Gwenwyn's pounding head woke her with raw discomfort, and the stench of sweat and body odor made her stomach twinge. The sorceress stirred with a groan, bringing her hand to the side of her head. Metal clanked as she moved. She pulled it away and with it came a sticky, half-dry substance. Even in the pitch black she knew it was blood. She grunted and wiped her fingers on her dress.
She sat up with great effort, her arms and legs stiff with inactivity. She curled and uncurled her fingers a few times, then clenched the skirt of her dress in her fists. Gwenwyn barely registered anything other than the cool against her wrists, her pounding head, and the cotton-dry feeling of her tongue stuck against her molars.
A flickering light appeared from a short distance away. She squinted as the light came closer, her eyes adjusting to the brightness, as she tried to make sense of the shadows around the corner. At last she was able to make out a hulking figure outlined by the cast of dancing light. Everything slowly and blearily came into focus. The dungeon bars were what she first clearly could make out. The cold metal pressing into her wrists made more sense now; they were her cuffs and chains, likely secured from the ground. Being in a dungeon would explain the odors as well.
The figure stopped in front of her cell, and she blinked up at it before glancing around the two-cell dungeon. They were the only two inside.
"Do you find yourself comfortable in there, my lady?" the figure asked, a smugness in his tone.
She squinted once more to readjust her vision to see directly in front of her, the torch now casting its light upon both her and the figure, who, she guessed from his appearance, was half orc. He had the strong jaw of an orc but no unruly tusks jutting from his lower jaw, and from each of his thick fingers sprouted thick black claws. Not to mention his size--he was shirtless and even covered with his trousers, his muscles were burgeoning. Several scars splayed along his chest and abdomen, some of which looked to trail onto his back, proving that he had the nature of one as well. His dark brown hair fell just past his shoulders, and it was swept half-up and tied in the back.
"Why in the
hell
am I in here?" the sorceress snapped, though the dryness of her mouth dampened her volume and venom.
"You don't remember?" he replied, chuckling. "They must have hit your head harder than they told me."
"
Who
?" she insisted.
"The damage you did to the king's guards was rather impressive, if I do say so myself, but unfortunately for you, it was also deadly," he said, unravelling a flask from his belt and stepping forward just enough to offer it to her through the bars.
The tavern brawl. That was right. She had only been trying to sleep with one or two of them before they had insinuated that she was a prostitute, but they had said it as if she should be insulted. Not to mention that they made hypocrites of themselves when the whole village knew they used those services. That, and they had slapped her ass after she turned them down because of the insult.
Gwenwyn took the flask with pincered fingers, uncapped it, and sniffed it. Just water, and no trace of anything suspicious. She brought it to her lips and gulped until it was empty.
"Wonderful that you think my skill is impressive," she said, clearing her throat. "But that's the least important thing right now. When is my trial?"
"Hm," the half-orc replied, his deep brown eyes studying her, seemingly roaming every inch of her body. She was still in her dark green velvet from the night of the incident, however long ago that was.
"Well?"
"What do they call you, m'lady?" he asked.
"What?"
"I'm asking what your name is."
The sorceress sniffed, narrowing her eyes at him. He must be jesting.
"You may call me Gwenwyn," she said eventually.
"Gwenwyn. That's a lovely name. My name is Drustin," he said.
"I do not recall asking about names, but I certainly did ask about my trial," said Gwenwyn.
Drustin turned away and placed the torch in a sconce. Gwenwyn couldn't help but trail her eyes along the strongly muscled back of the half-orc as he walked to set the torch in its place. He pulled out a stool that had been tucked against the wall and drug it over the stone floor. The screeching of heavy wood against stones broke the silence but made Gwenwyn clench her jaw. She wondered how often the stool was used to finish fights more than it was used for sitting.
He sat down, his legs splayed in an almost ridiculous posture, the stool much too low for his stature. Placing an elbow on his knee, he rested his chin in his hand, studying her once more. Gwenwyn almost wanted to move away from such a direct gaze, yet at the same time felt it a more fun to challenge him and return the look. She adored attention and this Drustin was giving it to her undividedly, even if she had no say in the matter. Well, perhaps that was not quite true. Whoever had bound her had apparently not known to bind her hands and arms fully. It would not be her most powerful, but she was a
sorceress
for all the gods' sakes.
"I can see why they don't let you see the light of day very often, if this is always the way you look at ladies," Gwenwyn said.
"The neckline of your gown goes down quite a ways, m'lady," Drustin said, pointing to where her neckline met the bottom of her sternum.
"So it does," Gwenwyn agreed, rolling her eyes.
"I have half a mind to think you
want
to be looked at like that," Drustin said, sitting up straighter and crossing his arms.
"I suppose I can't blame you for such an assumption, but for you to say that to a proper lady--"
