Screaming. Screaming everywhere. A continued song of agony, pain, the never ending torture. The cries for help, for death, mercy, anything. It went on and on and on in the camp, from all sides.
It was an orchestra of pain, backed up by the noises of cruel laughter coming from the females as they cut open their still living victims. Never any rest from the noise, it was never quiet.
Skint had tried to block it out at first. Sitting in the cage with her hands bound behind her back, she didn’t have much room to move, unless she wanted to squash her cagemate, which she didn’t.
But blocking out the voices was impossible. The camp they were in was huge, she had realized that much. Walkways above, swarming with male servants doing their tasks to please their cruel mistresses. They were beaten into submission, made to believe that all they were good for in life was to serve the blood troll females. Skint had seen them tied to poles, beaten, stripped of their flesh but all they did was beg for more, trying to prove they were worthy.
It was sick.
It made her literally sick. And if that wasn’t enough, there was the smell. Rot. Rot everywhere, meat abandoned, sacrifices rotting in the water. Corrupted crawgs fighting over the biggest pieces, scattering intestines everywhere.
She had figured out the large ones were in charge. Huge, hulking females, barely dressed. Their voices carried far and they were ruthless even to their own females serving them. One mistake and you were done. How could anyone live like this?
It had been a few days now in the cage. They’d taken most of her and her cagemate’s clothes, leaving them with nothing more but scraps that barely covered them. After a few days in the filth of the cage, they’d also gotten very dirty with things she didn’t even want to think about. Wouldn’t think about. She hadn’t had any chance to talk to the female yet due to being gagged the entire time. Yet, there was a comfort in her presence. Sharing warmth at night, it made a big difference.
No one had paid and attention to them yet though, just letting them sit there. Until that day.
Skint was only half awake, having dozed off. Sleeping was difficult due to the cramped position she was in permanently, but someone can only go so long without it. She was roughly woken though when a hand clapped against the cage.
“Pretties, pretties, which one ta choose! Mistress needs ta know, oh so pretty, so delicious.”
Now very much awake, Skint looked up at where the voice came from. A male, crooked back, covered in warpaint and several necklaces around his neck decorated with bones and teeth. He opened the cage and without hesitating grabbed Skint around the neck, lifting her out effortlessly. She tried to struggle, but his grip was iron. Her cagemate couldn’t even do anything but helplessly watch as the cage was closed again.
“Struggle, oh yes, pale one, struggle. She’ll love dat! Pretty, so pretty..” he crooned almost lovingly while he mercilessly dragged her along, hand still around her neck. She could barely breathe, her legs dragging over the ground.
She was taken to one of the smaller huts. Skint only had a moment to see a bit of her surroundings before she was thrown forwards like a ragdoll, her head hitting against something solid. Pain exploded in her head, white flashes in front of her eyes blinding her. The gag was removed but she only coughed endlessly, curling up on her side on the floor.
“My. Not very impressive specimen. Ya be lucky ya be a female. Set her on the altar.” A voice spoke from beside her, a sneering voice, uncaring. She was picked up and placed on a cold surface, before footsteps moved out of the hut. She felt a certain wetness under her, and when she finally opened her eyes, she saw the blood.
And stared right in the face of Juza.
Her eyes widened and she tried to back off, but a strong hand held her in place. She couldn’t scream, her throat too dry.
Juza, dear sweet protective Juza. His head was lying on the side of the altar, on another small table. His eyes dead, unseeing. His face a mask of agony.
“Oh, ya knew him, sweetie? Hah! He held out long. But not long enough. Mistress wasn’t pleased.”
Skint finally turned to locate the source of the voice. And to look away from the cruel fate her friend had undergone, not wanting to look into those dead eyes a moment longer.
There was a certain slender grace to the female troll. Long limbs, curves and a wild edge, her graceful movements full of purpose, none wasted. She was covered in warpaint and blood, trinkets and piercings, ritual items and cloths hanging from her shoulders and around her waist.
A very deadly beauty.
Skint didn’t see her that way though. For her, she was fear. Pain. Terror.
“P-please-…” she managed to croak out, which only made the Blood Troll cackle while she laid out a few items on the altar. A knife, a bowl and what seemed to be a sort of doll, made of scraps of cloth.
“Already? Disappointing. I should kill ya right now. But, order is an order. Mistress wants to know,” she said, while picking up the knife and moving to the other end of the altar, near Skint her feet. “Now be a good girl and lie still.”
Not like she could do much else, still being bound. She couldn’t call on the Light like this. She couldn’t fight, she had no chance. None at all.
The knife was raised as the females three fingers gripped Skints ankle, positioning it over the bowl. One, two quick slices and blood was freely pouring into the bowl from two cuts in her calf. Skint tried to curl up even more, hissing in pain, trying to pull her leg out of the iron grip, but no it was no use.
“Lie still, I said.” A sharp tug and more pain, the female dug her nails into Skints ankle. “Just a bit more,” she whispered. When the bowl was nearly full, she finally let go, gathering her other items. Dipping her fingers in the blood, she drew something on the altar first. Icons.. runes?
The female started to chant, holding some sort of item above the runes, shaking it back and forth. Feathers were tied to it, little bones.
When this was done, she grabbed the doll and covered that in the blood too, placing it in the middle of the rune circle. More chanting.
Skint wasn’t really paying attention anymore now, merely focusing on shuffling more out of the way on the altar. She wasn’t stopped now, the Blood Troll too busy with her little ritual, or she just didn’t care. Not like there was anywhere Skint could go in her state, in the middle of the huge camp.
“My, my… Now –dis- be interesting. More den ya seem, aint ya?” the female laughed. Whatever she’d seen in Skints blood, it was apparently amusing.
“Ohh, she will love dis, oh yes she will. It be faint, but it be dere. Traces of dat dirty light. Ya will be da perfect sacrifice for G’huun at da next ritual. Be proud! Be happy! Ya get ta be part of him!”
She raised her hands, dripping with Skints blood still and laughed. “Perfect!”
Next thing Skint knew, she was in front of her again, gripping the knife in her hand. Almost carefully now, the Blood Troll moved some of the remaining cloth away from Skints chest before placing the tip of the knife against her skin, right under her collar bone, above her heart.
Slowly and carefully she cut a mark there in the pale skin, red blood welling out. Skint didn’t make a sound. She wouldn’t give the female that, at least.
“Dere. Marked for da ritual. Mistress permits, ya’ll be da special offer. Relish in da thought. Ya death has special purpose. Not many get ta say dat.” Her voice almost sounded nice, which only made her even more scary for Skint, who was trembling all over now. Exhaustion, hunger, thirst, pain, fear… it was all too much.
The female almost tenderly gave Skint a few sips of water to drink before putting the gag bag on. She turned and barked out an order.
“Slave! Bring her back to the cage!”
Skint awoke with a start. For a few disorienting moments she panicked, but as her eyes focused more she realized she was where she’d gone earlier today. The Bwonsamdi shrine nearby camp. Her back was resting against it, a soft breeze playing with her hair.
It had become a place for her to think things over, still almost in sight of the camp and in shouting distance, but not close enough that orcs would walk over and bother her.
“G-guess I fell asleep..” she muttered softly to herself, rubbing her eyes. Not a surprise really, if she looked back to the past few days and all that happened.
She was really happy Nakobu had liked her gift, but Kroat had interrupted them before she had the chance to actually tell him what she had wanted to say in the first place.
Next time. Next time she’d tell him. Be direct, Sa’vashi had said. Maybe it was time to at least listen to a part of the Trolls advice.