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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 3305352" data-attributes="member: 143">I wonder what Mole would have to say about that?  <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" />  Far be it from me to disappoint.  * * * * * Chapter 91ALLERA’S FATEAllera lay on cold stone.  She shivered, but the cold was nothing in comparison to the pain that wracked her slender frame.  She was covered in blood and filth, and the tattered remains of her shift.  Everything else had been taken from her. Her reservoir of power had been nearly depleted, but still retained a small trickle of energy.  But she refrained from healing herself.  Her hesitation was a signal of how far they had already broken her, she knew, in that compartment of her mind that was still thinking with some form of clarity.  During the sessions of torture, they had not made any efforts to restrain her from using her from using her healing abilities.  If anything, they had seemed to welcome it; once restored, her body could be abused further.  They had allowed her time to rest, to regain her powers; such was the contempt with which they held her.  After all, what could a healer do to them?  The thought made her recall Dar, who had also once mocked her talents.  The fighter had treated her with scorn, had cheapened her with his lustful demands.  But she couldn’t think ill of him, not now.  Not after what they’d gone through together in this place, not after he’d agreed to help Talen and the others.  Had he given his life in that cause?  The cultists had not answered any of her questions about the outcome of the attempted coup against the Duke; either they didn’t know, or they weren’t interested in sharing information with her.   They had been careful to keep her alive, however.  She had considered taking her own life, but the idea was still anaethma to her.  They knew that, no doubt.  They were probably watching her even now.  She had no idea to what purpose they were keeping her alive.  They had asked some questions, early on, but her interrogators had seemed barely interested with the answers.  Most of those who hurt her had been young people, men and women both, and not entirely adept with the devices that they used.  She rolled over, letting out a small sigh of pain as the movement stirred new agonies in her battered body.  As she shifted, though, she felt something hard press against her side.  It took a small effort of will to reach up and see what it was; they’d flayed several inches of skin from each of her arms, and every movement of the limbs brought terrible stabbing pains that lanced through her like cold needles.  Her remaining skin had been marked with brands, unholy sigils that covered her face and torso, seared deep into the flesh.  They had even branded her scalp, after hacking away her beautiful, pale hair with rough knives.  Even her healing powers could not fully remove those dread markings, and when she had tried, they had just branded her again during the next session, relishing her agonized screams. A soft green light spilled over her as she found the thing that had poked her, and drew it out from an inner pocket of her ragged garment.  Her eyes widened in surprise.  It was the gemstone that Dar had given her. She’d had the stone on her when the cultists had captured her.  She and Jaros had been taken easily, caught by surprise by a small group of men who had laid in wait for them at the rendezvous.  Held in a field of magical silence, bound by tight, barbed cords that had bitten into her flesh, she had been forced to watch what they had done to the bard.  Then one of them had pressed a cloth to her face, soaked in something that had made her head swim almost at once.  She’d lost consciousness. She didn’t remember much of the journey from Camar, although she’d had a good idea of their destination almost at once.  She’d been kept bound and gagged, her head wrapped in a burlap sack that smelled of horses.  She had no idea of how much time passed since her abduction; everything of that time had blended together into a confused medley of fleeting sensations.  She’d been kept drugged, she was fairly certain.  The first clear memory she had was of being dragged up and secured to a rack of metal and wood, the sack yanked free to reveal the faces of her captors. She looked down at the gemstone.  Its inner light seemed to flicker slightly at her scrutiny.  Obviously valuable, it radiated a faint magic, but had no other properties that she’d been able to discern.  Gudmund, the wholly evil leader of this corrupt cell of cultists, had been quite interested in it.  He’d asked her a number of questions about it, and her inability to answer them had seemed to pique his curiosity further.  He’d taken it with him... hadn’t he?  How had it gotten back into her possession?She heard a familiar sound of bootsteps on stone.  She tucked the gem back into concealment a second before a loud grinding sound announced the return of her captors.  She squinted against the light of their brands as the door creaked reluctantly open.  It was Gudmund, a cold look in his eyes as he looked down at her. “It is time, my dear,” he hissed at her.  “Now, you will join with the True God, and your life will hasten his coming.”His acolytes came forward, arms extended.  Allera screamed, but it didn’t do any good.</blockquote>

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