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Elaebryn
Planetoid
- Joined
- Dec 6, 2017
Two drow noble houses had been in a quiet war for a long while, but the conflict was for whatever reason close to a diplomatic end for the first time in decades. Perhaps the two old women at the top had grown tired of it, or perhaps more profitable ventures had presented themselves — whatever. In any event, there was an especially important and smart person in one house who realized the conditions had become ripe for peace, and knew exactly how to resolve the conflict quickly and amicably for both houses; but, he — being male — did not have sufficient status to broach the subject and see it actually happen. Knowing this and being crafty, this man named Nuarzim plotted and schemed, and eventually won his way into the position of favored lover to a princess in that house. Over months and year he had wormed his tongue into her ears as well as other places with such skill that he had finally convinced her to take action. Though he would never be given credit for it in any form, Nuarzim was nonetheless the architect of a plan which brought the two houses to the cusp of peace.
That plan came immediately at odds when the princess was captured in an ambush, while she and her retinue were out doing whatever drow princesses do when they're not busy praying or fucking. Patrolling the tunnels? Meeting with contacts from the surface? Whatever. These little skirmishes happen all the time, and usually no one cares because prisoner exchanges are a common affair — but she was important enough that her capture would be an embarrassment to the house, and so not only did the matron mother immediately hear of it but also she mandated her rescue. Yasma, the decorated veteran who had earned a reputation as a skilled commander and ruthless hunter on the battlefield, was dispatched along with an elite guard unit to retrieve the princess before she could be secured within the city proper and made into a spectacle.
Yasma was sure of the task ahead, especially once she caught word that the ambush team had been lead by Elaebryn — a pampered trollop of a woman with no stomach for warfare and no glory to her name but that her house gave her. The elite group had easily overtaken the ambush party, and would easily have prevailed in a one-sided victory had not two of Yasma's best men betrayed her at the onset of battle. Even so, Yasma's great reputation for battle prowess was shown to have been well earned as she cut down the soldiers between her and the woman who had thought to catch her unready. With horrifying ease her blood-soaked blade ran through the last of Elaebryn's personal guard and into the heart of the panic-frozen bitch herself.
And then the illusion dissipated. What had appeared to be an ineffective leader frozen by indecision and fear of her own impending death was revealed to be the bound and trussed princess Yasma had been sent to save. She stared, horrified at the realization of what she had done — extinguished in one easy stroke of her blade the last, best hope for peace. Worse, still, she knew that with the princess dead there would be outrage among the noble houses and vengeance against Elaebryn's house. "Thank you for that," called the voice of a hidden figure whose identity Yasma nonetheless knew to belong to her hated foe.
Had she not been stunned by that realization of what she had done, how she had just been outmaneuvered so utterly, and the consequences of her failure, Yasma might have fought her way out of the situation and warned her comrades in time to die gloriously fighting against the inevitable. But Yasma knew the only hope for Elaebryn's house now lay in an all-out assault against her own, in hopes of destroying it utterly before word got out of the death of such an important person. She knew that for this ambush, betrayal, and trap to have even been contemplated, much less executed, that the plan for such an assault must right now be in motion. And so the final realization set in for Yasma: that this entire situation had been contrived not to capture the princess, but to draw away the house's most elite guard in the very moment where they would be needed most.
In that moment of weakness, Yasma was easily subdued and by her lessers. Barely aware of herself, she was bound and stripped and bound some more, and has been their prisoner ever since. Yasma was first given to the surviving men of Elaebryn's guard, then to the camp slaves, and eventually the dogs, before finally being thrown into a prison cell without food or water for days. There in the dark and chained to a wall she could see everything clearly, but there was naught to see but the skeletal remains of another prisoner on the wall opposite who had presumably been abandoned in exactly the same manner.
But Yasma would not be so lucky as to be left alone to die of thirst. For on the fourth day, she was roused from delirium by the heavy clank and clatter of the cell door opening. "Thank you ever so much for forcing our hand," called the silvery-sweet voice of the pampered bitch Elaebryn, concluding the conversation that had begun four days ago.
That plan came immediately at odds when the princess was captured in an ambush, while she and her retinue were out doing whatever drow princesses do when they're not busy praying or fucking. Patrolling the tunnels? Meeting with contacts from the surface? Whatever. These little skirmishes happen all the time, and usually no one cares because prisoner exchanges are a common affair — but she was important enough that her capture would be an embarrassment to the house, and so not only did the matron mother immediately hear of it but also she mandated her rescue. Yasma, the decorated veteran who had earned a reputation as a skilled commander and ruthless hunter on the battlefield, was dispatched along with an elite guard unit to retrieve the princess before she could be secured within the city proper and made into a spectacle.
Yasma was sure of the task ahead, especially once she caught word that the ambush team had been lead by Elaebryn — a pampered trollop of a woman with no stomach for warfare and no glory to her name but that her house gave her. The elite group had easily overtaken the ambush party, and would easily have prevailed in a one-sided victory had not two of Yasma's best men betrayed her at the onset of battle. Even so, Yasma's great reputation for battle prowess was shown to have been well earned as she cut down the soldiers between her and the woman who had thought to catch her unready. With horrifying ease her blood-soaked blade ran through the last of Elaebryn's personal guard and into the heart of the panic-frozen bitch herself.
And then the illusion dissipated. What had appeared to be an ineffective leader frozen by indecision and fear of her own impending death was revealed to be the bound and trussed princess Yasma had been sent to save. She stared, horrified at the realization of what she had done — extinguished in one easy stroke of her blade the last, best hope for peace. Worse, still, she knew that with the princess dead there would be outrage among the noble houses and vengeance against Elaebryn's house. "Thank you for that," called the voice of a hidden figure whose identity Yasma nonetheless knew to belong to her hated foe.
Had she not been stunned by that realization of what she had done, how she had just been outmaneuvered so utterly, and the consequences of her failure, Yasma might have fought her way out of the situation and warned her comrades in time to die gloriously fighting against the inevitable. But Yasma knew the only hope for Elaebryn's house now lay in an all-out assault against her own, in hopes of destroying it utterly before word got out of the death of such an important person. She knew that for this ambush, betrayal, and trap to have even been contemplated, much less executed, that the plan for such an assault must right now be in motion. And so the final realization set in for Yasma: that this entire situation had been contrived not to capture the princess, but to draw away the house's most elite guard in the very moment where they would be needed most.
In that moment of weakness, Yasma was easily subdued and by her lessers. Barely aware of herself, she was bound and stripped and bound some more, and has been their prisoner ever since. Yasma was first given to the surviving men of Elaebryn's guard, then to the camp slaves, and eventually the dogs, before finally being thrown into a prison cell without food or water for days. There in the dark and chained to a wall she could see everything clearly, but there was naught to see but the skeletal remains of another prisoner on the wall opposite who had presumably been abandoned in exactly the same manner.
But Yasma would not be so lucky as to be left alone to die of thirst. For on the fourth day, she was roused from delirium by the heavy clank and clatter of the cell door opening. "Thank you ever so much for forcing our hand," called the silvery-sweet voice of the pampered bitch Elaebryn, concluding the conversation that had begun four days ago.
