Chapter 6

Defiance

She was led quickly to the Dark Elf corsair vessels. Their design seemed odd to her, wood of ebony colour forming sleek and elaborately decorated hulls, the sails and railings emulating the wings of a dragon. These elven vessels were reminiscent of a High Elf ship Yalene had once seen, although in terms of decoration and colour, they couldn't be further apart. Even in this moment, she had to admit that these ships seemed more like swimming pieces of morbid, saturnine art to her instead of the fortresses of death they were. There were four vessels in total, their designations painted on the hulls, the names being comically gloomy. 'Terror' was currently the main vessel for holding the captured and screaming people, the ones that had been prisoners, guards or servants in the Freiherr's mansion. Another large ship, 'Devastation', had not even bothered to throw the anchor. She was not able to translate the word 'Shariva' of the smallest ship, a word that was unknown to Yalene; she determined that it very much sounded like a female elven name.

It was an enormous stroke of luck that she herself was still alive and unharmed, since the man who had to guard her did so with the dutiful indifference of a person who had to watch a possession that was easy to handle, but with enough care as not to break anything and anger the owner. She also noted with some grim amusement the name of the largest vessel to which she was led to.
Its name was 'Defiance', as far as she was able to correctly translate the word. She quite liked that. For some reason, that was an almost hopeful turn in all of this misery. Still, 'Defiance' probably held its fair share of her fellow humans, and even distant neighbours of Hochfels still. What could be done about this?

You can't help them.

She had to remind herself, lest she would despair at the sight of the bleak scene, the future of the people around her as well as her own. It was also true that she had to look at this situation in a realistic manner; she couldn't help anybody, not even herself. What would happen now? She had no idea what the elves wanted with her, other than some strange form of Honour, camaraderie or community compelled them not to leave any of their race suffering at the hands of other races. That made her think that those people would certainly not look kindly on a mere human 'stealing' one of the precious bodies.
So this was information that she had to keep secret at all costs. Keeping her back turned to the scene where poor souls were treated like cattle, she saw that her guardian was talking to a pretty woman dressed in a thin, yellow fabric that complimented her youthful appearance and healthy complexion. Why, it was almost enough to distract from the metal collar at her neck – that one looked pretty and decorative as well, but it was a collar with a ring for fastening a leash nonetheless.

No words were spoken to Yalene, but she had apparently conducted herself docile enough as not to appear a danger to anybody, at least in the eyes of the guard, who after having spoken a few words to the woman, led her below deck, to the place on almost every ship were the captain's cabin was usually located … at least, this was what human and elven vessels had in common. The slave woman went along and stayed with her as the soldier left. She didn't introduce herself, but even with her eyes downcast and her tone demure, she carried herself with an air of quiet confidence that, considering her situation and youth, Yalene found to be quite surprising and admirable. She said a few words to Yalene, whispered words in heavily accented Druhir and with downcast eyes, to wait there and please not to touch anything, while she hurried away. It allowed Yalene a quick look around the cabin in which she had been led.

Space on ships, even as well-constructed as this, was always a scarce commodity, so the captain's cabin was not that large. Indeed, the captain's cabin would often double as the officer's mess on human vessels. On elven ships, this was not so much the case, it seemed. This cabin was lavishly decorated, with a table prominently displayed in the middle, several maps spread out there. Shelves and closets were found aplenty, all of them closed, as it was reasonable at sea. However. the decoration at the walls like the elaborately painted cloth with expensive, coloured dye, along with bric-á-bracs on polished surfaces seemed outright decadent to Yalene's eyes, as was the large couch behind a table and several seats. How did they even get that couch there? They had to have it built in right at sea, same with the bed. A bed! What madness was this? The captain didn't seem to believe in hammocks like any sensible seaman would, but rather in a large and massive canopy bed in the back of the room. Black and purple were the dominating colours in this room, and it told her everything she needed to know about the person living here, and at the same time nothing. That he was a decadent creature came with the territory of being a successful pirate that he appeared to be, and he was doing more … an attempt was made to make the quarters appear tasteful and luxurious as well as comfortable for guests, but there were subtle signs that he was simply flaunting wealth. This room was made for the eye of the public as well as personal comfort. At the same time, she saw no objects that led to any conclusion about his personality.

On the bright side, she didn't see any torture equipment either.

While she was musing and frowning about the fact that these quarters had to be a mess after a good storm, the slave-woman from earlier appeared again, this time with another, much younger girl in tow. The two were clearly sisters; both had similar features, wore their chestnut hair in a similar pinned-up style and had bright, blue eyes, with one of them being in her mid-twenties, the other merely a youth blossoming into a woman. Both looked well-fed and rosy-cheeked; neither of them spoke much to Yalene, as they were mostly gesturing, but she was able to identify their accents as Bretonnian – they had a peculiar way to pronounce vowels that made Bretonnian easily recognizable even in other languages, even a melodic one like Eltharin. In the background, Yalene could see that a tub was being prepared – the decadence! - while the two slave-women carefully relieved her of all her dirt-crusted clothing. In hindsight, Yalene was surprised that her dress did not stand on its own, supported by dirt. Other than the clothes on her back, her only possession that had not been confiscated was her grandmother's ring that Wiebke had fastened to a long, thin, silver chain out of Yalene's jewellery box. The younger girl tentatively touched that ring, but was evidently content to leave it where it was. She was also undressed completely. Yalene had to admit to herself that this was less demeaning due to the fact that the two women were human; had they been elven, the vulnerability of being nude would have been too much to bear, and it would have also been almost impossible to play along. But she was now in survival mode, playing along and observing the situation while trying focus on the problems directly before her eyes, instead of thinking about her distant Hochfels-neighbours having been enslaved, as well as the poor Westerlanders, while she was bathed by two women who seemed shy, but in surprisingly good spirits.

Her own behaviour must have seemed strange to the two of them, since Yalene moved rarely at all if not prompted, outwardly seeming apathetic, stoic and unmoving, while she was surveying her surroundings and prepare for the time ahead, one step at a time. As she was led into the tub in the next room, she kept her composure, observed and listened. The room itself was tiny, as bathrooms on a ship usually were, but it contained a mirror tacked on the wall that was way too large for comfort on a ship.

It seemed like the captain was vain. Why, she would have never guessed after looking at his quarters.

She also noticed that the reserve and care with which the two women were treating her had a rather predictable reason in hindsight – fear. Whenever they exchanged glances, they seemed concerned and even a little disturbed, and they carefully avoided eye contact with her, the 'Dark Elf'. The last thing that Yalene wanted was to frighten these girls that were bound to slavery and deprived of their free will, but how could she reassure them when she wore the face of a Druchii?

So she kept playing the part of the aloof ice queen while the two women guided her to the tub and started scrubbing the grime off that her stint in prison had produced, even going so far as to wash and comb her hair. This would have been invigorating in different circumstances, but the situation being as it was, Yalene felt tense; going along with these proceedings was strangely embarrassing, although being washed by others was undeniably a luxury. At least, only soapy water was involved, so her sense of propriety and economy did not have to suffer anything more expensive extravagant like perfume. The current display of wealth offended her preference for a more humble habitat like she was accustomed to already.

For a brief burst of insanity that lasted only for a few moments, when her hair was washed, she felt her heartbeat quicken when she wondered about lice, fearing that she could have caught some during her stay in prison. Then she would have to cut her hair, and that thought frightened her almost as much as the violence she had just witnessed. She had already noticed a few flea bites on her body, but her whole body was feeling itchy just at the thought of her cell, and that she hadn't noticed before or blocked it out was concerning. When she asked the two girls in a more panicked voice than she cared to imagine, it was the youth who shrugged and patted her head reassuringly. "Looks good.", she said in her distinct accent. "No worries."

This had the soothing effect and even allowed Yalene to mentally pat herself on the back for knowing the Eltharin word for 'lice'.

It came as an undeniable relief and might have prompted the two Bretonnians to allow her to dress herself, as they brought her a pack of cloth and simply handed it to her. They both respectfully nodded in unison, and then left her to her devices in that tiny bathroom. Since facing the Druchii captain was best done clothed, Yalene unfolded the dress, only to be forced to stifle an amused snort. Carefully listening, she determined that the two women were shuffling around in the captain's cabin, so she had to cover her mouth as not to break into laughter. Evidently, female Dark Elves didn't believe in much fabric or in covering up anything but the bare necessities. Still covering her mouth, Yalene took a closer look, and that did not help things. That 'dress' was a complicated mess of laces, but it would definitely show much skin and would make even the rather revealing robes that she had sometimes seen with the priesthood gravitating towards Rhya look like a fortress of cosmopolitan decency and proper fashion. But scarce clothing was better than no clothing, so Yalene started dressing, still shaking her head in amusement and stifling the occasional chuckle. The thought alone of putting this dress on her original, her true human form, to see that short, plain woman that she was, complete with scars and flappy skin at the belly … why, it amused her to no end, and even more so when she imagined that strange captain's reaction to her Druchii-dressed human form. He seemed shallow enough to die of shock this way, as she mused with some amount of satisfaction.

When she was done, she looked into the mirror mainly to check if she had dressed correctly, since the laces had proven to be quite a pain. That extravagant large thing that at the very least allowed her for the first time to take a close look at her appearance.

It was a Dark Elf woman that stared back at her, her face still showing the echo of an amused smile, but a face that looked more like it was painted by an artist trying to depict heavenly beauty without earthbound concerns of realism instead of a person. The mostly black dress, if it deserved that label more than it would if it were a nightgown, revealed much skin, leaving her arms, neck and cleavage as well as much of her upper back and shoulders bare. Laces covered a little bit of her waist in a playful fashion, like they were a wide net, but it only served to highlight the revealed skin; Yalene did like the flowing skirt, though, as well as the pleasant feeling of the soft fabric on her skin, like flowing water. Although the bathing experience had been awkward, she felt so much better now, indeed invigorated, as if the spirit of life within her had finally risen from a long slumber. It felt like the skin could breathe in relief, radiating in the comfort of cleanliness that was quite honestly supported by the dress that left her so scantily-clad. Yalene decided to mark this as a point in the dress's favour. The fact that evidently, shoes were optional in this cabin as well, suited Yalene just fine because of the same reason. This whole outfit had clearly sprung from the brow of a man or was made exclusively to cater to male fantasies. She looked like a doll and would have dismissed her mirror image as such, since the only thing that made it look like a person, like a being that one could relate to, was the amused smile caused by this bizarre situation.

It should have been supremely humiliating, but she remembered the memoirs of an Reikland woman revolutionizing the fashion world when she drew shocked gasps because she dared to show cleavage or bare part of her arms in the past. When that woman had been asked if she wasn't ashamed by the looks she drew from men, but she merely answered 'No. If they leer at other women, no matter how prude, it cheapens these women. But when they dare to set their eyes upon me, they have to avert them because it's them for a change who feel cheap.' It was all a matter of attitude, the Reiklander had explained, and that her attitude was one that made her wear revealing clothes like an armour. It seemed that it was time to channel her inner Irmgard Raureif and hold her head high not despite, but because of the clothes she was wearing.

'Alright, old girl.', she thought at her mirror image, now staring at it intently. The foreign woman's features in the mirror hardened instantly, the fire of determination in her eyes. 'If the Druchii learn the truth, you will die. So lie your butt off and get yourself to safety. Remember, for your sanity's sake: you can't help anybody in this situation. It will be a miracle if you can help yourself.' This was such a sobering thought that she had to repeat it.

'You can't help anybody.'

Steadying herself, she continued with her silent conversation with the person in the mirror. 'He will lie, he will deceive, he will push. Don't falter. You are wise to angry men's antics and have been for decades. You've got this.'

That was not all, however. She needed an achievable goal for the upcoming discussion, this session of lies she had to go through. What did she want from the Dark Elf captain? Despite the mark on her hand, she wanted nothing more than to be set free, to make her way to Altdorf again. There, she could explain herself, somehow. These Dark Elves were slavers and butchers; she would not suffer their company if she could help it. 'Above all, survive and compartmentalize. He has made it abundantly clear that he sees you as part of his race. Keep him in that belief. That also means that you go along with his games in order to be set free. That means for the sake of your sanity, you will like whatever he will be doing. Enjoy yourself. Whatever you do tonight, there can't be shame.' She had to swallow hard at those twisted words, but they were the truth. If she wanted to escape even more despair, she couldn't allow herself to be forced to submit even more. So she had to prepare her mind for going along of her own will that she alone could shape, to pretend until she didn't need to pretend anymore. There was so little control left in her life, so little of her own destiny that could be formed by her alone, but she could still rely on her mind to be flexible and disciplined. Whatever happened, she would deal with it afterwards and survive that as well. When she felt that her mind was ready, she repeated 'You've got this' in her mind again, then straightened her shoulders, called upon her inner Irmgard Raureif and strode out of the little bathroom.

Her little theatrics probably made quite the impression to the younger Bretonnian slave-girl, who greeted her with a tray that she had placed on the table, now cleaned of maps. Bless her heart, because Yalene couldn't even express how thankful she was for a meal served. She even took the time to clasp the hands of the poor, puzzled girl, mumbled a few thanks in either Bretonnian, Reikspiel or Eltharin – truly, she couldn't remember which, but it might have been all of the above – before sitting down and starting to eat while the girl pretended not to watch her. Yalene also noticed that she had to share the table with her father's grimoire, which put her at ease for so many reasons. It seemed that the book had survived its stint in the Freiherr's prison better than she had done.

She had never eaten so slowly in her whole life; after having suppressed the urge to wolf down the bowl of broth standing before her, she had tasted it carefully. She had read earlier this month about the origins of an old, classical word that was erroneously thought to describe the end of the world, but meant more along the lines of revelation or unveiling. The broth on her tongue was so intense in flavour, the experience so new on her newly acquired taste buds that she thought that the term 'apocalypse' was rightfully to be used here, if a bit dramatic. If she had eaten any faster than a sloth, then her senses together with the pleasant scent of soap and the soft fabric on her skin would have been too overwhelming and indeed apocalyptic to her senses.

Of course, it wasn't long until her dearest host arrived in his cabin, accompanied by the other Bretonnian woman. After acknowledging her with a curt nod, he made a reassuring gesture. "Stay seated.", he told her in a tone that seemed to incline that he considered himself exceedingly generous for doing so, oblivious to the fact that she prioritised food and water right now over his company. With the help of the Bretonnian sisters, he loosened his hair out of the ponytail and then started peeling himself out of armour and large parts of his clothing until he was only half-way clothed.
Yalene also couldn't help but notice that he went out of his way to stay in her line of sight, that he discarded his shirt although he didn't need to under the pretence of changing a bandage for a minor wound on his forearm. That kind of posturing was not even subtle, and quite frankly, kind of hilarious.

She had to admit that there was some aesthetic value to this elven specimen if one was inclined to forget that he was a pirate, slaver and ruthless butcher who had unironically offered her body parts of an outmanoeuvred enemy as gifts of endearment. That he had also immensely helped her was something that Yalene still could barely fathom. She did note, however, that he possessed pleasant features, dark eyes and a wiry frame that must have counted as muscular by slender, elven standards. His skin was inhumanly pale, showing its fair share of scars and tattoos.

He looked like a bad idea made flesh. If Finja would have introduced him as a crush, even if he had been human, Yalene would have cautioned her to run away like all of Morgheim was behind her just on appearance alone, no matter how pleasing to the eye it might have been. In another situation, Yalene realized, the sight itself might have aroused her, now that she inhabited this body. But not like this, not while she had seen the blood on his hands and the glee with which he killed. Both times, he had coincidentally done so in her favour, and she sincerely hoped that this elf didn't consider this a debt. That she owed him her life twice over now was not a thought she cherished.

For a few moments of questionable comfortableness, they both examined each while pretending to be terribly preoccupied. While the Bretonnian sisters tidied up and then quietly slipped away with the skill of a seasoned slave knowing how to avoid trouble, Ruvol Blackwater finished his bandaging, while Yalene finished her meal. It had been light, only broth, water, a sliced up steamed carrot and a piece of soft, white bread, and the portions had been small as not to upset or overwhelm her tender stomach. Somebody in the ship's kitchen knew exactly how to treat a starving person, which was a disconcerting thought. The only thing left for her was a small bow with only a spoonful of some sort of mush that suspiciously looked a little like somebody had already eaten that once and sprinkled it with bird droppings. There was also a tiny cup with some sort of substance that she quite honestly was not certain what to do with. It did smell so spicy that she suspected it would burn her eyebrows off if she came too close.

"You are looking more lively.", he finally noted with a slight trace of amusement, rising to casually pour them two goblets of wine, which she declined with a silent gesture. But now, there was no way to avoid this conversation, as the captain leaned back, goblet in hand, and regarded her with guarded curiosity. He also pointedly did not leer at her and kept his eyes firmly fixed on her face, observing her as attentively as she was him."How about you tell me what you were doing here, how you got yourself captured and where you are from?" He had the strange habit of stretching the words to make his words needlessly dramatic when not excited or in battle. It seemed to be some kind of linguistic humour, which Yalene appreciated.

"In that order?" She responded in kind, with the same caution as he did, masking it with the slightest trace of friendly humour. She was still channelling her inner Irmgard Raureif, so the strange feeling of being more naked than she had in a long, long while was less egregious. The fact that she felt keenly that this was not her body to begin with might have played a part as well and made it possible for her to lounge in her chair without pretence, sitting cross-legged while she carefully eyed the reaction of the Dark Elf captain as she told her tale as intended. "I am afraid that my background is not so easily explained. But first, allow me to thank you. I am feeling so much better now." He made a dismissive gesture, so she continued to spin her lie. "I know that I accompanied a sorceress named Vesash to infiltrate the Empire, and I know that a ritual went awry when her spell on a local Witch Hunter weakened." She had never been much of a liar, but experience told her that it was best to keep as close to the truth as possible. Furthermore, she thought that this flotilla of Dark Elf corsairs and the Druchii connected to the dark ritual that had claimed among others her life were somehow connected. So she thought it best to feign memory loss.

Currently, the Druchii captain seemed to listen attentively, so she casually reached for the small bowl with the suspicious-looking mush and carefully probed it with her spoon, continuing her tale. "I only know fragments of what happened before or after. I was taken in by humans, of all people. That's why I walked among them in disguise, and I was caught when I lost that disguise."

The captain furrowed his brow and sipped his wine. "Then why did you flee from us in that human settlement?"

"Would you have believed me that I don't remember exactly how I got here?"

He stared at her, lifting his chin ever so slightly. "I see. Continue."

So far, she was not certain if her tale was believable enough, since it was hard for her to interpret the elf's body language. Elves in general had a very complex language that was complemented through small gestures and subtle changes in pronunciation. To enunciate a word in a more melodic way could change the meaning of the word or even a sentence when one was not careful. That was one of the many reasons why Eltharin was so difficult to learn for humans. Furthermore, Eltharin itself was divided by three dialects that had been supplemented by a slight change in tone and words that had been added in a manner that had always struck Yalene as artificial, as if the elves wanted to differentiate themselves through language. That all also meant that the body language of this man, while overlapping with human body language, could either be much more telling, more subtle or more menacing and she wouldn't be able to tell.

"I then crossed the forest. I think the Eonir either didn't notice me or allowed me to pass since I had one of their spirits in my possession." She spoke in an even tone, careful to appear pleasant and unfazed while she eyed the mush again. Should she eat that? Perhaps it was meant as a spread for the bread and she hadn't noticed? The texture didn't seem right. "The spirit escaped and I arrived at the city of Aarnau."

"Wait a minute, I think I just heard that you enslaved a spirit and lost it in the Laurelorn Forest that you magically crossed in what the humans said must have been two days.", he laughed, but was clearly sceptical. Yalene paused, having to admit to herself that the truest part of the story that he chose to misinterpret was actually quite fantastic and hard to believe.

Much to her surprise, the smile on the Dark Elf's face grew, and he made a gesture of acceptance that indicated that even if he had been sceptical of the rest of the story, that this was the part that he believed to be true. She herself kept her expression carefully neutral, and seeing that he was still pondering on the story she had just told, she decided to try the spoonful of mush just to see what it was and did so in one, fell swoop.

Immediately, when she tasted the contents, her eyes filled up with tears, covering her mouth in a reflex that she couldn't even stop if she wanted to. Closing her eyes, she felt that those tears started flowing freely down her cheeks. It was a small, short burst of sensation and emotion, and she could practically hear the elf being taken aback by her reaction under the rushing of blood in her ears.

"That bad?", he asked, quite puzzled.

She shook her head vigorously, took a moment to gather her bearings and to really absorb that delicious spoonful of sweet dessert she had been given and wiping the tears of joy away. It was a bittersweet experience, but one that she wouldn't have traded for the world and, of course, provided an excellent distraction from the current conversation. Still, in this instance, she thought she owed her interlocutor an explanation, which she did almost in awe of what she had just consumed.

"Rum raisins.", she simply noted, but her voice was filled with emotion that she could scarcely describe or define. "I love them. I truly do."

That whole dessert had been nothing in form of texture, appearance or taste that she would have attributed to human cuisine. But the rum raisins that had been added reminded her of home, reminded her of what she had lost. If given the chance, she could become a drunkard if rum raisins ever had produced one. The elf still seemed rather accepting of that little outburst; he instead put down his goblet with an audible clicking noise, not enough to demonstrate anger, but clearly enough to send a chill of fear down her spine, as he let her know that he was wary of her words. He even smirked a little as he rose from his chair, walking around the table and extending a hand to her.

"Let me show you something."

It would have been a friendly tone and gesture if he were slightly more clothed. Why he eschewed shirts, she didn't exactly want to know. This was an elf, the situation was as bizarre as it could be. So she let herself be taken by the hand and helped up to rise from her chair, a movement that didn't invite vertigo this time around. She felt stronger and a little bit more focused, the fog of exhaustion finally starting to clear. With an expression that Yalene couldn't quite describe, he led her two steps to the window.

Any captain's cabin, be it human or elven vessel, was usually located at the stern of the ship atop the waterline. It also usually contained the largest window on the ship, as it was the case here. He led her there so that she could watch the scene the ship left behind. She could feel how he positioned himself behind her, feel the warmth of his body as he stopped only an inch before their bodies touched, the invasion of her personal space that was by all accounts unpleasant. She received the impression that he was doing this deliberately, especially given the scenery she witnessed. She had had turned her back to the window before, but now she saw the Imperial coastline and the burning building that the Dark Elves had left behind … they must have set the Noble's mansion ablaze after looting everything of value. For some reason, this was an immensely demoralizing thought for her.

Her body tensed involuntarily as she felt his touch, just his fingertips lightly resting on her hip bone. It was enough to make her blood curdle and her stomach churn while she felt his breath on the skin of her ear, his low whisper in its politeness and faux-friendliness a subtle menace.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He paused, letting the innocent words built up into the true question. "Or is it?"

He knew. Dear gods, he knew. Yalene froze, her mind frantically searching for a lie she could use, something to tell this man that she was no danger, that he could release her, that he did not need to burn down anything else, but any thought rested, and the words were stuck in her throat. One of his hands now rested on her shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly as if to force her to face the sight of the burning building.

"How about the truth now?" She realized that she was currently subjected to intimidation tactics, and since the Dark Elf was so close and had already demonstrated that he could overpower her with ease, those tactics didn't miss their mark completely. In fact, it made her stutter.

"That's the truth." Even to Yalen's ears, this sounded unconvincing, even without seeing the facial expression of the man behind her. That was part of the terror, she noted, part of the intimidation.

"You. Try. My. Patience." Ruvol Blackwater snarled, again dangerously quiet. "You refuse seeing your captor bleed. You flee from your own, but not humans. You keep human books as your treasured possession. Your Druhir is atrocious." She could hear him smirk. "And worst of all, you don't dip your bread into the Velárn-Oil. Only barbarians do that, but you clearly have table manners." With a sudden movement, he spun her around, pressing her against the window glass, towering over her, his gaze intense. "You are no Druchii. Are you a spy? A runaway slave?"

She was thoroughly scared that she would quickly share the fate of her Hochfels neighbours or worse, so her voice was only a scared, desperate whisper that she barely recognized. "I am neither spy nor slave. I can't tell you anything you would believe. This happened to me. I don't remember anything else." This was unstructured, but she really didn't think that this man would accept any answer right now.

She was proven right a moment later when he grabbed her hair, forcing her to look into his face. This was also the first time he raised his voice. "If you don't tell the truth this instant, I have ways to get it out of you. So talk now!"

Despite the painful tug at her hair and the Dark Elf shouting into her face, Yalene was almost relieved. He had started shouting, and in this, he was no different than any angry man she had ever had the displeasure of knowing. In her eyes, he had all the power in this place, so shouting at her and needing this kind of intimidation tactic made her believe that he was either bluffing, or that he didn't have the means to make her tell the truth other than torture, and that was by no means a secure source of information. Strangely enough, it strengthened her resolve to keep her secret, and it strengthened her belief that she was better off to never disclose it. The fact that he pointedly did not threaten to kill her was also not lost on her – he threatened nothing at all but force, but had apparently no plans to dispose of her anytime soon. That was a strangely comforting thought.

That was the reason why her response was fraught of fear, but not nearly as much as somebody resorting to screaming would have hoped. In fact, Yalene sounded resigned. "That is the truth, no matter what means you employ. You'll get the same answer." She left that sentence in a demure and defeated tone, in hopes that this would calm him down.

It didn't. Instead, his lips curled into a smirk, clearly savouring what he said next. "Very well. I would have liked to avoid this, but we have to employ magic now."

Blast it! That wasn't fair! How did she deserve such rotten luck as had befallen her lately?

Ruvol had loosened his grip on her hair, lips turned into a cruel and smug smile. When he let her hair go, he left his hand trailing down her spine before, rather provocatively, squeezing one of her buttcheeks. Yalene did her best to ignore it, no matter how humiliating it was and despite the surge of anger she felt over the intrusion. That must have shown on her face, since the smile on the Druchii's face broadened. "Among my crew, there is a sorceress. She is able to cast this spell, but as always, there's a cost. You see, it is terribly, dreadfully, excruciatingly painful, the kind of agony that shatters the mind into tiny little pieces until only an empty husk remains. I'd rather not risk this, but it seems like you leave me no choice ..."

This time, it was Yalene who was fed up with his groping and faked friendliness that only served to mask that sadistic pleasure, so she interrupted him, rather rudely and matter-of-factly. "You will do it anyway, no matter what I say now."

"True." He replied simply and with a hint of respect, but that he stopped groping her didn't stop him from turning her around in a quick, fluid motion and forcing her on her knees, keeping her in place with one hand at her shoulder. "Fascinating spell. You will tell me the truth, no matter how outlandish it sounds, and there is nothing you can do about it."

Since she was already forced into a humiliating position on her knees, Yalene didn't see any reason to give his taunting any more credence or attention, kept her eyes on the wall and her lips pressed together tightly. But this made him only smile again. "My first mate and I made a bet if we get tactical information on any Asur-operations tonight. For what it's worth, I really hope that your mind is still intact after this procedure. NISHA! Come in!"

He had barely called her name when another Druchii rushed into the cabin. This was the first time that Yalene saw what an ancient crone among elves looked like, and this was definitely one. She had aged horribly even by human standards, her face covered with wrinkles and deep, dark scars, as if something had drawn the youth and beauty out of her through those blackened wounds. She must have stood at the door to wait for her cue, which told Yalene that this spell had been planned from the beginning, and the conversation beforehand had merely been a sadistic game for the captain's amusement. Since he also mentioned he had made a bet, he had already decided that she was some sort of High Elf spy, and had played with her like a cat did with a caught mouse. Conclusion: Ruvol Blackwater was a bastard, and that insulted bastards everywhere. There was no time to muse about it now, since to Yalene's utter surprise, the frail crone approached her positively cooing.

"Awwww, what a young little bird you have there. What a beauty!" That delight the sorceress radiated appeared to be genuine … and genuinely creepy from the recipient's point of view, who eyed the other woman warily as she tentatively touched Yalene's cheek before she addressed Ruvol again with a kind and grandmotherly tone. "Captain, are you certain? That seems such a terrible waste." And just to top it all off, she patted Yalene's cheek in the same, amicable fashion, now practically purring. "Grey eyes, just like a dove. How charming." That little pat and those compliments frightened Yalene more than any shouting, threatening and groping the dramatic elf holding her down had done, which was quite the feat on the sorceress' part. Beside her, she heard the man chuckle.

"She knows that we will continue, no matter what, and just hope that her mind survives. There's no need to beat around the bush."

"What a pity." The sorceress really looked disappointed. "I so enjoy the banter and the dread."

What a pity, because Yalene on her part would enjoy seeing that sorceress spontaneously combust. But they were all set up for disappointments this evening.

"I enjoy that banter as well, Nisha. But there is always a next time." The captain said in a friendly, even charming tone as she knelt behind Yalene, holding her tight as to prevent even a slight struggle from her part. Little did he know that she had had her share of botched rituals, thank you very much, and was now more angry than scared about the ritual about to happen. Ever since Dark Elves and their magic had entered her life, it had been upside down and was now about to go worse. She didn't know if those people were bluffing or if the side effects of the spell were that dramatic, or if the spell was really that powerful. But what she knew was that a shattered mind also meant forgetting about the past, and giving all that had transpired, sweet oblivion was not the worst outcome she could imagine. All in all, she would like to see if that spell could do what the Dark Elves promised, and if there was indeed nothing she could do. There was a good chance that the spell targeted the soul, in which case, chaos and possibly hilarity for all of them was about to ensue, and Yalene found herself surprisingly beyond caring.

Also, the man literally breathing down her neck could spontaneously combust as well, as far as Yalene was concerned.

The elves exchanged looks, after which the sorceress ran her fingers across Yalene's face, chanting as she did in a language she did not understand. The sorceress' hands started to glow in a dazzling, violet light that seemed to turn solid. It felt like it crawled under Yalene's skin, painfully like boiling blood flooding through the veins, flowing through her body. It was painful, but not the agony they had threatened, thank goodness, but the headache as the magic flooded the head was unpleasant enough. Soon enough, there was a strange sensation like dissolving, after which she could hear the voices of the sorceress and the captain, as well as her own as if she was being underwater. There was no way that she could make out words or even the tone of the conversation. After that, there was only silence, endless silence.