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Prison of Drowess War (Elaebryn × Lady Arachnia)

RE: Prison of Drowess War (Elaebryn x Lady Arachnia)

Yasma half expected the woman to carry on her attack, it was in their nature to be cruel and not worry about ttacking an unarmed fighter. She never though she remained there seemingly stunned. She didn't get long to look at her though as she soon turned to face the now enraged woman. The whip came fast and accurately, they had no trouble in finding their mark. She hissed at the first strike and then as the second landed the burning oil began to take hold. She let out a howl of pain from the strikes but forcing out a mad laugh. She knew where this was going, it was fire, agony and torment and their was no reprieve from the pain but the reaction alone on the other woman was sustenance enough. The third strike lands and peels some of her flesh from her body which caused the loudest scream yet. Yasma dropped down to one knee in agony and her hand went to her newly marred flesh. Her eyes were closed as pain wracked through her body but despite that through the onslaught she'd cackle manically as though she found something hystericle that nobody else did.
 
RE: Prison of Drowess War (Elaebryn x Lady Arachnia)

Making good on her word, the battle mistress continues to rend flesh from the madwoman's body with crisscrossing strikes from her whip. "Stand and fight!" is her repeated command after each set of three lashes, and after each set she pauses only long enough to recoil her whip before loosing it again. Every six seconds until Yasma eventually loses consciousness, she is struck again with poisoned whip in non-vital areas for no purpose at all but to inject new agony into her body. Even after the proud woman collapses from the pain and exhaustion, her body is abused as a makeshift training dummy for blunt strikes and dull blades such that when next she wakes her every movement will be against the protest of bruised or lacerated flesh.

* * *

Hours later Yasma is jolted awake by the sensation of falling in a dream, just in time to become aware of being dropped head-first into cold water. Her body lurches as she reaches the end of a rope, and then over the course of several seconds she is slowly hauled back up out of the water. When her vision clears the water, she is aware of being hoisted up by her feet and dangling above a wash basin. Before her is not the battle mistress and her poisoned whip but her true captor, the pampered bitch Elaebryn. She smiles, and with a gesture suddenly Yasma is plunged back into the water.

This time she is not reeled back in like a fish, but allowed to hang in water up to her shoulders. Yasma is bound tightly about the ankles, knees, and thighs, and her arms had been tied behind her in a sleeve of rope webbing that might have been appreciated for its artistry were she not presently at risk of drowning. With abdominal effort Yasma may draw herself up to breathe, though only for so long as her fatigued body can endure the exertion. Presently little bits of mushroom bread are tossed into the tank, as though Elaebryn were feeding ducks or fishes, and a thought intrudes Yasma's mind — Aren't you hungry?
 
RE: Prison of Drowess War (Elaebryn x Lady Arachnia)

Yasma endured through several more strikes with a shriek to meet every single time the whip sliced in to her flesh and flooded her system with more of that oil. It was agony like she hadn't experienced since she was yet a student and even then it wasn't drawn out like this. Her body began to shake violently as pain wracked through her in a way that caused her muscles to spasm in protest. She collapsed to the ground shortly after still jerking erraticall from the torture inflicted upon the woman. It was a matter of seconds rather than minutes then that she continued to twist and turn on the ground before her eyes rolled back in their sockets so that only white could be seen as she left the land of the concious.

Despite the beating she recieved while unconcious she remained dead to the world, her mind simply wasn't ready to recover and bring her back around, she put up no resistance at all. No dreams came to the woman during her brief respite, her mind was simply blank which was likely the best situation she could possibly be in. It wasn't to last though and before long she found herself working. She opened her mouth to try out before realizing that she'd plunged in to icey water that stole her breath. When she was pulled back out she took several quick breaths and she realized that even breathing was agony right now thanks to the abuse that she'd so far recieved with very little time for any recovery. She glared at the woman as she was bought back out and was quickly tussed up in the spider silk rope. Soon though she was funked back in to the water. Yasma's eyes saw the bread as they were thrown in but did this woman really expect her to be able to get them or to prioritize them while she was close to drowning? The voice came in to her head and it didn't clarify anything. She ignored the mushroom bread and strained hard so that the muscles of her abdomen could be seen as clear as carved garnite. Yasma would managed to pull herself back up above the water and take more deep breaths.Her body would be curved and very muscle she had was pushing hard against her skin to give it the impression that it was trying to escape. With her weak battered and beaten body Yasma couldn't managed more than a few seconds before she let out a cry of pain from her protesting muscles and sunk back in to the water to hang in it. She took her time them to try and wait as long as she could on the breath she had managed to take, hoping that the woman would pull her back out. When she didn't Yasma crunched herself up again to pull herself back above water. The veteran warrior could hold herself above water for even less time this time and soon she collapsed back under. Yasma would repeat this another six times before no matter how much she tried to force her body to respond Yasma just didn't have it in her to surface again. All she could do was hope that if she was going to drown here it was as quick as could be.
 
RE: Prison of Drowess War (Elaebryn x Lady Arachnia)

Only after her straining muscles have failed her does Yasma feel the gentle touch of soft, gloved fingertips against her skin, tracing the lines and crevices of bulging flank and abdomen like the affectionate caress of a lover. From thigh and hip and then to stomach and sternum, two fingers draw a leisurely path around bruises and cuts that in another situation might have felt like a pleasant tease. This gentle touch is followed soon after by a couple of light pats to the side of her ribs, in the manner one might pet an animal. And then the rope suspending her goes entirely slack, and Yasma is allowed to fall the remaining six inches or so. The short fall is enough to topple the wash basin and spill its contents — Yasma, the cold water, and the excess coils of rope — out onto the floor. Finally, she can breathe again.

It is only after being dumped onto the floor and given a few moments to recover that Yasma is able to fully perceive her situation. She still bears the marks of dozens of lashes, complete with chunks of skin missing from her shoulders, sides, chest, and back. As she regains her breath and her wits lying in the puddle of cold water, the immediate terror of drowning eventually fades only for the burning sensation of the pain-inducing poison to reassert itself at each site where the whip had kissed her skin. She is bound tightly enough that she could not easily walk, but she might hobble or hop if she were to draw herself up to her feet, or crawl along the ground on her belly. At some prior to being tied up and dipped in water she had apparently been bathed and stripped naked, for she finds herself no longer covered in grime and dried fluids, and the only covering on her body are the silken ropes that bind her like an animal trussed up for slaughter.

Yasma is on the floor in a different chamber than her previous cell, this one having sconces for presently unlit torches and draped with house banners along its walls. Two chairs, a long table, and a lounging sofa are arranged for viewing whatever entertainment might be shown on a slightly raised area like a stage, which is where Yasma has found herself. Two doors are at the far end of the room, and a couple of side tables hold plates and decanters of appetizers and refreshments. Despite the furnishing set for entertaining a group of people, there are only two present: Yasma and her captor.

Upon a padded stool, Elaebryn is seated with her legs crossed at the ankles. Next to her on the wall is a hand-operated wheel-crank to which Yasma is still connected by the ropes at her ankles. As before the pampered bitch is dressed in what must be a comfortable, full-length robe of silk and velvet — though it is a different colour than the one she was previously wearing. Presently she tosses another crumb of mushroom bread in Yasma's general direction. It lands in the standing puddle of spilled water a few inches away from her face with a muted, wet plop. This is soon followed by another, and then another, creating a literal trail of breadcrumbs that leads from the stage toward the lounging sofa.
 
RE: Prison of Drowess War (Elaebryn x Lady Arachnia)

Due to what was currently befalling the drow warrior woman she hadn't noticed the gentle lover like caresses nor the soft affectionate paths she recieved. The only thing she could feel was the cold chill of the water, the agony of her worn out muscles, the fire in her lungs due to the lack of oxygen and desperation. This was the moment, she knew, that she would die. Not in battle fighting a powerful adversary that managed to best her, not while out on some kind of raid, not even from an illness but suspended while entirely naked and trussed up for a younger drow's sadistic amusement. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or scream though she knew that right now she could do either, all she could do was let out a barrage of bubbles that would break upon the surface of the basin. It was an unfitting end for a warrior but one that so perfectly embodied the nature of the drow. Honour was a foreign concept, dignity was something to be broken and fairplay was an entirely useless ideaology.

Just as soon as she began to accept her cruel and cold death the whole situation changed and her fate yet again was left undecided. She fell face first in to the bowl and both she and the bowl fell to the side. She was crumpled in a heap and began gasping wildly when she realized that no longer was she drowning. She spluttered and coughed up water in between sucking down large gulps of air. Her body still ached and pain was still accompanying her on her miserable journey but she was, it seemed, clean. She slowly forced herself in to a kneeling position not really paying attention to the room but to the woman before her. When she saw the piece of sporebread she lost all thought of trying to remain composed and leapt on it as best she could in her current bondage and quickly swallowed it down, not caring that it was soaked. She did the same with the next and the next. The only thought on her mind then was sating the gnawing hunger that attacked her stomach. No matter how she looked she ate as much food as she could do.
 
More crumbs of sporebread are tossed, one after another, leading Yasma first to the lounging sofa and then toward the stool upon which Elaebryn sits clad in green velvet. One final morsel falls right at the hem of her dress, between her ankles. Retrieving it affords Yasma an up-close view of the polished leather shoes — not boots, oddly — her captor is wearing. Black and shiny, as is the favoured colour of the drow for such things, and bearing flat soles and heels that end in a wicked spike. She is also gifted the opportunity to look up, either from beneath the dress or outside it.

Beneath the dress are two soft but shapely calves that are criscrossed in a fine mesh of what must be spidersilk stockings leading presumably to garters somewhere on her thighs. Outside the dress, Elaebryn holds a single standard piece of the sporebread, of which less than half is missing after all those morsels were tossed to Yasma. "Still hungry?" Her voice remains soft, pleasant, gentle. Her ankles uncross and her knees part in an obvious invitation. She watches passively, perhaps curiously — but not with any great scrutiny — for how the broken warrior will respond.
 
Yasma would follow the trail of spore bread like some kind of wild bird, eating broken piece after broken piece, desperate to finally fight back the void where her stomach used to be. she'd never eaten food as quickly as she was currently doing. The bread had little taste but Yasma was used to rations and tasteless food, so long as it sated her hunger flavour hardly mattered. The warrior woman went from place to place as dictated by where the arrogant cunt threw the bread. Right now it didn't matter who was feeding her, she'd never had a meal any where near as rewarding as the one which she currently found herself feeding upon. Eventually she ended up between the legs of her captor and when she looked up she saw the woman's legs though said nothing and decided not to react to them.

Yasma shuffled a step back and then waited, surely this was some ploy and it was setting up whatever cruel torture came next for her. The warrior's red eyes shot up towards the other drow female's hands and she gazed longingly upon the piece of sporebread clutched there. Her eyes drifted upwards towards the woman's face and she frowned slightly. Silence was Yasma's usual demeanour, it always had been. Unless she really had something to say she preferred to say nothing at all, especially when she was on the back foot. She had to weigh up her options though and the idea of going without food was enough motivation for her to realize that she'd much rather say what the brat wanted than go hungry. She composed herself and spoke in a steady voice. "I am" were the words she chose.
 
The smiling bitch smiles deeper, hers a face of joyful contentment in vivid contrast to the harsh frown Yasma bears.

"Would you like more food, then?" She gestures with her free hand to the table nearest her, which bears a platter of fruit, meat, and some kind of saucein a small bowl. There is also another plate of sporebread, and decanters for water and wine. "I have plenty," she says as she tears off another modest morsel from the chunk of sporebread she holds. This one, rather than being thrown to the floor for Yasma, is tossed gently into her own mouth. Her cheeks raise and her eyes half-shut as though savouring the flavour.

"Ask nicely," she says after she has swallowed the morsel, "and I will feed you." Her voice suddenly loses its veneer of sickly-sweet kindness. "Or keep pouting and I'll see if I can't find a quicker way to your heart than through your stomach."
 
Yasma's eyes and heady slowly turned back towards the tables of food as if only really noticing them for the first time this very moment. Her mouth hung open slightly at such a wonderful sight, it was almost like a dream, a vision of pure bliss. Yasma began to imagine just what the food tasted like and how good it would feel in her stomach. She imagined the sharp bite of the wine and the warm satisfying feeling it would provide should she be allowed to drink enough of it. It took every ounce of self controll to not just shuffle over to the tables as fast as she possibly could and stuff everything she could in to her mouth.

The warrior woman's attention was brought back to the presence though as the iritating bitch spoke once again and Yasma frowned a little further though she looked over at her captor to listen to just what she had to say. 'Ask nicely' was the first thing, something Yasma was never good at. 'A quicker way to her heart'. Ysma wasn't sure if she was being literal with that or just using ambigous wording. She wasn't sure she wanted to find out either. She debated internally for just a few seconds before she placed her current state of hunger above personal dignity. "I would... I want more would, please? Please can I eat?" each word felt like acid as she spat them up in her best calm voice that she could manage. Just pronouncing the words had been difficult.
 
"So you can speak! Good."

Green velvet swirls about her ankles as Elaebryn rises smoothly to her feet, and soon the silent swish of fabric is punctuated by the delicate click-clack of narrow heels upon stone floor as she moves around and behind the nearest table. There situated she quietly prepares an appetizer from the presented ingredients. A chunk of fruit is dipped into the bowl of sauce, and like a brush used to paint a slice of the sporebread with a modest layer. Sliced meat goes atop the bread, folded and wrapped around the chunk of fruit. The process of assembly is unrushed, and the resulting hors d'oeuvre provides perhaps two bites of food. Yasma's captor takes her time, in full view of her preparing six such morsels and arranging them pleasingly on a small platter before looking back up to acknowledge that she is still present.

She still presents that insufferable smile.

Once the platter of appetizers is ready, it is lifted and Elaebryn returns to the padded stool to sit with it in her lap. "I think I prefer you hungry," she says while holding her gaze on her captive. "Hungry, exhausted, and bound you are no threat to me." She takes one of the six prepared appetizers into her mouth with one over-sized bite, and all the while maintaining eye contact slowly chews and swallows. She seems quite content with herself, to have offered food and not given it; to know that her starving captive watched as she scarfed it down instead. And then she quenches her thirst with a sip of wine.

"But perhaps you could persuade me to be generous?"

She lifts another appetizer, cups it in the palm of her hand, and holds it at about knee-height by her side. "Here, girl—" she speaks as though addressing an animal. She even shakes her hand back and forth a bit. "Worm your way across the floor and eat it out of my hand. Gently, or you don't get any more."
 
Just watching the arrogant cow slowly make the food was agonizing enough for Yasma. She'd had a taste of food and it, while giving her some nourishment, wasn't enough. She was still famished and in dire need of a real meal. She could practically taste the food as it slowly came closer and closer as the woman sat down. Yasma waited impatiently, desperate to eat though she soon found that it wasn't what the bitch had in mind. She mentioned her staying hungry and ate one of the morsels herself, something which actually caused Yasma to cry out with a quick "No!". As though some hope was being torn away infront of her. Her eyes went wide as she struggled her way over towards the woman.

She spoke again though and it made the warrior woman pause for a moment on the ground. She bit her lip hard as she listened to what the woman had in mind. She wanted Yasma to degrade herself, humiliate herself in return for food. Right now that was a substitute that Yasma was willing to make, she needed that food, it wasn't a question of want. The idea of going several more days without anything didn't appeal to her. She groaned as she continued to shuffle closer to the woman feeling somewhat sick with herself. She did her best to close the distance and then, when she got there, she'd do as the cunt wanted and slowly move towards the food, fighting against her body wanting her to snatch out for it to make sure she got it.
 
The offered appetizer and the hand that holds it remain still, gloved palm cupping the snack-sized morsel like a tiny bowl from which Yasma may nibble. Whether by ravenous gulping or reserved savouring the little meal is consumed without incident. Elaebryn even helpfully tilts her hand so crumbs and flecks may be licked from between fingers or other creases in the leather. With her free hand, then, another appetizer is plucked from the platter while the other is presses against cheek as though to pat a favoured animal.

"Such a good girl," she says as her hand presses flush against Yasma's face. In perfect time with the last syllable, and the flattening of palm against cheekbone, a profane and terrible agony surges through the flesh in a sensation like Yasma's face and throat are being split open by a spider's web of a thousand burning, flensing blades. The fiery pain radiates through the nerves and eventually comes to focus entirely on the tongue. The pain lasts for only a few seconds before fading, and after it passes what seemed like vicious and mutilating wounds are revealed to be entirely invisible — for her skin is unbroken and despite all sensation to the contrary Yasma's tongue had not been burned to a crisp.

"Recall that no weapon forged against me shall prosper," says the robed woman as she withdraws her hand. "And that every tongue that rises up against me in judgement, Lolth shall condemn."

Yasma's captor speaks the same tired litany that Yasma has heard repeated — and seen disproven — countless times in her years, in various forms. The successful and victorious of Lolth's clerics and faithful always claim that they are shrouded by the Spider Queen's divine protection, right up until a dagger pierces their heart or slits their throat — and the explanation when such events inevitably occur is always that Lolth had withdrawn her favour. It is common wisdom that no one truly favoured by Lolth could ever be defeated in such a way, but Yasma is smart enough to recognize the fallacy for what it is. She is not, however, in the best position to argue the point.

The gloved hand returns to its position near the floor, and the next snack, fresh from the platter, is placed in it with Elaebryn's free hand while Yasma deals with the pain.

"Another?" Of course, the voice is insufferably chipper.
 
Yasma did her best to control her hunger but it was incredibly difficult. She continued to devour the morsels before her without too much grace. While the situation made her feel sick, the bitch petting and teasing her as though she were some kind of tamed animal in servitude to the woman. She felt the humiliation as it was impossible not to but right now the thought of a meal far outweighed her embarassment or the damage it did to her dignity. The words did little to dispel her feeling of belittlement though Yasma would have been a fool to think that the choice words the other female gave her or the little actions were there for anything more than to further strip away her identity as a person, to try and reaffirm the belief that she was now just a creature, an animal who lived, fed, atered and died by the will of their mistress. It was a position that Yasma still denied in her mind, it was temporary, it wouldn't last.

The warrior female should have known by now not to trust the woman and that this whole moment was too good to be true. Where she believed she was in for nourishment at the cost of dignity it seemed that she was wrong. She howled in pain and clutched at both her neck and her face. She dropped on to her side then and writhed as she dug her nails in to her flesh as though she could uproot whatever was causing this intense pain. Her eyes clenched shut from the agony and she realized there must only be one way out of this. She decided to bit down hard and chew away her tongue though just before she could perform the task the pain began to dissipate. She breathed heavy against the floor and took nothing in of the woman's monologue. Yasma remained still after that as yet another snack was offered to her, deciding hunger was far better than suffering like that again.
 
"Are you so easily cowed that you fear bread now, warrior?"

The snack bobs up and down like a toy taunting an animal for several seconds.

"Or perhaps you have begun to learn obedience to your betters?"

The appetizer is gently tossed and strikes Yasma right on the nose. It conveys no harm but a smear of sauce, and perhaps another intrusion against her dignity. Her captor folds her hands in her lap and watches with anticipation as though expecting a certain reaction.
 
Yasma wasn't afraid of bread but the agony and taint that this sadistic bitch had clearly put on to them. She was no fool and she didn't want to suffer any more than she needed to for this sadistic cunt's amusement. She remained quiet then, not giving the woman any kind of answer as she knew it would just be turned against her, besides, they weren't really questions that required an answer. She stared at the next bit of food as it was thrown towards her only to bounce off of her nose. Yasma's mouth twitched angrily and she had to hold herself back from a retort. She did however reach up to wipe away the sauce left over on her nose. Still she chose not to eat, starvation was more desireable than that agony. Yasma's will was strong enough for that at least... or so she thought for now. She'd had a few bites of food and while it did little to quell her hunger it did at the very least take off that vicious edge that had her delerious. Her mind strayed to what came next and she dreaded what the girl had planned, she knew that coming here and feeding her poisonous appetizers was definitely not all she had planned, not in a room like this
 
"Good girl," says Elaebryn after several moments have passed. She must be referring to Yasma's refusal to eat in some way. But why?

"Silence looks good on you," she goes on to say, "and there are better uses for that mouth of yours." Still no command is given. She merely talks.

"Hut-tut! Don't play coy!" She speaks curtly as though interjecting to interrupt the words Yasma had yet to voice.

"You warrior types are all the same in the end, hungry not for glory, or honor, or even food — but to be humiliated, and to serve."

She lets the statement hang in the air for a bit.

"I'll bet you couldn't even control yourself in the pangs of hunger, could you? Tell me, slave: did you steal a peek up my skirts earlier?"
 
The drow noble was clearly delusional, her claims were so far from the truth that it was absurd though Yasma didn't doubt that she actually believed everything that she was currently saying. Still the woman was met with silence, there was no correct answer here. She could lie and agree with the outlandish claims and likely be punished for it or she could deny the claims and almost certainly be punished for rejecting them. In such a situation she believed that silence was clearly the wiser option for her to take and so that was what Yasma did. She pushed out thoughts of her spoiled half meal and concerns at how long she'd have to wait until she next had the chance to eat. She pushed out thoughts of attacking the woman who was currently in a position of power over the warrior. She ground her teeth together and waited, images of just where this was about to go began flashin in her mind.
 
Silence hangs in the air once more for several long moments, the tension palpable as the robed woman watches Yasma intently as though reading her expression. Or perhaps her thoughts! Was she capable of such a thing? Presently she remains all smiles, a self-satisfied figure of contentment and poise.

"If you have neither appetite nor words," she says finally, "then drag yourself over here and make yourself useful." Her voice lacks the cheerful taunting that had become usual.

The noblewoman does not move or change her position, seated comfortably upon her stool with knees and ankles about shoulder width apart. Her hands by now have fallen idle, folded in her lap across her stomach. Her lips pursed and one eyebrow slightly bent, she waits.
 
The wait was torment, the knowledge that some thing was most definitely coming her way, something that almost promised to be nothing short of horrible. The veteran drow warrior would rather just face whatever it was head on now than be teased in to it. That smile on the woman's lips lit a fire in her like she couldn't believe, a hatred that she'd not felt before. She had no desire to eat poisoned food and the less she had to say the better, she'd always been a woman who spoke only when she had something to say. She cringed at the woman's next words though she knew that there was little point in doing completely nothing. Yasma took slow movements to bring herself before the woman. As far as making herself useful Yasma had an inkling of what the woman meant but she couldn't bring herself to act it out. She instead waited there awkwardly, battling with herself in her mind.
 
Dainty, delicate feet depart the floor without particular grace, and with equally direct movements are plopped down upon the captive's back with exaggerated weight. To the trained eye of a veteran warrior, it is clear this is all an act — a show put on for her own benefit to flaunt how lacking in physical training is her captor. More naive warriors might merely see the apparent lack of coordination and be fooled, but Yasma's attention is drawn to the subtle detail of Elaebryn's hands never wavering from their position in her lap. So abrupt and jerky are these awkward movements that they should have required visible exertion, evident in the twisting and straining of core and ancillary muscles; but, the damnably calm woman retains her exact poise throughout the maneuver, her stomach neither bulging nor contracting nor her torso wrenching nor anywhere above her waist showing any visible sign of strain. Impossible for someone as weak as Elaebryn presents herself to be, the legs simply move, all the while her eyes remain locked on Yasma's own — watching like a predator not what the captive warrior does but where she looks, how she looks that way, and likely deliberating on the hidden meanings of those interpretations.

All of this thought is pushed to the back of a mind addled by hunger and sleep deprivation as thin calves come to rest on either side of Yasma's neck, atop her shoulders, and the entire motion clearly reveals the drow cleric wears nothing beneath her robes. As skirts shift during this maneuver, a glint of metal teases its presence, but it is gone as soon as the fabric resettles. Knees hook themselves over her shoulders, ankles cross at around the middle of her back, and perhaps deceptively slight calves flex as feet and toes stretch and dig nails into flesh. For once the priestess visibly blinks, her eyes slowly shutting and remaining so for nearly a full second before opening again, and her upper body visibly relaxes as she leans backward as though into the arms of a lover or perhaps into the cushioned back of a chair. But seated as she is upon the stool, there is no such back and her body simply holds that position — declaring loudly yet impossibly the relaxation of melting into comfort and support where clearly no such structure exists.

And then a deep breath is exhaled, the drowess rights herself, and the muscles in her calves relax. What might have been expected — the drawing up of the slave's mouth towards her sex — does not occur at all. Instead just the return of that awful, punchable smile and the accompanying cheerful lilt to a voice laced with smug satisfaction.

"Did you peek this time?"
 
There wasn't any way that Yasma would be able to avoid her eyes flicking up towards her captor's thighs and follow the length of her leg this time. This action was one which revealed what the smaller drow no doubt desired Yasma to see, her naked sex bared in a taunting manner. She stared for a moment before her eyes looked up towards the woman meeting her own for just a split second before they returned to the ground. All elves were attractive and this one was no different. Yasma had never had time for relations before though or even considering other men or women, she took her position and her trainign seriously, her blade was her wife.

Yasma fulley expected the woman to pull her forward towards the uncovered cunt that Elaebryn possessed and started to brace herself for it... the movement however never came and she wasn't sure if the continued prolonging made the moment worse or not, she knew she was being toued with. Her eyes snapped back up to the woman's face and she did her best to keep a look of hatred from it. She didn't answer the question either as the answer was obvious, she planned on doing the bare minimum to avoid punishment for now an little more.
 
Yasma served as leg-and-foot stool for several long minutes, all the while her captor apparently reclined against something invisible behind her. Neither harsh words nor painful action punctuated these minutes, affording her brief respite. The soft jingle of a bell breaks the silence after some while, and doors to the chamber open to reveal nondescript guards.

"Take her down to the slave quarters," says the woman whose legs still rest upon her shoulders. "Clean her up, drug her, and put her to work."

Elaebryn sits upright long enough to lift her legs, then leans forward to whisper something to her captive just before the guards take her.

"We'll try this again after you've had some time to think about your place here."

* * *

The starving woman is taken down into the bowels of the place, where once again she is greeted by the smells and sounds of people in close quarters. But rather than simply be thrown into a prison cell and left to stew among this aroma, she is taken to a complex of rooms that are clearly meant to serve as common areas and living quarters for the slaves. Here she is given water and food — mostly tasteless gruel, but nourishing none the less for its lack of flavour. After being allowed a meal, she is then ushered into a surprisingly clean chamber where a bare-chested man and woman wearing loose pants and adorned in modest jewelry attend couches and pools of clear water. The guards convoying her around stop outside the door to this bathing room, delivering her to these attendants with a wordless shove but not following her inside. There are braziers in the corners of the room, offering both dim light and warmth, and infusing the air with the scent of some kind of fragrant herb. The bathing attendants say nothing and do not rise from the couches where they recline, but both watch Yasma intently.

What shall she do?
 
Yasma remained still, seething and simply wantin the moment to pass, to be returned to whatever cell she was to be kept prisoner in and then, maybe, possibly be given a meal and water. The minutes seemed to last for hours though until the sound of the bell almost startled her. She felt the weight of her dominator's legs be removed from her and saw the guards make their way over to her. Drug her up? Put her to work? The drow warrior didn't like the sounds of them though right now she was weak with hunger and unable to fight. She simply went with them without much of a fight with Elaebryn's words echoing in her mind.

As the captive warrior was offered food and water she took the moment to recharge herself. She ate and drank like one who was on the brink of death. She cared little for the taste of the food and was used to mushroom gruel over her time serving. By the time she was finished the angry groaning and twisting of her stomach had died down and she felt rehydrated. Still, despite her considerable improvement, she went along with her guards. Yasma knew how the drow worked and knew that she would go where they wanted sooner or later and it was better to do so while she still had strength. As she was entered in to the room she eyed the two within with narrowed suspicious eyes. She simply waited near the entrance her eyes matching those who were already in there and flicking from either of their faces.
 
After some tense moments of stillness and silence, the pair of attendants exchange glances and rise in unison from their reclining sofas. Silver bangles at their wrists sing like wind chimes in accompaniment to graceful movements. They approach Yasma, and as though ushering in a guest offer each a hand laid lightly upon shoulder and another gesturing toward the water. Between them, before them, Yasma is bade walk toward the bathing pool while slender fingers pick away any lingering crumbs or scraps that may yet cling to her body. Neither speaks a word.

The bathing pool is perhaps a metre deep once fully entered, with steps leading down into it carved into its circumference. In addition to braziers burning at corners of the room, along two sides there are sofas from which the attendants had just risen. The back wall contains a low table, with a shelf beneath it upon which rest bottles, baubles, and a basket with folded cloth. Each of these features is mere steps from the water, allowing one to easily transition between them. The water was warm enough that moisture condensed on the walls, yet not quite hot enough to steam. Gold is Inlaid on the corners of steps and in ornate patterns on the walls, and serves as trim for the reclining sofas and the low table. Were it not for the guards posted outside this square little room, it might have a fully relaxing atmosphere.

The silent attendants, with only their steps and gestures, bid Yasma step into the water with them.
 
Yasma struggled letting her guard down at any time but if any where this seemed like the best place to do it and she was confident, should a fight break out, she would be able to take the two on her own without too much trouble. She sighed and simply walked towards them, taking their guiding and soon enough joining them in the pleasantly warm waters. With everything that had happened so far and how filthy she was and grime covred this was more than likely the best experience shed'd had since she'd lost that battle and found herself a captive to the other drow. She gave a sigh and took some deep heavy breaths. They seemingly didn't wish to speak with her and Yasma returned the sentiment so she relished in the silence as she stood there in the water, waiting for what was to come, likely them bathing her or at least it semed that way so far.
 
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