The Black Cells Above Xocylla's Apartments

The Septa lay on a cold slab of stone, her neck was cradled on a wooden rest, held in place by a strap across her forehead. Her arms were not bond and neither were her legs, but there were thick leather straps across her bare chest and groin. For what felt like hours, she had clawed away relentlessly at her straps but to no avail. Now she lay tired and frightened staring into the unforgiving dark. Every now and then a door would open behind her head and the sound of footsteps would echo in the dark room. Even from the flickering light beyond the room she could see nothing more than her own ankles at the end of the table. Each time a presence accompanied her in the room, the septa would cry out and attempt to acquire some sort of knowledge as to her situation. No answer ever came. No one ever crossed into her line of vision.

Alexander stood naked on the banister of his balcony. He was tall and too lean for his height. His long black hair was like a dark shroud around his lanky pale body, covering the bits that would offend or shock any to spy their king in that moment. Unlike his brother, his chest was bare of that fine black hair. His claw like hands grazed over his long hair as he peered over the rooftops beyond the keep toward the Sept of Balor. Alexander had that same shocking blue-eyed stare of his kin and like his cousin Rhaelle, whom he loathed, his thick black brows only intensified the crystal-like blue of his eyes. They were far set in his face, a little too close to his long aquiline nose and very narrow even when he wasn’t purposely squinting. The rest of his face was like his nose, high, pointed and sharp. If he hadn’t been so frightening he might have been handsome.

The voices were quiet today; a gentle hum of noise like zoning out during a feast. They were always fussing and clattering on in the back of his mind but for the moment his thoughts were his own. He heard quite clearly when the stumbling page came in to inform him that his loathsome cousin had sent a plaything. The idea of Rhaelle made Alexander sneer. He hated her broad shoulders and square features. He hated how she carried their ancestor’s Warhammer in one hand as though it were nothing. He hated that when he’d tried to take it from her he couldn’t lift it from the ground. He hated her manish blunt way of speaking and the way she stood at attention like a soldier. Most of all he hated that she seemed to disregard any and all fear of him. Why didn’t she fear him? Was she a fool? If she was truly not afraid of him – oh he would make her afraid!

The empty glass goblet in his hand exploded against the wall. It was bad enough that the Seven mocked him. They mocked him in their abandonment of him. They’d left him prey to this vile old creatures with their incessant chatter and claims of war and chaos. He had been faithful. He had been noble. He had been pious! His reward? Voices. Constant and often intelligible. A vivid scene of his cousin strung up by her ankle from the dome of the Sept and the encroaching green flames of wildfire as it devoured the temple and his wretched cousin caused the mad king to smirk as he stepped from the ledge of the balcony and returned to his room. There he was quickly dressed in one of his favorite dark red and black robes. Tucking his arms into the large bell sleeves, Alexander assumed his slouched posture and shuffled toward the Traitor’s Walk that would take him down into the dungeons where his offering awaited.

The page was dismissed from his entourage and sent to find Xocylla Xaq. What a beautiful creature was Xocylla Xaq! As much as Alexander loathed his cousin he did recognize that she often sent him wonderful gifts and brought into his world beautiful, graceful, magical creatures such as Xocylla Xaq. His white haired, dark skinned witch from the Summer Isles. Oh, how she had blossomed under his hand from a quiet shy mouse-like nymph into a thundering presence of blood and visions. Alexander had never before felt such lust nay! Love for anything before. His eyes longed to behold her twisted beautiful features as she carved an animal from the womb of its mother to create her potions and scry her mirrors. He took pleasure doubly from the small passes of his fingers in the thick fresh blood of her bath, while she lay therein resting so peacefully. Thoughts of his former wife caused him to cringe. He had never been able to lay with her until her screams of pain and terror lit the fire within him, but Xocylla, sweet Xocylla Xaq, her heralded cackles over the sounds of breaking bones, they were enough to entice him into a frenzy.

The door opened slowly behind her again. Could that have been two sets of footfalls? They parted at her head and came around the side. Torch light now danced across the walls and the shadows of men came quickly into her line of sight. Parched and cracks lips could only whimper at the sight. Hope in her heart thought they would let her go. Surely a slip of the tongue would not truly warrant a punishment in the lowest level of the dungeons – the king’s playground. Though, even now the septa could feel the dull ache of pain in the back of her skull where that monstrosity of a woman had slammed her into the pillar. The Seven had not warned her that even beasts cared fiercely for their young.

Joining him to play with his treat at the moment was the Lord Confessor, a small man with a perpetual pout. He had been the Lord Confessor for Alexander’s father Rux but since the rise of Alexander his joys in torture had severely been cut; the king liked to play with his own food and with the addition of his brown-skin witch there were hardly any scraps left for him. With folded arms, he remained by the cell door and looked on while his king circled the septa. She didn’t much look like a septa strapped naked to that stone table with her curves exposed to the dim light. Her long chestnut hair was dripping off the edge of the table and matted with blood.

Far down below in the depths of the Red Keep there holds a labyrinth maze to the dungeons. Along the first level to the dungeons a musk, dark copper red door remained. Rumour has it the King’s own personal flesh eating monster lives behind this door. Such rumours arise when some prisoners were never spoken of or seen again. Priestess [Lady] Xocylla Xaq, was known by many as the Summer Witch of Koj from the Summer Isles. There was once a time her heart was pure of light till she crossed paths with King Alexander. The moment she swore to his side as his personal sorceress she unfold a new power within dark magic. Every moment King Alexander tempted her to dab into this dark power the more compulsive she became of it. Thus that innocent heart of hers became poisoned. Eventually she sold her soul to obtain the blood magic she now uses by King Alexander’s wishes. With with use of magic there comes with a deadly price. This has been known for every being who follows the path of using magic. For Xocylla, she learned this by what happens to her if she doesn’t use her unforgiving magic.

There were multiple advantages for Xocylla having her own personal chambers in the dungeons. Her practices all involved blood and sacred sacrifices. Which any dead body gave a foul odor, no one suspected anything being so close to the dungeons. At first Xocylla used small animals when she first started the practice. Quickly she learned that human sacrificing gave the most promising results. Not just any humans but infants especially. Nothing was left for waste either, after every ritual she used the remaining of the carcasses for her potionings and fake medicine remedies that she sold to the dimwitted commoners. Xocylla didn’t care much for mankind, King Alexander corrupted her to the point of bare humanity. The shred of humanity left was for her beloved sister Xara. Who she only saw in her visions blessed by her dreams. Seeing her sister was the little comfort that she held on to through the torture of her magic. This she knew to keep well hidden from her King, his madness was consumed of her physical affections and the power she bestowed to him through her own vessel body. Her King must feel and be the center of her existence to keep his jealousy at bay. There were times she did miss her sister. Though as of late, she barely had dreams of her sister but of everything else that surrounded her. There was nothing but a hollow monster in that room.

“May this gift of innocence please you, higher one. Grant me your power to perform your deeds.”. The female chanted as her dragon golden eyes shifted to pitch black. In one arm she held a blessing, a infant castaway child. In the other her ritual dagger hand carved by herself personally. She plunged her dagger into the screaming child as she pulled the little one’s heart and dropped it in the bathe. This was the ending to her ritual as she walked over to her table placing the infant in a bowl for later harvest. She then took a few strides to the mirror as she undressed herself. The ancient tattoos along her body burned red to the sacrifice as she hunched over catching herself by pressing her hand against the mirror for balance. “It’s time.” She muttered while her eyes flickered over to the bathe as she made haste to it and tumble in head first.

Underneath the surface of the dark red liquid. Her body uncontrollably bent backwards as her last shredded vision stared at the ceiling. Her arms opened for the embrace of the grant offered to her from the one she worshiped as her last breath was taken from her. One would assumed she would of drowned. Though her head rose above the surface followed by her eyes flashed open and a gasp returning to her body. Her eyes renewed to their fiery yellow, dragon embers as she drained returned to the stairwell of her bathe resting her head on the highest step. Such a ritual would cause her to fall into a slumber. Just for a moment, while her body was restored to its natural state.

Within her dream she saw a face. A familiar face she never thought to see again. Xara was shown to be near not within the castle but in some tavern with the noble Baratheons of Storm’s End. There was a time where Xocylla stayed with the Baratheons aside with her sister. It was easy to paint the faces to everyone in the room. The sight brought Xara sitting on her knees with the little Baratheon bastard child brought a smile to the wretched priestess. She reached to touch her sister’s cheek in this dream the moment she did blood scattered over her sister’s face along with the bastard. The images became distorted as Xocylla swung around to see what happened all that she could see was her frightened sister. Then she awoke.

She woke up clinging to the door handle to her chambers as she turned a trail of puddles followed her. Her attention was brought to the foot of the door, seemed her claw-like nails scratched against it left some marks as she let go of the handle trying to gather the pieces. She could sense someone coming down the stairwell as she fetched one of her robes. Just before the young boy could knock on her door she flung it opened and stared at him blankly with no expression. She took a step forward as she slammed close the door shut. Still dripping of blood she tossed her white long locks of hair back as she wrapped her arms around her body. Immediately being visible to the guards who guarded her door came to her side. It was by her request she had two guards to avoid anyone coming in physical contact of her. There was only one reason why a young page would be down in the dungeons this time of night. Her neck snapped over to one of the guards “My King requests me” She collected her words as she stumbled through them she began to walk up the stairs. There was some seared bind connection between her and her King. Didn’t matter where he was in the castle, she could sense his location. This being one of the many benefits for his majesty. He had control over her like a string puppet. Standing by the cell door she bowed humbly folding her hands over her stomach as she raised to her cursed mad skeleton king. “My Majesty, how may I serve you?”

While he waited, Alexander circled slowly around the septa that had formally been Rhaegar’s nanny. Of course Alexander didn’t know that, nor did he care. What he was interested in now, was how her pale flesh seemed to grab at what little light broke the shadows of Xocylla’s cells, to the point where he could make out the blue lines of her veins and trace them with the pointed tip of his talon like nails. The sharpened edge bit into her skin at the ankle just enough to cause pain but not enough to split the skin and the woman let out a shivering gasp causing her king to shudder in pleasure. Slowly his hand continued long her leg and over her hip, pausing to watch her breathing change the closer he drew to her top. He circled over her exposed breast feeling for her heart beat then continued to her throat.

Even in the dim light, Alexander could see the panicked thrum of the artery in her neck as his mal-formed fingertips brushed away her blood matted hair. “The Seven,” He started, his broke shredding the silence like the hushed whisper of the snake in Eve’s ear. The septa inhaled sharply and whimpered. “The Seven have touched me. Did you know that girl? You are a maid in their house of reckoning but I, I am the one they chose.” Suddenly his hand clamped down on her throat, the pointed tips of his claw-like nails pricking the skin,”You think I do not know how those demons speak of me? How they call me mad when I am the chosen! I hear the voices of the facets of the One and True!” The split tail of his tongue swept away droplets of blood, causing tears to mingle with the metallic. “And that, is how I know of your transgressions.”

Not a single voice screaming in his head had brought the news of the septa’s supposed betrayal of her king. No. They were reveling in it however, clattering one echoing voice over another with devious ideas and punishments to suit the heretic. Burn her. Rip her. Turn her inside out. Oh the last tickled to the point of giggles as his fingers relaxed about her throat and started move down her bare body. “The body of man and woman is such a fascinating thing. The body of a woman, with all those extra innards, so pure until the entrance of man and you, you are pure. Your blood will suit nicely.”

A sudden electric rush filled the room with the presence of his Summer Witch. The dim flickering lighting of the torch in the doorway outlined her form and her voice filled the small space with a lightness that did not suit the eerie reprieve of the cell, but Alexander loved it none the less. He rushed to her, his hands outlining her narrow little face but not touching her skin. The smell of blood and her skin, like lamb’s wool and summer winds, assaulted his nostrils but he took another deep breath for good measure. Her dark eyes shone in the dim light, the high ridges of her cheek bones glossy so that he could just make out her features. Being so close to her, Alexander shuddered, nearly convulsed with joy, at her words staining the inside of his robe with his own seed. His possession of her was nearly complete, as evident by her phrasing. “My Xocylla…” He murmured before turning from her. His hand slipping across her lower back and pushing her gently toward the table with the naked septa. “Destroy her.”

Xocylla’s eyes shifted to her King’s eye as they showed nothing but madness. While he closed in to her proximity he knew very well he couldn’t touch her flesh. Even the slightest touch could have regrettable consequences to her abilities. Such consequences he wouldn’t dare risk.

While King Alexander carved with his hands around her jawline she lowered her chin to her chest as a sign of submission his possession over her. The hues in her eyes burned gold like dragon’s breath as his emotion of what he considered joy reflected on her. She watched his chest move forward in exhale as he took in the scent of her aroma from the blood scent fuming from her body. The sound of her name pulsed through her body bringing her head up in attention. The dim light glossed over the porcelain pale figure in the middle of the room.

Xocylla felt the outlining of his hand push her back from behind as she moved forward to the woman. Xocylla’s eyes fixated on the woman’s shoulders shaking in pain. Her chest rising rapidly to the rhythm of her rapid heartbeat. The septa cleared her throat as Xocylla’s sight trailed up watching the motion of her throat contract with the sound. What really caught Xocylla’s attention the woman’s eyes. The eyes were covered with redness of tension with remaining tears swelling up and drifting down the side of her cheek. So much pain and fear was written in her eyes. Xocylla had no remorse for her. She stared with a grim expression on her face. She knew exactly what her king was going to ask her to do.

“Destroy her”. The words traveled over her shoulders from Alexander. She was right on his request. The burning flames around the room flickered to the command as without a hesitation she raised her arms directly over the woman’s chest. The symbols upon her palms burned to the surface causing her blood to drop on the woman’s naked chest. She knew her King would want the most painful spell she could possibly inflict on the woman. Not just because of the mere amusement but to test her abilities out as well. Showing him how far she has come since her last spell. As she opened her mouth to cast her spell something completely caught her off guard. A voice emerged from the back of her mind. Which made her freeze dead in her tracks.


“Stop you are better than this.” The voice beamed through her mind. The tone of this voice felt extremely light and near angelic. Such a feeling overwhelmed Xocylla as she hasn’t felt this since perhaps since she was back in the Storm’s Land. “You don’t have to do this. You weren’t destined for this Xocylla.” The voice sounded too familiar. She couldn’t remember why it felt so familiar. Those that usually spoke to through her mind were usually very dark. Sometimes she questioned if she was becoming as mad as her King. That his curse was hers to bare as well. She shook her head drawing out the voice as she concentrated on the task at hand. She couldn’t ignore her King’s command. She was far within his control. The hues in her eyes faded to black as she clenched her jaw continuing to press on with the spell. “You were born in light.” Xocylla closed her eyes as a sharp pain was inflicted on the Septa causing her to scream having her body lift up to her hands. This spell was designed to cause poison to her heart and have her body devour itself from the inside out. “I crave this. I need this. He wants this. I must do as I am told.” The tone of her reply was very sinister she could feel the obsession to this dark power over come her by blowing out all the flames in the cell. Still for some reason she couldn’t release the energy from her palms. She felt as if something was pushing against her spell as she continued to force it a spiking pain pressed into the Septa’s chest giving out an agonizing scream to echo through the cell hold. her vision went white. “Light is still within you. Don’t go down this path. There is still time Xocylla, the Summer Witch of the Summer Isles.” The voice carried on in a whisper which for some reason made Xocylla lower her shoulders briefly. “I must. I have no choice” Something remarkable happened, she felt this emotion crawl the depths of her soul. Was this sadness she felt? Her eye’s widened in disbelief. She believed her humanity was long gone. That there was nothing to her but the monstrosity King Alexander created. Could the voice be right? Was there still a chance to regain her humanity and return as the Summer Witch she was entitled? "No" ..She answered her questions as she raised her shoulders. She began to shake off the imaginary thoughts and casted her spell “Verma Sendias”.

The woman's body tossed side to side vigorously as the spell impaled her sternum. Drilling it’s way to her heart. She awaited for the woman to scream in agonizing pain from being eaten alive by her own deteriorating flesh. To Xocylla’s surprise this wasn’t the case. The female did toss and there was screaming at the beginning blow however the body became very still. The chest did not rise and the color was fading from the woman’s lips. “She should of been devoured from her insides to her outer flesh.” She hovered one hand over the woman’s body examining her spell. She lowered her hand just as she about to press her hand among the woman’s chest the woman’s eyes flashed open and terrorizing screams burst from her mouth. Her body jolted up and aggressively tried to pull from her restraints. Suddenly the magic began to alter and deform the female piece by piece causing her bones to break and reshape. Her body deformed into some hybrid creature that had head of a black rat, body of a wild cat, and a tail of a serpent. The creature began to quiver and shake screeching in a bizarre abnormal sound. Visually it could be seen as the spell was reversed that the body was deteriorating from the outermost skin inward. “My majesty, , it seems my spell has shifted the woman into a beast. This beast has very little time. For it’s own flesh is devouring itself “ She turned to her mad king hoping that this pleased him. Clearly she was distracted for her spell to malfunction. She lowered her gaze as the voice in her head vanished. It was foolish for such a thought to cross her mind. She knew her path and she knew there was no escaping it.

There was a hesitation in her compliance with his command that sent a rage flying through the King. Xocylla was his clarity, the calm to his ever raging storm, for he didn’t lash out at her in that flicker of hesitation as he did everyone else. Instead, the king with the voices loud in his head, stood behind her and offered simply words of encouragement to slice through all those voices that would turn her from him, “Go on, and make me happy.” This was his act of caring. His possession of her was the closest thing to caring for another soul as Alexander could have gotten. He truly believed this was love; her complete compliance and his complete control. Hesitation in her step meant that his control was not complete, her love for him was not complete and unconditional and he could not have that. He needed all of her, body and soul – and magic.

Behind them, the Lord Confessor snorted. He rested leaning on the doorway to the cell with his arms folded and a look of distaste and annoyance on his features. Whether or not the Lord Confessor had any love for his king was never questioned, and therefore no one would ever truly know where his loyalties lay in the matter of this king or that or the next. It was, however, widely known that the Lord Confessor was not a fan of his current king’s techniques and he thoroughly disliked the presence of this Summer Witch. In the years of King Rux, Alexander’s father, his duty had been to extract the truth from persons in question and he had been good at it. You see, there is a certain amount of pain which everyone finds fit to come clean. He was a violent saint; profess me your sins and save yourself or those near and dear to you. There was an art to his craft. In the years of Alexander, his art had dwindled away to nothing more than voyeurism. Neither Alexander nor the witch cared for truths. Even less did they care for the crimes of their victims. These two were nothing more than spoilt children with disposable toys.

The witch needed only to pass her hand over the septa to send her screaming into the dark. Perhaps the Lord Confessor was a touch jealous of such power. He too knew of ways to create pain without ever touching a criminal directly, though it was nothing like this. His craft had all but been spit upon with the arrival of the king’s pet. So why then did he subject himself to his own form of torture by appearing at each and every one of these sessions? His king rarely summoned him anymore, especially not this part of the dungeons – dungeons that had been renovated time and time again to suit his rival. He came because just be close to the violence was a charm in itself.

“Verma Sendias.”

The Summer Witch’s voice made him shudder and his master shuddered as well, but for an altogether different reason. The whisper of power moving through the room like a cautious snake as it curled about the body of the septa sent the voices into another frenzy. The joy of demons was a sound like the shrieking and moaning of a bloody orgy. The most unexplainable feeling of euphoria took Alexander, sending him swaying softly as if the septa’s screaming, the sound of her bones snapping and reforming was the soft strum of a lyre. He stepped forward as the sounds turned from human to something animal, his head bowed, a fresh stain of his own seed against the robes. While his face hovered over that of Xocylla’s head from behind, and his body was inches from her, he did not touch, only cloaked her body with his own. “Mmm.” His beady eyes opened to take in the sight of the creature that lay on the stone slab. It writhed and roared until finally the restraints snapped and the creature began to buck about the room.

“RESTRAIN IT.” Alexander ordered. His guards quickly cornered the beast and managed to get a shackle about its neck. “It is beautiful but useless.” He went on, moving from Xocylla to face to room, hand smoothing down the front of his body. “Put the creature in the Black Cell. When it is undone it will provide wonderful research material.” His head turned to Xocylla then, a wicked smile upon his lips, those dark blues glittering with excitement. “And you, my witch, return to your quarters, I will call upon you soon enough.”