Kuki continued to eat the fruit in her hand as more gems filtered into the room. She noticed others having quiet conversation while eating, and felt a slight pang of saddness that she had no one to talk to, as it would make her feel much more comfortable. Kuki grabbed another fruit and worked up the courage to grab something she didn't recognize. It was quite clearly from Drakka, it was dull in color as well as flavor. She managed to gulp it down without throwing up and started to eat her fruit when she heard another gem speak to her, “You really should eat more than that if you can. There’s no telling what these guys are going to put us through. You should stock up on as much strength as you can.”

Kuki glanced at the gem who had spoken. She seemed friendly enough, and held out a fruit that looked vaguely familiar, though Kuki didn't know from where. The gem nodded, as if to say that yes, the fruit is good and no, it isn't poisoned. Kuki took it and managed a faint smile. She opened her mouth to say something, but at that time the Drakkan from the previous day entered, followed by another that Kuki didn't recognize, but seemed important. Her hunch was proven correct when he was introduced as the crown prince of Drakka. She looked around and noticed most gems were bowing, but some chose to remain standing. She wanted to go that far, but she decided she should at least appear the faintest bit submissive, so that she wouldn't be punished. She bowed her head and folded her hands together behind her back, while biting her tongue and resisting the urge to just stare defiantly at the prince.

Kuki would obey. For now.

Hearing his mate’s voice, Gwillim turned and met his wife’s gaze. A smirk creeping across his face as he saunters her way, throwing his hands wide as he accepted the challenge.

“But of course my love, ‘twill be a pleasure as always!”

His saunter turned suddenly into a sprint, though Scyrven seemed to be about to do him as he had the boys. But the pair locked horns, and tumbled convincingly enough, they both sprang to their feet and tossed fists and booted feet at each other, while blocking and dodging the other’s blows. Minutes passed, and occasionally the pair would tumble and roll across the ground before rising to continue the fight upright. The cousins watched in awe, and Alfhildr too watched carefully, though she seemed less awestruck by the performance and more eager to memorize every little detail. Blades sprang from sheathes suddenly, though no blade found flesh, each one being knocked out of the wielder’s grasp and into the air… a moment later half a dozen blades of various sizes were being juggled between the two combatants even as they seemed to be throwing a furious volley of punches and kicks at each other.

The adults smirked at the show, most confident they could do as well, or close enough, if given a competent partner. The children watched amazed as both husband and wife tracked the movement of every blade, each fist, and foot, so precisely despite the speed at which they traveled. And what’s more it seemed to cost them no extra effort, as both were smiling wildly now, eyes locked as they danced about the floor. Then flames began to leap around and between the two, as they danced, struck, and juggled. The fires never seared or scorched either, and impressive feat considering Scyrvern’s wild hair. Then came gusts of wind, and streams of water, raging about the pair as if the very elements were at war with each other. Through it all, no serious blow was landed to either party. Still, it was plain to see, it was from no lack of effort on the part of husband or wife. Sweat ran freely from both, as the hot sun, belts of flame, and exertion all worked to tax their well toned and fit physiques. Dust from the earth rose to mingle with the sweat in grimy streaks on faces and necks, while hair became matted to damp skin. Still the pair strove for minuets more, seemingly able to continue indefinitely.

Suddenly it was over, and Gwillim and Scyrvensrel each caught three blades as they came down. Right hand, left hand, and toothy grins clasped their blades in turn. Scyrven’s blade passed between her teeth and down her throat, but she’d done this before, and pulled it out without earning even a scratch. Gwillim’s blade, significantly broader and longer, had been caught so that it lay across his mouth, parallel to his lips. Both were breathing heavily, but were otherwise not sorely taxed by the performance, despite the heat and dusty conditions. Gwillim winked playfully at his wife, as he sheathed his blades, and turned with her to take a bow before the gathered audience, to the cheers of the youngsters and polite applause of the adults. The performance had required skill, focus and excellent timing on both their parts, and both had performed flawlessly. It was due in large part to the trust they had in each other. They weren’t lovers, not properly anyway. They were more like blade brothers; they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses and how to maximize and compensate accordingly. It was an uncommon strength of bond between them, and they knew it. Both hoped Alfhi would find as much with her mate in time, but that was some years away yet.

Gwillim linked his arm through his wife’s as he escorted her off the playing field so the youngsters could resume their mock battles. He asked if she would like to bathe before the evening’s festivities with the princes, he may have hinted at a good deal more, but was very careful to keep his voice from traveling beyond his wife’s perception. He would happily follow her lead, if she wished to retire with him, or go his own way if she preferred some solitude after the long journey. Still, a good soak to help the muscles relax would do them both good, particularly after the long performance… Alfhildr scampers over to them, but is sent to watch her cousins, and if she should perchance get into mischief to do so without getting caught. Scyrvensrel and Gwillim were last seen walking towards their rooms, calling for water and a very large tub, to be drwan up. Servants scurried to comply, lest they suffer the heat of both the sun and their master's wrath.

Every year there were a few. A few that thought they were special, that they would be the ones to stand strong. Ones that thought their pride was something of importance. Every year the Gems seemed to grow bolder, more defiant; and every year, their lord husbands seemed to grow meeker.

Castle Worth was built as a slap in the face to Vivari herself, and it would treat her daughters no differently. It was there to make the Gems more pliable, to bleed the toxic rebellion from their hearts before they could use it to poison Drakka’s finest. They could come between it's walls with as many grand ideas of freedom and escape as they pleased, but it would only make their fall from grace that much more painful.

However, the proud Drakken in charge of Castle Worth had neither the time nor patience to individually break each one. Thus, it was necessary that examples be made. Sek Leon, the Drakkan at the helm of Shadow Worth, personally insisted that such matters were handled swiftly and effectively.

The hulking commander looked out at the crowd of mewling Gems before him with hard eyes. In his early years, he had gleefully anticipated the rebellious ones, the ones who so kindly have him a reason to send a message to the rest. But as his years wore on, it became a chore. All the more reason for swift corrections, he supposed.

Without a word he descended the dais upon which his prince stood, walking with heavy steps across the stone floor, arms folded behind him as if he were patrolling his own warriors. He took note of which Gems obeyed, and how, and which Gems were so brazen as to refuse.

As he walked, a vibrant flash of colour caught his eye in the sea of grey. Abruptly, he halted, turning on his heel to the wearer.

She was a pretty thing, with lilac hair and porcelain skin. In the back of his mind, Sek Leon remarked that she would be quite the lovely decoration for a lord’s estate. Her pride, however, was her ugliest feature, and yet she flaunted it so proudly with that fine sash around her waist. Endlessly perplexing, these Gems.

“Come.”

His order was not barked, but his calm voice still carried through the room, reverberating off the walls in the shocked silence.

The girl approached dutifully (one point in her favour, he noted) and stopped a few feet away from him. Sek Leon gave her a very invasive up-and-down look, examining each curve of her body, before stopping on that brightly coloured sash.

Unexpectedly gently, he took hold of one end of the sash, letting the smooth fabric slip through his fingers, the silver bells on the tassels jingling eerily in the cold silence. “Exquisite,” he muttered. Carefully, he untied the sash from her waist and held it up for the room to see.

“I assume you felt like our clothing wasn’t good enough for you,” he stated in that same calm, reverberating voice. “Very well. Let us relieve you.” He gave the girl a mere moment to process his words before snapping his fingers.

At the sound, two guards came forward through the crowd. One took hold of the girl’s wrists from behind, holding her arms out from her sides. The other grabbed the collar of her tunic and pulled, tearing it down the front and pulling it away, only to move to her trousers and do the same. Soon, all of her clothing was little more than a heap at her feet.

Their work done, the Drakkan who stripped her collected her now-ruined clothes and gave them to Sek Leon; the one holding her up cast her to the floor.

“Don’t fret,” cooed the Keeper, “We are not the monsters of your legends. We will not steal your adornments from you.” With that, Sek Leon tossed her sash back, watching as it wafted gracefully down to land on top of its prone owner’s naked form.

Looking around, he spotted another Gem who seemed to think herself too good for the clothing they had so generously provided. Thinking his point had been adequately made, he simply threw the ruined clothes at her, hitting the white-clad girl squarely in the face. “I recommend you take advantage of these promptly,” he threatened, “lest you long for the same treatment.”

Leaving the girls to their…predicament, Sek Leon now turned his attention to the remaining girls. Rebellion, true rebellion was not in the nature of Gems. But this wasn’t rebellion, this was a childish whim that would crumble and fall as all those before them had. This year, only five gems chose to ‘make a stand’.

Every step back to the prince echoed around the chamber. Even the soft cries of the gems became muted, trying to avoid his gaze. He could feel the relief of the gems he passed and felt the anxiety of the girls to come grow. He passed by a red-haired gem, her eyes glued to the floor. So...submissive it was almost suspicious. His eyes then drifted to the brown haired gem who stood across the table.

Where most of the girls who stood did so hesitantly, this one held herself as though was an equal to the drakken. Shoulders squared and chest puffed, like a kitten trying to fight a lion. It was her eyes that doomed her the most. They stared shamelessly at the prince. A slight that couldn’t be ignored.

“There are those who say,” He announced, “That the defiant Gems breed the strongest sons. Your lord husband will be pleased.” In the next breath, his hand shot out, grabbing a fist full of the girl’s hair, yanking her backwards, into the table. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t work on manners.”

With as much effort has it would take to pull a cloak off a peg, the Keeper of the Brides pulled the girl across the table. Sending dishes crashing to the floor. A jug of juice teetered a moment before spilling over the redhead. But her gasp of distress was muffled by the brown-haired one now being dragged to the front of the room.

She was dragged to the front of the hall, up the steps and onto the raised dais where the Crown Prince made way for the Keeper, anticipating a good spectacle. Once in plain view of every gem in the hall, the Keeper threw the girl, hard, onto the stone.

“Stand,” he ordered, having given the girl barely a fraction of a second before grabbing her hair once more and pulling her to her feet again. “I said, stand.”

“You are going to help me teach a very important lesson,” he said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “When a drakkan approaches you, you kneel. Like so--” Raising his knee, he released the girl for a moment before he slammed it into the girl’s stomach. While she was still doubled over, he shoved the girl to her knees. “Knees-- to the floor, hands folded in your lap,” Grabbing the girls chin, he held her face still. “Never. Look. Your. Betters. In. The. Eye.” With the final word, he jerked the girls head in a way that forced her to look down.

“Now, with royalty, things are a little different,” He left the girl for a moment to address the crowd. Standing behind her, he raised his boot and pressed it into her back. Once the girl’s back was flat, he moved his boot towards her head until it touched the floor. Leaving it there, he returned his attention to the audience. “You are not worthy to look upon them.”

“Although in the future, when in doubt, defer to your husband’s judgement,”

His eyes narrowed in on the remaining faces of the standing girls. With a nod, a scorn of fire drakken fell upon the girls. “I am not unreasonable, and since you seem to like standing so much. You can stand the rest of the day,”

The cries of the four remaining girls reverberated around the hall as each one received a burn to each heel in turn. One tried to crumple, only to be held up by the fire drakkan behind her. “Unless you want that burn extended, I suggest you stay standing,”

With the sobs of the girls as background noise, he addressed the rest of them. “You will now spend the rest of the day learning the history of the true gods. Following that, there will be a presentation on delivering drakken young. I suggest you pay very close attention to it,” He removed his boot from Arden’s head, falling back to the prince as the rest of the guards made a show of ushering the gems out of the hall.





Ehkota made his way from the rather small establishment feeling a particular kind of satisfaction that he got when he knew he had set his brother up for a difficult time. Regardless of how events played out with the kinner and the king, Ehkota was assured quite a spectacle, and if lucky, some leverage. In more recent years, the young prince found his brother to be quite focused on the incoming Gemmenite brides, making sure that all was running smoothly on the front end while simultaneously picking out the best candidates for their war heroes. It was an important task to be sure, but he couldn’t help but feel that he chose himself for it in order to gain favor with certain lords. Certainly he wouldn’t purposely chose less than satisfactory brides for his supporters.

Rolling his eyes to himself, the young prince glanced out into the crowds surrounding him and his men as they continued onward to their next destination. From out of the corner of his eye, a quick flash of color caught Ehkota’s attention, alerting him to a presence he was already half-expecting to see.

It’s almost as if she isn’t even trying to hide… He thought to himself silently, careful to keep moving as he had been previously. Ehkota knew better, however, that the brief flash he had witnessed was meant for his eyes. Ignorance could be feigned all he wanted for it didn’t change a thing about the current situation. He was being followed, and even more so than that… He was being threatened. As if on cue, the woman approached the prince unhindered by any of his now nervous looking guards.

“Well if it isn’t my dear uncle Ehkota, what a lovely surprise.” The woman purred with a tone of voice that could make a lesser man tremble. Glancing over at her, the prince took in the sight of his brother’s pride and joy: Evienna. While she was an unusual sight, there was never a doubt in anyone’s mind about who she was. In a freak combination, the daughter of the eldest prince had inherited rosey pink hair through what was assumed to be silver much like her uncle’s. Mixed with her Gem like complexion it was feared that when she was born, the royal family had witnessed the birth of a true Gem to a drakkan bloodline. Luckily for her, the nubs of what would grow into horns were quite visible and already beginning to sharpen, sparing her from what could have been a terrible fate. Her upbringing brought out the best in her creating a force as vicious as she was beautiful; a loyal enforcer of her father’s will.

“I see you’re slacking off, same as ever. Do you not have work you should be doing instead of playing with the youngbloods?” She asked, easily keeping pace with her unamused uncle. Ehkota had to fight the urge to sigh, not caring to show his annoyance and definitely not his relief. It didn’t seem like his niece knew anything of his new “friend’s” identity, which meant his plans would remain secret from his brother for a little while longer.

“Oh, how you wound me.” He responded shortly, almost mockingly in nature. Hiding his displeasure with her visit wasn’t anywhere near the top of his concerns at the moment, or ever really.

“Well then, I must have been mistaken. My apologies. Since you clearly have everything under control, I’ll leave you to it.” The female drakken turned as though to walk away, pausing close enough to his youngest guard that the strands of her hair brush his shoulder. “ I am so looking forward to tomorrow's tournament. It’s always so much fun to watch the men spilling blood over a tiny portion of glory. Don’t you gentlemen think so?” She taunted, turning a piercing gaze back toward her uncle.

“Do be a dear, and don’t forget to invite our distinguished guests. Father deems their attendance important for morale, after all, they might begin to question the prizes if they never get to see the winners. I hope you don’t mind, but I have already seen to organizing some… entertainment for the lords that attend. Should they not want to partake in the fighting, the palace girls are under my orders to keep them distracted from their troubles. Either way, it’ll be worth their time.” She cooed, taking passing glances at the men surrounding her kin.

“And, I know I said to make sure to invite the distinguished guests specifically, but you should be sure to invite your young friend from before as well.” Her voice was kept light and playful, however, there was a clear line of perspirant cross the young drakkan guard as she spoke, his underlying panic becoming clear. “” You know how much I love to become better acquainted with the important people in your life.” Evienna laughed, her attention hovering on the overly nervous guard.

“Don’t worry darling, you are most definitely invited too. You may even sit with me if you so desire.” She could feel the man tense as she licked her lips, chuckling to herself as she took her leave. As much as she would have enjoyed toying with the children for a little while longer, she did have work to do. After all, she was the one in charge of welcoming the city’s new arrivals, a good first impression had to be made. Dancers, musicians, jesters, among a few other professionals had been hired by her family to satiate every desire. Even she herself would be making an appearance on behalf of her father, welcoming in person those that she knew to be of importance.

Ehkota was left behind with his guards, eyes fixated on the spiteful woman until she could be seen no more. There was plenty he wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut out of self-preservation. Whatever he said about her in the next few moments were sure to make it back to her. An issue he would rather not deal with in addition to the trouble she was attempting to cause.

“Never a private moment. You heard the woman, we have work to do. Every individual receiving a bride this week is to receive a summons to the Pit. Tournament will start at midday, it is suggested that if they are going to participate to make their preparations tonight. Otherwise they will have all the comforts of home provided while they spectate.” The prince waved the majority of his group away to follow their new orders, keeping only a couple just in case. His destination was set for home where he planned to spend the rest of his afternoon planning his next moves.

Miry dabbed at her mouth with the linen napkin, sighing lightly as she pushed her chair back from the table. The breakfast had been very good, and very filling - she just wished she could have eaten more of it. She had only managed about half the food on her plate, and had discreetly slipped much of the remainder onto Zak's when she thought he wasn't looking. As she stood from the table she slipped a piece of fruit - she couldn't remember the name of it, but it was another of the fruits commonly found in Zak's holdings - into a pocket in her trousers. Though her stomach was full now, and feeling altogether too unstable, she knew she'd be hungry again before dinner.

It was of massive consolation that she'd told him, she decided. Now he would know why she had been so.. off, and why she'd been so preoccupied and all. Though she also hadn't relieved the worries entirely, simply transferred them over- she glanced over to her husband and his vaguely unfocused expression and knew he was preoccupied by something. Likely the same thing that had plagued her mind for the last two weeks...

She promptly realized that she had risen from her chair and was simply standing next to Zak, staring at him with a vague, fuzzy grin on her face. She blushed, extending a hand. "My love, I am going to retire to the sitting room- would you like to accompany me?"

They walked out one of the doors at the side of the hall, arms linked. It was just a short corridor before it opened out onto an atrium, with a tall ceiling and balconies on the apparent second floor. It was a square room, with low padded benches and large cushions carefully arranged around a few small fountains that burbled out of the floor and filled the room with the musical bubbling of water.

Miry disentangled her arm from Zak's, wobbling over to one of the large cushions - she was suddenly unsteady - and easing herself down. Her legs folded up underneath her, wide trousers pooling out around her as she settled into the seat, finally shifting to produce the well-worn book of poetry from her satchel. She also produced a wax tablet, which she carefully uncovered, laying it out flat in front of her. It was warm here; she'd have to be careful to not dig too deep into the tablet as she made the foreign letters. While she was getting much better at the spoken language, her attempts at writing still left much to be desired.

As she opened the book, turning to the page she'd last left on, she murmured, "I think I'm getting better at these poetic structures." For the last month she had been meticulously working at this book, translating a verse or maybe two a day. It was an epic work, a chronicle of creation. Whether it was of their own universe or another, Miry wasn't yet certain, and Zak had given her exactly no background information before offering the book for her perusal. Enough certainly seemed like the Gemmenite priest's telling of the tale, but it was just... wrong enough to confuse her. Of course she had attended service in the temple at Mu'Jupostat, it had been expected of her, but their rapidly spoken poetic verse had left her gleaning only snippets of her husband's family beliefs. But no author of fiction could have been this elaborate in their description... She had suspected for some time that it was actually one of their holy books, and he was deliberately not telling her so as not to cloud her mind.

She pushed all those thoughts out of her mind, focusing on the text and the text alone. The first few lines blurred, fairly self explanatory, but the concluding two of the stanza made her blood run cold.
...E gandroz diil, haelia diil
E meldoz gehiez weli kalabe nagaia.

She read the words several times, heart racing a bit. She had to have mistranslated something. ...And she had given land, horrible land, and driven her children to go there to death... No, it had to have been wrong. Two lines to such a monumental atrocity, it could not have been right. And if it was the holy book, as she suspected, and was in fact speaking of their creation... where was the mention of the war? The three elder sons turning on the beauty of their mother's creation- where was the destruction? She had abandoned her children, yes- but she'd tried to save them, tried to heal them first.

Timidly, her voice trembling, she gave voice to her concern. "My love? Surely a mother would not... surely she would not abandon her children to die, right? I understand that is the custom of the east but..." She did not dare look up at him, afraid he would laugh- either at her terrible skills of the language or her ignorance and naivety.

The night was young yet the moon shone bright and full, the sky an ink black backdrop, the silvery glow it emanated washed over the sand dunes accentuating their smooth waves and ridges. Still as stone. I'm still as stone. The thought rattled off in his head as he knelt motionless among the sands, his right hand buried up to his forearm as he used the affinity with his element to feel out for the beast that stalked them. Still as stone. I'm still as stone.

Slowly his eyes parted open as they gently began scanning the area for his companion. Some way off to his right he lay, prone on his belly, so still he may as well of been dead. So good at its craft was the Blackridge fox, that Ordric would have looked right past it were it not for the reflection of light that came from the bone protrusions that stuck out from its body. A series of interlocking bone plates that covered the spine of the critter from head to tail, acting as a natural armor from the razor sharp talons of owls and other creatures that shared its habitat. Some plates ran down its side too, tracing the ribs, but where there was no such protection, long, black, sleek fur took its place.

Ordric wondered if the creature had some mantra of its own to aid in its stealth, or whether the skill came from the inherited mastery of his species, an invisible instinct that guided it along. Suddenly there was a shift in the sands, a twitch from Rippers ear let him know that the fox was aware of it too. Carefully Ordric craned his neck to the left. There, about a stones throw away, the earth moved and sent the shadows to dancing. The sand cascaded in large, silvery sheets as the great worm moved beneath them, snaking its way in their direction. A few tense moments passed as the sands shifted ominously around them. I'll be damned if I let Krenta gnaw on my bones for dying to some worthless worm. His face slowly twisted into a grimace as he reached for the knife on his hip. His left hand gripped the hilt as the worm came so close that the sands washed over his boots. He could feel it there, just beneath the surface, it was certain to surface, he was sure of it. And then one of us shall live and the other returned to their creator in shame. His body was now wound tight like a crossbow, ready to let loose his fury upon the beast, his heart beat faster and faster til he feared it might rip free from his chest. The worm moved with haste and Ordric went to pull free his blade, but something made him hesitate. The beast has turned away! Sure enough the worm had fled in a hurry, either having grown tired of this pursuit or sensing new prey nearby. It mattered not to Ordric. He was alive. He was whole.

Although the night was cool and pleasant, a fine sheen of sweat covered his skin as he steadily rose to his feet. Ripper got up to, stretching out his fore paws before trotting over to his master.

"Seems Norric himself watches over us little one." Ordric chuckled, squatting down to give the fox a scratch around the ears. His eyes turned hard as he scanned the horizon, in their time waiting for the worm to pass he had long forgotten their bearings. Luckily for him the stars had come out, shining bright and clearly he was able to make out several constellations. He traced the Traitors blade with a finger, following down its edge to another collection of stars that vaguely resembled a fang, Jorrins fang. Named for some old Drakkan hero, whom in the stories had wrestled a dragon from the sky on a drunken bet. He fought long and hard til the dragons tail caught him in the mouth, knocking loose a tooth in the process. He was eventually able to drag it back down to the ground, but his tooth remained high in the heavens, and now served as a guide south. One need only find the fangs point like the old man showed me, all those years ago.

The rest of the journey proved mostly uneventful and Ordric found himself walking through the gates of Železna Kri with the other waylaid parties and stragglers that had pulled themselves in to celebrate the Reaping. A lot of the younger Drakkan wore smiles and chattered about what things they looked forward to most on the morrow, or how they'd find some lord to challenge so that they may steal away his prized Gems. Like they wouldn't piss themselves if faced with a real lord worthy of the title, born and bred of Drakka and not just born into a name. He gave them little notice beyond this, tearing his eyes away from their direction lest they betray the disdain he felt. How can these fools celebrate the slow killing of our people, our way of life. This diluting of our blood by taking on these Gems as wives. These beings who are weak of body and spirit will prove our downfall. The thought that his people would be brought low by such a race as theirs filled him with shame, and the hypocrisy of his thoughts left a bitter taste in his mouth, for had he not been sent here to claim a bride of his own? He spat on the ground in hatred and moved on into the streets of the lower district. His eyes seething with anger.

The walk served to calm him as he winded through the busy streets, bustling and alive with all kinds, even at this hour. He wove his way through the alleys, all still as familiar to him as when he ran them as a boy with the other orphans. He had been quite the monster then, wild and free, he and his gang terrorizing the locals. Lying, stealing and killing to survive. Had the old man not found him and brought him up under the Order he would of most likely wound up face down in one of these gutters, or strung up in the main square with the other criminals.

He rounded the corner and came upon an alehouse, a quiet establishment on the edge of town that had offered cheap accommodation and tolerable drink to him in the past. The wooden signpost that hung over its entrance had begun to warp with age and the paint was peeling at the edges, but one could still make out the faded lettering. 'The Headless Ogre'. A picture of the large, oafish creature was displayed above, its body chasing down the severed head that rolled away from it. Ordric pushed into the entrance with his shoulder, his fox scampering in behind him.

"By Sorraks balls! Ordric, is that you?" Asked the older Drakka behind the bar.
"Aye, and weary from my travels." Ordric replied, gazing about the alehouse, few patrons filled its seats, none of which paid him any mind. His eyes came to rest on the barkeep, a slender Drakka that stood a head or so taller than himself, he had twisted black horns that pointed skyward and had a habit of making him seem even taller. Ordric allowed himself a smile as he extended hand in greeting.

"It's been too long Laz." He said as they took each other by the forearm in a firm embrace.
"That it has lad, that it has. I take it you'll be wanting a room?" Laz inquired with a scratch of his chin.
Ordric answered with a fistful of coins upon the counter. " That, and a tankard of ale. I have quite the thirst."
The older Drakka shuffled to a barrel behind him and poured his ale. It was a dark amber color, with a strong smell, but smooth on the tongue. He gave his thanks and found himself a seat in the back, Ripper curling up at his feet. Pulling free some strips of hard, salted beef from his pack, he begun chewing away at his meager fare, washing it down with drink as he mulled over his thoughts. He chewed angrily as he recalled the elders decision that he'd be the one to take upon this burden for the Order. The royal family were once again meddling in their affairs, assimilating them more and more into this twisted path that the Drakkan were walking. He doubted they'd go through the all the trouble if the Order weren't such good surgeons and healers, no one rivaled them in their skills with fire and knife, nor their knowledge of herb lore.

Ordric took a final swig from his tankard, drinking long and deep. Damn them all. He thought bitterly as he took one last gulp, slamming it back down with dissatisfaction. Ripper jumped up from around Ordrics feet, he had been so caught up in his musings, he hadn't noticed the fox there.

"Sorry little fella, I'd quite forgotten about you." He said apologetically, leaning down beneath the table to pull free another strip of salt beef for the fox to worry away at. Ripper took the meat with an eagerness only hunger could inspire, holding the strip to the floor with his front paws as he tore at it with his teeth, growling contently as he did so. Giving the fox a quick scratch behind the ears, Ordric lifted his head up to look about the empty room once again, his heart was heavy with the dread of unknowing. "Lets see what the morrow brings, hey?"

[Adorabella]

_{Bride of Unknown @"character player" and Sister Bride of Unknown @"character player"
Interacting with: Sorrin @WeepingLiberty}

She saw his boots approach with his voice. Her heartbeat drummed a rapid beat in her chest. She could feel her blood rushing through her and create a whooshing sound in her ears. She heard him speak. Was it to her? She lifted her head to find him looking calmly and expectantly down toward her. Adorabella obeyed and stood, demurely approaching one of the countless men who had her fate in his hand.
“Exquisite,” he said, his fingers gently brushing against her sash. She was confused. There was something menacing about him but his tone and his gestures seemed to almost be a compliment. Her brows furrowed as she inclined her head in thanks. “I assume you felt our fine clothing wasn’t good enough for you.” She immediately shook her head, worry forcing acid into her throat. She couldn’t speak. Fear held her in place. “Very well, let us relieve you.” What?

His fingers snapped and Adorabella turned just as two Drakken men took hold of her. They were not at all gentle, holding her painfully enough to bruise. She cried out as quietly as she could and bit her lip as her clothing was stripped from her. She squeezed her eyes shut. She waited for the beating she thought was to come. The men let her go and she fell to the floor.

As she lifted her head the sash fell onto her. It was warm still with her body heat. Her naked body seemed to absorb the cold much more quickly without the rough fabric she had been wearing. She moved into a kneeling position, holding the sash against her chest.

She watched as he began to put other minor tortures onto her sisters. When it came to the burning of their soles she winced and looked away. Her first thought was of a mixture, a poultice that she could apply to help the burn heal and soothe the pain. She had no access to these things through and that more than her nakedness made her feel helpless.

He went on to ramble about the lessons they were to learn. When it seemed time to go, she stood and wrapped the sash around her waist where it had rested before her clothes had been removed. The rest of her body remained exposed. She was not embarrassed by her curvy figure. She had spent many a day before her nobility training as a free, naked little sprite running through the forest. And even enjoying male partners. The cold hurt her more than her bare breast. The lurid stares of the male Drakken were merely laughable. She would not be made to feel ashamed of herself. She was exposed with pride and she held her head high. She was a noblewoman. More importantly, she was a woman of the forest. Of Water. Of healing. They would not strip away her identity.

Adorabella waited to leave with Sorrin before she followed the rest of the girls to their training. She vowed at that moment she would do all she could to take care of this poor, innocent girl. The men she had once thought could never be as monstrous as the stories had certainly proved themselves today. Her fear was replaced by a great desire to protect. She would take all the abuse onto herself before she would let any girl who wanted a place under her wing. “Come, walk slowly, take your time,” she cooed softly to Sorrin, stroking the taller girl’s soft blonde locks.

Her fear was validated. She had made a mistake.
Amalia was terrified she would be killed on the spot for her error. Others may have been being defiant but Amalia had genuinely thought standing with her head bowed had been right. One gem was stripped of her clothing. Another was dragged forward and made an example of with the Drakken's boot on her back and head, pinning her to the floor like an insect.

Amalia should have dropped to her knees but she was too scared to move. She paid the price along with a handful of others. The pain from the fire searing her flesh made her scream. She had to grab the table to keep from falling face first onto the floor. Amalia bit her lip against the pain to the point where ruby blood shone on her pale skin.
Those that had been burned would have to walk on the balls of their feet for the rest of the day and likely the next.

The walk to their lessons was agony. Tears shimmered and spilled over her cheeks. She hadn't meant to insult. She hadn't meant to seem rebellious. It wasn't fair. She hadn't known. How was she to have known? If only she had been given a chance to explain her reasoning.
The lessons themselves were blasphemous against the Great Mother Vivari and all of the elemental gods. It hurt Amalia's heart to hear the Drakken tear down the Great Mother and promote their gods of hatred, violence and blood.
Hearing about the birthing process was easier but horrible none the less. It would be a miracle to survive birthing one of the Drakken monsters.

Experiencing all of this was so vastly different from the life she had known that Amalia wanted to give up in despair. It seemed impossible.
Despite her earlier words of encouragement and hope Amalia felt at a loss. She was like an innocent pure child that had been tossed into a pen with rabid dogs.
But she had to stay strong. This is what she had been taught and prepared for her entire life. If she appeared broken, then how would the others who looked to her for comfort and strength cope? She had to be strong for them.

That evening, when they were taken to their rooms, Amalia collapsed onto the bed with a relieved sob the moment the door shut. Her feet pained her beyond belief. They throbbed as she cried into her pillow. There would be no singing from her tonight.

"It's okay. We'll get through this. You're not alone."

As Nadia struggled to breathe normally, and as the warmth began to spread over her body, she just barely heard a whisper from right next to her. She glanced to the side, peering through her loose golden locks at the girl and managing a small, thankful smile. She didn't dare to reply yet, but hopefully the other Gem would understand.

As the Prince and Sek Leon walked around the room, Nadia kept her eyes focused on the ground and the small area she could see just around her. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as they didnt come near her, but flinched at the cries and screams she heard as those who were less fortunate recieved their "punishments". Only when it was all over did she dare to look up.

As she sat up, the glow around her died and she allowed her hands to fall to her lap as she noticed the fading light. Quickly, she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, while she silently cursed herself in her mind for using her power out in the open like this. Oh Pyrus, what if I had lost control? I didn't even know I was doing that! No one seemed to be staring at her, at least, but she still glanced warily at each of the Drakken in the room as she carefully stood and held out a hand to help the Gem who'd spoken to her up off the ground.

"Thank you, by the way." She stated timidly once the other Gem was standing. "It's nice to know I'm not the only one terrified of, well, all of this. My name is Nadia.. I'm a daughter of Pyrus, but I think you may have noticed that already... She trailed off as she thought, And I hope you were the only one who did. She smiled as she continued, a small gesture that didn't quite match her saddened eyes. "What is your name?"

...
Eventually, Nadia would begin to follow the rest of the Gems as they were all herded away for the first "lesson". She would try to stay close to some of the nice Gems she'd meet so far, but every time a guard would glance her way or at any of them she would feel a sharp pang of fear. What if The next step for the Drakken was for the girls all to be isolated? Nadia didn't really have any friends before, but now she felt she needed a bond with someone like her, and if the Drakken noticed and tried to break those bonds, she felt that's all it would take for them to completely break her now.

During the Gods presentation, she repeated prayers to Pyrus and Vivari over and over in her head. The idol she carried felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket as the Draken all spoke about how Vivari was a Monster and how they believed Pyrus, Aurem, and Naia to all be her favored children only because they were "no better than her". Nadia would not believe any of it- the very thought was blasphemous.

As for the second presentation... It was terrifying and disgusting, and it took all of her willpower just to keep herself from running from the room screaming- which a few Gems actually did. She payed what attention she could, but there came a point where she was seriously debating suicide as an alternative to childbirth.

Come nightfall she was completely worn out from the constant fear of doing something wrong and earning herself one of those "punishments", and really truly wishing there were a way to just convince herself that this was all just a horrible, horrible nightmare. When they were all ushered back into the hall for dinner, she sat next to Kyrena, if the other Gem allowed it. There were foods from both Drakka and Gemmenia again, but she only took fruits and other things she knew were sweet-tasting. Perhaps she was being indulgent, but the familiar foods were comforting to her at the moment. She wasn't willing to give anything of her home up just yet.

---

It appears she made the wrong choice. As she watched the girl with the lovely sash brutally stripped, and a very brave-seeming Gem smashed around a table and forced to bow "properly", Onyx slowly realized what was now expected of them. The Drakken wanted submissive little toys, girls who would cower in fear and let the brutes have their way with them. She also realized, as she was grabbed and the heels of her feet were burned, that the stories about the Drakken that she'd heard her whole life weren't true. They were much worse in person than in any story she had ever known.

She went through the presentations on tiptoe- quite literally. At one point she made the mistake of leaning against the wall to try and take some of her weight off her feet for a while, and the Drakkan came over again and burned the balls of her feet as well now. So, she put on a brave face and stood the rest of the time, fighting the urge to collapse to the floor with every step she took. As they were all led back to the dining hall, she was glad that the day was almost over.

Tears were silently falling down her cheeks as she stood near one of the tables. She couldn't bring herself to eat, not when she was in so much pain. It felt like her feet were still burning, the way burns do when you dont treat them right, and considering how she'd been standing and walking on them all day, she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd torn her skin and was bleeding on top of everything else. She instead read her book, or tried to at least. After a while though, she found herself stuck on one page, reading the same few sentences over and over.

---

When Kendra heard the cries of her fellow Gems, she was pulled from her little moment of meditation. Her head snapped up as she opened her eyes just in time to see these monsters rip off a small girl's clothes. Kendra glared at the Drakkan as he left her with only a sash to cover herself, and then moved on to hurt all of the girls who'd been standing.

As soon as it was safe, Kendra stood and in one motion took off the horrible shirt she'd been given as she did so. She walked over to the one Gem who'd been stripped was now, noticing that the girl just had the sash tied around her waist as it normally would be worn. It looked like she was helping another Gem to walk- one of the ones who'd been burned. Before she even said anything, Kendra held out the garment to the smaller girl as an offering. "Please, take this. You'll freeze if you wear nothin' at all but that sash." she was going to continue, to tell the girl that she couldn't refuse, but before she could say anything more and before the other girl could even properly respond, a couple of the Drakken guards came over and took the shirt from her hands.

"Well now, it was a nice thought- but you'll be joining in her punishment for trying to help." Just as Kendra realized what he meant, the other one grabbed her and held her still so that they could rip the trousers off of her in the same manner they had the little Gem she'd just been trying to help, leaving her with nothing but the necklace of seashells that she never ever took off. She quickly began shivering in the dry, cold air that was so unlike that of her tropical home.

She glared at the two as they released her, and they only laughed as they walked away. She crossed her arms over herself, trying to hide what she could while also atempting to conserve warmth. "Well. That backfired." She half-smiled at the two Gems in front of her now, deciding to completely ignore the fact thay she was now completely nude as well. "Hi. I'm sorry, I really thought I'd be able to help... But, my name's Kendra. And you guys?"

...
Kendra was used to not wearing clothes all the time- it was actually a rather common thing for her people. But, that was only because the temperature never dipped below "comfortably cool night" on her little Island. Here, in the freezing cold of the mountains, she felt like she really was going to freeze to death. She couldn't focus at all through either presentation, and when dinner finally came, she was elated to be able to sit at the table closest to the hearth.

She tried as many of the hot foods as she could find, seeking warmth in any way she could. Some of the Gemmenian foods on the table were great for that- hearty soups and hot breads fresh from an oven (or so it seemed), but a couple of the Drakkan dishes peaked her curiosity as well. Her bravery wasn't quite yet spent for the day, so she opted to try one. She picked up a piece of what appeared to be a meatloaf, and took a big bite. Immediately after, she began gagging and coughing, spitting the spicy mush out as quickly as she could. She drank some water, but of course that didn't really help at all.

Where…

Her eyes were closed tight, her forehead firmly placed on the stone floor. The noise around her was muffled, almost as if she was choosing not to hear it at all. The image of the large men at the front of the room was fading away but the cries of the other women remained. One was stripped… another forcefully dragged across the room and ridiculed. The beating of her own heart sounded like a drum in her head; it grew louder and faster until it drowned out every other possible sound. The world began to collapse around her, giving away, until suddenly… there was nothing left at all.

Where… am I?



There she was, standing in her village. A village that she hated but couldn’t escape. All of their eyes were on her; the words they spoke were like daggers piercing her skin. They were afraid of her. She knew why. ”But it was an accident…"

A large hand wrapped itself around her arm, yanking on it to pull her body in his direction. She prayed for this, for a different fate, but this is not what she meant. Pyrus… why do you curse me.

The journey to her new home felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than a week. She shared the road ahead with a few other terrified looking souls; were they terrified of her, or were they terrified of what came next? Their scared faces, they were too familiar. The girl could feel a well form in her stomach, she didn’t want to be with them anymore. How could she escape them? ...set fire to the carriage.

”No. You can’t. I won’t let you."



”Who are you talking to, sweetheart!? You best watch your mouth or you’ll end up like your friends." The sound of the Drakkan’s booming voice above her head was accompanied by a swift toe kick to her side. Sera winced as the action ripped her from her daydream, her hand quickly replaced where the Drakkan’s boot had been and clenched her side. The girl’s head rose slightly off the floor, her fiery red eyes meeting with the beast’s above hers. She was confused, she thought she had done everything right. She knelt, she put her forehead on the ground, what else did they want?

”Come on, lass. I ain't got all day, get up and get going!” The Drakkan barked at her as he reached down and forcefully grabbed her arm, pulling her off the ground and shoving her toward the rest of the group as they were ushered out of the hall.

Sera clumsily fell toward the group, accidentally bumping into a brown haired Gem with golden green eyes. She looked up at the brown haired Gem with a concerned look on her face; swallowing heavily she managed a one word apology before turning and joining everyone else. Sera observed the group around her, noting that some of them were already forming some degree of companionship. The idea of companionship seemed nice, but she knew it was an unrealistic venture for her to pursue. I would just end up hurting them….

You don’t need them, Sera. Think about how they have treated you in the past, like a caged animal waiting to be trapped… and look, they got what they wanted. You will never know freedom again. Gems, pathetic and weak..

Sera’s hands tightened together, her face twisting into an melancholy stare. She knew that Serafine was right, but as always she struggled to admit it. She had been cast out by the ones she loved, by the ones who were supposed to love her. Everyone gave up on her…They all watched as she was ripped from her home, not a single person even left their house to offer a comforting look. In a village full of people, she was alone. In this place, she was alone. Serafine was right, Gems were pathetic and weak.



The day had been long, all the Gems were forced to learn about the Drakkan Gods. It was clear that the beasts were attempting to purge any hope the Gems had in their own faith’s. The Drakkan wouldn’t have to try hard; Sera had given up on Pyrus many years ago when she was gifted with the ability to manipulate Fire. A curse, she called it, rather than a blessing. She did not always think that way though, there were times when she found herself believing it was gift to be treasured; Serafine surely enjoyed it.

Once the teachings were over, everyone returned back to the hall. The same food was laid out on the tables and Sera followed her same actions as she had made earlier. She crossed the room sheepishly, plated her food and found a table with the least amount of people to sit at. Sera's burning eyes stared at the food and though her stomach ached for sustenance, she did not eat. Instead she laid one arm on the table, cradling the side of her head in the joint as she watched the finger on her opposing hand lightly draw circles in the table.

Sera’s mind emptied again before it was suddenly filled with images of her playing as a little girl in her head. She could hear his voice; his laughter echoed in the valley. A slight twitch of a smile appeared on her face before it was quickly ripped away when his voice began to writhe in pain. It was screaming. And there it was, the smell of burning flesh…

Her eyes widened and her hand retracted away from the table. She rose her head quickly from her arm and frantically looked around the room she was in. There was no valley. There was no laughing. There was no fire. There were was nothing but sad looking souls gathering to eat another well prepared meal.

It wasn’t real… she thought to herself as she felt her racing heart begin to calm. Sera’s arm returned to its original position, her head sinking back into its joint. She then noticed the circular scorch marks on the table. She had burnt it while drawing. Her fiery red eyes stared at them, hoping she wouldn’t be punished for it.

”Look at what you did.”

Zakroti eyes fluttered open and he grunted as he shifted on the bench he had taken to lying on. He listened carefully to Aymiria and glanced to the book in her hand, giving her a small smile. He wondered if she had figured it out yet, what the book was and the story it was telling. And what she thought of it.

"No, no. A good mother would not. But she was a force of nature, not a true mother. She was jealous, envious, violent and cruel, but above all greedy. After her children's children were born, she hated them and sought to see them destroyed, for she regarded it as a challenge to her power. She took to committing cosmic genocide; Drove them into the harshest lands and siced the beasts of the world on them. Murder by proxy." Zakroti said with an air of intelligence around him, enjoying the position of knowledge he had assumed on the matter. He sat up and edged closer to her, sitting beside her with a smile, placing his arm around her, reading through the passages of the book

Odzi zara epeew ad an hame, e meldew an haelia unada ad liavisia e an jaedvisia, kala nagaia. Kala an Wel a an lown, O jorlze kas, a lalyentieiz jaedgaladi arat geheiz Wel.

"'We shall speak for the land, and drive the terrible beasts from earth and the heaven, to death. To the children of the three, I offer no forgiveness, for the fathers' sins poison their son. '" Zakroti translated as he placed his fingers onto the lines, reading them aloud for Miry to hear. "See, she feared her children, so she made new gods. Here, she speaks to them and rallies them--and decrees that there shall be no mercy. She is dedicated to cleansing the world of them."

Thul vasha geheiz zyro; Haelia unadai ad an ush. Geh Mittaoz Tormoras zo an ish, kala ede an welieiz kros. Dun ma tyr e ma rof, an unaze weli mittazeoz an unadai. Geh aoz zyro.

"Dawn brought her wrath; terrible beasts from the South. She created mountains to the east, to end the children's escape. But with bravery and with strength, the young children destroyed the beasts. She was enraged." Zakroti translated again, peering to Miry out of the corner of his eye as he did, watching her reactions intently. "Here, she tries to have them destroyed, to entrap them and send monsters against them. But they are too strong and she is left in impotent rage."

That evening, saw Gwillim polishing the armor his mate liked to wear. She intended to use it for the tourney tomorrow and he wanted her to look absolutely striking. His own armor had been carefully seen too before the journey and was standing on a rack in the courner of the room glinting from the shadows, as Gwillim worked by the light of setting sun. He wore a pair of thin cotton trousers that came to his knees, with a plain broad leather belt, while he worked. His wife was seeing to her hair at the moment with several attending slaves. He was careful to wipe away the grimey dust of the road, and courtyard below, a smile dancing across his lips as he recalled the match they'd had. Alfhildr had apperntly been challenged by a boy a few summers older than her, a fool of a lumbering ox, strong in muscle, sinew and bone, true. Alfhi had trounced him handily by all accounts, using her speed and wits to outmaneuver the bigger boy. Gwillim was quiet proud of his girl for that. Her first challenge, unofficial though it was, and she'd won easily. He was oiling the leather now, and working the tough hides in his thick calloused hands. The scales were of excellent quality, taken from some of the more vicious creatures hiding in the crags of the Spine Mountains. Those mountains were impassible to Gwillim, no matter how many paths he tried to cut, something always stood in his way. It was a wonder that Drakken had ever found a way across.

Still, it wasn't Geminia that Gwillim wanted access to, no he wanted the trail of the Anathos. The legendary warrior swarms that had been threat enough to unite all drakken. But their trail lay across the spine from his family's lands so there was nothing he could do about it. he would try traveling south this year, searching for his own path to the Anathos. Gwillim checked the clasps and straps next, if one these failed it could cost him his wife, and she was worth far more than a hundred brides. Even if she didn't find him appealing, she understood him, and he her. True it wasn't everything he'd hoped for, but... it was still so much more than most got. He would not begrudge her for liking the company of other women more than his. So long as she was willing to fight with him, he would be content. He looked forward to the paired tourney tomorrow. Most of the younger Drakken disdain the paired tourney, thinking the reliance on a team mate to be weakness. But the king valued it all the more, as it showed which of his Drakken lords could work together, could set aside difference for a common goal, no matter how briefly.

Satisfied that the armor was spotless and ready for the tourney, he hung it on it's own rack. Stepping back he did a quick check to be sure that all their gear was there, and it was. He then went to the small balcony attached to the room to enjoy the last of the sunset, that glowering eye that reminded them all of the mother's hatred for her first children. He liked watched the hatred fall below the horizon, hoping that one day, the eye might see the land for what it was. That the mother might remember the works of her own hands, and forget her hatred. But it was just a dream, and he knew it. So he turned his mind to the opponents he and his wife would likely face in the tournament tomorrow.

Though she could not clearly see far enough to understand what was happening, the cries of agony were unmistakeable. Nenra swallowed, easing out of her chair and falling to her knees on the ground, mostly under the table. Thankfully, the Drakken "lords" didn't seem to notice her, even her act of "defiance" as they would have likely assumed.

She wordlessly followed after the group towards their lessons, hovering towards the back (though she was careful to not be the very last one in the line) as they were paraded down the hall. As they walked out she flinched, too clearly hearing the meaty thud of a boot striking a girl, her whimpering gasping cry. Nenra turned towards the sound, seeing the white blur of the girl's hair as she was sprawled on the floor. The girl was picked up and roughly shoved, or at least that was what it seemed, as she came hurtling into the ragged line- directly towards her. Nenra gasped, at the last second extending her arm to catch the other girl, drawing stability, balance and calm from the stone floor beneath their feet.

For a long moment they looked at each other, the other girl swallowing nervously and mumbling something before turning to rejoin the line. She was absolutely stunning- even Nenra could see that, with her so close. Beautiful snowy white locks, fiery red eyes-

Something jiggled in her memory, a story of some sort, but she pushed it away. Now was not the time for such thoughts of stories- now was the time to think of staying alive.

As they went about their day, being forcefully indoctrinated into beliefs they could not accept, she kept the white-haired girl in the corner of her eye. Like herself, the girl was very isolated, very self-contained. Perhaps they could do well to stick together, as most of the others had already formed pods of twos and threes for their miserable company. She seemed... different than these vapid noble girls. Carrying the weight of something as Nenra herself was.

She tried not to think too hard about the lessons. Unlike some of the girls - judging from their faces, at least those who were close enough for her to see - she had only a tie of convenience to her faith. It was born mostly from necessity. After all, the gods would not bring in the harvest, only their own hands. Faith was great, when they had the time for it, and in the winter months they were entertained by the myth and legend of their people. But for the most part their lives were of work and only work, and had been for five summers.

All of them had to grow up far too fast.

After lessons, they were brought back to the dining hall. She carefully seated herself beside the white-haired girl from earlier, though she said nothing. Then again, that was hardly surprising itself. Spoken word had grown increasingly rare in Myllendh, almost as rare as laughter - it had been months since they'd spoken above a whisper, and even that only when comforting their ailing relatives. They knew too well what their jobs were to keep the town running, and they did not, generally, care for idle chatter. They scarcely had time- or energy- for that, after all.

The white-haired girl spoke, snapping Nenra out of her thoughts. "Look what you did."

For a horrible moment Nenra thought that she, in her clumsiness, had knocked something over. Though she could see her immediate place setting, and the earthenware goblet of water she had poured herself, her vision quickly turned to a blur at the edges and she feared she must have knocked someone else's goblet over. After a good moment squinting around the table and seeing nothing amiss, she glanced over at the girl, her face softening, and tentatively extended a hand, placing it on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse and so quiet it could scarcely be heard. She reached for the pitcher of water, after a moment of fumbling clumsily taking it and with a trembling hand pouring into the other girl's goblet. Some splashed over the side as she overfilled it and her face flushed as she fumbled to set down the pitcher and wipe up the spill.

---

---

Miry's body instantly relaxed as Zak moved to sit beside her. She folded herself against his side, curling up and resting her head against his chest and letting him fold his arm around her, offering him the book as his fingers traced over the well-worn page, his voice sure of the words without any hesitation. It sort of gave the impression that he could have read the book with his eyes closed.

As he read she swallowed sharply, internalizing the words. Her brow scrunched up with her thoughts, and out of habit she pulled a thin stream of water from the nearby fountain, slowly twirling it through her fingers and pooling it in her palm, then weaving it between her fingers in intricate threads so thin they nearly separated into individual droplets. It was a control exercise of her element, (one she'd mastered at the age of ten, and scarcely had to consider it now) but doing something with her hands helped her to think.

She felt his eyes on her as he read and tried to school her face into impassiveness, something she wasn't sure she succeeded at. A faint bitterness rose in her throat, her convictions of what this text was suddenly solidified. Three sons, mountains in the east, terrible monsters...

Her initial reaction had been one of recoil, considering the text blasphemous at best. Then the more... reasonable side of her mind kicked in, reminding her (against her will) that even as the mother and three younger children were made out to be dimensionless monsters in this book, so the three elder children were made into in the mythos she had been raised in.

Perhaps each was made for its own agenda, and only told half the story.

She peered up at Zak, waiting for him to continue reading or speaking about it (and mentally noting that she probably seemed like a petulant child), not yet trusting her conviction enough to speak it aloud. Her brow furrowed slightly, a troubled expression coming into her eyes, but she said nothing, instead snuggling up a bit closer to him and skimming the next part of the passage.

---

---

Scyrven carefully braided the upteenth lock of fiery orange hair, expertly weaving the small brightly colored feathers back into it now that it was mostly dry (even as thick as it was, the perk of air magic was that she could dry it.) She left the bones and beads out this time, knowing her head was going to be in a helmet come the morning and that she didn't want those to be pressed into her skull.

The bath had certainly been nice, doing its part to relax her muscles. Gwillim had done his part as well- even if he wasn't her first choice of partner, having spent a century or so together meant he did know exactly how to please her.

She tied off the final braid with a bit of wet rawhide, looking in approval at her reflection. Just as fierce and wild as ever, but perhaps a little more tame. If only because it was all going to be inside a helm.

She put her boots back on, moving down the stairs with practiced, cat-like grace. She wore a simple long tunic - knee length, with slits up the sides to her waist so as not to impede movement - over soft hide leggings. "Thank you, my love." She said to Gwillim, approaching to stand beside him and looping her arm around his waist, more as a gesture of companionship than anything. "We will be the most graceful, deadly fighters on the field tomorrow, I am certain." Of course they were not to kill, such was not the nature of the tournament, but all the same they would certainly be able to leave a mark. "Are you ready for the tournament?"

From her place on the floor, Bree had no doubts in her mind that each and everyone of them were being judged beneath the harsh gazes of their masters. As she suspected, their orders to bow were a test, and the majority had followed through in one form or another. What she had not expected though, was how immediate their punishments would be for any who were deemed to have failed.

Anxiety gripped her chest as she glanced about her from the corner of her eyes, taking note of several figures that didn’t even come close to a bow. Some she came to decide just didn’t know better, however, there were a few that she knew stood out of sheer defiance as surprising as it may have been. Without turning her head she shifted her gaze to the side so that she could check on her conversation partner, a girl from what was close enough to be considered home. Whether fate had crossed their paths before, Bree did not know, but any thoughts on the matter immediately vanished as she realized Arden was no bowing with the rest. She had chosen defiance over survival.

She wanted to call out to her, to tell her to just let it go this once and follow the rules so that she may live to see another day. So that she may continue on and defy their captors in other ways, in more productive manners. Standing now was pointless, but there was nothing she could do. It was too late to warn her unless she herself wanted to join the ranks of those that had failed the very first test. As quickly as the men had entered, the punishments began, and she was left kneeling with her gaze glued to the floor hoping she would not be noticed.

While she couldn’t see everything that was going on, she made sure to listen very carefully. There was much to be learned here to avoid unnecessary pain later on. And much to learn about her sister Gems in their capture, as not much opportunity had been present for them to show what they were made of. At first, it seemed another Gem had caught the warden’s attention. If she had remembered correctly, there were a few that she had noted as not wearing the clothes that had been provided. It would seem that they were going to be made examples of right off the bat.

Bree listened as the clothes were literally torn from the girl’s body, the sash returned in a display of cruel dominance. The men threw her bared body to the floor and took the torn pieces away from her, allowing her to keep nothing but the sash that she had opted to wear with uniform. It didn’t stop there as those torn rags were delivered to another girl who had chosen not to change at all. At least that one would be given the option to remove her own clothing, however Bree didn’t know which was the better option. The drakkan knew exactly how to torture them even without inflicting physical pain, a thought she had never come to expect from the massive brutes.

This would not last, however, as the man made his way to her general area. It would seem her position kneeling was satisfactory, but Arden would not be spared. She had to stifle a shout as her new friend was yanked across the table and dragged away to where the prince stood. They might not have needed to hit them to inflict pain, but Bree should have known better than to assume that they wouldn’t at all. The drakkan were willing to do whatever it took to ensure obedience, even if it meant they had to rough them up a little bit. Surely they had to be careful about it, but it would seem in this case, Arden’s punishment was sanctioned by the prince himself. There would be no saving her.

The sound of knee colliding with body made Bree feel sick to her stomach, an anger boiling in her blood. She had to fight every instinct in her body not to stand up on her own to feet and challenge the man in Arden’s defense. Such a move would most likely mean even more severe punishment for the two of them, so what good would it have been?

Arden was not the only girl to suffer physical harm that morning. Several other girls were plucked up by drakkan guards to have their heels burnt. They would be forced to stand for the rest of the day while in immense pain, though if Bree had to be honest… They got off easy. For directly disobeying orders, they could have been dealt a lot worse. She considered their punishments light.

The moment guards began ushering girls out the door, Bree was up on her feet and immediately by Arden’s side. Already girls were trying to help those that had been punished, offering clothing to those that had been stripped, and support to those that had been burnt. Such offers ended up resulting in similar fates for those attempting to help, something she would have to be wary with. Carefully she made her way over to the dais where Arden had been put on display, making sure to give the warden and his prince a wide berth. Eyes down, she hovered close by to lend any help that may be required.

‘You’ve got some serious guts to you. What were you thinking?” She asked, her voice sounding just like a concerned sister might, angry… but mostly worried. Shaking her head, Bree forced out a small chuckle and offered out a hand for Arden to take.

“Never mind that… Are you okay?” A presence behind her made Bree freeze, the man’s shadow falling coldly across her skin.

“This mannerless wench belong with you?” He asked suspiciously, clearly threatening her without saying so outright. Bree turned around quickly, deciding it best to fall to her knees once again considering the situation they had all just been in.

“We just met this morning sir. If she doesn’t move quickly she will miss out on the important lessons you have graced us with, I just want to make sure she gets there so no further mistakes will be made moving forward.” Bree was lying through her teeth at this point, she only hoped that the warden couldn’t tell. Whether he could or not was a mystery as he kept complete control of his demeanour down to the very sound of his voice.

“I see… Seems you are quick to learn yourself. It is best if you stick to yourself instead of worrying about others. Move along, or you will be late yourself.” He growled, eyes boring into the top of her head before making his leave, the prince following behind him remaining as silent as he had throughout the whole ordeal.

Sighing with relief, Bree stood once again and turned back to Arden.
“Come on, let’s go.”

~~~

The rest of the day seemed to drag on because of the morning’s nightmare. All around her she could see the broken spirits, even among those that had received no punishments themselves. Clearly it was more than just a test. It was a show of strength, and was to assure that each and every one of them knew their place. Broken down like a wild horse to be sold on market, such a despicable method.

Either way there was nothing she could do about it but to conserve her strength and seek out any opportunities laid out before her. Even into the night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling cursing the drakkan in every way she knew how. All the while the faces of her beloved at home as well as her new friend flashed through her mind. Somehow, someway, she was going to make things right. She just didn’t know how.

Gwillim turned at the sound of his wife's approach. He smiled, her fire was every bit in evidence and it would shine brightly on the morrow. He turned back to look out over the city as she stepped up next to him, and put her arm around him. It was comfortable, that gesture, and he responded to her query with the quiet confidence of a spark, set to ignite a wildfire that would consume forests whole.

"As I said before, it's always a pleasure. And of course we'll be the fiercest warriors there, I fully expect one or both of us to win this year. I am ready to fight and win. Tomorrow may prove to be a long day, but it will be a good day."

A sly grin spreads across Gwillim's face as he leans towards his wife to whisper a more personal challenge, regarding the tourney tomorrow.

"First one out of the tournament has to stay home and watch Alfhi while the rest of us enjoy the celebrations after."

The sun is set, the sky darkens perceptibly as the last few stragglers arrive in town, and everyone gets settled in private or public lodgings as their status allowed. The city, never a quiet place, grows less loud as the night falls. All new tomorrow would be big day, and none wanted to miss any of it. So the usually rowdy late crowds were much diminished as Drakkan move to prepare for the coming festivities and find a solid night's rest. Gwillim stood with his wife a few moments more, before retiring himself and wishing her an excellent nights rest.

Arden Gaothaire

It wasn’t long before her painful truth was realized. Once the Speech Drakkan had finished making a statement out of the Gem’s who didn’t wear the clothing supplied to them, he focused his attention on Arden. Before she could blink he was standing in front of her; the beating of her heart remained steady. The next moments would be crucial to the message she was attempting to send to her sisters. It was important that she not cower in fear and that she remain a beacon of strength. Her eyes focused on the Drakkan as he spat words in her face and then it came, the pain as her hair was grasped in a clenched fist. Her immediate reaction was to reach up and grasp at the wrist of the hand holding onto her, but it wouldn’t matter. Arden’s body was yanked backwards and dragged… she could feel her back scrape against the wooden table as her limbs knocked all the dishes off of it as she passed them. It only took seconds before she was tossed onto the cold hard floor at the front of the room.

Don’t whimper… don’t cry. Don’t be afraid. I asked for this, I knew it was coming. Remember why I’m doing this, it’s not for me. It’s for them.

Arden’s eyes tightened as she felt the throbbing pain begin to wash over her body. The Speech Drakkan barked another order at her but before she could even comply he grabbed hold of her hair again and pulled her to her feet. He wanted to teach a lesson by reprimanding her through physical pain, he would make a spectacle of her in order to send the message of fear. She knew men like him existed, but more importantly she knew that no matter how hard he hit her, no matter how many times he beat her, her will would not falter. His hand released Arden’s hair and as her body began to fall, her stomach was met with a powerful knee. The pain shot through her entire body, her vision became fuzzy, and a feeling of nausea filled her belly. Arden was forced to her knees, she barely could hear the Drakkan speaking anymore; all of her attention concentrated on not screaming out in pain, though her face winced with each blow. She remained silent and next she found her face pressed against the cold stone of the floor, a heavy boot atop her head.

It’s almost over… I’m almost there. Just hang in there, I can do this. This is but the first step in a necessary uphill battle.

Moments later the weight lifted off of her head, she could hear the Drakkan step away from her but she did not dare move yet. Arden knew not to push her luck too soon; if she was going to maximize on potential opportunities in the future she would have to stay alive. She fought back a smirk, this was a test, but not just for the Gems. It was also a test for the Drakkan; a test to see how far they would go when being presented with direct rebellion in the very beginning.

”You’ve got some serious guts to you. What were you thinking?”. The familiar voice came from beside her. It was Bree.

She came for me?

Arden’s mouth barely moved, a very faint whisper that she would carry to Bree through her manipulation of the air around her to ensure that she would be the only person to hear it. ”Now we know… just how much they need us."

She turned her head slightly to look at the Gem beside her. There was a feeling that Arden couldn’t explained having Bree come to her aid and be beside her now. Companionship in a dark time; a necessary life line for survival. Arden accepted Bree’s hand and pulled against it to bring herself to a crouching position. Before she could answer whether she was OK or not, the two of them were approached by the Warden, questioning their relationship. Her instinct was to jump to Bree’s defense, pleading that they did not know each other; she did not want to cause trouble for her new friend. Arden didn’t have to though, Bree came to her defense. The Air Gem looked at the woman blankly, she had always been the one to come to the help of others. Is this what it felt like?

A small breeze has begun the winds of change.

You weren’t wrong, mother, father.

Arden rose to her feet and followed Bree as they left the hall. ”Thank you, Bree. You didn’t have to come to my aid, now you’re associated with me, the defiant one I think they called me. Change comes with sacrifice... Regardless, I appreciate it and know that if you are ever in need, I’ll be there.”



Arden spent the rest of the day alongside her new friend as they were succumbed to the Drakkan teachings. She barely paid attention as the ache in her body distracted her. Arden looked at the Gemmenite around her, their faces painted with hopelessness; their hope was dwindling. She sighed, wanting to do more for them but not being able to.

The day continued, seeming to last an eternity. When night fell and they were ushered back into their bedrooms, she found solace in her bed. Arden rolled over on her side against the hard bed, staring at a barred window. Her voice began to fill the room, though faintly as she sang. She let it follow the breeze, wherever it would take it.

”In the darkness before the dawn… In the swirling of the storm.
When I’m rolling with the punches and hope is gone. Leave a light.
Leave a light on…”

Lienna was quite enjoying her chat with Amalia. It was the first time in... Oh, it must have been years, that she'd been able to have an intelligent conversation with someone, and Water gems such as herself craved that sort of connection. Her comment about worshiping multiple gods almost made Lienna laugh. How absurd! Of course one could pray to two gods. It was practically required - after all, it simply would not do to revere the Children without paying respects to the Mother. It would not do not to thank Pyrus for the fire that warmed their homes, or acknowledge Auram for the wind which sculpted the tundra, even if Naia was the goddess whom she most honoured.

Amalia's next words, however, were bittersweet. What she said about Water gems was touching, but she went on to vent her woes. It was true, the land they'd been thrust into had been forsaken by Vivari herself, never intended to house her most precious children. It was a hostile land, not just in its harsh climate and vicious wildlife; no, the land itself felt sick, like it would suck the life from any who dared venture too close. It had an oppressive aura that hung in the air like a rancid fog. Gems were not meant to be here.

Amalia's sorrow saddened Lienna in turn, and she truly felt for her. She had begun to reach out a hand in comfort when the hall was interrupted by a hard voice, commanding them to bow.

There it was, then. The deciding moment. Steadily, Lienna rose from her seat. She did not tremble. She did not weep. She did not question it. Instead, she knelt the way they did at home, before the Council, settling on her knees and lowering her face parallel to the floor with her hands supporting her. She closed her eyes.

Water always finds a way.

She did raise her head a little when the ruckus began, sparing a peek or two around the room, observing which Gems stood, which did not. To most of the defiant ones, she allowed little more than a judgemental glance. The purple-haired girl who wore a sash should have known to expect a punishment; the ones who stood, the one who was made an example of, they had let their petty desires cloud their judgement, and had only made things worse for themselves as a result. Perhaps they thought they had won their little victories, but Lienna was not convinced. One had been beaten, others had been stripped or mutilated. What had been gained here? Could they not see they were only playing into the hands of their captors? Why give them the satisfaction?

However, when she noticed that Amalia had remained standing, Lienna's heart couldn't help but soften a touch. She could tell that Amalia wasn't trying to make a show of bravado like the other foolish girls; no, even from their brief conversation, Lienna knew she was smarter than that. Why, then, hadn't she knelt? Why had she let this fate befall her?

When they were ushered out, Lienna tried to fall in step with her breakfast companion, but she seemed so consumed by her pain that she scarcely noticed. There, too, was the fact that Lienna was frightened to offer aid in plain view of the drakken, lest the same fate befall her.

No, she couldn't help her. Not yet. As cruel as it may have sounded to someone else, Lienna knew that to survive this, she had to put herself first for once. Hadn't she earned a touch of self interest? The gods themselves had watched her work for it for years. Her heart still hurt for her companion, but she couldn't jeopardize herself to offer aid that she could never give before punishment befell her, too. She just couldn't justify it.



As the day wore on, the Gems of Shadow Worth were subjected to such "lessons" as hours of blasphemy of the highest order, during which their keepers scorned the Great Mother and the elemental gods, disparaging them as weak and conniving and greedy. Lienna was insulted, but not moved. She was willing to obey them, to bow to them, to behave and make the most out of however little her new life had to offer, but her faith was strong. It would not be rocked by the insults of scorned, bitter children.

Their lesson on childbirth, however, was a different tale altogether. Lienna knew that Gems in her village had regularly died in childbirth, and that was with normal infants, infants who were made for and belonged in the Gem womb. These Drakkan children, it seemed, would be nub-horned monsters the moment they were born. Lienna's hand had instinctively gone to her abdomen during that lesson; she had felt her guts twisting at the thought.

Finally, the day ended and they were ushered back to the hall. Lienna forced herself to eat (though she was still a tad queasy) and, while she sat with Amalia again (well, sat near where she stood) she couldn't seem to get a peep out of the poor girl. So, having eaten her fill, Lienna allowed herself to be herded back to the rooms for the night.

Sleep came like an old friend, but stayed like an unwelcome intruder. The sounds she'd heard at breakfast, the things she'd learned about childbirth, the blasphemy drilled into their heads; it all swirled in her mind, haunting her.

Zeldira's stance faltered and her hands flew to cover her mouth as Shadow Worth's lord began his lesson. The Reapers and the guards had been far from gentle with her, but she had at least come to expect that they held respect for their status as Brides and would refrain from seriously harming or disgracing them out of fear of a future husband's wrath. But here, in front of everyone, she watched Sek Leon strip away those assumptions as effortlessly as he tore away his victim's clothing and crush those adorable little lies she'd told herself as nonchalantly as she was sure he'd crushed the other Gem's ribs.

She'd convinced herself they'd menace and belittle her, brandish their weapons and threaten violence to keep them in line, but never actually harm them. She'd drawn strength and comfort from that idea, and now it was all falling apart. Of course they would readily harm them; there were dozens of Gems here in the castle, what did they or any man in Drakka care if a few were destroyed before they got to the bidding block? What did it matter if the guards broke a spine or tore out a heart? She wasn't some prized jewel to be handled with care because she was desired. She was just a piece of meat and pretty flesh that could be bruised, battered, and marred at will. And if she ended up beyond salvaging? She'd just be tossed aside, sent to join however many souls, forgotten in the shadow of the peaks.

She barely registered what was happening in the hall around her. She started to sink, and then outright fell to her knees, not out of self-correction of her bowing technique, but because the shock had rendered her legs unable to support her. She sank down, her eyes still wide and her mouth still covered, as her gaze locked onto the floor.

She was roused from her stupor by a thick-soled boot being pressed into her upper back. "Lower," growled one of the guards as he forced her into a more submissive pose. "Now get up, you have places to be. Move!" The boot released its pressure, but as soon as it had its mate struck her in the side, knocking the wind out of her and sending her sprawling on the stones. Briefly she looked up at the Drakken, but far from any sort of resentment she could only wince and hurry to do what he said. Anything, she told herself, to keep herself from being noticed. Being noticed is what got those other girls beaten. Being noticed is what got the other girls... she shuddered as she remembered the pervasive scent of scorched skin. Her bow had been standing; just how narrowly had she avoided that fate? Moreover, how many more encounters like that would she have to bear? How many could she bear? Such thoughts ran through her head as the day progressed, unceasing. And try as she might, she found no answers...





The craftsmanship was exquisite, Wilhelm thought as the completed and finely polished scabbard was at last presented to him. He eyed it carefully, turning it this way and that, and running his hand along each part of the piece. Not a crack or blemish in sight, and not a drop of dye out of place. He drew the black sword, glistening in the receding sun, and pushed it into the sheath net, to ensure the size was correct. It slid in tightly, requiring pressure but not an inordinate amount, and the length was practically perfect.

"Immaculate," he remarked, "I do believe I shall be commissioning your services in the future. I pray your skills will maintain this quality then as well."

At that moment a younger Drakken appeared just behind his left shoulder, clad in the livery of Wilhelm's house. He was one of the two servants the Black Blade had brought to the capital with him, and he carried a piece of paper marked with the royal seal. Recognizing it, Wilhelm quickly took the note and read it. He grimaced as he reached the end, but nevertheless folded the paper neatly and tucked it into his pocket. "I seems I shall also require a few of your finest whetstones," he said to the shopkeeper as he untied a pouch of money from his belt and laid it on the stand, "Here is your payment. Quickly, there is much for me to do tonight."

A tournament. Of course there was; after all, the cretins all so loved to gaze in awe at those who dared where they lacked the spine. And an invitation had been extended to him. Of course it had; ever since the passing of his most recent bride, his presence here was a foregone conclusion. And who better to display in the pit for the masses than one of Drakka's finest swordsmen? It was all such a farce, but it was still a challenge to combat. And the Old Ways were very clear; any challenge to combat must be answered.

Perhaps, this time, there might be someone worth his time? An entertaining idea, he concluded, if a bit far-fetched as he made his way down the street toward his lodging. He would need to take his time with the sword, tonight; if he was to battle before the whole of Drakka, he would ensure his sword was in its absolute best condition. Anything less would be a disgrace.

The business meeting finally over, Ineraz let his guest be escorted back out of the estate, while he strode in the opposite direction, feeling vaguely satisfied. As well as the meeting had gone, his mind was now on entirely different matters already. Fulfilling the promise he had made to himself, he went to check up on his hounds. They were settled well in a stable; there was no other suitable place for them at the estate, but they seemed content with the lodgings.

“Nor!” he called the leader of the pack that had been following him earlier – the other two groups of Drakken and their accompanying packs were not back just yet – and all of them came running. Based on the hints of blood around their muzzles, they had eaten recently. Good. The alpha male was large enough that when Ineraz crouched down to give him a friendly scratch behind the ears, they were almost shoulder to shoulder. He had plenty of smaller hounds as well, but most were left back home. With a playful glint in his eyes, Nor tackled him, and they tussled, Ineraz besting him easily. Ineraz patted him and some others, then left them to their activities and dusting himself off, went to attend his other occupations. From the backyard, he returned inside to find Kasycra.

“An invitation for the upcoming tournament, Ineraz,” his older brother handed over the letter to him as soon as Ineraz entered his study. Even though it was not for him, specifically, but rather a general invitation for them both (and for their father, if he fancied to show up), a pleased smile spread across Ineraz’s face, his mood made even lighter. Noticing his expression, Kasycra stated “I take it you will join,” his matter-of-fact tone revealing his neutrality on the matter.

“As much as I dislike being put on as part of a show,” Ineraz’s derision for the concept was clear, but as he also had a spark of interest in his eyes, the reason for it made clear by the following, “I do not want to give up on this fine opportunity for the sake of a minor aversion of mine.”

“Do you intend to curry favour with some other nobles, hmm?” His older brother was obviously teasing him now, though knowing him, he was probably at least partly serious, even if it was a minor part.

Ineraz rolled his eyes “The only care I have as far as the tournament is concerned is a good fight. Hopefully several good ones,” he said wistfully. Before his mind could wander too far, his brother interrupted him.

“I do hope I need not lecture you on the other possible merits,” and demerits went unsaid but was very obviously implied in Kasycra’s dry statement.

Ineraz gave him a very flat stare. “No,” he replied curtly and tonelessly.

Kasycra made a noncommittal noise, then proceeded after inspecting Ineraz rather thoroughly, especially his apparel. “You are obviously still travel-worn. Go take care of yourself,” his dismissive yet subtly fussy attitude left Ineraz torn between loathing and exasperation. Prudently, he chose to focus on the latter. As he was already heading out, his brother added off-handedly “Do your best to represent our house tomorrow.” Ineraz left the room without offering any kind of a reply.

He went to the room designated as his, and took off his armour to give it some maintenance; polishing, checking for wear, tears, rust or dents. His armour consisted mostly of dark beige and dark grey leather, with a few metal additions. Overall, his gear was made to maximize maneuverability and offered light but still vital protection. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, now only in a tunic, he also had his weapons spread out before him, considering them.

A crossbow and a bow, useful for long range and very handy for hunting. But pit-fighting might not be the most suitable for either. His sword; one-handed and somewhat curved with an accompanying scabbard of a faded red and light grey colour, a small version of their coat-of-arms depicted on one side. His hunting knife, definitely not something that he would bother taking for the fights as its purpose was mainly skinning and cutting up animal meat. And his trusted side-arm, a dagger. He took his time sharpening and cleaning both bladed weapons he would use. He took the opportunity to check his long-ranged weapons as well as his arrows and bolts, though it was unlikely he would take either for the tournament. After all, those fights were usually close-quarters and in the event that he required to attack from a longer range, he had his elements.

It was well into the night when he finally finished taking care of his apparel and weapons. Now, there was only his own body left, and he took a long bath, luxuriating in in the warm water, both its temperature and form something he could easily control. After that, he went to bed, stuck his dagger between the mattress and headboard, his sword leaning close-by on a dresser and in one of its drawers, his knife. He trusted his family more than he would a stranger and not quite as much as his Drakken, but there always was a reasonable limit to trust. Even taking in account the command he had over his elements, being unarmed and not even close to a weapon would be a folly, anywhere. Soon, he relaxed into sleep.

For many of the girls in Shadow Worth, the second night proved to be just as difficult as their first. The cries of more than a few girls could be heard throughout the entire night, the sound bouncing off the stone walls a common one to the veteran guards. Those that had been subjected to the various forms of ‘corrective punishments’ focused their energy on recovering from their wounds, whether they be physical or otherwise, and those that had been witness to those punishments cried for a home that would spare them of such horrors. By now the bulk knew better, broken souls resigned to fates out of their control. It was not a difficult transition for those that had accepted it the moment they had been loaded into the caravans.

The morning began much like their first with the doors being thrown open crudely, guards barking at them to get up and get moving. They were ushered from their rooms and back into the dining hall where the tables were once again set up for their dining pleasure, though many would notice a slight difference this time around. Many of the Gem dishes had been omitted from this morning’s offerings, leaving a mix of primarily Drakkan foods on the table for the girls to tough through. Oddly enough, despite the still heavy atmosphere, conversations resumed as they had from the day before.

Wary eyes were kept on the guards surrounding the room, though for whatever reason it didn’t seem like there were as many of them present as there had been previously. Perhaps the drakkan running the place had figured enough of a point had been made to keep the girls in line, though there was always the possibility that it was designed as such to challenge any Gem who still thought herself an exception to the rules. The girls were left to eat and socialize for a small while before the man from before returned bringing with him a thick wave of tension with him, the royal from before nowhere to be seen for the moment.

Quite a few arose out of fear, expecting to be ordered to bow once again, several others shrinking down into their chairs hoping they wouldn’t be noticed and spared from further torment. Each were dismissed with a wave of his hand, girls cautiously returning to their seats to await the warden’s words.

”Your instructors tell me that your progress is coming along nicely. We might make decent brides out of you lot yet. Because of this, your benevolent prince has personally granted you a day off from your studies. You will be escorted from the hall momentarily to a natural hot spring located deep within the mountain this keep is settled on. It is expected that you will retain all that you have learned, and will not make us regret allowing you this kindness.” Almost immediately the room began to fill with excited murmuring. Was it possible they were actually being granted such a luxury in the freezing keep, or were they just being set up for more humiliation?

Sek Leon left the girls in the care of the guards who would escort them to their destination once they had completed their meals. Out in the hall, the man’s royal shadow raised an eyebrow at his choice of words.
”I’ve personally granted them this privilege, have I?” He questioned mockingly, quite familiar with the process by this point in time. Every year the girls were granted the privilege of visiting the hot springs so that they could replenish themselves. The discipline was necessary in order to assure their compliance, but if they were pushed too far, they would end up dying long before they could be delivered to their new lords; this was a lesson learned the hard way over the first couple of Reapings.

”What a compassionate ruler you are.” The two men shared a short laugh before continuing on their way, discussing the days to come in great detail. There wasn’t much time left before the finished products had to be delivered to their new homes.

---

It was difficult to say where the night ended and the morning began as the Drakkan youth found many ways to keep the party going. Even as the sun began rising, the flow of alcohol had yet to cease. Good spirits were still high and the excitement for the events of the day ahead could be felt in the air. The rowdy youths were already wrestling with one another, the occasional clash of steel rising above the boisterous laughter already filling the streets.

All across the city, drakken were making their final preparations before they were to make an appearance at the Pit. For many it was a chance to stretch out the muscles and get a little exercise in, but for others this was a major opportunity. This tournament might have been small but it was still held in front of members of the royal family and countless of other powerful lords whom it would be quite beneficial to impress. For those already in such positions of power it was a good opportunity to gauge the aspiring youth, one could never have too many allies in their pocket.

For the many receiving brides later in the week, invitations had been sent out summoning them to the tournament to spend the day hanging around the royal family, though invitation might not have been quite the right word. It had been made clear that their presence was expected regardless of whether or not they wanted to partake in the events. However, the royals had never been known to let their guests down when it came to the Reaping festivities.

Evienna stalked about the battlegrounds looking particularly irked. All morning was spent trying to get her entertainers in line, several having gotten expectedly but inconveniently ill. As much as she would have enjoyed disciplining them herself, she had to leave the fun for someone else so that she could keep the whole event on schedule. She had made sure the rest would be compliant in their duties before setting off to see to the accommodations, finding everything to be to her liking.

Taking a deep breath, Evienne looked out across the grounds that would soon be soaked with the blood of warriors from all across Drakka. A shiver ran down her spine with anticipation, more than just a little excited for the battles. She had half a mind to join in herself, but knew that she had more important things to attend to. Blood could be spilt any day she wished it to after all. Looking around, Evienne growled to herself, wondering where her uncle had run off to so close to the start of the tournament.

~~~

After all the preparations had been made, Evienne sent word to the guards to begin allowing participants and spectators alike to finally enter. The pounding of drums would welcome the fighters from the moment they arrived, pumping up the crowd for the bloodshed to come. As for the more important guests, their greetings were a little more… attentive. The royal family had collected taken to keeping one or two of the Gemmenite girls each Reaping for their own personal collection. Those that weren’t used to produce children were trained for purposes such as this where they would be at the disposal of the royal family’s distinguished guests.

These girls in particular had been adorned with shining jewelry and sheer cloth of varying colors, instructed use whatever charms they possessed in order to keep their charges occupied. Evienne was confident in their ability to do their jobs, though she would not be surprised if more than a few returned slightly worse for wear than how they had been sent out. After all, it took a particular kind of drakkan to earn the respect of the royal family and few of them were of the cuddly variety. She almost felt bad for the poor broads, knowing full well what sort of atmosphere they were walking into… But such a feeling lasted for only a few moments before the commotion of arrivals caught her attention.

”Perhaps I’ll actually find a plaything worth my time.” She mused, keeping a watchful eye out on the area should her presence be required or requested. It was her intentions to keep the crowds busy enough until the fighting could begin, holding out for the important arrivals before descending into the pit herself.

Standing center stage, the female drakkan held her head high with eyes alight with excitement.

”Welcome to the Pits my darlings! This week marks yet another successful Reaping of the Gemmenite lands by the grace of my grandfather. We wish to share this merry time with all of our subjects, not just those who have earned a bride this cycle, so it is in your honor that I proudly present this year’s Reaping tournament. It trust all participants are ready? Then let us begin!”

“Raise your arms!” The elder Warlord yelled at his youngest. The child was barely holding the shield before him. He struggled clearly. But that was to be expected. Especially with a solid iron shield. “Raise your arms!” Keregar repeated as the second youngest child was slamming down upon his brother with both swords. In the makeshift pit at Keregar’s estate, the metal ring of iron could be heard long before the sun had risen. His children had been fighting and training, voluntarily, when he arrived home from a hard night out. He grabbed a few hours sleep and when he woke up, the warm-up was over. “Defend! Counter! You’re giving him too much time!” he ordered. His youngest tried to throw his brother’s sword away. It only opened him up. His axe was not fast enough and the sword almost ripped open his belly. Though he could dodge it right on time, the edge still cut away some skin. Making the young Drakkan bleed from his chest. Exhausted he dropped his shield and sword and fell to his knees. Clutching the bleeding wound. His brother, only older by a mere 50 years loomed over him with a sword high up. Ready to strike him down. “That’s enough!” Keregar yelled. Dutifully the second youngest stepped away. Giving the youngest a chance to get up. “Varzar! Why did you drop your weapons!” Keregar asked in a forceful manner as he entered the small arena.

“It hurts, dad.” The little cub said, biting away his tears. “Pick it up again!” The child could barely understand it. Only when Keregar yelled it at him, did he bite away enough of the pain to move. Wounded, exhausted and suffering, the child picked up the shield and axe and got back into position. His face made it clear he was hurting. Yet his older brother stood with two blades crossed at his feet, ready to fight again. “Can you fight?” Keregar asked. “Yes father.” “Louder!” “Yes Father!” “Harder!” “Yes Father!” The kid screamed as he charged for his older brother. Tears ran from his cheeks. Vengeance were in his eyes. For a second the pain numbed. With a surprising amount of force, he slammed down his axe. It took two swords to block it. When the sharp edges were entangled, the kid pushed his shield forward, throwing his brother to the ground. Now he loomed over him with his axe still high. Though the pain returned to his face. “Stop. Good.” Their father said. Once again the little one collapsed. But Keregar did not yell at him this time. “Hitvich. Herstvich. To the middle.” He commanded. His twin sons, both 152 (one a minute older, Hitvich never let Herstvich forget it).

Both had inherited their father's bull-like physique. Hitvich held up his Warhammer. It was so heavy most could not carry it with one hand. Though sometimes Hitvich managed it. Herstvich preferred bow and arrow. He was a hunter, like his father. But right now, when he had to fight in a melee, he opted for two axes.

The two went at each other with a viciousness akin to that of mortal enemies. In a way, brotherhood could forge the greatest form of hatred. Those close to you can become your worst nemesis. Keregar knew that much. As metal rang from the arena and Herstvich was flung around after a hit of the hammer, one of Keregar’s friends approached him. “Keregar, you are summoned to the pits. The tourney.” Keregar nodded and rose from his chair. “Watch the younglings. Herstvich has bloodlust in his eyes.”

Keregar was soon out of his house, heading for the pit. It was tradition really. Behind he him, he could still faintly hear the metal clashing. For the first time, he smiled at the thought. Some wouldn’t believe it. But he loved his children. Even the smaller ones. He loved them enough to be hard on them. He loved them enough to yell at them. He loved them enough to make them bleed. Gems would smother their children. Give them everything they want. He could pick those out in the Reapening. They were just spoiled brats with an attitude. They thought everything was bound to a deed or a price of gold. Many Drakkans would believe that they were stronger and more powerful than the Gems. But looking around in the capital, Keregar thought it was more and more the opposite. Gems’ notions of civility were taking over. It was why Keregar lived at the edge of the wilderness. It was why he was so hard on his children. Everyone became sheep and Keregar was raising wolves. Deep down he would hope one of his children would eventually take up a blade against him. To die by your own child’s hand, yes that would hold honor. To have raised someone stronger than you and feel the proof of it. Though none of his brood so far would be capable. His youngest were yet too weak and he knew there was too much Gem in them that had to be burned out. Another two centuries and they would be forged just right. But Keregar did not have another two centuries. His eldest then would surely be capable. But they suffered another grievous flaw. One Keregar blamed himself for. Loyalty. It was undying in the both of them. He saw it time and time again. The bond they had with him and worse, he had with them. Neither would ever think of killing their father.

Keregar was sunken deep in his own thoughts as he pushed his way through the streets. A Drakkan of his size could easily plow through the narrow roads. Yet that was not what the warlord was doing. Instead, he opted for the small, hidden alleyways. A few steps on those dark paths and you were miles away from the bustling city streets. However, he was not alone. It would appear that someone else had the same idea in mind. A familiar face no less! Or rather a familial mask. The Warden of Harand Kor! “Warden!” he yelled, not using his real name. The ancient Warden was one of the few people Keregar thoroughly respected. “Warden! What a luck to see you here!” Keregar greeted as he put a hand on the prison guard’s shoulder. “Drun be praised, you must be heading for the pit as well! But that must mean you’re finally getting a bride! About time! It’s damn right two hundred and fifty years too late! A Drakkan of your repute should have gotten a bride so much sooner! The Warden line of Harand Kor should continue, don’t you think!”