Post by Ashyla Lavellan on Jun 19, 2016 18:43:05 GMT -5
(takes place after the Gala)
It had been more than one week but less than two since her capture. She'd lost track of the days being down here. The torches were constantly lit, and they couldn't see the sky from within the ruins. At first, the place had mystified her. They hadn't found this one during their initial search of Emprise du Lion years ago, and these ruins in particular had a surprising number of intact artifacts. After the first three days, she lost interest in the artifacts. She was more focused on keeping control of herself. The slavers who'd caught her unawares in the Emerald Graves had been trying to break her ever since. But she hadn't broken yet.
The man shoved her into the cell, but she was so exhausted that she couldn't even get her feet under her. She slid across the cold stone floor and cried out wordlessly as her back hit the wall. There was a clang of metal-on-metal as the cell door was locked again. Slowly, she sat up with the help of one of the older children. She rested her back against the wall with her legs on the floor, feet out in front of her.
"You're so strong," one of the women muttered, awed. Most of the ones that had been there when she'd been tossed in had been broken and sold, or had died. The stronger ones were still in the cell, covered in various wounds. Ashyla knew she'd have more than one new scar to add to her collection, from blade and magic. She felt her skin knit together and shuddered. She never did get used to that odd sensation.
"That's all I can do," the boy told her, an apologetic look on his face.
"It's alright," she responded, attempting what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. "I'm tough. They won't break me."
"But they might kill you," he reminded her. She looked away when he said that. She couldn't deny it, slavers often killed uncooperative captives. The fact that they'd kept her alive this long was surprising enough, but an Inquisition elf could probably fetch a high price in Tevinter. But Cyrlan would come for her, right? He'd find her. He always did.
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The scent trail was starting to go cold. Emma would stop more often now sometimes for minutes at a time. It had been too long, and there were too many scents overlapping. She looked up at Cyrlan and let out a soft whine, then pointed with her muzzle at a nearby cave entrance. The different scents all seemed to originate there.
