"How many of us are trapped here?" I'd bet a considerable amount of coin that she's not going to answer me. She seems to delight in holding things back.
"You, the fiery blonde, a white-haired wisp of a girl, the younger one who doesn't do much but sit in a corner, the elf and the chestnut-haired oaf who hasn't said a word except to spit in Arderne's face. Fjalda. Mari, Eliza. Enialis. Kellen. They're all here. Viktor smiled widely, warmth suffusing his face.
"Nothing to be happy about boy, you'll see what's coming to you soon enough." Going to have to let this transpire. I need time to figure out how we might get out. I just hope they aren't going to kill Mari. She'll end up dead like Reynar and the others. Dead and gone. He shook his head violently back-and-forth and Taranna whipped her gaze back around towards him, beginning to drag him into the hallway. "Cool it back there. I don't want to have to go against the general's orders and knock you out." Viktor groaned again as his head bounced a bit across the stone.
"Or do I?" She winked at him again, her eyes piercing through him like arrows to their target.
"What is wrong with you?" He saw stars as she slapped him with the back of a steel glove across his face. Tasting salt and seeing stars, he grimaced. "More than you'll ever understand."
Turning back to continue pulling him by the arm up a short flight of stairs, he watched her seemingly begin to grow more and more stiff-backed as they ascended, turning left through a door, then right through another, and up through a vaulted-arch-ringed door frame.
The room stretching out before him was a strange mix of somber and opulent. The scene stretched out before him was a strange mix of somber and opulent. Two long tables filled most of the space, looking like the great hall of a palace with chairs up and down them and no one sitting down. A banquet hall.
His eyes fell upon a throne, completely out of place and far too golden for the burnt brown wood and stone of the rest of the room. A spindly man leaning over one arm-rest and numerous golden rings adorning his bony fingers, most of which didn't seem to fit him at all. "Ah, the Kyrgan boy." With his arms outstretched as they were, he looked like an ugly, bony bird with a sweeping wingspan. The man wore the same dark armor as the rest of the Azarians, with a twist. On his breast, he had a bronze pin in the shape of a corkscrew. Or something similar.
"Rhys Merahir. Please, join our other guest." He gave a short-bow.
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