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re: Her Darkest Hour


A faint hum of chanting can be heard, darkness is all around but every so often a flash of an image, a memory perhaps, replays in Nymaway's mind like a terrible nightmare. 

Sweating now, the memory begins to pick up the pace, all she remembers was opening her eyes and seeing Adalene and Shroom both laying on the ground before something stabbed her. Poison coursing through her veins, a deep slumber once again takes over. Faint conversations about being in the Arklon Ruins still echo in her ears. A memory of waking up kicking and trying to scream but her mouth was stuffed with cloth.  

She spit the cloth out onto the ground, she notices that it is a piece of her tabard. She closes her eyes and vaguely remembers that the undead rogue shoved it into her mouth to stop her screaming. Her side aches from where she was stabbed, though every time she breathed in she felt something tight around her belly. Nymaway reaches down to her stomach and discovers some type of rope tied around it. For what purpose she does not know, but quickly she rips it from her stomach looking at it discovering it was a black cord that smelled foul. Without hesitation she drops it to the ground.

The ripping sound gains the rogues attention, he marches over to her backhanding her across the face. Her right cheek bone stings as she looks up at the rogue glaring. 

“I suggest you keep yourself still, I would hate to have to cut your hands off so soon.” Whispered the rogue in a raspy voice. 

With her eyes narrowed she starts to growl, her bones begin to snap as her body starts to shift. The rogue laughs as he gets down beside her and jabs his bony hand deep into the wound at her side. Nymaway howls out in pain, the shifting stops, and her bones temporarily stay partially shifted. 

With every breath she took in, the pain of her bones grinding against one another made her convulse. The rogues hand still buried deep within her wound, his face next to hers. “ Go ahead, let them hear your screams.”

Clenching her jaw she manages to utter a single word. “ Never!”

The rogue moves his bony fingers around in the wound. Nymaway screams out in agony as he does it again and again. Her eyes start to roll into the back of her head, with one final twist of his hand, her eyes close, she thinks of Greavell. She calls to him with a scream before blackness settles in.

“QUIT THAT! She will not be any use to me dead! If you keep that up she won't make it to the alter!” The warlock snarls at the rogue. “ How many times do I have to tell you! I need her and the life inside her alive! For now anyways.”

The imp at the warlock's side jumps up and down cackling at his masters words before he gets smacked.

With an irritated groan, the rogue slowly pulls his hand out from the wound, it is covered in Nymaway's deep red blood. The smile fades from his rotting face as he wipes it off.




Beneath her back she feels a cold stone slab. The chanting has returned and so has consciousness. Nymaway opens her eyes, she looks to her right to see rows of undead dressed in robes of black and purple. She tries to move her hands and legs but she can't, they are chained to four small pillars at each corner of the alter.

Lifting her head slightly she sees her porcelain skin exposed, a cloaked figure is painting rune like symbols all over her skin in what appears to be blood.

The warlock approaches her in some sort of ceremonial robe of deep purple and black with intricate designs. In his hands he holds a golden jeweled chalice that he seems to be whispering to. 

A tear rolls down Nymaway's cheek. “This is it.” She thinks to herself. 

He places the chalice to her lips, but she fights it. Thrashing her head around clenching her lips closed. The warlock snarls then places his right hand on her face squeezing it forcing her mouth to open. He pours the mixture of blood and different herbs down her throat.

Nymaway lets out a blood curdling scream as she arches her back on the stone alter, pulling tightly at the chains. The mixture burning in her throat.

Suddenly a look of great displeasure crosses the warlock's face. “ No...NO...NOOOOO!!...this isn't right he says! This isn't the place we need to do this he SAYS!” He throws the chalice to the ground spilling the remainder of its contents.

All of the chanting stops, the other undead stare at the warlock in silence as they watch the display.

The imp screeches then jumps up onto the alter unchaining Nymaway. Her arms fall to her chest as she turns over the edge vomiting. The imp lets the chains slide off of the alter then jumps down returning to his masters side.

“ This will never do!! He has spoken to me!! We must go quickly! To the Alter of Storms!”

He snaps his boney fingers then hisses for the rogue. The rogue steps up to the alter and with the butt of his dagger he bashes Nymaway on the side of the head knocking her out. Picking her up he slings her over his shoulder waiting for the warlock to open a new portal. 

The warlock scowls as others join him in summoning the demonic portal. “ I should have known this wasn't good enough for him.”

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