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The girl's words continued, a litany of insanity, then suddenly ceased. Baxter blinked free of the mist that seemed to have descended upon him, staring at the child who was in the process of accepting a piece of wadded up cloth into her mouth and a rope about her head to silence the madness.

"It’ll have to be a bit later," Eleanor stated in a voice very unlike he'd ever heard before. She turned to stare at him, her normally swarthy face, pale as he suspected his own was. "I be sorry lass," she patted the child’s head in a shaky gesture of affection then leaned against the heavy iron side of the sink. "I couldn’t be takin’ it no more."

Baxter nodded in understanding. He too had been sickened beyond his ability to comprehend with the girl’s constant talk. They would have gotten nowhere, listening to it.

It was a relief, having Eleanor beside him. Her common sense took over in the dire of circumstances (which this could have been categorized) and she reached for the sponge. The meaning was clear. For now, they had to clean the child. Other issues for other times.

Both he and Eleanor seemed to understand this. He held the child's hands away from herself while rope was placed on the ground by his feet. Eleanor scrubbed the child’s white skin until it was red. Baxter could empathize with that as well. It was as if somehow, Eleanor could scrub off some of those marks that belonged on a body which had earned them, not upon a canvas where nothing had been done to deserve the treatment inflicted.

When the soap was rinsed off, a plain frock was brought out and placed over the child’s body in such a way that the pair of them always had hands upon her wrists. With her mouth full, she wasn’t able to speak and she could not close her jaws either to bite at either them or herself. Baxter wasn’t sure just how they were going to manage her after they set her free. Every time he relaxed his guard she was back to putting harm upon herself again.

"Maybe.. I should - " his voice faltered and he inwardly cursed himself for his cowardice. Eleanor looked up at him, then her eyes widened in horror as she read the meaning in his eyes.

"No you shall not, Baxter!" she hissed and he turned to gaze at her, his face a mask of misery. "She is a human child, not some rabid dog."

He winced at that. But then, perhaps she’d thought the same thing. He could not be sure. Truthfully, the child was broken beyond repair. He could not see taking her to a mad house as anything but cruel. Surely, someone in the castle had kept her until now. Still, the view of those marks, they were not all of the self inflicted variety. He had see enough of both to know the difference. He feared bringing her too much in the light in case her former "owner" might cause the same punishment again.

No - while it might have been a mercy to put the child down, he knew Eleanor was right. Still, he did not know what he might have done otherwise. Lord Jonal would be asking for him soon enough. Eleannor had meals to prepare.

"You should take her to the Queen," Eleanor said firmly, she nodded in agreement with herself as if the Queen would be the answer to their mute problem.

"I can’t. You know the throne history. They’ll…"

"Her majesty is different," Eleanor stopped him. "I’ll hear nothing disparaging, y’hear? She sends thanks for meals well done. She is different."

But gratitude to the kitchen was different than caring for a wild child hell bent on harming herself. Still - Eleanor was right. Baxter nodded.

"I will. Tomorrow."

He turned to the girl once more and bent so that his face was near to hers. "Listen to me. You may not cut yourself. You may not punish yourself. That is my job. And I have my ways of doing so. Do you hear me? If you try and punish yourself once more, I shall be very displeased. Nor do I want you to offer yourself. I am the one you will listen to. Only myself. Until I tell you who else you may listen to. And my first order is for you to stop this talk. It grates on my ears. If you can do this, I will take the cloth from your mouth."

While he spoke, Eleanor was gathering rope and beginning to work away at tying the child up. There would be some point where they would not be able to keep the child from harming herself. But if they could restrict her movements then at least it would localize the harm. Baxter sighed. He had never been so out of his depth before.

At the moment, he’d almost kill to be elsewhere and not be watched so completely by those guileless, empty eyes.

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‘What will my death be like?’ he thought- and knew at once
with abrupt certainty, that it would be just like his life:
... the same balance of bearables.
~Amis

Ah so the Ranger had been in the castle before. Pity she had never seen him until now however she hadn't really been allowed to roam the castle. For the most part, she had been stuck up in the Queen's chambers tending to small errands which gave her no cause to wander far. And in the beginnings when she had first started to scope out the castle, she had used only back doors as to not be seen.

However, she was happy that he had never seen her before. As a child she had been thin and unattractive, considered awkward and clumsy. Well, she was still clumsy. However, at the age of 16 her figure had begun to fill out and her body developed into that of a woman's. It was then that the men around the castle started to notice her, however, not in a good way. They didn't look to her as a future wife but only as a means to quench their lust which was another reason she wasn't comfortable just wandering around the halls alone. In fact, it did surprise her when the Ranger said she could use his Christian name. Never before had she called a man by his plain, given name before. But she did want to be adventurous, didn't she?

"Well, I must say that I am sorry I hadn't had the pleasure of meeting you before this time. And really S.... Halt, I must apologize for my actions earlier. I didn't mean to offend you." She dipped into a curtsy, not a very low and dramatic one, however it was enough to show her respect and beg her pardon. "Please forgive me."

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LiZi wuz hurr. (Don't you just HATE gangster talk?)

Jonal rambled on about whatever it was that the infamous Lady Tottinlot had say in his direction, liking something about the good lord's more feminine traits no doubt. Wouldn't be the first time that someone had said a harsh word in the lord's direction, especially the times she was aware of, and it sadly wouldn't be the last.

Of course, his ramblings stopped when an extra body entered the room. Jonal addressed the fellow with a snobbish request for identification, which seemed to startle the poor man...

Once Mytorane's attention came on him she couldn't look away. This newcomer was wearing the fine fabrics of a lord with a stance and sheepish look of fear consistent with a slave, abused to the point of becoming skiddish creature afraid of his own shadow. As true as this was, her majesty didn't notice that aspect of him right away. His eyes were beautiful, glossy with an iris painted a deep brown. Eyes seemed to be the part of the human body she say first for some strange reason. Of course, under the fabrics fitting of lords was a fine-toned muscle structure, consistent with someone that laboured all their life, and his body had shown for it. His skin was a rich colour, darker than a tanned hide or dark chocolate. The top of his head bared exotic, wild, frizzy hair, just barely tamed by how he had been prepped to appear as a lord.

She couldn't believe how beautiful he was. Yes, there were attractive men within the castle, and there were handsome men in the gaggle of suitor earlier on in the day, but they were held a complex charm that was impossible to unwind, and if one did, more likely than not, hided an agenda that would make the words 'I love you' meaningless, and what affection for her fake. No, this man had an air that was more simple, humble, and true.

Her own hormones, racing through her as they would race through an eighteen year old woman, had for a small moment, merely a fraction of time that was imperceivable to either Lord Jonal or this amazing beau that could easily had been a work of art animated in human flesh and bone, had distracted her from how he was feeling.

He was shaking in his costume as a cold sweat came over him. He choked on his words, barely audible from where she stood in the room. When she found herself gazing back in his eyes she could then see the fear it held. Fear that it likely held in her direction, at her position, and the power that came with it to judge the living and the dead, the value of life itself within the empire.

She hated that he was so afraid. Inside she wanted to cry. He was clearly no lord, merely a lower caste peasant or slave dressed like one.

More reason to keep the jail guard waiting. Mytorane looked at the young man and said in a soft voice "Hello there. Tis something the matter?"

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Silivalne
Cromine

Those two need your clicks

Interest check for weird roleplay idea! Please look!

Fear.

Dousa shook inconsiderably for someone his age. The things he had seen out on the water. Men falling overboard and being taken by the wolves of the sea, bones and flesh torn apart in accident after accident. The swaying deck of a sea-vessel is not the best place to be using heavy tools or equipment. Slaves being whipped and beaten senseless. Their masters being so far away from the land to ever think of being imprisoned. Dousa himself had taken more pain than any normal man should have. But here he stood, shaking like a child, trapped in the cage with a monster.

Anxiety.

His head crooked and he came back to his full stand. Much to his dismay the queen herself was now staring him in the eyes. He'd rather have-at the monster that loomed behind her than have her sapphires sink into the mud of his eyes. The knot in his throat hadn't faultered. It was determined to strangle him. He felt his chest begin to subtly vibrate as his lungs fought for air. Hyper-ventilation would follow, if he wasn't already.

Determination.

Dousa shook himself inside his mind, stopping most of the shaking in his upper body. Though his knees still shook under the god-thankfully loose garments, he felt the knot in his throat subside. He could breath, some-what.
He envisioned himself as a lord. The look in both the lords before him told him that they too, like the maiden, believed he was a lord.
Though he had only heard murmers from the suiters when he was in the room with them, he did his best to immitate their speeech and posture.

' 'Ello, me Queen.'

Surprised at his own valor, his chest poked out a bit more firmly. Though his mind cleared of his fear just long enough to allow him to realize: What if they realised he was a slave? What if they saw through his ruse? He'd be tortured and beaten until all his senses failed, then he'd be killed.
At the thought his chest faultered from the split second it stuck out.

Regret.

His valor vanquished, his knees began to shake more. The queen's eyes wouldn't move. She stared deep into his. She couldn't understand the weight of her gaze turned against his. He found himself being hipnotized by her gaze. As-if snared in her power. Much like the dream he had dreamt while in the healer's room...


Lust.

His arms bowed against the floor as his master's heel came down on his head. His face smashed against his hand which in-turn smashed against the scrub-brush he was using to clean the floor.

'Naw- goo' nuf, sir. Get duh led outta yer' ass.' the man growled.

'yusser.' his limply voice replied, choking under the heavy boot.

Again, he began strubbing hard. Taking notice to the slick mud that stuck to his jawl wouldn't be wise. The time it would take to swipe it to the deck would be time his master wouldn't like wasted-and yes, the master is constantly watching, he will see if you try to.

Dousa scrubbed vigorously at the deck, removing several layers of scum from it's slick surface, when the layer of extra skin he had acquired from his master's generously merciful kick, fell to the floor.
It wasn't a moment later -far too soon for Dousa to have swiped it into the bucket next to him- that the master would be standing over Dousa.

'Ya dum'sunavabich!'

Dousa turned as he always did, and as always, he met his master's merciful heel. Dousa's head jerked hard enough to send his body stretched through the air, flung in the direction opposed the master's foot.
Dousa could already feel the rest of his beating, even though the master hadn't come over to kick or stomp him yet, he had come to know this habit of his master's the first day he was set aboard the boat.

The clump-clump sound of those merciful boots never came, though. Dousa lay with his eyes closed listening, but the sound of the angry man pursuing foolish incompetence never came.
Coming back to his senses, Dousa sat up to see his master standing in awe. Behind him was a mountain of a wave, bigger than any had ever rocked this boat. It grew and grew until finally it came down with unreal fury upon the boat. Completely smashing it into nothing.

Behind the wave stood a kingdom which floated upon the waters. Upon the kingdom say queen Mytorane. She had slain the goddess of the sea and now sits atop it as it's new, merciful queen. No-longer would Dousa be the slave of the blue. And to his greatest surprise, she reached out, toward him. Her hand was delicate, soft, as pale as the reflection of moonlight on the water.

She hoisted him out of the water and onto the throne beside her. He instantly sat in awe as her dazzling blue eyes came closer to his, to embrace him. Her lips were soft, softer than anything he had ever touched....


Reluctance.

To come out of his day-dream was a terrible thing. Dousa found himself staring deeply into the queen's eyes. How long had he...? He once again found himself completely overwhelmed with anxiety. What was he doing?? Why had they even brought him to be in the queen's presence? What was the meaning of this? He had a small mind, and even less understanding to equip him for such a situation, so all he could do what mowl over these questions in his mind while he waited for them to end his life.

Despair.

Unable to come to a conclusion on whether or not he would be able to save his own life from this situation, Dousa regained his confidence. Much like the possum will attack any creature of size when cornered, Dousa would now.

He straightened himself out and decided to speak again.
Utilizing every bit of gesture and posture he had seen in the room earlier, he spoke.

'Twas' tol' ta wait for de Queen. I 'umbly ask dat ye 'ccept my 'pologies, ma'am.'

He gave another bow, much like he would when he was given an order on the ship, just enough that they wouldn't see his face for a moment. As he dipped forward, a drip of the generous sweat plished to the floor in-front of him. He hoped the queen wouldn't take notice and see him for the slave in disguise he was. But right now, what hope did he have?

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The man shook uncontrollably before her. It was clear that he was frightened by the power that was placed upon her and what she could do with it. She never liked to see someone quiver in their boots the way he did, even before her. Much of her parents' reputation had rubbed on her that way.

Of course, there was more to his reaction than that. His strange accent made her believe that he had a limited understanding of common. She could believe that he was a diplomat from one of the more exotic regions, one that wasn't part of the original Ithatyne kingdom, but he fear in her was too deep for it to be that of a lord, even from another region...

So was he a slave in noble garb? Strange thought really, as suitors tended to be lords that wanted a piece of the kingdom more than a piece of her ass. Now, more likely than not he was picked out by a crew of people looking for pleasure slave for their new, melancholy, queen if she couldn't find a suitor. There were people from the castle that were known for doing such things.

Alas, she knew that he was a slave now, and it explained in great detail why he was so scared. It was likely that he thought he would end up with a fate worst than death if she found this piece of information out. He was a lowly slave, fit more for manual labour than anything else, and yet she could still not shake these feelings she was starting to have for him. Call it whatever you will: infatuation, raging hormones, love at first sight. This alongside the terrible feelings she would have when someone quivered in fear in her presents.

She kept herself strong, remembering the presents of Lord Jonal and her Drail guard. She than gave the shaking man a small, Mona-Lisa style, smile in his direction before saying, awkwardly, "Your apology is accepted." She wasn't exactly sure why he was sorry, but she felt that she had to address that in the hopes that he would become more calm. She turned her attention away from Jonal at this point, only nodding to the flamboyant lord to signal that he could go. Her attention reverted back to this newcomer, she than asked in a soft, melodic voice "What brings ye to the castle?"

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Silivalne
Cromine

Those two need your clicks

Interest check for weird roleplay idea! Please look!

Lord Jonal, obedient and pleased, bowed low before the queen and stepped back. He did not look at Drail, certain that if the queen did not know of the horrid things repeated from his mouth, the queen's shadow would. As good as Drail looked in black, the man scared the willies out of the poor lordling.

He almost forgot his feathers in his haste. As he gathered them up, he glanced again at the man who had broken in on the conversation and saved Jonal from one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He was shaken and frustrated but not once did the concept of questioning who the queen looked to, talked to, ever cross his mind. She was his bread and butter in a way. He hung in the balance, set there by her mercy or her amusement.

So without a second thought to the strange meeting happening behind him, the slender lord in a silk dress clicked away on the tile, shaken but alive. And still with his place (or non-place) in the courts.

A place he meant to keep. Even if that meant swearing off champagne for good.

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‘What will my death be like?’ he thought- and knew at once
with abrupt certainty, that it would be just like his life:
... the same balance of bearables.
~Amis

((I may have made a slightly severe mistake in my last post. There was no attention paid to the bruise across Dousa's face. Though I guess we could say his dark color hid it from immediate view.))

She accepted his apology, though his nerves wouldn't settle for long before she would again, break the ground from under him.


"What brings ye to the castle?"

Fear drenched the small man. Barely from a boy, Dousa's life was in terrible danger. He couldn't imagine why the seemingly foolish lords of the castle had decided to pick a peasant from the docks an polish him up just to be killed. The same amount of sense would tell one to put old wine into new bottles. He was wasted here.

He hadn't the slightest idea of how to please a woman. Mainly because he had never interacted with a woman in a sensual nature. Living with his nameless family in the slums wasn't the best place to pick up on such knowledge. Though he had fallen in love with a girl or two while he was a child, he was only sixteen when he was sold to the fishermen. Relations and sexual activity prematurely cut-off.

'Tank you, milady.' He responded, buying time to think while he gave a generous bow.

Deceit never worked onboard a ship where everyone was out for themselves. Dousa himself had ratted out his best friends while aboard to save his own skin -or at least get less of a beating. Despite a lack of practice, Dousa ventured to think he could lie his way out of this situation by simply telling the truth.

'Twas' de lords of de castle did bring me 'ere. Av' ye needing eh 'usband to acompany ye in de t'rone. Me b'es wishes fer de queen, an'er hopes of weddings.' -Not so much a lie as it was the twisted truth. Vikas Tyr, a lord of the castle, who had informed him of why he was in the castle, saving his life even without the help of his blade. For now, that is.

Dousa's face held all the confidence that he could muster. His legs still shaking, he focused on remaining calm belly-to-brow. He wondered silently if she was actually inquiring as oppose to interrogating. Surely the queen's patience would run out sooner or later. Was she toying with him, as the lion does, batting the mouse around before effortlessly devouring the helpless creature?
Surely the queen realized just how helpless this man was, even if he was good guising around as a lord, she would see through him oh-so easily and would without a doubt sentence him to death.

'Ef I may wish de queen many years of reign and peace, I be going. De queen 'as tings ta do.' Dousa concluded.

Yes! Yes! He'd escaped! Surely there wasn't any other bussiness Dousa would be needed for. The queen would excuse him as she had done the lord before him, and he would escape the castle scott-free. Dousa's head felt a bit heavier with the wits and cunning he now assumed filled it. The pure happiness he felt he wore upon his face. An earnest smile stretching his dark features.

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Zoran walked through the city gates. He hadn't really expected much from the civilians in the way of a greeting, so their muteness didn't phase him at all. He strode through town on foot wearing his scratched armor but he kept his helmet off allowing his long black hair to hang in front of his face. His body resembled something more monster than man. Born at a record size, many people already knew that Zoran would go far in the army.

At the age of five Zoran had been big enough to hold a sword so he was tought how to handle one. He had always considered them to be a useless weapon and when he was eight had been given a war hammer. He instantly fell in love and could now use one with more dexterity then most men could use a sword.

At ten Zoran was initiated into the army and quickly started to fly through the ranks. He wasn't as smart as moist people but he knew how to hurt people and he ended up being an almost masterful tactician in battle. He had only ever had to retreat from one battle, and for revenge he rallied more troops and went on to destroy half of the enemies nation. The armor he wore was ceremonial only, in battle he only wore his chest plate and lower armor. He believed that the armor on his arms was useless, of course it's not like much could get through the skin and muscle on his arms anyways.

Zoran made his way to the castle and felt the typical cloud of politics enshroud it. He hated being here and hated most of the people inside it more. He had been told however by a good friend to wait outside of the gates for him.

Even though it interuppted her mid-sentence, Anya accepted the wad of cloth into her mouth with neither protest nor struggle. She had been gagged like this several times before, either by her old masters or their customers, so it was hardly a new experience for the little girl. It was, however, a rather old experience. Master Marculius had never seen a reason to treat her like that, only her old masters had, like master Sedillias or master Dontos. Although back then, being bound and gagged had usually involved a lot of other things as well. But with this newest master of hers, Anya was not so sure as to why she had been gagged. What role was she expected to play out? Was she meant to be a frightened little mouse or an angry little kitten? Different people wanted different things from Anya and they often became angry when she couldn't figure out what it was. And an angry customer was bad, really bad. In fact, only bad girls made customers angry.

The hot water and the scrubbing only made things stranger. The master held Anya while the woman poured water all over her and scrubbed, scrubbed and scrubbed. It felt slightly stingy - not geniumly painful but still noticable. Like the slap of a slightly annoyed master Dontos or the prick of master Marculius' needle. Unlike those, though, this sting lasted for several minutes and weren't followed by an annoyed snarl from master Dontos or the singing voice of master Marculius. Meanwhile, the new master merely held on to Anya's arms as he watched and watched. Anya could only speculate on the cause of these events, but she figured that all this would be part of the master's punishment. She had been a bad girl, after all, so it was only natural that he wanted to punish her somehow. Still, this stinging sensation was much too painless to be proper punishment, so maybe it wasn't part of the punishment after all. This lack of knowing somewhat unnerved Anya. The woman that scrubbed also worried Anya: what was her role? She was not pretty enough to be a doll, but not vicious enough to be a hound, so... what was she? Anya did not know and it worried her. After all, how was Anya supposed to act if she did not know who the others were? Surely, the new master would become very angry if she failed to meet his expectations. Yes, very angry indeed...

Luckily, the whole incident passed without as much as an angry comment from the master. In fact, he even looked somewhat pleased with her as the woman stopped her scrubbing. Seeing this, Anya couldn't help but smile under her gag. She had pleased the master, so she was a good girl! Yes, a good girl indeed! The master didn't really care too much, though, but instead continued to talk with the woman even as Anya was being dressed again. Not that Anya listened in on the conversation or even tried to pay attention. Good girls didn't eavesdrop, after all. And Anya was a good girl. Yes, indeed! Even so, it seemed that the master wasn't entirely pleased with Anya. He leaned closer to her and gave her another command. Judging by his voice, he was slightly irritated at her.

"Listen to me. You may not cut yourself. You may not punish yourself. That is my job. And I have my ways of doing so. Do you hear me? If you try and punish yourself once more, I shall be very displeased. Nor do I want you to offer yourself. I am the one you will listen to. Only myself. Until I tell you who else you may listen to. And my first order is for you to stop this talk. It grates on my ears. If you can do this, I will take the cloth from your mouth."

The order was a little puzzling, but still quite simple. It was one Anya could easily understand and follow and most of them made sense, anyway. It was the master's role to punish her, true enough, and it was her role to stay quiet if he wanted her to stay quiet. Yes, Anya would certainly follow these orders and showed it by with a slow, understanding nod.

((OOC: crazysaxman, before you post again I think you should pay a visit to the OOC thread of this RP first.))

'Finally,' he thought with relief, leaning back into his seat with a relieved sigh. It had been several hours now since the advisor had locked himself away in his quarters, slaving away at his desk over his plans. The waste bin beside the table was filled halfway with balled up plans, all of them failures. Some were too complex, too demanding of perfection that humans were not capable of; others too simple, predictable and easily countered by any decent strategist; others required things beyond his control, such as the weather and luck; and the rest were plans born of a tired mind, plans not even an insane madman would use. But now, after several long hours, he finally had a good solid plan. It was only the first step out of many of course, but one was better than none. And for that simple reason he felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Looking back down at the table, he looked over the plans he had drawn over a copy of the military map that he kept in such cases that he would need to draw over it for one reason or another. The map clearly showed which camps were to be attacked as well as a date and time of when to strike. Of course, he wasn't just going to give these plans directly to the General. No, that would be a big mistake. While Ballog completely trusted the General, there was always the possibility of a spy. No, he'd have to conceal the dates of attack in some way that only he and the General would understand. But that could come at a later time. For now, Ballog just wanted to rest his weary mind.

He rolled up the completed plans and the original map, placed them in the large bin in the corner, and left his quarters. As he walked aimlessly through the halls of the castle, he allowed his mind to wander. He thought about many things ranging from his family, to his career, to the garden he walked by, to just about anything that entered his mind. But ultimately his wandering mind came to rest on one person, the Queen.

The fact that he often found himself thinking of the Queen came as no surprise to the advisor seeing as she was at the very center of everything at the moment. It had more to do than just her position as Queen, but rather it had to do with her place in his plans. Every plan to ever be conceived had a wild card, a person or object that could turn a plan upside down in an instant. In his plans, the Queen was that person. It was the reason why he could not plan too far ahead. The Queen's reply to the problem he stated earlier, as well as how she reacts to the initial attack on the Empire's camps, would determine his next move.

He already had a very good idea as to how the Queen would react but he would still wait for her to make the actual decision. He once made the mistake of assuming something once and it had cost him dearly, he would not make the same mistake twice. But the thought of what he as doing brought about a pang of guilt within him. Ballog was never one to lie. If he wanted to say something he would say it, if he hated someone he would not hide it but neither would announce it to the world. What he was doing now was essentially betrayal, never mind the fact that it was done with good intentions.

'A betrayal is a betrayal,' he thought sadly, looking up towards the sky from his place at the castle grounds. 'But I cannot have any regrets now. I started to walk down this path by staying true to my beliefs so to turn back now would be to turn against my beliefs, my very being.' He lowered his gaze from the sky to look down upon the garden, the very same one that the Queen had ordered to be cared for almost as soon as she had become the new Queen. "Your highness," he whispered, blissfully unaware of everything else around him. "Whether I succeed or fail, I certainly hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me once this is all over for you will undoubtedly hate me for I will do." With that said, Ballog took one last glance at the garden before leaving and resuming his wandering of the castle halls.

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