Iyleen

I Should Have Done Better

Iyleen had never been one to take things in a particularly serious way. 'Water off a duck's back' is a phrase she lived and breathed by. Nothing was so important that it had to keep bothering her into tomorrow, and shit could be worked out later when tensions weren't so high. Things happened and that was okay.
That didn't apply anymore.
She had never been as defeated and scared as she was now. She had never been so unsure of what to do. She went into this very well knowing she could die and was fully prepared to do so. But this wasn't death. This was something so genuinely worse and so heartbreaking that it felt like she was stuck in a loop of what she could have and can't have done. Momma and Daddy. She was dead to them, and what could she do about it? She knew how to cast sending, but this place. Even the simplest spells fell flat and petered out. Which made sense. Of course a hold made by mages was fully secured from any magic.
The guards, when she was done being stripped, searched, and redressed, had asked her for her name. She gave them Uran Mashiba. Which was her birth name, but apparently they found this amusing. They shared a collective sigh and a laugh. A lanky elven man waved them quiet and cusped the side of her face.
"We keep track of the Mashiba's along with the rest of the generals and families of. You happen to be the third 'Mashiba' of the day. You sounded much more convincing though, sweetheart, confident even." The man turned her around and slapped her ass like it was some kind of compliment. He started walking her down the cold hall and down a set of ever darkening stairs.
She should have just given them her real name. Of course she didn't think about the fact that there would be fakes. She was a Mashiba for gods' sake! She didn't want to out herself while in such a vulnerable position either. It's the reason she opted for no identifying markers on her armor. She knew her brothers or even just the other paladins would recognize her once her body was found. Her plan of discretion had backfired worse than she could imagine. They walked for quite a while. She passed by at least 60 fellow paladins and soldiers. Some looked like they had been there for only a day or two; some looked like they had been there for years. She wondered what stage she would reach.
Would I be here for a few days or a few months? Years? Would anyone recognize me? Would it even be a good thing if they did?
While those thoughts were reeling in her head the walking came to a stop. One of the cells were opened up and she was pushed inside.
"Food comes when we have it, water comes when we have it, the shitter is back there. If you're needed we'll come and get you, otherwise shut the fuck up and wait." With that he walked out leaving the guards on either side of the hall entrances, and those stuck in the cells.
She was stuck in her very own dingy, cramped cell. Barely big enough for her, much less the orc man she was shoved into.
He smells.
He smelled like had bathed in the bucket of shit in the corner before taking his nap. Unfortunately for her, the less than graceful entrance of falling on top of him woke him up from said nap. He shoved her off and sat upright, stretching and yawning as he did so. He looked rough. He must have been there for weeks or months already. Based on how loose his tattered clothes were he had to have lost a lot of weight in the mean time. His skin was grey, but much more ghostly than any other mountain orc she had seen. His tusks were massive, and his facial hair matched with an impressive length. She couldn't quite pin an age, though, in her eyes he was either 54 or 22.
"Who're you?" He didn't actually look at her at all despite their proximity. Her eyes darted around the cell like she was trying to find someone else to pin the question on.
"Uh, Uran."
"What're you?"
"Tiefling." He took a pause then and looked her up and down before continuing.
"With what?" Iyleen figured that if this guy didn't end up liking mixed breeds that maybe he could take out his pent up frustrations on her; this whole ordeal could be over with. Her parents fears would be truth, and they wouldn't have to go through the back and forth of not knowing for sure. Surely he had fashioned some sort of weapon for as long as he'd been there.

"Half-orc. Mom's a tiefling, dad's a half-orc." To her dismay and simultaneous relief the man just rolled over and fell back asleep within seconds. She took a closer look at him then. He really was frail. Despite his large build he looked like he could have barely taken a gust of strong wind. Luckily for him the cell only had a small draft. His cheeks were sunken, his hair was matted, there were definitely a few flies whisking to and from several places on his body.
He actually. Well he kind of reminded her of her grandfather. It had to have been the hair. His hair, if it wasn't matted, seemed like it would flow thick and long like a sea cast into pitch blackness. She tried to not make that connection from there on out. She didn't want any reminders of her family that she knew would be grieving once the battle had come to a close. If it hadn't already.
Obviously they wouldn't have found her corpse, but there would be many who's bodies were turned to ash at the hands of the mages. She was sure they would assume her fate was similar.

Mokie. A devastating yet lovely thought. Her beautiful, perfect sister. She would theorize, beg, plead for it to not be true. "But her body!" She could hear her so clearly. Papa would probably be the one to try and calm her down. He would be the one that would explain the likely hood and certain lack thereof of Iyleen's survival. Tears quickly welled up in her eyes, and just as quickly got wiped away. She wasn't going to cry yet. Not until she got out, or at least until she knew she was never getting out.