The Central Kingdoms: Noriand [RP] (9) – Mirari : The Forest of Ashes.

She frowned, wondering what had just happened. He hadn’t even looked at her before he left. Had she displeased him in some way?

The Elven woman was further confused when two slaves entered her tent to tell her they were there to care for her for the rest of the evening.

“Where is Tagor?” Ilyra asked with some trepidation.

“He is with the other men, my Lady.” the one known as Clerah stated. The frown never left Ilyra’s face as she moved to do as she was bid.

———-

And so set the tone for the next seven days. Not once did Tagor lay with her and it was a frustration to Ilyra to be so close and yet he felt far removed from her.

It was during this time that Sharma returned to her side and Ilyra was pleased to see her friend up and about once more. She had missed their talks. Ilyra had requested they go for a bath now that the waters had been removed of the taint of the dead and corrupt.

The two women gathered their things and headed off together. She really needed some advice.

They chatted about nothing of consequence for some time before she brought up the subject she really wanted to talk about.

“Sharma?”

“Hmmm?”

“How does one go about enticing a man?” Ilyra asked hesitantly, a blush fusing her cheeks. Sharma looked at her, eyes wide with surprise.

“What brought this on?”

“Tagor has not lain with me in nearly 7 days. He holds me when we sleep or he sleeps on the other side of our tent. He will not touch me. Some days he doesn’t even look at me. I don’t know what to think.”

-Crytek took him to the table and sat him right next to Marsala-“Lord Marsala, sir Chavek is here”-Ivan sits down and bows his head-“Lord Marsala, it is an honor to see you again”-He saw Nerboti and looked away, he wanted her and he knew she wanted him, but one he had a job to do, and two he wanted to play hard get-

The Dining Hall

The Slave Master’s face was flush from having had many wines before the banquet had begun, and slurred his words as he fell back in his fur covered chair. Ripping the hand of some un co-operative pleasure slave to sit on his lap as he slobbered over a turkey leg, he gave the newly arrived Chavek the once over.

“Eat…boy!” Marsala boomed, as he licked the slave’s face and left a large drool mark on her cheek. His breath must have been disgusting, and with his added bulk and sweat, it is the last place any woman would want to be. But under the threat of death, the pleasure slave smiled weakly. If only he knew what she was thinking.

All around, the laughter and noise was deafening, as Chavek would probably be sickened and horrified by the antics of these Slave owners and high nobles. They acted far worse than any common folk that was for sure. Drunken slobs. The only one that seemed to have any decorum was in fact Nerboti, who had barely touched the food or drink. She kept her back rigid and any soldier or guard that came near her, even in a drunken stupor were sent packing by her wicked stare.

Nerboti saw the stolen glance, and how he turned his head away from her. That’s right, already rejected her once. She clawed at her chair, unseen by those she sat beside. Little did Chavek realize, but she was as much a slave to this house as the others – only she wasn’t sold off for favors….yet.

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The Dining Hall

The Slave Master had finally eaten his full, if one could believe that, and pushed the pleasure slave from his lap with such a heavy hand that she fell to the floor. Knowing better than to stay in a heap there, she crawled away as the rotund slave Master rose to his feet.

“Now all of you have enjoyed my foods and wines, I bring to your attention the Games.”

This brought a rousing cheer from those seated at the long tables. The Games were a highlight of the Summer season, and one of the things that had brought the Slave Master much wealth. With the deafening noise of rabble rousing, the Slave Master waved his hands to bring the gathered to silence.

“Many other Slavers have brought their best and finest to fight, and we shall show them that this city of Tsumal has many a hardened Gladiator to fight theirs. I urge you all to attend…and be sure to bring those hefty purses. The betting starts at the hour before the midday sun reaches it’s peek.”

So that was it. The Slave Master’s main source of income was the Games – a fierce show of Gladiators and slaves fighting to the death. Those that had traveled far to attend had their fighters locked in the under ground pits of the stadium. If it was one thing Nerboti enjoyed it was watching the wholesome slaughter of man and beast at these events. She got a grand ringside seat and was able to wear her best dresses as she was presented as though royalty.

As Chavek was being fed cherries by the elven pleasure slave, Lord Marsala clapped eyes on the sell sword, and pointed his chubby digit at him. “Say you will be there at the Games. I reserve you a place at the box…unless you wish to fight one of the prize warriors….hmm?” He asked with an arched eyebrow.

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The slaves shouted, some whimpered, many were men if not all were men, all varying ages all of different races and sizes, and many were picked because they would at least survive long enough to make it interesting. Some where even now being dressed in crude armor and showed how to use a sword with basic skill.

In the last cell far on the end, a young male sat huddled in the corner. Four others shared his cell, one was a older man, sold by his master into this battle arena as he reached the prime of his use, his master was planning on betting him to lose. The other was a female, one of the very rare few down here, she was of amazonian quality with reptilian features, she wasn’t a desirable pleasure slave, and her hulking size made her useless as a servant. This was her place now, and she probably stood the best chance of becoming a gladiator one day. The other was a man in his prime, but, he had no skill in fighting, he had already resignation him self to be fodder, or a shield, to give others a chance long enough to live, just a little bit more.

Then there was the two young boys, a sandy blonde beauty, elf by all appearances, how he had ended up here was a mystery he was usually what they wanted in the houses, tending to the lords lady, or the lord as a page. He was huddled protectively beside the other young boy, they both looked as about the age of 15 or 16 years old. The boy had dark black hair, he also had pointed ears like the elf boy, but the edges of the ears were covered in a fine dusting of fur. His eyes as he glanced around in fear were a strange aqua color, though they appeared as normal as everyone else eyes, the iris rippled around the narrowed feline pupils.

He had a long ebony cat tail that curled under his legs that he tucked in tightly against his chest in hopes of protecting himself as much as possible. The elf boy had his arms wrapped around his head rubbing his scalp gently in calming circles, the elf boy was determined that the two of them would survive. Even though they were both slaves, it was a secret between the two, that the cat’s real master, was the elf boy and always would be.

“don’t worry Emser, we’ll get through this…don’t we always,”the elf boy said glaring at the guards that peaked into the cell to check on them, some were expecting the old man to kill over before the games even started.

“Tyom,” Emser the cat-boy whispered softly, “this is different Tyom….they aren’t going to let us live, Tyom, I won’t be able to save us,” he said his voice braking into a sob.

The man across from them snorted, “you two act like fucking pansy…be a man….take out as many as you can while your still alive,” he said sounding probably harsher then he had meant it to be, it was his attempt that he was trying to comfort them.

The woman just smiled, she had her own plans and that included killing the slaves as much as the gladiators, “why bother, you’ll be dead the moment you exit the gates,” she said.

Tyom hissed mimicing Emser if he had any reaction, “you don’t know us, you don’t know what Emser can really do….they were stupid taking us,” he retorted.

There was a roar outside, the five in there cell glanced upward towards the ceilings, and knew that the games would soon begin, each participant had there own resolve, there own plans to survive, and many, were hoping this would be the final days of there slavery, in more ways then one.-

The Njada leader was spending time away from his pregnant mate. Not because it was what he wanted to do, far from it. It was due to the fact that he believed that while she was in this state of pregnancy, that to force himself upon her may do unknown damage to the unborn future son of Tagor. The Njada were a very proud and sexually active group of men, and to not be able to lay with IIyra…was hurting him more than she could have ever imagined. To stop himself from being put into a situation where he found it hard to hold back his primal urges, he spent more time with the men folk, and less time with IIyra. He loved her probably more than ever, but he was being typical of a Njada male.

But one man noticed this. Rangor. The young warrior who had raped Tagor’s mother, in a bid to get her favour (oddly) and help him secure a place as the leader of the Njada. He watched as Tagor left the tent again, after not having slept with his woman, and he eaves dropped on the conversation between Sharma and IIyra. So…she wanted to know how to make a man bend to her will, did she? This had him smirk deviously, as he waited a moment, and then approached the tent entrance, before asking permission to enter.

“Son of Murtga, wishes to pay homage to mate of Tagor.”

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As the two women were returning from their bath, Sharma was explaining to Ilyra on how to get Tagor to place his attentions back on his mate when their conversation was interrupted.

“Son of Murtga, wishes to pay homage to mate of Tagor.” came a deep voice from outside the tent. Ilyra looked at Sharma in confusion.

“Who is he?”

“He is one of Njada’s fiercest warriors besides Tagor himself.” Sharma stated out loud. But she leaned in close so that she would not be overheard. “Be wary of him, my lady. There have been whispers that he covets other Njada mates.”

Ilyra nodded, but decided to reserve judgement for herself.

“You may enter.” Ilyra stated in a kind voice.

Rangor smiles to himself and then wipes that away as he enters the tent flap, seeing the slave Sharma there along with the very beautiful IIyra. She is up close the beauty that many a man has whispered behind Tagor’s back. Taking a few steps in, he goes down to kneel on one knee and bows his head, as she is viewed as a high woman of the Njada.

“My name is Rangor, Ilyra of Njada. I come to pay honor to you and your unborn son.”

He did not rise from his position until she had given word. This was all part of his plan. Get in close to IIyra and start to plant seeds of doubt into her mind about Tagor and his intentions. The part that he was tickled about, was how Tagor was behaving with his woman – denying sexual acts due to her pregnant state. That would probably have the mate of Tagor yearning, and so ripe to pluck. Rangor watched and observed women closely, you could say it was a strong held fascination with how they ticked. To understand your prey, was how one went to conquer them. He had such terrible designs on what he wanted to do, but for now, he would play the part of the dutiful warrior and Njada male.

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