A Solitary God In A Dark Multiverse

The odor of the mushrooms in bloom pungently carried across the subterranean field. The scent, a distinct and nauseating one, mixed with other equally unpleasant smells: the smells of sweat, blood, and other bodily fluids, as well as the everpresent scent of bat manure.

If one stopped and let their senses explore the field, then they'd hear a variety of noises. Some of the noises they'd hear would be the sounds of stone hoes slamming into the stone and dirt that lined the field, as well as the sounds of ragged breathing. Another noise they'd hear would be the sounds of coughing, most often a virulent and painful sounding peel of coughing.

The sights one would see on the field would be a painful one to visualize. They'd see creatures of a number of races plowing the field and tending to the enormous mushrooms that grew here. The fittest of the creatures here would absentmindedly plow the fields, doing as they were told and generally attempting to avoid the ire of the guards who watched over them.

Others, the more stubborn creatures who gave their jailors and oppressors a harder time, were more haggard looking. They were treated roughly, being subjected to even more brutal conditions than their compliant fellow-captives. They were sickened, usually deliberately exposed to the alchemical runoff from the experiments conducted by the mad dark-elf whose name was whispered by those who jailed the slaves: Milene.

Both groups of slaves included a number of different creatures. Some, the elite in both camps, were dark elves themselves. The dark elven prisoners were the members of both camps who were treated the most harshly. They wore tattered remnants of clothing and had the eyes of the other slaves been capable of piercing the darkness then the beautiful bodies of the dark elves would have been a visual feast for the other slaves to leer at and fantasize about.

Even the most compliant dark elven slaves were treated with what could only be called savage cruelty by their fellow dark elves who happened to be a bit luckier, and who used and tormented their enslaved brethren at every chance. There was something almost mad about the cruel glimmer of excitement that shone in the eyes of the dark elven guards who got to interact with a dark elven slave. And indeed, much of the blood that colored the floor of the field was dark elven blood.

The other slaves were members of an assortment of races. The most common types of non-dark-elven slaves were humans. This made sense, as the world above the city of Aronms, the mysterious island the humans knew as Puerto-Rico, was populated primarily by humans. The next most common kind of slaves were dwarves.

The smallfolk were not only talented smiths and inventors but they were also hardy and could see in the dark. The dark-elves had enjoyed conquering virtually every dwarven settlement underneath Puerto Rico and capturing thousands of dwarves to torment. The Ardor family had their own fair share of dwarven slaves and enjoyed both the battles that resulted in them acquiring the slaves and the time it took to break such valuable chattel.

One of the slaves carefully eyed her hoe. Her eyes, long-adjusted to the darkness of the world beneath Puerto Rico, were able to thoroughly assess the condition of the instrument her jailors had given her. She easily studied her tool, and she familiarized herself with each chip and crack in it.

She sighed after studying her instrument and lifted it high above her head. And then with a soft grunt she brought the object down hard aiming the thing at the floor at her feet. The dirt she was tasked with tending too was hidden underneath a thin layer of stone. She was using her hoe as a mallet to locate the dirt she needed to till.

It wasn't logical, but then again neither were her captors. They were inefficient and favored to subject her and her fellow dwarves to humiliating acts that wore them down and eventually broke their spirits. That said, there was a certain effectiveness to their tactics. She had resisted their inhumane treatment, but not all of her fellow dwarves were as resilient as she was.

All around her, her keen vision allowed her to see dwarves who had succumbed to hopelessness. They wore better clothing, had better tools, and weren't standing on top of the stony floor in search of rare patches of arable dirt hidden within the ground. A part of her envied them. But it was a small part of her.

The dwarves who had given up, who had surrendered themselves to their oppressors in body and spirit were sullen creatures. They were angry, bitter men and women with hate-filled eyes who subserviently appeased their dark elven masters with all manner of weapons, armor, and performed sinister rituals to please their cruel overlords.

While Aoife focused on completing her unpleasant task, one of the dwarves who had submitted to the dark elves turned her grim gaze on the dwarven warrior. The embittered dwarf had opal-like eyes, and in those eyes, there was an incredible amount of hatred for the dwarf she was staring daggers at.

The dwarf in question had begun taking on the features of her masters, her skin darkening and her eyes becoming colorless white orbs like the eyes of some of her tormentors. This eerie phenomenon happened only to a few of the dwarves who accepted their lots in life as whipping posts for the dark elves, and those to whom this happened were universally feared dwarves, who were every bit as pitiless as those they served.

She smiled sadistically and obscenely at Aoife, but her lewd grin went unnoticed. The truth was that the savage little creature was imagining the nude form of the mentally unyieldly dwarf writhing underneath the taller and more powerful naked body of a male dark elf.

The subservient dwarf wanted nothing more than to see Aoife, infamous for her tenacity, be brought low. And when Ava's handler came over to get her to move again, he stopped for a moment and followed the general direction of Ava's gaze. His eyes eventually settled on Aoife, who was mid-swing and whose voice was one of many that could be heard in the field hard at work.

He studied her for a moment, admiring something about her. It was difficult to tell what attracted his attention, perhaps it was her pale skin, her finely muscled body, or the way sweat clung to her. He spent a few moments studying the dwarf before turning his gaze back to the one he was in charge of. And then he opened his mouth to speak, to spit and hiss venomous words like a snake.

"Ava, what are you doing!?" He hissed, his voice quiet and embarrassed. She was a source of shame for him, as she was constantly misbehaving and getting him in trouble. His voice was harsh and filled with impatience. Ava was finally snapped out of her lewd daydreams and the dwarf was quickly snapped back to the reality of her situation.

The dwarf suddenly shook her head and turned to look at her master, the dark elf she had personally been given over too once she had submitted to her dark elven wardens. He stood considerably taller than her, and was clad in the finest silk clothing money could buy. He glared disapprovingly at Ava, his colorless eyes burning holes through the creature he considered his property.

"Master, no I apologize! I was just wishing for... you to meet my sister." The dwarf said, speaking quickly and making up something that could be interpreted as partially true on the spot. Normally she lied in these situations so for her to mention anything even remotely true was a welcome surprise.

Ava's handler's face contorted in curiosity as he envisioned a meeting with Ava Silverhammer's sister, Aoife Silverhammer. The dark elf, named Gladerial, considered what such a meeting would entail. A part of him was interested in approaching the strangely pretty dwarf. But he knew better than to feed such impulses. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and began to move towards her, his hands reaching out towards her and promising cruelty.

Despair filled her eyes, as she knew that what awaited her later on in the day would be a vicious punishment. That said, the dwarf was so thoroughly indoctrinated that she didn't even try to resist her master. When he reached her, she simply submitted to his vicious manhandling. She didn't even cry out.

Her sister didn't even notice her, as Aoife was busy doing her best to complete the task she had been given. The poor dwarf's stomach was rumbling, and hunger softened each of the warrior's strikes, and so she didn't feel like unnecessarily incurring the wrath of her captors. Not yet anyway.

The dwarf recalled the presence of the strange and self-proclaimed god that had healed her and all of the other slaves a day ago. She wanted to confide in it. And she wanted to avoid unnecessary conflicts. So, for now, Aoife was doing something she found challenging: she was keeping her head down and not starting any unnecessary problems or fights.