Consequences

[Auchenai]

Smoke and ash filled Ryon’s senses as he ducked below a blindingly fast swordstroke from his current opponent, the dark elven man snarling as he continued on his offensive. Fighting in a burning house was not exactly the most ideal of scenarios for the man, too many distractions that could detract from focus on the here and now. Not only that but maneuvering was turning out to be a complete nightmare, the flames more than once licking at his grey robes as he ducked, dodged, and weaved his way around his opponent. His movements were still extremely skilled and rather difficult to follow, frustrating his opponent.


The dark elven man hacked down with his sword, Ryon sidestepping and finally seeing an opening to strike. The monk stepped in towards his opponent, hooking his leg around his opponent’s back leg and using the elf’s lighter frame to his advantage as he deftly used the left over momentum from the man’s attack and gripped his frame to flip him onto a table. Wood splintered from the impact, a groan coming from his pained opponent. The monk left him there rather than kill him, it was not in his martial code to kill if it could be avoided.


The man rushed outside of the burning house, brown eyes searching around and finding a duo of dark elves currently trying to restrain a human woman. Their eyes fell upon him as he fell into a ready stance, his legs far apart from one another and his fists ready for use. He didn’t look the most intimidating sight, more a beggar than anything else with his tattered grey robes, worn boots, and his unkempt brown hair. Scars covered his face which held a calm yet firm expression, seemingly unshaken by the events occurring in the midst of this raid.


One of the raiders chuckled and advanced with a spear, thrusting it out quickly in a flurry of skilled motion. The monk of the Grey Fist seemed to focus more on avoiding attacks, his motions fluid as he gauged his opponent for openings. Finally the man gripped the end of the spear, spinning in place as he tore it from the elf’s hands. He spun the spear around, smacking the elven man with side of the weapon in the head. He then spun it again and slammed the butt of the weapon into the man’s gut, advancing closer and closer as he did. Finally he hooked the weapon around the back of the man’s head, gripping it with both hands before forcing the lighter elf’s face down into his upraised knee.


His companion, opting to abandon his attempts to capture the woman produced two wickedly curved blades. Ryon swallowed, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself in the heat of the village continuing to burn. He needed to keep these raiders busy for as long as he possibly could, if only to give more villagers time to escape. The man spun his newly acquired spear around, falling into a low crouch as he prepared to face off against his opponent. That was until he heard a swoosh of motion behind him and felt a sharp explosion of pain on the back of his head. After that the world itself went dark.


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Ryon awoke groggily, aware that he was being dragged somewhere though where it was he had no real idea. What he was aware of was that his arms were bound by shackles and that his head felt rather like it was going to split open. It came rushing back to him soon enough as he realized that he had been knocked unconscious, a blow from behind that he probably should have noticed had he not been so scattered in the mind during that raid. His reflexes were normally fairly good, but even his training did not render him invincible sadly enough.


The brown haired man was tossed to the ground, resulting in a low groan of pain as his head flared up from the blow that had been struck there. He attempted to rise slowly and received a sharp kick to the side for his troubles, causing him to think better off moving at all. He knew well the stories of the dark elves, they were not known for their tender mercies. Still, he was rather hoping he had bought at least a few villagers time enough to escape. That would make whatever torments he was to suffer worth it. He managed to look around and noted that he was in some kind of tent, likely part of the raiding encampment for these elves.


“Your grace, our men captured this one during the raid. He did a rather good job of holding up a few of our men, which would be why a number of the humans escaped. None of the men he fought were killed. Shall we execute him as an example to the captives?” Came a smooth voice from above, talk of execution clearing Ryon’s muddy thoughts immediately.

 

[The Lady Kitsunerisu]

Even so far away from the village the screams of dismay, fear, and pain could be heard. It was music to this woman's pointed ears. She breathed in the air, smelling the blood that hung in the air like a fog. Pain, war, sadistic pleasure, all of it was second nature to her, and today was a fantastic day because she could express it. She had not gone out to fight that day, however, choosing to stay inside the tent and deal with prisoners that were taken. The Drow had different sections of slaves. Some were pleasure slaves, others were to clean the house and do your every bidding, some were supposed to feed the dangerous animals that no one else wanted to, and some were unfit for duty. This was the last day that they were to stay above ground. Her mother had ordered her to bring herself, her troops, and her goods back to the Underdark. She was nearly happy to have to go back to her home. The sun was harsh upon her dark skin, and even harsher upon her eyes. Her elven ears twitched when she heard the approaching clank of armour. She slowly turned, her black and white armour a stark contrast to her nearly bluish looking skin. Her crimson eyes shined dully as she stared at her warriors and the bounty that they had brought.


The captures prisoners were kept in a different tent, but those who deemed to be more of a danger were brought to her immediately. She sneered down at the man that was laying on the ground, groaning from his wounds. He smelt of poverty, he looked of poverty. The sneer on her face grew more fierce when he dared to look up to see her. What he saw was a Drow of bluish-gray skin, crimson eyes, slightly pointed teeth, and a body that was both muscular and soft, shaped and curved to perfection. The only thing that marred her beauty was the many battle scars that she sported along her body. Her silver hair was pulled back up front, leaving it to cascade down her back.


"This puny man was enough to take on our warriors?" She didn't sound vicious, she sounded more like a condescending mother. "This fool of a man was able to let nearly half the village escape from our clutches?" She slowly walked forward, her step silent. Instead of shoes on her feet, she had delicate looking black wraps around them, protecting the arch and ankle. She leaned forward once she was within range of the monk and grabbed him by the neck, bringing him up to his feet, but not pulling him up anymore. It wasn't a choking grip, but more of a warning grip. She gave him a once over, seeing that his robe was gray in colour, and tattered as if it had never been mended. Her snarl quickly turned into a grin.


"Ah, a member of the Gray Fist graces us with his presence," she let go of him, letting him stand on his own two feet.


"What should we do with him, mistreess?"


"Bring him back to the caverns with us. I think I may want to have a bit of fun with this one," she stared down at him for just a few moments more before stepping around him, heading for the opening of the tent. "For now put him in my personal cage," she laughed before disappearing to look at what they had managed to capture.

 

[Auchenai]

Despite his current situation as a captive, fighting did not cross Ryon’s mind. He had fought in the village to protect those that could not protect himself; his death would have served a purpose in the grander scheme of things. If he dared to fight now he would likely be killed rather quickly in a pointless display of resistance. No, the key here was to be as patient as he possibly could and meditate upon his situation. If what he knew of the dark elves was true, they would be travelling underground soon enough so he needed to master control of his senses besides sight. Survival was far more important at this point.


He had caught a glimpse of the woman he had been brought before, as with many of her kind she was the image of elven perfection though marred by the scars of war. The monk dared not to move as she walked towards him, noting she was silent in her approach to an unnerving degree. Strong hands gripped his neck, firm as they forced him to his feet easily enough. Ryon did not resist this, his brown eyes meeting her own gaze with an inner calm. He noted that the elf likely had perhaps an inch or two over him; considering she was not wearing significant footwear it was likely just a little more in reality.


The man was heartened to hear that he had managed to buy at least enough time for half of the village to escape, the war with this woman’s kind was going badly enough for more humans to be enslaved. His eyes widened by a fraction of an inch when she correctly named his order, not having expected one of her kind to be familiar with the Order of the Grey Fist. They were a relatively small sect of monks that took vows of poverty and abstinence from most things that might be considered vices. Ones that focused on perfecting the bond between body and spirit. Likely that did not improve his apparent captor’s opinion of him.


His fate hung over his head rather like a metaphorical ax waiting to fall upon his neck, hanging on a knife’s edge. Relief of a kind did however wash over his mind when she seemed to prefer not killing him, instead deciding to take him back to the caverns. Ryon swallowed hard as he felt a slight prickle of fear wash over his mind, horrific tales of what the dark elves did to their prisoner’s not having escaped him. They were a notably cruel people, though his own people had the capacity for cruelty as well.


As the apparent leader of this group of elves walked out of the tent, he was gripped roughly by the arm and led through the camp. Sounds of fear and smells of destruction filled his senses to a vivid degree; he felt some degree of sorrow from this. He had not been strong enough, not like his master had been. He had saved some but despite this it was but another in a long string of tragedies for the human race. It appeared that with every raid the dark elves were stronger and closer to victory. Ryon had to wonder how long the kingdoms of man could hold out against such foes.


The monk was tossed into a cage within another tent, grunting slightly as he balanced himself on the far end of the bars. The door clicked shut maliciously, trapping him in a cage that was six feet wide by four feet tall. Not enough for him to stand but that was likely the point, after all since when was comfort important as far as a captive was concerned? He was a mere human as far as these elves were concerned. The cage was a message, an enforcement of a point as much as it was a thing to hold a captive.


Ryon shifted slowly into a sitting position, ignoring the aches radiating through the whole of his body. He crossed his legs and then crossed his arms over his chest, closing his eyes to the world around him. The monk then began taking in deep breaths in through his nose and then out through his mouth, slow cycles of breath designed to clear his mind. It worked surprisingly well, each breath dispelling the pain from his mind as well as his current situation. The bars were gone from his world, followed soon after by the tent and then by everything else. He was drifting in a grey void of nothingness, allowing his mind to become empty of all things but the sound of his breathing. He needed to think, the best way to do that was to clear his mind of distraction and meditate over his current predicament. Not like he had much else he could do.

 

[The Lady Kitsunerisu]

The hours passed with the Monk being left alone with his thoughts and the sounds of the wounded, the frightened, and every so often to soft cry of a child would drift into the air, overpowering the sounds of the adults for just a few moments before the sounds of the children became silent. The air was nearly smothering with the scent of blood. The scent was so strong that even the weak sense of smell of humans could sense it. The Drow woman that had imprisoned the Monk earlier that day had been standing within one of the tents that held the catches of the day. There were farmers, smiths, old crones, and many children. The Drow woman sneered at the sheer number of children.


“The Humans breed like the Orcs,” her ruby gaze looked at a young child, about the age of five, who stared up at the Drow woman like she was something to be stared at in wonder, and not in fear. This both amused and upset the Drow woman. There was potential for this child to praise her like a God, but there was also the chance that the children were being raised to not fear the Drow, which would cause many problems once they were grown.


“Skin black. Why?” the little child asked, hardly able to form even those words.


“We are the master race. We live in shadow, we are swift, we are graceful, and kill without a sound ever uttered,” she said softly, almost condescendingly.


“Pwetty,” she smiled up at the woman, reaching her hand out to touch the woman's leg, and surprisingly she was allowed to. “What name?”


“Her name is Princess Sinovera of Bloodlake, and you are not supposed to be touching her you little wretch,” a deep and gruff voice growled from behind Sinovera. This caused her to turn suddenly, automatically going into a defensive position.


“How many times have I told you to NOT sneak up on me, Jenesari?” She hissed at him, straightening up into her regular regal pose.


“Many a time,” he chuckled darkly, “but those words have not registered within my brain, m'lady,” he sneered at her, but it was more of a good-natured sneer. This man was the man that was the strongest contender for her body. He wished to have her body and soul. He wanted to own her, to keep her, to make her his slave. He was a whole foot taller than Sinovera, who was at a level height with the Monk. His eyes were dark, his body strong and tight with silver hair cascading down his back.


“You would do well to heed what I say, Jenesari,” she growled before pushing past him and walking back to her tent where the Monk sat in the cage. She smacked the bars and stared down at him, smiling.


“What brought your order to this little village, Monk?”