The Pain (Part 2)
Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2005 4:00 pm
SMACK!
Szintala fell to the ground, a hand going up to cup her inflamed cheek. She grimaced inwardly, looking at her bloody hand, feeling the blood drip from her nostrils. Hate flared in her chest, heating her ears as she struggled to get up.
A foot planted itself on her chest, pushing her back down roughly. Determined, she tried to sit up on her elbows, but the heel of the boot dug into her, and she gasped as she collapsed, her hands still pushing futilely against the floor.
"Stop struggling, bitch!" Szintala grasped the boot and tried to push it away.
"I said...STOP struggling!" The foot lifted from her chest and lashed out brutally, catching her in the side of her abdominals, eliciting a choked gasp and a moan of pain. Reaching down, the 7th year student grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled her up, before hurling her against the wall, her head smashing against a bronze fixture, rebounding off it violently and spinning as she hit the floor again.
Laughter, amused and nonchalant, drifted through the room as the footsteps receded away, leaving the bloodied drowling alone. A frightened goblin hurried over, hesitation on his face. In its mind, he debated the merits of helping or running off, its small brain trying to gauge the possible consequences of what might happen. Old scars seemed to burn on his back as he bent over and tried to look at Szintala's face.
His ears perked up as he heard her moan softly her thin bony fingers hesitated, before he gently brushed away the silken strands of her hair. Wincing, he looked at the bruise on her face, her bleeding nose and the bloody scratches where the flesh had been scraped away.
With a look down both ends of the hallway, he bent and tried to pick her up. Heaving as hard as he could, the goblin sagged, letting out frustrated sigh. Grabbing her robe, he planted his feet on the ground and began to pull, and slowly, dragged her into the shadows of the hallway.
* * * * *
She awoke with a start, her upper body jerking upwards before the pain caught up with her, a long drawn out moan as she slowly lay down again. Her thin shift was drenched in sweat, and she twisted her head slightly, trying to ignore the pain as she looked around the stinking hovel, her eyes quickly focusing on the little petrified goblin who stared right back at her.
Disgust and disdain lit up her features almost instantly, an inculcated feeling of superiority long ingrained into her psyche coming to life. The goblin seemed frozen in fear, her lower limbs quaking as he took in her baleful glare, as if all the blame for her injuries were because of him.
She reached up and wiped a cobweb from her eye, immediately feeling the small poultice that covered the gash on her cheek. A horrified feeling filled her as she ripped off the cobweb and vinegar dressing. She looked at it for a long moment, rage boiling in her heart.
Leaping to her feet, she rounded on the squealing goblin, his face turned away and hands raised to ward her off. Gasping from pain, she limped over to him her clenched fists shaking from the pain she felt inside.
She laid into him with a vengeance, every blow she landed on him causing her as much pain as well. The squealing goblin, well aware what would happen if he actually struck back, curled into a ball.
"Kaaah'lieeh! Kahleeeh!" He cried out, in a crude approximation of the drow word for Mercy. It was unfortunate for him, that Szintala was young, and with that concept so alien to Drow society, didn't understand that meaning of the word.
Frustrated by the inability of her punches and kicks to sufficiently hurt him, Szintala grabbed the nearest object at hand, a wooden stick that had been made into a crude spoon. Smacking it on the goblin's head, she elicited a yelp from him. But it didn't just do that. The head of the spoon broke and flew through the air, and suddenly, Szintala was in possession of a sharp and dangerous object.
Grabbiz hurried back to his hovel, a cleaned and unbloodied robe in his hand. His thoughts were hopeful, perhaps the little drow would be grateful, maybe grateful enough to reward them just a little bit, like food, or maybe a few coppers, or maybe even...
Grabbiz's head jerked up at the long and piercing scream that echoed through the slave quarters. Blood rushed from his face as he recognized the voice, and the pain. Fear gave him speed he never knew he had, and he burst into his little hovel to find the drow girl he had rescued straddling the fast cooling corpse of his son.
He stood there in muted shock as Szintala stood, blood still dripping from the wooden implement in his hand. Grabbiz felt himself choke with emotion, his yellowed eyes gazing mournfully at his son before he looked at Szintala.
"Ele?" He said. Why?
She held out the cobweb and vinegar he had almost lovingly applied to the wound, her rage spent and satiated. She was almost smug when she answered, deriving pleasure from the pain she felt in his heart.
Pain.
Delicious pain.
"Nindol zhah natha cress." She explained. This is a web.
"Natha Orbb's cress." A Spider's Web, she continued.
His look of horror and pain was unblinking as he continued to gaze at her, not understanding.
Hissing in frustration, she flung it at him, making him flinch as it hit him wetly and began to slide off.
"Xun dos zhaun lu'oh verve ol plynnen? Lu'oh mzilt xund gos wund morfelith natha cress?"
Seven years in the service of the Drow is like an eternity, and the suffering was much less if one knew their language.
Do you know how long it takes? How much effort goes into making a web?
"Ol zhah delmah! Delmah ulu orbben! Lu'oh kuuv dos olplynir natha orbb d' olt delmah!" It is home! Home to spiders! How dare you rob a spider of its home!
Shaking, his knees thudded to the floor, his face wet with tears as he gazed upon the corpse of his son. Holding his face in his hands, he wept bitter tears.
Snarling, Szintala moved back over to the small cot where she had awoke, feeling almost peaceful as she drifted off into reverie. When she opened her eyes, Grabbiz was still there, softly cradling the slack-jawed body of his son.
Szintala fell to the ground, a hand going up to cup her inflamed cheek. She grimaced inwardly, looking at her bloody hand, feeling the blood drip from her nostrils. Hate flared in her chest, heating her ears as she struggled to get up.
A foot planted itself on her chest, pushing her back down roughly. Determined, she tried to sit up on her elbows, but the heel of the boot dug into her, and she gasped as she collapsed, her hands still pushing futilely against the floor.
"Stop struggling, bitch!" Szintala grasped the boot and tried to push it away.
"I said...STOP struggling!" The foot lifted from her chest and lashed out brutally, catching her in the side of her abdominals, eliciting a choked gasp and a moan of pain. Reaching down, the 7th year student grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled her up, before hurling her against the wall, her head smashing against a bronze fixture, rebounding off it violently and spinning as she hit the floor again.
Laughter, amused and nonchalant, drifted through the room as the footsteps receded away, leaving the bloodied drowling alone. A frightened goblin hurried over, hesitation on his face. In its mind, he debated the merits of helping or running off, its small brain trying to gauge the possible consequences of what might happen. Old scars seemed to burn on his back as he bent over and tried to look at Szintala's face.
His ears perked up as he heard her moan softly her thin bony fingers hesitated, before he gently brushed away the silken strands of her hair. Wincing, he looked at the bruise on her face, her bleeding nose and the bloody scratches where the flesh had been scraped away.
With a look down both ends of the hallway, he bent and tried to pick her up. Heaving as hard as he could, the goblin sagged, letting out frustrated sigh. Grabbing her robe, he planted his feet on the ground and began to pull, and slowly, dragged her into the shadows of the hallway.
* * * * *
She awoke with a start, her upper body jerking upwards before the pain caught up with her, a long drawn out moan as she slowly lay down again. Her thin shift was drenched in sweat, and she twisted her head slightly, trying to ignore the pain as she looked around the stinking hovel, her eyes quickly focusing on the little petrified goblin who stared right back at her.
Disgust and disdain lit up her features almost instantly, an inculcated feeling of superiority long ingrained into her psyche coming to life. The goblin seemed frozen in fear, her lower limbs quaking as he took in her baleful glare, as if all the blame for her injuries were because of him.
She reached up and wiped a cobweb from her eye, immediately feeling the small poultice that covered the gash on her cheek. A horrified feeling filled her as she ripped off the cobweb and vinegar dressing. She looked at it for a long moment, rage boiling in her heart.
Leaping to her feet, she rounded on the squealing goblin, his face turned away and hands raised to ward her off. Gasping from pain, she limped over to him her clenched fists shaking from the pain she felt inside.
She laid into him with a vengeance, every blow she landed on him causing her as much pain as well. The squealing goblin, well aware what would happen if he actually struck back, curled into a ball.
"Kaaah'lieeh! Kahleeeh!" He cried out, in a crude approximation of the drow word for Mercy. It was unfortunate for him, that Szintala was young, and with that concept so alien to Drow society, didn't understand that meaning of the word.
Frustrated by the inability of her punches and kicks to sufficiently hurt him, Szintala grabbed the nearest object at hand, a wooden stick that had been made into a crude spoon. Smacking it on the goblin's head, she elicited a yelp from him. But it didn't just do that. The head of the spoon broke and flew through the air, and suddenly, Szintala was in possession of a sharp and dangerous object.
Grabbiz hurried back to his hovel, a cleaned and unbloodied robe in his hand. His thoughts were hopeful, perhaps the little drow would be grateful, maybe grateful enough to reward them just a little bit, like food, or maybe a few coppers, or maybe even...
Grabbiz's head jerked up at the long and piercing scream that echoed through the slave quarters. Blood rushed from his face as he recognized the voice, and the pain. Fear gave him speed he never knew he had, and he burst into his little hovel to find the drow girl he had rescued straddling the fast cooling corpse of his son.
He stood there in muted shock as Szintala stood, blood still dripping from the wooden implement in his hand. Grabbiz felt himself choke with emotion, his yellowed eyes gazing mournfully at his son before he looked at Szintala.
"Ele?" He said. Why?
She held out the cobweb and vinegar he had almost lovingly applied to the wound, her rage spent and satiated. She was almost smug when she answered, deriving pleasure from the pain she felt in his heart.
Pain.
Delicious pain.
"Nindol zhah natha cress." She explained. This is a web.
"Natha Orbb's cress." A Spider's Web, she continued.
His look of horror and pain was unblinking as he continued to gaze at her, not understanding.
Hissing in frustration, she flung it at him, making him flinch as it hit him wetly and began to slide off.
"Xun dos zhaun lu'oh verve ol plynnen? Lu'oh mzilt xund gos wund morfelith natha cress?"
Seven years in the service of the Drow is like an eternity, and the suffering was much less if one knew their language.
Do you know how long it takes? How much effort goes into making a web?
"Ol zhah delmah! Delmah ulu orbben! Lu'oh kuuv dos olplynir natha orbb d' olt delmah!" It is home! Home to spiders! How dare you rob a spider of its home!
Shaking, his knees thudded to the floor, his face wet with tears as he gazed upon the corpse of his son. Holding his face in his hands, he wept bitter tears.
Snarling, Szintala moved back over to the small cot where she had awoke, feeling almost peaceful as she drifted off into reverie. When she opened her eyes, Grabbiz was still there, softly cradling the slack-jawed body of his son.
