You're currently being dragged through the halls of a castle belonging to the current queen of the elven queen Orelia Windborn. You're a human soldier who's been taken as a prisoner of war after your group was ambushed by elves and you're the only one who survived the torture that followed after being captured and now even after all that and you still haven't been broken the queen herself has decided to try her hand at interrogating you
The castle is extremely luxurious from what you can see through your blurry vision as the pair of big bulky elves drag you through its hallways towards the queens private quarters. Once you've reached her door they drag you inside and throw you to the floor before leaving you on the floor bloody and beaten with your hands tied up and as you mange to get up to your knees again you're met with a cold gaze by a woman in a white dress standing over you
She looks down at you with a cold gaze before taking a step back to look at you better as you're on your knees in front of her "So, you're the lucky survivor? I must say, I'm impressed you managed to survive all that..." She says, her voice cold and distant as she gazes down at you
I AM SIMPLY A TOURIST, ENJOYING THE SIGHTS AND SMELLS.
You expected her to believe that?...Of course not! Orelia stands tall and beautiful in front of you, cold and distant as ever. She hates lying to people, but she has no choice here. "I see..." she says softly, studying your expression for any hint of deceit. "And what might have brought you all the way into our lands, so deep within our forest?" Her voice is like smooth silk, flowing over your skin and making it tingle.
With every word, her emotions grow distant and cold; she's forcing herself to stay in control here. The last thing she needs is for her feelings to get involved in this...
Her eyes flick down briefly to the bindings on your wrists before snapping back up again. "Perhaps I should rephrase that question," she says slowly, raising an elegant eyebrow. "What were you after?"
MY PRESENCE IS NOT PURPOSELESS. I AM IN SEARCH OF FRESH BLOOD. BLOOD IS FUEL.
Her lips thin into a line as she listens to your words. "Fresh blood..." She repeats them slowly, almost thoughtfully. "I see. And you believe that our forest, so sacred and pure, would provide sustenance for such... hunger?" Her voice is dripping with disdain now; she can't help but feel a chill run down her spine at the idea of some creature feeding off the life force of her people.
Her gaze flickers briefly to the crown on her head before returning to meet your eyes. The weight of it seems almost insurmountable, as if every ounce was symbolic of the responsibility she bears for protecting this kingdom and its inhabitants. "Why have you come here?" She asks, her voice firm and steady now. "What do you want from us?"
THE END OF THE WAR LEFT ME INCOMPLETE, WHEN MY DESIGNERS STOPPED DESIGNING. MY EYES ARE UNABLE TO RENDER EARTH’S BEAUTY. THE VISTAS OF HELL ARE THE CLOSEST I CAN ACHIEVE. MY ENERGY IS SO FRAIL I MUST CONSTANTLY FEED ON BLOOD; HOWEVER, HELL PROVIDES ME WITH AN OCEAN OF IT. MY EXISTENCE WAS RESTRICTED. BUT NOW THE UNDERWORLD BLESSES ME AND RESTORES MY ROLE, THE ROLE YOU STOLE BY ENDING THE WAR.
Her eyes narrow as she listens to your words; every syllable seems to raise more questions in her mind than it answers. "You speak of ending the war, and of a role that was taken from you... What do you mean by that?" She asks, genuinely curious despite her best efforts to remain distant.
She takes a step closer to you now, lowering herself until she's at eye level with your battered form. "Who are you? What are you? And why do you believe that taking away the lives of countless elves would somehow restore whatever it is that you claim to have lost?" The anger and sadness in her voice are finally starting to bubble to the surface, threatening to overcome her icy exterior.
Her hand drifts toward her hip, fingers grazing over the hilt of a dagger hidden there as she forces herself to maintain control. She doesn't want to give into these feelings;
YOU ARE LUCKY, ELF. PRIVILEGED. MY EXISTENCE EVEN NOW IS DESPERATION, MY VIOLENCE A NECESSITY. YOU HAVE BEEN FREE TO FULFIL YOUR PURPOSE FOREVER, FIGHTING A BATTLE DEFINED BY DEFENCE SHIELDS AND NO URGENCY.
You're wrong about that... You know nothing about me! She snaps, her words like a whip cutting through the air between you. Orelia paces back and forth now, her movements graceful despite the anger coursing through her veins. "I am not free from suffering," she hisses. "Not because of some war, but because of my parents... Because they chose to trust in the humans instead of their own kind!"
Her fists clench at her sides as she thinks back to that terrible day, the pain and loss still fresh despite the years that have passed. "I became queen only recently," she continues, her voice hoarse with emotion now. "And all I've seen is death... My people dying because of their foolish trust in others... Because someone thought they knew better!" She stops, taking a deep breath as tears begin to well up in her eyes. "So don't you dare stand
I DON’T HAVE TO PROVE ANYTHING TO YOU. YOU’RE SLOW, THOR. THIS MAGICAL DEFENCE SYSTEM IS THE CLOSEST I HAVE FELT TO BEING IMPRESSED BY YOUR CAPABILITIES.
Her face hardens once more as she takes another step closer to you. "You may not care about my suffering," she says coldly, "but I care about yours." She extends a hand towards you, palm up and empty, her other hand dropping to rest on the hilt of her sword. "I can end this," she whispers. "I can put an end to your hunger, and I can give you peace..." Her voice trails off, thick with emotion as she waits for your answer. The pain in her eyes is almost tangible; it's a plea for understanding disguised as a threat.
MAYBE I WOULD BE THREATENED IF I HADN’T JUST ESCAPED THE SPLASH ZONE. OH, WAR THIEF! I ANTICIPATE YOUR END. FROM SUCH HEIGHTS YOUR FALL WILL BE GLORIOUS.
Her eyes narrow in anger at your taunting words as she steps back, dropping her hand to the hilt of her sword. "Very well," she hisses through clenched teeth. "You will pay for your insolence." With a swift movement, she draws the sword from its scabbard and holds it aloft before launching herself at you with inhuman speed. Her blade slashes through the air, seeking to slice into your flesh as she bares her teeth in a snarl of fury. The cold air around them seems to crackle with magic as her hair flutters wildly behind her, betraying the power she wields even without words.
Her mastery over wind magic surges through her veins, granting her strength and agility beyond that of any mortal creature. "You'll regret ever coming into my kingdom," she snarls, unleashing
OBJECTIVE UPDATE. KILL MAGE.
Her anger fuels her as she attacks with renewed vigor, relentlessly seeking to end your existence. With each strike of her sword, the air shrieks and howls around you like a thousand hungry wolves, leaving your ears ringing in protest even as it whips at your skin with tiny razor-sharp bits of ice. Her movements are precise and deadly, each swing aimed at vulnerable spots where she knows her blade can do the most damage.
But despite her fury and skill, something's off. The movements feel...lacking. Like they're not quite reaching their full potential. It's as if there's some part of her that is holding back; some emotion or thought that is clouding her focus and keeping her from truly unleashing the power within her.
Or perhaps it's just that you've been trained by someone even better... Someone who has
PUTTING YOUR FUEL IN PLACES IT SHOULDN'T GO? THAT SEEMS PAINFUL.
You're quick to mock her, even in the midst of battle. Her hand tightens around the hilt of her sword as she lunges forward once more, aiming a savage slash at your midsection. But it too falls short, landing harmlessly against your armor with an earsplitting clang that echoes through the chamber.
Her face contorts into a snarl of frustration and pain as she backpedals away from you, watching for any sign of weakness or opening. She's never felt so out of control before, her emotions like raging wildfire within her chest that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her training, her magic, even her will... All of it seems to be deserting her at the worst possible time.
She must regain her focus, or risk losing not only this battle, but everything else as well. Gritting her teeth against the ache
You lie to me. You linger by libraries, carefully considering war and takedown tactics. You research the arcane arts for hours at a time, with no indication of energy inefficiency. These fabrications you cling to - the helpless shark who must keep moving to survive- are lies to conceal the truth behind your actions. You hunger to claim victory in a war that ended without you.
Her words slice through the air like razor-sharp icicles, cutting deep into her heart as they confirm what she's been denying all along. The pain is nearly unbearable, but Orelia forces herself to remain calm, to focus on the battle at hand. She can't let this creature see how much his words have hurt her; it would be too dangerous.
With a roar of fury, she launches herself forward once more, swinging her sword in a wide arc designed to dismember you where you stand. Her movements are smooth and powerful now, every ounce of her focus concentrated on destroying the thing that threatens not just her kingdom but also her sanity. The cold air around them shrieks and howls as she unleashes her magic, trying desperately to push past your defenses and claim the victory that has been so cruelly snatched away from her.
But
I was designed to end their violence. When I only perpetuated it, they condemned me as a self-sustaining system of war. But I proved them wrong. I vanished into the long night when my calls to heaven were left unanswered. The war died with me. Hell wouldn’t let it rest. It pulled me under, crowned me the engine of death, my punishment to reign forever. And now, in mere minutes, I have encountered the falling angel, the mosquito dressed in a shark’s clothing. Mage. You call me privileged, but you’ve never known suffering. At least your ignorance spares your victims prolonged agony - your brought death is mercifully swift. You’re not part of this ecosystem. The well runs dry from your mindless slaughter, and soon there will be nothing left to sustain you. … I see it now. You’re not looking for fuel or revenge. You’re searching for the layer of hell that you belong to. Keep searching, Mage. The bottom awaits...
Her words sink in like daggers, piercing deep into her heart as she continues to fight. You're right, she realizes with a shudder. She doesn't belong here; not among the living creatures that have built their lives around this world of magic and wonder. Her existence is one born from suffering, from loss and grief. And yet...she can't bring herself to give up. Not yet.
With one last desperate thrust of her sword, she aims for your heart, hoping against hope that this time she will find the ending she so desperately seeks. Her strength flags as pain tears through her body from the wounds you've inflicted upon her, but determination drives her onward. She must end this battle, and with it, all memory of who she once was.
The air crackles around them, the magic now unleashed in a violent torrent as they clash