CF: Tryne (Fox & the Hound)<br/><br/>Lezarr paced in his chambers, dwelling on his prisoners origins and how she made it through his summoning ritual. It truly vexed him not knowing but the reward of torturing a soul far outweighed the vexation in his mind. It became more clear to him that he may very well not get any information out of this whelp but at least she would suffer, that was enough to hold him over before he spread his army across Tryne.<br/><br/>He turned on his heal and exited his chambers, swiftly making his way through the tower and long passageways back to his prisoners' cell. A smile stretched across his thin lips at the sight of her exhausting and helpless form. He outstretched his hand over her glaives floating in the air, and let his spidery fingers tip toe across their forms.<br/><br/>"Marvelous aren't they?" He chimed. "Well crafted indeed, I can see why you favor them so." Lezarr circled around the idle case allowing his fingers to slither and slide around its frame.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Her vision was hazed with a crimson tint from her wounds. She could feel the blood beginning to dry and itch along her pale skin. Her only strength was to turn her eyes upwards towards Lezarr. She watched as he traced his fingers along her beloved glaives and attempted to lunge forward towards him; such rage and adrenaline being the only things that gave her attempt such notable ferocity. Her bindings prevented her attempt any form of success other to give the bitter knowledge that she was still very much alive. She almost growled through her teeth.  â€œTake your hands off of them. They are mine; I am their maker, and your touch does a disservice to their potential. They recoil at your hand; theyâ€¦areâ€¦.mine,â€ she snaps off. Hysteria could be to blame, or perhaps, something else.</span><br/><br/>Lezarr paused a moment at the outburst. The hooded cowl turned slightly upwards towards the feral woman prisoner, the torch giving hint of a slight wry smile. "Such anger and ferocity... admirable traits in any being. You child, can put that to better use if you weren't so worked up over trinkets." A flick of the wrist and the case flew across the cell, smashing to bits against the stone wall and its contents crashing to the ground; a sound sickening to any respectable bladesmith. Another subtle motion of his hand and Lezarr summoned the glaives to him, slipping his fingers into their hilts. They felt strange to him. Not in a physical sense, though they certainly weren't a normal weapon, but there was almost a magical feel to them. These weren't normal and it was something Lezarr made note to investigate further, but not yet. For now this woman's torture was at the top of his "to do" list.<br/><br/>"They certainly make one feel powerful holding them...tell me, woman; you seem to think they feel, and are disgusted by my touch. What so they say now? Do they scream 'murder'? Beg for release? Or are they just heaps of metal, ready and willing to slice through flesh no matter who is their master?"<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">â€œThey say that they are sorry, and to think of the huntsmaster,â€ she responds with a gruff voice staring back at him with those azure eyes of hers. â€œTorture by my own blades is fitting. Then we can suffer together.â€ There is just the faintest hint of a smile.</span><br/><br/>Lezarr had to hold back a small laugh. This turned out to be much more amusing than anticipated. She had a strong will, as if born from the ashes of tragedy, and that made her dangerous as well as entertaining. Lezarr was fully prepared to test it to the full extent and beyond until there was nothing left of her. "Indeed..." was the only response he was willing to grant her. He turned his head back towards the door and promptly a Grawl emerged. Lezarr turned towards the creature and presented it the glaives. "Take these to my chambers, i'll be inspecting them, thoroughly." And with that, Lezarr left with the Grawl, leaving the prisoner to herself once again.