She loved her master so much. His men were cruel to her, but even when he hurt her, she knew it was because he cared for her, and wished to teach her to be better. She rubbed up against his leg and felt gratified when he patted her head like a dog; Not even the sun could make her feel this warm and cozy. For a moment she even forgot her sickness as she nuzzled up against his naked calf, lost in her own little world.<br/><br/>One of the elven women was staring especially hard at her; Doshvin tried to ignore her, but she said something that made Doshvin's stomach lurch, her eyes snap towards the woman. For just a second, she was Makretia again, and her eyes widened as she recognized Shaelee. She had been present at her wedding; Her husband! Her thoughts raced as she thought about Aubron, a man who she once loved more than Gorgamesh. Lucid for a moment, she looked around the room, as if searching for an escape. Then, Gorgamesh- her master, she corrected in her mind- left her side, and wrenched her thoughts away from that awful person she used to be. She took a deep breath of fresh air, her sickness having risen again as she thought of the elf she used to be.<br/><br/>She no longer could put a name to the elf's face, but Doshvin suddenly disliked her. She made Doshvin feel uncomfortable. She laughed at the woman when master hit her, sent her spiraling to the ground; The other orcs were ready to swoop onto her and rape her, but he stopped them. Doshvin understood bits and pieces of the orcish language, but she had never been truly taught it yet; She only knew that master had claimed this woman. That made Doshvin uncomfortable; She wanted this one to die, though she didn't understand why, but not only would she possibly live, if she were not beaten too badly, she might try to take Doshvin's place. She was getting sick again.<br/><br/>Master slowly approached the woman, and Doshvin crawled alongside him. Her master walked with menace, and she had an evil smile on her own lips as the gigantic orc wrapped his hands around the elf's neck and lifted her from the ground. "Yes," she groaned, hoping for her death.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>In a moment of weakness, she had abandoned her disciples, and locked herself away in her quarters on the second floor. The door was twice bolted, and a heavy dresser had been pressed up against it, the door opening from the outside-in. Still, with every brutal shoulder thrust from the orcs on the other side, the wood splintered and threatened to give away.<br/><br/>Edraele, the high priestess and aunt to Shaelee, sat in her armchair, frozen in place. What could she do? She had already considered throwing herself out of the window, but that was unlikely to kill her from only the second story. She had nothing in the room that would sufficiently slit her throat or her wrists, but even if she did, Edraele was not sure that she could do it. She was too weak to even pray to Chandrelle, goddess of the elves and the wife of the Allfather, who every race believed created the land.<br/><br/>Sitting in that chair, watching a green fist blow through her door, trying to push the dresser out of the way, Edraele reflected on her cowardice throughout her life. She was the high priestess, but even now she could not beg her lady for help. She had seen the smoke and heard the screams, and she could have at least spared some of her priestesses some time to escape. She was a legendary healer, but Edraele also knew other magics. Nothing to kill an orc, but she could have bought some time. But she had locked herself inside of her quarters, choosing flight over fight, and abandoning the women who had believed in her, who had served alongside her in service to Chandrelle for decades, and in some cases centuries. Their small fists banged on the door, begging for her to let them inside; She had used all of her strength pushing the dresser against the door to deny them. Soon the sounds of their fists died, replaced by their screams, and later, larger fists interrupted her disturbed reverie.<br/><br/>The hand bursting through her door turned into an arm, then two, then they were easily sliding the gigantic oak dresser across the floor. She stood from the chair, knocking it to the floor with the suddenness of her movement. She lifted her hand to face the orcs, but none of her magic was summoned. In her moment of weakness, the goddess Chandrelle had abandoned her. "No, my whole life-" was all that the disgraced priestess could say before a fist hit her square in the face, knocking her to the floor and stunning her. As she swam through the blackness, she felt her clothes being wrenched away from her body.