his flesh, ever so slowly healing. Her touch sent tiny shocks of pain through his nerves as she aggravated tender skin. His breath hitched in his throat, jaw tightening at her presence.

A wave of confusion flooded him for a moment, his skin flushed and heart racing. Yet his eyes hardened, arms going taught on the shackles as a growl rose in his throat. He shook his body, as much as he could in his shackled position. He threw his weight from side to size, trying to shake her off. The pipe structure around him rattled, shaking under his strength. Her hands lost a grip on his waist but the great heaving of his shoulders stretched and opened his wound, doing more harm than good. He even tried to headbutt her, throwing his head and great horns back, though couldn't make contact due to the difference in height

His voice was low, threatening and dangerous, air whooshing out of his nose angrily. "I don't think you would want me to tear off your clothes. Unless you want my teeth to make mince meat out of you again" He said, mentioning the last time she had gotten too close to him. "How is that wound treating you anyway? Must hurt like a bitch. That will be a scar that I like".

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel didn't fight to hold onto him for long, knowing that every little movement he did was hurting him enough for now, skin pulled above the muscles he tightened to shake her off. She laughed, when eventually he got rid off him and stood there, watching his tensed body, listening to his words. Was she supposed to be scared? She chuckled again, closing the distance between them, her hands wrapping around him again, though this time her touch wasn't gentle on his opened flesh. This time her fingers duck into the wound, drawing a bit of blood again.

"You liar!" She accused him, now her lips brushing directly on his naked skin as she spoke. "Your mouth lies but your body doesn't. Goosebumps and a faster heartbeat." Ivorel's voice became just a bit harsher but still kept low, still a whisper as her nails moved across the lines of his wounds, easily bleeding the already slashed flesh, feeling hot drops of blood colour her fingers.
"Did your loved one made you feel that way? I bet she did. What happened then? Did she leave you or did you fail her? That's what brought you to the Devil's walkway five years ago, isn't it?" She asked with a low giggle, pressing her body tighter on his, breathing in and letting the air out of her nostrils, travelling on him. "What would she think of you now? Wanting to tear the clothes off of another woman? An Elf!" She teased him, feeling the heat in her raise too though it wasn't the close contact that led to that. It was the blood and her words, that she was sure would strick a chord inside him.

She clinged tighter on him, preparing her body for another round of him trying to shake her off. He would win probably, but that didn't matter as much.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

His back went rigid at her words, He stopped feeling her warm skin, her tingling breath on his ear. Her body could have been made of solid stone for how his attitude changed.He stopped trying to throw her off, sagging slightly in his chains.

That face flashed in front of his eyes again. Pale. Terrified. Bloodless. Decapitated.

Ivorel's fingers digging into his wound only sharpened the image. He closed his eyes, but it persisted, swimming in front of his eyes. Torturing him more than Ivorel ever could

When he opened them again, all the rage, hate and passion had drained away to leave his face a lifeless mask. Empty, like he knew his heart was. The power, still on the hunt for blood to heal him retreated around him, protectively. It swirled and swirled like a milky whirlpool only visible to him, dangerously lashing at any life form in its range. It jabbed at Ivorel, yet could find no foothold on her to steal her life away.

He remained silent at her words about his mate. She didn't know. She didn't know how much she had hit the nail on the head.

 

[Ririn]

At the first contact, his body reacted violently exactly as she had expected and as she held on him tighter, he stopped. It was like everything froze. All was a heavy silence, a stillness she hadn't expected at all. She was right, wasn't she? About a woman, making him go to the front line, earning him all those scars. As she still embraced his immobile body, Ivorel's mind rushed to find an answer, connecting the dots, replying all his words in her mind, keeping only what seemed valuable.

The willingness to die, the way he kept provoking her constantly, how he had spoken of his horns and not giving a damn if she took them away, something that he lost five years ago which she knew was the same time as he had appeared at their borders, terrorising their armies, earning the tilte of The Berserker by her people for how he constantly seemed to throw himself against masses, slaughtering all that stood in his way.

Ivorel pulled away, scratching his flesh with her nails one last time as she did, walking to the front, so she could look at his face. Nothing read of the fierce some warrior she had seen up to know. No lines of emotion, no spark in his golden eyes. Nothing at all. Like the air around them, he too, had fallen into silence and stillness.

"You would enjoy feeling the whip again, right now, right?" She asked, softly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. There wasn't sympathy in her voice, not exactly, but there was something... A trace of understanding perhaps. "Because you know you deserve it and because pain, like the one I can give you, would be a gift to you right now. Take all the memories away. Rip you off the pain inside." She licked her lips, leaning just a bit closer, grey eyes looking for golden ones, keeping a safe distance even so.
"Pain is a gift and so is death. You don't deserve it though, Demon. Soldiers like you and me, don't deserve such a blessing. Stay with your thoughts then." Ivorel said, straightening up. "Think of how you failed what you loved."

With that, Ivorel turned around, exiting the red tent. She didn't want to be close to him anymore. She needed air, fresh air and not the smell of blood. Surprised, she realised the sun was almost gone now. How long had she spent with him? Time flew away when she needed to be on her toes for so long.

Looking around her, she saw the guards by the tent staring at her with confusion. Looking down, she realised she had blood on her hands and her whip was still a deep, crimson colour.
"Make sure nobody gets in. Or out." She ordered them, before walking away.

Myriad thoughts crossed her mind. All the information she needed and he wasn't willing to give. Their little back and forth conversation, both looking to understand each other, both looking to provoke and hurt each other. Why? the constant question in her mind. Because he was the enemy? The reason her mission had failed? Because that's what she was best at? Were any of those reasons enough for her to be doing what she did? Tiredness wash all over her and stopped her in her tracks.

She looked around, realising eyes were on her. Soldiers that feared her more than her prisoner did. He wasn't afraid. Fear couldn't visit that man anymore. Yet she would go on. For as long as it took, Ivorel would go on.

Taking a left turn, she ended up in a stone building that radiated heat. Entering the bathrooms, where natural hot springs filled up, naturally curved baths, Ivorel stripped of her clothes, sinking herself in the water, carefull not to wet her wound. The light blue markings that decorated her body, almost shinned when she looked at them through the water. Meeting up with bruises and small scars. Ivorel closed her eyes, emptying her mind as her hand traveled upwards to her neck, where his canines had marked her forever.