A speech by my evil character

[Ninquelote]

I'm trying to improve upon it, so I'll get peoples opinions. I wrote this over the summer. Enjoy?

The Dark Elves surrounded their prey in a tight circle, broken only to allow their leader through. The Albino Drow cut his captive’s neck bonds and the Elf’s binding to the ground with the same blood-soaked stiletto that had mutilated his comrade. The Elven soldier cowered before the nightmarish figure of the Drow. He had heard enough stories as a child to fear these Drow, but now he was terrified of them.
“Your comrade and I shared a very special moment, before he was devoured by Zhar’s pets. Contrary to your belief, I saved the Elf; I saved him from what you will endure. However, not only did I save him, but I reassured him that he was living. I did not wish my poor victim to thin himself in a nightmare, surely that would be more traumatizing to die in a dream, for your mind to perish while your body goes on living? Your mind is your spirit, your soul. To lose that is to lose your chance at divinity. Your body is a hindrance, a mere barrier that prevents you from truly living. Your body creates fear, fear of dying, fear of losing your protective barrier. Pain is weakness leaving the body, and that weakness is what should be feared.
I did not wish to rob him of that pain one feels by simply living; of that medium between pleasure and torture that all living beings thrive upon day by day. I could never rid that feeling from my victims, such a pain is sacred. The second that the pain is taken away from you forever is a beautiful moment, a rite of passage. How severe the pain is before you die is precious, crucial to its potency.
Existence itself it a strain on our bodies; it is the feeling of decay as our bodies die around our souls. The annihilation of the very thing that impedes us should be celebrated. Instead you abhor it, slowing the process with your longevity and contentment. The mind had built itself a fortress of flesh and bone and we tear it down slowly, tear down our own citadel to wallow in death and pain. You cause that pain yet you fear it so.” Istolil bent over his captive, his rime eyes tearing the soul from the Elf, protecting it as the Elven-knife slid down the sentry’s stomach. Like a spider the pale-skinned Dark Elf crouched over his prisoner, one hand clutching the skull of the Elf, pushing it to one side as he whispered into his hostage’s ear. “Pain tells us we exist, to exist is to live, living is the most holy of gifts and so pain must be divine. The more intense the pain, the closer you are to godliness.” The Elf cowered, crimson misery emerging from the shallow cut on his front, but he still did not understand the Drow.
Istolil stood as if suddenly disgusted with the Elf. What intimacy he felt he had with his captive was gone. Instead of addressing only his prisoner, his frigid eyes searched for some unknown quality in all of his troops instead of just the Elf. “Perhaps Elves are immortal but they do not fully live in all their luxury and comfort. I gave this elf pain, and I gave him true life. But he did not want the pain, so therefore he did not want life. I relieved him of the strain of life and returned him to the same state in which he had been living; painless.” He said this with a slight chuckle, and his joviality was copied among the ranks to appease their leader.