[hider=&]
[b]Location - [/b] Elibstan Citadel Dungeon
[b]Health -[/b] Iron poisoning; dehydrated; dying
[b]Inventory -[/b] Iron shackles [cuffs] [/hider]
----
There was a concept of time, a universal belief and religion that attested to its self, in that the world will continue to move on should you perish and in this confine of a dank, dismal hell she would rather be dead. Death was a balm to the sluggish crawl of seconds and dwindling life of the shoddy masonry assemblage that was her solitary cell. Bound in crude iron shackles with an equine bit shoved unceremoniously between her lips, and twined shut by the chafing leather of a mocking muzzle, or should they be dubbed as her unofficial reins, the creature that was personified of life and warmth was incarcerated because of the very nature in which she lived. Bridled with their cruel amusement, the diminutive figure in the corner with her arms fastened high above her literal crown of thorns and antlers had been confined to this dungeon for such a time that she could not recall or remember; they had never even offered her a scrap of clothing despite the downy fur of her breast. That concept had been cruel in its avoidance and allowed her mind to fester and her psyche to crumble beneath the silence and droning woe that permeated the stench of filth and long forgotten detainees. 

In her time of her captivity they had discovered unique tortures to her gender, customized and tailored to her physique and her genetic materialization, to assuage and impair, to rend the blood asunder from marrow and skin alike from the bidding maliciousness of her aggressors. For they had never had the sadistic pleasure of imprisoning her kind. These unique devices of cruel intent had burned and marred her, had been specified and designated to be a rather hellacious reminder in her meddling with her betters. In the initial wounds and lashes of crude iron, she had screeched and bayed wildly like an animal caught in the snares of her obsessed hunter, writhing from the burning; the pain; her song of agony had struck deep inside the masonry and there it would be a memory in blood that had been the colour of evergreen pines. 

Kylmi had, in that single moment of hopeless despair, allowed her heart to be surrendered to the dark and it was illustrated in the curling ends of her usually chartreuse hair that was beginning to wither and die in the bruising of brown tones. She wasn’t meant for the shadows or the despairing confines of prison and never had she been concerned for such. She had lived life and enjoyed each and every pleasurable splendor it had to offer, even in her torturing she had found a masochistic desire within the branding and lashes - thinking about it allowed a muffled chortle to slip beyond her mask. But now they had directed their attentions else where, forgoing her near ritual treatment in favour of the troupe of convicts locked and withheld in the largest cage designated for those to be sorted and separated later on in their own cells. That in itself gave testament to how long she had been held here, not to mention the deterioration and literal decomposing of her body that accumulated in stages. 

Eyes narrowed within the dark as her elegant ears swiveled and rotated in kin to a fawns and were just as sensitive. The scrape of metal in the dark, the drone of voices varying in baritones and pitches, all receding back to where she was withheld in one of the last blocks. A sort of vain hope tore through her heart and with it the crumbling of walls. The stones fell upon the brutal force of something big, incredibly huge though she could not see, but the sounds assaulted her ears none the less and she cringed behind her crude, leather muzzle. The bar to her cell trembled with the commotion and her eyes once dimmed with woe lit up in a spark of leaf green when something monstrous loomed beyond the doors. It was a creature she did not know, not even back home in the woods of Isildier, but he was something to behold and revere in that moment and terrifyingly beautiful . His talon came down upon the iron and she strained with the chains and shackles still holding her back, freedom loomed just beyond those shattered fixtures and she nearly whimpered when the beast moved on to other doors. 

Her arms strained and her soul screamed as she flailed her body to try and dislodge the links from the wall, her peculiar feet decorated in thorns and claws scarped the cobblestone in her struggle but without the sun she was weak and dying, a plant withering in the dark. The Nymph screamed around her cruel bit and threw her entire body toward the gaping cell door and whatever divinity existed out there [for the White Stag was no more] she managed to sever her chains. Rust flaked and metal scraped as she fell forward and clawed at the dungeon floor, desperate in her need to get out here, she needed the sun, the brims of life, she needed air that wasn’t rank with the dead and the dying. Kylmi tore at the muzzle of leather and with a sharp cry also yanked the iron bit from her mouth and coughed out the poison of it festering on her tongue. Webbing of black taint was splintered across her cheeks and lips, veining down her neck as she braced against the nearest wall and glanced down at the iron shackles still donning her wrists. Those would be harder to remove, the iron was poison to her much like her Fey cousins. Already the dark blemishing was crawling up her arms, blackening her usual palour, she grimaced at that and finally glanced up to her surroundings.

Fallen princes and beast folk, mer of various blood and man. Such a gathering, she mused.

The entire situation was chaotic at best, various creatures and races piling out from their prisons and making their last desperate attempts for freedom. She could admire that at least, she could even taste the potential of it all as she stumbled and wished in vain for the plains of grass and the thickness of trees. All she had here was stone, hard and unforgiving, but she wouldn’t allow herself to surrender to that hopelessness once again. With a shrill cry like that of a bird capering in the sky, Kylmi used the walls to push herself forward despite the toxin boiling still in her skin. She launched forward in an adrenaline rush, cheeks flush with her new found energy - she was in no condition to fight and was entirely out of her element here. Options limited and conditions deplorable, the Nymph could only linger in the last line of their sudden offense, depending on these impromptu saviors to charge their way through the masses.