Imprisoned Pride

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Felt like writing another backstory piece after some recent character development.

Another mission had gone sour. Such a simple assignment turned complicated so quickly. It's as if the world knows just when to toss a marble under your foot to send you spiraling down a set of stairs. The life of a rogue…

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Strands of white hair rested in the familiar Shenath's face whose head was hung in defeat. Dried blood stuck to the side of his face causing his right eye to remain closed as if it was glued shut. He was stripped down to have only his trousers on, revealing the severe bruising and gashes to his torso, particularly to his ribs which were without a doubt broken. His wrists were bound above his head to the cold stone wall behind him, likely being the only thing that kept him kneeled and not huddled over in a tight ball. He was motionless aside from the light rising and falling of his chest and the occasional flinch of pain as his torso expanded and caused the ribs to pinch. A stale smell that was hard to pinpoint filled the cell's air, the Kathar's nose only being able to make out the subtle smell of rot whether it was from food or a corpse. The pitter patter of squeaking rats was the only sound to fill this dungeon until the loud creak of a hinge was heard followed by slow footfalls that only grew closer to the Nelfin's cell.

Eyan had been awake for all of it. The false mission that was used merely as a setup. The ambush which took down his men. The large mace which came down onto him in flashes of white and red. And the dragging of his motionless body to this very cell. All of it continued to replay in his mind as if he was examining the entirety of the scene, searching for where it went wrong, never losing consciousness, only remaining still on that wall until his ears twitched at the sound of the footsteps. Further noise filled the air as the figure, or figures, took out keys and began to open the cell door and pushed it open, it emitting an ear-piercing squeak.

"You still alive, ash-skin?" A higher pitched male voice, familiar to the ears of the Kathar, questioned. The man moved forward and squatted down, sitting on his feet to be eye level with the bound rogue.

Eyan heaved in a painful breath in response, "Gonna take more than your sorry arse to end me, mutt."

The squatting figure laughed over his shoulder to the two which accompanied him who in turn also chuckled. A sharp sudden pain then rang through Eyan's head as the man grabbed him by the hair to force the Kathar to look him in the face. The Nelfin grunted and snarled, opening the one eye not blocked by blood to come face to face with the pit fighter he dealt with only a couple of months back, now with clipped ears. "Even in your last moments, you can't hold your tongue."

"Don't need to. Your boss needs me alive and we both know that, halfling." Eyan's lips curled into a grin before being met with a fist, sending his head jerking to the right.

"Aye, he does need you alive. But that doesn't stop us from breaking you."

"Do your worst, knife-ear." The defeated Kathar made one final quip, eyeing the man coldly but still with a grin across his features as a sharp pain then bet his torso causing him to scream out as the Half-Elf began to press against his broken ribs.

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Eyan blinked, finding himself looking into a cracked mirror, the room dark gray with little light from the moon penetrating the interior. His eyes fell across his visage, looking to the burns and scar which made up the right side of his face. He then trailed to examine the newest addition to his body. Void script. The mark which now wrapped itself around his neck. He stood stoically at first, his eyes running over the marking before his lips began to curl into an awful wicked grin. One which would undoubtedly look uncomfortable to anyone else but he only found pride in himself.