Traitor's War: D&D Pathfinder

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Pain pierced his eyes. Something was different now. Sure he was always discomforted , sometimes even painfully so, but this was something different, old but rediscovered. His eyes focused, yes it was light more light than he had seen from the food slot in the bottom of the door when the guards deemed to feed him at irregular intervals. And voices clear not muffled as through a door. As his eyes focused he made out the silhouettes of two figures in the door frame standing over two armored heaps on the floor. He could smell the sharp coppery smell of fresh blood and the steady drip of the scarlet fluid dripping onto the cold cobble stone floor. Who was he? Where was he at? How long? A feminine voice in a sarcastic lilt said, “Hmnnn… he does not look like much to me, are you sure he will do?” A male voice replied in a cultured Elvish, “My dear this one is not quite used up, he will serve my purposes nicely. Unbind him.”

He could feel the heat of her hands working over the Plate armor and locks imprisoning him. Pieces fell away with a clattering of steel. Soon he lay there naked, filthy, emaciated, and pathetic. His mind slipped back to days of past glory and power, until he felt a slap on his face bringing him back to cold reality. He tried to sit up and stretch his long cramped muscles but with a grunt of pain immediately collapsed. “Drink this,” the woman handed him a vial. He could smell her fragrance cloying and seductive over powering his senses yet with a dark and sinister fragrance beneath. He looked at her face as he slammed back the potion, it hit him just as the potion eased his pain and mended his muscles, this was no human, she had the stench of the outer planes about her. Flexing his muscles and stretching he felt much better. He could recall having bad dealings with women in the past and those were mortals, best he should be free of this one sooner rather than later.

The woman threw a wrapped bundle onto the floor and looked at the male elf dubiously. The Elf then said in an arrogant tone, " You should have what you need in there." The prisoner fumbled at the knots soon revealing clothing, a spell component pouch, and a precious spell book. Thumbing open the book he was shocked by the familiar hand writing at first but on closer examination he determined that someone had taken great pains to make a travel spell book in his handwriting. The book contained only a small portion of his knowledge but they were all spells he knew and might prove useful. He did have one ace up his sleeve, over the years he was able to retain one spell that they were not able to ferret out from him. He could feel a lust for power growing inside but first he must rest. As he closed his eyes and the light receded the Elf said with a feral grin, " ohh, I almost forgot…. Kymil, Lord Mattian Tamaril, your jailer, resides on the North side of the 5th level of this tower so 10 levels above this cell. You have 12 hours before these guards are missed." He then departed with a swirl of his cloak as the eyes of the great and powerful Kymil Durothil closed into the best relverie he has had in almost 20 years.


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