Introduction
Every second year, since the day of the god of Tarsha, those earning the titles of master or mistress over slaves must prepare a sacrifice in thankfulness and anticipation of the prosperity of the year to come. These sacrifices must be prepared in the way of the BloodOath ceremony. May the god of Tarsha bless those that give generously. The master/mistress must prepare two different categories of slaves. Half shall be Hunters, the other half Bound. Hunters will be those ranked higher in your household, those that the god has blessed you with hard work and achievement. The Bound can be those your inhabitants are cursed with; extras that are not needed, or offenders of your personal law. The Bound shall be released on the Night of Oath. Later the Hunters will be sent out to bring them to the cloisters. If a Bound is found they will be punished and tortured for our gods benefit, before public sacrifice on their personal Day of Blood. If a Master/Mistress's patience is tried before the Bound are bought forth, the Hunters shall take the Bounds places. The minimum amount of slaves to be sacrificed is two, and the genders must opposing.
-All this has been recorded on the fourth of Mestae, in accordance to the law of the god of Tarsha.
Wιll ϒου Ηυητ Or βε βουηd?
Basic Plot:
You will be either Bound servants or Hunters. Another role is also a run away, a slave that has decided to escape with the Bound either through friendship, love or just for freedom.
Time Line-
1. New servants introduced to household (these cannot be Hunters)
2. Brief period of working for the Mistress and preparing the house for the BloodOath, that night.
3. The BloodOath Ceremony feast. Hunters and Mistress dine, while the Bound serve.
4. The Bound are branded and the Hunters receive the trackers.
5. At 1:00 in the morning, the Bound are released into the city.
6. The Hunters are released later on, after being instructed by the Mistress.
7. The Hunt begins! Note that I have planned certain events, so this shall have a fairly strict plotline, that I will guide using my characters and a few NPC's.
Notes Regarding the Roleplay:
1. NPC's- In this roleplay everyone should have a minimum of one major character (one of the slots) and a maximum of two. During the roleplay however, I will encourage you to create other characters, though you won't need character profiles for these. The extra characters can be used by anyone and will be used to deepen the plotline. Once you create a NPC, they will be posted in a separate OOC topic with basic details to let the other roleplayers know basic mannerisms. It doesn't need to be elaborate, as each of us will help develop the character.
2. Maps- I have provided two different maps (one is still in progress, with pieces missing etc). The one of the city I want followed almost exactly. This way we can know where the characters are at the different points and it will make it easier to see where each character is. The small red squares dotting over the place are stocks/punishment area's set up throughout the city. This is where the Bound are sacrificed (usually the one closest to the Mistress's home). It is also a place of public punishment for stealing, fighting, shady dealing etc. Just note I didn't create the maps, I simply found them off the internet and edited them for our use, I take no credit for either of them. The second map of the world is still very much in progress... I have only added Syra (where Arya comes from) and Tarsha. If one of your characters comes from a different country, message me and let me know where you want your "country" to be on the map and what the climate is (e.g Snow for Syra, or dessert etc.). The world map can be used more loosely such as adding a small body of water, or a small cluster of forest here and there, but no adding a random river near where your characters are. All places will be added. I will also make a separate OOC for places that you can post more details about your country such as history, customs, climate etc. for other roleplayers to view.
3. Tagging- I want to use the tagging to the best of out ability. Tag a character if you interact with them such as talking/touching them. This does not include thinking about them. Also, for those that use two characters, please post each characters point of view separately so we can see the different characters each interacts with.
4. Events- Throughout the roleplay, I have planned certain events/ things that naturally happen in Tarsha that will affect the characters and drive the plot better. I will be using NPC characters to do this. I just wanted you to be aware, so you know that this roleplay is going somewhere, and is very much a character and plot driven roleplay.
General BloodOath Procedure
1. The Bound and Hunters are announced. There is one male and one female to be sacrificed at the end (be it Hunters or Bound).
2. The Bound will serve both the Hunters and Masters the BloodOath feast.
3. The Bound are then branded. Normally the female Hunters will hold down the female Bound, while the Males Brand them and vice versa.
4. The Hunters are then taken upstairs to be inserted with the trackers. The trackers are inserted by injection into a vein in the neck to stop them being removed.
5. The Runaway will be instructed to unlock the door holding the bound at 1:00. The Bound are not warned, but have to be awake and aware enough to figure out when the door is unlocked. They then are allowed to leave.
6. The Hunters receive advice and provisions before being released.
7. When a Bound is found they are taken first to the cloister to be marked off and then to the Bound House. They are then punished. Halfway through the punishment the Hunter/s that found them come back to sign them off.
8. A single Bound cannot be sacrificed without another of opposite gender. The Bound will be held for a few days before another must be found. If not a Hunter must be taken in. The Hunter will be chosen by drawing lots, and then will be punished with the Bound.
9. If they are not rescued, the two Bound (or Hunter and Bound) will be killed in the stocks by a select method. A Mistress can pay to have the execution adjusted (either more merciful or more savage).
10. If a Bound dies (either a Hunter kills them or suicide) a Hunter will have to take their place. The Bound must be sacrificed by a priest, all other forms of death don't count.
Rules about Slavery.
1. Slaves/Servants must be given the sign of their masters to show ownership. Miss Edwards servants all have a
simple silver cuff/armband
2. Slaves under Miss Edwards care have strict uniform requirements. Female slaves must have hair neatly up and wear a
simple, white corset dress. Males must wear simple white garments. Both genders normally go bare foot.
3. Slaves/Servants must remain silent unless spoken to. (Obviously this is a rule that is and can sometimes be broken by characters, though punishments may occur)
4. Slaves/Servants are not to associate themselves with other slaves/servants (This is another rule typically broken, but severely punished)
5. The Bound, once chosen, must be branded on the left side of the neck to mark them.
6. The Hunters must be given trackers. (Trackers ensure the Hunted can't escape like the Bound. The only piece of modern technology in the rp)
Setting:
The Setting of Tarsha is almost identical to Ancient Rome. The Tarshan people are ruled by an Emperor, but behind the scenes the religious sector seems to have most control. Since the priests have to approve of the Emperor, most of the time the emperor's pretty much are under the control of the Tarsh Priests. The Priests live in the cloister and a few in the Bound House. Tarshan Soldiers are also around (Possible NPC's) and are found at each of the Gates. They control those who leave and enter the city and also "keep the peace" and are in charge of the stocks with the exception of the Bound Sacrifice (That is the priests jobs). The Priests and Soldiers don't normally get along, as the Soldiers have loyalty to the Emperor not the Priests.
So there's a bit of Tarshan politics. As I said, most is like Ancient Rome in character. So this means no modern weapons, clothing and appliances.
Character Slots:
Master:
Angela Edwards played by Shané
The Bound:
1. Juno Lee played by jigokunoshinzo
2. Arya Tundra played by Shané
3. Slyvester Garza played by FiresOwnWeakness
4. Elizabeth Prescott played by peace_love_dance
The Hunters:
1. Samuel Harrison played by peace_love_dance
2. Belle Stewart played by HeavanAndHell
3. Anselm Tertullian played by Shmband
4. Zoe Spry played by Shmband
Character Skeleton:
Servants:
Name: (First and last name)
Gender:
Age:
Role: (Either The Bound, Hunters or Run Away. Runaways will only be accepted once the Bound and Hunter roles have been filled.)
Appearance: (Please have a real life picture, no anime, and a reasonable, literate description)
Personality:
Fears:
Strengths: (This can be general, but also add your characters strengths as a servant e.g serving, cleaning, cooking, entertainment etc.)
Weaknesses:
Origins: (Only for the Bound and Runaways. Is basically if you want your character to be new at the beginning of the rp or already part of the house hold).
History: (This is optional...if you feel like it would enrich your character, please add it, but if you want it a mystery or it is an average history, feel free to leave it out)
Roleplay Sample: (This will be on how you were captured. You have three main options. a. You were born a slave. b. You were found on the street. c. Captured from another country please make this literate, this should be an example of how you will be posting!)
- 19 posts here • Page 1 of 1
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 6 authors
A bright ray of sunshine trickled into the expensive dining hall through a curtained window. Angela had herself draped over one of the dining room chairs looking over a list that needed to be completed for the nights preparation. Her piercing brown eyes scanned the parchment in front of her, carefully interpreting the runes and checking off each job as it came up.
It seemed she would have to get some of her favourite slaves to help out. She called up one of her runners, a small boy of around twelve.
"Tell Anselm to set the Syri girl to work in the kitchen" she told him, not looking up from her work "He's to collect any of her personal belongings to bring to me later. She's to help Juno finish the preparation for the feast tonight. Oh, and while he's there get him to make sure it's almost done, he can supervise . Let him know that the Syri girl, the blonde, Juno and Slyvester are going to be serving tonight" It was a rather blunt way of telling him those three were to be Bound. Angela decided Anselm could use the information how he pleased. The Syri girl evidently didn't know yet of what was going on and perhaps the blonde also was ignorant, though maybe the other two would have a clue, not that it really mattered in the end. She continued her instruction.
"After that run to Slyvester and get him to start organising the dining room. The floor needs a good scrub down. Belle is to go get the blonde brat orientated, remove her personal belongings and then bring her to me. Oh. One more thing. Samuel and Zoe are to go to the basement cell and light the fire and heat the brands for tonight. If they have time, they can clean it. Dismissed"
She waved the boy off. Hopefully that was about it. The brands that were to be prepared were in the shape of a cursive 'X' and had a long handle. The basement cell was a necessity in every home for the blood oath, and was really a tiny prison cell which was only occupied for the one night...or for punishment.
She let out a small sigh as she glanced back over the preparations. There was always the good and the bad of the celebration. One major highlight was getting rid of those slaves that were evidently not going to be much good in the future. Seeing as she was mostly happy with her staff, she'd had to purchase a Syri girl in hope that she'd be blessed by the god of Tarsha. The emperor and priests had been encouraging having the Syri Bound due to there refusal to continue the treaty. They'd promised blessings and honour for those that did so, and Angela, ever faithful to the cause, had obeyed. She'd also purchased the blonde girl, who looked like she hadn't much strength on her, therefore probably allowing her Hunters to get her quickly and return to their normal jobs. She'd had to orientate both of the girls- sending them to the bathing quarters, giving them the uniform and removing their old clothes. Then there was Juno. Angela's lip curled. The boy didn't obey if he didn't feel like it, so what was the point in keeping him? Besides, his sight wasn't good, though she hadn't bothered figuring out why. And then the 'prince'. Angela's face hardened. He'd cost her a great deal of money, and she'd enjoyed proudly showing him to her friends. However soon the novelty wore off. He was a hopeless worker, and she really didn't like having a lazy mouth to feed, so he would make the last Bound.
She was happy with her hunters this year. She was fairly certain that at least two of them had participated in the ceremony before. Anselm was her main favourite. Angela considered him as overseer of the other servants, though the title was unofficial. He got her the cheapest items, while also feeding her information to maintain control over the slaves in her keeping. He also had a good way with the Bound when he was a Hunter, and this was a huge advantage in the ceremony. The only issue was his ego. She hated his attitude to her authority, though his advantages far outweighed this. Evidently he knew this and just managed to keep borderline of her anger...one day she wondered when he'd overstep the boundary.
Then there was Zoe. She was a rather faithful girl, though evidently more due to fear than respect. Even so, Angela could always rely on her to get the job done. She could tell that Zoe wasn't entirely comfortable with the BloodOath ceremony, but something managed to motivate her enough to complete it. Angela had seen it before, so surely she could do it again. Samuel was also one of those ones with supposed 'morals', which did annoy her, however he always got down to business. Beside, he was a hard worker and attractive which gave her slaves a more presentable look anyway. He also was born in the household, and therefore knew how it all worked.
And then Belle. Belle had an extraordinary voice, and also had the loyalty and athletic ability needed to finish the job. She also wasn't sickly sweet to the other slaves, meaning that she didn't form loyalties to others easily. Having slaves divided was one of the ways to keep control over a household which has only one mistress and many slaves.
Finding herself bored with her musings, Angela rose up to glance out the window. Peering through the glass-less gap, she acknowledged the sunshine. It was another beautiful day in Tarsha. The sun was reasonably low in the sky promising a beautiful evening for the ceremony. As it was rather late, the feast should be almost done. It was almost time for the celebration to begin, finally she could cleanse her household and retain the perfection she desired in her slaves. There was a soft breeze coming through the country and the soft rustle of the trees in the large garden increased slightly. It was a reasonably humid evening, with a lazy warmth about it just begging for someone to come outside and enjoy it. Angela didn't need much asking.
She gracefully exited out of the large arched doorway and passed her marble pillars. It was always nice to see these tall, majestic pillars reaching to the sky, reminding her of her wealth. The grounds were always kept to perfection by her servants, and for this Angela was pleased with.
The lawn was perfectly manicured, and the carefully pruned trees stood in well planned lines, providing privacy from her other wealthy neighbours. There were a few servants scurrying around, taking extra precaution to look busy and yet clean, careful not to catch her eye.
Arya found herself staring at a girl she was sure had nothing to do with herself in the small basin of water. The new white garments had been thrust upon her as harshly as her new life; if indeed you could call slavery a life. She forced herself to ignore the true meaning of the new clothes and the metal cuff now permanently on her wrist. Her serious green eyes held a new prolonged sadness in them and her obvious pale skin looked even more so in the bright sunlight. The white corset was reasonably fitted, with the plain white skirt reaching past her slender calves. She touched the unfamiliar fabric tentatively, trying to keep her composure.
The morning had begun by her being brought to her new mistress. Her hands had been bound awkwardly in front of her and she'd been thrust into the ground at her mistress's feet as they bargained over her. The argument began to get heated as the slave driver kept insisting on a higher price for her attributes. Her new mistress, firmly stated she wasn't worth much as one: she was Syri and two: She was going to be Bound anyhow. Finding himself fighting a losing battle, the slave master tried a different tact, insisting that since Arya was physically weak she'd be the perfect Bound and therefore the price went up. The bickering continued as Arya struggled to keep herself together, briefly wondering about what made weakness so important to her mistress.
Finally they'd settled on a price, and Miss Edwards had grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to her feet to be examined. Arya had kept her jaw firmly clenched shut and her face an impassive mask though once again failing to hide the pain etched into her stormy green eyes. Finally she'd been released from her mistress's iron grip. A silver cuff had been jammed onto her wrist and white garments shoved into her hands. She'd been sent straight to the slave bathing area. For the first time since the long journey from Syra she'd had privacy, though she made sure the time was short. Her mistress had made certain she would be punished for any extra time. The water had been ice cold, only adding to Arya's homesickness, though it helped her endure the heat. The sudden change in climate had drained her energy and the constant heat had been another unnecessary burden. Her tongue was as rough as sandpaper and her stomach clenched painfully from the lack of food and water. She prayed that a meal would be forthcoming, as the slave traders had failed to feed her for the last two days.
Finally managing to pull on the unfamiliar clothing Arya had opened the door to receive further instruction. Her hair was to be braided, and her old clothes were to be burnt. The pain of loosing one of the few things she still had from home went unspoken as Arya feared the punishments she'd been warned about aboard the slave traders vessel. Miss Edwards had shown her the cupboard of a room that was to be hers, and left her.
On a day like today, Arya found the sunlight a curse. How could the goddess let the sun shine so bright when her whole world had been torn from her? She shakily sat down on the mat that was a poor excuse for bedding. Carefully assuring herself that she was alone in the room that was supposed to be her permanent quarters. She gently untied the small bag from her waist, carefully laying out each item it contained. Her eyes filled with tears, as she forced herself to look up, furiously blinking them away, desperate not to lose it again. She glanced back down at the three items. An old bone comb, a small piece of fabric and….She gently scooped up the last item, running her fingers down it's familiar surface. A small wooden carving. This time she could not hold back the tears that flowed freely down her face.
She knew that she was forbidden to keep any personal belongings, yet she would honestly rather die then part with them. It had eternal significants to the Syri, and the goddess forbid they should be parted from her. She knew she would be severely punished if they ever found out she had it, yet that was something she had convinced herself she would not let happen.
Arya let her fingers gently brush over each item, before placing them back in the bag and tying it around her waist, covering it with the white corset. The small items made a minor bump in the material and Arya begged the goddess that it would not be discovered.
She began to braid her wet hair, methodically weaving the long, black tresses into a traditional fish bone braid down her back. At it's completion she fingered the silver cuff now on her wrist. The silver had been intricately designed, only increasing her awareness of her mistress's wealth. Suddenly she noticed the key hold. A cold sense of what that entailed sent shivers up her spine. Not wanting to believe it, Arya carefully traced her fingers around cuff, searching for a latch to free herself from it. There was none. It would be a permanent fixture. She put her head in her hands, despair running through her whole body. How was she supposed to live like this? She was now simply an object to be used for her mistress's benefit.
Remembering the need to be quick and efficient, she hastily got up. Glancing back at the reflection of herself in the small pitcher of water, she tried her best to erase the tears. She gently eased open the curtain that was used for a door and carefully made her way to where she'd been instructed. Her bare feet padded silently on the cold marble floor as she past some of the other servants.
She stood out like a sore thumb in the presence of the Tarshan's with her dark black hair and ivory skin tones. A few of the other slaves stared at her as she passed, evidently thinking of her as some exotic animal. The woman had so many slaves, and each seemed to be uneasy. There also seemed to be something about the manor. Everything was so quiet, and the slaves hurried around the house desperate to look busy as though some punishment loomed ever closer. The whole atmosphere was enough to put Arya even more on edge. The structure itself was new. After sleeping in tents all her life, Arya had been terrified of the large permanent walls that she would be forced to live in.
Miss Edwards had said that one of the other slaves would be coming to set her to work and to remove any personal belongings. The thought of giving up the traditional jewellery still hanging around her neck and wrists rubbed salt into the ever increasing wound. Then again, if she gave it up easily, perhaps they wouldn't suspect her of keeping the other items. She wondered briefly of the other slaves here. How had they coped? An existence here would change a person. Her brothers lasts words rang in her ears. "Don't let them change you…" The memory of him hurt, but forgetting would be intolerable. By the time she finally found her way into the hall where she was to meet the other slave, she'd replaced her neutral mask in an attempt to hide the pain. Her eyes once again broke the deception, her real emotions etched into their bright, stormy surface.
Aden? How am I supposed to survive?
The moist air hung close to the skin, stirred only by the heat of the sun above and the radiant warmth of the stones below. Zoe was gratefuly for the cold water that lapped against her legs as she stood not quite knee deep in one of the manor's tertiary cisterns. It was a part of the courtyard that was slightly shaded, not in immediate view of most of the property, and in any case was not somewhere anybody often visited. It was, after all, a drain.
Zoe allowed herself a wry smirk. Sure, the Tarshan's had a fairly sophisticated system for channeling waste water through their homes from the baths and kitchens, but considering the number of times they became blocked she had to wonder if an old fashioned bucket wasn''t simpler on the whole. Either way, it wasn't hers to worry about. There was a blocked water duct and Miss Edwards knew full well that Zoe would spend the least time complaining about having to poked around in the outlet for whatever the blockage was whilst standing in eighteen inches of grey water. She didn't see the problem herself. It's not like it was sewage (that came out of a different channel...which admittedly did also needed unblocking later and that was genuinely an unpleasant job...) and it was a wonderful way to keep cool in the hot Tarshan weather.
...just as it had been a welcome coolness to stand in the muddy waters among the rows of flaxenweed her uncle used to farm back on Renfrew, splashing your fingers as you pulled up the golden yellow stalks...
No. There as no point remiscing. She hadn't been given the choice to stay, and no good would have come of her staying anyway. All she had to worry about was getting the water from the kitchen and baths flowing again before one of the cooks inadvertendly flooded the place. Not that the task required any skill. She was literally poked around and into the opening in the stone wall with a long wooden pole. It just took a little more determination and impetuousness that some of the other slaves might have put into it.
"What's got you so excited Zoe?" an irritatingly familiar voice called out as a fellow slave, Flaavu, rounded the nearest corner from the front courtyard. "Found something tantilizingly squishy?"
Zoe narrowed her eyes and thinned her lips. Another squid reference....hilarious. She didn't dignify him by catching his eye but continued fishing around in the water flue.
"Nothing so far." she replied, "but come back later and I'll push this into the space between your ears, I daresay I'll find something squishy there."
Flaavu snickered obnoxiously. The portly man - perhaps two or three years older than Zoe, she had never had occassion to ask - strolled up closer. Didn't he have work of his own to do?
"You misunderstand Zoe," he said, "it's not the object between my ears that I intend to impress you with."
This time Zoe looked across at the man, her eyes narrowed practically to contemptful slits. "That scarcely heightens my expectations Flaavu."
"What? Oh wait of course...go on then, what revolting sea creature ought I slurp down to get your attention?"
Zoe huffed in amusement and shook her head. "Flaavu, there are not enough lazulis in the crespuscular sea for you to eat such that I would so much as share a bowl of soup with you.
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, as the saying goes, and by now Zoe was more than accustomed to dealing with the characatured version of her homeland's culture that she found parroted day by day in Iris. Unfortunately it seemed the the irritation imparted onto her by her fellow slaves goading was just what was needed to dislodge the unknown obstacle in the water chute, and by the time she had felt something at the far end of the pole give way she had already partly lost her balance, and had no time at all to avoid the sudden gush of cloudy water which cascaded from the hole in the wall. She managed to remain upright, but the surge of water itself caught her squarely enough to leave her utterly drenched from the shoulders down. The thunderous discharge gave way to the sound of Flaavu's hysterical laughter. Zoe chewed her lip and kept her gaze downwards.
"Well," Flaavu guffawed, "that certainly dampened your spirit! I suppose it's as well that you're wanted in the basement cell to light the fire. At least you'll be able to dry off down there."
Zoe looked up, her eyes widening and the edges of her mouth dropping a little. Sure, she knew what night it was. But the branding in particular was an act that made her skin crawl. And she was being given the job of stoking the fire which would sear the flesh of the bound. It wasn't a thought that gave her pleasure.
"So it is that time already?" she sighed, staring off, then looking back at Flaavu with a subtle smile. She strolled up to him and brusquely held out the wooden pole. "Since you were the one who gave me the message, I suppose you'll have to take over the job I was going to do next. You know where the sewage flue is."
Flaavu's face dropped and he snarled at Zoe, taking the pole with a grumble knowing full well that she was right. With a smirk she walked away from him and back into the building via one of the lesser used entrances. It was as well that nobody important saw her in her sodden state. Fortunately, the route to the basement cell was very much an out of the way one. It wasn't a place to which guests were normally treated a viewing...
When she got there she was confronted with the branding brazier. It was almost as though it hadn't been touched since the same time last year. The agonised screams of the victims being branded seemed to still reverberate from the walls. With a morose sigh, she pulled open a hatch and began loading some of the kindling unto the hearth.
Zoe allowed herself a wry smirk. Sure, the Tarshan's had a fairly sophisticated system for channeling waste water through their homes from the baths and kitchens, but considering the number of times they became blocked she had to wonder if an old fashioned bucket wasn''t simpler on the whole. Either way, it wasn't hers to worry about. There was a blocked water duct and Miss Edwards knew full well that Zoe would spend the least time complaining about having to poked around in the outlet for whatever the blockage was whilst standing in eighteen inches of grey water. She didn't see the problem herself. It's not like it was sewage (that came out of a different channel...which admittedly did also needed unblocking later and that was genuinely an unpleasant job...) and it was a wonderful way to keep cool in the hot Tarshan weather.
...just as it had been a welcome coolness to stand in the muddy waters among the rows of flaxenweed her uncle used to farm back on Renfrew, splashing your fingers as you pulled up the golden yellow stalks...
No. There as no point remiscing. She hadn't been given the choice to stay, and no good would have come of her staying anyway. All she had to worry about was getting the water from the kitchen and baths flowing again before one of the cooks inadvertendly flooded the place. Not that the task required any skill. She was literally poked around and into the opening in the stone wall with a long wooden pole. It just took a little more determination and impetuousness that some of the other slaves might have put into it.
"What's got you so excited Zoe?" an irritatingly familiar voice called out as a fellow slave, Flaavu, rounded the nearest corner from the front courtyard. "Found something tantilizingly squishy?"
Zoe narrowed her eyes and thinned her lips. Another squid reference....hilarious. She didn't dignify him by catching his eye but continued fishing around in the water flue.
"Nothing so far." she replied, "but come back later and I'll push this into the space between your ears, I daresay I'll find something squishy there."
Flaavu snickered obnoxiously. The portly man - perhaps two or three years older than Zoe, she had never had occassion to ask - strolled up closer. Didn't he have work of his own to do?
"You misunderstand Zoe," he said, "it's not the object between my ears that I intend to impress you with."
This time Zoe looked across at the man, her eyes narrowed practically to contemptful slits. "That scarcely heightens my expectations Flaavu."
"What? Oh wait of course...go on then, what revolting sea creature ought I slurp down to get your attention?"
Zoe huffed in amusement and shook her head. "Flaavu, there are not enough lazulis in the crespuscular sea for you to eat such that I would so much as share a bowl of soup with you.
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, as the saying goes, and by now Zoe was more than accustomed to dealing with the characatured version of her homeland's culture that she found parroted day by day in Iris. Unfortunately it seemed the the irritation imparted onto her by her fellow slaves goading was just what was needed to dislodge the unknown obstacle in the water chute, and by the time she had felt something at the far end of the pole give way she had already partly lost her balance, and had no time at all to avoid the sudden gush of cloudy water which cascaded from the hole in the wall. She managed to remain upright, but the surge of water itself caught her squarely enough to leave her utterly drenched from the shoulders down. The thunderous discharge gave way to the sound of Flaavu's hysterical laughter. Zoe chewed her lip and kept her gaze downwards.
"Well," Flaavu guffawed, "that certainly dampened your spirit! I suppose it's as well that you're wanted in the basement cell to light the fire. At least you'll be able to dry off down there."
Zoe looked up, her eyes widening and the edges of her mouth dropping a little. Sure, she knew what night it was. But the branding in particular was an act that made her skin crawl. And she was being given the job of stoking the fire which would sear the flesh of the bound. It wasn't a thought that gave her pleasure.
"So it is that time already?" she sighed, staring off, then looking back at Flaavu with a subtle smile. She strolled up to him and brusquely held out the wooden pole. "Since you were the one who gave me the message, I suppose you'll have to take over the job I was going to do next. You know where the sewage flue is."
Flaavu's face dropped and he snarled at Zoe, taking the pole with a grumble knowing full well that she was right. With a smirk she walked away from him and back into the building via one of the lesser used entrances. It was as well that nobody important saw her in her sodden state. Fortunately, the route to the basement cell was very much an out of the way one. It wasn't a place to which guests were normally treated a viewing...
When she got there she was confronted with the branding brazier. It was almost as though it hadn't been touched since the same time last year. The agonised screams of the victims being branded seemed to still reverberate from the walls. With a morose sigh, she pulled open a hatch and began loading some of the kindling unto the hearth.
The accounts ledger. Might as well be called the 'book of gibberish'. Anselm beamed in amusement, flicking through the pages of the vellum tome, making a few scribbles here and there. Not entirely careful or calculated, but plausible enough not to raise suspicions. Who ever looked at this book apart from him anyway? When Miss Edwards made a purchase in town, did anybody ask to see her coffers to ensure she was able to pay? Or did her creditors worry that her accounts might have run dry with the merchants? No, of course not. Miss Edwards was a part of the eschalon for whom no everyday thing was not easily affordable. Unless she saw fit some day to purchase a nearby city, or make designs for a new temple, it was vanishingly unlikely that anybody would ask to see the ledger which Anselm kept with more creativity than diligence.
He paced the balcony overlooking the front courtyard. It was easy to pretend that this was his own residence, and from time to time it was a pleasant fiction in which to indulge. Truth was, as soon as his duty was done, his quarters were no more opulent than those of the other slaves...which couldn't concievably be further from being described as 'opulent' at all. Even so, the clever design of the building provided good ventilation through the administrative enclave, and it remained one of the more desireable places for a slave to be on a day like this.
A scuttling cresendoed until the source of it appeared on the balcony a short distance behind Anselm.
"Instructions from Miss Edwards." the runner boy said flatly. "The new slave from Syra is to be put to work assisting Juno with the feast, and her belongings collected from her. Those two with Elizabeth and Sylvester will be serving tonight."
Anselm turned around and nodded grimly. A new slave...at the eleventh hour?
"A new slave from Syra you say?" he mused out loud. The boy shifted, naturally uncomfortable with having to contrive an answer from his own mind instread of just repeating a message he had been given.
"Yes, from Syra. Today." the boy said awkwardly. "A...er, woman. Girl. Woman...I..."
"Yes don't hurt yourself." Anselm said condascendingly. "Well this should be take as good news. Perhaps Miss Edwards wishes well enough on her existing servants that she has deigned to draft in some fresh meat to put forward as the bound tonight."
Anselm had read between the lines of the message. The new girl, Juno, Elizabeth and Sylvester serving. That meant only one thing for them. None of which were a huge surprise. Sylvester, perhaps, Anselm had expected to be kept as a novelty, but perhaps there was a shortage of other male slaves to be put forwards. After all, everyone knew it had to be one male and one female who were ultimately....'offered'...
Nevertheless, the sickly pale man leaned cruelly towards the boy and sneered mockingly. "Hmm, speaking of which, you must be of age for the bloodoath yourself now? How long have you been in service here again...?"
The boy went white as a sheet and trembled a little, before Anselm laughed out loud and dismissed him. As the boy left, Anselm remained pacing the balcony, his mirth giving way somewhat to annoyance that he had to deal with a new arrival when there was so much else to be prepared. Still, Miss Edwards wanted the new girl in the kitchen...Anselm was going to have to head that way anyway to check on the feast preparations. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.
Exhaling in resignation, he closed the ledger and swiftly breezed his was out through the upper hall, down the grand stairs and into the western vestibule. Indoors the smooth marble flooring was delightfully cool, and Anselm drew himself up to full height as he made his way in. The appearance of authority was a total pretence, but a new slave would not know this.
The new arrival was not difficult to spot. Her snow-pale skin was an instant giveaway...but her delicate beauty would have no doubt drawn Anselm's attention even if he had not been on the lookout for somebody. He suppressed a grin, walking towards the girls an stopping a respectful distance away, close enough to be heard.
"Syri." he spoke up, "Enough standing about. Today is a very important observance and there is much to be done. Follow me to the kitchen, evidently you've given somebody the impression that is where you'll serve best."
His eyes lingered on her a little longer than necessary, and he took a few steps closer, his gaze settling on her neck.
"Your custodians hitherto were not thorough enough," he said sharply, "you'll have to hand over that jewelry. We're slaves here and fineries do not become us."
He shot out his arm and held it there with his hand open.
He paced the balcony overlooking the front courtyard. It was easy to pretend that this was his own residence, and from time to time it was a pleasant fiction in which to indulge. Truth was, as soon as his duty was done, his quarters were no more opulent than those of the other slaves...which couldn't concievably be further from being described as 'opulent' at all. Even so, the clever design of the building provided good ventilation through the administrative enclave, and it remained one of the more desireable places for a slave to be on a day like this.
A scuttling cresendoed until the source of it appeared on the balcony a short distance behind Anselm.
"Instructions from Miss Edwards." the runner boy said flatly. "The new slave from Syra is to be put to work assisting Juno with the feast, and her belongings collected from her. Those two with Elizabeth and Sylvester will be serving tonight."
Anselm turned around and nodded grimly. A new slave...at the eleventh hour?
"A new slave from Syra you say?" he mused out loud. The boy shifted, naturally uncomfortable with having to contrive an answer from his own mind instread of just repeating a message he had been given.
"Yes, from Syra. Today." the boy said awkwardly. "A...er, woman. Girl. Woman...I..."
"Yes don't hurt yourself." Anselm said condascendingly. "Well this should be take as good news. Perhaps Miss Edwards wishes well enough on her existing servants that she has deigned to draft in some fresh meat to put forward as the bound tonight."
Anselm had read between the lines of the message. The new girl, Juno, Elizabeth and Sylvester serving. That meant only one thing for them. None of which were a huge surprise. Sylvester, perhaps, Anselm had expected to be kept as a novelty, but perhaps there was a shortage of other male slaves to be put forwards. After all, everyone knew it had to be one male and one female who were ultimately....'offered'...
Nevertheless, the sickly pale man leaned cruelly towards the boy and sneered mockingly. "Hmm, speaking of which, you must be of age for the bloodoath yourself now? How long have you been in service here again...?"
The boy went white as a sheet and trembled a little, before Anselm laughed out loud and dismissed him. As the boy left, Anselm remained pacing the balcony, his mirth giving way somewhat to annoyance that he had to deal with a new arrival when there was so much else to be prepared. Still, Miss Edwards wanted the new girl in the kitchen...Anselm was going to have to head that way anyway to check on the feast preparations. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.
Exhaling in resignation, he closed the ledger and swiftly breezed his was out through the upper hall, down the grand stairs and into the western vestibule. Indoors the smooth marble flooring was delightfully cool, and Anselm drew himself up to full height as he made his way in. The appearance of authority was a total pretence, but a new slave would not know this.
The new arrival was not difficult to spot. Her snow-pale skin was an instant giveaway...but her delicate beauty would have no doubt drawn Anselm's attention even if he had not been on the lookout for somebody. He suppressed a grin, walking towards the girls an stopping a respectful distance away, close enough to be heard.
"Syri." he spoke up, "Enough standing about. Today is a very important observance and there is much to be done. Follow me to the kitchen, evidently you've given somebody the impression that is where you'll serve best."
His eyes lingered on her a little longer than necessary, and he took a few steps closer, his gaze settling on her neck.
"Your custodians hitherto were not thorough enough," he said sharply, "you'll have to hand over that jewelry. We're slaves here and fineries do not become us."
He shot out his arm and held it there with his hand open.
Arya stood near one of the marble pillars, waiting for whoever was supposed to instruct her. The slaves around her always had something to do, making her feel awkward, standing and doing nothing. Quite a few had bruising and she tried not to think of the reason. A movement caught her eye, and she turned to see an imposing figure come towards her. He had pale skin; the only one she had seen, and for once she'd did not feel quite so out of place. Her relief was short lived. He walked in with an arrogant stride, and his prideful appearance made Arya feel instantly nervous. He stopped, staring directly at her, and Arya swallowed her uneasiness at the realisation that this was who she had been waiting for.
"Syri.."
Arya immediately stiffened, her previously worried eyes adding a hint of anger. I have a name she thought coldly, but she held her tongue thinking of the nervous and bruised slaves she had seen. His accent was strong and harsh like most of the Tarshans despite his skin colour.
"Enough standing about. Today is a very important observance and there is much to be done. Follow me to the kitchen, evidently you've given somebody the impression that is where you'll serve best."
Arya instantly disliked the man. He stared rather pointedly at her, and as he came closer, she instinctively backed up slightly. He was evidently a slave, from the clothing and cuff, yet he walked around as though he owned the place. She'd been expecting...well, she hadn't known what to expect, but perhaps a little more understanding from those who had been through something similar to herself.
She eyed him nervously, careful to keep her mouth firmly shut. So apparently she was to work in the kitchen for some sort of 'observance'. She wondered about what it would entail, yet decided against asking. Hopefully something to do with food...at the thought her stomach clenched painfully. Yes, food would definitely be a good thing.
When her focus returned to the slave in front of her, she saw him gazing at her neck. Unconsciously she stiffened.
"Your custodians hitherto were not thorough enough," he said sharply, "you'll have to hand over that jewellery. We're slaves here and fineries do not become us."
Her eyes hardened at his extravagant way of speaking and the way he held out his hand, waiting/expecting for her to hand it over. She carefully unhooked the heavily beaded necklace, removing it gently from her neck. She had barely taken the piece off since Aden had given it to her, and her neck felt bare without it. She was careful to avoid looking into his eyes, lest he see that she was hiding something. It seemed he hadn't noticed the small bump and therefore her three most important possession were safe. Wordlessly she dropped the necklace into his open palm, reluctance written all over her face. Seeing that there was nothing to be done about it, she also removed the few bangles she had and placed it into his waiting hand.
She followed slowly behind him to the kitchen area. Everywhere she looked, pointless extravagance decorated the monster of a house. They passed a large dining room with a large oak table. There were five chairs placed carefully around it, with one at the head of the table. This surprised her somewhat, as she'd believed that their was only one mistress. Who where the other chairs for? There was a large amount of noise coming from the back of the room. The entryway to the kitchen was joined directly to the kitchen. When they entered the smell of food caused a sudden wave of dizziness to pass over her, and she automatically reached a hand to the wall to steady herself.
Slaves hurried to and fro from the kitchen area, and from the look of the meal, everything was almost prepared, only a few garnishes were left to do. The sight of so much food and water made her feel sick, and she was so tempted just to reach over and take something. The feeling overwhelmed her and she found herself asking about it.
"Do we get to eat before we work?" Her voice was soft, with a gentle, musical, almost lilting accent to it. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Arya flinched. She'd been told not to speak unless spoken to, and what little colour that remained on her face quickly drained away. She shuffled back a few paces, her eyes alight with new fear, trying to judge the males reaction. At best she prayed he'd answer her question or at the very least ignore her outburst.
Slyvester Garza
Slyvester flicked the sweat off his crinkled forehead and sighed as he carried bags of food towards the kitchen back and forth. Slyvester had just finished making the beds, ironing the mistress clothes and sweeping almost everywhere in the house. Slyvester reached the kitchen and dumped the extremely heavy bag of rice on the ground, his belly grumbled and Slyvester sighed taking a moment to breathe. "Slyvester." someone called and he flinched a bit but soon realized it was that nervous servant boy.
Slyvester breathed in and out a bit heavily and sighed relived that it wasn't who he had been expecting. . "Mistress would like for you to set the dining tables." she muttered out. "Okay." Slyvester nodded and walked towards the dining room, the dining room was a neat and elegant room made of pure and expensive oak wood , a wooden table sat in the middle and a cupboard filled with shiny glasses overlaid, a painting a woman and man made of over colored shapes.
Slyvester took out the clean plates that he could see his reflection on and elegantly placed 6 across the table to match the six chairs that were perfectly set up on the table, Slyvester could smell the food that someone was cooking and evidently the kitchen needed a scrub down so he guess he would be the one to do that to. Slyvester grumbled as he set the silver wear,
when he turned he saw a girl dark haired one walking around, Slyvester bit his lower lip, she seem so weak and fragile like she was about to die. Why would madame buy something so.. dead? was the words that popped to mind and then the bloodoath came to mind.. he still didn't know who was to be partaking.. he wondered what if the new girl was an offering- and he suddenly shook the thought out of his mind and finished setting the table, with scented cloths and everything.
Slyvester walked towards the small closet where they held the cleaning supplies and grabbed a mop and a bucket. He filled the bucket with water and carefully walked into the kitchen, sure not to spill any drop of water or else, you would guess that he was in a whole lot of trouble.
Slyvester frowned when he got into the kitchen the stains from the previous cooking prevailed and showed there tough side, Slyvester grabbed a mop and started scrubbing hard on the surface.
An hour later, it's barely cleaner than it was before. Slyvester sighed again something he just loved to do he sighed because he was unhappy recalling an unpleasant dream last night not to mention the rock hard bed that he slept on.
By the next hour Slyvester was done with that chore, exhausted but done for the day not a chance. Slyvester bumped into one of his friends Juno, he had this strange feeling that something wasn't right, Slyvester bit his lower lip watching Juno greet him a quick and fat 'hello' before walking swiftly away.
Slyvester went out side to sweep the platform, outside he spotted madame, she was sitting enjoying the hot breeze. Slyvester eyed her for a while before continuing to sweep and keep it clean. She was truly the devil, her whoel figure and attitude represent hell and this place was surely hell. Slyvester wondered if this was just a dream he kept pinching himself to wake up, but sadly this is more than a nightmare it's a twisted reality.
Slyvester looked at the perfect lawn, he remembered when he had to use a pair of rusty clippers to clip the whole lawn, Slyvester continued sweeping the pathway outside. Until the devil itself decided to speak, she called his name so forcefully but elegantly it could mean anything at most.
"Yes, Mistress Edwards." Slyvester responded his voice shaky his mind trying to think of the worst she could possibly due, he was already weak and his body breaking due to lack of food. Slyvester faced her and looked her in the eye and and waited, for her to respond in such fashion. The sun shine on Slyvester's head the drops of sweat rolling down his face, maybe it was nervousness or maybe it was the aching heat or maybe just maybe it was fear itself.
Slyvester flicked the sweat off his crinkled forehead and sighed as he carried bags of food towards the kitchen back and forth. Slyvester had just finished making the beds, ironing the mistress clothes and sweeping almost everywhere in the house. Slyvester reached the kitchen and dumped the extremely heavy bag of rice on the ground, his belly grumbled and Slyvester sighed taking a moment to breathe. "Slyvester." someone called and he flinched a bit but soon realized it was that nervous servant boy.
Slyvester breathed in and out a bit heavily and sighed relived that it wasn't who he had been expecting. . "Mistress would like for you to set the dining tables." she muttered out. "Okay." Slyvester nodded and walked towards the dining room, the dining room was a neat and elegant room made of pure and expensive oak wood , a wooden table sat in the middle and a cupboard filled with shiny glasses overlaid, a painting a woman and man made of over colored shapes.
Slyvester took out the clean plates that he could see his reflection on and elegantly placed 6 across the table to match the six chairs that were perfectly set up on the table, Slyvester could smell the food that someone was cooking and evidently the kitchen needed a scrub down so he guess he would be the one to do that to. Slyvester grumbled as he set the silver wear,
when he turned he saw a girl dark haired one walking around, Slyvester bit his lower lip, she seem so weak and fragile like she was about to die. Why would madame buy something so.. dead? was the words that popped to mind and then the bloodoath came to mind.. he still didn't know who was to be partaking.. he wondered what if the new girl was an offering- and he suddenly shook the thought out of his mind and finished setting the table, with scented cloths and everything.
Slyvester walked towards the small closet where they held the cleaning supplies and grabbed a mop and a bucket. He filled the bucket with water and carefully walked into the kitchen, sure not to spill any drop of water or else, you would guess that he was in a whole lot of trouble.
Slyvester frowned when he got into the kitchen the stains from the previous cooking prevailed and showed there tough side, Slyvester grabbed a mop and started scrubbing hard on the surface.
An hour later, it's barely cleaner than it was before. Slyvester sighed again something he just loved to do he sighed because he was unhappy recalling an unpleasant dream last night not to mention the rock hard bed that he slept on.
By the next hour Slyvester was done with that chore, exhausted but done for the day not a chance. Slyvester bumped into one of his friends Juno, he had this strange feeling that something wasn't right, Slyvester bit his lower lip watching Juno greet him a quick and fat 'hello' before walking swiftly away.
Slyvester went out side to sweep the platform, outside he spotted madame, she was sitting enjoying the hot breeze. Slyvester eyed her for a while before continuing to sweep and keep it clean. She was truly the devil, her whoel figure and attitude represent hell and this place was surely hell. Slyvester wondered if this was just a dream he kept pinching himself to wake up, but sadly this is more than a nightmare it's a twisted reality.
Slyvester looked at the perfect lawn, he remembered when he had to use a pair of rusty clippers to clip the whole lawn, Slyvester continued sweeping the pathway outside. Until the devil itself decided to speak, she called his name so forcefully but elegantly it could mean anything at most.
"Yes, Mistress Edwards." Slyvester responded his voice shaky his mind trying to think of the worst she could possibly due, he was already weak and his body breaking due to lack of food. Slyvester faced her and looked her in the eye and and waited, for her to respond in such fashion. The sun shine on Slyvester's head the drops of sweat rolling down his face, maybe it was nervousness or maybe it was the aching heat or maybe just maybe it was fear itself.
Juno was in the middle of finishing the desert pastries when a few other slaves beside him started whispering. A dark eyebrow twitched with annoyance but the young slave returned to mixing the filling of a pie. There weren't any decent worker here. He almost smirked at that. Juno doubted that Angela thought anymore of him than what he thought of those around him. The only time he was useful was when he was in the kitchen. And even then, Juno only prepare what he felt like making. Sure, all of his cooking was amazing, but he was sure it irked her that he never took requests, or orders. He pointed at a woman who was surely a few years older, Juno tried to recall her name since she was actually someone that listened but nothing came to mind. He had not been there long after all. He pointed at the pie filling and she nodded in understanding as she took the bowl away. The aromas in the crowded kitchen gave him a sense of accomplishment. Cooking had always been one of his favorite pass times. His hands swiftly, expertly started dicing up some exotice fruits with a sharp knife. Meanwhile, a couple of other slaves came up to him with questioning eyes and he immediately sent them to stir the soup and fetching more ingredients. Everything was done with his eyes and the gesture of his hands and arms. Juno disliked speaking. There seemed to be no point to it whatsoever. It was bothersome to say the least. Though when he had to he did.
Juno had always thought of this place as his kitchen. Granted he had only been there for a few months.... but he was easily the best cook there and no one really challenged the way he took control of the meals and such. It didn’t mean that anyone actually liked him, it was more like respect. Angela could hurt him as much as she wanted but Juno hadn’t yet broken. He was much stronger than that and had actually endure much worse. So the young man set the fruit aside and surveyed the hurried atmosphere of the kitchen. It was probably the one place where he felt at peace. He made a lot of his homeland creations. It probably did not suit the household’s tastes but it was still better than what most of the other cooks could come up with. Juno smiled slightly as he observed the other people rushing about. Now that he thought about it, he sounded very arrogant in his mind. However, he should have that right at least. It wasn’t as if he took credit. The seniors did. But if Angela was intelligent enough, which Juno was sure she was, she probably knew who made most of her meals.
Juno searched for Sylvestor. Yes, this man he had actually learned the name of. He was decent enough. A good cook. Juno didn’t compare himself to him though, the two had very different styles after all, coming from opposite cultures. He felt a wave of pity. He was probably doing some physical labor for Angela. She seemed to love ordering him about even when she knew he didn’t have the greatest physical strength. Juno had run into him earlier but he couldn’t see him now. Hopefully, he was doing alright.
Then the door opened and he heard the sound of foot steps. Naturally he would turn to look and was surprised to see a very pale, fragile looking girl. Beside her was... a hunter. He turned away disdainfully. He didn’t like the man. He was so utterly pompous and self confident. He felt sorry for the girl. Being in his presence was something Juno would not tolerate.
"Do we get to eat before we work?" She spoke and the young cook turned to look at her stifling a sigh. It would seem that it was now a time to talk. Juno walked foward quickly and put a hand reluctantly on her shoulder. He was taken by surprise. She really was a skinny girl.
“A new slave, Anselm? I was in need of more hands anyway.” Juno glanced at her and willed her to stay silent. “Go wash your hands then help Azuria with the cake. She’ll tell you what to do.” He pointed with a long arm at a pretty slender woman with long red hair. She was also a few years older than himself and was one of the few he would call friends, along with Sylvestor. So Juno gave the new girl a gentle push. “Dinner’s almost done, Anselm. Was there anything else you needed?” The Kaskarian looked at the man coldly. "We have much work to do here."
Juno had always thought of this place as his kitchen. Granted he had only been there for a few months.... but he was easily the best cook there and no one really challenged the way he took control of the meals and such. It didn’t mean that anyone actually liked him, it was more like respect. Angela could hurt him as much as she wanted but Juno hadn’t yet broken. He was much stronger than that and had actually endure much worse. So the young man set the fruit aside and surveyed the hurried atmosphere of the kitchen. It was probably the one place where he felt at peace. He made a lot of his homeland creations. It probably did not suit the household’s tastes but it was still better than what most of the other cooks could come up with. Juno smiled slightly as he observed the other people rushing about. Now that he thought about it, he sounded very arrogant in his mind. However, he should have that right at least. It wasn’t as if he took credit. The seniors did. But if Angela was intelligent enough, which Juno was sure she was, she probably knew who made most of her meals.
Juno searched for Sylvestor. Yes, this man he had actually learned the name of. He was decent enough. A good cook. Juno didn’t compare himself to him though, the two had very different styles after all, coming from opposite cultures. He felt a wave of pity. He was probably doing some physical labor for Angela. She seemed to love ordering him about even when she knew he didn’t have the greatest physical strength. Juno had run into him earlier but he couldn’t see him now. Hopefully, he was doing alright.
Then the door opened and he heard the sound of foot steps. Naturally he would turn to look and was surprised to see a very pale, fragile looking girl. Beside her was... a hunter. He turned away disdainfully. He didn’t like the man. He was so utterly pompous and self confident. He felt sorry for the girl. Being in his presence was something Juno would not tolerate.
"Do we get to eat before we work?" She spoke and the young cook turned to look at her stifling a sigh. It would seem that it was now a time to talk. Juno walked foward quickly and put a hand reluctantly on her shoulder. He was taken by surprise. She really was a skinny girl.
“A new slave, Anselm? I was in need of more hands anyway.” Juno glanced at her and willed her to stay silent. “Go wash your hands then help Azuria with the cake. She’ll tell you what to do.” He pointed with a long arm at a pretty slender woman with long red hair. She was also a few years older than himself and was one of the few he would call friends, along with Sylvestor. So Juno gave the new girl a gentle push. “Dinner’s almost done, Anselm. Was there anything else you needed?” The Kaskarian looked at the man coldly. "We have much work to do here."
Slavery is a funny thing. Your treated horribly, fed horribly, and people can't even bother to look at you like your a real person. But still, people with enough money spend large amounts of money on slaves, and treasured them dearly. Samuel chuckled as he thought about it, picking up a pail of water and lugging it along side him as he made his way through the giant hallways. He was to deposit these pails of water to each slave's room, to serve as a bath of a sort. He stopped at yet another room, placing the pail right outside the door before returning to collection of water he had downstairs.
If only they knew how much money they could save by doing all the work their selves. He thought to himself, an amused grin appearing on his face. Other slaves, who had long since lost all signs of emotion, gave him weird looks, but he simply ignored them and continued on his way. Halfway down the stairs, he heard somebody shout his name, piercing the silence that hung around him. He turned, an eyebrow making it's way up to his hairline, to see the slave that the mistress used for delivering news.
"Miss Edwards wants you to light the fire for the brands." The young slave announced, and with a bow he was off again. Samuel stifled a grimace and continued down the stairs. He wasn't a fan of the BloodOath ceremony , but he had to follow the traditions. He passed his buckets full of water, informing another slave to distribute them for him. He wasn't supposed to pass jobs along, but he wasn't about to leave them in the middle of the hallway and allow the mistress to punish him for not doing his job. He took yet another set of stairs down to the basement, his foot steps making soft thuds off of the stone steps as he went on in silence. When he finally got to the dingy door, he pushed it open and closed it again behind him. He saw another slave, whom's name he couldn't remember, but simply gave a hint of a smile to her before helping with the job of loading the fire with fire wood and the like. He then paused, and reached for the box of matches that sat on the mantle, easily pushing open the box and withdrawing a single match. He quickly struck it across the box, before tossing it into the fire. The kindling ate up the flame, and soon a warm fire was lighting every corner of the dark basement. Looking over at the slave, who he was pretty sure was named Zoe, he stood and brushed off the knees of his white pants.
"We should clean this place up. Seems like something Miss Edwards would want us to do." He said, his voice seeming to echo in the room even though he really spoke rather quietly. He said the mistress' name with extra force, the thought of the BloodOath ceremony making him hate the woman at the present. Normally, he wouldn't show such signs of displease, but he doubted the girl in front of him was going to rat him out. He managed to bring his mind back to cleaning the basement, and looked around. The room was pretty much bare, not baring any cleaning supplies. They were going to have to go upstairs and find some on their own. He eyed the girl out of her corner of his eye, trying to find some signs to see if she was the depressed and mopey kind, or one that still had some sort of hope left. He would have to find out on his own, apparently.
If only they knew how much money they could save by doing all the work their selves. He thought to himself, an amused grin appearing on his face. Other slaves, who had long since lost all signs of emotion, gave him weird looks, but he simply ignored them and continued on his way. Halfway down the stairs, he heard somebody shout his name, piercing the silence that hung around him. He turned, an eyebrow making it's way up to his hairline, to see the slave that the mistress used for delivering news.
"Miss Edwards wants you to light the fire for the brands." The young slave announced, and with a bow he was off again. Samuel stifled a grimace and continued down the stairs. He wasn't a fan of the BloodOath ceremony , but he had to follow the traditions. He passed his buckets full of water, informing another slave to distribute them for him. He wasn't supposed to pass jobs along, but he wasn't about to leave them in the middle of the hallway and allow the mistress to punish him for not doing his job. He took yet another set of stairs down to the basement, his foot steps making soft thuds off of the stone steps as he went on in silence. When he finally got to the dingy door, he pushed it open and closed it again behind him. He saw another slave, whom's name he couldn't remember, but simply gave a hint of a smile to her before helping with the job of loading the fire with fire wood and the like. He then paused, and reached for the box of matches that sat on the mantle, easily pushing open the box and withdrawing a single match. He quickly struck it across the box, before tossing it into the fire. The kindling ate up the flame, and soon a warm fire was lighting every corner of the dark basement. Looking over at the slave, who he was pretty sure was named Zoe, he stood and brushed off the knees of his white pants.
"We should clean this place up. Seems like something Miss Edwards would want us to do." He said, his voice seeming to echo in the room even though he really spoke rather quietly. He said the mistress' name with extra force, the thought of the BloodOath ceremony making him hate the woman at the present. Normally, he wouldn't show such signs of displease, but he doubted the girl in front of him was going to rat him out. He managed to bring his mind back to cleaning the basement, and looked around. The room was pretty much bare, not baring any cleaning supplies. They were going to have to go upstairs and find some on their own. He eyed the girl out of her corner of his eye, trying to find some signs to see if she was the depressed and mopey kind, or one that still had some sort of hope left. He would have to find out on his own, apparently.
Anselms countenance softened at her cooperation...but not in a friendly way, more in a way that suggested he found this whole business tiresome and that he was at least glad she wasn't going to make it harder than it needed to be. As he took the items she handed over, he examined her eyes. They certainly were striking, and her beauty was undeniable. A Syri they had said...a fugitive or a captive maybe? Anselm didn't trouble himself too much with the affairs from the north, but he knew the people of the tundra ought to have learned by now that Tarsha would not be snubbed. That a delicate girl such as this ended up in slaver - and to be put forward as bound, no less - was a sign in itself that Syra was still paying the price for it's prideful error.
"Good." he said curtly, slipping the jewelry securely into his pocket ready to be turned over to Miss Edwards later. "This way then."
He strode directly towards the kitchen, where a symphony of aromas were already starting to billow around the scullary quarters. Anselm felt the tingling of his mouth starting to water. It wasn't something he could take for granted, but the last two years he'd been invited to the bloodoath table, and there was no reason to doubt that tonight would be any different. He'd not disgraced himself in any way...or at least, not in any way that he hadn't been able to give the appearance of being some other poor slave's fault...
The heat from the kitchen hearth as they entered could scarcely negate to coldness from the other slaves towards Anselm. It didn't bother him. He endeared himself to some of his fellow servants, not so well to others. In the kitchen, he had no friends, and that had been especially the case since that boy Juno had been taken in. Juno held a transparent mistrust of Anselm, it was obvious. In in a way that worried Anselm. It meant that Juno was insightful and clever...
He barely had the patience to answer the girls question about eating before Juno interrupted and spared him the effort. Anselm glowered at the boy.
"If it was merely help and not 'hands' you needed I'd have suggested you train up some of the vermin that frequent the pantry." he snorted. "But no, that is all. Oh, actually one other thing..."
His face changed into a smirk. "Once dinner is ready, do remember to await word as to who will be...serving. Tonight as you know, the role bears with it much resonsibility."
He looked at the Syri girl who had, with Junos help, put some distance between herself and himself.
"The midday break was a long time ago," he said, "if you weren't given food then then I pity you, because your next meal comes purely at the whim and favour of our mistress. But if I were you...I wouldn't accept anything that might make you less light on your feet. You'll understand my meaning in due course."
He snorted again and turned, making for the kitchen door.
"Good." he said curtly, slipping the jewelry securely into his pocket ready to be turned over to Miss Edwards later. "This way then."
He strode directly towards the kitchen, where a symphony of aromas were already starting to billow around the scullary quarters. Anselm felt the tingling of his mouth starting to water. It wasn't something he could take for granted, but the last two years he'd been invited to the bloodoath table, and there was no reason to doubt that tonight would be any different. He'd not disgraced himself in any way...or at least, not in any way that he hadn't been able to give the appearance of being some other poor slave's fault...
The heat from the kitchen hearth as they entered could scarcely negate to coldness from the other slaves towards Anselm. It didn't bother him. He endeared himself to some of his fellow servants, not so well to others. In the kitchen, he had no friends, and that had been especially the case since that boy Juno had been taken in. Juno held a transparent mistrust of Anselm, it was obvious. In in a way that worried Anselm. It meant that Juno was insightful and clever...
He barely had the patience to answer the girls question about eating before Juno interrupted and spared him the effort. Anselm glowered at the boy.
"If it was merely help and not 'hands' you needed I'd have suggested you train up some of the vermin that frequent the pantry." he snorted. "But no, that is all. Oh, actually one other thing..."
His face changed into a smirk. "Once dinner is ready, do remember to await word as to who will be...serving. Tonight as you know, the role bears with it much resonsibility."
He looked at the Syri girl who had, with Junos help, put some distance between herself and himself.
"The midday break was a long time ago," he said, "if you weren't given food then then I pity you, because your next meal comes purely at the whim and favour of our mistress. But if I were you...I wouldn't accept anything that might make you less light on your feet. You'll understand my meaning in due course."
He snorted again and turned, making for the kitchen door.
The brazier was deceptively deep and broad, and the task of filling it with kindling proved to be a longer and more arduous one than Zoe had expected. So much so that she was starting to feel surprised that she had been sent to do it by herself. Time was ticking by after all.
Absentmindedly she began humming a traditional island folk song to herself. It wasn't that it evoked feelings of warmth and affection for her homeland, it served more as a reminder that whatever she might be called on to do was for the good of her people. To curry the favour of the god, this was clearly the root of the Tarshan's good fortune.
She took a deep breath. That was an easy thing to say. It hadn't been so easy to say in that dread moment when it seemed certain that it was her blood that would be spilled to appease the deity.
She realised she had slowed in her work, when her thoughts were interrupted by another person entering the room. She immediately leapt back into action, grabbing handfulls of dried wood and pushing them in amongst the coals. Aware of the newcomer joining in the task, she said nothing at first, but glanced up to see who her help was. She recognised him immediately. Samuel. She didn't know that much about him - slaves weren't afforded much chance for idle chit-chat after all - but she knew that he was born into all of this. What then, she wondered, was his own personal justification for taking part in the bloodoath? That he'd never known anything different? Or was it simply that he had not choice. Did Zoe herself even have a choice, having found justification for her actions?
"Clean..." she repeated after him, looking around. The place looked like it had scarcely been entered in a whole year. She wasn't sure how neat and tidy it was required to look given it's purpose...certainly the poor soul being branded wasn't going to care too much about cleanliness. But, as Samuel said, it was something 'Miss Edwards' would want.
"Yeah, we should." she said resolutely, turning and facing Samuel for a moment. She couldn't remember much about his involvement in previous bloodoaths. Perhaps that was a good thing. If he'd been there looming over her last year...this would have been a much more uncomfortable situation.
"Have we, er..." she began hesitantly, "...heard anything about whole will be taking the roles tonight?"
Absentmindedly she began humming a traditional island folk song to herself. It wasn't that it evoked feelings of warmth and affection for her homeland, it served more as a reminder that whatever she might be called on to do was for the good of her people. To curry the favour of the god, this was clearly the root of the Tarshan's good fortune.
She took a deep breath. That was an easy thing to say. It hadn't been so easy to say in that dread moment when it seemed certain that it was her blood that would be spilled to appease the deity.
She realised she had slowed in her work, when her thoughts were interrupted by another person entering the room. She immediately leapt back into action, grabbing handfulls of dried wood and pushing them in amongst the coals. Aware of the newcomer joining in the task, she said nothing at first, but glanced up to see who her help was. She recognised him immediately. Samuel. She didn't know that much about him - slaves weren't afforded much chance for idle chit-chat after all - but she knew that he was born into all of this. What then, she wondered, was his own personal justification for taking part in the bloodoath? That he'd never known anything different? Or was it simply that he had not choice. Did Zoe herself even have a choice, having found justification for her actions?
"Clean..." she repeated after him, looking around. The place looked like it had scarcely been entered in a whole year. She wasn't sure how neat and tidy it was required to look given it's purpose...certainly the poor soul being branded wasn't going to care too much about cleanliness. But, as Samuel said, it was something 'Miss Edwards' would want.
"Yeah, we should." she said resolutely, turning and facing Samuel for a moment. She couldn't remember much about his involvement in previous bloodoaths. Perhaps that was a good thing. If he'd been there looming over her last year...this would have been a much more uncomfortable situation.
"Have we, er..." she began hesitantly, "...heard anything about whole will be taking the roles tonight?"
Arya flinched as she felt a hand on her shoulder, glancing up to find a boy her own age confronting the other male servant. He was serious looking, with dark brown hair falling over his forehead, and intimidating brown eyes. He evidently didn't like the male in front of him.
“A new slave, Anselm? I was in need of more hands anyway.”
Anselm. So that was his name. The boy glanced at her, warning to hold her tongue, and Arya was only to happy to agree.
“Go wash your hands then help Azuria with the cake. She’ll tell you what to do.”
Arya gave him a quick nod. Turning in the direction of the woman. He gave her a gentle push in that direction, and Arya was only too happy to put some distance between herself and Anselm.
“Dinner’s almost done, Anselm. Was there anything else you needed? We have much work to do here."
Arya stiffened slightly at the ice in his voice, she dared glance back seeing Anselm glaring straight at him.
"If it was merely help and not 'hands' you needed I'd have suggested you train up some of the vermin that frequent the pantry. But no, that is all. Oh, actually one other thing..."
Something about Anselm's expression which worried Arya.
"Once dinner is ready, do remember to await word as to who will be...serving. Tonight as you know, the role bears with it much resonsibility."
Arya shivered involuntarily as Anselm looked directly at her. Clearly his words meant something to both of them, however Arya didn't understand. Whatever it was, it evidently wasn't something good.
"The midday break was a long time ago," he said, "if you weren't given food then then I pity you, because your next meal comes purely at the whim and favour of our mistress. But if I were you...I wouldn't accept anything that might make you less light on your feet. You'll understand my meaning in due course."
Arya stared at him in confusion, before glancing helplessly at the male that had helped her. His last words held no meaning to her, yet according to him, she would find out soon enough. The first sentence made enough sense to her however, evidently she wasn't going to be fed anytime soon. She prayed Miss Edwards would look favourably on her servants tonight.
Anselm had evidently had enough of the kitchen, and had turned to leave. Still confused about his words, Arya was tempted to ask, however her previous mistake held her back. She kept her mouth firmly closed, and attempted to ignore the growing feeling of fear and worry at what was coming up.
She already owed someone here, the boy, for saving her from Anselm. She didn't dare thank him however, but she gave him a grateful look before heading to the buckets in the corner.
As she carefully washed her hands she tried to figure out exactly why she'd been purchased. Miss Edwards had obviously wanted her for something from the way she'd been bartering with the slave trader. Currently the traits that she'd been wanted for were weakness, and now Anselm had hinted on speed. Her brow knitted together in confusion. It didn't make sense. Perhaps she was wanted for a messenger, and Miss Edwards had felt sorry for her. As soon as the thought entered her mind, Arya dismissed it. The woman didn't have an ounce of pity in her. Sighing in frustration, Arya gave up trying to figure it out, and instead headed over to Azuria.
(Sorry that this is only about 500 words. School is stressing me out ._. )
Belle dragged the broom bristles slowly across the ground. The floor already seemed clean, so this task was pointless, but she does her best at doing what her mistress tells her. After about an hour of sweeping, she was sure that there wasn't as much as a speck of dust or filth anywhere. Belle slowly pushed away a strand of hair that was sticking to her sweaty face. "It's sort of like when me and Melody would play in the forest in the middle of summer, with the unbearable heat-" She quickly swiped away a tear that had begun it's descent down her face. "No more of that" She told herself sternly, and she quickly hurried off to put the broom back in it's proper place.
At the storage cabinet, Belle spotted something. A pair of rusty pliers "Perfect," She smiled. Belle had been craving to have an excuse to get outside. She placed the broom down carefully, knowing that if it broke, she would pay. Grabbing the pliers, she quickly made her way to the garden, not saying as much as "Excuse me" to the slaves she shoved aside on her way there. Belle swung open the door, and let the soft sunlight hit her face. But she knew better than to smile or laugh out of pure bliss, because she knew that the mistress always kept a close eye on the garden. Belle made her way over to the apple tree with her head down, trying her best to look as miserable as the rest of the slaves.
She breathed in the smells of the outdoors. The smokiness of the air, the sweetness of the apples, combined with a little tinge of freshly cut grass made her feel at home, almost as if she were lying next to the scraggly apple tree in her back yard. She quickly began to snip at what very few offending branches hung out of place. She dragged out the time she spent in the garden, and after about 45 minutes, she'd done everything there was to possibly have been done, so she slowly went back inside.
After putting the shears reluctantly back into the storage cabinet, Belle found that she had nothing else to do, so she did something that no other slave would dare to try. She sat down on the ground, and did nothing. No work, nothing. She just sang a sweet lullaby that her mother had taught her. "Let them find me" she thought "Let them beat me. Let them have their fun"
Belle was shocked that after 15 minutes of her just sitting there, no one had taken notice. She hopped up, quickly remembering that she was supposed to help the blonde slave. "Elizabeth," She whispers, remembering the girl's name. She quickly went to do her task, thinking that she had already pushed her luck enough. Elizabeth was easy enough to find, considering that not that many people have the same shade of blonde hair that Elizabeth possess. Belle walks over to her and says "Hello, Elizabeth, and welcome to hell. Sorry, but I'm going to have to have any personal possessions you have on you." She stuck out her hand, feeling guilty. She remembered how awful it had been for herself to give up her personal possessions, especially the wooden carving of a hummingbird her father had made for her.
Belle dragged the broom bristles slowly across the ground. The floor already seemed clean, so this task was pointless, but she does her best at doing what her mistress tells her. After about an hour of sweeping, she was sure that there wasn't as much as a speck of dust or filth anywhere. Belle slowly pushed away a strand of hair that was sticking to her sweaty face. "It's sort of like when me and Melody would play in the forest in the middle of summer, with the unbearable heat-" She quickly swiped away a tear that had begun it's descent down her face. "No more of that" She told herself sternly, and she quickly hurried off to put the broom back in it's proper place.
At the storage cabinet, Belle spotted something. A pair of rusty pliers "Perfect," She smiled. Belle had been craving to have an excuse to get outside. She placed the broom down carefully, knowing that if it broke, she would pay. Grabbing the pliers, she quickly made her way to the garden, not saying as much as "Excuse me" to the slaves she shoved aside on her way there. Belle swung open the door, and let the soft sunlight hit her face. But she knew better than to smile or laugh out of pure bliss, because she knew that the mistress always kept a close eye on the garden. Belle made her way over to the apple tree with her head down, trying her best to look as miserable as the rest of the slaves.
She breathed in the smells of the outdoors. The smokiness of the air, the sweetness of the apples, combined with a little tinge of freshly cut grass made her feel at home, almost as if she were lying next to the scraggly apple tree in her back yard. She quickly began to snip at what very few offending branches hung out of place. She dragged out the time she spent in the garden, and after about 45 minutes, she'd done everything there was to possibly have been done, so she slowly went back inside.
After putting the shears reluctantly back into the storage cabinet, Belle found that she had nothing else to do, so she did something that no other slave would dare to try. She sat down on the ground, and did nothing. No work, nothing. She just sang a sweet lullaby that her mother had taught her. "Let them find me" she thought "Let them beat me. Let them have their fun"
Belle was shocked that after 15 minutes of her just sitting there, no one had taken notice. She hopped up, quickly remembering that she was supposed to help the blonde slave. "Elizabeth," She whispers, remembering the girl's name. She quickly went to do her task, thinking that she had already pushed her luck enough. Elizabeth was easy enough to find, considering that not that many people have the same shade of blonde hair that Elizabeth possess. Belle walks over to her and says "Hello, Elizabeth, and welcome to hell. Sorry, but I'm going to have to have any personal possessions you have on you." She stuck out her hand, feeling guilty. She remembered how awful it had been for herself to give up her personal possessions, especially the wooden carving of a hummingbird her father had made for her.
"If it was merely help and not 'hands' you needed I'd have suggested you train up some of the vermin that frequent the pantry. But no, that is all. Oh, actually one other thing..." With a twinge of annoyance, Juno turned to the older man, glaring cooly, but the next words made him pale more so than he already was.
"Once dinner is ready, do remember to await word as to who will be...serving. Tonight as you know, the role bears with it much responsibility."
Juno had to force himself to stay calm. His dark brown eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the man before him but did not reply. It was something he had seen coming. He should not have felt surprised and actually, it was the chance he had been waiting for all these passed months. If he merely wanted to live, Juno would have abided by every word Angela spoke. The tall dark haired boy just watched the other slave with obvious dislike as he addressed the new girl who could not have been much older or younger than him. Even after Anselm had already left, he watched the door in concentration. His words were not only meant for him but for her as well. Juno glanced at the girl who was now helping Azuria. Well, she certainly looked the part. Pretty but weak. She looked to have some spirit but what did that matter if it was not put to use?
He returned to his little area and washed his hands. There were more than enough scraps. Not a single person here would bat an eyelash if a few went missing. Juno had always turned a blind eye when one would be unable to control the urge for a little extra taste. His hands gathered up the pieces of fruit he had been chopping earlier and quickly picked out the ‘uglier’ pieces. Those usually ended up in someone’s mouth or the trash anyway. No one would miss them. Then he started walking around and surveying the other’s cook’s works. If this was to be the last meal he prepared, he wanted it to be the best that Angela and her household had ever tasted. throughout it all, Juno spent some time taking the scraps from the ingredients. It wasn’t much though. It only filled up a large handful in the napkin is what held in.
Last, he stood beside Azuria and the new girl. He offered a solemn smile to the older women who returned the gesture sadly.Then he looked at the other slave.“Help me carry something from the pantry.” It was the place where all the most expensive cheeses and wines were stored. It was usually a place that only a few of them were allowed into. He grabbed her thin wrist gently and pulled her to the back, glaring at anyone who looked at him questioningly. Juno had a bad feeling about tonight and it would be best if he had an ally, no matter how weak or frail she seemed.
He shut the door behind him and placed the little tiny bundle of scraps, a mixture of different food bits. Sure if he was caught, he’d probably be punished but if what he predicted was true... It wouldn’t matter anymore, would it? “Eat it quickly. Speed will be important but hunger will only slow you down.” He felt a wave of dizziness. Juno never spoke this much in one day. He brushed a hair off his white tunic and grabbed a couple of wine bottles. “Carry these out once your done.” Grabbing a hunk of finely aged cheese, Juno offered the new slave one small smile before exiting.
"Once dinner is ready, do remember to await word as to who will be...serving. Tonight as you know, the role bears with it much responsibility."
Juno had to force himself to stay calm. His dark brown eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the man before him but did not reply. It was something he had seen coming. He should not have felt surprised and actually, it was the chance he had been waiting for all these passed months. If he merely wanted to live, Juno would have abided by every word Angela spoke. The tall dark haired boy just watched the other slave with obvious dislike as he addressed the new girl who could not have been much older or younger than him. Even after Anselm had already left, he watched the door in concentration. His words were not only meant for him but for her as well. Juno glanced at the girl who was now helping Azuria. Well, she certainly looked the part. Pretty but weak. She looked to have some spirit but what did that matter if it was not put to use?
He returned to his little area and washed his hands. There were more than enough scraps. Not a single person here would bat an eyelash if a few went missing. Juno had always turned a blind eye when one would be unable to control the urge for a little extra taste. His hands gathered up the pieces of fruit he had been chopping earlier and quickly picked out the ‘uglier’ pieces. Those usually ended up in someone’s mouth or the trash anyway. No one would miss them. Then he started walking around and surveying the other’s cook’s works. If this was to be the last meal he prepared, he wanted it to be the best that Angela and her household had ever tasted. throughout it all, Juno spent some time taking the scraps from the ingredients. It wasn’t much though. It only filled up a large handful in the napkin is what held in.
Last, he stood beside Azuria and the new girl. He offered a solemn smile to the older women who returned the gesture sadly.Then he looked at the other slave.“Help me carry something from the pantry.” It was the place where all the most expensive cheeses and wines were stored. It was usually a place that only a few of them were allowed into. He grabbed her thin wrist gently and pulled her to the back, glaring at anyone who looked at him questioningly. Juno had a bad feeling about tonight and it would be best if he had an ally, no matter how weak or frail she seemed.
He shut the door behind him and placed the little tiny bundle of scraps, a mixture of different food bits. Sure if he was caught, he’d probably be punished but if what he predicted was true... It wouldn’t matter anymore, would it? “Eat it quickly. Speed will be important but hunger will only slow you down.” He felt a wave of dizziness. Juno never spoke this much in one day. He brushed a hair off his white tunic and grabbed a couple of wine bottles. “Carry these out once your done.” Grabbing a hunk of finely aged cheese, Juno offered the new slave one small smile before exiting.
Elizabeth's unsteady glare was focused on the floor in front of her, her fingers twirling the leather bracelet around her wrist unconsciously. She had arrived at the grand house just hours before, and in those short hours she had been instructed to change into the white dress she wore now. Her hair had also been put in a braid at some point, but she wasn't sure exactly when that was. Now she stood in one of the hallways, ignoring the slaves that were bustling around her. Nobody stopped to tell her what was happening, or where she was. None of them even looked at her for more then a second. She let out a sigh of both depression and frustration, and was considering trying to escape through one of the windows, when she was brought out of thought from somebody finally speaking to her.
"Hello, Elizabeth, and welcome to hell. Sorry, but I'm going to have to have any personal possessions you have on you." The blonde looked up in horror at the hand that was held out in front of her. The bracelet was all she had, but it was given to her by her mom a long time ago. Then there was always the problem of being punished for not doing something, as the mistress had warned her about when she had bought her. Closing her eyes for a second to mull it over, the option to run from the castle-like home was looking better and better. She got ready to dash away, but at the last second she found herself dropping the leather bracelet into the dark-haired slave's hand. She closed her eyes again, this time to prevent tears from spilling over.
No, strong. You have to be strong. Elizabeth mentally scolded herself, opening her eyes yet again and clenching her jaw. The female still hadn't left. She probably had to show her around, or something. She did only remember seeing a small amount of the house, which included the kitchen, and a small room that must serve as her bedroom. Her eyes darted around the hallway, yet the same image was still there. Slaves everywhere, whether they be cleaning or trying to get to another part of the household. One boy walking by caught her eye. His pasty skin was covered in bruises, and his bones seemed to stick out of his body like he hadn't eaten in years. A small whimper of fear escaped her lips, not wanting to end up looking like the boy. She never was one to be self absorbed in appearance, but she always had thought she was rather pretty and wanted to stay that way.
Suddenly, she felt a gnawing pain in her stomach as she remembered how hungry she was. She desperately wanted to ask for some food, but kept her mouth shut and ignored her hunger. After all, she never exactly ate like royalty before. Mostly scraps, and anything that was cheap enough to be bought in the small budget they had. The thought of living in the shack didn't exactly give her a nostalgic feeling. Not like her dad would be looking for her anyway. Most likely celebrating he had one less mouth to feed. The blonde dropped her eyes back to the floor, wanting more then anything for her to suddenly wake up and find that this whole day was just a nightmare. Sadly, it didn't work that way. She would have to make the best of it.
"Can you call me Ellie?" Elizabeth blurted out, thinking that if she had to stay here at last she could make some good out of it. Just a little at a time. She reluctantly brought her eyes up to look at the other girl, remembering her mom's constant reminders on manners. She almost smiled at the thought, but decided against it at the last second as she saw all the slaves, who had faces clean of emotion. She didn't want to stick out anymore then she already did.
Evening was fast approaching. The sun was slowly descending from it's place in the sky. Angela prayed that this years Bound would bring another plentiful year for Tarsha. So far it had done her well. Never had a Bound escaped the sacrifice in her household. A puzzled look cam over her features. On second thoughts, they never made it. She frowned slightly. This BloodOath had been going for years, surely one would have made it? She racked her brain for any memory of unsuccessful hunt, either by gossip or announcement. There was none. This stumped her for a bit, and she wondered how that were possible. Eventually she decided it must have been due to the gods and their favour on Tarsha. This returned her smile. Yes, Tarsha had been the world power for years. According to the priests, ever since the BloodOath was created.
She slowly roved around the garden enjoying that atmosphere and the peace. She would have to wait till the Hunt was over to get this quiet a night again. For the next month or so there would always be two slaves dying in the stockades to ensure prosperity for the new year. As she offered up one last prayer for another successful Hunt and consequently following year, she noticed Sylvester.
Her lips pursed. She'd had him set up the dining room to keep him near the kitchen, in order for him to be found quickly. It was a good thing she'd seen him now.
"Sylvester"
He looked up startled, but she ignored it.
"Your to go into the kitchen to serve tonight"
She then turned and walked into the house, not waiting for his reaction or reply. It didn't matter, he was a possession nothing more. As she stepped into the house, a chorus of bells echoed over the city coming from the cloister. The signal for the beginning of the feast. The Hunters would know that it meant they were to gather in the dining hall. She assumed Belle would bring the blonde slave, and from there Miss Edwards could send her into the kitchen to serve.
She passed the corridors, and after walking through the dining hall, made her way into the kitchen.
"All of you can leave, with the exception of Juno and the Syri" she announced harshly, waiting for them to place the food on the bench before leaving.
The Syri came out with two bottles, she quickly instructed them before going back to the dining hall. It was one thing she didn’t like about the BloodOath- having to feast with slaves. Yes they were the favoured ones, but they were slaves none the less. She would never forget the lesson her father had taught her. Slaves were only waiting to turn on their mistress and therefore had to be governed with an iron fist.
She checked that her box of supplies had been bought down. She'd need to give it to the hunters before the branding. She frowned. It was such a noisy job, and it also meant staying up to give her Hunters final advice before they left to Hunt. Oh well, she'd have to think of the perks. Removing the weak ones would certainly be good for her appearance.
She took her seat at the head of the table, waiting for her Hunters to arrive.
Arya was concerned by the males reaction to Anselm's words. If it was even possible, he had paled. He'd seemed fearless before, so what could possibly be worrying him? There was something about the whole atmosphere and the way the other slaves where behaving that was like a foreboding of something ill in the future. She tried to keep her thoughts on the cake however something was worrying her, nagging to be acknowledged. Something was wrong she could feel it. Azuria gave her a pitying glance. Come to think of it, a lot of them had after Anselm's words. She felt a chill down her spine. What could be so bad that even those who had originally ignored her, were taking notice? Surely it couldn't be too servere, Anselm wouldn't so openly joke about it then would he? No. No one would joke about something extremely serious. Even then, with her desperately optimistic thoughts, Arya couldn't shake the feeling something was seriously wrong.
The male came over and both he and Azuria exchanged glances, both of which did nothing to allay Arya's fears.
“Help me carry something from the pantry.”
He took her by the wrist and led her to a small pantry. It was filled with wine bottles and old aged cheese. Arya glanced uneasily around, before giving the boy a questioning look.
When he handed her the small packet of food, she felt overwhelmed with gratitude, before she gave him a worried look. According to the slave masters he could get whipped for stealing, and she for accepting stolen food.
“Eat it quickly. Speed will be important but hunger will only slow you down.”
Once again a reference to speed. She opened her mouth to question him, but he simply ordered her to carry the bottles out for the night. He gave her a small smile, Arya returning it with her own weak one.
Eating quickly wasn't a problem, slowing down would have been. Although according to the mistress, these were scraps, to Arya they were divine. Having been deprived of food for so long, this was life saving. She was starving and it wasn't long before the small portion was done. She tried not to think of the consequences for both herself and him if she was caught. If she reminded herself They haven't caught you yet.
She owed him yet again. She frowned slightly, she would have to repay him sometime. That was something she couldn't stand. She now had a debt to pay. It was a question of honour; her own and her families. She gently touched the bag around her waist. Wishing that her family were here. It was only herself and her mother now...if that. Many of the older woman hadn't make it on the journey. Arya prayed that the goddess had spared her mother. A feeling of intense lonliness washed over her. She was the only one of her people she had seen since she had been moved from Nira to Tarsha. The slave traders had mentioned a special pre-order of a Syri, and she had been pulled out of the crowd. Finding her thoughts upsetting her, Arya tried to remain focused on the task. She took in a deep breath to steady herself, before searching for the bottles the boy had pointed out.
She reached over to collect the bottles when a huge bell sounded. The sudden sound breaking the silence startled her, making her jump. The heavy, mournful peals continued for a while longer before gradually drowning out. Still a bit edgy after the fright, she carefully picked up the bottles and carried them out of the pantry. The room was empty.
The food was laid out on the bench ready to be served, and the boy was standing nearby. She froze as she saw her mistress.
"Juno; You and the Syri will be serving tonight. Sylvester and the other new slave will be helping."
And then as quickly as she entered she left. A feeling of dread filled her, though she couldn't be certain of the meaning. Anselm's reference to 'responsibility' for the servers of tonight filled her mind, and she tried to decipher his riddles before giving up.
She carefully placed the wine bottles on the bench near the rest of the feast, glancing up at Juno wondering where to start. She assumed they'd wait for the promised help, but she couldn't understand why there was so much food. Surely there was only the mistress to serve.
"Does Miss Edwards have guests?" she asked tentatively glancing at the food. She assumed it would be appropriate to ask as it was to do with her job.
Belle watched Elizabeth's pain as she handed up her bracelet. It reminded her so much of the pain she felt handing up her possessions. The girl glanced up from the ground, which her eyes had been fixed on. Belle quickly realized what a shocking blue-grey the girl's eyes were, contrasting so much from all the dull brown and green eyes in her own family. "Her eyes look like Tanya's" She decided, but didn't allow herself to think about Tanya for too log, in fear that the tears would spill over. "Can you call me Ellie?" The girl's high pitched, soft voice startled Belle a bit. It was so full of fear, sadness, and remorse, all bundled in one. It was eerily beautiful,. "Of course," Belle responded, forcing a smile. This girl seemed a bit weak, and it reminded her all too much of home, and her little sister, Dalila, who had been so weak that she had died from illness. Belle tore her thoughts away from home, and focused on Elizabeth, who was most likely waiting for an introduction on Belle's part. "Well, hi, Ellie. I'm Belle. I feel so awful doing this, but I must bring you to the mistress. Follow me," Belle grabbed the girl's fragile hand, and lightly pulled her towards the dining hall. She was careful with this girl, because even if it sounds ridiculous, Belle was almost afraid of breaking her. Just as Belle had thought, Miss Edwards was seated at the head of the table, looking as pompous as usual. "Miss Edwards," Belle greeted her mistress with a curtsy, and gave Ellie a look that obviously communicated the meaning.'Do the same' "I bring you the new slave, Ellie...zabeth," She quickly corrected her use of the girl's nickname "Elizabeth," When Belle glanced over at Ellie, she felt quite guilty. The girl was obviously terrified of Miss Edwards, I mean, who isn't? Her beautiful blue-grey eyes were clouded over with fear, and she looked like almost like a mouse in front of a cat. Belle knitted her eyebrows together, expectantly waiting for Miss Edwards to answer and say something, anything.
"Your to go into the kitchen to serve tonight" The woman's voice echoed in his ears, Slyvester was about to muffled out a sentence but she had already walked away. Slyvester groaned placing the sweeping supplies away and heading back inside.
Slyvester opened the door and walked in his footsteps on the floor making a thud sound, Slyvester rushed to the dining room seeing Juno and the new girl standing before him Slyvester bit his lower lip, his stomach grumbled some more he was hungry.
"Hello" Slyvester muffled out. "You must be the new girl." He coughed out his eyes wary. He looked over at Juno and nodded at him.
Slyvester later stood there speechless watching through the window,though he wasn't looking at anything he was thinking life back home the warm sand on his feet the sweet fruits the endless trees. Slyvester got twisted in his past life and tears dripped from his eyes and on to the floor with a thud. Slyvester grunted wiping his tears from the ground and from his eyes.
Slyvester hid his face he didn't want Juno and the new girl to look at him, the shame was already enough, how did someone of royalty go from being top of the world to bottom of the food chain? Were his parents still looking? Slyvester thought staring at the new girl, she suddenly seems to awfully weak. Slyvester looked away the thought of scaring her came to mind and he fiddled his fingers together his lips pressed together, Slyvester was thinking endlessly about running away being free and not having to worry about the essence and random beating each day, not having to clean just relaxing and seeing his ma and pa once again.
Slyvester walked into the kitchen again, he looked at the floor and bit his lower lip and staggered out. "Do you need help with anything, am just standing here.." Slyvester ran his fingers through his hair.
Slyvester opened the door and walked in his footsteps on the floor making a thud sound, Slyvester rushed to the dining room seeing Juno and the new girl standing before him Slyvester bit his lower lip, his stomach grumbled some more he was hungry.
"Hello" Slyvester muffled out. "You must be the new girl." He coughed out his eyes wary. He looked over at Juno and nodded at him.
Slyvester later stood there speechless watching through the window,though he wasn't looking at anything he was thinking life back home the warm sand on his feet the sweet fruits the endless trees. Slyvester got twisted in his past life and tears dripped from his eyes and on to the floor with a thud. Slyvester grunted wiping his tears from the ground and from his eyes.
Slyvester hid his face he didn't want Juno and the new girl to look at him, the shame was already enough, how did someone of royalty go from being top of the world to bottom of the food chain? Were his parents still looking? Slyvester thought staring at the new girl, she suddenly seems to awfully weak. Slyvester looked away the thought of scaring her came to mind and he fiddled his fingers together his lips pressed together, Slyvester was thinking endlessly about running away being free and not having to worry about the essence and random beating each day, not having to clean just relaxing and seeing his ma and pa once again.
Slyvester walked into the kitchen again, he looked at the floor and bit his lower lip and staggered out. "Do you need help with anything, am just standing here.." Slyvester ran his fingers through his hair.
Anselm had returned to his cell. He preferred to imagine the term 'cell' used more in the monastic sense than in the sense of being a prison, and in many ways both were accurate. But in being alone for a moment, he turned his thoughts to the night's events, and in a wave the hairs on his arms began to stand on end. It was a dread fascination, a terrible thrill...it was the only thing that allowed him to keep his composure. There was no wishing anybody good fortune who was to be involved in the blood oath. They were slaves. Fortune has abandoned them all long ago. To be sacrificed to the god was the closest thing to an early dismissal from service any of them were likely to recieve. Though of course...the lead up to the sacrifice was hardly an enviable affair, in his several years in Mistress Edward's service Anselm had seen some harrowing sights as beaten and bloodied victims were braced defenselessly, counting each agonising minute as their vitality slowly oozed from their bodies. It was a thing people celebrated in toast and song, but few people chose to watch for longer than was necessary. Anselm...he sometimes liked to watch...after all the deaths of the bound (or the hunters who failed to apprehend them) were part of a great ritual? And if ritual was a form of sacred theatre, then what was it if nobody was there to observe?
He suppressed a grin. The Syri girl...she would certainly be one of the bound. Cruel truth, the delicate creature would be restrained and prostrated for the branding - the first taste of the horror she would have to endure. Anselm did not expect she would provide much sport. Perhaps the whole sequence would be over farely soon tonight. But of course, there had to be two, and one of them would have to be a man.
Anselm took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. There was no point getting het up about it yet. There was still much to be done, but his role in it was more or less over. For now at least. He bend down and checked the thongs of his sandals, adjusting and tightening a few of them. All the better to be quick off the mark when he was released after the bound later tonight...
There it was. The initiation bells. Happy were those ignorant of their meaning...but such people would be few in this house. He drew himself to full height, turned and walked regally through the halls. He had not checked to confirm that his status was the same as it was last year, but he had no reason to suppose otherwise, and walked with confidence into the banquet hall.
His mistress was already there, and as he walked in his lowered his head respectfully, and kept his eyes to the ground in a display of submission as he made his way around to one of the designated seats. He did not speak a work until sat, and even then sparingly.
"An honour to sit at your table again mistress." he said simply, "As always your selections for the feast are most laudable."
It was a phrase intended to sound like he was complimenting her on her choice of menu, the truth being that he was voicing his opinion on her choice of bound...
He suppressed a grin. The Syri girl...she would certainly be one of the bound. Cruel truth, the delicate creature would be restrained and prostrated for the branding - the first taste of the horror she would have to endure. Anselm did not expect she would provide much sport. Perhaps the whole sequence would be over farely soon tonight. But of course, there had to be two, and one of them would have to be a man.
Anselm took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. There was no point getting het up about it yet. There was still much to be done, but his role in it was more or less over. For now at least. He bend down and checked the thongs of his sandals, adjusting and tightening a few of them. All the better to be quick off the mark when he was released after the bound later tonight...
There it was. The initiation bells. Happy were those ignorant of their meaning...but such people would be few in this house. He drew himself to full height, turned and walked regally through the halls. He had not checked to confirm that his status was the same as it was last year, but he had no reason to suppose otherwise, and walked with confidence into the banquet hall.
His mistress was already there, and as he walked in his lowered his head respectfully, and kept his eyes to the ground in a display of submission as he made his way around to one of the designated seats. He did not speak a work until sat, and even then sparingly.
"An honour to sit at your table again mistress." he said simply, "As always your selections for the feast are most laudable."
It was a phrase intended to sound like he was complimenting her on her choice of menu, the truth being that he was voicing his opinion on her choice of bound...
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View All » Add Character » 14 Characters to follow in this universe
Newest
Samuel Harrison
It's just a game. A sick, twisted game...
Slyvester Garza
"Am lost, in paradise? no but I have nowhere else to be, nor to go."
Juno Lee
Wait, and an opportunity will come.
Zoe Spry
For the greater good...that's what I tell myself
Anselm Tertullian
All will be amends...
Elizabeth Prescott
Please, don't hurt me. I haven't done anything wrong.
Belle Stewart
I may be "pretty", but I will break your face... I mean, yes, ma'am.
Trending
Zoe Spry
For the greater good...that's what I tell myself
Juno Lee
Wait, and an opportunity will come.
Samuel Harrison
It's just a game. A sick, twisted game...
Belle Stewart
I may be "pretty", but I will break your face... I mean, yes, ma'am.
Slyvester Garza
"Am lost, in paradise? no but I have nowhere else to be, nor to go."
Anselm Tertullian
All will be amends...
Elizabeth Prescott
Please, don't hurt me. I haven't done anything wrong.
Most Followed
Anselm Tertullian
All will be amends...
Belle Stewart
I may be "pretty", but I will break your face... I mean, yes, ma'am.
Zoe Spry
For the greater good...that's what I tell myself
Elizabeth Prescott
Please, don't hurt me. I haven't done anything wrong.
Juno Lee
Wait, and an opportunity will come.
Samuel Harrison
It's just a game. A sick, twisted game...
Slyvester Garza
"Am lost, in paradise? no but I have nowhere else to be, nor to go."
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Places
by Shané on Thu Aug 09, 2012 12:38 am
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- Last post by jigokunoshinzo
on Tue Aug 14, 2012 9:13 pm
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