[EvilJ]

Salazar sat in his throne over the mere slip of a girl that had been presented to him, her hands bound painfully behind her and a shaft pushed through her elbows and tied to them, making the binding even more extreme. She wore a torn bear skin- the garb of the Eastern Nomads, a fierce tribe of seasonned warriors. Never had he seen the clothes on a woman, though. Or any warrior so young. Her eyes flashed with rage at him as he stroked the wolf pendant around his neck (Why? He wondered) and she struggled uselessly against the rough hemp holding her.

His men had bound her quite severely and she couldn't even bow her head because there was rope wound through her hair, braiding it and fastening it to the bamboo shaft. He gestured casually and two of the men forced her to her knees before his throne and he held out his goblet, his eyes never leaving her. As the goblet was filled with a foul tasting alcohol he mused. She was quite exquisite. Her tanned cleavage and belly rose and fell quickly as she was forced to a submissive pose before him and her soft thighs spilled from the fur. A sheen of sweat covered her body, further accentuating her soft curves and her white teeth (even whiter when seen against her dark reddened complexion) shone like the fangs of a beast when one of the men pulled her hair back painfully to tie her head more securely in place. She was helpless before him, he thought with a smile and sipped at the liquor.

Yet her eyes... her eyes...

They showed no fear. There was only malice there. Hatred. He had seen men of the Eastern Nomad Tribe in similar positions many times and they had been quaking in the pathetic fur skins they called boots. These men were unfamiliar with fear, true, but they knew it when it came to their door as it was at hers now. Yet no fear welled in her eyes. There may be tears there- he couldn't tell by the torches that lit the hut- but if it was there, it was in the form of rage. Rage?

He stood up, his black skin glinting in the light of the torch and walked down the steps to her, then cupped her chin to look at her more closely. Rising the cup to his lips, he drank in both the liquor and her form. Both were.... intoxicating.

"This is the one?" He finally said. There was silence in the room except the popping of the fire from the torch. He repeated himself. "This is the one? The one who killed five of my guards? This is the one who freed my favourite brace horses into the night? This?"

One of the men affirmed his assessment.

"Who was in charge tonight?" He asked simply. His fingers held her face as she tried to pull away.

One of the men stepped forward and bowed. "Lord Salazar. I was in charge, but this girl moved like the wind in the darkness against the unskilled men you assigned me. As you can see, I was able to dispatch her quickly when I was alert-"

His explanation ended abruptly. That might have been because Salazar had slammed the goblet he held into the man's throat and lodged it there in one move. The man stood for a long instant before his blood began to flow araound the lip of the cup, then down his tunic. Then he fell, face forward, dead on the spot.

Explanations to Salazar often ended in similar fashions.

"Take him away. I would be alone with my new toy,"Salazar said evenly. As the men hastily complied, Salazar spoke to Sara for the first time. "Little child. Before this night has passed you will envy him for what he suffered. You will beg for such a swift death. But before I begin, make it easy on yourself. Tell me the name of the fool who sent you into my fortress to die most horribly. Tell me that man's name and I may give you swiftness to the after life."

He leered at her, an evil glint in his ebon eye. "After I take my own special toll for that swift journey from you, of course."