Thanks for all the kudos and comments – you all are helping fuel the desire to get back to writing. God knows I have other works that have been on hiatus .
I shall repeat the warning from last chapter. We all know what horrible shit Aylin went through and this chapter is going to be some of the worst of it. A lot of blood and violence in this chapter and much more than what was in the last chapter. (jokingly – at what point does this become a snuff fic)
Thanks for reading and I hope you keep with me for the next chapters as well.
Blessed Nightsinger, witness our adoration.
After dying two times in an hour, Dame Aylin came to in blissful silence face down on the cold stone floor that became her prison. The only light coming from the arcane runes in a sea of darkness. With a throaty cough she spat out the clotted blood in her mouth and throat. But even more uncomfortable than that was the squishy, wet sensation of her eviscerated organs underneath her – fully removed from her abdominal cavity thanks to Shar's sadistic touch.
"Dark Traitor," with a growl Aylin pushes herself up and with a glance down she sees the tattered remains of her tunic – its magical mending still holding up even in this place. Through the blood soaked top she sees the newest golden scars. The scar on her chest is a gnarled looking thing and the one on her gut has its own jagged appearance that spans her whole abdomen.
Stiffly she stands – Gods coming back to life always hurt – and takes a few steps before the ethereal hands grab her. Then she feels a stabbing pain in her back and another in chest – she glances down and then to her back, but she doesn't see the clawed hands causing the pain. Her breath leaves her as the pain intensifies before the arcane glyphs brighten. She watches as a tendril of moonlight stretches from her body to connect to a dark tendril of shadow.
"Foul mage," she spits at the ground at what must have been that horrid magus's doing. The pain subsides as she feels some of her strength leave her. It seems Ketheric was using her immortality for more than just strengthening Shar's Dark Justiciar numbers. Draining her own strength (and lifeforce) to heal his own wounds.
She can only pray to her mother that they rid the world of the mage and free her. Then. Then she'll crush Ketheric underneath her boot and rid the world of Shar's Dark Justiciars.
"Moonmother, I offer my solemn vow to you. I will kill that traitorous snake Ketheric Thorm."
See how we serve you, only you.
The time in the Shadowfell passes at an unknown rate as if one can tell in a place like this and without a need to eat (a feat that came with her immortality) it is impossible to even gauge based off hunger pangs. She has remained in this cage and she marks the time kneeling to pray to her mother and remaining there while she thinks of new, imaginative ways to rip Ketheric's spinal column through his mouth.
As she replays another violent end for Ketheric she hears the sounds of footfalls in the distance. She only catches glimpses of a purple and black cloak jumping from rock to rock and her heart pounds in her chest. The sounds of footfalls continues to get closer and closer before she can hear a woman's voice utter a repeated prayer.
"Mother of Night, darken my step as I walk through the light. Hear my prayer," the woman lands on the rock containing her cage and Aylin catches the first glimpse of the Sharran worshipper. Aylin goes to stand but the spectral hands hold her in her kneeling position.
"Ah it seems your cowardly Lady fears me even here – in her realm," she mocks the woman as she glares daggers at her.
A young yet tall human woman covered from shoulder to ankle in robes of black and purple takes several unsure steps towards her. Her green eyes show unshed tears, but her eyes have a far-away look in them. A look Aylin is familiar with – a look that those who are speaking with their deities. Gods know she saw that look on Isobe- she feels sorrow in her heart at the thought of her most beloved.
Then the woman's hand touches her shoulder with the faintest of touches. Then the unshed tears are gone in an instant as the woman pulls out a vicious looking twisted dagger. Within seconds the woman light touch turns to steel forcing Aylin closer. Then the dagger buries itself in her chest puncturing a lung before yanking it from her flesh.
"Mother. Of. Night," the start of the Sharran's prayer is punctuated with the woman stabbing Aylin in the chest and neck. Aylin drowns in her own blood before the prayer is finished.
She can't stop her thoughts as they linger on Isobel deep in prayer to her mother before a blush appears on the woman's face.
We have emptied our hearts of falsehoods.
The time continues to pass without much deviation from Aylin's new norm of suffering. Sharran's come and go – uttering their prayers before most simply kill her with a quick stab to the heart (or a stab through the back from the cowards). Each continues with the same Aylin notices small changes in the garb of her murderers which she uses to place the worshippers from certain locations or with some drastic changes to indicate some change of the times outside the Shadowfell. Of course, even with that, it is still impossible to determine how much time has passed since her imprisonment.
Again the sounds of prayer indicate a new arrival to her prison. The man's voice is gruff and his steps far heavier than most of Shar's little shadows. But instead of one of the larger races a gnome in full plate takes loud steps towards her with a glaive in one hand.
Gods did she miss her armor.
The gnome yanks off his helm and there is a faint familiarity in the man's face but she struggles to place it until she takes a good look at his eyes. Eyes that once looked at her in fear, relief, and happiness all in one night back when the gnomish man was a small boy lost in the cold. The same boy who must be thirty something years old – Moonmaiden she must have been here for 15 years now.
"Glim," her voice rings out and she sees the man look at her in shock – helm falling to the stone. The sounds of metal hitting stone reverberates through the quietness of the Shadowfell. With a clear look she now can see the scars on his face and disappearing beneath his gambeson and plate armor.
She feels her heart race – surely if there is anyone who she can convince to help her it is Glim.
"You've grown so big, Glim," her voice shakes as she looks at the gnomish man. Her mind races back to her and Isobel finding the freezing gnomish boy before helping his to heal his mother.
"Your mother she must be-" her sentence is cut off with a faint sound of the air displacing as Glim appears in front of her. The squelching of a the head of the glaive ripping through Aylin's body follows the sounds of Glim's teleportation. The glaive is ripped from her body before it impales her again. Guts heart, and lung pierced and the point of her shoulder bursts as the glaive's head exists through it.
Glim holds her there golden blood flowing over his hands.
"You and your false cleric whore brought nothing but death to her. Mistress of the Night, guide my hand to cleanse the world of the other false clerics."
For the first time in the Shadowfell Aylin feels tears streaming down her face. Lady Shar's followers couldn't just kill her and her mother's followers – they are tarnishing all good the Selûnites have accomplished and corrupting it to increase their own numbers.
She wheezes the gnomish man's name before he pulls the glaive through the wound twisting the head to shred her already shattered heart.
We have vanquished your foes.
Following her death at Glim's hand, Aylin found herself suffering at the hands of Sharrans in silence afraid that her voice will betray her. Each subsequent death less painful and even the pain from her link with Ketheric has lessened.
Shar's prayers change over time. Her followers praying to silence the false song in their hearts and return to her embrace. Telling them to end the Nightsong.
Honestly, she would prefer them to just be up front about killing her instead of hiding it behind the bitch's shadowy words.
But even after the times, clothes, and prayers have changed so little something surprises her. Instead of the sounds of singular footsteps, Aylin can hear several footfalls. Three – no four. As they approach she sees the bandaged hands sticking out of heavy robes that obscure their faces and bodies and with a careful glance she can see the hands belong to several races. A green dragonborn (again a big surprise there), a human (no those hands look like a cross between an elf and a human) half-elf, a dwarf, and a tiefling (the individuals red pointed tail giving it away more than the red hands) approach her with the half-elf in the center.
Aylin stands and takes some steps forward until the spectral hands stop her. If she's going to die at the hands of these four, she'll face it on her feet.
She hears a whispered conversation in elvish starts as the figures look at each other.
"What are we doing here," the half-elf woman calls out lowering her cloak, "have we not proven ourselves to our Lady enough. How many of the heretics have I killed?"
"Our Lady demands it. You know-"
"Demands we kill this woman," the hands point to her. "Not only kill her but kill someone who can't fight back- look at her. How many cowards killed a restrained woman?"
The hope that was extinguished with Glim killing her peaks its head back up. Is this Sharran refusing to kill her?
"MIRNA, ENOUGH," the dragonborn calls out stepping towards the half-elf. "You will do your duty to our Lady."
"I will not kill a –" the half-elf, Mirna, is cut off as the dwarf kicks the back of her knees. Before the tiefling sends a hard kick to the woman's sternum. The dragonborn's claws bury themselves in the half-elf's hair.
"Last chance. End. The. Nightsong," the punches rain down on Mirna to punctuate the dragonborn's order. Aylin can only hear spit and what is probably blood hitting the scaly face of the dragonborn.
"You cowardl-"
The sounds of punching fills the air as Aylin watches the three other Sharran monks beat the half-elf to death. Bone breaking and flesh impacting flesh echoes off the stone about the Shadowfell. After minutes the brutal death of the half-elf is over and the blood covered trio turn towards her.
"You fucking cowards"
Sounds of a brutal beating starts and Aylin offers a small prayer of thanks to Mirna for attempting to reason on her behalf while Aylin feels bones breaking and her organs rupturing under raining of punches and kicks.
In darkness, we see your truth.
A few more groups of monks and paladins come through the Shadowfell, but no one dares speak a word on her behalf -or ask questions about the broken and rotting corpse just outside of the soulcage. Each taking their turn to kill her – waiting long enough for her body to repair itself before another one kills her.
Seemingly Shar's need for Dark Justiciars forcing her to forgo the secretive killing of her and going for quantity over quality of the lesson. Just as Aylin gets used to the group kill (as much as one stuck in this infernal prison can get used to being killed over and over again) it stops, and the individual ritual begins anew.
Like always there the ones she prefers – ones that don't stab her in the back, don't drag out her death, and thankfully don't keep fucking talking. Then the others who drag her death out or won't shut the hells up – and the high elf in front of her falls into the latter category.
His long blonde hair and face are speckled with blood and his white teeth and mouth forms a snarl as he steps around her.
"Unlike all the other, holier than thou, worshippers. I focus my worship to the Mistress of Pain," he says digging the knife into her forehead before slicing deep into her face and down the side of her nose.
The spectral hands like iron on her wrists as she attempts to claw at the elf.
"I'm not here for that Nightsong nonsense, you see," the knife continuing to slice into her cheekbone scraping off the bone to pierce into her mouth and tongue.
"The Kiss of the Lady beckoned me here." The flick of the knife cuts through the tip of her nose before dragging down to her lips. Teeth loosening as the knife cuts through gum and roots.
Aylin's mind flashed to the aftermath of the Kiss of the Lady ritual older Sharran's participated in. The spree of murder and vile acts all done in the name of Shar.
The carving of her face continues but Aylin's refusal to cry out – a hard thing to accomplish when her mouth keeps filling with blood- the elf pulls out a warpick. The first time the elf sends the warpick through her right shoulder she can't help but gasp. But the subsequent twisting and jerking of the warpick which destroys the whole shoulder joint pulls a scream from her throat.
The high elf's grin widens and Aylin's screams echo in the Shadowfell as her other shoulder and each knee suffer the same fate. The little sadist leaves each warpick in upon realizing how quickly she can recover from the wounds. Her suffering at the hands of the high elf only stops what feels like days later when another Sharran appears.
"Varin, enough playing with your food," a hoarse voice calls out before stepping on the stone platform with her cage.
"I will remember you, Varin. Mark my words as –" his hands grip her throat and she is slowly suffocated.
Embrace us, your loyal warriors.
Thankfully, the next of her murderers are not sadists and even the older human (gods he must be nearing 70) in front of her. Unlike many he just offers a prayer to Shar upon stepping closer to her soulcage before taking out his longsword with another prayer.
"Oh, paladin of Shar, what oath brought you down here?" her voice is barely a whisper as the man finishes his prayer.
"Redemption brought me here, child. I've done horrible things before, and my Mistress has guided me on a way to redeem myself. I had hoped I was done with this killing business," his milky eyes lock in her direction.
With a tired sigh, Aylin stood. For the first time Aylin found herself face to face with someone as devout as herself – if only he wasn't a worshipper of Shar. At least he seemed bothered about what he was about to do.
"I hope you find your redemption, paladin."
The old man moves fast as he approaches and before she knew it, he was face to face with her. His closeness to her seemingly awakening another sense as he finally sees her. His milky eyes lock with hers.
The well cared for blade misses ribs and bisects her heart within seconds of his approach and she doesn't even know when he stabbed her. She watches tears going down the man's face and hopes that this man would be the reason her suffering would end. He quickly pulls the blade out before guiding her body to the stone ground. As her lifeblood spills from the wound, she hears the man weeping and asking in Celestial for forgiveness for killing a fellow divine blood.
"I forgive you." She dies seconds after uttering the words in Celestial.
Cloak us in your shadow.
The paladin's plead for forgiveness continued in Aylin's mind as the killings continued.
But the appearance of Balthazar accompanied by a large golem renews her hatred of the magus. The golem trudges two steps behind Balthazar and Aylin can see the large spiked mace grafted on one of its arms and a large pick on the other.
"Aylin, you have looked better," his mocking voice grates on her nerves.
"Ah, Baltazar, your putrid breath persists even after all this time," the ethereal hands holding her in place as Balthazar makes a reaching gesture towards her.
The golem rushed forward and the two weapons it has for hands hits her hard. The pick pierces her neck and remains there while the golem continues to slam her with the mace. Darkness takes her vision while Balthazar watches with a smile.
She comes to with her neck still pierced by the pick which is no longer connected to the golem's arm. The golem still stands next to her, its mace hand replaced with a jagged saw which the other was replaced with a claw. She can hear the sound of Balthazar scratching through some of the arcane sigils of her soulcage. She can feel her strength returning to her and summons her wings. If she can get away long enough, she can summon her armor and destroy this abomination and its mage puppeteer.
She flaps her wings the second they full form on her body for the first time since Ketheric killed her. She starts to get off the ground but is brought down as the golem's clawed arm pierces both wings just below the armored joints. It slams her on the ground and the breath leaves her body from the sudden impact.
"It took some urging but General Throm finally let me come here to gather specimens," the horrid mage kneels beside her as the golem places a massive foot in between her wings. The sounds of scratching continues and Aylin feels her strength leave her with the soulcage activating again.
"And what fine specimens that you will provide," the claw extends her wings out and Aylin desperately tries to dismiss the wings as the pain makes her breathless. Out of the corner of her vision she can see Balthazar picking up pieces of her flesh ripped from her in the golem's initial onslaught as he looks at them in awe.
"Now, Flesh, time is of the essence."
The foot in the middle of her back is replaced by a massive knee on the small of her back and in all of Aylin's time in the Shadowfell could not prepare her for the pain of the golem sawing through her shoulder blades to remove the wings at the base.
"We mustn't waste a perfectly good specimen," he kneels down in front of her face before cutting her tongue out.
Guide us to your victory.
The multitudes of death continues and Aylin's mind draws her in away from the horrors inflicted upon her. Her mind takes her along the path of meeting Isobel even while she suffers at the hands of Sharrans.
The butterflies in her stomach when she was preparing to propose even while she is eviscerated as a Sharran prays. Isobel trailing kisses down her chest while blade after blade stabs into her chest. Isobel hands touching her wrist to cast cure wounds even while a merciless Sharran cuts her hands off above the wrists.
Of Isobel nuzzling against her neck when the two fell asleep listening to the bard at a tavern while the last blood clot is coughed out of Aylin's lungs and throat.
Aylin's heart filling with love as they finish the night stalk while Aylin's heart remains intact.
Isobel's hands in her hair as Aylin made love to her and Isobel's moans fill the air while the sounds of Sharrans praying stops filling the air of the Shadowfell.
The silence continues and Aylin's mind returns back to the Shadowfell and the silence of it all is somehow deafening. Shaking legs take a step forward and then another with freedom close at hand. But that possible joy is cut off with the spectral hands grasping her arms with the third step. She curses before starting to return to the center of the soulcage.
But her second step is stopped when she feels pain in her chest and neck. Jabbing pain in what must have been Ketheric being stabbed in the chest. Hacking cuts to what would likely be someone trying to cut Ketheric's head off.
As the pain continues to ripple through her body, Aylin kneels and finds a prayer rolling off her tongue.
"May Selûne guide your steps in the night, and bring them a new dawn."
The prayer continues as the pain ceases and the silence continues in the Shadowfell.
Shar's will shall be done.
Like always the silence is broken in the Shadowfell by a new arrival.
Well, by several new arrivals by the number of footfalls Aylin hears – her ears now more sensitive to these following however long it has been silent.
"You cleared the way for me, True Soul. What promising flesh you are. As a reward, I shall let you bear witness to my masterpiece," Balthazar's gravelly voice echoes in the air. Aylin stands from her kneeling position to start pacing in the soulcage but a woman's voice stops her mid-step.
"This is the Dark Lady's domain – you don't not belong here."
"I had been trying to reach this place, to retrieve something of great value. And thanks to you, the path is unblocked."
Unblocked – what the hells did Balthazar mean by unblocked. Aylin's mind flashes to the lack of Sharrans in the last eternity and her heart sinks. If it's unblocked THAT will start anew.
"Bravo. Now get on with it. Try not to lose your footing. I'd hate to see good flesh wasted on a long fall into oblivion," Balthazar's voice makes her skin crawl as she recalls similar words when he and his golem mutilated her.
The footsteps continue as the group jumps from rock to rock before the sound of five people landing on the rock containing her prison. Aylin takes in Balthazar's appearance and stops herself from smiling at the grotesque look of Balthazar. She starts towards the man's horrid visage and two hands grasp at her arms stopping her from approaching further. Shrugging out of their grasps when she stops the attempt.
"Balthazar. Come to add more bars to my cage," Aylin speaks as the rest of group steps forward.
Her eyes sweep across the others noting the tiefling woman in leather armor and a glowing coming from her chest, a Githyanki woman decked out in intricately designed armor with rubies placed throughout, the obvious mage of a human man wearing a purple tunic wielding a staff, and high half-elf with a circle bearing Shar's symbol – a newer version but still the same.
"Or perhaps to lead this would-be Justiciar's blade directly to my heart?" She says as she surges forward beckoning to the Sharran half-elf. The spectral hands grasp her arm, shoulder, and waist like so many years ago – was it her or were they weaker now – the grips no longer like iron.
The snarl the Sharran gives her tells her everything she needs to know – her torment will begin anew.
"I invite you: heap more sins upon your head. My retribution will be all the sweeter for them," her voice takes it defeated tone. Baltahzar's voice pulls her from her sorrow – rage bubbling back to the surface with every word from the rotting man.
"All this time, and you still fail to appreciate the gifts I bestowed on you, Aylin. Sad, to see a thing of beauty not recognize its own worth. But General Thorm – he appreciates you. And he wants you close at hand, so I am here to whisk you back to him."
Of course her pain could not be as simple as suffering at the hands of Sharrans again. That traitorous snake, Ketheric wants to try his hand at her torture again. Then Alyin's eyes finally catch on the symbol clasping Balthazar's cloak closed.
Myrkul. If Balthazar –if Ketheric are now serving Myrkul what the hells is the Sharran doing here?
"Ketheric," her spit lands on Balthazar's shoe, "I welcome the sight of him, after these hundred years. He whose immortality I supply with my very soul."
The brief look of rage flood the eyes of the necromancer and his voice turns cold.
"General. Thorm. I'm sure you'll be on your best behavior for him. But just in case, I've taken some precautions. Keep back. It will take quiet some concentration to secure Aylin for her little journey."
Balthazar starts moving his hands and the arcane runes activate. Aylin's hearing is drowned out by the pulses of energy starting around her. What horrors could a worshipper of the Deathless Lord of Death wreak on an immortal being? Her suffering at the hands of her mother's vile sister may pale in comparison to the god of decay.
"Aylin is so much more than that. She is an assimar, bound to a soulcage of my creation, and lending her immortal strength to General Thorm. Her power, his will, and my genius. An unsurpassable feat."
Her hearing returns in time to hear the man's gloating. He seems to have forgotten his trickery and Ketheric's backstabbing. The words nearly leave her mouth as the Sharran speaks.
"You are the one who interferes – in Lady Shar's bidding. For that, you must die."
The arms grip her hard – locking her in place as the Sharran and her companions attack Balthazar. From the battle she learns the names of the group- Gale, Karlach, Lae'zel, and Shadowheart – what a Sharran name. The fight leaves the group bloodied and Balthazar a rotting pile of flesh. Aylin feels the strength of the soulcage lessen.
"Balthazar has drawn his final rancid breath. A pity is was not my hand that brought it about. Instead, it was you. You, who have come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart," the ethereal hands again grasp her as she steps toward Shadowheart. The woman snarls at her.
"Not a dagger – a spear. My Lady Shar's spear. Her fate is mine to seal. Let me handle this."
The only thing that comes to mind as she looks at this next Sharran assassin is that she looks like a nasty little terrier.
As sure as night will fall.