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Ezekiel
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Hos
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Syrenrei
Zeus23There are higher ups but they are murky and mysterious, even Eleanor dosen't know who (or what) they are. Her communication with them is primarily through the bakelite telephone in her office and she has only put together a few hints and conjectures in the decade or so she has been with the Sunday Group. The sources of funding are equally mysterious, though a portion of it come from life insurance payments and contributions from clients.
Penny Member
STATUS: Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad. 17 days ago
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17 days ago
Current
Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad.
3
likes
25 days ago
She wanted to read, she wanted to write, but the main thing she wanted was something to fight
4
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1 yr ago
Make it clear that you don't need him to be reading Dante tomorrow. Also suggest it would be fun if you had a private language that you could use to mock English speakers in secret.
5
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2 yrs ago
Luckily history suggests an infinite ability for people to be shit heads ;)
1
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3 yrs ago
Achmed the Snake
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Bio
Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.
Most Recent Posts
Emmaline cursed herself for not having come up with some better way to time her actions with Amal, though it was hard to see what she could have done. She had remained in her prison for several hours and though the Captain hadn't visited her again, probably being too busy with his ship to sport with his captive, a guard checked in on her every so often. Each time she merely sat, glaring at them in her ersatz restraints as the storm worsened. Finally she could stand it no longer and came to her feet. Asp, still a tattoo seemed to slither down her arm, the moving ink extremely disconcerting till it settled around her wrist. She mumbled the counterspell under her breath and the restraints melted away, flowing back into the form of the elvish sword. Picking the weapon up she crept to the hatch and pushed it open, steading herself on the heaving deck as she did so. As she expected the hall beyond was clear, in weather like this she expected all hands to be aloft.
She picked a direction at random, belatedly wishing she had interrogated Asp more closely as to Amal's location. Creeping along the corridor she passed what she imagined were officers quaters and stopped in one to steal a long silken shirt to hide her nakedness. The thing wouldn't do as a disguise, or any real protection from the weather, but it offered the mental protection that clothing provided. Reaching the rear of the ship she found what must have been the officers wardroom and snagged a block of cheese from a cabinet. Hoping that Dark Elves didn't make cheese from anything particularly awful, she took a bite and found it sharp and agreeable, and a balm to her empty and now cramping stomach. The sound of wind suddenly increased and she ducked into the mess a second before a drenched elf came down a stairway, heading for her prison. She waited a moment and then stepped out behind him. The elf must have sensed the motion because he began to pivot in time to see her two handed stroke come down, the clumsy slash catching him between neck and shoulder. There was a jarring in her wrist as the razored elven blade bounced of his shoulder blade and the Elf reeled back with a gasp of pain. Emmaline delivered two more wild slashes at the crippled elf, managing to slice of an ear and gash him across the crown before she finally shove the point into his chest. Even so the elf didn't die quickly, his elegant hands scrabbling at the blade for long moments until blood gouted from his lips and he stiffened.
Without waiting to check the body she vaulted up the stairs and lifted the hatch cover every so slight. WInd and rain lashed in at her and she had a brief impression of wild rolling seas light by lightning. SHe was at the rear of the ship, below the deck where the wheel was located, if elves used such things. Along the deck she could see elves heaving at ropes and others skipping through the rigging. The second ship was visible ahead of them and off to port perhaps two hundred yards, a dark shape barely visible through the spray.
She picked a direction at random, belatedly wishing she had interrogated Asp more closely as to Amal's location. Creeping along the corridor she passed what she imagined were officers quaters and stopped in one to steal a long silken shirt to hide her nakedness. The thing wouldn't do as a disguise, or any real protection from the weather, but it offered the mental protection that clothing provided. Reaching the rear of the ship she found what must have been the officers wardroom and snagged a block of cheese from a cabinet. Hoping that Dark Elves didn't make cheese from anything particularly awful, she took a bite and found it sharp and agreeable, and a balm to her empty and now cramping stomach. The sound of wind suddenly increased and she ducked into the mess a second before a drenched elf came down a stairway, heading for her prison. She waited a moment and then stepped out behind him. The elf must have sensed the motion because he began to pivot in time to see her two handed stroke come down, the clumsy slash catching him between neck and shoulder. There was a jarring in her wrist as the razored elven blade bounced of his shoulder blade and the Elf reeled back with a gasp of pain. Emmaline delivered two more wild slashes at the crippled elf, managing to slice of an ear and gash him across the crown before she finally shove the point into his chest. Even so the elf didn't die quickly, his elegant hands scrabbling at the blade for long moments until blood gouted from his lips and he stiffened.
Without waiting to check the body she vaulted up the stairs and lifted the hatch cover every so slight. WInd and rain lashed in at her and she had a brief impression of wild rolling seas light by lightning. SHe was at the rear of the ship, below the deck where the wheel was located, if elves used such things. Along the deck she could see elves heaving at ropes and others skipping through the rigging. The second ship was visible ahead of them and off to port perhaps two hundred yards, a dark shape barely visible through the spray.
Emmaline lay in a heap, attempting to curl up into a ball that her restraints made impossible. The beating she had received for biting the Dark Elf Captain had been severe. Fortunately he had been to angry to do a more thorough job of it and in any case after the first dozen kicks and blows it had all kind of flowed together. In the aftermath the pain and humiliation of it kept her conscious even though her body yearned for rest and oblivion. She had almost managed to pass out when a familiar hiss and a clatter of metal roused her. The cobra deposited the chainmail proudly before her and then slithered up over her arm and down her back, sinking into her skin to become the serpent tattoo once again.
"Thank you," she whispered and shifted her rump around so that her bound hands could take hold of the patch of chainmail. Slowly and painfully she pushed down into her cuffs, forcing the flanged metal to slid up her arm, scraping the skin raw. With slow awkwardness, she fed the edge of the chainmail into the small space between the rim of the cuff, wrapping it around her wrist so that the links foiled the sharpened points within the cuffs. The process took nearly an hour, but eventually she was certain that every point had slipped within a link. The process made the cuffs almost unbearably tight and blood ran from several gashes but she grit her teeth and continued. With the tips of the spikes wrapped she hooked the bottom edge of the chainmail to the stud to which she was chained.
"Ooooookay," she whispered to herself and before she could talk herself out of it she tried to leap to her feet, kicking of the deck with considerable force. Pain exploded from her wrist as one spike, less securely wrapped than the others tore into her arm but the remaining ones were yanked flush by the force of the links. She bit her tongue to avoid from crying out in pain, though tears started from her eyes. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that her efforts had not been in vain. The right cuff had slid down to where her hand flared out from her wrist. Carefully she pushed her hand down and slid the cuff a distance back up her wrist before pulling the chainmail free to give herself a few extra fractions of an inch, then pushed the cuff down again as far as it would go, rubbing her arm against her bleeding wrist to lubricate the process.
"Alright Apsath, a little help," she muttered and then yanked her left hand as hard as she could, skin scraped and she felt her thumb dislocate as the cuff slid over her hand and for a moment her vision wavered like a desert mirage, then, to her shock and surprise, her hand slipped free, minus a layer of skin in long reddish strips where the spikes had increased the pressure. Gasping in a combination of pain and relief she reached out for the winds of magic and found Charmon flickering weakly around her. Whispering a spell the touched the remaining cuff and the strange elven metal began to blacken and tarnish, a moment later it fell away into powder, centuries of decay exacted over a few seconds. Blood welled up from a long gash and dripped from her fingers as she shakily got to her feet. The first part of the plan was accomplished, but she still had to find some way to deal with a ship load of merciless dark elves. As though summoned by the mere thought she heard sudden footfalls outside the door and quickly flattened herself against a wall. The hatch opened and an elf, not the captain, stepped into the room carrying a bowl of gruel. His eyes widened in the brief moment it took Emmaline to place a palm against the side of his head and snap a word. The tip of a short lance of golden light erupted from the elf's opposite temple and he pitched forward. Emmaline caught the corpse and pulled it the rest of the way through the door, pulling the hatch closed as she did so, ear alert for an outcry. Fortunately a ship was a noisy place and even the sharp eared elven folk couldn't pick up every sound over the growns of timbers and the snap of sails.
"Ok, don't panic," she told herself. Methodically she stripped off the Elf's cloak and tunic, slipping them on. His trousers and boots she left as too ill fitting and it was obvious that any attempt to pose as an elf was doomed to failure. There was a hooked sword and a curved dagger as well maybe she could... Emmaline froze frowning. She was no fighter, and there was no way she was going to sneak past the crew to wherever Amal was being held. This battle could not be won by brawn. It needed to be won by wits.
"Alright," she said to herself and took hold of the elf, heaving him over to the single opening that gave vent to the hold in which she was confined. Glancing outside she could see it was dark, and that the sea was rising. Maybe it was luck or maybe Mannan was talking pity on her after so many nautical misadventures. Artlessly she stuffed the dead elf out the porthole, the splash of his body hitting the waves lost in the roar of the sea. She pitched his clothing after him, all save for the dagger and the sword. Crossing back to where she had been confined she scooped up the remnants of the magical chain and scattered them into the ocean as well. Then she returned to where she had been chained and whispered another incantation, drawing the blood by its core of iron up from the deck and into a ball that floated before her like an apple, with a wave of her hand she sent it flying out into the ocean.
"Asp," she called giving the cobra a name for the first time. The creature slithered up over her back with a questioning look.
"I need you to heal my wounds," she said, holding forth her torn hands. The snake gave her a reproachful look.
"I promise I'll learn the spell when I have a chance," she said defensively. The snake gave what looked like a long suffering sigh.
"Ok here we go," she told it and reached out, not for Charmon as she had been taught, but for the flickering ember of jade magic which had danced on the edges of her vision since she had adsorbed the Opal in the forbidden city. It was slick and difficult to grasp but she managed it, feeding the thin flow into the serpent as she normally would feed Charmon into an incantation. A cool feeling settled over her hands and she glanced down to find them restored, though the bruises and contusions elsewhere remained unaffected.
"Perfect," she beamed at Asp and then sat down where she had been chained. Once more she began to chant under her breath and the Elven sword dissolved and flowed into the shape of the cuffs sliding up over her wrists and locking them back into place. Asp gave an alarmed hiss.
"I know what I am doing," she said defensively. The snake did not look convinced.
"Just you wait and see!"
The storm was well and truly rising and the ship slid up and plunged down the waves as the storm wind drove it north at half the speed of a galloping horse, the masterful artisanry of the elves allowing the vessel to slice keenly through the waters like a black arrow. The night had grown very black as the dark storm clouds obscured the stars. Around Amal many of the other prisoners, unable to take the rough seas, bent forward to vomit into the sea water, doing nothing to improve their wretched conditions. A sudden brush against the thief's leg caused him to look down as the head of Emmaline's cobra appeared from the six inches of water which sloshed around the slave deck. It blinked its eyes closed and when they opened the serpentine pupils were gone, replaced with orbs of gold.
"sssAmal..." the snake hissed in the best rendition of Emmaline's voice its serpentine mouth parts could produce.
"ssssIam freeeess, when sss ssstorm, ssat sits sieght, toucchhhhs thisss to the sssteel," the serpent hissed, it blinked its eyes back to reptilian slits, looked irritated, then blinked them back to gold once more. It's tail lifted from the water to reveal an elven knife that had been rather crudely marked with Reikish runes. It slipped the knife back under the water and pressed it into Amal's hand before dissappearing into the murk of the bilge.
"What," Sir Brenly asked staring at the thief in shock, "in the name of Breton's Balls was that?"
"Thank you," she whispered and shifted her rump around so that her bound hands could take hold of the patch of chainmail. Slowly and painfully she pushed down into her cuffs, forcing the flanged metal to slid up her arm, scraping the skin raw. With slow awkwardness, she fed the edge of the chainmail into the small space between the rim of the cuff, wrapping it around her wrist so that the links foiled the sharpened points within the cuffs. The process took nearly an hour, but eventually she was certain that every point had slipped within a link. The process made the cuffs almost unbearably tight and blood ran from several gashes but she grit her teeth and continued. With the tips of the spikes wrapped she hooked the bottom edge of the chainmail to the stud to which she was chained.
"Ooooookay," she whispered to herself and before she could talk herself out of it she tried to leap to her feet, kicking of the deck with considerable force. Pain exploded from her wrist as one spike, less securely wrapped than the others tore into her arm but the remaining ones were yanked flush by the force of the links. She bit her tongue to avoid from crying out in pain, though tears started from her eyes. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that her efforts had not been in vain. The right cuff had slid down to where her hand flared out from her wrist. Carefully she pushed her hand down and slid the cuff a distance back up her wrist before pulling the chainmail free to give herself a few extra fractions of an inch, then pushed the cuff down again as far as it would go, rubbing her arm against her bleeding wrist to lubricate the process.
"Alright Apsath, a little help," she muttered and then yanked her left hand as hard as she could, skin scraped and she felt her thumb dislocate as the cuff slid over her hand and for a moment her vision wavered like a desert mirage, then, to her shock and surprise, her hand slipped free, minus a layer of skin in long reddish strips where the spikes had increased the pressure. Gasping in a combination of pain and relief she reached out for the winds of magic and found Charmon flickering weakly around her. Whispering a spell the touched the remaining cuff and the strange elven metal began to blacken and tarnish, a moment later it fell away into powder, centuries of decay exacted over a few seconds. Blood welled up from a long gash and dripped from her fingers as she shakily got to her feet. The first part of the plan was accomplished, but she still had to find some way to deal with a ship load of merciless dark elves. As though summoned by the mere thought she heard sudden footfalls outside the door and quickly flattened herself against a wall. The hatch opened and an elf, not the captain, stepped into the room carrying a bowl of gruel. His eyes widened in the brief moment it took Emmaline to place a palm against the side of his head and snap a word. The tip of a short lance of golden light erupted from the elf's opposite temple and he pitched forward. Emmaline caught the corpse and pulled it the rest of the way through the door, pulling the hatch closed as she did so, ear alert for an outcry. Fortunately a ship was a noisy place and even the sharp eared elven folk couldn't pick up every sound over the growns of timbers and the snap of sails.
"Ok, don't panic," she told herself. Methodically she stripped off the Elf's cloak and tunic, slipping them on. His trousers and boots she left as too ill fitting and it was obvious that any attempt to pose as an elf was doomed to failure. There was a hooked sword and a curved dagger as well maybe she could... Emmaline froze frowning. She was no fighter, and there was no way she was going to sneak past the crew to wherever Amal was being held. This battle could not be won by brawn. It needed to be won by wits.
"Alright," she said to herself and took hold of the elf, heaving him over to the single opening that gave vent to the hold in which she was confined. Glancing outside she could see it was dark, and that the sea was rising. Maybe it was luck or maybe Mannan was talking pity on her after so many nautical misadventures. Artlessly she stuffed the dead elf out the porthole, the splash of his body hitting the waves lost in the roar of the sea. She pitched his clothing after him, all save for the dagger and the sword. Crossing back to where she had been confined she scooped up the remnants of the magical chain and scattered them into the ocean as well. Then she returned to where she had been chained and whispered another incantation, drawing the blood by its core of iron up from the deck and into a ball that floated before her like an apple, with a wave of her hand she sent it flying out into the ocean.
"Asp," she called giving the cobra a name for the first time. The creature slithered up over her back with a questioning look.
"I need you to heal my wounds," she said, holding forth her torn hands. The snake gave her a reproachful look.
"I promise I'll learn the spell when I have a chance," she said defensively. The snake gave what looked like a long suffering sigh.
"Ok here we go," she told it and reached out, not for Charmon as she had been taught, but for the flickering ember of jade magic which had danced on the edges of her vision since she had adsorbed the Opal in the forbidden city. It was slick and difficult to grasp but she managed it, feeding the thin flow into the serpent as she normally would feed Charmon into an incantation. A cool feeling settled over her hands and she glanced down to find them restored, though the bruises and contusions elsewhere remained unaffected.
"Perfect," she beamed at Asp and then sat down where she had been chained. Once more she began to chant under her breath and the Elven sword dissolved and flowed into the shape of the cuffs sliding up over her wrists and locking them back into place. Asp gave an alarmed hiss.
"I know what I am doing," she said defensively. The snake did not look convinced.
"Just you wait and see!"
The storm was well and truly rising and the ship slid up and plunged down the waves as the storm wind drove it north at half the speed of a galloping horse, the masterful artisanry of the elves allowing the vessel to slice keenly through the waters like a black arrow. The night had grown very black as the dark storm clouds obscured the stars. Around Amal many of the other prisoners, unable to take the rough seas, bent forward to vomit into the sea water, doing nothing to improve their wretched conditions. A sudden brush against the thief's leg caused him to look down as the head of Emmaline's cobra appeared from the six inches of water which sloshed around the slave deck. It blinked its eyes closed and when they opened the serpentine pupils were gone, replaced with orbs of gold.
"sssAmal..." the snake hissed in the best rendition of Emmaline's voice its serpentine mouth parts could produce.
"ssssIam freeeess, when sss ssstorm, ssat sits sieght, toucchhhhs thisss to the sssteel," the serpent hissed, it blinked its eyes back to reptilian slits, looked irritated, then blinked them back to gold once more. It's tail lifted from the water to reveal an elven knife that had been rather crudely marked with Reikish runes. It slipped the knife back under the water and pressed it into Amal's hand before dissappearing into the murk of the bilge.
"What," Sir Brenly asked staring at the thief in shock, "in the name of Breton's Balls was that?"
-296
God of Wrong Opinions About Designer Children ;)
Despite his brutal threats, emphasized by her throbbing breast the Captain, as she assumed he must had not returned by the time night had fallen. How she could tell the sun had set she did not know other than that the quality of the light had increased in its blackness. Emmaline struggled futiley with her bonds but found that creatures so used to taking slaves had become exceedingly good at securing them. The manacles that bound here seemed to have small metal spikes which faced downwards like fishooks so they bit into her flesh if she tried to push the cuffs down. Bloodied and sore she gave the effort up after several hours and sat miserably, wondering if Amal was on the ship or if he was even alive. What had become of the carpet, or of her staff? Were they the treasure of some corsair now? Something slithered against he wrist and she looked down in shock to find the cobra nuzzling against her wrist. She blinked in confusion, in the past it had hidden itself as a tattoo though in the chaos of the battle she hadn't noticed what had become of it.
"Hey there," she whispered, leaning down no nuzzle the creatures hooded head with her cheek. She felt its tiny forked tounge flicker over her cheek and felt considerably better for reasons she couldn't quite articulate.
"I don't suppose there is anyway you can get these cuffs of me?" she asked, pulling vainly against the restraints. The cobra slithered around behind her and coiled around her wrists for a few moments before returning and shaking its head. She sighed, it was to much to ask, esspecially seeing the damned things seemed to dampen magic. She peered at her familiar for a moment. At least she could ask it to bite the captain if he came back, the elf likely had access of magic and anti-venom of his own though, so it probably wouldn't accomplish much. If only she could get these cursed cuffs off but there was no way to pull them down. Metal was supposed to be her ally wasn't it, she couldn't let a little elven craftsmanship defeat her. Emmaline sighed, she wasn't much of a wizard under the best of circumstances and right now her magical talents were utterly confounded. Well if not magic, then perhaps tricks of a different kind.
"Do you think you could find Amal?" she asked the serpent. The familiar lifted itself up and tasted the air with its tongue once more then nodded its head gravely. Emmaline felt immediate relief that he was alive even if it meant he too was in chains.
"I need you to find him, tell him I need chainmail, or some of the scaly stuff the elves were wearing, just a little, can you do that?" The snake nodded once more then sank to the deck and slithered off. How the serpent would convey the information to the thief she had no idea, but if he could help her, perhaps she could get out of this yet.
"Hey there," she whispered, leaning down no nuzzle the creatures hooded head with her cheek. She felt its tiny forked tounge flicker over her cheek and felt considerably better for reasons she couldn't quite articulate.
"I don't suppose there is anyway you can get these cuffs of me?" she asked, pulling vainly against the restraints. The cobra slithered around behind her and coiled around her wrists for a few moments before returning and shaking its head. She sighed, it was to much to ask, esspecially seeing the damned things seemed to dampen magic. She peered at her familiar for a moment. At least she could ask it to bite the captain if he came back, the elf likely had access of magic and anti-venom of his own though, so it probably wouldn't accomplish much. If only she could get these cursed cuffs off but there was no way to pull them down. Metal was supposed to be her ally wasn't it, she couldn't let a little elven craftsmanship defeat her. Emmaline sighed, she wasn't much of a wizard under the best of circumstances and right now her magical talents were utterly confounded. Well if not magic, then perhaps tricks of a different kind.
"Do you think you could find Amal?" she asked the serpent. The familiar lifted itself up and tasted the air with its tongue once more then nodded its head gravely. Emmaline felt immediate relief that he was alive even if it meant he too was in chains.
"I need you to find him, tell him I need chainmail, or some of the scaly stuff the elves were wearing, just a little, can you do that?" The snake nodded once more then sank to the deck and slithered off. How the serpent would convey the information to the thief she had no idea, but if he could help her, perhaps she could get out of this yet.
-292
Emmaline awoke in darkness. Her first impulse was to reach for her magic but something cold burned at her wrists and the winds of magic seemed to flow around her as though she were a natural void. Tentatively she tried to flex her wrists but found they were bound behind her back. She was naked save for the bindings and she could feel the sea breeze against her bare bottom as she tried to sit up. It took a few moments before her eye adjusted enough to the darkness to make out vague shapes. She was in a hold, apparently alone and fastened to the deck by a chain connected to her cuffs. Of Amal or any of the other crew members there was no sign. Above her she could hear dimly muffled voices speaking what she presumed was the Elven tongue.
"Ranald, have mercy on thieves and rogues," she muttered in Reikspiel trying in vain to pull herself to her feet. As though summoned by the sound a door opened at the end of the hold and a handsome looking elf in fine silks stepped through, holding a lantern that cast a faint sourcless light from within its angled crystal facets. He crossed the empty hold to stand over her.
"So this is the mighty mage who killed Ke'redian," he asked in intelligible if strangely accented Reikspiel. He paused for a moment.
"Yes, I speak your tongue, does that surprise you?" he asked with lofty contempt.
"You and a hundred thousand peasants who can barely wipe their own asses," she replied, forgetting Amal's advice to comply almost immediately. The Elf started slightly and then slapped her hard across the face, stunning her momentarily.
"You will learn some respect! Ke'redian had swum these oceans since before your kind learned to build mud huts," the elf snarled.
"We all get careless in our old age I guess," she responded. Ke'redian was obviously the name these evil elves had given to the sea dragon. The blast of steam must have proved fatal, even if not immediately so, which she supposed was good news, though she could find little immediate comfort in the fact.
"Impudent cow," the Elf snapped, "You will soon learn some respect!" He grabbed her right nipple and twisted hard with his sharp fingernails. Emmaline screamed and tried to double up but the bindings prevented her from moving. Tears started in her eyes as she clamped her mouth shut determined not to give her captor the satisfaction.
"If it weren't for the fact that you are worth a fortune where we are going, I would cut pieces off you and feed you to yourself until you were nothing but a blind lump of flesh," the elf hissed, finally releasing her nipple and then patting her bosom like a farmer slapping a cow of which he was fond.
"But don't worry, I will make sure that your voyage is unpleasant enough that you beg for the hell I will sell you into when it ends." With that the elf straightened and sauntered from the room, closing Emmaline into the darkness once more.
"Ranald, have mercy on thieves and rogues," she muttered in Reikspiel trying in vain to pull herself to her feet. As though summoned by the sound a door opened at the end of the hold and a handsome looking elf in fine silks stepped through, holding a lantern that cast a faint sourcless light from within its angled crystal facets. He crossed the empty hold to stand over her.
"So this is the mighty mage who killed Ke'redian," he asked in intelligible if strangely accented Reikspiel. He paused for a moment.
"Yes, I speak your tongue, does that surprise you?" he asked with lofty contempt.
"You and a hundred thousand peasants who can barely wipe their own asses," she replied, forgetting Amal's advice to comply almost immediately. The Elf started slightly and then slapped her hard across the face, stunning her momentarily.
"You will learn some respect! Ke'redian had swum these oceans since before your kind learned to build mud huts," the elf snarled.
"We all get careless in our old age I guess," she responded. Ke'redian was obviously the name these evil elves had given to the sea dragon. The blast of steam must have proved fatal, even if not immediately so, which she supposed was good news, though she could find little immediate comfort in the fact.
"Impudent cow," the Elf snapped, "You will soon learn some respect!" He grabbed her right nipple and twisted hard with his sharp fingernails. Emmaline screamed and tried to double up but the bindings prevented her from moving. Tears started in her eyes as she clamped her mouth shut determined not to give her captor the satisfaction.
"If it weren't for the fact that you are worth a fortune where we are going, I would cut pieces off you and feed you to yourself until you were nothing but a blind lump of flesh," the elf hissed, finally releasing her nipple and then patting her bosom like a farmer slapping a cow of which he was fond.
"But don't worry, I will make sure that your voyage is unpleasant enough that you beg for the hell I will sell you into when it ends." With that the elf straightened and sauntered from the room, closing Emmaline into the darkness once more.
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