07-30-2015, 12:06 AM
Abaddon had thought it an amusing trick to play on the two lovebirds and their little family. He had watched them for days, weeks, perhaps even months. What was time to him? This was just another spot in time that he would pass as he felt. He had almost felt like them once, but the demon in him had wanted to own and devour too much. She had been his and in a brief moment he had wanted to love her to be what she needed. It would have only ended in tears and blood for her.
Abaddon had chosen his moment carefully, when the darker one had slipped from their house to gather his herbs and his plant food, Abaddon had snatched him. The silly man's abilities had done nothing to help him, nothing to protect him. The determination and fire in his eyes had eventually faded in the time Abaddon had owned him. Faded to the blank look that only slaves had. There was no hope, no pain, no love, just that emptiness.
Boredom. The broken look in Arzhur's face had begun to bore him. Abaddon only tortured him now because he wanted too. His slave never disobeyed him, never showed a hint of defiance and was all around a bit of disappointment to him. It hadn't taken as long as he had hoped to break him. Surely his lover and his daughter would have made him fight harder, or perhaps Abaddon was just that damn good.
He laughs to himself, staring at his slave as he stood hunched across the room, awaiting any order that he might have.
And then Arzhur remembers only blackness.
Arzhur awoke to a place that was familiar but not, a place that almost brought back memories. For a long while he laid there with the cool ground under his cheek, not reacting, because he didn't know if this was another one of Abaddon's torture sessions. Hours passed and then eventually a day until the growling in his stomach made him shift, lifting his head up even as his lips automatically went to the grass around his legs. This form was familiar. This was the form he had first met him in. He no longer dared to even think his name, the long scars that decorated his body now had kept the memories locked up tight until all he knew was his name.
"My name is Arzhur. I will live. I will survive." His voice was gravelly from lack of use as he said the mantra that had kept the most vital parts of him sane in the long time that he had been captured. There had times when he had forgotten that he knew how to speak, knew how to do anything other than obey. He didn't dare think about anything else, his eyes carefully looking around him even as he slowly chewed the grass near him and he waited for whatever hell his master would put him through.
Abaddon had chosen his moment carefully, when the darker one had slipped from their house to gather his herbs and his plant food, Abaddon had snatched him. The silly man's abilities had done nothing to help him, nothing to protect him. The determination and fire in his eyes had eventually faded in the time Abaddon had owned him. Faded to the blank look that only slaves had. There was no hope, no pain, no love, just that emptiness.
Boredom. The broken look in Arzhur's face had begun to bore him. Abaddon only tortured him now because he wanted too. His slave never disobeyed him, never showed a hint of defiance and was all around a bit of disappointment to him. It hadn't taken as long as he had hoped to break him. Surely his lover and his daughter would have made him fight harder, or perhaps Abaddon was just that damn good.
He laughs to himself, staring at his slave as he stood hunched across the room, awaiting any order that he might have.
And then Arzhur remembers only blackness.
Arzhur awoke to a place that was familiar but not, a place that almost brought back memories. For a long while he laid there with the cool ground under his cheek, not reacting, because he didn't know if this was another one of Abaddon's torture sessions. Hours passed and then eventually a day until the growling in his stomach made him shift, lifting his head up even as his lips automatically went to the grass around his legs. This form was familiar. This was the form he had first met him in. He no longer dared to even think his name, the long scars that decorated his body now had kept the memories locked up tight until all he knew was his name.
"My name is Arzhur. I will live. I will survive." His voice was gravelly from lack of use as he said the mantra that had kept the most vital parts of him sane in the long time that he had been captured. There had times when he had forgotten that he knew how to speak, knew how to do anything other than obey. He didn't dare think about anything else, his eyes carefully looking around him even as he slowly chewed the grass near him and he waited for whatever hell his master would put him through.