Struggling through the Block...
Apr. 28th, 2013 11:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowTentative title is "Heaven", which also happens to be the prompt for this.
She hoped they called it heaven as a cruel joke. Ice clung to great stone spires that were molded straight from the mountains -- an easier task when one was an earth mage, though stories said that it had still taken hundreds of years. Cast-iron bars covered each window, splitting the glass into four panels each -- though she could barely see it at all through the thick ice. And embed within the great castle were jewels, some of them massive, forming all kinds of intricate patterns and shapes, none of which she could decipher.
The door was not visible until one of her captors walked up to it, lifting her ivory-plate hands. With a grinding grumble, a slab of stone slowly turned, revieving a marble floor dimly lit by torches on the wall. The ceilings were too tall upon entering to see anything but shadows, and the way forward seemed to be an endless corridor, slab after slab of marble, flicker after flicker of flame.
She didn't really have a choice except to go forward, though, and so she did, following her winged captors. One of them glanced at the torches and suddenly all of the flames burst into eager life, chasing the darkness up to the very top of the hallway. And dancing across the ceiling were stone tendrils with emerald leaves, tangling around each other, until eventually she discovered they formed creatures -- a mountain cat here, a goat there, and other animals she did not recognize.
Two of her guards began chatting softly, in the weird language of the Sarasii faeries. It was some mix of musical notes and gutteral growls, and to her it sounded like someone had tried to teach a leopard how to sing. And even after being surrounded by the nonsense for all of these months, she still had no idea what they were saying. Even when they spoke her tongue they sounded like fools.
They passed by so many doors, marked only by the raised stone that formed the frames, that she would not have been surprised if they had gone through the whole mountain by the time her captors pushed one open. The room inside was smaller than she was expecting, with lower ceilings and plenty of plush rugs covering the floor. A tapestry or two that she thought may have been done by children and their pet cats hung on the walls.
And sitting with her legs folded under her, a cup of steaming something in her hands, was the Queen. She was short like all of the mountain dwellers -- barely a few inches below five feet, with lean muscular arms and legs. Her wings were the biggest she had seen out of any of her captors, with an irridesence that reminded her of a giant deformed fly. They were spread out fully, the veins marking where the main limb of the wing spread out and pulsing blue against the clear membrane.
If these bastards were anything like her kind, then the Queen was very old, despite her youthful face. She looked up upon the door opening, and her deep blue eyes widened as she smiled without showing her teeth.
"Thank you." She said the word in both languages, or she guessed that was what the nonsense word was. "You may leave her alone with me."
And then they were alone.
"I told my generals not to underestimate your kind." The Queen sighed and shook her head as she rose, her wings neatly folding up. "At least someone was able to get you before you caused more damage."
"No mourning for your lost friends, fly?" She bared her teeth, though the affect would not be the same with her missing her two top fangs.
"We mourn for those who deserve it. Being tricked by a pixie is a death that deserves celebration." The faerie snorted, brushing the pixie's taunt away with a sharp-nailed hand. "I would expect a human to be fooled by a changeling but my people should know better."
So the Queen did know. Wilburh often argued with the other spies about whether the mountain faeries knew about their powers of morphosis. Many of the young, cockier pixies had insisted that there was no way for them to know, but older spies had always countered that the flies were magies. Surely they could sense the magic, and eventually figure out who was doing it.
In the end, Wilburh had the misfortune to be right. Shame she wouldn't ever have the chance to rub in those young idiots' faces.
"So what did you do with Aldegar?"
"I killed and ate him." There was no point to lying -- surely the bastards had a telepath somewhere, and even if they did not, making nonsense up wouldn't save her at this point. "It would be a bit awkward if the real Aldegar ruined my disguise, don't you think?"
The Queen snorted. "I'm proud of your basic logic. Do you know where you are?"
The question made little sense to Wilburh, and she frowned softly, eyes narrowed at the mountain faesrie. The Queen only smiled back, the slightest of teeth showing through her lips. A trick question, then, and so Wilburh answered truthfully. "I don't know, but the humans call it heaven."
"They do. It is based upon one of their beliefs -- that when they die, they will be brought to a place of eternal peace and happiness." The Queen walked quietly around the room, running a hand down one of the tapestries. Wilburh was impressed when it did not crumble at the slightest touch. "In most stories, this place is above the world. And upon first seeing this fortress, it must have seemed that way."
"Fascinating. Tell me, are you trying to bore me to death? I have little interest in the fancies of humans, and even less in your opinion."
And then the damn fly laughed, a high-pitched noise that grated on all of Wilburh's nerves and left her baring fangs she no longer had, readying fists that were stuck behind her back, spreading wings that had been cleanly snapped and thus only gave her sparks of pain and black. Of course, once she had pushed past the agony, forcing herself to pay attention, she found the Queen only smiling at her -- but with fangs exposed.
"I like to call it heaven." Her voice held too much pleasure, and chills ran down Wilburh's spine; only then did she realize that the room had gotten colder, and that her breath was obvious in the air. Condensation clung to the Queen's forgotten mug, but the faerie did not seem to notice the cold as she advanced on Wilburh.
When she went to move, she found her limbs horrifyingly sluggish, as if she was freezing from the inside out-- And then she glared at the Queen.
"You damned cheater. Icing my blood while leaving me without fangs, wings, or hands. You bastards never were ones for a fair fight."
"You stole the skin of one of our people. How is that fair?" Despite the Queen's words, Wilburh felt the ropes binding her hands become horrifyingly cold and frigid… ANd then they shattered like glass, and without thinking she swung her fist up and straight into the Queen's face.
The mountain faerie's wings snapped out and she twisted -- the momentum that should have doomed her instead allowed her to roll back and away, a smug smile on her face despite the blood leaking from one nostril. She rose to her feet with ease while Wilburh listened to her whole hands crack as she flexed them -- she felt as if she was forcing her blood to flow, that it had frozen in her veins and she was crushing the ice inside. Even so, when the Queen dove for her, she found the strength to back away.
But she knew it was all just a game for the Queen -- there was no way anyone sane would allow a prisoner to fight and thus break free. Still instincts led her through the motions of the fright, dodging and hitting back, until finally she felt her blood chill to the point of no movement, and the Queen slammed her into the ground. Once she was caught, her blood rushed and she gasped, dizzy.
"Do you know why I like to call it heaven?" The faerie's voice was sickeningly sweet as she wrenched Wilburh to her feet, only making her head spin more and leaving her helpless to the Queen to keep her upright. Even as she realized it, she bared her teeth and tried helplessly to snap at her. The Queen seemed too busy pontificating to punish her. "In most human religions, heaven is regarded as a paradise -- but one that is very difficult to get to."
Wilburh realized that they were at the door, and looked up confused and woozy to see the Queen smiling, teeth bright white and sharp even agaisnt her angular, pale face.
"I enjoy the irony."
A horrifying crack echoed in Wilburh's ears, following immediately by horrifying stabbing pain -- and then dark nothing gave her mercy.
This may continue later -- I just have to figure out whether Wilburh is dead or not.
Also jeez, sorry all of my writing is so dark lately. I blame![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
darkfantasybingo for, uh, having dark prompts? I don't know.
Tschuess.
She hoped they called it heaven as a cruel joke. Ice clung to great stone spires that were molded straight from the mountains -- an easier task when one was an earth mage, though stories said that it had still taken hundreds of years. Cast-iron bars covered each window, splitting the glass into four panels each -- though she could barely see it at all through the thick ice. And embed within the great castle were jewels, some of them massive, forming all kinds of intricate patterns and shapes, none of which she could decipher.
The door was not visible until one of her captors walked up to it, lifting her ivory-plate hands. With a grinding grumble, a slab of stone slowly turned, revieving a marble floor dimly lit by torches on the wall. The ceilings were too tall upon entering to see anything but shadows, and the way forward seemed to be an endless corridor, slab after slab of marble, flicker after flicker of flame.
She didn't really have a choice except to go forward, though, and so she did, following her winged captors. One of them glanced at the torches and suddenly all of the flames burst into eager life, chasing the darkness up to the very top of the hallway. And dancing across the ceiling were stone tendrils with emerald leaves, tangling around each other, until eventually she discovered they formed creatures -- a mountain cat here, a goat there, and other animals she did not recognize.
Two of her guards began chatting softly, in the weird language of the Sarasii faeries. It was some mix of musical notes and gutteral growls, and to her it sounded like someone had tried to teach a leopard how to sing. And even after being surrounded by the nonsense for all of these months, she still had no idea what they were saying. Even when they spoke her tongue they sounded like fools.
They passed by so many doors, marked only by the raised stone that formed the frames, that she would not have been surprised if they had gone through the whole mountain by the time her captors pushed one open. The room inside was smaller than she was expecting, with lower ceilings and plenty of plush rugs covering the floor. A tapestry or two that she thought may have been done by children and their pet cats hung on the walls.
And sitting with her legs folded under her, a cup of steaming something in her hands, was the Queen. She was short like all of the mountain dwellers -- barely a few inches below five feet, with lean muscular arms and legs. Her wings were the biggest she had seen out of any of her captors, with an irridesence that reminded her of a giant deformed fly. They were spread out fully, the veins marking where the main limb of the wing spread out and pulsing blue against the clear membrane.
If these bastards were anything like her kind, then the Queen was very old, despite her youthful face. She looked up upon the door opening, and her deep blue eyes widened as she smiled without showing her teeth.
"Thank you." She said the word in both languages, or she guessed that was what the nonsense word was. "You may leave her alone with me."
And then they were alone.
"I told my generals not to underestimate your kind." The Queen sighed and shook her head as she rose, her wings neatly folding up. "At least someone was able to get you before you caused more damage."
"No mourning for your lost friends, fly?" She bared her teeth, though the affect would not be the same with her missing her two top fangs.
"We mourn for those who deserve it. Being tricked by a pixie is a death that deserves celebration." The faerie snorted, brushing the pixie's taunt away with a sharp-nailed hand. "I would expect a human to be fooled by a changeling but my people should know better."
So the Queen did know. Wilburh often argued with the other spies about whether the mountain faeries knew about their powers of morphosis. Many of the young, cockier pixies had insisted that there was no way for them to know, but older spies had always countered that the flies were magies. Surely they could sense the magic, and eventually figure out who was doing it.
In the end, Wilburh had the misfortune to be right. Shame she wouldn't ever have the chance to rub in those young idiots' faces.
"So what did you do with Aldegar?"
"I killed and ate him." There was no point to lying -- surely the bastards had a telepath somewhere, and even if they did not, making nonsense up wouldn't save her at this point. "It would be a bit awkward if the real Aldegar ruined my disguise, don't you think?"
The Queen snorted. "I'm proud of your basic logic. Do you know where you are?"
The question made little sense to Wilburh, and she frowned softly, eyes narrowed at the mountain faesrie. The Queen only smiled back, the slightest of teeth showing through her lips. A trick question, then, and so Wilburh answered truthfully. "I don't know, but the humans call it heaven."
"They do. It is based upon one of their beliefs -- that when they die, they will be brought to a place of eternal peace and happiness." The Queen walked quietly around the room, running a hand down one of the tapestries. Wilburh was impressed when it did not crumble at the slightest touch. "In most stories, this place is above the world. And upon first seeing this fortress, it must have seemed that way."
"Fascinating. Tell me, are you trying to bore me to death? I have little interest in the fancies of humans, and even less in your opinion."
And then the damn fly laughed, a high-pitched noise that grated on all of Wilburh's nerves and left her baring fangs she no longer had, readying fists that were stuck behind her back, spreading wings that had been cleanly snapped and thus only gave her sparks of pain and black. Of course, once she had pushed past the agony, forcing herself to pay attention, she found the Queen only smiling at her -- but with fangs exposed.
"I like to call it heaven." Her voice held too much pleasure, and chills ran down Wilburh's spine; only then did she realize that the room had gotten colder, and that her breath was obvious in the air. Condensation clung to the Queen's forgotten mug, but the faerie did not seem to notice the cold as she advanced on Wilburh.
When she went to move, she found her limbs horrifyingly sluggish, as if she was freezing from the inside out-- And then she glared at the Queen.
"You damned cheater. Icing my blood while leaving me without fangs, wings, or hands. You bastards never were ones for a fair fight."
"You stole the skin of one of our people. How is that fair?" Despite the Queen's words, Wilburh felt the ropes binding her hands become horrifyingly cold and frigid… ANd then they shattered like glass, and without thinking she swung her fist up and straight into the Queen's face.
The mountain faerie's wings snapped out and she twisted -- the momentum that should have doomed her instead allowed her to roll back and away, a smug smile on her face despite the blood leaking from one nostril. She rose to her feet with ease while Wilburh listened to her whole hands crack as she flexed them -- she felt as if she was forcing her blood to flow, that it had frozen in her veins and she was crushing the ice inside. Even so, when the Queen dove for her, she found the strength to back away.
But she knew it was all just a game for the Queen -- there was no way anyone sane would allow a prisoner to fight and thus break free. Still instincts led her through the motions of the fright, dodging and hitting back, until finally she felt her blood chill to the point of no movement, and the Queen slammed her into the ground. Once she was caught, her blood rushed and she gasped, dizzy.
"Do you know why I like to call it heaven?" The faerie's voice was sickeningly sweet as she wrenched Wilburh to her feet, only making her head spin more and leaving her helpless to the Queen to keep her upright. Even as she realized it, she bared her teeth and tried helplessly to snap at her. The Queen seemed too busy pontificating to punish her. "In most human religions, heaven is regarded as a paradise -- but one that is very difficult to get to."
Wilburh realized that they were at the door, and looked up confused and woozy to see the Queen smiling, teeth bright white and sharp even agaisnt her angular, pale face.
"I enjoy the irony."
A horrifying crack echoed in Wilburh's ears, following immediately by horrifying stabbing pain -- and then dark nothing gave her mercy.
This may continue later -- I just have to figure out whether Wilburh is dead or not.
Also jeez, sorry all of my writing is so dark lately. I blame
darkfantasybingo for, uh, having dark prompts? I don't know.Tschuess.
