Trial

Hours passed as her limp naked body lay unconscious on the floor, shackled by the ankle with thick cold iron manacles to the nearby wall. Groggily, she raised her head and glanced around at the flat bare walls around her. Slowly the realization of how she had made the trip to this gloomy place filled her mind.


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The Night of her Capture

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Viktor had finished with the whore that called herself a priestess of the Crusade, and was about to take his evening leave when the commotion was stirred outside. He heard the shouts of his brethren, and his anger was stirred. The damned fools had apparently caught something or someone, and were making enough to noise to raise the dead that hadn’t already been picked up by the Lich King. His brow furrowed.

“Extra duties and penance chants for everyone tomorrow, if this turns out to be something foolish” he thought bitterly to himself. He lumbered out of his room, grabbing the large customized Lionheart Champion two-handed sword that had become notorious to both humans and the undead alike. He cursed the stillness of the night air. He preferred a breezy night above all things. Viktor had been raised as a hunter and gamesman, and the wind could reveal many things to one that would pay attention to the small details.

Annoyed, the giant made his way around the corner, glancing at several other Crusaders making their way toward whatever had caused the commotion. He saw within the ring of paladins, a shadowy figure. His eyes tried to focus in the dark, but only the pale yellow sheen of eyes could be made out in the bleakness of the night. Cursing the time it would take for him to adjust his eyes to the outside world after spending most of the evening in a well lit inn; he called for a torch to be brought

“Speak foul bitch, are ye some kind of spy?” one of the Crusaders spat out with contempt. The man, large and bald with a thick goatee, was pressing the tip of his sword deep into the ribs of the corpse in front of him. The creature seemed to be utterly terrified if that were even possible for the undead.

“Don’t waste your breath, I’ve yet to meet a creature of this kind that will speak anything but their blasphemous gutterspeak” Viktor said, as he plucked the torch from the runner’s hands that had just arrived. Slowly her broke through the ring of paladins, and holding the torch close to the creature’s decaying face; he took a good look at the undead girl that had been spying on him.


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Present Time

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“He didn’t recognize me” she sobbed quietly to no one in particular. When she first laid her eyes on her former lover, her heart had soared. To know that he was still in the world that she had all but left behind brought her such warmth. For a few moments, she had known joy. A sensation all but lost to her since her death. Viktor had merely glanced at her, and uttered something visceral, and she had been beaten and dragged off to this horrible pit. The beating had been severe. She had thought pain was an unknown sensation for the undead, but she found out that she had been quite wrong.

The paladins had tortured her using holy relics and weapons. They tore the tattered rags from her body, and removed her blanket. The priests bound her naked body to an ornate Holy Symbol of the Light, using some form of holy magic that seared her flesh. Keira cursed and wailed at her tormentors as they all gathered to cruelly survey their catch. It seemed as though every warrior in the town had stopped by to publicly torture the frightened girl, except Viktor. He was never present at the daily beatings she received. During her moments of lucidity, she watched for him, silently fantasizing that he would realize who she was, and destroy her out of pity. He never did.

After several days, she was taken to a large guard tower, and locked into the cells below. Manacled with just iron, after the priests had determined she was fairly harmless compared to the other undead they had encountered, she was left alone.

Time had passed, though she was unsure as to how much exactly. Keira no longer cared much about anything. Her memories began to fade. Early she had tried to keep track of the daily cycles by making a mark on the stone every time the sun hit a certain point on the wall. She had lost interest in that after forty-two marks had passed. She waited for the fateful day when they would send some accursed warrior down to her cell to destroy her. After all, that’s what the Scarlet Crusade did.

Finally, after ages of waiting she heard the tell tale sound of plate male on the stone steps leading down to her rotting cellar prison. The girl waited for final death, though she could no longer remember why. She had lost the memory of Viktor, of her life, both as Forsaken, and of being a human girl once. All that remained was her shattered psyche, and the longing for release. Keira watched with anticipation as the paladin thumped down the stairs without grace. To her total dismay, the man did not brandish a weapon, but instead held a young human female by her shackled wrists.

“Traitorous bitch, Viktor shows you too much mercy, for ye surely have the taint of darkness on your soul. Stay here until the High Inquisitor arrives. Then ye shall pay for your crimes. That is if you live that long. The creature you’re imprisoned with hasn’t eaten in a long time girly.” The paladin said with a sadistic glee in his eyes, as he pushed the young girl inside of the cage, slamming the door, and turning to leave.

Keira watched the girl carefully, looking at the long white robe, with the scarlet trim, she decided that the girl was of the Crusade’s priest caste. She did not recognize the girl however. Her curiosity overtook her, and she inched closer to examine her new cell mate.

“Stand back Lichspawn” the priestess said in almost perfect gutterspeak. Keira stopped, looking at the young woman, stunned.

“You…speak my language” Keira asked, now quite frightened of this woman.

“Aye, I’ve studied it, it’s a variation of a type of old Elven traveler speak not used for centuries by any polite society. It’s a crude primitive language, and it’s the reason why I will die soon. Those fools branded me heretic for trying to learn to speak to your kind, and read your markings.” The priestess muttered.

“They’re to put you to death for that?” Keira asked, her voice betraying the naivety of someone that has never fought a true battle or known the real savages of war.

“That among other things” The priestess shot back, obviously not wanting to elaborate.

“Oh…Uh…I’m Keira….what do they call you” Keira asked uneasily She was somewhat surprised that she remembered her own name.

“Avia, and hush now dead one” The girl replied. She was kneeling now, her eyes closed, and her chest rising and falling with a steady slow rhythm. Keira watched the priestess with a curious fascination. It had been a long time since she had been this close to a human that wasn’t tormenting her. She admired and hated the girl for being beautiful and alive. She found herself studying Avia’s youthful face, round and full, and blushed at the cheeks. She looked at the silken chestnut hair that the young woman possessed. She watched her delicate neckline pulse, as the blood pumped through the human’s body.

Suddenly, Keira’s mind was shattered with a vision. The pain exploded behind her eyes and she doubled over clutching her head. Avia’s psychic probing was excruciating at first, but as the moments passed her invasion became more subtle. She began to look at Keira’s long faded memories. Avia unfolded the Forsaken girl’s upbringing, her life as a youthful spirited girl, her first and only lover. Avia froze. Her only lover?

“By the Light!” the priestess exclaimed, shattering the psychic link she had established with the undead girl. Keira fell backwards against the wall. Her yellow eyes flickering as she moaned softly, trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind. Often times, the Forsaken retain little to no memory of their past. The will of their dark Queen is too strong, too dominating for them to think of anything other than the survival of their own race. Faded dreams and visions are rare treasures that the undead keep sacred and they linger on. Only the most powerful of emotions are retained, and even in time those are lost.

Suddenly, Keira remembered everything. The love she knew was strong, and burned within her like the raging fire conjured from the fingertips of the most powerful of mages. The sadness of her own death that shattered her mind was renewed. The mournful loss of Viktor, and the hatred for the Scourge bastard that ruined both of them tore into her again. All of it flooded back. She mewled softly and tried to chase the demons away from her mind. How long had she remained in this fugue state? The desire for oblivion had clouded her thoughts.

“Wh…what did you do to me?” She cried out to the priestess across the dank cell. Her lithe rotting figure leapt toward her mental assailant, her hands nothing more than bony claws seeking a throat. Keira had never known herself to display any type of violent tendencies, but she was ready to kill in this moment.

The chain around her ankle snapped her to an abrupt halt. She crashed to the wet stone floor with an unceremonious thud. Lying there sobbing, a sobbing, furious, pathetic wretch, she was the stuff of nightmares.

“Are you quite finished little seamstress?” Avia asked, her voice rippling with amusement and contempt. Keira could only thrash for a moment longer, and accept momentary defeat. The emotional rush having totally overwhelmed her. Love and pain overtaking her black soul, she nodded in submission.

“Good” The priestess replied, “if you’ll remain calm, I have an offer for you little seamstress. I am going to give you your life back….for a price.”

Author’s Note: It’s been a very long time since I returned my mind to this story. Thanks to those that wrote reviews and convinced me to finish this thing. I assure you, you won’t have to wait six month’s between chapters as I am now committed to seeing this through to the end. As always reviews, critiques, and advice are always appreciated. Next chapter, and more smut ;) to follow.