Post by Elizabeth on Sept 22, 2014 15:01:40 GMT -5
The grim corridors of the Blackdawn prison were alternately stifling and cold. The cells were worse. Each cell contained nothing other than a bucket of water and a straw mat. Insects floated in the water and squirmed underneath the mat. The air stank of urine and decay. Darkness filled the windowless cells; loneliness and hopelessness pervaded the dungeon.
In her cell, Elena sat on the chilly floor (after she had ensured that it was relatively clean and dirt-free). She drew her knees up close to her chest and shivered in her thin, silky robe. She laid her head against her knees and wept. She tried to cry silently, but sobs escaped.
She must have looked like a monster. Her hair was tangled, having fallen from its well-brushed glory hours ago and since having tumbled down her back in dark waves. Her skin felt damp from the cold of both the night and the stony prison. Street-gunk covered her sandals still, even after she had tried to scrape the gunk off by using the wall. Elena’s face reddened with embarrassment, mostly from the shame of her appearance.
Again she wondered how she had ended up in this disaster. That morning she had helped the poor in the slums by giving out alms and encouraging the lonely and desperate to visit the temples of Athika for support and satisfaction. Later, in the Moldy Cellar tavern, she was persuaded to join a group to look for a missing girl.
A priestess’ duty was to help wherever needed. Elena thought that she was doing Athika’s will, but instead everything went awry. A guard, a man just doing his job, and probably a good man, too (because who except a hero would choose to protect the slums?), had been killed by the male drow.
The group had run through the city and wandered through the dark quarters of the homeless and diseased. Now the group was imprisoned.
Worst of all, the newest turn of events was her fault completely.
When she had heard the guards coming for the house of “Old Dan,” Elena had realized seconds remained before she was discovered. Old Dan passed out on his own liquor, and his companion, a shift-looking tiefling, pushed Elena rudely.
Elena hoped to use the opportunity to draw attention to the tiefling. If the guards focused on the tiefling, she could escape. She called to the guards as if in need of help, rushed out of the opposite door, and ran towards the city wall while the guards were distracted indoors.
In hindsight, this plan had all the makings of something designed in approximately four seconds, and it had worked just as well, which is to say, not well at all. More guards watched and waited outside of the house. They saw Elena immediately.
After that, each of her companions had surrendered...fortunately before they had killed anyone.
Elena had been raised to be kind, courteous, and sweet, and had been trained by the temple to be seductive, charming, and positive, but those qualities had been useless tonight. She was out of her depth, in a situation unlike any other she had experienced. She was a failure, and because of her, the group was caught too.
Was this the will of Athika? The goddess, it was said, hated suffering. So why was her priestess in this situation? Elena trembled and sobbed. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Fortunately, Elena had a friend in the cell---the drow woman, whose name Elena had forgotten. Elena was glad they had been locked in the same cell. Although she would have felt safer with the men, she enjoyed the drow’s company; somehow, having another female sit in the room was less embarrassing than having a man see her in distress.
Also, the drow had been the only person, besides Elena herself, to remain peaceful. Maybe being put with the drow was a sign that the guards realized Elena was innocent of everything besides trying to help the wrong group.
Come to think of it, though, the drow had defended herself after attempting to break into someone’s house. Maybe being in the same cell was a bad sign, after all.
Despite having been through a lot, Elena’s robe was in good shape. The heels could be cleaned with soap. Elena was a mess, but she wasn’t without her dignity. Athika taught that a woman’s beauty lay in her self-confidence and sensuality. Elena had those still.
Her skin was warming; the cell trapped body heat. She wiped the tears from her eyes and rubbed her arms. She straightened and smoothed her silky robe.
Elena reached for her holy symbol of Athika. It was a tiny ruby, cut in the shape of a heart, connected to a white gold necklace. Elena touched the symbol to her breast, above her heartbeat.
Athika would protect her priestess. Bad things could and did happen to good people, but Athika had given to Elena the skills and gifts, natural or otherwise, to overcome this situation.
Elena decided that she would calm down, relax first; she would brush her hair with her fingers as well as she could, smooth her robe completely, and resume cleaning her sandals. She wished to be ready, and look her best, to talk with the guards.
She knew she could convince them of the truth. She had nothing to do with the murder, and neither did most of the others. Perhaps she could convince the guards to free everyone to find the missing girl. If they found the girl, they could be pardoned.
They might be exiled from Blackdawn for a while, but exile would be survivable. Elena had wished to see the outside world anyway.
Her tears were gone. She stood and stretched, tilted her head to let her hair hang straight down, and began to brush through her hair with her fingers.
In her cell, Elena sat on the chilly floor (after she had ensured that it was relatively clean and dirt-free). She drew her knees up close to her chest and shivered in her thin, silky robe. She laid her head against her knees and wept. She tried to cry silently, but sobs escaped.
She must have looked like a monster. Her hair was tangled, having fallen from its well-brushed glory hours ago and since having tumbled down her back in dark waves. Her skin felt damp from the cold of both the night and the stony prison. Street-gunk covered her sandals still, even after she had tried to scrape the gunk off by using the wall. Elena’s face reddened with embarrassment, mostly from the shame of her appearance.
Again she wondered how she had ended up in this disaster. That morning she had helped the poor in the slums by giving out alms and encouraging the lonely and desperate to visit the temples of Athika for support and satisfaction. Later, in the Moldy Cellar tavern, she was persuaded to join a group to look for a missing girl.
A priestess’ duty was to help wherever needed. Elena thought that she was doing Athika’s will, but instead everything went awry. A guard, a man just doing his job, and probably a good man, too (because who except a hero would choose to protect the slums?), had been killed by the male drow.
The group had run through the city and wandered through the dark quarters of the homeless and diseased. Now the group was imprisoned.
Worst of all, the newest turn of events was her fault completely.
When she had heard the guards coming for the house of “Old Dan,” Elena had realized seconds remained before she was discovered. Old Dan passed out on his own liquor, and his companion, a shift-looking tiefling, pushed Elena rudely.
Elena hoped to use the opportunity to draw attention to the tiefling. If the guards focused on the tiefling, she could escape. She called to the guards as if in need of help, rushed out of the opposite door, and ran towards the city wall while the guards were distracted indoors.
In hindsight, this plan had all the makings of something designed in approximately four seconds, and it had worked just as well, which is to say, not well at all. More guards watched and waited outside of the house. They saw Elena immediately.
After that, each of her companions had surrendered...fortunately before they had killed anyone.
Elena had been raised to be kind, courteous, and sweet, and had been trained by the temple to be seductive, charming, and positive, but those qualities had been useless tonight. She was out of her depth, in a situation unlike any other she had experienced. She was a failure, and because of her, the group was caught too.
Was this the will of Athika? The goddess, it was said, hated suffering. So why was her priestess in this situation? Elena trembled and sobbed. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Fortunately, Elena had a friend in the cell---the drow woman, whose name Elena had forgotten. Elena was glad they had been locked in the same cell. Although she would have felt safer with the men, she enjoyed the drow’s company; somehow, having another female sit in the room was less embarrassing than having a man see her in distress.
Also, the drow had been the only person, besides Elena herself, to remain peaceful. Maybe being put with the drow was a sign that the guards realized Elena was innocent of everything besides trying to help the wrong group.
Come to think of it, though, the drow had defended herself after attempting to break into someone’s house. Maybe being in the same cell was a bad sign, after all.
Despite having been through a lot, Elena’s robe was in good shape. The heels could be cleaned with soap. Elena was a mess, but she wasn’t without her dignity. Athika taught that a woman’s beauty lay in her self-confidence and sensuality. Elena had those still.
Her skin was warming; the cell trapped body heat. She wiped the tears from her eyes and rubbed her arms. She straightened and smoothed her silky robe.
Elena reached for her holy symbol of Athika. It was a tiny ruby, cut in the shape of a heart, connected to a white gold necklace. Elena touched the symbol to her breast, above her heartbeat.
Athika would protect her priestess. Bad things could and did happen to good people, but Athika had given to Elena the skills and gifts, natural or otherwise, to overcome this situation.
Elena decided that she would calm down, relax first; she would brush her hair with her fingers as well as she could, smooth her robe completely, and resume cleaning her sandals. She wished to be ready, and look her best, to talk with the guards.
She knew she could convince them of the truth. She had nothing to do with the murder, and neither did most of the others. Perhaps she could convince the guards to free everyone to find the missing girl. If they found the girl, they could be pardoned.
They might be exiled from Blackdawn for a while, but exile would be survivable. Elena had wished to see the outside world anyway.
Her tears were gone. She stood and stretched, tilted her head to let her hair hang straight down, and began to brush through her hair with her fingers.
