How long has it been? Suns? Moons? Time had turned into a blur, it meant nothing here.
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Gharen remembered being bound in that dimly lit cabin. Then blackness fell. He drifted in and out of consciousness, drugs? Poison? He could not tell.
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He remembered being strapped down to a cold flat metal surface and he could not move. It was almost a dream, this memory, as the two women stood over him. Dark skinned one, Delial, she had something sharp in her hand. Â And she was tracing his body, no she was cutting him, in slow precise circular motions. A searing burn followed each line, each curve. It made his visions blur, it slowed his thoughts, sending them into a dizzying spin. It made him unable to focus.
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Then the black things were placed on his body again. And as they attached, they bit into his flesh. From their fangs he could feel their venom slowly swim into his veins, like snakes, slithering through his body.  His muscles twitched in protest, not of his own volition. White fanged smile split the dark woman’s face, she smiled at him as if proud of what she had done.
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Then there was the masked woman, and her glowing blue eyes. And as the eerie light pulsed, so did his veins, as if the black vipers that ran through them suddenly writhed in pain as if on fire. Gharen could not remember if he screamed, he did not stay conscious long.
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When he woke again, he was no longer bound to that cold metal thing, he was lying in a dark cell. Â He could feel the smooth cold steel chill his skin. On his bare chest he could feel the dried blood that traced geometric symbols that had been carved into his flesh.
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Sleep attempted to claim him, but each time uniformed Garlean soldiers entered the cell heralded by a painfully loud alarm. Â As the door opened, they filed in wielding batons, some of them crackling with electricity. Gharen didn't need an explanation; he had enough scars that marked the majority of his body to know what was coming. His heart rate quickened and he took several deep breaths in preparation. He jerked his body to one side attempting to partly shield himself, as the savage beating began.
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What the guards did not hear was the sickening pop of Gharen's left thumb as it was dislocated, giving him allowance to slide his left hand through the manacle. He swung back viciously, perhaps desperately, but he received more punishing blows than he could return in kind.
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In the end, while some of those guards did not walk out of that cell, he was but a man in a losing battle, fueled by anger and rage. Whatever they did to him while had been bound previously, he could feel its lingering effects, that blackness that gave heaviness his limbs.
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Bell after bell, sun after sun, how long had he been here? In the blackness of this cell, time didn’t seem to exist anymore. His strength was failing him now, and his will to fight back was beginning to wane. Eventually the best he could hope to do was to mitigate the worst of the blows. It was then she came.
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A thousand threats swirled through his mind as she spoke, but he said nothing. His remaining act of defiance was refusing to give the woman the satisfaction of a response. The more this woman talked the more he wanted to kill her. Her words elicited a growl to well up from within him, he had noticed himself doing that. How often did he do that? He'd never taken conscious notice of it before. But when he looked back at the masked woman, he felt a burning within him and he wanted nothing more than to throttle the life out of her.
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But as she continued, Gharen started to feel numb and an overwhelming feeling of detachment settled upon him as if his consciousness were no longer in control of his body. Was it the poison running through his veins that fogged his thoughts? He was fairly certain he’d said something in return to the woman, a threat maybe, but he couldn’t make out his own words. It was then that she said something; the eyes of her mask glimmered blue as she touched his forehead.
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All went white.
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Gharen remembered being bound in that dimly lit cabin. Then blackness fell. He drifted in and out of consciousness, drugs? Poison? He could not tell.
Â
He remembered being strapped down to a cold flat metal surface and he could not move. It was almost a dream, this memory, as the two women stood over him. Dark skinned one, Delial, she had something sharp in her hand. Â And she was tracing his body, no she was cutting him, in slow precise circular motions. A searing burn followed each line, each curve. It made his visions blur, it slowed his thoughts, sending them into a dizzying spin. It made him unable to focus.
Â
Then the black things were placed on his body again. And as they attached, they bit into his flesh. From their fangs he could feel their venom slowly swim into his veins, like snakes, slithering through his body.  His muscles twitched in protest, not of his own volition. White fanged smile split the dark woman’s face, she smiled at him as if proud of what she had done.
Â
Then there was the masked woman, and her glowing blue eyes. And as the eerie light pulsed, so did his veins, as if the black vipers that ran through them suddenly writhed in pain as if on fire. Gharen could not remember if he screamed, he did not stay conscious long.
Â
When he woke again, he was no longer bound to that cold metal thing, he was lying in a dark cell. Â He could feel the smooth cold steel chill his skin. On his bare chest he could feel the dried blood that traced geometric symbols that had been carved into his flesh.
Â
Sleep attempted to claim him, but each time uniformed Garlean soldiers entered the cell heralded by a painfully loud alarm. Â As the door opened, they filed in wielding batons, some of them crackling with electricity. Gharen didn't need an explanation; he had enough scars that marked the majority of his body to know what was coming. His heart rate quickened and he took several deep breaths in preparation. He jerked his body to one side attempting to partly shield himself, as the savage beating began.
Â
What the guards did not hear was the sickening pop of Gharen's left thumb as it was dislocated, giving him allowance to slide his left hand through the manacle. He swung back viciously, perhaps desperately, but he received more punishing blows than he could return in kind.
Â
In the end, while some of those guards did not walk out of that cell, he was but a man in a losing battle, fueled by anger and rage. Whatever they did to him while had been bound previously, he could feel its lingering effects, that blackness that gave heaviness his limbs.
Â
Bell after bell, sun after sun, how long had he been here? In the blackness of this cell, time didn’t seem to exist anymore. His strength was failing him now, and his will to fight back was beginning to wane. Eventually the best he could hope to do was to mitigate the worst of the blows. It was then she came.
Â
A thousand threats swirled through his mind as she spoke, but he said nothing. His remaining act of defiance was refusing to give the woman the satisfaction of a response. The more this woman talked the more he wanted to kill her. Her words elicited a growl to well up from within him, he had noticed himself doing that. How often did he do that? He'd never taken conscious notice of it before. But when he looked back at the masked woman, he felt a burning within him and he wanted nothing more than to throttle the life out of her.
Â
But as she continued, Gharen started to feel numb and an overwhelming feeling of detachment settled upon him as if his consciousness were no longer in control of his body. Was it the poison running through his veins that fogged his thoughts? He was fairly certain he’d said something in return to the woman, a threat maybe, but he couldn’t make out his own words. It was then that she said something; the eyes of her mask glimmered blue as she touched his forehead.
Â
All went white.
