The halls of the Elven kingdom resounded with the heavy clank of chains as Malketh was forcibly brought before Queen Orelia. Bound and bloodied, his once-gleaming armor now bore the stains of his own life force, a stark reminder of the violence that had brought him to this moment. The guards, their faces masked in shadow, showed no restraint as they manhandled him, their rough hands leaving bruises in their wake as they threw him down the grand staircase leading to the opulent throne room.
"Assholes!" Malketh's voice rang out, laced with venom, as he struggled to rise from the cold, unforgiving stone. Despite the pain that coursed through his battered body, his defiance burned bright, a flickering flame amidst the encroaching darkness. His eyes, narrowed with fury, scanned the ornate chamber, taking in every detail of his surroundings with a keen sense of awareness. The towering windows, their stained glass panes illuminated by the golden rays of the sun, cast fragmented patterns of light across the cavernous space, painting the polished marble floor with a kaleidoscope of colors. The air was heavy with the scent of ancient magic, mingling with the faint aroma of blood and incense, creating an atmosphere both intoxicating and ominous.
Seated upon a throne of intricate design, Queen Orelia regarded Malketh with a cool detachment that sent a chill down his spine. Her presence was commanding, her regal bearing a testament to the power she held over her realm. With eyes as cold and unyielding as polished stone, she met Malketh's defiant gaze, her expression betraying none of the emotions that simmered beneath the surface. Shit, Malketh cursed inwardly as he took in the sight before him. A foolish king might have been swayed by honeyed words and false promises, but this queen was a force to be reckoned with. Her white hair, intricately braided and adorned with jewels, framed her delicate features, yet there was a hardness in her gaze that spoke of a strength tempered by adversity. It was clear to Malketh that winning her favor would require more than mere words – it would require a sense of cunning and resolve that he wasn't sure he possessed.
"Hel—" he began, but Orelia silenced him with a raised hand.
"Shut it," she said, her voice laced with disdain. "I will not hear your pleasantries, human. You and your people have launched an offensive on my kingdom. I was hoping for more than one survivor, but it appears you humans are as weak as you seem." Malketh bristled at her insult, his defiance flaring.
"Well, damn, a bit brash on the wording, ma'am. You didn't even give me the chance to ask who I've been brought to. I usually like to know the name of my captor." His words were rewarded with a swift punch to the gut from one of the guards. As he doubled over, coughing up blood, Orelia continued her diatribe.
"You insolent fool! You do not get that pleasure. You come into MY kingdom, kill MY people, and yet you insist on knowing my name? Did you care to learn the names of those you killed?" Her anger simmered, fueled by the memory of her fallen subjects. Malketh's smile faltered, but he refused to back down.
"Are you going to have your guards hit me again?" he retorted, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Did your soldiers neglect to tell you that they ambushed us after striking down our outpost?" Continuing without waiting for her response, his voice gained a somber edge. "So there we were, preparing to relocate any civilians in the army’s path," he explained, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. "When we were ambushed by a considerable force of Elves, a veritable horde, my companions and I narrowly evaded capture, choosing the dense cover of the woods as our refuge," Malketh recounted, his voice tinged with gravity. Yet before he could delve deeper into his narrative, Queen Orelia interjected, her interruption carrying a sharp, ominous edge Orelia's eyes narrowed dangerously as Malketh recounted the events, her gaze as sharp as flinted steel.
"You were the only one who survived my forces?" she asked, disbelief dripping from her words like venom from a serpent's fangs. "How did you, a single man, manage to persevere when your comrades fell?" Her sculpted eyebrows arched inquisitively as she studied him, scrutinizing his expressions for any flicker of deception. "If you were truly strong enough to live, why could those sworn to fight alongside you not muster the same fortitude?" Malketh met her probing stare unflinchingly, his jaw clenched and eyes molten with determination. In a low, grated tone, he explained how their small band had been tracked and set upon without warning while attempting to flee into the wooded valleys beyond the kingdom's borders.
"We sought only to escape the path of your advancing armies," he said, his words edged with fatigue and flint-sparked frustration. "But the trees provided no sanctuary. Your assassins fell upon us like daemons from the blackest pits, their blades hewing through my brothers without mercy or hesitation." As Malketh recounted the brutal ambush, his calloused fingers reflexively clenched as though still gripping his long-lost sword hilt. He described in grim detail the desperate, doomed resistance made by each of his fallen comrades - the wet, meaty impacts of elf-forged blades cleaving through flesh and shattering bone; the bestial snarls of anguish and defiance torn from ravaged throats before being forever silenced.
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"I managed to defend myself," he continued, his gravelly tone hardening like beaten steel under a merciless forge-hammer's blows. "The others were not so fortunate. Arterial geysers painted the loamy forest floor as their throats were laid open to the night...or their heads simply torn away from their shoulders in a single vicious wrench." Orelia's lips parted slightly as visceral images blazed through her mind's eye, the gruesome recollections causing her smile to falter momentarily. But the Elven queen's composure was iron-clad, and within a beat her expression contorted back into a disdainful sneer, lips peeling back from porcelain teeth.
"You truly expect me to believe such a ludicrous tale?" she challenged, slender fingers toying with the ornate pommel of her sword in a wordless threat. "That one of your kind could humble so many of my elite hunstmen?" Her tone dripped with derision and unveiled skepticism.
Arching an inquisitive eyebrow, she continued to probe. "If what you claim is true, why then were you lurking in the encampments sworn to King Arkhoen’s rule? You claim no fealty to his banners, and yet his soldiers found you lurking amidst their ranks like a mongrel seeking scraps." Malketh's jaw clenched, fighting the urge to spit a bitter retort. Instead he forced his tone to remain level, pragmatic - though he could not resist layering it with caustic sarcasm.
"In case you failed to grasp the severity of our situation, Your Radiance," he said through gritted teeth, "we were hardly on a social call when we stumbled upon that gods-forsaken outpost. My brothers and I sought only a few scant supplies to see us through the night. A simple lesthe to break our travels." No sooner had the words left his mouth than a violent spasm of coughing gripped Malketh, causing him to double over where he knelt. A thick crimson tide spewed forth from between his chapped lips, splattering in garnet droplets across the smooth floor stones. The queen recoiled with undisguised revulsion as the metallic tang of fresh blood suffused the air, wrinkling her delicate nostrils in disdain.
"You are in need of healing, it seems," she muttered, more to herself than the wounded warrior. With a curt flick of her fingers, Orelia summoned the guards lurking in the wings. "Take this wretch to the Post's Medicum and ensure his injuries are tended," she commanded in an imperious tone that brooked no argument. "I will not suffer this one expiring on my watch before I have wrung every last drop of truth from his wretched carcass."
As the hulking sentinels hauled the dazed and enfeebled Malketh away, Orelia's eyes narrowed to callous slits, glittering like polished obsidian in the torchlight's flickering beside her throne. She had sensed glimmers of defiance burning in his words, an intransigence that would require subjugating - one way or another.
Hours later, Malketh's consciousness stirred from the depths of oblivion, his senses gradually returning to him. The dim light filtering into the cell cast eerie shadows upon the cold stone walls, the only sound the faint drip of water echoing in the oppressive silence. As Malketh's eyes fluttered open, he found himself lying upon a cot, his wounds carefully tended to and his armor placed just outside the iron bars that confined him. The scent of antiseptic mingled with the metallic tang of blood, a stark reminder of the violence that had brought him to this place. A shiver ran down his spine as Orelia's white hair caught his eye, the queen's presence looming like a specter in the darkness. Her voice cut through the silence like a blade, its tone laced with a cruel amusement that sent a chill down Malketh's spine.
"Enjoy your slumber?" she remarked slyly, her gaze piercing through the shadows. "Can't have you dying on your own terms now, can we?" Malketh's defiance flared within him, his jaw clenched with suppressed rage.
"Go to hell," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. Orelia's expression hardened, the mask of amusement slipping away to reveal the steely resolve beneath.
"Now, that's no way to talk to your queen," she replied, her voice cold and commanding. "Down, on your knees. If you want any chance of survival, you best listen to your queen." With a heavy sigh, Malketh realized that he had no choice but to comply. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered himself to his knees, his gaze never wavering from Orelia's piercing stare. In that moment, he knew that his fate lay in her hands, and that defiance would only lead to further suffering.
"Good boy," Orelia purred, her lips curving into a sly smile that sent a tendril of unease slithering down Malketh's spine. Her tone carried an undercurrent of mocking condescension, as though addressing a favored hound rather than a fellow being. Circling him like a predator evaluating its prey, the elven queen continued, "I am Orelia, regent of the sovereign kingdom of Aeilirion. You have been brought before me as my captive, to answer for the transgressions committed against my people." Her eyes glittered with a mixture of disdain and possessive hunger as she drank in the sight of him. Malketh's bruised face contorted in a sneer of defiant contempt.
"No shit, dumbass," he spat before he could rein in his insolent tongue. The backhanded blow that followed was as swift as it was brutal. The sharp crack of Orelia's knuckles colliding with Malketh's jaw echoed like a pistol shot, causing his head to whip violently to the side. The elven queen's eyes flashed with unbridled fury, her grip tightening around the ornate hilt of her sword until her knuckles shown bone-white.
"You dare defy me, wretch?" she hissed, her words dripping with outraged venom. "You who have already forfeited any right to lenience through your foul trespasses?" Despite the blazing agony searing through his jaw, Malketh lifted his gaze to meet Orelia's unflinchingly. A thin trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, crimson against his skin's defiant pallor.
"I will not grovel at your feet like a whipped cur, Your Majesty," he growled, each word etched with adamant resolve. "I am Malketh of the Harbingers Aegis, a warrior forged in battle's blazing crucible. I will not be treated as a pawn to be used and discarded in your twisted games." The tension in the throne room was palpable, the air itself thick and charged with the electric promise of violence. The guards flanking their queen shifted uneasily, hands tightening around the grips of their polearms as they awaited Orelia's command. But Malketh refused to be cowed despite the overwhelming odds. His fiery spirit, though battered, remained unbroken - burning with an inner furnace of defiance that not even the threat of death could extinguish. A cruel smile slowly curved Orelia's full lips as she regarded her unyielding captive, a serpentine hunger flickering in her eyes. With a subtle nod, she signaled for the guards to haul Malketh away.
"Take this defiant wretch to the dungeons and let him stew in the bitter juices of his own prideful arrogance," she commanded, her tone laced with dark promise. "He will learn soon enough that there are...consequences...for those foolish enough to cross me."