Irreplacable

Chapter 7

The bitter winter wind attacks her bare skin relentlessly, snow flakes litter her hair, and she seeks refuge inside an old catacomb. This place was different than her old home.. back in Rakaba. The storm would most likely continue through the rest of the day as well as the night, so why not get a better feel for her surroundings? It was most certainly warmer down here, what with the lack of wind and frozen water attacking her. The stones of this place were ancient, dusty and cracked, and none of the torches that hung in sconces were lit. It was a labyrinth down here, with too many passageways; after just minutes of finding her way about the place, she found herself deeper within the ruin, stepping over thick roots, or ducking under nearly collapsed passageways. Deeper and deeper she goes, into the darkness. This would call for a torch surely. Grabbing one, she snaps her numb fingers, and watches a spark ignite the end of her only light source. Magic was a curse for her back in Rakaba. The only reward she got was being called a slut witch in the slave quarters, or being called a traitorous witch in public by the lords and ladies. Now it would serve her well, though, thank the merciful gods. 

These seemed to be some kind of ruin, or catacomb for some strange historical figure.. The carvings on the walls seemed to be some kind of different language; almost runic, but not quite. Maybe it was of the demon language? Or some kind of Ancient Elven language, lost to time. Of course, she wouldn't know. She was a slave girl her entire life, restrained by magical chains to keep her magic under the surface of her frail skin. Some of the path has collapsed, into an extremely deep abyss, so carefully, she treads, hopping from one spot to another. 

Hours pass, or days, perhaps? As she explores this place, finding something new each passing minute.. when finally, a sudden urge to defend herself arises, she stomps out the torch, catching a glimpse of a moonlit room, with an altar of some sort. In the darkness she lurches closer, in fear of disrupting this.. perfect figures rest. A man, not a sign of a single days age past 20, with raven black hair, and perfect features, those of some otherworldly prince. When she got closer, the fact that he wasn't dead ran through her mind, then became dominate as she swore to see his chest rise and fall; as if he was breathing. Maybe he could save her from this painful life.. it all sounded so story-like, didn't it? A slave girl stumbling across her prince in a dank old tomb. Ah, wait. She spots a stone tablet, on the shrine, and forgets herself, drawn to the words she could most definitely understand. She brushes her fingers upon the words while reading them softly out loud. "Here in lies.. ah I can't make out the name.. brother of.. someone Rythern, children of.. can't make out those names either.. Looks like some kind of ritual saying.. maybe its a poem for him." She ignores the rest. 

Her gaze falls upon the... prince? He had to be, right? He was so pale.. and lacked any scent of death. Actually, he smelled somewhat of ash and smoke, like he'd been near a fire recently. Deciding it was safe, she let her guard down, and began examining the rest of the room, all rather tidy for a dead man, and not so dusty, either. Once her back was turned, the muffled commands of soldiers became present, surrounding her in no time whatsoever. Eyes, wide with fear, she watches her prince rise from his resting place with a monstrous grin. Not dead. She thought. That was all that came through her blank mind. Run. Don't fight. The man was feral, a vampire, or a demon, something unreal, but oh so very real, he was right before her eyes!

"Oh, my dear girl. It would seem you've fallen prey to my trap." His voice sent shivers down her spine. She swallows nothing with a completely dry throat. "Since you are the first guest in a very long time, I might as well give you some kind of chance." He continues, prowling up to her so gracefully, with carved hands and physique, he gazes into her eyes cruelly. "I also have a soft spot for children," He smiles at her. "If you can escape before I catch you, you can be free." A new kind of fear sets in. She has no idea where to go. His cronies disappear into thin air, and the man turns away from her. An opening, to try and escape. Try. She would do it, then. Using magic. She'd evade him and find a way out of this place; or die. His strides were confident, and cunning. He had the posture of a warrior, someone who had seen things, done things. So she ran. Casting spells to attempt to evade his crushing prison, most of the time barely dodging his more superior attacks. 

An undisclosed amount of her time was spent running, dodging and trying to escape, when finally, a natural light shone into her eyes, up this stairwell, and she would be free. His angered growls and roars echoed behind her, he'd lost track of her for a moment, but caught up once again, and just missed her arm, stumbling into a rune she'd cleverly placed moments before he found her again. Her heart races, and she gives him an apologetic look before leaping up the stairs as fast as she could, slamming into another stone tablet, this time dedicated to the sister, Eve- Rythern. There was no time to read its inscription, and there was only a short window of time where he would be disoriented; she slips through the almost too cramped steel bars, watching in horror at the princes fuming expression lingering behind those bars. Despite her resentment towards her past masters, being a slave mage girl had actually helped her..