[Short Story Thing] Trapped Below from Zandrae Pyreanor's blog

(This is part of a storyline called The Society Strikes, which is part of a larger private story arc. Private meaning that it takes place away from public space.)

In the basement of Elramir’s Arathi Highland stronghold. (Elramir is a powerful magi brought back from lichdom with twisted magic that required the sacrifice of a thousand people. He's bad news.)


Two cells six feet wide, nine feet deep, that ran from floor to ceiling, and sat side by side in an indented part of a stone wall. Thick plates of metal protected the floor, ceiling, and floor from the occupants therein. The two cells shared a common barred wall, allowing the captives to reach into the others’ cages, but invisible spell barriers that prevented hands from extending out their cell doors. Each cell had a bed with a sink-toilet combination at the foot of the bed by the back wall.

Long, heavy, thick chains bolted to the walls and to thick metal collars kept the prisoners from exiting their cells without their captors’ approval. Unbound wrist and ankle cuffs reminded the prisoners how little control they had in their lives. Their wrists and ankles could be locked any which way on a whim.

In the left cell lie a Kaldorei man with pale purple skin and long, thick, deep violet hair. He had thick brown horns growing from his head, a blindfold that covered his eyes, and fel green tattoos. He slept a fitful sleep.

In the right cell lay a Sin'dorei man on his stomach with freckle-kissed crimson skin, bright ginger hair, large curling horns, and ginger wings. The black leathery keratin of his hands and lower arms was cracked and fel magic emanated from the crevices—a Felblood Elf. This man was younger, perhaps 20 falls old, too young to be part of Kael’s original Felblood Elves. A metal device latched around his arm just below his elbow, and a plastic tube with a plugged connector hung from a hole in the device. It was IV port used to deliver medicine and nutrition, and the device kept the prisoner from tampering with it too badly.

It made sense to store the half-demon elves in the same space, except for the fact that the Kaldorei, after all his torture, had lost his self-control and diplomacy, and focused almost entirely on containing his inner demon while in this hell. His instincts to rip other demonic beings apart screamed in his head at the presence of the Felblood, while the Felblood didn’t ask to be born nor turned into a monster, and spent his hours lamenting his existence and dreaming of freedom, of the world he read about in books.

Frequently the chained Illidari rose from his bed and hurled threats and insults at the Felblood, his own purple skin displayed a darkening but not blackened keratin on his hands, his fingernails sharp like knives, as he reached into the other cell and tried to rip the Felblood apart.

The Felblood elf’s wings rustled at the screaming as he sat atop his bed. Many times he considered moving into the Illidari’s grasp, but the books gave him a hope to one day have freedom, to keep living.

One time he did give up hope and subtle scars along his neck served as a reminder of that mistake. The Illidari verbally lashed out and the Feblood agreed, rose, knelt before the raging Illidari, and allowed the Kaldorei to grip his neck and move to end him.

He agreed that he was demon filth, that this was something their captors did to him, and that he never wanted to be like this. He yelled at the Kaldorei to hurry up and kill him. The half-unhinged Kaldorei screamed, “No!” The captors sentenced the Felblood to a punishment worse than death–they took his books away. Seven days without any way for his mind to escape this hell was torture.

They came to an understanding. The Felblood Elf learned that the Illidari suffered instincts that his own half-demonic prescience amplified, and that his constant hostility was unintentional. The Kaldorei learned that the Felblood Elf didn’t willingly choose to be a half demon monster and didn’t deserve the death his instincts urged him to deliver.

Sometimes the Felblood read his stories aloud to the Illidari so his mind could escape too, but usually their main form of entertainment is hurling insults at each other, yelling at the top of their lungs the most as colorful and ridiculous insults they could imagine.

Typical insults involved the Kaldorei yelling, "You short, red-faced flutterfuck, I'm going to cut off your horns and use them as doorknobs!"

To which the Felblood's wings fluffled up and fluttered with agitation as he yelled back, "Shut up you giant eggplant elf. How do you even know what color I am. You know what you haven't sacrificed? Your fucking tongue. I'm going to rip it out!"

Sometimes, in spite of their suffering, the very torture they endured trapped in close quarters, they managed to steal a laugh from their own ridiculous insults or some peace during story time.

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By Zandrae Pyreanor
Added Aug 1 '17


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