I do not own any of Blizzard Entertainment's NPCs, cities, or races. I do, however, own Ka'zile and have aquired permission to use the names of the other characters involved. They belong to their players.
Soon, this will be over. Soon, he will cut me down, and I will be rid of him. Ka'zile repeated the chant in her mind. She wasn't quite sure where she was, or if she would be leaving at all. She was bound at every movable joint, her fingers tied open, so that she couldn't have freed herself if she wanted to. Somewhere in the midst of the flogging, she'd passed out. Her skin felt cool, though the pain was nearly unbearable.
Lifting her gaze to inspect her surroundings further, she noted that there were tally-marks, written in blood. Five, ten, fifteen. She counted them, her lips moving silently. She was, after all, defenseless, and who knew where her assailant might be? Sixty-five. Seventy. Seventy one, two, three, four. Seventy four what? Victims? Hours? Days? Years? The female shuddered. It was cold, or perhaps the ropes were cutting off her circulation. Regardless, she had no way to free herself from her bonds. The wind picked up outside, howling around the structure that she was in. Apart from that, there was no other sound; not even a cockroach dared to skitter into this sanctuary, it seemed.
Her attention was called to the restraint system she was bound by. There were thirteen rings above the entrance to the space, all with multiple ropes tied to the top, and one single string hanging from each. It was apparently a pulley system of some kind. Ka'zile hung her head, a feeling of utter terror settling in her. She knew why she had been captured, and nobody on Azeroth would likely offer sympathy to a being like her. Demons, after all, couldn't be trusted. She was Sayaad, and from the feeling of her imprisonment, the disguising enchantment she religiously placed upon herself had faded sometime after the sedative she was drugged with set in. She no longer appeared as a Sin'dorei, rather as she was, with crimson wings, scales, horns, and her tail. Full, curly ebon hair tumbled down her back, some of it falling lazily over her shoulder, nearly to her midriff. Her almond-shaped eyes were as dark as her hair, and unless somebody ventured too closely, her vertical, serpentine pupils were indistinguishable. She was of average height, and built delicately. Rather than the muscles of plate-wearers, her body was a riddle of sensual, soft musculature. She relied more upon a silver tongue and quick mind to save her from uncomfortable situations than she did upon her skill with a physical weapon.
Deciding to save her energy until the man got back, she closed her eyes. How long had she been on Azeroth now? Light, it must have been nearly ten years. Since the early reign of Arthas as the Lich King, at least. She snorted, remembering her first summoning. A young human by the name of Raeyne had fallen into the wrong hands. A cult-leader had taken her in, given her a title, and she'd sworn her life to the service of Sar'geras. They were inexperienced idiots, as Ka'zile found a good number of mortals to be. Unsupervised, the young woman had fallen deeper and deeper into the Fel path, until one day, she met a fel-kin of Ka'zile's, by the name of Na'zora. Na'zora had been building an army of sorts, a bastion of defense between herself and the Alliance that would see her destroyed for being unbound. Raeyne had made an unstable alliance with the demon, and Ka'zile's entrance to the world was sealed.
After a brief time in Na'zora's following, Raeyne had set out to rescue a valuable ally. The ebon knight, under the influence of a Lich, had mercilessly rained violence upon the body of the warlock, until she fell, and he left her for dead. Moments later, Na'zora came. Smirking triumphantly, she had hoisted the nearly lifeless husk over her shoulder, and made off with her, into the warlock's sanctuary beneath the Slaughtered Lamb, in Stormwind. With the aid of a warlock, Na'zora summoned the only life essence strong enough to continue animating the body—that of Ka'zile. In that moment, a bond was made, one which would not break for nearly a decade.
Vaguely, Ka'zile mused about what Na'zora must be up to, these days. She hadn't spoken to her 'sister' in months, and—
The door to the crypt creaked as it swung open. A tall, lithe figure shut the door behind himself again. Ka'zile struggled in the bindings, her thoughts brought immediately back to the present situation. Removing his hood, the middle-aged Sin'dorei looked over the demon, then proceeded to a nearby table, where he set a fairly thick logbook. Flipping through pages of meticulous, neat notes, he found a blank page and took off his cloak, flinging it carelessly to the side. All sorts of tools were then produced from his satchel, many of which looked as though they could have been used to perform embalming. "I told you before, little Sayaad, I would notbe the prey in this game." Turning, with a string of razors in his hand, he questioned her:
"Well? Shall we begin?"