Twisted Nights by Waspe

WARNING: Graphic Content

waspe

Twisted Nights of the Twisted Forest

Chained to the cold, unforgiving wall, arms and legs stretched deliciously to the point where ligaments and tendons screamed in protest, she felt his blade slide precisely down her spine, like a hot knife through butter the sharp instrument sliced through her scarred flesh to tease wonderfully over each vertebrae without damaging the bone.
She suppressed the instinctive shudder of perverted bliss with difficulty. Not since Jumeau, had a man taken his pleasure with her. Jumeau. The thought of the masked man rallied her and she snapped over her shoulder, “You might look like my former Masssster but you cut like a pusssss!” That was as far from the truth as the Barrier Islands were from Madh-Akul but it made her feel better.

An angry hiss was her answer, that and something piercing the severed flesh on either side of her backbone. Just as she registered the hooks penetrating her skin the sound of flesh being striped from cartilage and bone filled the familiar torture chamber, the one buried in her dreams and her former life.

The Black Fortress.

Her flesh.

Muscle and bone kept her organs from spilling over the stone floor. White bone gleamed among the bloody mess left behind as her skin peeled free from her spine and ribs, starting at her neck and ending at her hips. Her body clenched hard in response and Waspe’s surprised scream filled the room, ricocheting back at her. Long fingers that ended in poisonous talons reached for the pearly gleam of her last rib and carefully glided along it, the sharp claw severed the tight cartilage around it before he proceeded to break it in several places.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as pain so sweet it nearly caused her control to slip engulfed Waspe. As more bone broke the nature of her scream changed, becoming a cry of twisted ecstasy. Every muscle tensed. It had been too long…

Then she woke.

Waspe blinked. Loud chuckles greeted her and she hissed angrily at being pulled rudely from her thoughts about the dream from two nights ago. She was seated in her conference room, Celthiss, her son, sat to her right. The look he gave her bordered on reproach and she resisted the urge to duck. She’d not heard a question directed to her by him, which was the cause for the laughter, caught daydreaming at a monthly meeting of her top personnel. Waspe quickly focused elsewhere. “Ssshut up!” Her boots resting on the massive black table that Shattered Ring were gathered around hit the floor hard when she pitched her body forward to snatch up the tankard containing her drink of thick, dark ale. Waspe promptly hurled it at the easiest target laughing at her.

Vetchelsear, an Eye Tyrant, swiveled one of its eyestalks towards the swiftly approaching vessel and easily pushed it with an unseen energy. The tankard careened off course with Vetchelsear’s central eye and veered at a right angle towards Cahta. There was a flurry of movement as the manscorpion tried to scuttle out of the way of the incoming missile, Cahta’s 10-foot tail snapped over his head and the wicked spur at the tip smashed the tankard, sending a spray of broken ceramic pieces and dark liquid harmlessly over himself and Ntt, a thri-kreen positioned next to him.

Another round of humored laughter erupted, this time directed at Ntt who indigently wiped at the ale splattered over his praying mantis-like body. “Enough.” The command was quietly spoken but held a power that resonated around the room and brought all eyes back to the head of the table. Celthiss’s slit, silver eyes held disapproval. Even Vetchelsear’s hovering body floated back a trace, gaunt lips closed over its toothy maw.

Celthiss didn’t blink as he addressed the beholder. “Lord Vetchelsear, I want you to pay a visit on Lord Ba’al and Lady Narcissa. It’s been too long since the Lord of Vultures Craig has checked in and his payment is late as of this morning. Remind him what happens when taxes are not paid on time.”

Waspe kicked her heels back up on the table when her son took charge of the meeting. Again her mind drifted. The dream had ended there, she’d awakened in her bed, the pain still rippling joyously throughout her tiny body. The first rays of dawn had the harpies outside squawking in protest of the fading darkness. Sweat covered every inch of her but there wasn’t a mark on her body. She was covered in a fine ash, the remnants of the clothes she’d fallen asleep in the night before. In the dream HE’D burned the clothes from her body. In the dream she’d been back THERE.

The Black Fortress.

In a hallway, a twisting passage with his angered hiss slithering over her so loud it drowned out all other sound when she hadn’t immediately stripped at his command, Waspe lay on her front, feet trapped in the very stone. She smashed her forehead against the floor she was bound to, hoping to wake from the nightmare. Instead fire erupted around her, burning her clothes completely away, crisping her skin and leaving a fine, gray ash on and around her.

HE was dead.

It was only a dream.

This time Waspe didn’t miss her cue, Celthiss’s voice cut through her recollection. She nodded curtly in response to his question of whether or not she wanted to fill them in on the turn of events at the Mire of Despair. Icy gray eyes snapped to her only offspring then looked at the collection of the Shattered Ring.

To her left sat Ssyn, her favored Yuan-ti, an abomination over ten feet long. Bright red and deep black diamonds wove a spellbinding pattern over his snake body, two scaled arms hung at his sides. A forked tongue flickered every so often from the blunt features of his reptilian face to taste the air. Vetchelsear was directly across from her, its orb shaped body was taller than she was, the Eye Tyrant’s eyestalks were over nine feet from the ground, there was only three feet between the bottom of its round body and the rough gray flagstones that were the floor.

Down the right side of the table were Cahta and Ntt along with a human woman with short-cropped chestnut hair. Brown eyes gleamed with intelligence from a pretty, if somewhat cold, face. Maria looked out of place in the room full of evil until you looked deep into her dark eyes and took note of the ruthlessness there. Across from her was sat a blonde behemoth of a man. Krulund, once a legionnaire under the command of Barteesan of Greenwood Glen, third cousin to Captain Coltin of Greenwood Glen who served the High General Krista Half-Elven. Now Krulund wore the same silver ring wore by all those present and served Waspe as faithfully has he had served Krista. Beside him was the crusty Wilok, a half-orc with stringy black hair and a nasty reputation for liking the flesh of young female halflings, though it was said he was terrified the rumor of a cannibalistic tribe of halflings within the Twisted Forest was true. Meremoth, a gnarled hag with sharp fangs instead of teeth and skin the color of moldy pea soup, slumped in her seat, gnawing on a femur.

Waspe stiffly got to her feet, lips pulled back into a grimace of pleasure at the pain in her aching joints. “Get me another ale.” She snapped at a yuan-ti servant hovering near the door. She waited until another tankard was brought to her and she’d guzzled half the contents before she spoke. Not even four and a half feet tall, the small elf with the tangled, color changing hair commanded everyone’s attention. Her brutal reputation was not a figment of propaganda and everyone in this room knew it. “I have removed Gaal from hisss keep in the Mire of Dessspair.” She paused to belatedly wipe her mouth free of foam with her scarred forearm. “He isss already here.” Her lips pulled back into a fiendish smile, “Hisss ‘entourage’ will be arriving before nightfall.” Icy eyes snapped to Ssyn, “I expect the forth level to be clear before their arrival. Sssee to it persssonally.” Waspe waited impatiently for his nod before continuing. “I’ve turned over control over the Mire to Ssstorm Sssilverhand, ssshe isss more than capable.” Waspe was not about to divulge her reasons for bringing the reclusive Gaal here. The vile necromancer had been in the Mire longer than any of them could remember.

Frosty eyes slid in Krulund’s direction. “I want two wagon loads of food delivered to the Thunder-Zok Tribe.” She had not forgotten her debt and promise to the goblin ranger from Thunder Gorge, she’d kept an eye on them and knew their food was becoming scarce. The discussion turned to King Flag and the bounty on his former wife Darcy. Waspe intended to deliver her piece-by-piece to Flag and already the hunt was on for the wench. All knew she was to be delivered alive; Waspe hammered that into them again. The meeting ended shortly afterward.

Celthiss remained behind with his mother, arms folded over his chest with his hands hidden from view, slid up the opposite sleeves of the dark robe he wore. He had her once silver hair, stood five feet three inches tall and had dusky skin. His eyes were an icy color, like hers but slit like a reptile, like his father. Dispassionately he regarded her. “Where were you last night?”

“In the Fun Room.” If her eyes ever softened, they appeared to when they landed on Celthiss’s handsome face. Her lips stretched into a wicked smile and she reached for her tankard again to take a noisy drink. He looked much like her former Master but where his features had been blunt, Celthiss’s were distinctly drow. Slit eyes and a cobra’s hood that flared from behind his ears, hidden under his silver hair unless he was angered, were the legacy of his father. That and his incredible magical power.

“And the night before?” Celthiss’s slit eyes narrowed when his mother all but choked on the ale. He watched her set it down quickly and wipe her mouth.

She let out a quiet hiss. “I wasss in Ravnglade.”

“I see.” His tone suggested he was waiting for more.

Her voice snapped out defensively. “I ran into an old friend!” Waspe suddenly grinned maliciously. “I sssent him off with a presssent he will not sssoon forget.” Just as soon as the grin appeared it vanished and fuchsia, winged brows that were slowly returning to silver pulled together severely. That was the night of her dream. A quiet hiss sounded again, forced out in building anger. She saw Thayne in her mind’s eye fleeing from her, her magic pulling the worst nightmare from his mind and presenting it to him. Waspe had cackled, imagining him running clear back to the Palace d’Emeraude. It had taken her a bit of work to free herself from the ground that Thayne had trapped one of her legs in. She’d returned home and fell into an exhausted sleep still clothed but deeply satisfied.

Waspe spat as she surged to her feet, her tiny fist smashed down onto the tabletop. “NOO!” Not satisfied she picked up her tankard and hurled it at the defenseless wall. “Dammit!” She let out a vicious snarl. What if Thayne had threw that spell back at her and it was the cause of her dream?! Damn the man! She wanted him to suffer! Suffer the way… Waspe swung to face Celthiss, rage and indecision warred over her twisted features.

Celthiss was far from impressed by her outburst and raised a bored brow. “I will speak with you in the morning.” His voice held not only a note of censure but also an unspoken warning. He gracefully got to his feet with the slightest rustle from his silk robe and left the room after a chilly goodnight to his mother.

Waspe snarled again then stalked towards the door, threw it open and stepped out right into the path of someone.. or thing. Ael’Remnah would pay! Icy eyes traveled up the chest in front of her while the stench of death and decay filled her nostrils. She let out a string of obscenities while clutching at the shirt to steady herself. “Watch where the ***** you are…. going..” Her angered order ended in a gasp as she stared up into the dead eyes of a lover long since hidden. Waspe’s knees turned to water and the last thing she saw was the gaunt features of Lorn’s face, gray in eternal death, a cloud of flies buzzing around his head. There and then the Overlord of the Twisted Forest fainted.

From the shadows a tall, thin man stepped out, a frown pinching his sharp face. “I thought she would enjoy seeing you again.” Gaal looked at the zombie lord and shook his head, wisps of gray hair floated around his nearly baldhead, a gleam of dark amusement lit his watery pale blue eyes. “Bring her to her room.”

Lorn, the recently risen zombie lord bent and effortlessly picked up his fallen mistress. He shambled away from Gaal towards Waspe’s chamber.

‘`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`”`’`’`”`’`’`’`”`”`’`’`”`”’`’`’`’`’`’`
We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it in full.

He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.

Waspe, Overlord of the Twisted Forest

Mon, Dec 23rd – 2:57PM