De'mari closes her eyes, feeling the tingles of pain from such a small movement. Her once pale blue, nearly white skin is now a bright red from her hours in the sun. Her body screams in protest at every bump the wagon makes, to the point where every jostle brings a whimper from her. How long had it been? After the second day she had starting dozing, or rather, losing consciousness. They had traveled through the night, rotating the horses and those few men tasked with watching her. They were traveling slow enough that the guards off shift could sleep and catch up to them easily enough. Slow didn't mean comfortable, a reminder as the wagon bounced across a rut in the road. De'mari gave another weak whimper, no longer having the strength or resolve to defy her captors. A diet consisting of just barely enough to keep her alive, and the constant painful travel keeping her from proper rest had worn her spirit down. She felt like a hollow shell, travelling through a tortuous nightmare. And all the while the guards glared at her, obviously offended through her treasonous crimes. Most soldiers were very patriotic. A few particularly nasty guards laughed at her, taking joy in her suffering.
De'mari looked up at the sky, her tired eye, as the other was still swollen shut, straining against its brightness. She silently willed the clouds on the edge of her vision closer, just to block the sun out for a little bit. She was so tired... so very tired. Off in the distance she heard the thundering of hooves, the noon shift was arriving. It was only noon? It had felt much longer than that, every second of her torment taking an eternity to pass by. The guards changed at irregular intervals to keep her unaware, but she had heard one of the younger ones earlier talking about how he would be back a noon. The young one, so careless, and the way he leered at her. She shuddered at the thought of being left alone around him. Voices.. they were talking, laughing again. At her most likely, yes, they were always laughing at her. The wagon creaked to a halt, and even that hurt, as the horses were changed out. A crack of the reigns a moment later, or was it longer than that? And the wagon lurched forward, creating spots in her vision as her dislocated shoulder, she had decided it wasn't broken at some earlier point, radiated pure agony. Her nerves lit up like small fires, causing tears to well up in her eyes. She took a ragged breath and felt her fracture rib ache, and all of her wounds were coming back to her as if she had forgotten them somehow.
"Having fun harlot?" The young guard asked sarcastically, sneering as he rode up to look at her from the side her good eye was on. She hated him the most, the way he sneered at her. The way his eyes wandered over her body, the way he laughed at her. The way he degraded her, made her feel filthy. She tried to look defiant but he just laughed again. De'mari imaged it would be difficult to look imposing from her position shackled spread eagle to the wagon, bruised and sun burnt. Still, she gave him the most menacing her blue eye could give. He paused for a moment, as if considering something, and then smiled a lecherous grin. "I know what you're thinking about tramp, a real slut aren't you? Pathetic."
She grimaced as the wagon hit another bump in the road, barely hearing his derogatory comments. "Hey rookie, you ever roll in the hay with a Fae? I mean, there's a reason they call the Nymphs right?" They both laughed, and De'mari could feel her hate boiling up inside of her. A resentful wave of anger battled against her helplessness. She wanted to strike back at them, to make them feel how she felt. But there was nothing she could do. Her fingertips tingled slightly, perhaps she was losing circulation from lying still so long. But that didn't matter, her blood boiled fueled by her hatred. She wanted to watch them suffer as she did. Wanted to see them wallow in their own despair. She wanted to feel the warmth of their blood coursing down her arms..
Wait.. What?
De'mari grinned, something inside her head switching over. Perhaps it was her breaking point, the point where every gentle creature becomes something else, like a savage counterpart. The wagon jostled again and De'mari twisted slightly, without a sound, feeling her arm slide back into the socket as she twisted sideways. Then she pulled as the shackles binding her wrists. She was already a lithe, small woman, standing at maybe 5'1. She felt a pop in her hand, her thumb dislocating. She wiggled her hands fiercely, determination driving her blindly through what would normally be an excruciating process. She was still weak, but anger gave her strength. Hatred gave her purpose. She felt her heart hammering in her chest, felt the shackles sliding ever slow slowly. Her face split into a smile, something reaching out from the pit of her soul and clawing its way out, taking control.
"Stop all that racket back there! Rattling your chains won't help you wench!" The young guard spat, turning his head to look at her.
But she was standing now. Her fingers already weaving their second spell. The first had immediately shattered the will of the rear guard, unable to resist her as she pulled the moisture, his blood, from his body and used it to weigh down the pins inside the locks binding her ankles. He had slumped in his saddle, looking like a piece of dried fruit. his face colorless and stuck in a perpetual silent scream. The young guard stared at her silently, her dirty form standing menacing in the wagon, even with her short height the wagon made her taller so her had to look up. The sun behind her, casting a menacing shadow across her face as her bangs drooped around the edges of her face. Her eyes, now solid red, glared back at him. She felt the magic strong within her, like never before. She could never control it this well, having never completed her pilgrimage. And yet, it felt as if something else were there, guiding her, helping her.
"Oh shi-" The young guard started.
De'mari finished her second weave, again the force of her will colliding and shattering that of her enemy's. She could nearly hear his heart burst as she ripped a stream of crimson ribbons form his chest. He choked on his words, falling off of his horse, his body twitching. The wagon lurched to a halt and the driver screamed as she lunged onto him. Ignoring the frailness of her body, finding strength from somewhere inside her, from a boiling pit of rage. She tore at his face, part of her reveling in the spray of blood, the driver screamed again, trying unsuccessfully to protect himself. Her hand came down again, tearing at an artery in his neck. A fountain of blood sprayed out and she laughed at him. Staring at his terrified, slowly dying eyes.
The horse snorted as Estabond rode hard towards the screams. It had only been a few moments since they had left and his mind was in a panic for his brethren. Bandits weren't common this close to Providence, they were maybe a day away from the mighty city walls. The animal population was low, no, it was too quiet for that. He felt his blood rushing through him as he rode with two others. Sir Frier, and Sir Griswald, both his superiors. They had all heard the blood curdling screams, but it didn't make any sense. Perhaps the Fae had some friends who had organized some sort of rescue mission. He grimaced at the thought, there was no way he was going to let that treasonous witch go.
"There's the wagon," Sir Frier said, in his eerie focused calm. He was like the calm before a storm, the way he calculated and thought everything out.
Estabond's heart caught in his throat as he caught the whole thing in a sickening sequence. The guard on the ground, shriveled, mouth open, with what remained of his steed a few feet away from him. He urged his horse forward but it whinnied in protest, it took a few sharp kicks from his heels to coax it into a slow trot. Estabond felt his stomach turn as he saw the rookie. His chest flayed open, blood covered the front of his body, and he looked just as shriveled as Perwill, the rear guard. He clenched his jaw, what kind of sorcery could do this? He barely had time to finish that thought as he rounded the wagon, coming across the driver and the team of beasts meant to pull the wagon.
Or rather, what was left of them. Estabond flew off his horse and fell to his knees, his stomach clenching as he retched on the side of the road. The image of the maimed driver stuck in his mind, the team of horses dead, their bodies severed in multiple places, creating a heap of horse pieces all covered in blood and gore. He looked down, the pit of his stomach sinking as he saw the red of blood. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't his, he looked at his hands in horror, covered in the sticky red life force of his companions. His stomach turned again but he was too busy scuttling backwards, seeing the blood sprayed out before him. There was so much of it. Impossible, but it seemed arranged somehow. He squinted at it, it read "HaHaHa". What kind of sorcery was this?
"Estabond, over here." Sir Griswald said roughly.
Estabond rose to his feet, his knees shaking. He came around to the other side of the wagon where Sir Frier and Sir Griswald stood, looking down at something. Estabond blinked, rubbing his eyes. It was the woman.. covered in blood. And she seemed to be sleeping peacefully, a smile played across her lips. He felt anger well up in the pit of his stomach. He looked up at his two companions, his eyes saying "How?". They both shook their heads solemnly, the three of them highly disturbed by the situation. Eastbond frowned, they had orders to deliver this woman, and orders were orders.. but.
He looked at his brothers silently, drawing the heavy wooden cudgel wrapped in studded iron bands from his waist.