Even sitting down the man seemed to tower above her, leaving Sorrin feeling rather small and none too safe. She shuffled uncomfortably under his gaze, eyes shifting ever so slightly to the food being brought in by the goblin creatures. Her stomach growled with anticipation of being fed but twisted at the realization of what was being brought to them. She should have known the Drakkan would be partial to meat centered meals, after all, there had been plenty of it available at the keep where they were held.

The area in which she grew up was primarily vegetarian, at most ever eating fish or poultry but never red meats. She had never quite understood why, but it was something that she had grown up with and was not likely to part from it now. Even looking at the stuff was enough to make her queasy. Taking a deep breath, Sorrin sought to steady herself as the food was wheeled in toward them, the lord opening his mouth to finally answer a question of hers.

“Feast.” the Warden commanded, “You are aboard a ship headed towards Harand Kor. The only mistake you have made is being weak; if you wish to make it up to me, become stronger and grant me a heir to Harand Kor. Less you wish to become a house pet or a wall ornament.”

“Harand Kor….” Sorrin whispered to herself, trying the name out for herself. Much to her surprise the words fell seamlessly from her tongue, bearing no awkward harshness she assumed to accompany their language. She snapped back to attention as he began speaking again, eyes continuously wandering back to the food that had been brought into the room.

“An… heir? Oh you mean children! Strange, auntie never said anything about being strong to be granted a child. I guess things work differently in Drakka than at home, huh? Just show me what to do and I’ll do my best! It would be really sad if you had no one to care for you in your old age.”

A shuffling beside her alerted Sorring to Arden’s awakening, the small girl turning rather excitedly toward the other. Her smile was replaced by a look of concern as Adren struggled to move, looking rather sick as she sat up and looked around.

“Where are we?”

“He said we’re on a boat to… Harand Kor?” She stated, though she looked back questionly to be sure she had gotten the name correct. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned back to Arden to make sure the girl was alright. The longer she was awake the better she began to look, beginning to gain back some of her color and seeming more alert. Sorrin took this as a good sign, relaxing a bit as her friend familiarized herself with the surroundings.

“Is that for us?”

Eyes lighting up, Sorrin was quick to jump to her feet.

“I’m starved.” It wouldn’t take long for the blonde child to regret her swift movements, however, experiencing the swaying of the ship for the first time in her life. While it was what most would consider a gentle lull, Sorrin had never once been on a boat. She had spent the majority of her life out in the sturdy fields of the countryside. The closest she had ever experienced were the carriages they had been transported in from place to place.

Pale complexion turning almost green in color, Sorrin’s hand rushed to cover her mouth.

“I don’t feel so good.’ She gurgled, a look of panic crossing her features as it dawned on her what was about to happen. Clenching her eyes shut, Sorrin rushed forward to wiggle her way past the Warden, rushing out into the open air and to the side of the ship. Her trip had nearly been in vain but somehow she managed to lean over the side in just enough time to empty whatever remained of previous meals.

While it wasn’t much, the stress continued to wrench at her gut leaving her dry heaving over the side of the boat for several minutes before she was able to calm herself down. Embarrassed tears streamed down her face as she attempted to right her position, finally sinking to her knees in defeat. The energy she exerted in puking had left the small girl shaking and dizzy and more than a little upset.

“Aaaaardeeeen.” She called out, sniffling through the tears and snot trying to escape down her facial features.

She couldn't help but laugh lightly at Javem's friendly cajoling about her use of words. She supposed it had been a bit much but she had always loved using the eloquence of language to describe her own happiness. Introductions could be a beautiful thing, why not have a bit of fun with it? Aubree let the older Drakken know her name and Adorabella stuck out her tongue and put a knuckle to her temple. "Oh, silly me. I forgot to actually introduce myself again. A thousand apologies, Miss Javem."

The two Drakkan discussed the places to put the brand and nervousness made her heart race. It was going to be painful no matter where it was placed. But it had to be done. Whining and complaining would only put her in a predicament to be returned to the hornless prince. She had no desire to go back so she would accept it in good spirits. At the touch and pinch to her bare flesh, she let out a quiet gasp of surprise. She hadn't expected to be touched so. And their speaking of her body caused for both amusement and derision.

Kagan gave the command that she should pick the placement of her brand. Adora thought for a long moment before looking between the two Drakken. "I think I should like mine here," she brushed her fingers lightly over the skin just below her left collarbone. Easy to see and she could wear it over her heart as a reminder of her place. At Javem's look, she smiled reassuringly. "I understand that it may be more painful here than other places. But if I am taken by another man out of turn that will be much more painful, I should think. I am well prepared for this. I have removed wooden shrapnel from a man's torso before." With that, she took a seat in a chair. At Javem's question she laughed again and replied, "I was a medicine woman once upon a day. Say, would you terribly mind using some of that alcohol to clean the area before the branding?"
The smelly substance was cool against her skin. From between her breasts, Adora pulled a couple of handkerchiefs which she wound together thickly. She placed them in her mouth to give her something to bite down on and not ruin her teeth. Her fingers gripped the arms of the chair in preparation to hold something in the moments that the brand would touch her.

As she made her own preparations, Javem heated the letters to be used. Adora closed her eyes and with each burning mark, she clenched her jaw and the chair. Halfway through the brand, she could not contain her calls of pain. The scent of her burning flesh made her feel ill. Nearby buckets of water exploded, raining steaming droplets down upon those near. But still, she sat, hardly able to move anyway. Almost done. She could tell. As the last letter hit her skin she could hardly feel it she had become so numbed with the pain of it.

Adora hardly heard the Drakkan tell her she was done. Blearily she opened her eyes and a shaky hand removed the handkerchiefs from her mouth, letting them fall to the floor. She glanced down at the angry red marks on her chest and then up at Javem. "Thank you..." she whispered. She attempted to stand but found her legs would not obey. She frowned and scooted forward in the chair, placing the weight on her legs a bit at a time. Finally, she brought herself up and clung to the arm of the chair as she moved out of the way.

Her eyes caught Kagan and she walked toward him. She sank down at his feet and rested her sweaty forehead against his knee. Her whole body was shaking and her mind refused to function. "I am sorry," she managed to murmur before she took the time to calm herself and let the pain of it ebb away. It was done. Hopefully, she would never have to do it again.

Gwillim Gunnvaldr returned at last to his own estate. As the sun rose above the city walls he sat in the dining hall; sipping a strong stimulant brewed for him by the cooks. His extra brides had been shown to a guest room, where they could sort themselves out as they saw fit, though the two beds had room aplenty for the four of them. The hearth blazed as the cooks set about making breakfast for the Gunnvaldr estate, which was waking rather piecmiel. Gwillim sat, with his back to the table, glowering into the coals. Today it would be time for them to head home. It would be a long journey, though a relatively safe one, given the fun they'd had on the way up. Still, it would be less fun on such little rest after a bust of a day, and a busy night. Gwillim had little desire to stay an play part of the national politicing if he could help it. It was just painting a bigger target on one's back in his mind.

He'd made the necessary travel arrangements with his guards that morning. They'd arrived in the capitol with two dozen Drakkan escorts on Ganaut mounts and sixty Kalderans riding specially trained Ash Wolves. It made for a fast moving force, well relatively fast, that could traverse even rough terrains. Alfhildr had her own Ganaut, a careful creature, that was easy for the child to lear to ride on. the brides would each get their own Ganaut mounts, though they would be secured to their mounts so that even if they weren't skilled riders they wouldn't be at risk of falling off. They also wouldn't be able to run away, but Gwillim was less concerned about that. There wasn't anywhere for them to run too now. No way home, and only more drakkan or worse all around them, he anticpated a few might try to kill themselves but were not likely to run away. He considered the route they should take home carefully.

Alfhi entered the room and soon spotted her father sitting near the fire. She watched him for a moment before moving quietly to sit on the bench beside him and snuggel against his side. He set his arm around her, hugging her to him. His gaze didn't waver, though he did sip his bitter brew once more. His free hand idly toyed with the tips of Alfhi's hair. A plater of food was brought for them both and set on the table behind them, though the servants knew better than to inerrupt his brooding. He kept an ear half open to the room, listening for Scryvnsrel or Hestia in the growing chatter and banter in the hall.

Bree gave a noncommittal shrug at hearing about her long lost aunt. Camielle Lamay was hardly ever mentioned, there weren’t any pictures are her, her father and grandfather never spoke of her and any mention of her would through her grandmother into fits. What little she knew of her came from those few Gem’s who had been her friends. Passing comments of their similarities in looks, stories of their childhood.

Watching Adora get branded sent waves of nausea rolling through Bree’s gut. She couldn’t look past the first letter. Suddenly becoming very fascinated with the wood that made up the walls. Humming softly to herself, she tried to block out the noise coming from Adora’s skin being burned.

Bree jumped as splashes of water covered her from a nearby barrel of water. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the pain had caused Adora to lose control. In no time at all, Adora was done, her brand an angry looking red spot on her chest.

She watch the girl rise and setting down by Kagan’s feet. Knowing there was nothing to be done, nowhere to run to (she checked), Bree approached the chair.

Javem stuck her tools back in the flame and looked at Bree expectantly. Bree reached back and pulled her shirt over her head. Bairing her back and pinning her shirt with her arms to cover her chest. “I’ll need some new shirts,” she whispered dryley, sitting backwards. What little color had been in her face drained away as she did, her hands squeezing the back of the chair tightly.

"Oi right cunt. Wez it be?"

Bree mumbled something that was drowned out by the crackle of the flames in the forge.

“Eh?”

Bree cleared her throat “M-my shoulder,” she whispered, hardly any louder than the first time, using her free hand to gesture towards it. She winced as she felt the drakkan woman pinch up her skin and made a grunt of approval. Bree let out a small breath. She didn’t want the brand. Didn’t want to see it. So she put it in a place she’d never be able to look at.

She flinched as a cool wetness flicked across her, her back tense with anticipation. A pause. And then a searing pain. A cry escaped her mouth before she could stop it, jerking her shoulder away.

“Do et again, ‘n I’ll tie you down,”

Tears were streaming down her face as Bree nodded, Sitting up again. The pain had already faded, a faint burning, but it was --

A few seconds later and the burns pain tripled. An irritating growing pain that seemed to get hotter and hotter with each second. Then the second letter was pressed into her back and she screamed.



Bree felt Javem’s weight lift off her, at some point the woman had found it necessary to pin her down in order to keep her still. Bree’s screams had died to weak sobs by that point.

Javem gave some statement about being done and moved away to put her tools up.

“Uh huh,” said Bree, her voice an octave higher as she nodded numbly, a somewhat vacante expression on her face. She stood, her legs trembling. Her first few steps were unsteady. She passed by Kagan and Adora without a second glance and shoved open the door and step outside.

She stood in the sunlight a moment before turning her head and throwing up. Taking a few steps back, she collapsed on the step leading into the shop and curled into a ball, tears spilling down her face.

She wasn't sure what she had expected from Ineraz in response to her account. Certainly not sympathy or pity, she knew better than that. And even if she hadn't known, the way he looked at her with his face full of scarcely concealed and almost mocking disapproval made it exceptionally clear. He would have died before surrendering himself to an enemy, as she had. Of course that was the case; he was a Drakken. His people prided themselves on war. Ineraz the Beastmaster had never, nor would he ever, encounter a foe that he knew in his very soul he could not hope to fight. He would never know what it meant for a sacrifice to be his only way out, to give a finger to save his arm. The very notion, she realized, was the mark of a coward to him. And there was little doubt in her mind that he now thought less of her, knowing that. Such thoughts were only reinforced by his questioning of her commitment, of all things.

Strangely, however, she didn't care. Somewhere inside of her, his dismay toward her meant absolutely nothing. She knew she'd made the right choice on that fated afternoon. Somewhere, years from now, those children would be able to smile thanks to her. And nothing he said or did would change that. There was a comfort and a power in that, aided and abetted by a little indignation as well. He presumed to judge her, but what would he know about her situation? But, much as she wanted to stare him in the face and tell him such, she also knew it was impossible. After all, there was no way a Gem like her could ever stand up to a Drakken directly.

"That, my lord," she began carefully, "Was because I was, and still am, a stranger in strange lands, given as property to you with no knowledge of who you are, what your preferences are. I think you'll find that I adapt well, given the chance, but I am still familiarizing myself with Drakka and your house, at present."

It was at that point that one of the guards came bursting in, nursing burns on his person, and began whispering in Ineraz's ear. Zel couldn't make out what was being said, but shortly thereafter Ineraz had the guard by the throat and began to aggressively threaten him. He beckoned her and the guard to follow him as he left the room. They did so, and before long they came across Sera, standing in the middle of a room, utterly horrified by something. Zel's eyes widened as Ineraz moved to question her. Sera had burned one of the guards? But how? Where had she found the courage? The very idea was unimaginable to Zel, and given the events at Shadow Worth it seemed tantamount to suicide! And yet, here Ineraz was, praising her for it. Would he come to expect the same of her? Was that why he always looked at her with dismay? Not that she wished for his approval, of course, but if Sera proved a better alternative... what on earth would he do to her? Moreover, Sera had clearly proved herself willing and able to wield her fire against a Drakken when crossed. What would she do to me then, Zel asked herself quietly. And all she was capable of in that moment was stare in disbelief at Sera, uncertain of anything she'd be able to do at all.

It had been a very strange night, to say the least. First, she was thrust upon some Drakken as chattel and then, walking down the street, she was taken. She had watched, in fear, the duel between the two men. She felt the blood spatter on her face and saw his lifeless form on the ground. Tempe wasn't sure what to think. Normally a bit of a spitfire, the sight of blood had caused her to become complacent. She dutifully followed the man, not wanting to incur his wrath. There were other girls, just as terrified as she.

In the end, she was guided to a room which she thankfully, somehow, had to herself. After washing the blood from her face and removing the offensive clothing, she slept fitfully. The next morning came late. Her clothing from the night before had disappeared and a simple dress of soft oranges took their place. She washed up and donned her new clothing. She had no direction and so did what one would naturally do in such a dangerous situation. She wandered the keep. She was lost for only a half of an hour before she came upon a room containing two people.

One of these people was the man from the night before. The other was a smaller (albeit taller than Tempe) Drakken girl who was snuggled up next to him. She tilted her head in curiosity. She would not have expected anything close to tender affection coming from the violence of the night before. Carefully she entered the room and approached the platters of food.

"Beggin' mah parden sir. But am I to be servin' yeh?" She inquired and gestured toward the dishes. "I will tell yeh, I ain't never served a theng in mah life. So I must be a beggin' yer patience." Tempe fiddled idly with the sleeves of her dress, her eyes downcast. The floor tended to be very interesting this time of year.

As breakfast concluded Wilhelm made his way outside and began checking over his horse, ensuring the saddle was tightened properly and that the great beast was well prepared for the travel ahead. Behind him, a commotion of man and beast drew his attention as his attendant wrestled with one of the carriage horses, but to his surprise another voice cut in; Amalia's. Intrigued, he turned to watch the events unfold. For a moment it seemed the driver might grab or strike his bride; a sharp look from Wilhelm caught in the corner of the man's eye dissuaded him of that rather quickly. He threw his hands up not long after, and the blonde bride went to work. To Wilhelm's surprise she managed to quiet the horse's temper, and before long she'd found the source of the anguish- a pebble lodged in the beast's hoof. Earth Gems had been noted to have skill with animals, but he'd never seen it quite so pronounced or used so effectively.

"Well then," he said as he sauntered closer, "I trust you won't be needing my bride's assistance in tending to that. With both haste and care, if you're capable."

The driver was furious, that much was clear, but a continued stare from his master set the man on his work. While he did that, Wilhelm firmly patted Amalia on the back and bade her step away. "That was impressive," he said with a touch of amusement to his tone, "It seems I was quite fortunate this Reaping. Now then, into the carriage with your sister bride. We will leave as soon as the horse is tended to."

True to his word, as soon as the driver had finished removing the rock and tightening the horseshoe he was clambering into his seat as Wilhelm mounted his horse. With nary a word to the brides they set off, hooves and wheels clattering against the street. The city was remarkably still as they moved through it, the sun just barely cresting over the taller buildings. Soon the capital would stir with activity once again, but Wilhelm had designs to be gone by the time it did. The watchers at the gate gave them little trouble, aided by Wilhelm's riding in the open, and it was not long before they had left the city behind. Cobblestone roads and iron walls soon gave way to roughly hewn dirt and the desolate rolling hills of the Drakkan countryside. The morning mist was beginning to fully fade away as they traveled, revealing the brown grass and rocky soil underfoot. Little sound save the rattling of the carriage and the grunt of the horses echoed as they moved, and to say truth Wilhelm preferred it as such. His preference lay, as it always would, in the solitary confines of his own domain, where nothing happened without his knowledge and approval, and here in the quiet was the closest he would find this near to the city with its buzzing hive of pomposity, bragging, and folly. To say nothing, of course, of the tactical advantages the silence offered should some bullheaded fool be lying in wait, looking to hawk his brides from him.

Things went smoothly for quite some time. The road continued its silence, broken only by the occasional chatter of his brides and his own, rarer responses. That changed, however, around midday. As they crested the top of a hill, Wilhelm called a halt to the procession. He gazed ahead, seeing the deep gorge cut into the land that was his usual route home- Bloodrock Pass. He motioned for the driver to unseat himself and approach him.

"You said there were reports of a landslide," he said, not quite as a question.

"That is correct my lord," the driver replied, "But I could not confirm it."

"Then you will do so now," he commanded, "Take the lead horse and one of the spare saddles. See with your own eyes if the pass is blocked or not. It is a quarter hour's ride between here and there. I will remain here with my brides, awaiting your report. Do not disappoint me."

"Of course not, my lord."

Not long after the driver had separated the stronger of the two horses, saddled him, and was riding down the hill toward the gorge. Wilhelm observed him as he went until he was out of sight, and then turned his eyes toward the pass itself. Perhaps the tellings of a landslide would prove false, but if not... it was concerning, to say the least. Regardless, he thought as he adjusted his sword at his hip, he was Wilhelm the Black Blade. And come storm, stone, or simpleton he would keep what was his.




”Nothing to apologize for.” Kagan grumbled, brushing the water from his tunic as Adora knelt against his knee. He’d been covered in worse discharges, so the light dampness was hardly an issue worth getting annoyed over. He examine the brand on Adora’s chest for a moment, taking in the lettering of his name on the girl. Javem had done an exceptional job, even for her. The letters were not fully attached to themselves, small even spacing in between the burns would fill in with scar tissue on their own as it healed, though bold enough that they would stand out at a distance. ”You did...well.” Kagan offers quietly as Bree stepped up to her own branding, gently patting the smaller gems head in an awkward attempt at rewarding her obedience.

Bree proved to be less understanding, because of course she did. Kagan was beging to wonder,however briefly, if the prince would let him trade HER in instead of Adora. He ignored the screaming easily enough, some of the older children he’d kinned were just as loud as the gem (if not more so). As the branding continued, he simply watched bored from the side, only occasionally breaking his meditation to provide Adora with a light stroke of the hair to break the monotony. A few times he thought about stepping in and holding the redhead down, but a sharp look from Javem told him she had it under control. The woman was old, but she’d be damned before she’d let anyone imply she was too frail to handle a Gem of all things.

Soon enough, the thrashing and screaming died down to more acceptable levels. ”Thank the gods. I was getting a headache...” He grumbles, only sparing a passing glance as Bree weakly hobbled past him and outside, the echos of the girl vomitting filling the room before dying down into more hushed sobs. ”“Fawking.....” Javem said, putting her tools back into the small fire to give them a quick clean. ” Iz alwayz the onez what ya think iz gon be the easy ones what thrash ‘bout all the toim.” She adds bitterly, going over to a small shelf and pulling a plain wooden box. Inside where several collars, shiny brown leather inlaid with stitched scenes of Gemmenian wilds. ”...Your late husbands work?” Kagan asks dully, looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on Bree. Thankfully she didn’t seem to have the energy to do much more than sob on the shops door step. First thing she made easy for him all day really.

”Aye. Ya a good friend so not gon give ye that cheap shite what Broggon’s been selling me. Daft arse he is. Ye know he tried passing cow hide off as lamb ta me last winter?” Javem huffs, shifting through the works before removing two she seemed satisfied with. She hands one to Adora, a light grey soft leather embrodiered with bronze thread, showing a still lake with trees. There was a small layer of padded velvet on the inside, so as to not dig into the skin. A heavy brass ring sat in the middle of the collar, presumably where a leash would attach. ”Yez the good one. So ya get this. Its me Lariq’s last good work for hiz eyez went ta pot, so don’t you go and lose it. Swear to Drun if I find out ya did, I’ll beat you so hard ya hubby wont look at ya, much less fuck ya.” She rumbles, fixing Adora with a harsh glare, albiet one more concerned with safety of the collar and lacking any real anger behind it.

She hands the second collar to Kagan along with a pair of leashes. It was much the same as Adora’s, though looked to be a bit older. The leather was a light brown and depicted a warm hearth setting in shinning copper, patina adding the occasional freckle of green to the embroidery. ”Other one getz this. You tell her the same. Not one of hiz last but still damn good work. Best in the capital.” She huffs.

Kagan gives a light bow before speaking. ”The Church thanks you. I’ll be sure to take the value of this off your husband’s tithe when I return home. I’ll see that he’s returned to be entombed by the end of the month.” He says, formality replacing the warmth from their ealier greeting, not that it seemed to change Javem’s temperment much.

”Right right. Dun suppose you need anything else. Just dun let the cunts scratch at it. Risk infection. And tell em to be sure ta clean the damn things erry night.” She grunts, slumping behind her counter. ”Now fuck off. I’vez got tools ta clean fer me next customer.” Kagan wordlessly nods, attempting to hide the bemused smirk on his lips to little avail before heading towards the door.

Looking down at the Gem, it was fairly obvious that the branding had been...difficult. The lines were clean enough, though there were a few noticable bumps and unintentional jabs caused by the girls thrashing. Part of him wanted to drag the girl back in and have it redone, worried the its legibility would suffer once it fully healed, but he fought the urge. Javem would not have let her go if she was unhappy with her work.

He kneels down next to Bree, whose decency was only being preserved thanks to the shirt she was keeping pinned to her chest, gently slipping the collar around her throat. ”Bree.” He whispers, carefully tighting the collar to a comfortable snugness. ”You did...” He pauses, thinking how best to approach the subject. He sighs, deciding not to for the moment. The girl would probably atleast behave for now. ”It’s done. I’ll give you a few seconds to collect yourself. After that we’ll head back into the market.” He says, lazily looking at Adora. ”As...I believe I promised a gift for each of you at some point.”

Amalia was certain her heart stopped when she heard her husband's voice. Thankfully it was quickly shocked back into beating when she felt his firm hand on her back. Her heart thudded hard in her chest.
But he was not angry. He was... impressed? She looked up at him, startled. She had been expecting to be yelled at for interfering, but instead he paid her a compliment. The first she had ever had in fact.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks at his words, causing a rosy color. She was blushing. Actually blushing.
"T-thank you milord," she said, proud of herself for only stammering once. She climbed into the carriage obediently.

Onyx was already inside. Amalia released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The spot he had touched on her back was tingling. Her hands shook. At her sister's compliment she shook her head. "It was nothing special, really. I just..." she paused then looked at her sister with wide eyes. "Oh Onyx, I don't know what came over me," she said honestly, touching her cheeks to find them still hot. "I was so afraid but I couldn't stop myself. And he..." she looked towards the window of the carriage. "He wasn't angry."
Leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Our lord husband, he hasn't... he hasn't acted as the other Drakken have. He has been civil and last night he didn't..." her blushed, which had been fading, came back full force. "And just now, he didn't punish me for stepping out of turn. Do you think it is possible that he could actually be kind?"

It was a whispered hope, a plea to the fates for such a blessing.

She stiffed when his hand touched her hair and his soothing words (for a Drakken) met her ears. The soft stroking of her head caused her to relax immensely. The small bit of affection surprised her greatly and she found with all that had happened to her she craved touch more than she realized. Adora repositioned herself once she had calmed enough to do so. She sat with her right side cuddled against Kagan's leg, her right hand gently stroked his inner thigh, just above his knee as she kept her eyes closed. Each time he absently stroked her hair she nuzzled her face against his leg. She did her best to ignore her sister's screams and begging. The horror of watching was beyond her so she kept her face hidden against her husband. She could feel him tense up every so often which in turn caused her to tense. When he relaxed so did she.

At long last, the screaming quieted. She opened her eyes to see Bree walk as a ghost out of the front door. Adora released her grasp on Kagan as she stood and she scrambled to stand as well. In her haste, she moved a bit too much which caused a bite of pain to shoot through her shoulder. She would need to be careful. Her presence of mind seemed to be returning. She came to stand to Kagan's right, though just a little behind him. She watched with interest as Javem dug through a box and removed a pair of collars. Oh yeah, they were getting those too weren't they? In surprise she accepted the gift, staring down at the beautiful work in her hands. Her fingers lightly traced the bronze image of the still lake. She could almost breathe in the forest air.

Adora was brought from her reverie when Javem threatened her... lovingly? Adora smiled lightly. "I will treat it as I would my own children, Miss Javem. It is in good hands. Thank you very much, it is beautiful." She handed over another collar as well as a couple of leashes. At the sight of the leashes, Adora's mind wandered. Her onyx eyes drifted up to Kagan's face. She considered how much she would have preferred to put the collar on him. Use the leash to pull him down to her. That he should kneel in front of her so that she could kiss him. Her face flushed as her thoughts turned more lascivious. Then the image came of her walking along with him behind her on the leash and she had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the tirade of laughter which threatened to escape her. Adora hid it by pretending to cough as she turned away. "A thousand apologies," she managed to choke out.

Clipping the collar around her neck was surprisingly easy. She wondered how the soft grey leather looked against her skin. How the bronze complimented her tone and would catch the light to glitter as her flesh was want to do. Kagan and Javem said their goodbyes and Adora offered her a bright smile and a wave before trotting along behind Kagan. She exited the shop and the warm air and sunlight of the day made her feel much better. The sun did not help her already burning skin but she did not mind. At least the day was a bit warmer than it had been yesterday. She turned to watch Kagan take care of Bree. Adora desperately wanted to help her, hug her, give her some sort of comfort. She knew better though. She caught Kagan's eye as he looked upon her and a smile once again brightened her features.

"I thought the collars were the gift," she said, tilting her head to the side. She knew full well the collars were not the gift. "I do not know if there was anything else I needed. What sort of gift?" she inquired, coming close in case he should need her help with Bree. Though she doubted this. He could probably bench press them both without breaking a sweat.

“You have shown that you are capable of protecting yourself. And that is something you should always use to your advantage,”

A feeling of utter disbelief overcame her as each word fell from Ineraz’s tongue. There was no way he was talking about what she had done, it couldn’t possibly be. Although she had made up her mind on having done nothing wrong, the simple fact remained that someone acknowledged just what she had done was alright.

Better than alright…
Better?
He wants it…

There was no way she could of hidden the surprise from her face but it didn’t seem to bother her lord Husband as he smirked at her in recognition of a job well done. Although the affirmation brought more questions than answers, she couldn’t help but feel relieved. This man, her Husband now, did not judge her for her actions. He praised her. Was she no longer a monster?

Was she ever a monster?

Question after question raced through her head so quickly that she completely ignored what Ineraz had said; something about grubby imbeciles but she was unsure what he meant. What forced her attention back to reality was the malice that came over her husband’s face. Ineraz had leaned over, his face now next to hers. The feeling of his breath against her skin caused the hair’s on her arm to stand on end and her flesh to bubble into goosebumps. Her heart beat a little quicker as his voice rumbled into her ear in a low growl with a proposition.

“He is the one who should be punished. Don’t you agree? Wouldn’t you like to watch him suffer? He had no cause and no right to punish you, isn’t that so?”

Sera’s eyes widened as each word reached her.



The heart in her chest raced, beating intensely against its small confinement. It was moving so quickly, surely the outside world could feel it. A flutter of excitement...

Excitement?

Excitement tickled her as images of watching the Drakkan suffer flashed through her head.
He was screaming.
Bones were cracking.
Skin was melting.

Something about it was delighting….

The girl hadn’t noticed but her attention had wandered to the Drakkan guard who had slapped her behind Ineraz. She was grinning at him. Something about it appeared almost calculated, which left the air horrifically thick. In almost an instant, Sera’s attention snapped back to Ineraz, almost as if someone had pinched her awake.

”I think…” Her voice carried a tone she had never used before, one that seemed like it would have never come out of the fair skinned girl. It was vengeful and so sure of her answer that it brought chills to the room. ”He needs to be shown that he can’t touch what isn’t his. He’s lucky that all he walked away with was a burn…”

Miry felt her resolve weakening under that harsh glare, and fought to keep herself upright and not visibly falter as the taller girl offered her a sarcastic court curtsy. It was hard, very much an impossible task, but she thought she did decently well at seeming unfazed, and not letting her pleasant mask falter.

She said nothing, letting the other bride posture, unfocusing her gaze as the girl stepped closer, fully expecting a slap. The tongue of flame that danced across Aurora’s hand just in front of her eyes did make her flinch, tears welling up reflexively at the searing heat just centimeters away, but she soon regained her composure, even violet eyes meeting the younger girl’s green ones. Still she said nothing, watching Ro turn on her heel and march off in search of the dining room.

Thin fingers felt the raised collar, the heavy embroidered trim along it. The new girl was right – she was trying to compensate for something. She knew that Ro could easily sway Zak, if she so wanted, and was perhaps trying to delay the inevitable.

Focus. Calm. She forced the words through her mind, taking a shaking breath to calm herself, and set her head high and shoulders back. It was not her fault the other girl had taking the olive branch and burned it.

Though she was, quite frankly, no more familiar with the city manor than Ro was, she quickly sussed out the layout and entered the main hall from one of the many servants’ doors that lined the sides. She was quick to cross the room to the high table, trying not to feel self-conscious or overdressed in her finery, and also trying to dash away the reflexive tears that misted her eyes as she saw Ro drape her arms around Zak’s neck.

At least her husband had learned his lesson. He was quick to scold her, quick to pry her arms away from him. At this point she was close enough to the high table to hear them speaking quietly, speaking at last about answers.

She shuddered, a wave of revulsion rocking her, and covered her mouth as her pale complexion turned a delicate green shade as she fought to push the sickness down. Forcing the bland smile onto her face yet again, she approached the table from the side, taking her seat as gracefully as she could and looking only at Zak, forcing her eyes to pass over Aurora as though she wasn’t there. Kindness had been repaid in fire…. Perhaps ignoring her would be the best bet after all?

“Forgive me, my love, for being absent from your bed this morning. I awoke quite unwell and decided to take advantage of my morning for an impromptu rehearsal. It seems I let the time get away from me--” Her eyes glazed over for a moment, a vague look of panic crossing her gaze as she patted herself for the satchel she usually kept her flute in.

She wasn’t wearing it. She had neglected to collect her instruments and music on her return from the solar – she had reasoned that she would have more time to practice later in the day, and didn’t want to go through the hassle of putting them back in her bags just to take them out later – but she was still filled with a momentary terror of having left her instruments unaccounted for. Even if she knew exactly where they were.

Shaking herself back to the present, she was just in time to hear Zak’s oath. His promise of honesty to the other girl. She deserved that much, Miry knew, but distaste and jealousy crossed her mind, barely hidden behind her mask.

“By star and night, I will speak without treachery.” She murmured the words as well, pressing herself back in the chair and digging her fingers into the wood arms as though she was falling, as though it would keep her steady and composed. A thrill of terror ran through her.

---

---

Oh. That had. Not been the reaction Scyrven had been expecting. A soft spluttering escaped her, and she quickly averted her eyes, a faint darkening blush covering her ashen cheeks as the girl bared her whole body and climbed into the bed beside her.

Scyrven was scared to breathe, scared to move, but the bride was…. Hiding her face in the pillows, her whole body shaking.

Praying that the move wouldn’t be taken the wrong way, she bundled up the sheets between them, pulling her shift down to cover herself (making sure she wouldn’t touch Hestia, even accidentally, in too forward of a way) and gently shifting to wrap her arm around the slender bride’s shoulders, gently pulling her close. “Please relax, little one. You are safe, I assure you.” She murmured the words, her voice still heavy with sleep. “Please try to rest- tomorrow will be a long day if you are tired.”

It was not long until she drifted back into her own dreamless dreamland, where she lingered for what felt only a few moments. The clattering of doors and chattering in other parts of the house woke her, and she was quickly roused to full wakefulness, moving to throw the blankets off of herself and at the last moment remembering there was another body in the bed, one so light she had almost forgotten the girl was there.

Moving gently to disentangle herself, she leaned down and planted a soft kiss on the girl’s cheek. In the night the bride had curled into more of a ball, and her hair had escaped some of its bonds, leaving the small bride in a state of still-slumbering soft disarray, an effect that was quite adorable. The girl’s hair really was the biggest part of her.

“Good morning, dearest Hestia. I hope you’ve slept well. When you’re ready and dressed, please find us downstairs – I’ll make sure everyone knows to direct you to the great hall.” Not sure if the bride was awake or coherent enough to process, the tall Drakkan woman nonetheless spoke softly to her, before finally extricating herself from the bedding.

A loose dress was put on – simple and functional, only a bit more concealing than her shift. She did not want to bother with her armor, not when she would be laced into it all day and in a sweltering arena for most of that time, and certainly not before breakfast.

She descended the stairs, mentioning to the few household soldiers poking their heads out of rooms that they should steer the still-resting bride in the direction of the family gathering, when she arose, but were not to disturb her before then.

Upon entering the room she was greeted with the sight she expected, a half-asleep Alfhi curled upon a barely-more-awake Gwillim’s lap, and speaking to a—

…Wait.

She stopped in the doorway, likely a spectacle and a half, her still-braided russet locks sticking every which way without helm or headcloth to hold them down. Peering back and forth between Gwillim and the unnamed girl- clearly Gemmenite, though like no Gem Scyrven had ever seen, not with her dark complexion.

“My love, who did you murder?” she asked, half-jokingly. She did not realize until several moments later that the bride would likely not see it as something humorous, and instead flashed an apologetic grin and slight curtsy to the girl, though it was awkward more than anything.

“My apologies. I assure you I am not usually this...callous, especially not in front of guests. Scyrvensrel Gunnvaldr, at your service. Who might you be, m’lady?”

Gwillim heard Temespt's request, and growled faintly causing Alfhi to shrink against his side. He turned his head to scowl at the lady that disturbed his thoughts trying to decide on a suitable response to the polite, if ill timed address. Tempest was saved a scathing retort by Scyrven's arrival, and query. He bit out a clipped response in a gravelly monotone. He wasn't mad at his wife, nor Tempest really, he just didn't feel conversing right now.

“This one is Tempest, and for her I killed ... a brawny runt with to little to awareness and to much to drink... I think. I don't recall who was attached to which corpse exactly, they all died so quickly and unremarkably I wonder at their right to claim drakkan blood. In all I slew eight minor lordlings through the course of the night. Most of their brides were left with other family members to garner favor and other benefits. I might even be named heir to the house if I do well in today's tournament...”

He finally pried Alfhi off of him long enough to turn around on the bench and begin eating his food. Alfhi reluctantly did the same beside him. Other Gunnvaldrs began trickling into the room sitting at other tables, and being brought platers of their own. Scyrvensrel was brought her usual breakfast, though the cooks wondered how much she'd eat before the tourney. Gwillim always ate heavily, before and after a big fight, with nothing else to tide him through the day. He expected several of his victims would be missed in the day's tourney and wondered if it might be best to be on his way before a feud was started, but he didn't like the idea of running from a fight. Particularly not one he was confident he could win.

He never did directly address Tempest; not quite intentionally, but it was probably for the better. He sipped at his bitter brew and ate quickly, ignoring further conversation for the time being. He wasn't in the mood to be social, and both Alfhi and Scyrvsrel would recognize this and as Alfhi woke up she would try to keep the gems that were apparently to be her step-mothers? out of trouble. She wanted to at least get to know them, then if she didn't like them she would let them get into trouble and end up dead or worse. Though she knew better than to try and get them framed for anything, she wasn't clever enough for that, yet.

Varzar hated himself as he watched the hand that slapped Nadia as if it wasn’t even his own. But it was. It was his action and now he did it, he felt disgusted. Not by the act alone. Which had appalled him even before he hit Nadia’s skin. No, it was the temporary rush. The horrible power he felt. It was the realization of power. How he could just slap someone with barely a consequence and how good it felt.

The guilt that came afterward hit him hard. Like a hand gripped his heart and tried to crush it. He walked backward, trying to get some distance form Nadia as Xaelia came rushing to her side. Though not fast enough as Xaelia’s berries stained his tunic. Not that he cared. Not right now he just wanted to hug Nadia and tell her he’s sorry. But he couldn’t. Not with the promise his father made.

Xaelia’s following rant fell on mostly hollow ears. Varzar was utterly zoned out, redrawn into his own thoughts. Everything sounded and even looked so unimportant. Everything except for Nadia’s red-hot cheek. But Xaelia’s rant continued and words finally broke through. ‘leave’. Should he leave? He wanted to. Right now he just wanted to vanish in thin air. But Nadia’s intervention just made it worse. His mother… she was crying. She was frantically trying to understand what he did. But how could she!? She was a Gem and he a Drakkan. This would be how it would always go. Then the egg hit him. Somehow pulling him out of his dazed state. The next egg he caught in his hands. For a moment fury overtook him.

“Would you stop it!” He yelled at Xaelia. A blazing fire ignited in his eyes as he crushed the egg in his hand. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished again. “I-I… did what I had to.” His words were comforting himself a whole lot more probably. “I’m sorry… You just wore the wrong clothes and… and you have to learn.” He seemed to tell himself that more than Nadia. Heart-wrenching guilt overtook him. What could he do now? Even if he came closer they’d never trust him. But at least he upheld his end of the deal. Never the less he couldn’t stand the sight of them anymore. It made him remember what he just did. It made him sick. So he did what his dad always did. “You eat. I-I have something to do.” He said before vanishing into some small side door. Down a dark hall he went, then a damp staircase into the cellar. It was filled with cobwebs older than he was and spiders as big as his hand. Maybe he was too young. But he didn’t care. The heart retching feeling didn’t go away. So he grabbed some dusty bottle, its label literally faded away, and cracked it open.

Upstairs, in the kitchen, the Gems were given just a few moments of respite when the door to the kitchen opened. In came Kieran. “What… do we have here.” He said a little too excited. He licked his lips at the sight of Nadia as if he was smelling the most delicious piece of meat in the entire world. “All alone? Did little brother run off? No… don’t tell me. Let’s not ruin the fun…” He then saw Xaelia. Who looked red with anger. “Oh my… maybe he scorned you. Were you jealous when he preferred the gentle Gem?” he teased her. Moving towards her. “No worries. I can make you feel better.”

[color=00aeef]

Tempe was just as surprised as Scyr to see her there. She had not anticipated that Drakken would be married to other Drakken. Though it made absolute sense. The woman gave her a grand and graceful curtsey. Tempe stared a long moment, quite confused as she had never - not even from the likes of Gems - been treated with such measures of society. Rather like rats or pigeons they were, though perhaps quite a bit more entertaining. Awkwardly she returned the curtsey - though it made her appear more as a stumbling crane than a graceful member of the court.

She had not minded Scyr's statement. It hardly mattered really that her last husband was now dead. The true disturbing thing was the man who had killed him. Seeing all of the blood. Seeing his dead body on the ground. The harshness of Gwillam's form. Tempe shuddered before she could stop herself. "I.." she started, glancing at the violent man who had captured her. He spoke gruffly and she found herself quite afraid of him. He was a monster, like from a fireside story. She found his tone just as horrifying as his blade had been.

Hesitantly she started again to reply to Scyr. Nervousness made her hands shake and she attempted to hide them in the folds of her orange dress. "I am Tempest," she replied, her voice shaking just as terribly as her hands. "Nice too meetchya." More and more people came into the room and it became obvious that she would not need to serve. She decided to take a seat near Scyr since she had been the kindest in so far to speak with her. The foods before her were quite foreign but she ate them without complaint. Who knew when she would get the chance to eat again. Twas the struggle of a traveller.


---


[color=96BF75]

Hestia mumbled something in reply as Scyr spoke to her. She could not remember what it was she said or what Scyr has said to her. She was so exhausted that her tired brain merely put her back into sleep. She curled around the jumble of blankets, her hair splayed around her in a tangled mess. She vaguely heard the door open and then close. For a little while more she slept in peaceful bliss.

However, when she awakened a terror gripped her heart. How long had she been sleeping? Would her father beat her for not getting the chores done fast enough? Not having breakfast prepared? She sat up in the bed, clutching the blankets to her chest. As she looked around the room she realized this was not the same home she had lived in all of her life. The events leading up to now, including her removing her shift and sleeping naked next to a complete stranger, flooded her mind. Her cheeks flushed darkly as she hid her face in the blankets.

Since there was no one else in the room, her embarrassment was short lived. She removed herself from the bed and washed up, bringing her reckless hair back into a tamed position as a lion's mane around her face. The new dress she found was of a soft moss green and complimented her willowy physique. She donned it before hesitantly poking her face out of the door. There was no one present so she went through, closing the door silently. Hestia wandered down the hall until she came face to face with a guard. He grunted at her and she squeaked back in fear.

"That way," he gestured down the stairs. She gave a quiet thanks as she followed his directions. A couple more guards gave her the path and she found herself at a full dining room. Her cheeks were warm with shock. So many people, many she had met the night before. And here she was, the last to enter, the center of attention. She would have sat next to Scyr save the strange, dark girl next to her. Instead, Hestia made her way apologetically around the table to sit next to Alfhi. She offered the young Drakken a small smile but then caught sight of Gwillam's angered face. She immediately turned to look at her empty plate. She dared not move another muscle lest she draw more attention to herself.

Morganna gave the fallen ringleader no thought as Höd approached her position, caring very little for the state of some lowly bounty hunter with little sense of etiquette. The sounds of his gurgling pleas for help would serve as a reminder to his kind to not forget their place, or perhaps be an invitation for others to try their luck. Personally, she would have been fine with either outcome.

“I would never leave a creature such as yourself waiting for long.” Höd responded to her with a smirk on his face.

“The locals have never liked me, though it probably has something to do with me slaughtering their brides to be.” A small sound of amusement escaped through Morganna’s nose as he responded to her banter with little shame.

“Yeah, that would do it alright. This is the only time of year one can get a fresh bride, maiming or killing them is considered rather rude. They are quite the valuable resource… seems like such a shame to let them go to waste.” She spoke matter-of-factly as if her words held no judgment of her own, simply stating the way of the world he had crashed into.

The pair continued walking on for a little ways longer before Höd spoke again, the sound of her title gracing the air pleasantly. Very few made the connection between her and her title without seeing the mask or watching her fight in person, even fewer did so and survived to remember it. It was almost as if her masked form was a myth to be told stories about at the campfire. She wasn’t entirely sure where the name came from, as it wasn’t one she designed for herself. In her line of work, titles were not granted the same way as other warriors, tending to be self-created as a calling card to victims.

Morganna had never been interested in such things, simply showing up and causing widespread terror of a nameless enemy. After a while the name began cropping up, no doubt an attempt to combat the fear of a ghost, and stuck with her moving forward. She didn’t mind it, in fact, she grew rather fond of it. And hearing it slip off the tongue of such a beast made her like it even more.

“I have to admit something to you, Crimson Phantom. I knew you were special the moment I laid eyes on you, but to be the legend herself, my, my, mon Cherie… It was a pleasant surprise.” Morganna hid a delighted smirk behind her hand.

“Suppose that gives you an idea of how others feel when they meet you, after all you’re quite the ghost story yourself. Never thought I’d see you wander in so close though, this place didn’t strike me as being your style. Guess we’re both meant to be pleasantly surprised today, wouldn’t you say?”

The sound of swift footfallings caught her attention, the echo growing louder as the source drew nearer. She had little doubts it was another band of bounty hunters seeking a prize they could not possibly earn. This caused her to roll her eyes, the futility of their struggle exhausting to even her. They would be little trouble, however, if they were anything like the last group. From the sound of it, the only difference was the size of the group.

She thought it smart of them to come in larger numbers but to go up against two fighters of her and her companion’s caliber would be their end regardless. Hovering her hand above the hilt of her sword, Morganna watched the source of the racket turn around the corner well ahead of their current position. Morganna tensed in preparation of another fight only to find herself pushed clear out of the way. The startled woman let out a small dissatisfied growl as she was yanked from view, taking her a moment to realize that it was Höd who had done so.

It was an unexpected move for someone who could have defeated the group singlehandedly, leaving the assassin slightly off balance despite being firmly pressed up against a wall. While he glanced out at the street she was glancing up at him, staring intently as if to study his mannerisms. She wasn’t used to being caught so off-guard.

Höd sighed with relief as the group flew past their position giving away his desire to not fight that particular group. Morganna was still unsure as to why, all his previous encounters proving his love for the sport, but found part of her questions answered as he maintained his position after the danger had passed them by.

Morganna was unconcerned with not being released from her place against the wall, her eyes locked on his as she took note of every motion he made. There were no indications that he meant her any kind of harm but the desire was easy for her to read in his eyes. From the way he did move, it was clear that Höd knew who he was dealing with, hand approaching her face slowly to prevent spooking her. She maintained eye contact with the man, banishing the shiver that attempted to run through her as his thumb traced the outline of her lower lip. She would be foolish to admit that she knew all there was to know about the man, having spoken true about him being a ghost story.

There was much about the man that excited her, a mix between his skill and the mystery surrounding him being more than enough to grab her attention. But there was something else, something Morganna couldn’t quite place yet. Playing with him could prove to be a lot of fun, but she couldn’t just let him have it easy. Höd would have to earn whatever he got.

“Now then, Morganna. Why don’t you tell me why you were looking for me?” He asked her, removing his thumb from her lip to trace along her cheek. Maintaining a playful expression, Morganna tilted her head slightly as she slipped one of the throwing knives from her hip and held it close to a place no man wished a blade to be.

“Someone has paid a rather hefty amount for your head, my darling. They’re pretty inexperienced with such transactions which means I can wiggle a lot more money out of them. An easy pay day when the target all but hands himself over to the hunter.” The smile on Morganna’s face was twisted and not entirely clear as to whether or not she was kidding as she spoke. Not even she really knew how much was truth and how much was a joke, but she had already made her decision for the time being. Slipping her blade back into its pouch the girl spun expertly from the man’s grasp, flipping her hair nonchalantly over her shoulder as if nothing had occured.

“I take it you’re holed up in some inn somewhere in town right? Not exactly the safest place for you with that kind of a bounty out, you’ll end up missing out on quite the vacation if you stay. Come along now, you’re coming with me. The Dantanath household is one people respect, so as our guest you’ll be left alone as long as you’re inside the grounds. That is, of course, unless you would rather keep fighting all day?” She teased, turning to lead the way without glancing to see if he’d follow.

Morganna chose back alleys and side streets to avoid the patrolling groups on the main roads, making the trip back to the estate somewhat roundabout but rather uneventful. Upon their arrival, Morganna was quick to notice the appearance of an unfamiliar steed tied to a post in the front courtyard alongside one of their own, who was left to wander the space untethered. A small trail of blood led from the horses to the front door causing her to pause.

She stooped down to dip her fingers in the blood, bringing them up to her nose curiously. Heaving a sigh, Morganna stood back up straight and shook her head.

“Incapable of even the simplest of tasks. Whatever am I going to do with you little brother?”





“Oh… it’s you.” The small girl said, glancing upwards with an expression that betrayed little interest in what had just occurred. She barely seemed surprised at his arrival either having expected him to come or simply not caring. Azilon shook his head as his questions were met with various nonchalant shrugs. Rya seemed distracted by something, eyes wandering about the ground as if transfixed on something his eyes could not detect. He glanced around in the hopes of spotting what held her attention so but when nothing stood out to him, he moved the trio along.

Azilon was still somewhat on guard as the three made their way from the leader’s tent, certain he had dealt with everyone properly but not risking the mistake of assumption. His eyes barely brushed over the leader Rynek who still lay on the ground gritting his teeth against the pain. There was still the chance of survival for him, however the man was clearly in no shape to continue the brawl. Ignoring the man, Azilon continued to survey the scene around the small group. The bodies of his victims lay strewn about haphazardly for whatever desert creatures desired them. Cawing from above alerted him to the presence of such creatures awaiting his departure before they made to swoop in and feast.

With a short whistle, a large dark steed came trotting around one of the tents in response to his master’s call. The Drakkan had not thought much about his return, having left in such a hurry that he only bothered to bring one horse. It was possible for the three of them to ride together on such a horse, as it was bred with war in mind, but he thought it better for each of the girls if separate rides were arranged. He shifted Lienna’s weight to one arm and helped Rya up onto his own horse, knowing that even if she attempted to steer him wrong, the horse would obey Azilon’s directions alone. He hoped the illusion of independence would be enough to keep her placated until their return to the estate.

Once Rya was situated, Azilon took another quick look around for a second horse. His first thought was the warrior he had defeated in combat, but he quickly thought better of such a plan. The leader’s horse was undoubtedly trained similarly to his in that it would refuse orders from a master it did not recognize. A fun challenge but one he was not willing to take on with Lienna in her current state. He also thought it rather bad in manners to take so much when he had already disgraced the warrior by leaving him alive. Rynek’s horse would remain behind with his master. Instead, Azilon chose a steed bred slightly smaller than his own, and much lighter in color. The bay seemed neither frightened nor concerned with Azilon’s approach, allowing him to carefully place Lienna on her back before climbing up himself.

As antsy as Azilon was to return to the estate, there was no point in rushing the girls back. Lienna, while exhausted and covered in welts, seemed stable enough… it was Rya that had him concerned. Wounds of the flesh were easy to see and much more convenient to deal with than a wound of the mind. He made a note to keep a closer eye on the child moving forward, he was after all stuck with the small creature for real this time.

Eventually the trio made their way back to the estate, Azilon leading the way into the grounds only to halt the horse in the entrance courtyard.

“This isn’t my home. I don’t live here. You said I was going home.” The girl had stopped his horse just outside of the estate, glancing at the building with a mixed look of alarm, confusion, and what appeared to be sadness. Azilon sighed, easing the bay forward a few more paces so that he could dismount and tether the creature. Leaving Lienna gently draped over the mare’s neck, Azilon turned back and walked back out the front to appear at Rya’s side.

“I know not of which home from your memories you speak of, but your home is with me now. This is only a temporary stop, I hope to return to the forest soon. Perhaps you’ll feel more at ease there than here in the desert. You’re a child of your gods’ matriarch, am I wrong? If there is something that will help ease your mind while we stay here, let me know. I shall do my best.” With Rya mounted on the horse, Azilon was forced to look up at the child for once. It also meant his concerned expression was more difficult to hide from her as she had the sight advantage. He might not have been the most thrilled Drakkan to receive a bride, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t care about the creature he had happened across. They had been forced to spend quite a few days together on the way to the city, it was no wonder Rya had managed to grow on the somber warrior.

Motioning for the Gem to come inside, Azilon guided the horse gently to the same spot the other horse had been tethered to. He helped Rya down to the ground, noticing for the first time that he was still bleeding from the wound she had given him earlier. It wasn’t a very large gash, small enough that he barely noticed the thing, so there was little reason it should not have begun healing on its own. Azilon came to the conclusion that the blade was likely treated with an ointment or poison of sorts to prevent recovery in battle. Underhanded but not entirely uncommon among certain groups.

Lifting Lienna down off the horse, Azilon paused by Rya, gently nudging her to grab her attention before making his way inside the building. The house servant Alice rushed up to greet the returning member of the house only to falter at the scene. It wasn’t the prettiest but it was far from a horror show, causing Azilon to scowl in her direction. Gathering herself, Alice drew closer for whatever instructions she might be given.

“See Rya here to a seat and get her something to drink, tea if we have anything weaker than that shit Morganna enjoys. I’m going to put this one here in a guest room so she can rest... Is Morganna still here?” Alice shook her head in response to his question, stepping up beside Rya to show her to the front sitting space before she hurried off to retrieve drinks from the kitchen.

Azilon shook his head, turning his body to walk down the hall to find a room for Lienna. He didn’t know very much about the servant as she had been added to the estate long after he had left to be on his own. Clearly she was a woman of few words, but as to the reason, well, he would have to ask if he remembered later. He kept walking until he had reached one of the vacant guest spaces, nudging the door open with his shoulder before stepping in. It hadn’t been properly prepared for any real guests, but it was enough for what was needed at the moment. Laying Lienna down gently on the bed, Azilon retrieved his cloak from around her before tucking her into blankets.

“Just stay here, I’ll see about finding you some replacements for your clothing. I’ll have a servant come in and check on you in a little while.” He wasn’t entirely sure that Lienna could hear him, but the words were there all the same in the case that she was listening. Turning to leave, Azilon shut the door behind him softly before returning down the hall to the front area.

“You’re getting blood all over the floor Azzy.” An unmistakable voice sounded from the doorway, Azilon glancing up to see his sister Morganna entering. Her stance was relaxed as if such a sight was completely normal and nothing to be concerned about.

“I was expecting some resistance, but come on now… They shouldn’t have given you that much trouble.”

“It wasn’t them, it was her.” Azilon countered, nodding his head in the direction of Rya who had gotten up at some point and began wandering around the room aimlessly. Exhaling slowly, Az chose to ignore the girl for the time being, his attention focused more on the large brute entering through the door behind his elder sister. Morganna waved her hand dismissively as Azilon tensed, clearly ready for a fight if there was one to be had.

“So jumpy. Don’t worry, he’s with me. He’ll be staying here for as long as he wishes while in Železna Kri. So play nice.” Morganna’s tone and gaze turned harsh as she glared at the younger sibling, only softening once Azilon had returned to a more relaxed state.

“So you’re telling me that you made it through an entire encampment of mercenaries, only to be beaten by a bride? Come now Azzy, you’re losing your touch.” Azilon didn’t respond, simply scowling in her general direction.

“Lighten up, I’m just messing with you. Assuming the blade was coated in something, yes?” She asked, already knowing the answer based off of the scene before her. There was no unfamiliar blade in sight and the wound didn’t match one created by his own daggers suggesting he had been stabbed during his ‘rescue’ operation. Such a small wound would have closed by the time he returned to the estate which left her with little doubt of the circumstances. Reaching her hand into her bag, she approached her brother and stooped so that she could examine the wound.

There was a faint scent mixed in with the blood that she could smell, a sour smell that made her crinkle her nose. She would have been more concerned if it was sweet as the likelihood of poison would have been higher, however, it didn’t seem like the case here. Pulling out a small packet, she stood back up and offered it to the man.

“Just rub this powder in and cover it up, you should be fine after an hour or two. Now, where’s my payment, don’t tell me you lost her?” The woman took a few steps back, planting her right hand on her hip with a look of disappointment.

“Give me some credit will ya? She’s in one of the guest rooms hopefully resting. Thing looked pretty beat up when I got there, had to carry her the whole way.”

“I’m getting the spoiled goods? Guess I should have expected as such, he was, after all, quite insistent. I suppose renegotiating our terms is out of the question too, whatever. A Gem is a Gem, she was bound to find herself in that kind of situation eventually, makes no difference to me.” Morganna feigned a pout before shrugging, turning her eyes down the hall as if debating whether to check in on the girl or not. After a short internal weighing of her options, Morganna decided she would assess the damages for herself.

“Höd darling, I’ve got a small matter to attend to. I shouldn’t be long so feel free to make yourself at home.” She said before taking off down the hall, quick to locate the room in question. Under normal circumstances Morganna would not have minded Höd accompanying her, it wasn’t as if she had anything to hide… However, the psychological state of such a fragile creature could be quite volatile. She thought it the safer bet to leave him in the other room while she checked in on Lienna.

“My, my…. He certainly did a number on you didn’t he? Curious as he left the other one all but untouched, didn’t strike him for the devoted type. Change of heart, Lienna?” Morganna teased, leaning up against the door with her arms crossed.

~~~

Back in the main room, Azilon was eyeing up the brute curiously. It took him a minute to place the man’s face, recognizing him as being from the Reaping ceremony. While he hadn’t received one himself, he had still shown up. Whatever his reasons were, Az couldn’t help but to feel somewhat slighted by the man as he was part of the reason his fight had been derailed so terribly. Still, he couldn’t be completely mad with him, after all, it had been his own sister that had handed over the girls to the enemy.

Eyes shifting back to his own bride, Azilon sighed again. Alice had brought the tea she had been asked to, a curt nod of his head directing her back down the hallway to meet with Morganna in Lienna’s room.

“Rya. Your tea. Sit down and drink it…. Slowly.” He added, knowing with his luck she would down the liquid in one go then go back to wandering about. Az then returned his attention to Höd in an attempt to figure out what it was exactly that Morganna saw in the man, to find any inkling of why he would be allowed among them so suddenly. It was an inquisition Az quickly gave up on, there was no understanding the woman.

The sound of a voice from outside quickly stole his attention from the imposing man, Azilon’s already sour face seeming to grow ever more displeased. What exactly was being said could not be made out from their position, though it was clear that he was not alone. Despite this assumption, the owner of the voice entered the building alone though he required no invitation to do so.

“Seems like today is going to be a busy one. Not even lunchtime and we’ve already had several visitors. Who do we have here?” Salazar asked, turning the corner to gaze at the face of the new arrival with a fair amount of suspicion but little hostility. Before Höd could answer, Azilon spoke up with more spite in his voice than intended… though this time it wasn’t directed at Höd himself.

“Morganna brought him home. Think she said his name was Höd or something like that.” He said, retreating from his spot in the room to stand closer to Rya, all by shielding her from his father’s view.

“Ah, the Ultair boy from last night’s ceremony, made quite the stir with your entrance. You have people talking. Well, if my dear Morganna has invited you that’s all I need to know. ” He stated before turning back to his own son, catching sight of Rya behind him.

“Good boy, I see you went and retrieved our little Rya. Proud of you.” Azilon growled at his father though it was largely ignored by the elder man.

“Anyhow, I need to speak with you and your sister when you both have a moment. I expect to be seeing the two of you at lunch.” Nodding his head respectfully toward his new guest, Salazar paused a moment too long to let his gaze linger on Rya before he disappeared into down another hallway and out of sight.

“Exactly,” Ineraz answered, feeling incredibly smug that he had brought such a delectably vengeful side out of his little one. Now he simply had to make use of it…

Just then another Drakkan guard came wandering into the sparsely furnished corridor they were occupying. The male’s eyes lit up, evidence that he found whom he was looking for, and he jogged up to Ineraz, offering him a sealed scroll.

“I was told to give this to you directly,” the male commented as he transferred the correspondence over to Ineraz, who accepted but didn’t yet glance at the scroll.

“Thank you,” Ineraz murmured. Then, before the guard could leave, he continued. “Senn,” he addressed the green-eyed Drakkan with cropped white hair “I will need you to watch over my brides instead of Thinil. He is required elsewhere,” he stated meaningfully and rather darkly.

Ineraz finally perused the scroll, and recognized the seal immediately. He grinned maniacally, a perturbing obsessive glint appearing in his eyes. Sera, who was closest to him, might notice that his expression was somehow similar to when he had been conversing with her, though his desire this time was less so tied to thoughts of carnal pleasure – not that he’d exclude that entirely, but it wasn’t a priority in this case. Ineraz quickly recovered, assuming a neutral demeanour as he stashed the missive on the inside of his leather vest.

He put his arm around Sera and once again murmured to her shortly. “We can play with him in the dungeons. It will be slightly dark and damp, but I hope you won’t have as much a problem with it as you did with the cellar. Wouldn’t want something like that to detract from the fun,” he leaned down a bit more and offered a short reassuring peck to her neck. Expecting her to follow, he strolled purposefully toward Thinil. The dark-haired guard had his light hazel eyes averted, though any guilt that one might presume from his posture alone was belied by his flaring nostrils and lips pressed tightly into a line. Ineraz put a warning hand around the nape of his neck, keeping his grip firm, and turned towards Zeldria and Senn.

“I have a matter requiring my attention,” Ineraz asserted coolly. He didn’t much care whether Zeldria and the new guard knew he was about to punish the other Drakkan or not. “Wait for me in the nearest sitting room. I shall return soon and then we are going to the market,” he directed this to Zeldria, then looked at the other guard. “Senn, find a replacement for guarding the front doors. I hope you will not be as remiss in your Gem-watching as Thinil here has been,” Ineraz delivered the last sentence very dryly, obviously still quite unhappy with the guard who had dared make an attempt at punishing Sera in his stead.

He let his gaze fall on Sera once again and beckoned her to follow him. They silently maneuvered through several corridors until they reached a medium-sized but unassuming iron doorway which opened into a long and winding staircase; a different one than Sera and Ineraz had taken the previous night to reach the cellar. This one was slightly wider and led deeper underground, and although it was somewhat better lit, the visibility still wasn’t impressive. The dungeon itself, however, was. The walls here were also made of grey stone, but the material was a darker, sturdier, and rougher one. The entirety of the floor was packed dirt which added to the distinctly earthy scent of the dungeons.

The staircase deposited them directly inside a rectangular room occupied by a single Drakkan guard, an older but vicious and wild looking individual with long white tangled hair and a somewhat better kept beard, who was sitting at a wooden table to the left. He appeared rather bored and was polishing a sword lazily. He barely looked at the arrivals, and only grunted when he saw Ineraz, not even giving a second glance to the Gem or the Drakkan guard who were with him, and returned to his task. This room was practically littered with torture implements, some hanging from thick rusty nails set into the walls, while others were simply placed on the floor or on display inside sturdy wooden cabinets. The equipment was thoroughly cleaned, though frequent use had left some obviously a bit worse for wear. But the implements were all perfectly well usable, not the least because replacing them was a simple matter. The dirt floor which was harder to take care of had several visible blood stains of various ages splattered around it and the iron scent meshed quite nicely with the natural dampness and earthy terrain that were predominant here.

Ineraz picked up a single whip and took one of the cell keys, never releasing Thinil who was apparently just slightly nervous now, then opened another iron door into a long spanning corridor lined with cells. There were several intersections opening to other similar corridors and the path Ineraz led them down would seem labyrinthine to a stranger such as Sera.

It was but a few minutes until they arrived at a cell just like any other and Ineraz unlocked it, roughly pushed Thinil in by increasing the pressure on his neck, waited until Sera stepped inside, then locked it back up. Once locked, the cells would be soundproof, though each door had a small lockable window any guard could use to check in on the prisoners. The cell was small and barren and could either be left entirely dark or very poorly lit. The fact that it was lit now was simply for Ineraz’s and Sera’s sake. Ominously, the only items in the cell were sturdy iron chains and shackles nailed into the walls.



After that little detour, Ineraz led Sera back to the first dungeon room, where the elder Drakkan and the other torture implements were. He returned the whip and the key, ensured that someone would look after Thinil’s wounds properly and release him from the cell. With that done, he walked back to the first floor leisurely with Sera at his side. He searched for the room Zeldria was in and left Sera with her, Senn now in charge of watching them both.

“As soon as I return we shall head to the market,” he informed his brides. Then, he turned on his heel, and strode with purpose towards his study, where he knew he would have some privacy.

The study was small and plain, containing only a desk, a chair behind it, two bookcases, and a dark coloured settee which had seen better days. There was a single landscape painting hanging on the wall behind his desk, and several hunting trophies were mounted on the walls. Three smaller trophies were on his desk; one was an intricately carved black hoof serving as a paper-weight, another was a capped-off curled and hollowed horn sitting upright which had been designed as a rather fancy ink-holder, and the last was a somewhat more innocuous set of a wooden case lined with very fine fur on the inside, which held a high-quality quill pen the colour of steel grey and flecked with shimmering greens, fashioned from the feather of a noble but dangerous bird of prey.

Ineraz sat behind the ebony desk, and carefully took out the scroll he had received, taking his time to just observe the seal of Kereg-Kor. He opened the missive carefully and couldn’t help breaking out in a pleased laugh. Not only was Keregar the best Drakkan hunter and arguably the most vicious Warlord, he was also one of the oldest and most well-known members of their society. And for such person to express an interest in him…Ineraz traced the signature reverently, letting himself enjoy the moment of simple pleasure and excitement at being recognized for a short while.

Then, Ineraz composed himself with a sigh. There were political implications to this as well. Keregar was an individual who obviously favoured the elder prince, while Ineraz’s father was, as far as he knew, closer to the younger one and likely intended for the whole Evrenarth family to swear allegiance to him when the time was right. It wouldn’t do for his father to perceive any meeting with Keregar or future arrangements Ineraz might have as a betrayal. No, if Ineraz were to have any sort of contact with the Warlord of Kereg-Kor (perhaps even accompany the elder Drakkan to his estate as one of the chosen few, Ineraz dared hope), it would have to be entirely non-political. With a silent sigh, Ineraz wrote a letter of his own, choosing his wording carefully. He wanted his father to know the state of things. And as much as Ineraz sometimes genuinely loathed the man, he still respected him. And truthfully, he was intrigued by the younger prince’s ideas as well if not particularly charmed by what he knew of his demeanour. Meeting Keregar and perhaps even going to Kereg-Kor would not change that.

And if Ineraz had memorized the scent carried by the scroll, that was only for him to know. He did ensure to destroy Keregar’s missive as he wouldn’t want to leave such a thing lying around, and he most certainly couldn’t afford to keep it on his person at all times. He was well aware that the Warlord of Kereg-Kor wouldn’t be impressed by any kind of worship. Ineraz did not believe that acting with his usual professionalism would be any hardship; he did not like the man or even agree with him, he simply held a great deal of respect for him, or rather, for his hunting pursuits.

He stashed the letter he had written for his father on his person just as he had Keregar’s scroll, unlocked the room’s door, and went from the second to the third floor, where his father’s study was. There was a guard standing outside – there always was at least one, regardless of whether his father was inside or even in Železna Kri at all. Ineraz handed the letter which was sealed with the Evrenarth coat-of-arms to the guard.

“For my Lord father,” Ineraz commented. The male guard took it without even glancing at the message and knocked swiftly on the door. Ineraz barely concealed the sharp intake of breath he took, his blood freezing cold for the brief second where his heart stuttered twice, then returned to its usual beat, though he was still wildly surprised at the fact that his father was apparently at the estate, and he hadn’t even known since when that had been the case.

“My Lord wishes to see you,” the soot-skinned dark-eyed and dark-haired male Drakkan guard informed him.

Ineraz composed himself with a breath and entered one of the manor’s most opulent rooms. It was done in the same rustic style as the rest of the rooms, only much richer and despite the obvious decadence it was very tastefully composed. There was a wide, beautifully carved and elegant desk standing opposite the entrance, eight bookshelves arranged around the desk, an alcohol cabinet worthy of jealousy not far from where Na’ir was perusing several documents at his work-space, a seemingly new royal blue settee to the left of the doorway which was decorated with a variety of shimmering silken fabrics and comfortable pillows, and was partially hidden behind a delicately placed golden-coloured partition. There were four chairs in the room, one occupied by Ineraz’s father and three empty ones in front Na’ir’s desk. Barely visible between two bookshelves was a seemingly nondescript wooden door. The walls and floor were a light grey stonework but were mostly covered by an eclectic array of paintings, tapestries, rugs, and even a few potted plants here and there. All of the wooden furniture was a matching dark mahogany.

Na’ir himself managed to appear professional despite practically being sprawled in his chair, smoking his thin pipe elegantly. His clothing was a combination of black and teal with golden trimmings fitting nicely with the healthy tan of his skin-tone (a contrast to Ineraz’s own snowy pallor) and the dark brown of his upward curling horns, his hair a shade lighter and hanging almost to his waist in a mix of dreadlocks and braids. This was a man who obviously appreciated his creature comforts, but if anyone were fool enough to assume he was not a threat, they would not live long enough to be even able to consider otherwise, much less regret their mistake. Perhaps it was simply because Ineraz knew him well enough, but to him the intelligent and coolly assessing gleam in his father’s eyes conveyed everything. This was a Drakkan more than deserving of his title as a Warlord, and someone who could and would rip just about anyone to shreds whether with words or actions – if he had cause to. Currently, Na’ir was tapping lightly at a missive, one that Ineraz recognized as his own, and the older Drakkan’s usual amused smile, cultured demeanour, and knowing gaze were fully present.

“Father,” Ineraz greeted carefully, perhaps a bit stiffly. His gaze landed uncomfortably on the message which he had written to inform Na’ir of his future meeting with the Warlord of Kereg-Kor.

“This is not entirely unexpected,” Na’ir went straight to the business. “I wish you had discussed it with me, but I dare say you are now truly independent,” his tone was as light and non-threatening as ever, however Ineraz couldn’t help but feel that there was a hint of mockery and condescension in it.

Before he could say anything whatsoever in his defence or as an explanation, his father continued. “You should know that if you ever find yourself on the opposite side of the battle-field I will not hesitate to cut you down. Neither will any of your brothers,” this time, he was cuttingly firm. His smile however had not yet slipped and Ineraz wondered if he ever felt the strain in his cheek muscles from keeping up the unnecessarily pleasant façade.

“Now.” Ineraz thought he might be dismissed, but there was just the hint of someth- “I have heard how you punished one of my guards,” Na’ir stated dryly, raising an amused eyebrow. Ineraz inhaled sharply and his eyes widened just a fraction, but it was more than enough for his father to catch and understand his surprise.

His sire chuckled richly and Ineraz shivered minutely. “Yes, I have found out already. This is my manor,” he stated. Ineraz refrained from sighing even though he was beginning to see where this was going. “If I truly hadn’t been here, as you so obviously believed, you would have got away with your mistake,” Na’ir said with what passed fairly well for regret, but his subtle emphasis on that last word belied his tone.

“Your misconception, not to mention hypocrisy,” he drawled, disappointment now clear, “requires you to be punished,” he stated, pausing for a moment as he apparently considered how he would do so. “The same methods you have had the guard undergo, I believe.” Na’ir’s honeyed smile could have misled the most feral of killer bees. Ineraz however had to work rather hard to contain a wince or a scowl. Instead, he squared his shoulders and looked his father straight in the eyes.

“I understand,” he assured as calmly as he managed. Considering what was to come, he thought it was a very respectable attempt. And it was probably only due to one of his deeply hidden desires that made Ineraz think he saw a hint of pride in Na’ir’s stormy grey eyes for the span of a single second.

Na’ir smoothly stood up, not ruffling a single document out of its place, and walked with very efficient movements toward the other door, the one positioned between two bookshelves, and opened it, revealing what Ineraz already knew to be the Drakkan’s private torture chamber. Because of course he had to keep such a thing up here. Compared to the dungeons, this room was much cleaner, better lit, and had less implements for causing torment, but it served its purpose. Na’ir considered it the punishing room, which he mostly used to correct his sons’ behaviour when they truly crossed a line. After Ineraz followed his father inside, the door closed behind them with a soft click.


When Na’ir was done, Ineraz was glad for the chains. And though the gag muffled his cries (and prevented him from accidentally biting off his tongue), there was no such thing as stopping the damnable tears once his father went well past his pain tolerance. Na’ir was nothing if not fair – Ineraz had made a guard of his cry, and his father followed exactly the same procedure; he had had him bound, whipped, cut, and burned just a bit. Now, he was applying a soothing herbal mixture by rubbing it into his back, and as helpful as it would be for his wounds, it didn’t make Ineraz scream any less. Soon after, he was bandaged and unbound. Ineraz felt rather faint and trembled with the effort it took to stay standing up.

“I suggest you hurry up and go to your meeting place. The Warlord of Kereg-Kor isn’t one to be left idly waiting,” Na’ir’s tone was the picture of neutrality, and having said that he simply made his exit. Ineraz was grateful his father hadn’t made more of a fuss or used the opportunity to humiliate him any further.

Shakily, he put on his cloth shirt and the upper part of his leather armour, took several moments to regain his breathing, and used his water elemental control to rid himself of sweat and tears. Then he hastily left, going past his father in his study room without a word, and made his way to the nearest empty guest room to make use of a mirror. The thought that his eyes might be puffy almost made him laugh hysterically. Thankfully, his appearance was easily enough corrected, though his posture was now more rigid and his gait just a hint slower. It would have to do.

Pushing the burning and throbbing pain of his back muscles to a corner of his mind, Ineraz proceeded with the day’s plans and went to fetch his brides. They were ensconced with Senn in a quaint sitting room on the ground floor. Ineraz barely glanced at any of them as he entered and simply said “We’re going.” Then he turned, guiding them to the backyard.

From nearby the outside training grounds Ineraz picked up some of the weapons he had left there, taking his sword and bow alongside the dagger and hunting knife he rarely went without. As much as it added to his pain to carry the bow and quiver full of arrows strapped over his back, that was simply not something he could go without for meeting with the greatest hunter of Drakka.

Finally, he led them to the stables on the other side of the backyard, where he arranged for a wagon and four of his hounds to go along. The Gems could ride inside the wagon if they so wished, and doing so would certainly give them some privacy, but the scent of animals lingered heavily because the vehicle had often been used to transport captured beasts, slain prey, and his hounds’ pups. He let the hounds, who were large and bulky enough to easily reach the Gems’ knees and top their mass get briefly acquainted with his brides, but was unusually quiet for what would otherwise be an intriguing occasion to him. An hour or so before his scheduled meeting their little group made it to the market, where he would let his brides choose whichever clothing they desired, as long as they picked at least some that would be practical. Either way, he had final say on any piece they might pick out, though he didn’t intend to object too much. He had to conserve what little energy he had right now and prepare mentally for the meeting with Warlord Keregar of Kereg-Kor.

Zakroti was quick to remove her arms from around his neck, something she found rather interesting given everything she had been led to believe about his kind. Aurora allowed her arms to be removed from their place around his neck unhindered, though fighting it would have been useless in the long run anyways. She caught a movement from the corner of her eye, shifting her gaze to spot Miry finally making her entrance. Aurora had to keep her face from twisting into a smirk, instead turning her attention back toward the Drakkan before her.

“A curious word to use, pets. Not at all the term I would use. Tell me, why do you choose it? And do you find this to be some form of amusing game? You know of what I speak.” The man spoke with a stern tone, warning her that she had managed to touch on a nerve. She had little doubts that it had something to do with the weakling making her way from the outskirts of the room. Something inside of her wanted to keep picking at the girl, but she had reached a line she knew she wasn’t prepared to cross just yet. Messing with Zakroti wasn’t going to work in her favor, she would just have to find other ways to get to Miry.

“Would you prefer the term toy? It is, after all, all we are meant to be in this land. We watch year after year as girls are chosen and torn away from their homes to be presented to you lot as livestock.” Aurora moved from one side of Zakroti’s chair to the other, her fingers tracing across his shoulders as she passed behind him.

“We’re wrapped up all pretty like gifts…” With each word she spoke, Aurora’s voice became more and more tainted with her distaste. Leaning in closer she ran her finger underneath his chin, though there was none of the fake seductress act behind it this time around.

“We’re taught how to kneel before you... how best to pleasure you.” Contempt was clearly shown on her face as she pulled away, leaning back against the table as she continued on her tirade.

“But do you know what it is that they wanted to be sure we knew was most important? It wasn’t the fact that somehow we’re worth our weight in gold yet not worth a social standing higher than slave… No, it was the fact that our sole purpose is offer ourselves up to you in the hopes that we’ll survive long enough to birth a small… excuse me... giant, nubby horned Drakkan baby that will one day grow up and earn one of our sisters for himself.” Aurora paused a moment to breathe, gathering her composure as best she could.

“Pet is rather generous if you ask me.” Her eyes tracked Miry to her seat, the fire Gem relaxing backwards against the table as she purposely ignored Zakroti’s secondary question. Even though most everyone else had sat by now, Miry included, Aurora still found herself on her feet. She wasn’t one to tire quickly, but it was more than just a preference to standing… She had no reason to trust the man before her. Even less a reason to trust the girl who sat beside him. To sit and dine with them felt wrong to her, down to the very core of who she was.

Zakroti seemed unconcerned by it though, sipping calmly at the drink in his goblet before asking her yet another question.

"Do you drink? It's Mazjamma, brewed at Aylmoras if I am not mistaken. Worth a try if you've never had it, though I warn you it tastes somewhat bitter." Aurora couldn’t help but laugh out loud at such a statement, a true, genuine sound that echoed about the hall despite the cacophony of voices.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed or not, but bitterness is something I’m more than a little familiar with. What’s a few more drops?” She countered, pausing to listen to the man swear his honesty to whatever questions she might ask. The words were echoed by the small figure sitting on his otherside, a thoughtful expression crossing Aurora’s features before she finally sighed and took her seat. She signalled her wish for the drink in which Zak had spoke of, speaking no words as she thought of what questions she wanted to start with.

There were so many that rushed through her mind at once, so many things that she wanted to know. Who was it that had struck her sister down, where was Zakroti when it was all happening… why, of all the people present, why was it her sister who had to die? Instead of her. There was another question, however, that bubbled it’s way to the surface. Her parents hadn’t spoken about the body at all, nor mentioned any words that might have been sent with them. They had been heartbroken and had little closure, simply wrapping the girl back up and burning her body as was traditional in her town. If they could not have their explanation, Aurora would have one on their behalf.

"Why did you send her back to us? You could have just tossed her aside… or buried her yourself. Were you trying to rub it in our faces? Was mourning her once not enough for you that you had to see us mourn her a second time?” She asked, her voice beginning to raise in volume toward the end before she regained control over it. If she had learned anything about the man she spoke to, it was that screaming at him was unlikely to produce any results. Such a move would be wasted energy and a chance that she would learn nothing more about what happened.

“And what about her, the Shattered one. Why wasn’t she sent home like my sister was, bloodied and lifeless? Why was she spared and my sister slain?” While able to contain the volume this time around, Aurora was incapable of concealing the venom that leaked into her words. She all but spat them down the table into Miry’s face, regardless of the fact that neither girl seemed to be willing to properly look at the other for the time being.

Heccarim looked at Sorrin with greater disgust as she vomited what little her stomach held out the window. Her cries for Arden did little to improve her standing. The scale for Sorrin was definitely leaning towards "House Pet" at this rate the Drakkan thought as the small Gem attempted to find solace in the arms of the stronger one. She didn't even know how heirs were produced and her general exuberance was… annoying. The Warden wasn't used to prisoners having this much energy and cheer when they were told they were being dragged to Harand Kor. Sure they were Gems who had never heard the storeis that Drakkans did but even then, Arden seemed at least aware of the gravity of the situation. Sorrin looks more like she was being unwillingly dragged to a party or a ball instead of a prison.

While he would never consciously admit it, this happy-go-lucky demeanor chipped at his personality; anyone with such a personality always did. Perhaps it was because of how grim Drakkan tended to be that he never learned how to deal with them. Perhaps he just couldn't comprehend how one could be so happy while knowing so little. Sorrin would break first, her eyes would go from filled with happiness to filled with tears. Her voice would cry out for any who'd listen to her agony instead of just Arden. Her frail limbs would drag behind her as flesh chains, if she still had them at all.

The whips below deck cracked as the ship groaned to the sound of drums, the waters churned as slaves pulled oars back and forth. Hoblars dashed between their legs either screaming obscenities or pricking their feet with needle-like brambles. With the carriage loaded and strapped down, its hooded driver rang an ancient bell. Vultures and crows flocked to the ringing instead of running form it like a carrion call and the ship rocked its way into the currents north.

The Warden sat in his cabin, staring intently at the two gems for a moment of silence that seemed to have lasted forever; only broken when he chewed on a thin slice of very red meat. The silence was clearly making everyone in the room uncomfortable, but Heccarim hide it well. Mostly due to his mask. His mind was trying to figure out the puzzle that was breaking these two. If he really wanted it to be over quickly, a lobotomy would be all that was necessary. However, missing part of your brain doesn't do wonders with trying to rear a child in its infant years. Plus given the Gem's constitution or lack thereof, so much as a bad paper cut might as well have caused them to bleed out and die.

As the two tried to comfort each other, the Warden called over for another plate of food. A trio of Hoblars nodded in unison and scampered off to fulfil their master's orders while the Warden himself got up and produced a new set of collars. Through his strength advantage, he picked up each girl without a sound and replaced their old collars with a new one before chaining them to either side of the room on opposite walls. Their new adornments had small barbs that while only irrating under normal circumstances, had a grated and chaffed with any pressure.

"Where you are is of little importance." Heccarim turned to face Arden, her stomach growled faintly as the wind, "Harand Kor is where you will be shortly. The meat however, isn't for you, but this is."

A plate of mostly fruits and vegetables clattered through the door on the back of three hoblars which Heccarim instructed to be placed between the two Gems and chained each of their hands to a handle on the side of the platter. The idea was that if one of them got hungry and wanted to eat, they would have to pull the chain and platter to their side while also pulling the other into their barbed collar. With any luck, it would erode their trust in each other or at the very least starve them for what would be next if this plan didn't work.

Rapids hit the boat hard and the deck jumped up. Below the cries and shouts of the rowers hitting the ceiling or the walls echoed off the crack of whips. The beasts that pulled the carriage were spooked but Heccarim stood as still as a statue, unmoved by the rough waters, "Your naivete is… unwelcomed Sorrin. But I suppose your enthusiasm is something worthwhile. Arden however, what about you? Are you so willing?"

Honestly it didn't matter, its not like the Gems had much of an ability to resist but it was nice to be able to try and pry some more information about them out of their pristine beauty. Plus this was going to be an amusing form of entertainment should everything go to plan.

The blade pressed against the material of his pants that were now the only pathetic excuse for armor his manhood had and yet, Höd seemed unphased. His calculating eyes remained on Morganna’s as he allowed for his thumb to wander to the woman’s jaw line. Höd traced his thumb delicately along it, moving up and toward her ear. As he drew closer to her ear, his hand joined in; cupping the nape of her neck firmly. Like she knew who she was dealing with, he knew the same for her. Assassins could not be trusted, even more so when their backs were up against a wall.

”Someone has paid a rather hefty amount for your head, my darling. They’re pretty inexperienced with such transactions which means I can wiggle a lot more money out of them. An easy pay day when the target all but hands himself over to the hunter.” Höd returned Morganna’s playfully twisted smile back to her. There was something about the woman that intrigued him that went further than lusting over a legend or beauty. She could hold her own, she wasn’t afraid of him, and she was brave enough to pull a knife on him. Höd’s hand ripped from her neck as she spun around him. He turned to face her and smirked, knowing that if he wanted to, he could’ve held onto the girl but watching as she flipped her hair in almost a mocking tone made their little game of cat and mouse more enjoyable.

”I’ll let you have this one, mon Cherie, only because I am a gentleman. But do remember, my sweet Morganna, when the target wants you to catch him… it’s never that easy.” Höd was now behind the woman, bent over to whisper in her ear. As a skilled assassin, she would pick up on the tone his voice carried; a playful warning. He was throwing her own medicine back at her. Curiously, he watched for a response that would never come. Morganna was far too trained to allow such a slight to affect her. The lack of response only fueled Höd’s desire to push her buttons even more. He snickered at the thought of just how he would accomplish such a task. It wouldn’t be easy, assassins meant patience. He knew patience well, but he also was no stranger to persistence and stubbornness. Höd had entered a game in which, he very well could be the only player, and as the competitive type, he would not let her win so easily.

”I take it you’re holed up in some inn somewhere in town right? Not exactly the safest place for you with that kind of a bounty out, you’ll end up missing out on quite the vacation if you stay. Come along now, you’re coming with me. The Dantanath household is one people respect, so as our guest you’ll be left alone as long as you’re inside the grounds. That is, of course, unless you would rather keep fighting all day?”

Without waiting, she was off, not bothering to glance behind her to see if he would follow. Others would take it as disinterest, Höd knew it was yet another move in their game. He followed her, curiously observing her as she walked. Morganna, the Crimson Phantom, family member of the Dantanath’s. He had heard of them, how could he not have? Not only was the name well known in Drakka, but Höd’s father personally knew the man responsible for bringing honour to the Dantanath name. He would have to tread carefully as anyone who knew his history too well could be problematic for him. Whether he ran into someone that did or not at the estate would be a gamble he was willing to take.

The two of them kept to the alleyways, a smart choice as Morganna had shared the news there was a large bounty sitting on his head. Höd wasn’t surprised though, if anything he had expected it. The moment his family name surfaced, it was hunted. It only stopped when the killings dwindled and the sightings of the Berserker disappeared. Time seemed to have escaped Höd as they headed for the Dantanath estate. He was busy curiously observing the Phantom as she lead the way but paid close attention to each and every turn that they took. It was in his nature to memorize such things as directions; knowing where you were all the time was an important rule in survival. If he was going to be, a guest, as she put it in unknown territory, he would be reckless not to map a quick getaway if needed.

Morganna’s stride began to slow as the two of them reached their destination. There were two horses outside of the massive estate, one was tethered to a fence and the other was wandering aimlessly. Höd had gathered that Morganna was unfamiliar with either steed, judging by the change in her demeanor. His eyes moved toward the trail of blood from where the steeds were and followed it to the front entrance of the estate. An itch of curiousity stung him but he fought the urge to pay the situation his normal reaction. Morganna seemed to not be overly concerned with what awaited her return home, which was a good enough reason for the Berserker to be at ease. Or at least at ease as he could be; in one way or another, Höd was always prepared to do what had to be done.

”Incapable of even the simplest of tasks. Whatever am I going to do with you little brother?” Höd cocked a curious eyebrow at the woman’s statement and joined alongside her as she began her march toward the front door. He peered up at the giant building as he approached it, it was an eyesore compared to the average looking homes he had seen already. This one, this one had money written all over it. It was clear that the Dantanath family was one of wealth.

”Here we have it then, the Dantanath estate in all of its glory. You, miss, continue to surprise me. I did not realize you carried such a heavy name. At least yours is a lot more liked than mine is.” Höd didn’t bother asking about the brother, his concern was how close she was with the family and by picking at the name, he had hoped she would offer some information.

Morganna pushed open the door to the estate and immediately began nagging her brother. Azzy. Höd simply followed behind her, quick to absorb his surroundings while remaining quiet to observe the interactions. The first thing he noticed was the small Gem wandering the estate, almost aloof to her surroundings. His first instinct was to maim the girl, but he was a guest and would have to mind his manners. At least for the time being. Höd paid no attention to the ‘play nice’ instructions she gave her brother and then realized where he knew the Drakkan from; the ceremony. It was him that she had been speaking to, one of the pretty boys. How her body language talked when she spoke to him at the Choosing made sense now; the two were related. Höd simply listened as the two of them exchanged words, silently judging the brother for his feminine like physique. He internally scoffed at the walking result of interbreeding. Any other day the Berserker would’ve brought judgment upon him, but today was not any other day.

“Now, where’s my payment, don’t tell me you lost her?” Höd’s interest perked at the talk of payment; Gem payment. His eyes wandered over to Morganna as he recalled what she had said to them the day they met. A cheap but effective alternative… I see now. Full of surprises, indeed.

Höd grinned gently at Morganna as she addressed him. It seemed as though she would be off to inspect her payment and leave him behind with his girlish brother. He didn’t blame her though, it was important to inspect the goods before accepting the payment. Höd simply nodded at her, ”Of course, mon Cherie. Take your time and I thank you for your hospitality. I’ll enjoy getting to know your brother here.”

Höd watched as Azilon studied him in silence. It was clear the brother was not as outgoing as Morganna, as Azilon seemed more interested in staring at him rather than asking him what he wanted to know. An unamused look came over his face as another Gem entered the room, though this one was clearly the help. He stayed still as she set the tea down on the table and as quickly as she came, she left. His attention found itself back on the brother, who again was staring at him.

”I’m sorry to break it to you, Azzy, but I don’t swing the other way.” Höd grinned as he delivered his snarky remark. ”Really though, if you are going to stare like that you should at least mind your manners and introduce yourself. My name, is Höd. Son of…”

Höd’s attention was snatched away at the approaching voice but not before he noticed the grimace on Azilon’s face. Whoever it was, Azilon didn’t care for them. The man who entered carried himself in a way that could belong only to the head of the household. Judging by his appearance, he was approximately Höd’s age, which could only mean that this man’s father could very well be the one his father knew. Any normal person would tense in such a situation, but Höd was trained not to do so. He refused to allude to any family connections. When Azilon introduced him as a thing Morganna had dragged in, the head of the house confirmed he knew Höd’s family name but was satisfied with the simple fact that his daughter trusted him.

”I do apologize for any inconvenience I caused at the Ceremony. But a man such as yourself surely understands business matters and the importance of attending to them.” Höd addressed Salazar with respect that would be clear in Höd’s tone of voice. Not only was this man the head of the Dantanath family, he was also Morganna’s father. If he was going to make a lasting impression, he would treat the man with the utmost of respect. ”Thank you for having me in your home. I do understand the trouble my being here might bring you, so I will be sure not to stay long.”

After a few words, Salazar left, leaving only the small Gem who was named Rya and Azzy.