From that point on, every day a hot meal appeared in my cell. No doubt an attempt to help me heal faster, for whatever fight I was expected to take part in. Whatever the reason, I devoured it each time, licking the bowl clean, silently cursing the yellow-eyed tiefling anyway.
Stuck in the cell — that first day of finally getting better, and not worse — all I did was ponder who they would have me fight. But that line of thought left me with a pounding heart, filled with panic; the tiefling's mocking words from the day before — about relying too heavily on Valen — hitting closer to home than I had let on at the time.
From then on — instead of letting myself stew and panic — I stretched my injured arm and body; moving through the old training I'd learnt at Hilltop, all that time ago. As my strength returned, I began exhausting myself with harder and harder exercises; collapsing more than once a day in a heap of spasming muscles and sweat.
The days passed into weeks, and still I remained in my cell. I saw nobody but the yellow-eyed tiefling, who would sometimes watch my training with a mocking smile and some snide comment. But that door never opened. And I never left.
When the silence became too unbearable, I would curse the god's for letting this happen to me. Petty bitter words of anger, that always came back to Shaundakul. As the days passed, the words lost their bitter edge, and I found myself bargaining; quietly, so that the yellow-eyed tiefling couldn't mock me further.
I would do anything Shaundakul asked of me, anything… if he would only get me back to Valen. Like an idiot, I would wait for some answering tickle of wind, a shiver of power, but nothing ever came.
I didn't really expected an answer, and I never got one. But it became my routine, nonetheless. A way to unwind after a grueling workout. A way to fill the terrible silence.
I was alone — utterly alone, locked in silence — until it came time for the delivery of my food.
My solitude became so unbearable, that it got to a point that I almost relished the tiefling's company, terrible though it was. Which is why I was paying close attention, when I heard additional footsteps accompanying him.
If I was counting my meals correctly, it had been almost three full weeks, when he came to my door with extra muscle, yellow eyes flashing in warning.
In his shadow stood two of the barbed devils, and I forced myself not to visibly recoil from the door as it swung open with a groan.
For once, the tiefling remained silent, almost sombre, as he reached for me. Despite my snarl, I didn't fight him — there was nothing to fight him with, and nowhere to run.
He paused, eyes searching my own for sign of threat, before clasping his hand around my forearm. His grip was solid, and in that moment I was merely thankful that it wasn't the barbed devils reaching for me — the almost healed scar on my bicep itching uncomfortably at the memory of those claws.
He could have been a mute, for all he said to me, as we made our trip down the hall and up the stairs. I paid special attention to every detail as I was eventually lead towards a new room. The barbed devils remained outside, the yellow-eyed tiefling ushering me in without a word.
My knees buckled at the sight of the room he had taken me to, and he must have felt it, for his grip tightened before he finally released me. I stumbled away.
It was a bedroom — garish and heavily decorated, with white fur rugs, and a bone white armoire and mirror, with a matching four poster bed. The bed was decorated with sparkling silver sheets, cushions thrown about in an open display of wealth. In one corner of he room sat an impossibly large marble tub, steam rising from the surface.
I stared at the lavish space, filled with the kinds of comforts I never thought I'd see again.
"What is this?" I hissed at the tiefling, surprised at the hoarseness of my voice.
Before he could reply, two lithe forms slipped through the door, women with their heads bowed and eyes on their feet. The tiefling slammed the door shut at their entrance, causing one to jolt. Noticing, he grinned.
The women — hints of devilish heritage in the mottling of their skin and the curving of their ears — were dressed in clothes barely better than rags, and I forced myself not to resist as they reached for me. They clasped long fingers around my forearms, pressing themselves in on both sides.
I glanced at the tiefling again, the question from earlier still clear on my face.
"You stink," he said.
He said it so matter-of-factly, as if I hadn't stunk the entire month I'd already been in my cell. As if I didn't know I reeked of my own filth and blood and sweat, all crusted hard to my skin and ruined clothes.
The women directed me to the steaming tub.
I dug my feet in, pulling out of their grip and turning on the tiefling. The servants cowered at my strength, and I had a moment of satisfaction.
It was short lived.
He was standing at the door, arms crossed atop his leather vest, calm amusement in his eyes.
He saw the defiance, clear on my face.
"Where am I going to go?" I motioned around me, at the windowless room.
A sly smile curled his lips, as he considered me. The moments ticked by, all of us still. Eventually, he tipped his head in a mocking bow, before excusing himself. I released a sigh of relief only once the door closed shut behind him.
Once the three of us were alone, they stripped me naked, peeling my ragged clothes from me with no hint at their disgust. I tried not to let my surprise show at the harsh angles of my body, and found myself thankful that the meals had improved since the rotten bread rolls from my early days here.
I stepped into the warm water and they bathed me roughly, and then — to my horror — began to paint my face and body. Their brushes were unbearably cold and ticklish, and their grips were firm when I wriggled. I was only thankful that they did not paint more intimate parts of me, and it was only that — and the knowledge that they were only following orders — which stopped me from fighting against them. Even if I fled, there was nowhere to escape to — not with the tiefling and barbed devils at the door.
They offered no explanation as to why — no hint of whether this was another torment sent by Asmodeus.
So I stopped demanding answers, stopped fighting back, and let them prepare me for whatever was to come next.
I watched them in the mirror as they worked.
From the neck up, I was fearsome; my face adorned with paint and cosmetics — a black band of paint across my eyes and temples, lips as red as blood. I grimaced at my nose, at the bump that hadn't been there before, but — other than that — they'd managed to cover the bruises left on my skin. They had adorned my neck and ears with jewellery made from jagged bones, and as my hair had dried, they had teased it into a thick mane, braiding it in two rows atop my head.
From the neck down I was painted almost a solid red, with a mottled black pattern on the tops of my shoulders, my collar bones, my calves. What was left of my bitten nails were painted black, and — once my red-black paint had dried, they began binding my chest and body in black cloth.
Atop the cloth, they fastened armour — if you could call it that. What there was of it was heavier than I was trained to fight in, some kind of metal; designed more for show than practicality with unnecessary whorls and spikes. But it barely covered enough of me. I guess I should have been thankful that my chest and stomach were protected from whatever I was about to face, but my legs were practically bare but for the greaves they attached to my calves. I tried not to roll my eyes at the small platform on the black boots.
The cold air caressing my legs was enough to kindle my rage afresh, and the two women ignored my demands to wear the leather breeches I had come in wearing. They held my arms firm when I attempted to rip one of the ridiculous spiked pauldrons from atop my shoulder with a red painted hand, ignoring my snarl of contempt with downturned eyes. It was the terrifying shaking of one of the woman's hands — as she attempted to tighten something I had loosened in my frustration — that finally stilled me.
I looked like some kind of devil; right down to the very careful braiding of my hair, designed to imitate the curving bulk of horns. And my blue-grey eyes looked eerie and wild from behind the band of black cosmetics.
I was lifting a painted hand to rub at the blackened skin around my eyes, just as the door opened.
"I wouldn't do that," the yellow-eyed tiefling's reflection smirked at me. At his entrance, the women stepped back, heads bowed.
His return broke whatever spell had me transfixed to the mirror, and I whirled. Stomped towards him; my anger fuelled me. I didn't know what I was going to say; I just wanted to shout something. But my anger was short lived as one of the barbed devils ducked into the room behind him. I stilled at the sight of its long clawed hands, immediately embarrassed at how easily I could be cowled.
But then I saw the tiefling flinch away from the devil too, his crossed arms drawing tighter to his chest as he positioned his back away from them.
Interesting…
I schooled my features carefully.
His eyes were roaming across me now, taking in what the women had done.
He opened his mouth to comment, but I beat him to it; "I look ridiculous," I seethed.
He smirked.
"You look more devil than me," he said.
I pretended not to notice that his skin tone complimented my paints nicely, as his tail lashed about behind him, the only sign of his discomfort at the barbed devil's proximity. He jerked his head towards the door.
"We're already late," he said impatiently.
That's when I noticed the extra layers to his usual armour, embellishments I hadn't seen on our trip up to this room; distracted as I had been. He too had dressed up — as if for battle.
I swallowed, ignoring his outstretched arm as he led me from the room, the devil's in tow. We left the servants to clean up the mess of paints and rags, door closing on hidden hinges behind us.
The halls we wound through were beginning to take shape in my mind, as we all eventually found ourselves in the large throne room from my first day here.
And — just like that day — Asmodeus was waiting for me.
I kept pace as we approached him, determined that he wouldn't see my fear.
He was leaning against the wall, appearing as he always had to me; as a kindly old man. But the face was all wrong, the eyes narrowed and the lips curved in a sinister smirk.
I faltered at a sudden flash of clarity, seeing him for who he was; red-black skin and all. I looked down at myself, realising with disgust that I had been painted in his image. Colouring and all. My eyes darted quickly to and from the yellow-eyed tiefling, and I wondered briefly at his heritage.
When I looked up, it was to the cocked grey eyebrow of the old man, the great devil hidden once more. I felt like a savage, faced with his simple brown robes.
"So, we're playing dress ups now?" I said, with more confidence than I felt.
I noticed as the ever-present smirk dropped from the tiefling's face, his stance shifting slightly. He glanced quickly at Asmodeus and then back. A warning?
I lifted my chin, emboldened by my month in the cell. By my week staring death in the face, infection burning me up from the inside.
Asmodeus paused only momentarily, before throwing his head back and laughing. At that, the tiefling relaxed his stance.
"Dress ups?" Asmodeus eventually chuckled, motioning a hand towards me. "Is this look not fit for the ruler of Cania?"
My expression told him exactly what I thought of it.
I waited for him to offer some explanation. Some reason behind the change in the monotony that had become my day-to-day.
Eentually, he rolled his eyes, obviously displeased that I hadn't risen to the bait and asked him for more information.
If there was one thing I was learning about him, it was that he liked hearing himself talk. But not as much as he loved explaining his plans.
I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of playing into it
I could see that the tiefling thought my defiance foolhardy, a sigh visible in the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.
Asmodeus saw my eyes drift to the tiefling, and he smiled slyly.
"Ah," Asmodeus purred. "I see you've become acquainted with your jailer." He smirked again. "Did I pick well, dear Jane? I thought, why not choose someone you would find familiar?"
I stared back at him, offering him nothing. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it.
"Speaking of your demon," he continued, the look in his eyes making my skin crawl. "If you're holding out hope that he'll be coming to save you, I wouldn't waste your breath."
I narrowed my eyes.
At my stony response, his smirk simply turned sly. He fished something out of his sleeve, tossing it towards me.
My mouth went dry.
It fell to the floor slowly, the slip of torn paper landing at my feet.
Stomach dropping, I didn't need to read the words; I knew the messy writing. How could I not, when it was my own?
But I looked anyway.
Be back soon.
Just three words on that little slip of paper. Three words that made my eyes sting and my stomach clench. Words meant for Valen.
He never saw my note…
Asmodeus chuckled, seeing the look on my face.
The horrible thing was, Asmodeus was wrong; I hadn't been holding out hope that Valen would save me. I had been holding on to the knowledge that he had known I hadn't wanted to leave him. That I had intended to return.
And I suddenly felt more alone than ever. My lip quivered dangerously.
Don't let him see…
Some small part of my stubborn brain forced my shoulders back, my chin up. And, as I looked him in the eye, I showed him just how much I hated him. Just how angry he had made me.
I saw the tiefling trying to make out what just what was so special about the slip of paper, curiosity clear in the line of his downturned lips.
"Oh, but you are such fun, Jane," Asmodeus chuckled. "But that isn't why I am here."
I crossed my arms atop my chest, mindful of the stupid spiked gauntlets. I lifted an eyebrow.
"No, I wanted to let you know that tanar'ri are pushing in on your territory, emboldened by Mephistopheles' unfortunate end," he waved behind him, a portal opening. "And it's time to protect what's yours."
The portal snapped into place.
And I realised I hadn't seen the last of the Blood Wars. Not even close.