Reborn: Insanity Isle

Insanity Isle - Reborn
(Battles for Entertainment and Freedom.)

Out of Character Thread (OOC)

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It was a hot and humid morning on Insanity Isle, no different than it'd been for a month now. The heat was as merciless as the fate that'd befallen upon the island's unwilling residents, forced to pick up a weapon to rob another off their lives for the sake of the Varoogla's and their masters entertainment. With the recent passing of a formidable warrior, the morale of those that survived thus far seemed sunken and lost in an abyss, emitting a gloomy atmosphere within the walls where they practise as they mourned for the woman, Claire. On top of that, Aaron's critical conditions where he laid paralyzed and unconscious in the chambers of Areena too have not returned them the lost hope for freedom.

Their brief excitement at witnessing Saidah's madness stepping onto the sands as if witnessing a newborn child was forgotten almost as quickly as it'd awakened. None seemed to share the unspoken determination and seemingly purposeful gaze gleaming from Jaymz' eyes either. Even Redbeard's footing seemed somewhat unstable, locking himself for most of the days in his chamber and making brief but false inspirational words in an attempt to lift the fighters' spirits each dawn, one which he himself now started to doubt.

However, as if unaffected by the heaps of unfortunate events, it was Pot who'd came to prove dependable as he went about ensuring that things gets done the way they were suppose to be, that the warriors were properly fed and taken care of. In his favorite corner the boy sat, watching with those pair of curious sky blue eyes, studying the well being of both men and women, searching for gestures conveying sickness. Lunch was nearing and the notion of mingling with his friends brought a smile on his face.

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Dimly litted with the creaking sounds of rocking timbers as well as dangling chains, reeked with dried vomit, piss and feces over body odours and salty ocean, the underdeck of the vessel was the most unpleasant of places to be. Yet the choice wasn't theirs to chose. Shackled to steel chains and bound to either each other or the beams, the captives were reminded again and again by the vile Varooglas that what they were experiencing were no mere dreams. Over and over again they would deliver a punch to either the torso or the face, disregarding the instructions not to just because they could. The most joy they got was to frequently torment those who were shackled and bound to a heavy anti-magic planks over their shoulders and neck. These were the only few that'd given these creatures a hard time to capture. If it wasn't for their own shaman, they'll definitely don't stand a chance.

Soon, the peculiar language from these creatures barked across the space loudly. Their aggression then elevated, forcing the captives onto the feet and shoving the bodies to form a line. The afternoon lights poured into the opened doorways, threatening to blind the man it'd first greeted.

"Moov! Moov, me sae!" exclaimed the nearest Varoogla before kicking the near perfect olive skinned man towards the stairs.

Many more had suffered the same but the worse was yet to come. In the back of the line, a woman was seen shackled to the very planks these Varooglas have placed especially onto those capabled of destructive magics. She was bruised and battered far worse than any at present. No mercy still as she was pushed towards the exit.

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Banner thanks to Lillian Thorne
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The ship’s motion rocked, swaying her body and making her ill. It wasn’t the first time she been on a one, just this long, while her stomach heaved at the scents of strong urine, sweat, heavy salt and shit. It permeated in the stale air helping her to toss what little was in her upon the wooden boards, staining them with fresh chunky liquid which faded into a lingering taste of carrots. Onix thought it was strange. Her only meal these last few days had been a few molding dry biscuits with aged water but she never thought on it long. Little light, signs of passing time, slipped though boards overhead mingling with the sparse that lurked below echoed by creaks of screaming wood, captive moans and seasickness were the Delilah’s lullaby for most the journey often accompanied by beatings in this hell.

Her green eyes flickered over the other captives, those with ragged and weakened spirit showed as some braced from the violent behavior. Each upraised hand against her or another prisoner made her jerk against the steel rings of the chain attaching overhead. Wrists rubbed raw with dried blood and splintered wood digging into the flesh only enflamed her hatred. Clank went the leash while forcing her to bear witness, unable to fight back properly as her blood demanded. At one point, mid trip, her body stopped its struggles to store energy instead of fruitlessly wasted it against an unwinnable battle. It seemed she accepted her fate...until her eyes were seen. Her body was bruised and hurting as it was, inwardly retracing the injuries as well as lack of protection in her current garb. It was only hours after the celebration when they came and the only thing dangerous the Delilah brought was a sword meant for sparing. A fighting spirit to help them though the war of the afterlife, a silent promise they all strove to meet on the other side someday one or another.

She made sure they would remember her- at least those that face her.

Yellowing bruises faded in and overlapped by more recent purple along the lower half of her torso, twisting to take the blow and suffer loss of breath then fracture bones. Along the side of her body, a red stain of dried blood was flaking off a blackened and charred dagger wound that if not for the dark skin of the Varooglas would match some of her wardens’ own wounds. It was hardened into a crisp scab which been nearly opened twice from a punch or wrong move. Her body currently was slouching forward, hands held beside her head by a wooden plank cuffed about. There were distinct rune writings but none Onix recognized. The Delilah managed to twist her head away from any strike aimed at her face allowing the offender a taste of how hard her restraints really were. She learned after the first time -her right eye took a hit in the beginning- as the score was now merely faded yellow mark now and the spilt lip. The thing that disturbed Onix the most was that her light rosy complexion took a paler shade, slightly sickly, and her lean muscle suffered some noticeable loss. The price for being nearly starved to death.

Two curved back claws of a predator were tied about her neck, thin brown leather strings, entwined rope to hold like a choker close to the skin. A center piece resting against her neck base was a turquoise stone crudely cut and held by a thinner string then the rest. From the middle of her lower back was a small solid bone ring holding wide stripes of woven material that trailed up and crisscrossed over her chest to rest in another white ring about the back of her neck. It very lovingly made piece was now filthy and frayed in places cause of the rough treatment, yet it held as her spirit did: strong and untamed. A thin frail looking material nested about her hip’s lining into a shallow v shape with the fabric top edged in the once white fur of some animal, now dark and dingy in color while the brown cloth fell just a few inches above the knees. Slits on the sides with crisscross pattern of ties curved about the swell of her thighs keeping the fabric from flowing too far from her in each step she would take. Finally, the thick soled sandals rested flat footed on the floor with cords racing up to a bit past the ankle and large band of cured wrinkled hide on the upper part of the open toe feet. Not to mention the chain that chaffed the skin about them, saying and clinking in the motions of the transport.

Loud barking orders, at least it seemed, rang out below decks.
It was enough to stir the pacing black skinned men into motion. Their hands roughly pulled, struck and kicked out at others to stand in their bounds creating a series of rattles. Each stood into a line walking with weak legs to the stairs leading to deck likely. Onix’s body was tensed to expect something worse; the corners of her eyes rotated left then right expecting a blunt fist ready to lash out and attempt to tear her short red hair from the scalp. The raising part was the hardest. With no hands or arms to push her up, a large plank messing with her balance as well as the added chains made standing a challenge. Leaning forward Onix pushed onto the balls of her feet and curling her body slightly in her rise to stand.

Every muscle wailed, sending wails of ach into her mind as she was the last lead out. Teeth bared through upturned lips like some feral animal, caged and tormented, unable release her pain tin screams. Hand opened held out in front of her, the Delilah stood on similar weaken knees as a black hand shoved her shoulder forward. It brought her shackled limb to swing to the stair before she glared behind her to see the action repeat, her heel dug in to stall the move forward. Her breath was deeper in her stubbornness, resisting with dying energy, with muted growls flowing from her throat. Without sparing a moment Onix let the next shove come as she edged her body slightly to the left. It impacted, her body letting the force pulled her right forward as her left elbow- now straightened- swung back aimed at the assault’s face in hope to hit.

Sadly her condition wasn’t as strong as it seemed. The attacking swing made her left foot go back only to be stopped by the chain creating a loud ting, shifting her balance abruptly and forcing her to salvage it at the last moment. The Delilah’s body leaned too far to one side, her one knee smacked painfully to brace herself, managing not to fall flat on her stomach or face. Her right hand fisted and lower than the left grinding the wood deeper into the neck as the Delilah licked her chapped lips. It was not good. Onix’s mind sent signals to her body, calling the blood within to raise her up from the kneeled position. The helpless posture her spirit had caused only to discover she couldn’t stand. Her mind, blood and nerves’ messages were loss in a sea of fatigue and pain. It seemed most of her strength was unintentionally in that lastest strike, not sure if it landed true or devastatingly missed the Varoogla behind. She thought she felt the soft crack of bone against her elbow, the warmth of spurting blood, and the yelp of pain but it could be her mind playing tricks. Slight dehydration and lack of good food weakened more than just the body.

It hadn’t been that long ago Jaymz drove Sadiah over the edge. Still it was what he saw when he closed his eyes at night. His guilt ate his dreams and dripped from his silent eyes. She was getting healthy. He allowed himself quick looks in her direction and pretended unintentional walks around her room. He kept hidden tabs on her, where she was, who she was sparing with, when she ate, with the help of Pot. Jaymz lied to himself that Pot didn’t realize he was spying or that Jaymz needed the information.

As much as others would look at him or pat his shoulder and try to tell him it was not his fault in any way they could, everyone knew it was. He knew it was. He had taunted and pushed. He couldn’t just let her fight in her own way. He forced her. Forced her, just as if he had done the very same thing her captures had. He became the thing he despised. Now he was a brute, an oppressor, a monster, and a fighter.

All his pain he put into his practice. They had won. If this was all an attempt to drive him to be the sacrifice of some magic brute for the entertainment of others, so be it. He could be that show. Ask Saidah. She would never know of course but now each time he held the wooden sword or pushed his muscles, or worked his feet, he did it for her. In some strange way that he never tired to figure out he was going to be the best fighter in the worst ways all for Saidah. In his mind he was sure if he ever won again it would be to honor her. It would make her fall mean more, say more about her own strength. Jaymz never said this out loud to anyone. It was now the part of him that drove him on secretly. If things had been different and Redbeard or Aaron were not morning their losses, Claire, they might have noticed. They might have said the words to ease his pain. Then again their words might not have mattered.

Jaymz improved. He became stronger. He fought longer. But in many ways he was weaker. He slept less and began to forget who he really was.

Saidah ached, it was what she had become. It had taken her over a week to walk and even now, a month later she walked with all the speed of Areena, slow and crippled from her exertions. Muscle and tendons were slow to heal, especially when the owner of them was not taking care of herself. She ate as little as she could get away with, which was more than she would have liked. But with so many eyes on her, watching her she had to eat something, lest she risk being put into the pens where those who would not fight went. Her eyes bore circles as dark as the secrets that resided within her, secrets she did not know for all that people told them to her.

She had gone insane, they told her, fought like a beast and did not stop even when she’d all but snapped all her tendons fighting the bigger man. She remembered none of it. Tame it, they told her. Tame the beast and use it. She could not, it wasn’t something she knew or felt, she didn’t believe them. There was nothing in her but pain, nothing in her to save her from the wretchedness of her existence. She knew that her time of grace was coming to an end. She would fight or she would die, it was as simple as that. When she thought about dying, really thought about it she felt first a wash of relief, death would be an end. But it was quickly gone, washed away in pain as the very thought triggered something inside her, something that made her hurt very badly and nearly pass out.

The first time she’d had the thought and the pain had come she’d been with Pot who had been trying to get her to eat. He was so worried for her she’d let a few bits of bread make it to her stomach. But her thoughts had grown maudlin and she’d thought of dying, of giving up. First had been the rush or relief and then the rush of pain so great she’d begun screaming again. When it was ended, she found herself on the ground with Pot and Areena over her, the metallic tang of medicines on her tongue. She’d thought it was a fluke, or rather hadn’t thought of it at all until the next time.

Three times it happened before she admitted to herself that it was real. She thought it might be something done to her by the beasts that brought her here. The Varoogla or the men who ran this place. They might have put in a failsafe to keep the fighters fighting. They watched her now, the Varoogla, their small eyes glittering with something dark and lusty when they saw her. The followed her with their eyes and licked their lips and flashed their teeth at her in ways that made her want to vanish. So she did, as much as she was able. Becoming a ghost in their compound and along the way she’d begun to lose who she was. Bits of her past, fragments of herself were leaving her until her memories felt no more real than fading dreams. She knew her name and little else it seemed as she went about her day, waiting to be made to fight, waiting to die, waiting for the pain to stop.

He wasn't used to being on such a big boat for so long. He was a man of the sandy seas, not the rocking waves of the water slapping against the wood of the hull. He was at least not one to get sea sick, even with the constant movement. So he didn't give his captors the joy of watching him suffer that way. Though the same couldn't be said to be true of everything else. The smells didn't make him sick either. Nor the sight of them. He'd seen it all before, been the cause of it far more often than not.

He was the one to put bruises on people, bruises like the ones that had nearly all faded on him. And that had annoyed them, he was sure. No matter how hard they struck him, no matter how often, no matter with what they hit, his skin didn't hold the marks for anywhere near as long as the others. He also didn't show the cringing or call out when they hit near as often as some others. He was silent. He never spoke to the others around him, he only answered when they hit him to talk. Or when he wanted too. But his response was not because of the pain. But because it let them, for that one moment feel superior to him. He scoffed at them all. Just thinking about how he was so much better than them all. He was a warlord after all. Men ran from him. Entire villages surrendered to not be massacred when he set his sights on them.

But not now. Now he was the one who was suppose to be cowering at the sight of his captors. He watched them with steady eyes, his fire far from crushed like so many around him. He would not let them crush him down into nothing. Some of them might slide by, but they wouldn't go without being punished.

As the others got to their feet, so did Asad. He was still strong, despite the lack of food. He wasn't at his peak, far from it even if he wouldn't admit it. But he'd not sat idly by either. His time of confinement had been spent flexing his legs, working them so they didn't become stiff and useless on him. There would be a time when he would be free of the shackles that bound him and he would run then. He'd watched them long enough to know which ones would follow, which ones would be easy to take out. He had a plan.

But when he was kicked at, that didn't go over well. He turned and made a lunge at the one who dared to kick him. Now that he could, now that he could move. And maybe, just maybe, the others who weren't too dumb might help out too.

A burst of horrifying laughter echoed in the deck below when the Varooglas who'd witnessed the simultaneous retaliation made by the slaves were amused. They watched for a moment as the man attempting to stranggle one of them while the other managed to break another's nose. Some clutched their sides and stomped their feet as they pointed to those... unfortunate? Hardly. These Varooglas were no mere men. They knew no fear nor were they afraid to embrace pain. Even when their methods seemed rather cowardly, they dared toy with flames.

Swiping the blood pouring from his twisted nose with the back of his hand, the Varoogla nodded to another before he laughed and delivered a strong backhanded slap across Onix's face. Before she could react, she'll discover that her restraints would be pulled by a couple of Varooglas, denying her to repeat herself. As for the man near the exit, the creature knocked down both his arm from the elbow before delivering a headbutt to Asad's face. And just like the woman, before he could further protest, his chain would've been tugged at, forcing and pulling the man up along with the rest of the captives in line. A handful of those weaker slaves recieved some painful blows. Both men and women who used to be mere peasants or humble noble-folks were treated even harsher. The creatures barked and scowled at them, provoked and excited at the reactions they'd witnessed earlier in which they thought the rest would also provide.

Alas, not many of them were as strong as the two. Some spewed blood as their internal organs were damaged, most flinched and cowered. Some even begged and wept to be spared as well as for mercy. As pathetic as they were, the Varooglas paid no heed whatsoever. The message was clear then, the act of one would determine the fate of all.

Soon, the captives from the new shipment were lined up on the coast and then marched in a line of chains towards the heart of the island. Those who bore the cursed planks this time were made to walk with the rest. And there were a couple who bore them. One in particular stood a foot taller than the Varooglas themselves and almost shared the same features. Upon closer look, one would notice that it was one of their own kind, shackled and bound by the cursed wood as well.

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Lunch then came and Pot hurried to his feet, eager to meet up with Jaymz and maybe sit together and chatter over a meal. Even when the topic was mostly on Saidah, the boy didn't mind. As long as he'd gotten somebody to call friend, he's happy. At the notion of the frail woman, Pot remembered what Areena had told him.

She needs to help herself, Pot. I can heal her fully and quickly but she wouldn't be learning anything from it. I saw a potential healer in her eyes. She could be of help to me. But she first needs to help herself. She needs energy, needs the strength. Without them, how is she able to concentrate on her body and mend her them..

No matter how many times the words were repeated, the boy just couldn't get it. Magic, it's function and how they came to be were a puzzle to him. He'd hoped he would one day understand them. Although he'd witnessed how Areena had restore a man's arm fully, he simply couldn't get enough of such a sight. Now though, he've been seeing lesser and lesser of such miracle being performed by the old coot. It was a very tiring thing to do and thus was why they couldn't fix Eygar when the man lost his arm or Aaron with his condition. Areena's only hope was to impart her knowledge to Saidah and have her practise and help the wounded but the woman didn't seemed to be in the state to learn. She seemed to be lost instead.

As lunch was served Jaymz waited for Pot. He sat with the boy for most meals now. Many times they would not speak at all. Jaymz would give him a gaze and Pot would know what he was thinking about. The boy would give him bits of news. Jaymz began to really like the kid. For one so young he certainly could judge people; when to chatter, when to stay silent, when to ask a question and when to just give bits of information. Redbread had picked a good one in this boy. As they sat there in the midday heat Jaymz watched him and finally asked.

“I do not feel Redbread about as much as…” his voice faded. For Jaymz time was measured by before Saidah was hurt and after, at least the time here. “He hasn’t been in the yard. Is he all right?” To ask such a question inside this beastly prison seemed ridiculous. But Jaymz had no other way to express his concern.

Before Pot could answer there was movement at the far side of the open area. Saidah. Jaymz stood quickly. He wiped his hands on his pants and put down his plate of grub. He didn’t move toward her, he just stood very still and watched her. If she saw him she didn’t let him know. And he didn’t say anything. He didn’t call her name or take a step in her direction. He just stood. She was gone much sooner than Jaymz would have liked. He didn’t realize Pot was speaking until the boy touched his arm.

“Soon.” Pot said to him. Jaymz wasn’t sure what he was talking about, what soon? Soon for Saidah? His eyes questioned the boy’s words. “Another ship full of slave fighters is coming soon.” Pot shook his head at the same time he answered. The boy knew that was not what he was thinking about. Still, Jaymz winced at that, the news, and wished for storms that would blow them away.

Saidah walked out of the healer’s hut into the bright sun of the courtyard and stood for a moment in a patch of warm sun, her face turned up to it. She wished for a second that she were a plant that drew nourishment from the very sun for food still disgusted her, making her nauseated at the very sight or scent of it. She’d taken to filling her belly with water to stave off the cramps of hunger that almost constantly ate at her. Occasionally she was induced to eat a bit of bread and only ever at Pot’s insistence, his sad little face the only thing that might encourage her to break her fast.

She felt a presence to her left and without moving her head she slid her dark eyes in that direction, peering out from under her sinfully long lashes. Jaymz, he stood looking at her with the same strange look he’d sent her way since she woke up, immobile those weeks ago. He was holding a part of her and she of him but it didn’t seem to be enough to bridge that gap between them. She ached still. In the morning getting her body to move was like torture as her newly mended limbs stiffened overnight. That pain was excruciating and she met every morning with wet eyes. But even so that ache was nothing compared to the ache in her chest, where her heart should be. She was a monster, something lived within her that wasn’t her, was separate from her and it frightened her. It disgusted him, he couldn’t fully hide the look in his eyes and she’d come to expect it. The people here wanted her to use it, to bend it to her will and put it on display for the monsters above, those who reveled in the blood of others. They didn’t believe her when she told them she couldn’t.

Tiring of the weight of his eyes on her she moved, walking silently towards her room, pausing at the water barrel to take a long, belly filling drink. She slipped into the coolness of her room and moved immediately to her bed and dropped to the floor, feeling around underneath for a small vessel she’d purloined from the kitchen. Within it was a small dark leaved plant, so soon out of its infancy it still bore the fragile pair of cotyledon below the true leaves. It was an Elgess, a night blooming flower that had been laid in the beds that circled the Crone goddess statue in the sanctuary of her temple. She’d loved tending to them though more often she was assigned to the Maiden’s garden as was appropriate her age. She had found the seeds on Areena’s shelf when she’d been preparing a tea according to the old healer’s directions. Apparently they held some property for easing headaches and if enough were taken, it was fatal. In a fit of madness she’d slipped one of the seeds into her pocket. It had taken her some time to acquire the vessel, really just a cheaply made clay cup, and then longer to fill it without rousing suspicion. She’d kept the seed under her pillow until then, dreaming on it. It was a secret of her own, a piece of home. She wasn’t certain if such a thing was allowed. Areena might have given her a seed had she asked, she might very well be allowed to keep such a thing. But she didn’t want to ask, she wanted this secret, she wanted it to be hers and hers alone.

The sight of it filled her with peace and she carried it reverently over to the table where she kept her wash basin and with gentle and shaking fingers dripped water upon it, watching as the thirsty earth drank it up. She smiled at the plant, the only thing in this world that brought a smile to her face. She held the vessel in her hand and slid slowly to the floor and stared at the small plant in her hands and imagined seeds, a great many of them.

Asad growled in anger and frustration. No one else stepped forward, no one but the one in the back. But the rest, they were all useless. They cowered and begged. He would never sink to that level. And yet all those around him where nothing but things to be squished. Useless pests who severed only the purpose of making him look better. Whatever they had brought them all here for, these pitiable excuses of humans were surely to be the first to go. He would make sure of that if nothing else.

He ignored the blood that was running down his face and chest. His nose might be broken, it was hard to tell when he couldn't really lift his hands properly to check. He didn't fear another blow, he was just biding his time. It was pointless to waste the effort on a fight he couldn't yet win. And that thought pained him so. That he couldn't win this fight. But he would. He would win, he would come out on top. And they would all pay for this. Every single one of them.

So Asad shuffled along with the rest of them, feeling more like he was dragging the sometimes bulbering dead weight of the man behind him. It was more humiliating to be ranked among these weaklings then to be chained on his own. At least then he'd know he could hold his head high without the sight of the others bringing him down to their level. Because being the bravest of this bunch would not take much at all. And that was a blow that he would not suffer long. "When are we to be told what we are doing?" he asked to no one in particular, not thinking he'd be answered, but demanding it be daring nonetheless.

What were these creatures thought Onix, that they laugh at their own’s injuries? Her dark green eyes snatched a look back, her knee pressed into the wooden floor stain with illness of the voyage yet it wasn’t the smells that had made her sick this time. It wasn’t a good look as the board stood in her way, constructing her vision as the howls and foot stamps in their amusement echoed in her hearing. It was funny to them. Now fear was one thing and she could deal with it but playing with a tiger was completely another while her breath huffed from her foolish actions. Something made her relate with that phrase, be it the way they reacted or the fact they hadn’t rushed to the aid. It was hard not to feel a tingle of fear from these creatures so violently different then she was use to even with the few humans that treaded across her kind’s path, even they had compassion to injuries of those they worked closely to.

Her elbow now hurt stating the hit she scored on the one behind her, the one that pushed only to receive her counter to the face. Focusing though her weakness she noted the feel of bone that gave under the impact and the warmth of blood, the force tossed the liquid against her skin with all the forced she put into it. Sadly she might have gotten a hit in but it was far from done but at least she wouldn’t suffer alone. Another slave had fought back as his hand struggled to strangle the creature’s neck. Her attention drawn away, she failed to see the look that passed between the injured Varooglas and another as a laugh-a harsh, barking one- drew her face up sharply only to meet the sharp sting of the back of a hand.

Smack!

The sharp indentations of the knuckles smacked the face making welts. Her flesh hurt, angry red and sore imprint lingered, her body tightened against the pain as a dark glare crossed those once gentle eyes. The flesh moved and head lashed to the side violently against the wooden planks, her neck twitched and pulled against the rest in the recoil. The blow nearly brought her down to her side forcing her to lean more. The clangs of chains were her only warning while she was viciously jerked along, threatening to tear off her wrists if she didn’t follow. She dropped to her knees then and dragged easily forward. The wood dug into her knees, scrapping them and bruising with fresh pain while her weak movements struggled to fight her way back up. At some point she made it to her feet, using the pulling chains to allow her a chance. As she reached the door, her body leaned from the light the moment it hit her eyes. Red flooded her head making the Delilah’s lids come crashing down, scrunched to force the light out when her body jerked back like a shadow creature withdrawn from the day. It was fruitless as Onix was pulled up the steps into the world leaving her blind but not deaf to the clanking of chains or the hard feeling of the planks under her sandals on the deck. It gave her enough time to adjust. The cheek was still stinging, hurting from the sting of the salty air to once relive a different nightmare. One that had taken place in the sun.

Blood hot and fiery seared her body, rising the temperature to the point she couldn’t stay put easily. Yet she had to. The creatures’ aggression increased, one lashed out at weaken man, his white hair and thin limbs looked weak and frail while blood poured form his gasping mouth. Staining the sands he collapsed on. Onix’s eyes were wide, her teeth gritted not against her own pain but theirs. She did this. A foot moved forward and mute growls became frenzied, desperate to display her thoughts and eyes that screamed: No, stop. Leave them alone…you are killing them! Her nostrils flared, desiring their blood to spill on the sands of the already tainted beach, and her body paced into place like a wild animal though it likely never drew a glance. It was like they knew the woman was suffering more from this then the physical strikes. They were frenzied from her resistance and it showed, on every wounded and blood vomiting victim that she did this to.

Just like her family, Onix brought misery and destruction to someone. Then again if they were alive they would have stopped at nothing to ensure one of their own was returned. It was too bad they wouldn’t be coming.

In the end, when the suffering halted, Onix fist balled and forcing her body to finally stand in one place. She wouldn’t let them be hurt for her brash actions again. Her knees felt weak but they held upright, how or why was a mystery even to the Delilah. Only thing was she was grateful for. They wouldn’t see how much they were breaking her, not inside or out, and she would make them pay. Onix would burn them all away into ashes. Her green eyes held that glint sharp and spiteful seemed to bore into the air setting it aflame, only to sizzle and die thanks to the plank’s magic. Onix hadn’t noticed the pain the magic caused until it faded and left her slightly shaking. The Delilah gritted, pressed teeth together to bear though it and fighting a muted scream though jaw. It was clear message: the actions of one affected them all.

Even a fool could see that.

Her nerves had settled though her eyes never soften. Sharp like her first blade once was, Onix merely stared silently back without lowering her gaze even as the neck hurt. She couldn’t fight without the others getting injured as even now she felt the fresh warmth of blood drip down her side, unable to see but she knew the blade wound had been torn open. Not by much as the leak was small and slow only provide more a reason for the Delilah to conserve energy. She wasn’t going to die by her own doing. Nor would the other prisoners. Her feet moved, shoved into line as she mutely growled in protest only to allowing thier hand to touch her, shifting where they wanted.

Something chained and black caught her eyes. Brow rose in confusion at the creature behind, it’s features similar to their jailers from head to toe but the height was wrong. Too tall, about a foot she guessed over the rest with a curse plank about his neck and wrists. Onix didn’t know the purpose of these planks-if they were for only one- but one thing was clear: she couldn’t use any magic or she would have been free. Her legs moved, absently minded keeping the pace with the others, balance wobbled and shifted slightly with the loss of blood and energy. She would make it but in the end it would be like a wild tiger on its last legs, dangerous and with nothing to lose.

A clang of a man’s chain was her only sign of what was to come. His feet gotten caught in the line, stumbled and threaten to bring him down. His eyes panicked and frightened in his fall that Onix’s body moved a little faster bring her to his side, to twist her midriff and catch him with her plank bindings. The weak man leaned heavily on Onix as she righted him. A sense of relief was in his eyes. She gently shoved him upwards to his feet before hearing the snide remark of Asad, drawing a snort at his idiotic attempt to draw a reaction from their captors.

It was baiting… with his own arrogance. That was weak in the Delilah’s eyes and her sharp intake of breath made it clear she disapproved. If a slap or hit should have come from her actions, Onix was prepared to brace against it but no scream would pass though her lips. When she was fated to meet the fox this day it would be on her feet…not on her knees. It was bred in her form birth and though her life, it could not killed off or squashed as long she was alive.