The elf woman wriggled and squirmed in her bindings, even more eagerly as Brom's attention fell upon her, followed by his hands. Each inch of her that he freed from the bindings seemed to strain toward his hands with the same intensity that the rack strained Felicity's limbs, unabashed craving for the touch of him on her pale skin, and she made a soft, pleading mewl, saying something in a language the human woman did not understand.<br/><br/>All too soon, in Felicity's mind, the Baronet's attention returned to the poker... and both man and poker came to her. Her eyes, wide, fixed upon the disc and it glowed about her, and her lips moved soundlessly, as if wanting to pray and yet being unable to find the words.<br/><br/>Then the disc sank against her skin, and there was no use for words.<br/><br/>Felicity screamed, her already taut body going even tighter, as the signet seared the family's crest into her flesh, a spot of agony no larger than a coin upon her pretty peasant skin, and the smell of meat, of cooked meat forced into the air, into her nostrils. Again she screamed, and then let out a sob of pain, gasping for breath and crying out again.<br/><br/>The sound of the young woman's tortured cries drove the elf into almost a frenzy, lurching hard enough against the manacle upon her neck to almost knock herself off her feet, gazing wide-eyed and ravenous upon the injury that was being done.