#drakenborg

As a part of the fic, I wrote my own version of how Iorveth escaped the Drakenborg and lost his eye. He only survived because a godling (Eugene) and a leshy (Berthold ) took care of his wounds.

WARNING: This text containts voilence (torture) and gore... I feel it´s pretty cruel, so stay away if you can´t handle that..

(Please read Drakenborg 1 first: https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/163948584770/drakenborg )

The elven officers were locked in small cells in pairs, their long hair cut off, and without any contact to the others. Still, they were close enough to the laundry, how the torturing chamber was called, to hear their brother’s screams.

Iorveth shared a cell with his old friend Coinneach Dá Reo, and they killed time making plans to escape and to take vengeance on Nilfgaard. How they would unite the elves and lead their army against Emhyr var Emreis and Francesca Findabair. They were unbroken and kept their pride, and talking kept them sane. Just when the screams of their tortured brothers were too loud, they sat next to each other in silence and stared at the grey stone walls.The day the guards came to take Coinneach changed everything.

They came before sunset, and dragged the elf out of the cell on his still sore wrists. Before Iorveth was fully awake, kicks by heavy boots broke two of his ribs, and he passed out after another kick against his head.When he woke up, he was alone. And the tiny cell seemed to be even smaller without his comrade. With every breath, pain flashed through his ribcage, and he felt something wet running down his head. He ran his finger through his hair and when looked at his hand, it was covered in blood.

Wrath blazed up in his chest, and the hatred interfused with despair and helplessness. He found himself hammering at the door until his fists bled, he screamed and yelled and still was not heard. The cell became smaller and smaller, his pain got worse. He did not want to die like this, caged like an animal, tortured like a criminal and traitor. He wanted to die fighting!

But no one came to fight him.

At night, Iorveth thought back and went through the decisions he had made. The past months had been like a rush. When was the turning point? When had things started to fall apart? Everything had begun so well… too well. Had it been the day he had decided to follow Nilfgaard?

It was about midnight, when they brought Coinneach back. There was not much left of the proud elf, he was a whining bale, his body shattered, covered in his own blood and excrements and… Iorveth did not want not know what else. For the first time Iorveth was truly scared of what awaited him on the other side of this door.

Please read Drakenborg 1 -4 and Godling 1 first: https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/163948584770/drakenborg https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/164331108325/drakenborg-2 https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/164439254210/drakenborg-3 https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/165255024955/drakenborg-4 https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/165300347330/the-godling)

When Iorveth woke up, he found himself covered by a mossy blanket, at a fireside. He wondered where he was, and what had happened to him… His sore hands were bandaged and when he reached for his face, he felt a wet compress. The slight touch caused an explosion of pain, spreading from his cheek through the whole skull. He nearly passed out again, so he focused on breathing. Iorveth started to remember how the spear hat shattered his face. With his tongue, he sensed that teeth were missing and somehow his mouth felt just… wrong.

But to his utter surprise, the pain was only half as bad as he remembered. When he looked around, he recognized some sort of camp with a small shelter made of branches and leaves. In the tree above, a collection of shiny metal things reflected the light of the flames and some steps aside someone sat at the fire, his back turned to Iorveth.

Iorveth blinked several times, the person seemed like a… child to him. The being had bluish skin and they only wore some patched trousers and a colourful knitted scarf wrapped around their neck. On their head, the individual wore a crown of twigs and fern, with a tiny pair of antlers at the sides.

“Who are you?” asked Iorveth, or at least he wanted to ask this. But he was not able to talk, instead he could only caw. But individual heard him anyway.

The bluish creature twirled around, and with a few jumps he was at Iorveths side. Indeed, he looked like a child, but with huge greenish eyes and something about his face was… odd. He was a godling.

“Oh, you are finally awake!” the godling squeaked excitedly, “Hope you feel better. By the gods…  What the hell happened to your face? Berthold and I discussed hours if it was more helpful to release you or to stitch you back together. Berthold actually wanted to eat you, but I told him in your condition you probably tasted like rotten fogger.” Without even awaiting an answer, the godling lifted the compress on Iorveths shattered face, and he grimaced over what he saw. So it was that bad, thought Iorveth. And who was Berthold?

They had promised fair trials, imprisonment in dignity and a painless and quick execution, like any Nilfgaardian officer would have deserved. Taken alone the transport on the barge, there was not the slightest trace of dignity for the elves: Sore wrists and ankles from their chains, barely enough food and water, beaten and tortured already on the way to their destination.

They weren’t treated like normal prisoners of war, like the high ranked officers they had been. They were treated like bandits, elven scum. Iorveth tried to withstand all this, and he was proud that despite all the pain and humiliation every single of his comrades held his head up high in pride. They all knew what they had fought for, and they knew their sisters and brother would continue this fight.

The last days of their journey, the elves sat penned up on a carriage, exposed to rain and wind. None of them lowered their guard and asked for a blanket. Stoically the elves faced their fate.

Just when they saw the Drakenborg for the first time, how the stronghold raised into the sky on the side of a craggy mountain, just a steep path leading to the huge iron gate, a shiver ran down their spine. The stronghold was said to be impregnable and there was no chance to escape its prison. One site stuck to the cliff of the mountain, and on two side’s escarpments covered by thick thorny bushes that created impervious barriers. Not telling about the four watch towers, guarded with crossbowmen day and night.

The view alone extinguished any hope that might had been left in the elves hearts. The Drakenborg was the final destination, all that waited there was death. What truly awaited them inside were all myths and rumours, because no prisoner ever made it out alive.

As long as the Drakenborg had been under the command of Istvan Igalffy and Sigismund Dijsktra, the death row had been a surprisingly joyful place. The inmates shared one large cell, got enough food and even the very sour and diluted wine, called Dijsktra dry. Once they had survived the interrogation and torture, the prisoners lived the rest of their short lives unharmed.

But when the elves arrived, Istvan Igalffy had been hanged and Sigismund Dijsktra was on the run after he had survived an assassination. People said he had rummaged too deep in other people’s secrets. Vascoigne, the new commander of the Drakenborg, was a cruel and bloodthirsty monster. And he hated elves.

(Please read Drakenborg 1 and 2 first: https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/163948584770/drakenborg https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/164331108325/drakenborg-2)

When the door opened, it was Vascoigne himself, greeting Iorveth with a nasty grin. “Good morning, Misters elves” he stated joyfully, “I am happy to tell you that your stay in our house is over now.”

Iorveth clenched his teeth and grimly looked at the commander. But he was also surprised. Why hadn´t they tortured him yet?

“Mr. Coinneach Dá Reo, you will be hanged today” Vascoigne said as if he was explaining the menu, Coinneach was not even able to answer. “And you, Mr. Iorveth, have a guest.”

A guest? What deviltry could that be? The certainty of Coinneachs death chocked Iorveth, but the dubiety of his own fate increased his heartrate. Before he could answer, or ask a question – as if they would answer him – Iorveth was dragged out of the cell by two guards. He caught one last glimpse of Coinneach, who was carried away in the other direction. Va feil, brother. May your death be quick.

Iorveth was taken to the wide battlement parapet on top of the frontal wall. At the balustrade stood a man, his back turned towards Iorveth and the guards. He watched the landscape through an embrasure, while Iorveth was forced down on his knees. In his hands, the man held a spear. Some steps aside stood three more soldiers, and judged by their armour they were no guards of the Drakenborg.

“Redania is a beautiful country” the man stated without turning around, his voice was strong and clear, “It reminds me of Temeria, how it was before the war. Temeria used to be beautiful, but now it´s a graveyard. The earth teared open by countless battles…”

Iorveth eyed the stranger. It was an older man, his hair was grey. He wore the tunic of a Temerian official, made of precious brocade, and a well worked pair of rider’s boots. Who the hell was this man?

“Temerians daughters abased, Temerians sons mutilated, or killed” the man continued, and when he mentioned the sons, his voice cracked. “I heard you also used to call Temeria home. But you did not treat your fellow citizens very well.”

If the situation had not been so abstruse, Iorveth would have laughed. He wondered if there was a denomination for the number of Temerian soldiers – and civilians – that were killed by the arrows or blades of the Scoia´tael.

Please read Drakenborg 1 -4 and Godling 1 first: https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/163948584770/drakenborg https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/164331108325/drakenborg-2 https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/164439254210/drakenborg-3 https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/165255024955/drakenborg-4 https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/165300347330/the-godling https://woodlandelk.tumblr.com/post/165439945005/the-godling-2

“Yeah, he has some crows. Really helpful fellows! One of them took care of your eye. We needed to remove it because of all the pus – Oh don´t look so shocked! It was frazzled anyway! And believe me, it was a pretty disgusting job!” appalled, the godling crossed his skinny arms in front of his chest when Iorveth stared at him horror-stricken. A crow had removed his eyeball?! He must be dreaming… Fluttering wings in the tree above his head seemed to back the godling. When Iorveth raised his head, he spotted five crows on a branch. Curiously, the birds stared down at him, croaking.

“Oh, seems like Berthold is back! He was so disappointed you always were asleep when he came to see you!” excitedly, Eugene jumped up and turned his head.

Iorveth followed his gaze, and when he saw what was approaching, his hand groped around to find something that could serve him as a weapon. Where the hell was his spear head?

Berthold was an about three metres tall woodland spirit, or leshen, as the humans called them. The tree like creature had bark instead of skin, limbs like branches and his head was a moose-skull with glowing eyes and incredibly huge antlers. Around his hips he wore an archaic looking deerskin, but Iorveth spotted a coloured knitted scarf wrapped around the leshen´s neck, like the one Eugene wore. He stood a stone throw away between some trees and watched them.

“No need to be scared, elf” Iorveth heard a calm and deep voice inside his head, “This is my forest, and no one will do you harm. If I wanted to see you dead, be sure you would not be alive anymore.”

To Iorveth this seemed reasonable, still the leshen was daunting. Now, many of the things Eugene had told him actually made sense. The godling stepped aside to make room for his friend. Carefully, the giant spirit walked to Iorveths pallet with steady and large steps, bending little trees to make way, so he would not damage the plants.