Post by One Song Glory on Jul 26, 2006 22:59:43 GMT -5
(OoC: This is set the summer between books six and the yet-to-be-written seven. That means there will be spoilers here. If you have not read the sixth book, please take this moment to step out of the RP. Thank you. <3
I am playing Severus. I know it's odd in a present RP, but I -like- Severus, so deal with it. XD Oh, and I play him good, not evil. If you think he's evil... read the book again.
Don't worry about length: I just want to RP. ^_^)
Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket.
Severus Snape gave a low groan as he slowly came back to reality, pain stabbing through every inch of his battered body. They had done a fine job in messing him up, that much was for sure. He found himself laying face first in the dirt, various stone tombstones looming over him as if to invite him into the death they harbored. It was dark, and Severus knew he had probably been laying there for several hours now. Perhaps even an entire day. How long had it been? It was unclear, as he had spent a good portion of the time either unconscious or in too much pain to worry about anything else. But now he was awake, and more than eager to abandon the graveyard he currently found himself in. His arms were bound behind him and his feet drawn together by tight, crimson-stained ropes that were starting to cut into his pale skin, making it hard for him to do much in terms of movement. Still, he tried to sit up, but the endeavor soon proved a much too painful one to fully execute. He ended up collapsing onto his side, sending such a wave of pain through his body that he let out a short yelp in agony. It felt like every bone in his body had been broken or fractured to some degree, and the lingering effects of the torture spells did nothing to help ease these pains.
The Death Eaters had pulled out all the stops to teach him a lesson. When he refused to tell the Dark Lord where he had hidden Draco, Voldemort warned him that he would have to be tortured for his disobedience. When Severus still refused to speak, the Dark Lord had no choice but to allow his loyal minions to do as they pleased to the potions master. In spite of this show of disrespect, Voldemort made the demand that Severus be kept alive; though how close they brought him to death he left to their discretion. And what torment he had suffered! Spells, beatings, tortures: the Death Eaters had a field day with his body. He had been cut open, racked with pain, bruised, burned, and broken in a non-stop flurry of horrible attacks. Yet, in spite of everything, Voldemort still felt he needed Severus, and told him during his last moments of consciousness after the terrible ten-hour beating session that he was still a valued member of the Death Eaters. Severus found it ironic that the organization he was secretly betraying still wanted him, despite his actions, while the organization he was actually loyal to never wanted to see him again. But then, there's a big difference between not telling where a boy is being kept and murdering a most beloved wizard. Even though the Order loathed him for his actions, Severus had no choice but to continue spying for the Death Eaters. It's what Dumbledore wanted him to do, and he was not going to go against what the headmaster wanted just because he had killed the man.
Though Voldemort still seemed much in love with him, his Death Eaters were not too happy. His blatant disregard for the desires of the Dark Lord did not sit well in their eyes, and they felt obligated to show him that to the very best of their abilities. After Voldemort had ordered them to stop their torments against him, he instructed that they take him somewhere he might get help for his wounds. They deliberately left Severus to die in the graveyard instead, even against the Dark Lord's wishes. There was a chance someone could come along to save him, right? So it wasn't completely bad.
And, of course, if he did die, it would certainly hinder his spy games.
He felt himself lying in a puddle of his own warm blood, and he knew he needed to get some kind of help. But who would happen to be around to save him in the middle of the night in a spooky old graveyard? Still, he could not save himself. He was weak, and his senses were jumbled from the pain and loss of blood. His skin was ghost white, a color abnormal even for the usually pale potions master, burning with a shock-induced fever. As he trembled without relent, he wondered if this was how it was all going to end. Even in the darkness of the night, it was obvious that the man was in a very poor condition. He was soaked in sweat, blood, and dirt, the various open cuts and gashes over his body already showing signs of infection. Most of the wounds were small and had already stopped bleeding, but the larger injuries were still dispersing the crimson liquid freely. His back seemed to have suffered the most damage, displaying long deep cuts over lapping one another in a concentrated mass at the center. It was easy to tell that he had been whipped with something rather painful repeatedly. His midsection was badly bruised, hinting that his ribs were broken, and there was some kind of stab wound in the right side of his chest. Several other bones appeared to be broken, including his arm, hands, feet, and shoulder, though none as terrible as his left leg. The bone of his lower leg had been snapped so badly that it was now stabbing through his skin and resting out in the open for all to see. None of his other broken bones were so gruesome, keeping themselves hidden under his discolored flesh.
His face had also failed to escape injury; his right eye swollen shut and deeply bruised along the lining of his nose and under his eye lid. His lip was cracked, adding to the flow of blood that escaped his mouth from his internal damages, and a long gash played out from his ear, along the lining of his scalp to the middle of his forehead.
He looked like hell.
He could barely think straight, much less come up with a way to get out of the ropes that bound him. He had no wand, or even a shirt. Indeed, they had taken all but his pants from him, leaving him helpless and cold in the freezing night air. He shivered, his ever-blurring eyes scanning the area in a feeble attempt to find help.
But he saw nothing.
I am playing Severus. I know it's odd in a present RP, but I -like- Severus, so deal with it. XD Oh, and I play him good, not evil. If you think he's evil... read the book again.
Don't worry about length: I just want to RP. ^_^)
Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket.
Severus Snape gave a low groan as he slowly came back to reality, pain stabbing through every inch of his battered body. They had done a fine job in messing him up, that much was for sure. He found himself laying face first in the dirt, various stone tombstones looming over him as if to invite him into the death they harbored. It was dark, and Severus knew he had probably been laying there for several hours now. Perhaps even an entire day. How long had it been? It was unclear, as he had spent a good portion of the time either unconscious or in too much pain to worry about anything else. But now he was awake, and more than eager to abandon the graveyard he currently found himself in. His arms were bound behind him and his feet drawn together by tight, crimson-stained ropes that were starting to cut into his pale skin, making it hard for him to do much in terms of movement. Still, he tried to sit up, but the endeavor soon proved a much too painful one to fully execute. He ended up collapsing onto his side, sending such a wave of pain through his body that he let out a short yelp in agony. It felt like every bone in his body had been broken or fractured to some degree, and the lingering effects of the torture spells did nothing to help ease these pains.
The Death Eaters had pulled out all the stops to teach him a lesson. When he refused to tell the Dark Lord where he had hidden Draco, Voldemort warned him that he would have to be tortured for his disobedience. When Severus still refused to speak, the Dark Lord had no choice but to allow his loyal minions to do as they pleased to the potions master. In spite of this show of disrespect, Voldemort made the demand that Severus be kept alive; though how close they brought him to death he left to their discretion. And what torment he had suffered! Spells, beatings, tortures: the Death Eaters had a field day with his body. He had been cut open, racked with pain, bruised, burned, and broken in a non-stop flurry of horrible attacks. Yet, in spite of everything, Voldemort still felt he needed Severus, and told him during his last moments of consciousness after the terrible ten-hour beating session that he was still a valued member of the Death Eaters. Severus found it ironic that the organization he was secretly betraying still wanted him, despite his actions, while the organization he was actually loyal to never wanted to see him again. But then, there's a big difference between not telling where a boy is being kept and murdering a most beloved wizard. Even though the Order loathed him for his actions, Severus had no choice but to continue spying for the Death Eaters. It's what Dumbledore wanted him to do, and he was not going to go against what the headmaster wanted just because he had killed the man.
Though Voldemort still seemed much in love with him, his Death Eaters were not too happy. His blatant disregard for the desires of the Dark Lord did not sit well in their eyes, and they felt obligated to show him that to the very best of their abilities. After Voldemort had ordered them to stop their torments against him, he instructed that they take him somewhere he might get help for his wounds. They deliberately left Severus to die in the graveyard instead, even against the Dark Lord's wishes. There was a chance someone could come along to save him, right? So it wasn't completely bad.
And, of course, if he did die, it would certainly hinder his spy games.
He felt himself lying in a puddle of his own warm blood, and he knew he needed to get some kind of help. But who would happen to be around to save him in the middle of the night in a spooky old graveyard? Still, he could not save himself. He was weak, and his senses were jumbled from the pain and loss of blood. His skin was ghost white, a color abnormal even for the usually pale potions master, burning with a shock-induced fever. As he trembled without relent, he wondered if this was how it was all going to end. Even in the darkness of the night, it was obvious that the man was in a very poor condition. He was soaked in sweat, blood, and dirt, the various open cuts and gashes over his body already showing signs of infection. Most of the wounds were small and had already stopped bleeding, but the larger injuries were still dispersing the crimson liquid freely. His back seemed to have suffered the most damage, displaying long deep cuts over lapping one another in a concentrated mass at the center. It was easy to tell that he had been whipped with something rather painful repeatedly. His midsection was badly bruised, hinting that his ribs were broken, and there was some kind of stab wound in the right side of his chest. Several other bones appeared to be broken, including his arm, hands, feet, and shoulder, though none as terrible as his left leg. The bone of his lower leg had been snapped so badly that it was now stabbing through his skin and resting out in the open for all to see. None of his other broken bones were so gruesome, keeping themselves hidden under his discolored flesh.
His face had also failed to escape injury; his right eye swollen shut and deeply bruised along the lining of his nose and under his eye lid. His lip was cracked, adding to the flow of blood that escaped his mouth from his internal damages, and a long gash played out from his ear, along the lining of his scalp to the middle of his forehead.
He looked like hell.
He could barely think straight, much less come up with a way to get out of the ropes that bound him. He had no wand, or even a shirt. Indeed, they had taken all but his pants from him, leaving him helpless and cold in the freezing night air. He shivered, his ever-blurring eyes scanning the area in a feeble attempt to find help.
But he saw nothing.