The dampness of the dungeon cellar carried a strong odor of mildew and stagnant water; the pitter-pattering of falling droplets rousing a wrist-bound elf from her slumber.
This was a hellish place, and it was 'The Flayer' who brought his victims to that oh so delicate realm that dwelled between the depths of despair and the peaks of paradise; he would show his captive such terrible ecstasy.
"Mmm," Alra stirred, standing on wobbly, battered knees with her hands bound high above her head via iron chains. "Where am I--" She had such smooth alabaster skin, as most Elves did, unfortunately it had already been sullied by grime. Bright green orbs lazily scanned her dark surroundings in an attempt to find a way out, and more importantly who her captor was; a question that would be answered momentarily.
"A Duchess, Heiress to the Valik Household, Commander of-- no, these titles mean little now; you have made some spiteful enemies to say nothing else." Emerging from the abyss and into limited view, the unfeeling voice belonged to a thin, heavily scarred male; a burlap sack with sunken eyeholes covered his visage.
Noticing her own nudity, Alra spat, "Human! I can tell by the stench of you! Defiling...wretched...greedy--"
"Please, do not waste your much needed breaths; I only accept screams as social currency."
Her stomach dropped, realizing the the hopelessness of the situation but refusing to accept it, "Why?"
"You really should heed my advice." The Flayer moved from one shadow to the next as if making unseen preparations; Alra could hear the slight scrapings of metal. Her curiosity revealed horrible revelation after the next, as the busty and bound Elf noticed the rusted butchering hooks that limply swung; dried blood, quite old, had left pooling splotches of rust around her feet.
"I seek to illuminate, paid in trinkets and baubles, but ever dutiful in a mirthful resolve that stems from love" He approached from behind, "I have such sights to show you." A polished blade