The world slowly comes back to you..

You are.. awake? Perhaps.. It’s hard to say. Your head hurts and your body feels heavy and sluggish. You might be bound, or possibly ****? Your mind swirls as you try to make sense of what you are feeling. Your heart sinks as you remember your capture and you realise that what comes next will be interrogation and most likely ****. Given the way you were taken you are lucky to be waking up at all. Your body does feel like one big ache but that could just as easily be from not moving for a long time.

Your heart begins to beat faster in your chest as you discern what you can of your surroundings. Your armour is gone. You’ve slept in it enough times to know the places it digs into when you lie down. Your arms and legs seem to be bare. The air is warm.. there hardly seems any light against your eyelids.. the.. bed (table?) you are lying on is harder than you’d like and not soft like straw or stuffing, but firm padded leather, and not solid. You strain to hear any sounds and catch nothing, particularly no breathing. You appear to be alone.

Not trusting your senses, you let your eyes crack the tiniest amount from your curled position on your side. A stone floor.. then a few paces to a wall. The room is dimly lit by what you assume to be a lantern behind you and shadows are everywhere. On the wall in your eyeline seems to be a picture of some sort hanging in a metallic frame.

You are trying to make out what on earth it depicts in the poor light when a voice speaks from nowhere, making you jump involuntarily.

“She is awake” it is a female voice, fairly cold, simply stating a fact.

“Indeed. Lights please” the male voice sounds older but only fractionally more interested than the first.

You try to twist to see the speakers and at that point realise that your movement is limited. Lines hold your wrists roughly about your body’s width apart, although they aren’t immobilised. Your head however will not turn, pads from your cheeks to your temples keeping it in place. Your heart beats even harder.

The light in the room brightens in stages, until it seems like raw daylight must be flooding in from unseen windows. You squint painfully for long moments until your eyes adjust. And what you see makes you gasp. The picture on the wall actually seems to be a mirror. But it’s like no mirror you have ever seen. You travel with a mirror of polished bronze, more of a tradition than of much real use. But you have stared into its gloomy depths on occasion before parade or a visit from the nobles. You have even seen the larger versions in rooms of the palace which are brighter and clearer again. This though.. this is like nothing you have heard tell of before. If you didn’t recognise your own features so well, you’d swear you were looking through a hole in the wall at another elf in another room. But the deep green eyes gazing back into yours, the dark mussed hair and pale skin set with scrolling tattooed runes curling delicately at your temple, you can’t deny it is indeed yourself. Much of your runework is in evidence, blue script showing across your arms, stomach and long legs. You realise you are dressed in some kind of grey silk underwear. Flimsy short trousers to mid thigh, and an even flimsier looking short chemise which barely covers your rib cage and is split up the front but joined at the collar. Whilst you are thoroughly protected by your own magic, it is disconcerting to be almost naked in enemy hands. You frown at the top in particular.. pondering it’s odd construction.

There is a sound like a tent flap moving and then footsteps. Your eyes move to try and spot your enemy.. shapes move behind you in the mirror, and then two figures appear in your direct line of sight. The woman’s voice belongs to a blonde human, dressed smartly in a tunic uniform and soft military style leggings and boots. She is tall for a human female, though she is probably shoulder height to you, and thick set. The other diminutive figure is just over half her height. His face yellowish and twisted, clothing strange and layered beneath a leather apron. A Gnome then. He is carrying a loosely bound sheaf of parchment and appears to still be making notes with a tiny piece of sharpened charcoal.

He looks up and speaks first, his voice slightly harsh (gnomes always seem to speak like they have been swallowing gravel) but not unkind or threatening. He adjusts a single glass lens into better position on his right eye as he talks, squinting at the scribbles on his parchment.

“Before we introduce ourselves, let me tell you what we know of you elite captain. You are Jennaranthalassa Laurana Elthoniel di Bispen. You are 194 years old, and for 104 of those years you have been a member of the Royal guard. You received your training, education, service, and then those wonderful.. tattoos.. at the age of 150, turning you into one of the most powerful weapons in the Royal army. You.. and the other 15 female and 16 male elves of course. You spent the best part of a decade across the sea aiding your sea elf cousins in an alliance which all but destroyed the ocean trolls and retook elven territory that had been lost for a two generations. You then fought in the Djinn wars before that conflict became a stalemate in the mountain dunes at Airrech. You were sent on a diplomatic mission to the storm dwarves after that.. a mission that ended abruptly when you were replaced. And since then you have served at the capital proper, presiding over whatever tasks the Queen has handed out to you. I believe you were responsible for the raid against the Orcs that collapsed their mine network in the grey hills. And the one which scuttled most of a fleet of ships in Godborg harbour five years ago..” He glances at the human woman, who grimaces but nods slowly in confirmation.

“It seems you are a useful tool Jennara.. even by elite guard standards. If nothing else, we would be well advised to prevent that usefulness from returning to the Queen! Do you disagree with anything we have presented to you so far?”

You manage to close your mouth which has been hanging open pretty much since he got your name right. Your blood runs cold.. how can they know so much..? And what do they want with you ?