"We've captured a gift for you, my Lady," said one of Lady Darsha's court guards. It was coming up on the darkest hour of the evening, as evidenced by her sullen court and the grand water clock that stood at the rear of the grand hall.
She regarded his helmed head, he had lips like two juicy leeches and sun darkened skin. Lady Darsha smiled at him. "Where would I find this gift?" He was half a head taller than she, and knew well enough to lower himself while speaking to her.
"She is in the central dungeon chamber, hanging in chains by the wrists and ankles."
"This one must be very special for you to put her there," she muttered as she ran her hands down her tight black silken dress. The front of the garment was open, exposing the inner halves of her breasts, her navel and plunging further down to a point just above her pleasure mound. Her white skin was ghostly under the lamplight, the slitted sides of the dress joined high on the thigh, granting anyone who looked a generous view.
The back of it was kept together by laces, coming to a closing point at the very top of her bottom. She was slim, with dainty features and the high pointed ears of the high elves. Her lineage was mostly high elf, but somewhere along her ancestral line one of her ancestors had planted his seed in a northern faerie, as evidenced by her pale red irises.
She also preferred the night to day, holding court as the sun set. Lady Darsha was minor royalty, but her legendary wealth attracted courtesans from half way around the world. They dressed in dark, revealing outfits, were beautiful and pale for the most part and despite the dire, dramatic appearance of the tall main gallery with its high backed silver gilded throne and grand doors. Most of the ongoing discussions concerned gossip, commerce and trade.
There was a circle of granite set near the head of the grand hall. It was inlaid with rubies and emeralds, embellished with silver and gold. Duels took place there, scores were settled with fire and blood right at the foot of her dais. The audience chamber rivalled the halls of most Kings, boasting night blooming flowers, artefacts from around the world, marble tiled floors, deep comfortable furniture and fine sheer curtains sectioning off several corners for matters that were to be conducted privately.
One entire wall was iron shuttered, and even on a rainy night like that one they had been swung open to allow the precipitation cooled air to gust at the guests. She looked at the few dozen guests sparsely dispersed throughout the hall and shrugged. "It is a poor evening for entertaining. The rain keeps some away while others are arranging their spring shipments. I think I'll have some fun with your gift, send for my son and see that he joins me."
"Yes my Lady,"
Her gait was smooth, graceful and her white gold and pearl jewellery barely jingled as she took a small door behind her throne. Once the passage closed behind her she pressed a tiny, secret button and passed through a narrow stone door. The hidden stair led straight to the dungeons and once she reached the bottom she presented a fine steel key from a pocket hidden in her sleeve.
The door unlocked with customary ease and closed behind her. The upper dungeons in Westwell Keep were kept as clean as the throne room. Beneath her feet she knew there were dark places, layer upon layer of tunnels, chambers and many, many cells. Her debtors, enemies and pets dwelt there as well as other things, uncountable, unimaginable beings that had been left to breed or burrow.
The lower reaches of the tunnels were older than the city itself in some places and some even said that there was a secret treasure, long forgotten, guarded by an unknown darkness. The thought of it and its guardian gave her a chill and a little smile. Her long white hair tickled the small of her back, adding to the sensation.
Lady Darsha tried not to get her hopes up, capturing someone in her two hundred and eighty four room castle wasn't rare. The poor and desperate often made attempts to snatch some of her belongings, it was the price of being in the middle of the West District of Errinol, a massive port city, and ports brought the best and worst sort of people to civilization.
For one of her private guards to offer their capture as a gift, well, that was different, that was rare. It was difficult not to get her hopes up. In the dark, broad stone corridor she was joined by two guardsmen who didn't see where she came from, but flanked her as soon as she came into sight. Their plate and chain armour chinked as they walked, a sound that could not be grand or loud enough as far as she was concerned.
"Her things have been placed on a side table, my Lady."
"Good, has she told you anything about herself?"
"Nay, we didn't want to press her for information until you arrived."
"Where was she captured?"
"In the Vale Tower, she had come through Nyria's window."
"Pardon me?" Lady Dasha stopped and looked at the guardsman. "Cliff side or keep side?"
"Cliff side."
"That's ninety yards of sheer climbing. You must be mistaken, this one must have some magic."
"Maestro Lokun took a vision from the wall and says the young woman may have some magical gifts that aren't easy to discern, but she certainly made the entire climb with only her bare hands and feet."
"In the rain?"
"She is a master of her own body, very toned and light."
"I must see this creature," Lady Darsha smiled, taking up a faster tread to the central chamber of the dungeon.
Before long she arrived in the large, circular torture chamber. Chains and shackles hung from a pulley system that ran along the walls and vaulted ceiling. Hooks and racks made to stretch, pierce and slowly crush lined the walls along with standing closets of tools.
The glow of three furnaces set into the walls added to the dim candle light. Each of the glowing coal mouths hung open, ready with pokers, clamps, needles, tongs and a variety of other implements resting in their maws like pointed needle teeth.
In the centre of the darkened chamber hung a small, writhing creature, her hands held up over her head by the black shackles. Her ankles were also clapped in irons, chains led up into the dark vaulted stone ceiling.
