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“D’you see this whip?”
The human man was helpless to do anything but nod his head, bound as he was to the dungeon wall, chained and gagged so that his cries of pain wouldn’t bother the other inhabitants of the castle too much. The priestess, barely-clad and already somewhat splattered in his blood, was examining the odd tool in her hands contemplatively. Although she addressed him in drow, he spoke elvish and understood what she was saying well enough; when she spoke, her voice was an affectionate purr, slim black fingers toying with the handle thoughtfully.
“This whip was made by the very first Matron of my house, many, many hundreds of years ago. She wanted something with the flexibility and elegance of a whip, but with a little more impact to it. She designed it for a very special purpose.”
She lifted the whip in her delicate hands so he could see the dull black metal ball, about the size of an eye, that dangled from the end. “She enchanted the little knob here, gave it certain properties. Allow me to show you.”
With a sudden movement, as fast as a flash of lightning, the whip snapped, and the man winced as the side of his face, his neck and his shoulder were pelted with sharp little bits of rock. Turning his head, he found, to his horror, that the wall next to his face had been obliterated, a crater slammed there where the enchanted head of the weighted whip had struck.
“It’s designed to break individual bones,” she said conversationally, “Or pulverize internal organs in a most excruciating manner, ensuring a slow, bruised death. It’s very ingenious, the way it’s enchanted; the weight in the tip changes to suit the whim and the strength of the priestess wielding it, so that maximum damage is dealt every time.”
He finally managed to speak, a pained croak that sounded nothing like his usual voice. “Why… Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Why?” For the first time since he’d been taken captive by the drow woman, the man saw anger leap into her scarlet eyes, hot and fierce. She crossed the chamber in a few short steps, her teeth bared in an infuriated snarl; she grabbed a painful handful of his bloody hair, slamming his skull sharply back into the wall as she pressed the grip of the whip against his throat, making it more difficult for him to breathe.
When she spoke, it was in grating, mocking Common. “Why, you dare to ask me why? You, valiant paladin, who rode so bravely into the Underdark seeking to slay me and my sisters to bolster your own pitiful reputation? You should have your answer already!”
She took a few steps back, allowing him to breath for a moment; he fixed his gaze on her in time to see her swing one slender arm backwards, the weight rattling over the floor as she dragged it in preparation to strike him. “I tell you all of this that you might know the horror of your fate, precisely how you will die, split open, bruised and festering like a piece of spoiled fruit.”
Her smile was cold and deeply pleased, a spark of passion somewhere deep in her eyes. “I tell you this because I, as you and your ilk so quaintly put it, am evil.”
The whip snapped, and the paladin knew no more.

Description
“D’you see this whip?”
The human man was helpless to do anything but nod his head, bound as he was to the dungeon wall, chained and gagged so that his cries of pain wouldn’t bother the other inhabitants of the castle too much. The priestess, barely-clad and already somewhat splattered in his blood, was examining the odd tool in her hands contemplatively. Although she addressed him in drow, he spoke elvish and understood what she was saying well enough; when she spoke, her voice was an affectionate purr, slim black fingers toying with the handle thoughtfully.
“This whip was made by the very first Matron of my house, many, many hundreds of years ago. She wanted something with the flexibility and elegance of a whip, but with a little more impact to it. She designed it for a very special purpose.”
She lifted the whip in her delicate hands so he could see the dull black metal ball, about the size of an eye, that dangled from the end. “She enchanted the little knob here, gave it certain properties. Allow me to show you.”
With a sudden movement, as fast as a flash of lightning, the whip snapped, and the man winced as the side of his face, his neck and his shoulder were pelted with sharp little bits of rock. Turning his head, he found, to his horror, that the wall next to his face had been obliterated, a crater slammed there where the enchanted head of the weighted whip had struck.
“It’s designed to break individual bones,” she said conversationally, “Or pulverize internal organs in a most excruciating manner, ensuring a slow, bruised death. It’s very ingenious, the way it’s enchanted; the weight in the tip changes to suit the whim and the strength of the priestess wielding it, so that maximum damage is dealt every time.”
He finally managed to speak, a pained croak that sounded nothing like his usual voice. “Why… Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Why?” For the first time since he’d been taken captive by the drow woman, the man saw anger leap into her scarlet eyes, hot and fierce. She crossed the chamber in a few short steps, her teeth bared in an infuriated snarl; she grabbed a painful handful of his bloody hair, slamming his skull sharply back into the wall as she pressed the grip of the whip against his throat, making it more difficult for him to breathe.
When she spoke, it was in grating, mocking Common. “Why, you dare to ask me why? You, valiant paladin, who rode so bravely into the Underdark seeking to slay me and my sisters to bolster your own pitiful reputation? You should have your answer already!”
She took a few steps back, allowing him to breath for a moment; he fixed his gaze on her in time to see her swing one slender arm backwards, the weight rattling over the floor as she dragged it in preparation to strike him. “I tell you all of this that you might know the horror of your fate, precisely how you will die, split open, bruised and festering like a piece of spoiled fruit.”
Her smile was cold and deeply pleased, a spark of passion somewhere deep in her eyes. “I tell you this because I, as you and your ilk so quaintly put it, am evil.”
The whip snapped, and the paladin knew no more.