Seven Souls |Updates Fridays|

16 Vienice Aramon

Warning: Graphic torture and other things violent related

_Viencie Aramon_

Viencie had no sense of time here in the dungeon, since there was no windows or any sort of way to tell if it was night or day. Not even the guards were consistent in their visits or a timinging to go off of. He was less delusional about things now that they had fed him some, and given him water to drink. He didn't eat much, only if the pain in his stomach was unbearable. The food here was a mysterious slop, but he did not dare ask the guards what it was. They liked to hurt him every time he opened his mouth.

They had also let him off the wooden X, but that had been a challenge. They had to remove the nails from his fingers, which had been unbearably painful, seeming as his wounds had started to heal around them. He hadn't known how long he had been up there, but surely it had been longer than a week. His pinky fingers had been plucked from the nails for fun, and the guards had merely laughed at his screams.

How could someone be so cruel? He wondered. Did they have dungeon's in Vangerbore? If so, had he killed men like these? He hoped so. Anyone this cruel deserved death more so than him. At least he was mortified that he had hurt people, these men treated it like sport.

When he had been let down from the wood, his muscles had burned and ached terribly, it almost hurt now, to be on his knees, unable to stand on his broken ankles; which by now his feet were missing toes. He remembered crying silent sobs, tears of agony as his voice was weak now, unable to be very loud after weeks of screaming. At least, what felt like weeks.

Surely it had been weeks- if not a month by now. He was visited by priests and practitioners of all sorts, too many to count or name. They came ages apart and he could only guess that they came once a day, if not more- he wasn't sure. But when these people came, they had chanted things, poured things on him, cut him, and many other things. Nothing happened that they had wanted, and you could see the frustration coming off of them.

These kinds of visits made him remember the first man who had visited. The only man who had said he was not of the devil. That should have been the only reason nothing was happening here- there was no devil to be expelled from him. However, this did not stop the educated men from filtering in- as if mainly to take a look at the butchered boy. Sometimes when their spells and incantations did not work, they would request a vile of his blood, or a lock of his hair among other things. The guards always let them.

One man had asked for his finger, and the guards were more than pleased to let him have it, cutting one right off for him. By this time, Vienice's screams were mostly just long intense whispers- as if his voice had left him. Sometimes the boy wondered if he could still talk- but he did not try. Nor did he answer any questions from anyone anymore- even if it meant being hit for it.

There was a day when the guards came in talking with each other. It was with their banter that the boy heard about the man who had left with one of his fingers. According to them, the shaman of some kind had been incredibly upset to find that his finger had rapidly decayed right before his eyes as soon as he had left. It had turned into what everyone had thought to be ash. The thought was preposterous, but Vienice did not have the will inside him to believe it, nor think it of a lie. Anything spoken now was little more than words. Buzzes in the air that he could hardly make sense out of.

Strangeness seemed to follow him, and what with him not dying, everything mysterious meant so much less.

Besides, it was hard to focus on anything other than blinding, constant pain. How many days had it been now, that he had been allowed down from his restraints? Vienice had not stood, only moved a few feet, slowly crawling to a wall to support himself up. The process took hours as it hurt to inch his way there. The boy had sat against that wall for as long as the guards would let him, his eyes often closed but never sleeping.