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Thread: The slave

  1. #1

    Default The slave

    ((Coming back to the game after a long absence and finding myself on a new server with many new characters to meet as well as people I've known for years. Most of my RP has been lost on the old forums, but I do have a few thousand lines to sort through ... Not to bore everyone to death with old stuff I will start this story from this point onward. At one point Cimmeria server had a reporter documenting various character profiles, I start with Pax's which was done just prior to her becoming Prince Neverlin's property (Apparently it is a bit more difficult to kill a Lich master) -- and embarrassingly enough I'd forgotten some of it myself ))

    FULL NAME: Paks
    GENDER: Female
    ACTUAL AGE: unknown
    RACE: Shemite
    CLASS: Tempest of Set
    EQUIPMENT/CLOTHING STYLE: As little as possible.
    PERSONALITY: Submissive, intelligent, extremely curious, manipulative, no concept of danger or limits, .
    PICTURES OF CHARACTER OR PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Paks appears to be a young woman in her early twenties, although her chronological age is far older. Her skin is very smooth and at first glance unmarred. Perfect almost. Scars stand out in stark contrast to this perfection. There is an old knife wound on her left shoulder. She also has a snake carved into her front, the tail ringing her belly button, fangs open over one nipple. Each scale was lovingly cut. It glows if the attention of some of the worthies of the Hand of Set is focused toward her. In the right light you might see a mesh of scars on her back, layers of cuts from the lash forming a diamond pattern as if a whip were used to write upon her skin. Other scars may appear and disappear at will particularly a faded brand in old Stygian script across her upper back. Injuries have an unsettling habit of spontaneously and randomly healing themselves.

    She is a polished courtesan and trained in all aspects of that profession. Her eyes are kholled and she takes great care with her appearance, striving to always show smooth elegant perfection.

    BACKGROUND: (backstory from first months of the server). Arrax made Paks into his perfect slave. Shattering and rebuilding her multiple times until she literally breathed in concert with him and devoted every iota of her being to his wellbeing and glory. A few years ago, as was his regular habit, Arrax made his way to the desert to pray to his god, Al'Kiir, but this time did not return. Shattered and rudderless, Paks attempted many times to take her own life and to follow him, but has been unsuccessful. Close encounters over time with several immensely strong mages as well as a demi-god have left her saturated with layers of magic that sometimes react oddly, but never let her actually die. She lives in hopes that someday the spells will run out. Until then she singlemindedly pursues death in hopes that one of these times, it will take. Currently she's accepted that she won't be allowed to die any time soon and is making the best of it. Several people have attempted to make Paks into their slave since Arrax. This appears to work for a time, but ultimately fails. Most of these people disappeared under questionable circumstances.

    For the past several years, she has been the personal body slave to Prince Neverlin of the House of Jade Asp. He has proven exceedingly resilient. Since she came into his control, the one constant item always to be found on her is a series of rings, originally consisting of the seven colors of the rainbow and the three metals, copper, silver and gold.

    Her motto is "That which yields is not always weak"

    Paks worships Ishtar, although when in Stygia if confronted by religious zealots, she will profess to the worship of Derketo. So much easier than dealing with fanatics. Her faith is unbending and colors every action and thought. While not a very strong healer, she uses what powers she does have in many unorthodox ways adding to her abilities to both heal and fight when circumstances call for it.

    (responses in his/her own voice)

    OCCUPATION: I am a slave. *she hesitates, flushing attractively* Recently freed. Griffiud does not believe in owning slaves. Cimmerians can be most unreasonable about that.
    CURRENT HOME: I have a small apartment in Khemi
    MARITAL STATUS: *looks at him oddly* I have been a slave all my life. A wife is so much less.
    CHILDREN: A son and a daughter. The daughter is dead *she goes expressionless*. The son *shrugs* Set only knows where the priests took him. Hopefully to feed the serpents.
    I LOVE: Love is a faint echo of true devotion.
    I HATE: *snorts* Hate is a waste of energy and focus. Better to handle any enemies of my master quickly and quietly and cultivate all others for potential future ... business.
    WHO I WOULD NOT SAVE FROM DYING IN A FIRE: I would save anyone. You never know when a favor owed will come in handy.
    NOBODY KNOWS I AM: *her eyes glitter oddly as she looks at him* I don't like that question.
    I WISH I COULD STOP: Seeing and hearing the inhabitants, shades and echoes from the void and beyond the curtain. It would be nice if the stars would stop swirling in circles and speaking to me as well.
    I'M A SUCKER FOR: The sharp crack of a whip. Pain that focuses me on the mundane world.
    I WANT TO TEACH MY CHILDREN THAT: Life is deadly. Move fast or die.
    A GOOD TIME FOR ME IS: curled up at the feet of my Master
    I THOUGHT I WAS GROWN UP WHEN: *her fingers walk up the priest's chest and she touches his lips with her fingertip* Sorry, what was the question? You have a nice mouth.
    WHEN I FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF I: Dip into my stash of lotus and special mix. *she smiles* Would you like some?
    NOBODY WOULD BELIEVE ME IF THEY SAW ME: These are somewhat tiresome questions and its getting hot. *she tugs at his robe* Aren't you hot?
    MY FRIENDS LIKE ME BECAUSE: I make them feel good.
    MY PET PEEVE IS: *bites her lip, still tugging at his robe* overdressed people
    I CAN DIE HAPPY WHEN: When I die. Its harder than you'd think.
    MY MOST HUMBLING EXPERIENCE WAS: *blinks* odd question. *she goes back to trying to disrobe the priest ignoring it*
    Last edited by VenaRavenhair; 14th July 2015 at 14:30. Reason: updating to Neverlin's ownership

  2. #2


    Excellent character sheet. Wouldn't mind bumping into you in-game once I get back into things.

  3. #3

    Default Neverlin's slave

    It hadn't been a particularly comfortable night, the cold desert air cutting through the horse blankets. Still, the slave had seen worse. That man was infuriating and intensely confusing which in turn infuriated her more. That was something she was -not- used to. On top of everything else, she had a pilgrimage to make. The chains clank. This was a set back. If she survived the Prince's displeasure, the freedom of movement she'd grown accustomed to would be restricted. She shifts and the heavy chains clank. Chains! It had been years since she had to deal with actual chains. A low laugh bubbles up, as she laughs at her own impotent fury.

    She had lacked subtlety. A damning thing. She snorts with humor once more and studies the remaining rings on her fingers. Four down, six to go. All three compulsion rings were lost, as well as the small red one. She was fairly certain that the red one had compelled a deep love for the Prince. "Love" ... the slave makes a rude noise. A shame that the one colored ring she managed to ditch held such a feeble emotion. She studies the remaining rings. Her two ring fingers held their shimmering rings bound into the bones. The left, orange for Loyalty. The right indigo for Devotion. Those would be tricky to remove. The remaining ones were on her left hand, and while not bound to bone, might as well have been. They showed no signs of being able to be removed no matter what she tried. Green for Duty, Blue for Sacrifice, and Yellow for Obedience and lastly, Purple for Compassion for her Master. It had been so many years, she was no longer sure whether it was the rings or her own emotions driving her. A noise of frustration accompanied by a flounce sets the chains to rattling. Not even a proper golden chime. But a rattle. Damned that man.

    Pax grows thoughtful, then a slow sultry smile crosses her face, eyes gleaming in the darkness. Oh yes. He said she would serve all the men who came to the command tent. In her chains and nothing else. Well, that she could do. She was a priestess of Ishtar, raised in the temple and trained to the fullest extent. And they were men, and almost to a man from areas of the world where the temple of Derketo or Ishtar was known and honored. Her humor returns.

    Morning comes and with it her duties begin. Chains, softly clinking she serves those that come, her body swaying amongst them. This one sees a priestess, that one a temptress, another a lost girl under the chains striving to make the best of things, and yet another a victim of circumstances beyond her control. And each sees an untouchable dream, dignified and elusive as only the priestesses could be. Her kohled eyes stay low, a welcoming smile playing on her lips. She knew men. A small slap here when the hand gets too familiar followed by a finger running along their jaw asking for forgiveness. A soft word here, a bawdy joke there. She would serve. Oh yes, she would. She knew soldiers and she knew men.

  4. #4


    I pray to thee, O Lady of ladies, goddess of goddesses.
    O Ishtar, queen of all peoples, who guides mankind aright,
    O Irnini, ever exalted, greatest of the Igigi,
    O mighty of princesses, exalted is thy name.

    Thou indeed art the light of heaven and earth, O valiant daughter of Sin.
    O supporter of arms, who determines battle,
    O possessor of all divine power, who wears the crown of domination,
    O Lady, glorious is thy greatness; over all the gods it is exalted.

    O star of lamentation, who causes peaceable brothers to fight,
    Yet who constantly gives friendship,
    O mighty one, Lady of battle, who suppresses the mountains,
    O Gushea, the one covered with fighting and clothed with terror
    Thou doest make complete judgment and decision, the ordinances of heaven and earth.

    Chapels, holy places, sacred sites, and shrines pay heed to thee.
    Where is not thy name, where is not thy divine power?
    Where are thy likenesses not fashioned, where are thy shrines not founded?
    Where art thou not great, where art thou not exalted?
    Anu, Enlil, and Ea have made thee high; among the gods they have caused thy domination to be great.
    They have made thee high among all the Igigi; they have made thy position pre-eminent.
    At the thought of thy name heaven and earth tremble.
    The gods tremble; the Anunnaki stand in awe.
    To thine awesome name mankind must pay heed.
    For thou art great and thou art exalted.
    All the the masses of mankind pay homage to thy might.
    The judgment of the people in truth and righteousness thou indeed dost decide.
    Thou regardest the oppressed and mistreated; daily thou causest them to prosper.

    Thy mercy! O Lady of heaven and earth, shepheress of the weary people.
    Thy mercy! O Lady of holy Eanna the pure storehouse.
    Thy mercy! O Lady; unwearied are thy feet; swift are thy knees.
    Thy mercy! O Lady of conflict and of all battles.

    O shining one, lioness of the Igigi, subduer of angry gods,
    O most powerful of all princes, who holdest the reins over kings,
    But who dost release the bridles of all maidservants,
    Who art exalted and firmly fixed, O valiant Ishtar, great is thy might.
    O brilliant one, torch of heaven and earth, light of all peoples,
    O unequaled angry one of the fight, strong one of the battle,
    O firebrand which is kindled against the enemy, which brings about the destruction of the furious,
    O gleaming one, Ishtar, assembler of the host,
    O deity of men, goddess of women, whose designs no one can conceive,
    Where thou dost look, one who is dead lives; one who is sick rises up;

    The erring one who sees thy face goes aright.
    I have cried to thee, suffering, wearied, and distressed, as thy servant.
    See me O my Lady, accept my prayers.
    Faithfully look upon me and hear my supplication.
    Promise my forgiveness and let thy spirit be appeased.
    Pity! For my wretched body which is full of confusion and trouble.
    Pity! For my sickened heart which is full of tears and suffering.
    Pity! For my afflicted house which mourns bitterly.
    Pity! For my feelings which are satiated with tears and suffering.

    O exalted Irnini, fierce lion, let thy heart be at rest.
    O angry wild ox, let thy spirit be appeased.
    Let the favor of thine eyes be upon me.
    With thy bright features look faithfully upon me.
    Drive away the evil spells, let me see thy bright light.

    How long, O my Lady, shall my adversaries be looking upon me,
    In lying and untruth shall they plan evil against me,
    Shall my pursuers and those who exult over me rage against me?
    How long, O my Lady, shall the crippled and weak seek me out?
    One has made for me long sackcloth; thus I have appeared before thee.

    The weak have become strong; but I am weak.
    I toss about like flood-water, which an evil wind makes violent.
    My heart is flying; it keeps fluttering like a bird of heaven.
    I mourn like a dove night and day.
    I am beaten down, and so I weep bitterly.
    With "Oh" and "Alas" my spirit is distressed.
    I - what have I done, O my god and my goddess?
    Like one who does not fear my god and my goddess I am treated;

    While sickness, headache, loss, and destruction are provided for me;
    So are fixed upon me terror, disdain, and fullness of wrath,
    Anger, choler, and indignation of gods and men.
    I have to expect, O my Lady, dark days, gloomy months, and years of trouble.
    I have to expect, O my Lady, judgment of confusion and violence.
    Death and trouble are bringing me to an end.
    Silent is my chapel; silent is my holy place;
    Over my house, my gate, and my fields silence is poured out.
    As for my god, his face is turned to the sanctuary of another.

    Forgive my sin, my iniquity, my shameful deeds, and my offence.
    Overlook my shameful deeds; accept my prayer;
    Loosen my fetters; secure my deliverance;
    Guide my steps aright;
    Speak so that at thy command the angry god may be favorable;
    And the goddess who has been angry with me may turn again.
    Now dark and smoky, may my brazier glow;
    Now extinguished, may my torch be lighted.

    Accept the abasement of my countenance; hear my prayers.
    Faithfully look upon me and accept my supplication.
    How long, O my Lady, wilt thou be angered so that thy face is turned away?
    How long, O my Lady, wilt thou be infuriated so that thy spirit is enraged?
    Turn thy neck which thou hast set against me; set thy face toward good favor.
    Like the water of the opening up of a canal let thy emotions be released.

    My foes like the ground let me trample;
    Subdue my haters and cause them to crouch down under me.
    Let my prayers and my supplications come to thee.
    Let thy great mercy be upon me.
    Let those who see me in the street magnify thy name.
    As for me, let me glorify thy divinity and thy might before the people, saying,
    Ishtar indeed is exalted; the Lady indeed is queen.
    Irnini, the valorous daughter of Sin, has no rival.

  5. #5


    The sounds change, impinging on her prayer.

    The chink of scaled leather and clop of weary hooves. Then the dust began to swirl in, scant on the wind accompanied by the stench of battle, blood, sweat and voided bowels ... and an acrid scent of explosives that she'd not smelled since Khitai. With that reek, the voices of men can be heard separating out from the murmuring rumble that marks the passage of troops. Explosive curses pepper the conversations, but the timber of sound was different than days past. They had seen victory.

    The slave turns her head carefully to the side, gazing out the front of the command tent, watching blood stained boots and sandals. There is rough, good-natured catcalls as the men wander past, these the unlucky few who drew the short straw. There would be no eager whores and drink for those remaining in the garrison. Discipline held still despite the victory and pickets had to be maintained.

    "Fack off ya daft buggerer, you stuck your shaft plenty in that camp slut. You can damned well wait your turn wi'teh temple whores."

    "Bitch died before I got to it." Growls a second hoarse voice.

    "It were still warm weren't it?"

    The voices are blessedly muted as the men continue to their tents. She listens, striving for some hint on whether the archer had been found. But there was none to be had.

    The slave turns back her head, resting her forehead on the ground, the line of sand down her spine and across her thighs, unchanged but for what grains the wind had captured for its own capricious ends. The thirst was almost unbearable. Almost.

    Sir Guy would be returning. The triumphant bellows and cheers around the camp made that clear. She would wait.

    Her silent whispering chant continues

    "Ishtar, let thy heart be at rest.
    let thy spirit be appeased.
    Drive away the evil spells, let me see thy bright light."
    Last edited by VenaRavenhair; 15th July 2015 at 22:43.

  6. #6


    "She lives" "She lives" those words anchored her as the emotional storm ripped through. It left her raw and vulnerable. How easily the Knight Captain tore through her defenses. "She lives"

    The corollary did not need to be spoken, yet it was, in veiled phrases. The slave would do whatever she could to keep that phrase true. "She lives"

    How odd that something thought lost would be so intensely beloved when found once more.


    One by one, the mercenaries pass by the hastily set up aid station.

    "Muster out pay given out when the slave heals you." Bellows a sergeant to the milling soldiers "Capt'n ain't letting any of his men suffer. Get your asses in line."

    One by one, the slave offers energy, solace and healing. Those with visible injuries as well as others wait in the line, some visibly discomfited by the thought of being touched by the witch, some grateful. She offers healing to all of them, although a few refuse to accept it. Exhaustion sets in more than once, each time she walks out in to the Oasis, returning re-energized, the areas where she walked now wilted and dull in the desert heat.

    Soon the camp no longer deserves that name. Debris and stinking latrines mark the spot where the mercenaries previously gathered.

    She rests quietly, listening to the Knight Captain, numb but also filled with a deep joy from being able to serve, to heal once more on the field of battle. "She lives." Under it all, the knowledge cuts deeply: she could be hurt again, not by chains, sorcery or force of will, but by her love of another. "She lives."

    The sound of hoof-beats rattles through the now empty pathways, his Apprentice had come. Scoured clean of emotions and exhausted, Pax stands and follows as she is passed from one care to the other. The Prince desired words with his slave.
    Last edited by VenaRavenhair; 16th July 2015 at 17:57.

  7. #7


    [OOC: I always find writing directly from transcripts hard, and have tried to stay true to the dialog here without being too abrupt. The rings have been part of the slave for several years, and have a deeper hold than a simple decoration. Much like a rapid and instant withdrawal from an extremely addictive drug. I hope the other players in this little scene forgive me the small liberties.]


    Dust rises as two horses trot in to Bubshur, following the Caravan trail. Both shy, the riders pulling them under control as a third figure blocks the path on a ghostly steed, his golden hair shining in the sun.

    "Well, well, well .. isn't this a familiar scenario" Neverlin drawls in an acidic tone.

    Laylia gazes at the Prince with a blink, offering helpfully "only two wells here Master so it's actually 2 wells, as in well well."

    Neverlin and his horse continue to stare and Laylia continues hurriedly "Um ... so ... I retrieved Pax from Sir Loin of Steak"

    "Sir Guy de Leon" interrupts the slave.

    Both are silenced by the Prince's continued litany. "Slave runs off, gets in trouble, and master has to bail her out."

    "When has that happened before?" Laylia looks curious.

    Pax looks between the two, trying to speak. "This slave did not run off. she was exercising your racing stable, Master"

    Ignoring her, Neverlin looks at Laylia in disbelief, "When? WHEN? The last time she ran off she got herself killed and we spent over a year trying to resurrect her. A ****ING YEAR!"

    "Well it's not like time is a problem for us" Laylia says calmly, only to be spoken over by an increasingly irate Prince.

    "... the time, energy and resources that went into that ill-fated sojourn are incalculable! and the first thing she does ... is run off again!"

    Laylia clears her throat, still speaking very calmly "Was that the Kissmet worm thing? Because in fairness Master there was a battle on the edge of your lands, and Pax was appropriated."

    With a sharp gesture, Neverlin cuts her off. "Listen, I dont care if it was the Kissmet Worm thing, the Aurelious banana in the pants thing, or the Setet-Ka poop on me thing..."

    Laylia shrugs, "anyway she's back"

    Neverlin, eyes drill in to Pax "What were you doing out here?"

    She starts to talk rapidly, "I was taking that Rabiano stallion out for a run, saw troops and decided to find out what was happening. The caravanserai is on the edge of your lands, and with the bridal competition ..."

    The Prince explodes, "Who the hell told you to take the stallions out for a run? Since when is that the sex slave's job?"

    "But I always exercise them! and ... I look good on them." she tries to distract him, ease his anger "No one has touched me, master." She licks her lips looking at him appealingly "Not for days and days."

    Neverlin runs his tongue over his teeth, "No one is arguing that don't look good riding, but you didn't answer my question. WHO?" he stares icily at her.

    "No one?"

    Neverlin grips the reins tightly, his anger palpable. He flips his wrist dismissively the ghost steed fading from view.

    "Give me your hand Pax."

    She slides off her horse, trying desperately to make it look seductive and walks slowly to him, holding out trembling hands.

    The Prince takes her left hand and looks down at the rings, caressing the orange ring with his finger. "Do you remember what this one means Pax." He says in a soft calm voice.

    "Loyalty, Master."

    "Loyalty" he repeats. "Have you been loyal Pax?" he asks even softer.

    "Y-yes master."

    Neverlin cups a hand to his ear "what was that?"

    "yes master." she says slightly clearer "This slave has protected you and cared for you. I've not tried to kill you even once. not once."

    Neverlin tuts "You call leaving the castle to ride a horse, against my wishes, loyal? Not killing me is loyal?" He chuckles.

    "But ... I ride all the time?"

    With a sudden rush of violence, Neverlin snatches her wrist in a vice-like grip with one hand, twisting and ripping the little orange ring off her finger with the other, taking with it all the flesh from her knuckle to tip. The slave's knees buckle and she screams in pain, hand twisting in his grip, her body hunched over as if more than a ring had been torn away. The Prince tosses the bloody ring into the sand dune behind him.

    "You have much to learn about loyalty"

    Neverlin grips her right hand and holds the indigo ring between his fingers. "And this one? Do you even remember what this one means?"

    "D-devotion" the slave tries to catch her breath, pain tearing through her soul.

    "And have you been devoted?" he asks regaining a sense of calm.

    "Yes master" the slave pleads "This slave is yours. This slave has been good."

    "This slave has been good" he says in a mocking tone, repeating her words in a childlike manner, then in a blur of violence, he rips the indigo finger off her finger, flesh and all. She screams in agony, entire body wracked in pain, something deep inside her tearing apart. Neverlin pushes the ring and her flesh between her parted lips and she starts to gag, twitching and trembling uncontrollably. Blood smears her mouth as the ring falls to the sand.

    Laylia, tilts her head to one side, studying the slave. "Ouch, hands are painful."

    Neverlin kneels down closer to her, his glaring face inches from hers. "I bet you want me to **** you now" he says firmly taking her right breast in his hand and squeezing through the rag she is wearing" The slave gives a choked cry, panicking and struggling to get away from Neverlin's tight grip.

    "You think I would **** you? You disloyal, devotion-less slave?" He drag her closer, his cheek touching hers as he hisses in her ear "I'd rather **** that slug-creature Kenamun brought to the inn" and he pushes her away into the sand and stands.

    Pax curls up in a fetal ball, torn animal sounds coming from her as the tearing pain ripples through her.

    Laylia clears her throat. "Master"

    Neverlin looks to Laylia, daring her to say another word, then steps over to Pax, kneeling down beside her once more. He strokes her hair, looking down at the purple ring.

    "And the purple?" he says with a silky calm voice, tenderly wrapping one torn finger with a soft, clean white bandage. Pax flinches at the touch, not able to make an intelligible sound. she pants shallowly her eyes glazing.

    "the purple?" He asks again softly, gently applying an ointment to the bandage as he wraps her finger.

    "Compassion" He says gently. "Have I been compassionate towards you Pax?"

    Neverlin begins tending to her other finger. "Yes, I have and I am" he smiles down at her "that is why I forgive you."

    "Do you want the rest of your rings removed Pax? I'll do it, you need only ever ask" he says touching her cheek lightly.

  8. #8


    Neverlin's features sadden. "Pax, I hate when you make me do these things to you. But I'll ask again, do you want the rings removed, the gifts I gave to you?"

    The slave's eyes are wild, shocky and she can't seem to process what is being said around her, pulling to get away, away from the pain. Neverlin continues to massage ointment into the muscle tissue, stinging at first, but soon the fingers, if nothing else, go numb. Only then does he raise his hands, allowing her to escape, but eyeing her like a hawk. She was his and he knew her. She craved, no, needed to have a master.

    Pax crawls to a wall curling up tight against the mud walls as if to hide, her knees pulled up defensively, and starts rocking. Her mind is screaming, she bites her teeth together so the scream would not escape. He didn't know. He couldn't know. If he knew he would use them against each other and her Raven would be destroyed. He couldn't know.

    Laylia clears her throat once more.

    "You disapprove Laylia?"

    "It is not my place to make that judgement Master."

    "Good answer."

    Neverlin watches Pax moistening his lips with his tongue, then walks calmly, inexorably toward her.

    "I await your answer Pax, I think I have been patient with you. Do you want the rings gone, or are you prepared to learn the meaning of loyalty and devotion?"

    Pax pants shallowly, skin pale and eyes sunken, her body is still curled up rigidly in pain. "g-gone"

    Neverlin leans down to ask her one last question. "why?"

    She can't answer, she doesn't dare even think, if she thought it, he would know, too many shocks in the day, too much pain from too many sources.

    "Why Pax?" He presses. Pax pulls away from him, away from the pain, scrabbling toward the wall. Neverlin simply watches, holding out his hand.

    "Then just give them to me. The choice is yours"

    Choice. Slaves have no choice. Pax clutches her bleeding hand, trying to remove the remaining rings. Each effort tearing in to her soul. Three slip off in the blood, the Green from her thumb, the Blue from her index and the Yellow from her middle finger. As each one comes off, she grunts as if stabbed. They fall, sticky with blood onto the ground, one rolling off under the cart.

    "You had the power to do that the whole time" he says with a kind smile.

    The Purple remains as she can't seem to get her hand working to remove it.

    "Sometimes, we must learn painful lessons to grow Pax. What have you learned today?" His calm silky voice continues.

    The slave rubs her hand on her leg as if to scrape off the remaining ring, not comprehending that its not working. Her mind spins into itself, hiding.

    "Laylia, give her something to drink" Neverlin watches her, eyes narrowing.

    Laylia returns with a bucket full of well water offering a ladle of water to Pax. But that one is gone in to her mind, not seeing anything but her own terrors. Laylia presses the ladle to her lips, "drink."

    The Prince, watches, then gathers the remaining rings in the palm of his hand, shaking them a little. the sound of metal on metal rings through the valley.

    "Pax Pax Pax" he says holding the three rings up towards the sun, as if to get a better look at them. "Laylia fetch the others for me"

    Pax stares blankly, her hand still scrubbing uselessly against her thigh, as Laylia returns with the remaining rings. Neverlin lifts Pax's the brown rag dress, revealing her stomach and the snake tattoo, its tail winding around her belly button, drawing a circle with his finger. Without looking at Laylia or the rings she presents, he takes those as well, shaking them in the palm of his hand with the rest. After a few moments of shaking the rings lightly, the sound stops. Though his hand continues to move.

    Neverlin's voice grows soft, crooning "I have a gift for you....." his voice echoing in the same tone when they met so many times at the Carp, so many years ago.

    Her empty eyes are drawn to the sound, the rattle of a snake's tail, and she make an inarticulate sound and tries to push through the wall behind her. The Prince's hollow voice freezes her in place.

    He touches her shoulder lightly "I have a gift for you ..."

    She tries to jump out of her skin, the stars that marked her eyes when she first returned from the void, pierce through, swirling. She turns her face toward Neverlin. Neverlin eyes meet hers, unflinching. He holds out the palm of his hand, revealing a long Platinum chain, it glimmers in the rays of the sun.

    He holds the delicate piece of jewelry before her, dangling it from a single finger "I would like you to have it."

    The slave can't seem to turn her head away, eyes caught on his, the chain spinning in front of her, her mind screaming.

    "I would like you to have it, You do not want my gift? Will you take it?"

    A low keening sound of grief and pain escapes, and she bites down hard, controlling the desperate need to go to him, to take his gift. Accept the chains. Just barely, she manages to shake her head.

    The Prince gazes at her a long moment "Very well" he extends his other hand out and gently lowers the platinum chain into it where it disappears into his palm until he places it in a pocket.

    "I pronounce onto you the worst punishment I can imagine Pax" he leans down and slips the last ring off her finger.

    "You are free" he whispers.

    Pax jerks away, wracking sobs shaking her body.

    "Should you tire of this re-found freedom," he pats his pocket "you know where my castle is....."
    Last edited by VenaRavenhair; 17th July 2015 at 20:45.

  9. #9


    ~~ Intermission ~~

    She woke up, yawning, vaguely aware of some commotion from the Inn's staff late in the night. She looks around, scratching. There. In the middle of the floor, a large black haired Cimmerian with a note pinned to his very bare, and quite ... nice ... ass, an empty bottle of rum tightly clutched in one paw, errr hand.

    "Miss: Please bathe your pets in the future before you let them loose in the Inn. We took the damages suffered from his wallet ~ the Management"

    There was a P.S., but complaints about non-payment were the least of her worries. She scratches once more, then looks at her hand with something akin to revulsion and horror. "OFF!" A waves of electricity ripples across her accompanied by a small army of black flecks, the slowest of which are consumed in flashing sparks, but the majority, their agility and sense of survival honed by years of living on Amaroq's pelt flee back to his prone, snoring, and still filthy body. "And STAY OFF!"

    She stamps her foot petulantly, looking between him and the now cool bath that she'd had drawn the previous evening. A sigh, and then she drags a bucket to him instead. A fierce stare and imperiously pointed finger and the small black motes scurry onto a pile of something that might once have been considered to be a fur cloak. "Well now, lets see if you clean up as well as you used to". Pax dips the scrub brush into the foamy bucket and starts to scrub with enthusiasm, blithely ignoring the filthy water seeping through the cracks in the floor to parts unknown below.

    ~~ end Intermission ~~

  10. #10


    Paks!!!! Are you and Neverlin still around???? If so we need to talk!!!

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