Tears to the West

He heard them. Souls of the fallen. Sounds of the restless. Emotions of former champions, beasts, weapons, war dogs, monsters.Their hate, sorrow, pain, zeal for victory, forgotten glory, and their revenge. Their cries will forever go unanswered - unresolved -, and their desires unfilled. Yet, they surround him as the countless scars and gnashes begin to close and seal, bones begin the realign, and muscles begin to mend. They surround him. The one person that can hear their calls. Some he knows. Fallen comrades, or the closest thing he has ever had. Others, spirits of whoever died in this dark, godforsaken place. This abyss of torture and despair. This hellhole. The darkest and of the most feared place of all of Arcrëa. The place where the rays of the sun never reach. The island Lithor, his current home. The place of his imprisonment.

The last of his injuries finished to heal from his natural therapeutic abilities as his slit eyes began to roll open. He searched his memory banks for his current position. He couldn't remember. His body ached and rang with pain as he continued to try. The fights were getting harder - more brutal. His master was finding more and more creatures to pit him against, picking them the farthest reaches of the four great regions; faster, stronger, greater blood lust, and, of course, harder to kill. To keep his well forged blade well sharpened, he would always say. How he hated the man so. The last brawl had left his overworked body so weak and gasping for rest that he collapsed at the nearest available damp corner. A now all too familiar action.

Blood shot, tired eyes adjust to the low lighting as awakening ears heard the sounds of great turning wheels of metal, spiteful orders proclaimed in an obscured course dialect, and exhausted grunts and pain filled moans of slaves as they performed the duty of lifting massively heavy objects. The loading docks, he thought.

Deep-setted, slit-pupiled, eyes the color of two perfectly crafted rubies scanned the area, taking in everything they saw. A very unappealing sight. The large figure was located in one of the dampest corners of the massive loading docks. A large opening in the heavily guarded island. With an unpleasant view of the poisonous purple sea and even more sickening and darker sky. Giant chains, the size of horses, lined the walls and raised the heavy doors and entry ways for aerial vessels to enter. No nautical ship would dare try to reach this place. For in fear of the acidic properties of the purple color sea to burn right through its haul. The place smelled of rotting wood, ages of rust, bloodily fluids of the living - and the deceased.

Many bodies passed by his lair. Few even giving him a brief glance, and those who did quickly adverted their curious stares. Most tried their best to avoid him let alone give the young male a leering stare. Why would they? To them, he was a creature to avoid. A mindless weapon of war. A monster. Sometimes he believed that to be truth as well.

Tacaquran, was the name other knew him as. A name once loved ones called him affectionately by. Now just the name that labeled the outcast sentinel creature. A male dragon hybrid with piercing deep-set, slit-pupiled crimson red eyes. Very long stiffly spiky hair of obsidian black. A row of anally straight, thick horns protruded from the temples of his head to the middle of his forehand and along his arms adorned with a few pitch black scales along his temples and shoulders. A very tall and imitating figure made of a very strong masculine build with broad shoulders and large muscular features make him a very frightening sight. The male possessed pointed webbed flaps of scales and skin that resembled layered appearance of a woodland faerie's wing that acted at his ears. His claw like hand and feet added to his intimidating facade. An emotionless, cold, imitating, frightening appearance no one dare tried to look past.

Tacaquran began to rise. Clawed human like hands grasping on to the stones, trying to steady his weaken body. The male hybrid emerged from his darken corner, people instinctively rerouting their paths to avoid his, and guards casting dirty sneers and glares at him. He cast her gaze his gaze to the sky of a sickening purple and yellow hue. Immediately noticing the sky blackening figures of two airships. "Fresh meat," he heard a guard sneer with a grin of awaiting satisfaction.

The ships were probably filled with stolen and looted goods from faraway places as well as new slaves to add to the countless others. A good number probably new prospected 'gladiators' for his master cruel games. Some were probably former tournament champions, knights, and great warriors of fallen kingdoms. Most were probably just farmers, black smiths, scribes, important people in their homelands, but no more. Now they were just snacks for the many unspeakable creatures locked away in the dungeons below. Toys for their and his amusement.

This ships began to descend as suddenly Tacaquran's master busted through one of the many large decaying wooden doors. His presence frightening and commanding. The show was about to begin.

How long?

A slender feminine figure hung on the wall. Her head hung low and her face recently stained with new and approaching tears. Adorned with a now torn and ragged dress. The same dress she wore on that faithful day. A painful reminder on how much she had lost. How much she had loved and cherished. How much she will miss. How long? How long since I've seen the flames of destruction? How long since I've seen the lush green fields of my homeland? My kingdom? How long since I've last seen my father's gentle smile? How many times have I cried?

Theses were the thoughts traveling through the dark haired woman's head. Her hands and feet tightly bond and chained to cold metal walls of the ship. Her eyes blood shot from shedding so many tears. Her fair face caked with countless layers of grime and dirt. Evalyn, was the name that one would recognized her as. Now it was the silver eyed witch.

Her capturers caged her in this lightless, tiny, barely livable room. Chained to the walls, and the only light coming from a small opening which her daily meals were passed through. Not that the young woman would even eat the sloppy sludge they fed the prisoners as food.

Evalyn could feel the great metal bird carry her to a place far off and foreign; further and further away from her beloved place of birth. Further from the Great Western Spirit. She could already feel her connection from her people's loved deity dwindle to close to nothing. The young woman could pick up the bits of hushed conversations from a few dark elves. They were landing. She heard them snickering joyfully that the human witch would meet her master and finally be put in her place. Knowing full well that the imprisoned female was listening. Evalyn had many slaves come to her in secret to warn her into submission. She wasn't in The West anymore. This was her new life now. If she wanted to live to see the next day, she would have to bend to other's will.

Well frankly she didn't care. Evalyn didn't care if she died at the very moment and place. The young woman wished for death. She welcomed it with open arms. There wasn't a day that went by when she wished that she would had perished with so many that day. But she couldn't. Evalyn couldn't. She promised him. She promised her father that she would survive. That no matter what she would live on. He made her promise as the spirit of death took him away from him to join their ancestors in the Great Land while in her arms. So she had to survive. Even if it was just to bear a child, Evalyn had to live. Her bloodline, the bloodline of the people of the western mountains, must go on. Evalyn had to live, but she did not have to bow down into submission. The young woman would rather die a thousand shameful deaths than give into her capturers', the destroyers' of her homeland, will. Evalyn would escape. She would gain her freedom from this place. This situation. No matter what.

The room jolted and reared as the sudden violet movement sent Evalyn rocking against her bonds. "We're here." she heard a guard snarl.

A few men entered. Untying Evalyn, but not before placing some kind of strange black collar around her thin neck. She could tell that there was a powerful spell of binding of it, but what type she had still to discover. Whatever it was one of its desired purposes was to block her abilities. Evalyn could already feel her sensitivity weaken by the minute. "Be good, or else," one feralman warned with a sickening grin before roughly pushing the woman into a single file line of other prisoners and captives. They walked in a long perfectly symmetrical line through an even longer narrow tunnel, with imitating guards on either side the only light coming from the only exit. No hope of escape.

I have to survive, Evalyn though rythmatically. The young woman had the will, drive, and the ambition to continue her family line. The question was, did she had the strength? Images of this new chapter in her of what her life might look like as she shuffled down closer and closer to the growing light. Great Spirit give me strength, she prayed.

They all shuffled out; one miserable unfortunate soul after another. Hundreds of them. Most prisoners of war from scattering conquered countries. From more campaigns. When will it ever stop? Tacaquran thought.

The prisoners entered the process of being sorted out from the future servants and contenders. His master began making extraneous vulgar comments like: this one won't last long, this will put on a good show. He stopped at one and let out a sadistic chuckle. "A snack for him." Directing the last comment at Tacaquran.

"Baerell! My old friend!" a commanding voice boomed. "Zammorian! Good to see you!" his master replied eagerly. The large figure of a male bounded down from the haul of one of the resting vessels. The man, Zammorian, seemed to be human, but looks can be deceiving. A lesson the male halfling had experience all too many times. The two continued to exchange greetings as more slaves filed out. "You sure brought in a fine bounty," Baerell admired. "The West in plenty bountiful. So much for us to take." They both shared an laugh as Tacaquran cringed at the mentioning of his former homeland. "I have a little present for you, my friend," Zammorian said with a devilish grin. "Bring her out!" he commanded with a fearsome boom of a voice. Out of the last holding came a woman. Not an unusual sight. Many woman had passed through for the purpose of entertainment and pleasure toys for other's use. But this woman was unusual in herself. She had a feature that separate her from the rest. A feature that made everyone, including Tacaquran, stop and stare in awe.

Two lizardmen dragged her reluctantly down from the docks. A wide smile creased Baerell's lips as he let out an eager laugh. "Ah Zammorian, you know me so well."

"She's quite the beauty, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes." Baerell cooed as cupped the woman's face in his large hands. "What pretty silver eyes. I've heard so many stories about eyes like yours." Those eyes. A vibrant silver. They were the same color and reflectiveness of a perfectly forged blade. Not at all like the dull, lifeless bluish-gray people often confused that legendary pigment with. No, those eyes had no other trace of color but pure silver. A vibrant color that seemed to have a inner fire within them that gave the pair a soulful glow to it. The girl was tall - for her species, but was dwarfed by the bulking size of the men beside her. She had black long, wavy that cascaded down her back hemming at her lower hip. The palest of ivory skin, that perfectly contrasted Tacaquran's sun kissed oak brown. Thin pink lips. High cheek bones, common to people that dwelled in the mountains. Wide set almond shapes eyes accented with long thick eyelashes that added to her youthful and attractive appearance. And a very slender yet voluptuous build. She was beautiful, the definition - the amputee of the very word.

The young woman held her head high -not slung like so many around her - as she recoiled her face from Baerell grip. "Don't touch me!" she snapped with much venom and hate dripping from her voice. The two laughed at her like some child who had just innocently discovered some secret everyone had already knew. She casted dirty glares between to two men, tensing and recoiling her body. Ready for anything. She stood no fighting chance.

"She's feisty," Baerell noted.

"Yeah, that's the problem we've been having with her. She still thinks she's a noble princess."

"Oh really?" Baerell said even more interested in the female, "Where is she from?"

"Some mountain kingdom in The West. I bought her and some others from a friend of mine who conquered it and captured her. From what I heard, it was more like a small village than a kingdom. It only took two weeks to take over." Zammorian said with an amused laugh. "Then it seems like she needs to be knocked off that high horse of hers."

"That's why I gave her to you." Zammorian said with a smirk. Baerell took a step toward her while she took a step back in return. Glaring at him and showing absolutely no fear. Eyes glazed pure with anger, hatred, and venom. "I've heard rumors about people like you." he murmured. "Unfortunately," Zammorian started, "Some of those rumors are true."

"I'm sure she can't be that bad." Baerell said in disbelief. "Think again," Zammorian warned. "She put of my toughest men into a coma for several weeks with that 'ability' of hers. That's why I had the collar placed on her."

"I was wondering about that. The wench doesn't look all dangerous to me, and it seems such a shame to put such an ugly thing upon such a pretty one." Baerell turned the horned figure on the wall. "Ain't that right, Tacaquran?" He stared at his pet expecting some objective comment from the normally quiet figure, but Tacaquran said nothing as he turned his head slight adjacent to him. The dragon hybrid never talked.

Zammorian came up the human woman and lightly tugged on the device around her neck. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, not expecting her to respond. "This is a binding implement, used only on our most dangerous monsters to enforce their obedience and cooperation." Tacaquran knew all too well about the well hated device. He bore one. It was the sole reason why he couldn't leave this place. Many others wore the same. The god forsaken device prevent them from raising their hands against Baerell and his men, and dashed several dreams and hopes of freedom. The girl's collar was a peculiar. Tacaquran recognized the enhanced blocking spells. Spells to completely block or greatly hinder one's abilities. He didn't know what the dark haired woman could do. He himself had also her rumors and stories about people like her. People with eyes of silver. The trait that seemed only women of lower races could inherit. Most rumors he had heard over the years were utterly unbelievable and greatly varying. So he was curious to find out what actually made the girl so special. So dangerous. Whatever it was, it was indeed powerful to have such s strong spell of binding.

"Let me show you how it works." Zammorian whispered with a frightening grin. Suddenly, the human was kneeling on the floor, grasping her neck, and trembling in pain. But no sounds escaped from her lips. She refused to cry out. Baerell let out an evil cackle. "And that's just on the lowest setting. The woman looked up at them, half glaring and gazing in shock. "Y-you son of a..."

"So I think it's best for you to learn your place, princess." Baerell motioned for two servants. "Take her below. Get her settled in." The two immediately performed his order dragging the noble down below, toward the slave's quarter. The show was over, but that face - those eyes - continued to remind with Tacaquran. Even after the displayed ceased and the docks were again bodiless. A feeling over came him and went to join the others for another match. Changed had come.