”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.”

The voices from inside carried out into the dusty world of the capital. All signs of the rain had been slurped up, leaving the ground dry and powdery once again

The voices inside bid their formal farewells, all aspects of the friendly greeting pass. She heard footsteps heading towards her. She felt a large presence kneel beside her. ”Bree. You did...” Horrible. He didn’t need to say it. But the pain was beyond anything she had ever experienced before. The fact that Adorabella had been able to take it with barely a grimace was... unbelievable.

”It’s done. I’ll give you a few seconds to collect yourself. After that we’ll head back into the market.” Bree nodded, sniffing and wiping away the tears still on her face. The pain hadn’t lessen at all in that time, her back still screamed in agony and she felt herself fantasising of the freezing rain from the night before. Her steps were a little more unsteady as she pulled herself up from the ground, using Kagan to support her.

Releasing his shoulder, she took a few shakey steps towards the Jarvem’s storefront window. The grime from the outside giving it just enough reflection that she was able to see where her tears had caused her make-up to smear.

Very carefully she started wiping at the corners of her eyes, vaguely listening to the conversation behind her. If it was anything like what she’d heard inside the shop, well, that was better left unheard.

Reaching to tuck a piece of a hair behind her ear, she felt her shirt slip up too far. A moment of horror filled her as her chest was exposed for a second before she dropped her hands back down by her side.

The shirt wasn’t going to return to the way it was before, the skin was still much too tender for that . But she wasn’t a fan of the idea of walking all around the capital where every worry risked exposure.

She eyed Kagan in the reflection of the glass, an idea slowly forming her mind. After another moment, she finally returned to Kagan’s side taking his arm and holding it with both of her’s like a shield in front of her.

--------------------------------------------

The street became more congested as they headed to the heart of the market. The tiny street vendors from before paled at the wears of the market center. The inventory was of a finer quality, the merchants reeked of wealth. The opened aired aspect of it just added to the chaos. There were a few actual shops to enter, but something told her that anything she’d request from those places would be out of the question.

There were voices shouting everywhere, trying to draw the right client. The smell of animals, spices, cooking and perfume clogged the air. People rushed passed. There were too many people around to avoid be bumped and brushed. All the activity caused Bree to hold tighter to Kagan’s arm, less she get seperated and vanished forever. Despite the brand on her back, she was still leery of what Kagan had said before.

There were more Gems here as well. The merchants seemed to always have one or two on hand, although their Gems had a worn look to them. Wary and exhausted. There were a few who had clearly been rebanded. They were left with huge ugly scars as the new master tried to cover the mark of the old one. The gems in the streets seemed a little better. Younger, more alive.

While gathering her barings, she was content to watch and learn the way of this market. The merchants seemed just has happy to trade goods for gold as they were for chickens. At the far end of the market, a huge crowd had gathered, but it was too far off for Bree to see what it was that was being sold.

Soon, the flash of brightly colored garments drew her attention. She always made sure that Kagan was ‘close enough’ before diving in, but this was her element. Many of the cuts of shirts were out because they covered her back. Some merchants were skipped over because of their shoddy craftsmanship.

Others held promise until they lied about their wears “Purest Gnorktha silk,”

“If that is Gnorktha silk, then I’m a drakkan,” she muttered just loud enough for Kagan to hear. “Gemmenia or Drakka, a merchant is a merchant,” she muttered. Pulling her hand away from the garment as though it personally offended her.

The first black top she could find she slid eagerly over her head. It held an aura of modesty, neck high in the front and wide open in the back. A few other shirts followed, good for a day or two.

Bree felt as though she had just started to come upon quality items when Kagan held up a hand "...That’s enough. We're clothing you, not half of Drakka."

A frown crossed Bree's face as she reluctantly pulled her hand away from the pile of clothing she was about to dig into. Back home, shopping was an all day ordeal and ended with more bags than she could hold.

She hadn’t really given Adora much mind throughout this ordeal, more or less figuring that the girl was up to something either mortifying, embarrassing or similar.

The trio slowly moved out of the area, the clothing vanishing and making way to other areas of the market. Passing jewelry, bound books, foods, everything. The market was vaguely categorized by what the seller had in stock, but it seemed more like a guideline than an actual rule.

Yet, there was nothing there she particularly wanted. She was picking up glass jars with a aura of lackluster. When a voice called out to her.

“Why frown darlen’ when someone could be falling in love with your smile?” Came a kind voice. It was a Gem, one on the cusp of her midlife and by far one of the oldest Gems Bree had seen in Drakka. She had a bright smile, hazel eyes and a mass of dark brown curls that fell in a flurry around her. The drakken that was with her was on the young side, despite his size, he gave off a distinct ‘teenager’ vibe and lacked the bulk that the full grown drakken typically had. He was tipping backwards in his chair that was set up behind their booth. Every other area in the tent was filled with cages

“Highland Jerhounds,” she said cheerfully, giving a sweeping gesture towards the pups. “They might not look like much now. But soon they’ll be giving horses a run for their money,” She pulled out one of the pups, already the size of many full grown dogs from back home. They were black and brown and had huge paws. “They are masterful hunters, fantastic guards, kind to children and incredibly loyal to their mistresses,”

Bree had never owned a ‘pet’ before. Sure there were horses and the Lamay House had some mouser cats. But she had never felt the urge to own one herself. They were loud and messy. But the woman’s excited face made it seem like...an idea to consider. She opened her mouth to agree to the deal, just like she would at home. But she wasn’t at home. She couldn’t just...just get a dog anymore.

“Kagan…” she said, getting his attention. She tilted her head, glancing at the huge puppies.

”....The gift is whatever you wish it to be. Within reason.” Kagan says, polietly ignoring Bree as she scaled him to regain her balance. It was...a tolerable indignity, given the situation. That said, he did still have to stifle a chortle as Bree hobbled to the window to fix her make up, only to inadvertently flash the world. Teasing her about it would be immense fun, but now with the brand out of the way, he figured she would be more agreeable if he pretended not to notice the slip up.

Disappointingly, she did not seem interested in running the risk of it happening again and quickly rushed to his side, grabbing his arm and pinning the shirt between it and her chest. It was an entirely a pragmatic choice, he was sure, but he’d be a liar if he said he was not enjoying the proximity. ”...Seems your sister’s recovered. ” He says, gently placing a guiding hand on Adora’s shoulder, pulling the smaller Gem to his other side (taking caution not to accidentally graze either Gem’s new brand as best he could) before beginning the slow trek back to the market.

He would admit that he kind of zoned out for a while there, the concerns about potential bride theft now somewhat eased through his brides newly minted identification. He mostly let the Gems decide where they went, only occasionally intervening to drag one or the other slightly closer or to inform Aubree that, yes, that is in fact enough shirts.

He was finally released from his stupor when he attempted to move on from yet another stall, the worlds of the merchant only dully ringing in his ears as he assumed neither Gem would have much interest, only to faintly hear Bree weakly murmuring his name. He looks over the stall, sparing only a second to glace as Adora tiptoe’d to the next stall over to finger through some tomes.

It was the greatest nemesis to any red blooded Drakken attempting to aclimate a bride to their new role as breeder and slave. A cute animal. He almost sighs, slightly disappointed the redhead prooved to be somewhat stereotypical. ”...Very well..” He huffs, turning to the merchant. ”How much for one of the pups?” He asks sourly, glaring down at the gem as he prepared to engage in the most sacred form of battle in all of Drakka. Haggling.

“1,200." The Gem chirpped, Smiling like she had not just tried to rob him blind. In so far, Kagan was unimpressed. "600." He chuffs, slowly crossing his arms.

The womans smile darkened considerably, the mess of curls that constituded her hair bobbing slightly as she leaned forward. "You are lucky my husband is away or there would be a fight for such an insult. 1,000." She says, voice now low and husky with casual menance. A small grin managed to escape Kagan as he continued to glare, the woman was atleast versed in the basics of Drakken economic policy. Good for her.

Kagan pauses for a moment, as if considering the offer while he racked his brain, pulling at the vague echos of words he had heard while Bree hand talked (or been talked AT) to the merchant. "I imagine these hounds become difficult to sell after the first year.” He says slowly, uncrossing his arms and placing his hands flat on the table, his gaze now more level with the Gems. “Hard to train an older dog, and even harder to sell when they, quote 'could rival horses.' I've the luxury of time. You do not. 800."

The Gem chews her lip for a moment, briefly breaking the staredown to glance through her stock for a moment before retorting. "You'd be surprised how much a trained dog will go for. But, I'll make you a special deal, thousand and I'll chuck in the runt for free,"

Kagan stays silent, now legitimately mulling the offer over. He'd be stuck with the mutt, though considering it was to be Bree's pets that was hardly HIS problem. And he was getting less than his asking origonal asking price per mutt. If nothing else, the runt would make a decent enough meal if Bree grew bored of it. He huffs, not really able to think of a better offer before backing off the superior haggler."....deal. And an extra 50 to reward a shrewed business woman." He says, dropping the coin and the womans winnings on the table.

The merchant Gem beamed, reaching behind the counter and hoisting a small cream colored puppy into Bree’s waiting arms and tossing Kagan a leash. Kagan lashed the larger dog to the restraint, the little black and brown ball wagging its whole body at the prospect of new people and how interesting they smelled. Esspeically that big one. He smelled like when mom rolled around in that dead bird that one time.

Thankfully, before the narrative could be further hijacked by the musings of an adolescent dog, Bree managed to speak. The ”Thank you..” was barely audible between the trill of the busy market and the general layer of excitable dog currently attempting to merge itself with the Gem’s face. But...it was heard, And Kagan managed an exasperated sigh before standing, walking over to Adora with a small brown gleeful ball in tow. ”Just take responsibility for them. I will not be cleaning dog droppings.” He grumbles, the agitation in his voice not quiet matching the waggling mess at his feet.

Kagan leans over Adora, looking down at the small bound leather book in her hands as the newly acquired pet sniffs at her boots. ”Find anything you’d want.” He asks coldly, hoping she might be satisfied with the sight of a dog and just accept as her gift as well. Gods he hated big cities.

[color=BC79CB]

The market was absolutely magical. It had been some time since she had travelled through a market and a city of this size. She was often drawn away by beautiful clothes and fanciful jewellery. Adora could not picture her self ever having a need for any of it, but they were lovely to look at. Bree was much more in her element here. She watched the woman look over the finery and judging whether it was worth what the merchant asked. Adora could stitch up a wound or distil alcohol but she would be easily conned. Bree's shrewd eye was quite impressive.

And then there were the puppies. Adorable little creatures with happy wagging tails. The woman held up the dog as she tempted Bree to buy one. Adora reached out a hand and gently scratched the pup under the chin. As Bree got Kagan's attention something else caught Adora's eye. She gave the pup one last little pat on the head before she wandered over to the stall.

It was draped with decadent silks of varying, bright colours. Stacked and displayed at the stall were a number of books. Most of them appeared to be fiction of some sort, which did not interest her all that much. The books were beautifully bound though. She ran her fingers over finely pressed leather. Some of them had the words embossed on their spines. She moved around the stall and found journals and writing supplies. All of the journals were impeccably worked with images of beasts or forest scenes stamped into them. Some even had stones worked into them. She lifted one of them with a blue stone at the center of a mandala and a brass fastener.

Adora lovingly ran her fingers over the design, absorbed in the beauty of the work. Quite suddenly a shadow fell over her as Kagan approached. At the sound of his voice, she jumped, a squeak escaping her. She turned to look up at him, clutching the journal to her chest. She was surprised by the dogs sniffing at her boots. A smile spread across her face as she leaned down to give them a pat.

"Oh, I uh..." she straightened and finally replied. She held the journal out, looking at it longingly. "No, no. I don't need anything." She set the book back on the stall. She gave it one last loving touche before she turned back to Kagan, Bree, and the dogs. "Was there anything else we needed?"

Concerned eyes watched as little Sorrin turned green and rushed for the nearest window. The sound of the girl’s stomach emptying into the ocean caused a similar curdling feeling in Arden’s. The Gem’s face twisted into disgust as she gestured an obvious unpleasant expression; she had never been able to stomach the presence of vomit. The colour Arden had regained in her face since waking was quickly fading away with every dry heave that came from Sorrin. How such a sweet and innocent girl could make such a wretched sound was beyond her.

”Aaaaardeeeen.” Sorrin’s voice carried through the room with the tone of a whining child but it didn’t bother Arden. In fact, it brought a strange smile to the Gem. Like how a mother smiles warmingly at their upset child in an attempt to comfort them.

Arden gathered enough strength to shuffle toward Sorrin without having to stand on her own two feet. She rubbed the girl’s back once she reached her and offered a gentle “shhh”. Arden had been on a boat before, though it was much smaller than the one she was on now. The water rocking against the vessel had never bothered her stomach but she knew for many people that sea sickness was a real thing. For Sorrin it was. ”We won’t be on this boat forever. Just hang in there, OK?”

The sound of chain drew Arden’s attention away from Sorrin and to Heccarim. The shadow of their captor was already above them… He had moved in a way that she hadn’t noticed him approach them on the floor. Instinctively, Arden’s hand moved from Sorrin’s back and wrapped itself around her shoulder, pulling the girl closer into her in a protective manner. It wouldn’t matter though; the Warden plucked them from the ground and dangled them above the floor as if they were meat drying on a rack. The Gem thought about resisting but before her actions came to fruition she remembered the Warden’s very real threat; any punishment she incurred would be inflicted on Sorrin. Arden glared at Heccarim as he replaced her collar with one that that had barbed wire on it and threw her against the wall opposite to Sorrin. He chained her there and returned to a seat that was so perfectly placed to watch them.

A barbed collar… what does this monster have planned?. The Warden was a man of intention, something she had learned with how he acted and the way he spoke. Every action had purpose, but what was this action’s purpose?

The hoblars returned with plates of mouth watering fruit and vegetables. The feast was placed in the center of the room, perfectly between Sorrin and herself. Arden’s stomach growled at the sight of the platter but she knew that it would come with a price. The Warden had yet to prove himself to be anything but kind. Arden moved her head from side to side to test the new collars but she couldn’t decide their purpose. The Gem lifted her shoulder as she leaned her head toward it when a prick stopped her advance. Arden’s eyes widened in shock as the realization began to sink in… Her eyes moved toward the plate of food between her and her sister bride and then to the monster who owned them.

"Your naivete is… unwelcomed Sorrin. But I suppose your enthusiasm is something worthwhile. Arden however, what about you? Are you so willing?"

Arden scowled at the Warden with each word he spoke. The Gem had pieced it together slowly but the monster had confirmed her suspicions; eating would come with the price of hurting each other with the barbed collars adorned on their necks. ”Willing?” Arden asked, mockery in her voice.

With eyes locked on her monsterous husband, she spat on the floor in the direction of the floor. She was hungry, starving even, but she wouldn’t hurt the innocent girl for her own personal self gain. She wouldn’t let the Warden win his sick and twisted games… she wouldn’t give him that pleasure. Arden drew her attention away from him and to Sorrin, her face much softer nower.

”You should eat, Sorrin. Don’t worry about me.”

It wasn't long before Zel was left alone with herself and her thoughts once again. There was the guard, as always, but this one seemed content to sit and watch her in silence. Perhaps he was the quiet sort, or maybe he was being cautious and keeping his distance from her for fear of joining his associate in the dungeons. Zel had no intentions of burning him, of course, but he had no way of knowing such things. She was glad for the silence, however; in a house full of nothing but scorn, her own soul and mind were the best company she would have. What recourse she had at this point, she could not say, but she knew she would need to calm herself to find one. So, she returned to her old habit.

Closing her eyes and bringing her hands together as if she was praying, Zel concentrated on her breathing and blocked all other things from her mind. Ineraz's pressures, Sera's temperament, the way the cooks reacted to her, all of it was sent away from her head's inner chambers and instead funneled into a tiny flickering flame between her hands. Slowly she began to make the fire grow and shrink in time with her breath, spreading her fingers out around it like a cage. She funneled all of her concerns, her worries, her fears into it, sending them to the fire where she could contain and control them and away from where they would only try to consume her. In a way, she absently thought, it was almost symbolic of herself, this little burning sprite she'd made...

"What are you doing?" barked the deep, rough-hewn voice of the guard, his tones filled with warning. Zel opened her eyes as she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her control waned and the fire between her palms flared outward in a crackling burst of heat that forced her hands apart lest they be scorched.

"Composing myself, if you must know," she replied after she'd brought herself back to center, "I find it helps to conjure a small flame and exercise fine control over it."

The guard only grunted, which she took to assume meant some form of acceptance of her answer, and she returned to waiting. After some time Sera was deposited there with them while Ineraz went to attend to some business. And while Zel did her best to retain her composure, Sera's presence still had a notable effect on her. She would glance warily toward her sister bride every so often, as if watching to see if she would call her fire again, but if Sera returned the gaze Zel was quick to find interest elsewhere and look away.

The time seemed to stretch and linger past its due, until finally Ineraz returned- albeit looking much more cold and stony than before. Something had happened, though Zel could not hazard what, and she only hoped it would not give him cause to rebuke or relieve his stress upon her. It seemed he would not, however, and instead beckoned them outside. A wagon was prepared, and the hunting hounds were brought out to meet the two of them. Zel had known hounds, but like most things in Drakka the ones she was now seeing proved drastically more vicious and savage than what she'd known. They were quite large and one of them would not have much trouble eating her if the mood took it, but it seemed for now they were content to investigate her scent and leave her be beyond that. Some of them even permitted her to scratch their ears, a surprising comfort to her heart, before they had to be on their way. The wagon smelled heavily of animals, but such things had been the norm back home and Zeldria had no qualms climbing into the wagon.

Once they reached the market, Ineraz allowed them to roam freely, within reason, to find clothes they wanted. Selection was somewhat limited, but it seemed more than a few tailors saw opportunity in the Reaping and had laid out a collection of wares for Gems to sport. Many of them were designed more for looking at than actually wearing, it seemed to her, but here and there Zel managed to find a few selections that would serve practically. A few blouses, mostly white, caught her eye, coupled with some skirts in black and red and a single moderately formal dress. There was, however, one thing that called her attention to it; a small neck kerchief the color of the morning sky. She couldn't say why, but it called to her in a way that was oddly familiar, and she found her heart quietly set on it. With her choices in hand she turned to Ineraz for final approval, but the only piece she honestly hoped would not be denied was the scarf...

Alfhi ate quietly, but waved at Hestia when she noticed the woman standing at the hall door. She made sure food was coming for the woman before greeting her. She spoke softly, but clearly, knowing that as long she didn't get too loud, her father wouldn't mind.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Alfhi giggled, and scooped another bite of food up, though she paused to continue as the servers brought Hestia a hearty if very Drakkan breakfast. “What did you eat for breakfast at home? My favorite here is the roasted Carcasaurus tongues, tough and chewy but full of flavor.” She stuffed her mouth with the food she'd scooped already before skewering a bit of greasy, and rather well cooked meat and offering it to Hestia to try. She eagerly gestured that Hestia should try it, as she chewed her food.

Around the rest of the hall the Gunnvaldr house ate and prepared for the day's activities. Some would be returning to their own holdings and estates, others would be watching the tourney. A few had other business within town that day. Gwillim ate quickly and left the hall when he was finished. He returned to his room and donned his gear in preparation for the tourney. He'd break his opponents today. He was guaranteed at least two this day, if the brackets were any indication. Alfhi continued to chatter with Hestia, and after her father's abrupt departure, she began pestering Tempest too, wanting to know anything and everything about life back home for them.

As they too finish their meals she turns to her mother and begs to be allowed to attend the tourney today, just to watch. She's tired of hiding within the compound walls. “Ma-ma, may I watch you and Da fight today, please? It would be much more educational than watching the cousins sparring again. I promise I'll behave!”

Zakroti batted her hand away from under his chin gently, flashing her a thin smile as he sat forwards somewhat whilst she leant back away. When he spoke, each phrase itself an attack and yet was delivered with a cool tone, filled with conviction and certainty rather than venom or aggression. "It is what you choose to be, not all you are to be. Do you wish for that to be your sole purpose? Would you rather carve something more out? I am open to talk."

"Yet if you truly wish to know who is at fault for such an injustice, for telling you such things, for letting your whole purpose be that, for allowing this tradition to carry on for so long - then peer into a mirror. For as a collective, for a moments peace you unleash damnation upon your own. Assemble your armies! Fight us! Yet we both know you will not. Do we come and tear away daughters from their families, or do families and neighbours give away their own rather than put up resistance and risk their hide? Of course, this is how empires are built; Upon the groaning bones of the weak, frail and cowardly. "

"Who is the worse here? We, who take what is on offer? Or you, who offer it up so willingly and with so little recourse? Indeed, you who are by your own account collaborative enough in your offering that you train those who are to be offered? Yourself, who did nothing and gave up your sister, your flesh and blood out of fear? Why did you not act? Your parents, who offered up both daughters? Why did they not act? Do Gemmenite parents care not for their blood? Do the Gems have no concept of honour or shame, no sense of self sacrifice and bravery? One might have thought sisters would defend each other, not perpetuate quite willingly an endless lottery of misery." His tone took a slightly more aggressive turn here, certainly, more accusatory and even disgusted as opposed to the cool and calculating tone he had begun with, as though he thought their actions some great and nigh on unpardonable sin - and in truth to an extent he did, for their disloyalty to each other with no good cause was disgusting - though did it not parallel what he himself did? He pushed that thought away from his head; the circumstances were very different, and after all he would have allowed no other to take his family from him. Internal strife and infighting was one thing, especially between brothers and sisters where it wasn't even uncommon for them to fight each other on succession. Between parent and child, though? Such a greater treachery, and one which struck a cord deep within him.

"Do you know what we would do in your place? We would stand shoulder to shoulder, the highest lord with the lowest slave of our holdings, and die standing rather than offer up a daughter, we would throw ourselves hopelessly through the Stars and into the void beyond to be devoured before submitting our own so weakly, and we should march through into the heavens and die trying to kill the gods themselves before we so much as thought of teaching our young women to accept such a position. Do you know why? It's loyalty. Honour. Family. Love. Yes, perhaps pet is generous for pets have loyalty and honour, and pets care; a hound will fight for its master. I have seen runt dogs that come up lower than my knee try to maul my foot off rather than let me slay their master; standing defiant in a scene that might reflect that of a mouse before a dragon. The Gemminite people, apparently, will not even fight for their pups. So what does that make them?" His voice had drifted away from the accusatory tone again, perhaps ironically given its content. It seemed he offered it more as a sincere question than as some sort of rhetorical device, rather bizzarely. He confessed, he was interested to hear a Gem defend their practice.

"Yes, you have an air of bitterness about you indeed. Perhaps deserved, perhaps not. Can I blame you for bitterness? Certainly not. I am a foreign man to whom you have been forcibly bound, and certainly I deserve your scorn for that. But point it also towards your own, who have abandoned you and are complicit in your suffering." And having finished his response so, Zakroti casually reached out and poured her a goblet of Mazjamma, offering it to her with a small smile. Apparently, his speech had again changed on a dime. No longer was he on the offensive but rather speaking to her as though she were on friendly terms with him. "A few drops more bitterness shall surely not affect you much, and bitterness is not itself a bad thing but just another taste to be experienced. I know many who are rather partial to this beverage, for example, despite the strong bitter taste it has."

Zakroti tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, then shook it firmly and frowned, drawing back his lip in an expression of - disappointment, perhaps, that she thought he would have done such a thing to them, or perhaps feeling insulted at the very insinuation. Still, he understood; he could see how it might be interpreted as such, for the Drakken were not precisely known for being the moral, sentimental or even compassionate kind. He knew more than a few lord who had in fact sent back mutilated bodies to torment the families from whom they hailed. It was a mistake on his part, perhaps. He drank from his own glass before continuing, his tone understanding despite his initial facial expression. "No, that was not the case. You assume the worst of me yet I intended only the best. I sent your sisters body home that her spirit might rest in peace, that your family might bury her on your own soil according to your own customs. Where do you think she should rest? On your families pyre? Or 'neath foreign moon and star, buried in coarse soil in a land that is not hers, bound to death and sent to Krenta with rites that are not hers? Does the soul rest well in such an environment. I know not your beliefs but think perhaps that it does not. Although I admit, perhaps I could have dealt with it better, do not wrought my intent; I intended only good when I returned her body to your family. I saw not your first mourning, nor your second and certainly I derived no pleasure from the thought of it. I wished only to give your family closure on her fate, and give her spirit peace of rest that she might wander into the arms of her gods - whatever I might think of them."

Zakroti paused as he finished, pleased that she had gained control over her volume. He didn't particularly like the idea of a scene in front of the great hall, though it was certainly better than occurring outside. He nodded slowly as she spoke again, this time accusing Miry for having committed the apparently terrible crime of surviving.

"As for Miry, she indeed was almost slain. Yet by the skill of Gaikus - and another Gem - she endures. It would be strange indeed for me to send someone who is alive home to be buried. Battles are messy things and people die, others live. I suppose I owe you that explanation." Zakroti took another drink, draining the goblet and pouring himself another glass of it from the pitcher in the centre of the table. Without another word he took another sip, then placed it down before continuing. "It starts as you might not expect. Aymiria's sister, Aery, came fleeing to us that morning. She was brutalised and traumatised, bleeding something awful and I believe she had been cruelly mistreated. She was the bride of one known as Lugft, a brute of a Drakken as foolish as he was brawny yet he had a number of vassals and substantial power. Having asked my protection and being related to my own bride, I brought Aery under the protection of my house, at least until such a time my Grandfather, the Muthseran, was available to deal with the situation. I was not enthralled by the idea of allowing her to go back to Lugft, although I was begrudgingly willing to allow such as under the law I had no right to steal away a bride simply because I did not approve of her treatment. I did what little I could."

"Needless to say, Lugft did not see it in the same way and intended to set upon us with a small group of his soldiers in our rooms. I gave orders that the brides be armed so that Miry and your sister could defend themselves should they be attacked- and this led to Aery being armed also, a grave mistaken given her fragile mental state. Negotiations were brief and futile, the barbarian could not be reasoned with and so we let our swords sing our arguments with a clashing and slashing of steel. During this time, your sister died. I know not the precise detail for I was locked in mortal combat with Lugft himself, but as I understand she accidentally mortally wounded Kasari before killing herself out of shame. Lugft and his soldiers paid dearly for this, I assure you; while one of them escaped unharmed, the others were either killed or wounded. Lugft himself was reduced a husk of the man he once was by my very hand, in a state that he lingers in today; as an idiot, as one without memory or thought, he is left as a drooling imbecile barely capable of moving his head, the fool warlord lives out a pained existence behind the locked doors of his fortress as his family, enemies and former subordinates slowly rip apart his lands, taking advantage of his ruined state for their own material gain."

Zakroti paused before continuing, his tone now a far cry from his initial one. It was soft and apologetic, perhaps even slightly saddened. "You have my sincerest apologies and regrets that your sister ended up dead of a fight that was not her own. I recall advising her to retreat to a more defensible part of our wing as it was not her fight and I would naturally understand any desire to extricate herself form it, yet she elected to stand. I remember her reply; 'This is unacceptable, Pyrus' sacred flame has many uses but this should never be one. The moment you chose me at the ceremony, lord, I became a part of your noble house. And while I am aware that I gain no social standing within your nation, your pride has become mine. This Drakken flame is tainted and I will be damned if I allow it. I will stay.' Brave words from a brave warrior, who I have remembered and honoured - though perhaps you view it more as insult than honouring, I ensured her body was returned to you and her name was added to annals of my household." Zakroti answered, placing down his glass and looking towards Aurora sincerely. He did not yet chastise her for her vitriol towards Aymiria, as much as he wanted to in his gut; she had more than fair reason to be angry. He highly doubted she would be pleased by this, but it was the truth and it might perhaps allow them to reconcile in some manner or another in time (given they were to spend a considerable length of time together) and having offered her an apology for what had happened did to an extent clear his own conscience; whether it was accepted or not, he had confessed what had occurred in full. He offered Aurora a weak and sad smile, reaching out to place his hand against Aymiria throughout, fully aware that the topic was very sensitive and still raw for her. He continued, adding but a few more sentences onto his spiel "In the end, she made a heroic choice and it did me a great honour. I fear that I failed her, while she certainly did not fail us. I beg that any blame you have for us be directed unto I rather than Miry; a commander is responsible for the activities of his soldiers, it was my duty to keep an eye on Aery and to ensure Kasari's well being. If you can find it in time, and I would understand if you could not given - everything - I would ask forgiveness for what happened, and for my handling of returning your sisters body which I realise now I did not properly explained and it must have caused more ill than good."

A small hiccup of fear flashed through her as the second egg was snatched from the air, Xaelia felt herself physically shrink as the shout echoed around the small enclosed room. The rational part of her mind knew that this little boy could snap her neck as easily as he crushed the egg. The rational part was ready to drop to her knees and beg for her life. But the rational part was easily silence.

Xae stood with her eyes burning holes into the little drakkan as he fumbled through his excuses. But she kept her mouth shut. She watched him devolve from anger to justification first to Nadia then to himself, before finally muttering a final world about breakfast and vanishing off to some other room.

Although Varzar told them to enjoy breakfast, Xae felt a queasiness in her stomach that left food the very last thing she wanted. Nevertheless, she reached a hand into one of baskets filled with hard bread, intending to hide it for later. After a moment's hesitation she grab a second one for Nadia before walking over to the girl. “Nadia, are you….alright really?” She paused a moment for the girl’s response before a new figure enter the room.

Kieran.

She felt her heart freeze, all rage leaving her body like a rush of water as she saw the brother.

“What… do we have here. All alone? Did little brother run off? No… don’t tell me. Let’s not ruin the fun…Oh my… maybe he scorned you. Were you jealous when he preferred the gentle Gem?”

Xaelia took a few quick steps back until she felt one of the countertops press against her back. The anger evaporating like drops of water on the desert floor.

“No worries. I can make you feel better.”

“Y-your father told us to eat,” she whispered, her mind grasping at anything. “He will be upset if you s-stop us from following an order,” She side step slightly, trying to get closer to the door. “Don’t you think?”






“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.”

Rya’s eyes swept over Az’s face, flicking from his mouth to his eyes and then to his horns, finally settled vaguely back on his eyes. Her eyes widening as she spoke, lips pulling into a thin line, understanding flicking across her face as he finished speaking. Reaching a hand out, she patted the drakkan between the horns, smooshing the the front of his hair down. “Returning to my hut might be better. You’ve cause me nothing but trouble since I met you,” She nodded once as though some great decision had been made before kicked the horse forward into the estate.
------------

The estate was just as it was the before. Too dark, too confinding. Eyes watching everywhere. Az called forth one of the many servants that seemed to fade in and out of existence. Only around when needed.

The servant wasn’t a Gem, but she wasn’t a drakkan either. Tawny skin covered in white marking. She wore clothing that seemed to be designed to make life more cumbersome. Far too tight to allow for easy movement and the cut of it offered less modesty than if she would have been allowed to be naked. Her hair fell back from her head, leaving two broken stumps of what much have been antlers.

She didn’t speak, didn’t look at Rya. Her movement tense as though she expected an attack at any moment. Which, given her home, wasn’t too far off. The fawn girl left her in setting room near the front and vanished soon after.

Rya stood, choosing to pace the room, waiting for Az to return so they could leave. The longer the remain, the more the shadows would tug and catch, until leaving was impossible. The pacing helped keep the shadows from snagging and catching ankles. Like stepping thru the tangled underbrush of the forest.

There was a shifting in the house, a call of “Now, where’s my payment, don’t tell me you lost her?” Morganna and behind her The killer He was the one who smashed the drakkan into a thousand pieces upon the floor. Possibly for existing? Drakkan had killed for much less anyway.

She felt his eyes cross over her and felt the energy of ‘end’. Most drakkan wanted to have or to hurt gems. This one wanted them gone. Her gone. Her at the end. But he made no move towards her.

A few second later Az entered the room, sending Morgana off into the depths of the house. A wave of relief shot through her, although not a certainty, Az was better than nothing for protection.

She took a few steps towards him, ready to leave, only to be stopped by the fawn girl and her tea. “Rya. Your tea. Sit down and drink it…. Slowly.”

Rya shot Azilon a frustrated look before marching over the cup of tea. She lifted her feet slightly off the floor the keep the shadows off her shoes before sipping at the tea. It was hot and far too spicy to be enjoyed. But the faster she slow sipped, the sooner they’d be leaving.

She felt Azilon’s figure shift, blocking her sight from something behind. She choked on her tea as the voice of Salazar echoed around the room.

“Good boy, I see you went and retrieved our little Rya. Proud of you.” That one wanted to hurt and have and at the moment the one who wanted to simply end her seemed like the better choice.

She stood the second after Salazar left, knocking over her cup and spilling what little tea was left in it across the table.

She all but ran to Az, Rya shoved herself under Az’s arm, her eyes still watching Hod uneasily, her eyes occasionally drifting to the door that Salazar had left from.

“ Az...are Gems close enough to Drakka that eating them would be considered cannibalism?” She whispered, burrowing her head between his arm and body, every muscle in her body tensed. “ “Back to the forest before we find out?”

A half hour came and went as Wilhelm watched the horizon, waiting for the sight of his servant to come galloping up. He was late. Another ten minutes passed before he appeared, riding the horse up the hill at a somewhat leisurely pace. Wilhelm rode down to meet him, his mouth set in an irate line.

"You are late," he stated coldly.

"I am, my lord," the driver replied, "I paused along the way to let the horse drink and rest. It would not do if we were slowed because of its fatigue, or so I thought."

"Did you now. How remarkably considerate of you. What is the status of the pass?" Wilhelm inquired.

"The reports were accurate my lord," came the response, "A multitude of boulders barricade the pass, and it will be at least a day before they can be cleared. Additionally, one of the men told me there were whispers of ambushes on the High Road, as you presumed."

"I see. Then our course is clear," Wilhelm said as he turned his horse to return to the carriage, "Prepare the horse, and as soon as they are ready to move again we make for the marsh."

"As you say, my lord."

They returned to the wagon then, and as the driver reequipped the horse with the carriage equipment Wilhelm dismounted and strode to the side of the carriage. He opened the door and stepped up to look down on his brides, carefully passing his gaze over them both to ensure they had weathered the trip thus far and had not attempted anything rash. Then he spoke.

"There has been a change in our travel plans. The most direct route has been blocked, and we will be traversing a marsh to reach our destination instead," he said imperiously, "I tell you this so you know, and also so you will be observant. I suspect treachery on the road, and I will not suffer it. Keep your eyes and ears open, and should anything appear out of the ordinary or suspicious, you will notify me immediately. Is that clear?"

Sometime later the driver called that the horses were ready, and Wilhelm responded that he was as well. They set off down a different road to the west, one that winded and twisted as it neared an area blanketed by a layer of almost sickly green fog and woven of black, gnarled trees. Pools of fetid water began to appear and grow larger as they grew closer, and the already bedeviled tones of Drakka's fauna grew ever more vile. The pace slowed as the horses and their operators carefully looked for the path, gingerly stepping where the ground was hard and evading the pitfalls and murky traps of the marsh road. All the while, Wilhelm kept his eyes sweeping back and forth, his ears raised, and one hand on the scabbard of his sword at all times...

It was a while before the door opened again. It was their husband. He did not look happy and, despite his earlier praise, made Amalia nervous.
The way was blocked? He suspected treachery? The icy fingers of fear dances down her spine, making her shiver. What if they were attacked and her husband killed? What would become of her and Onyx? She didn’t want to think of such things.

The ride was silent and bumpy. She was half afraid one of the wheels would sink into the marsh and they would be stuck. But the driver was very cautious and trusted the horses’ instincts on where to place their feet.

The smell became worse and Amalia covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve, coughing quietly. She didn’t complain. It wasn’t Wilhelm’s fault they’d come this way. He’d had no choice.

It was eerily quiet. Amalia could feel the nervousness of the horses, wishing she could comfort them. It would have been a comfort to herself as well. She had wished for plants but the trees she saw were black and twisted. Like everything in Drakka. Why was everything in this land so... poisoned? Even the water looked fetid and vile. Her imagination created fearsome creatures that she swore she could see moving under the dark water.

The carriage slowed even more as the horses picked their way over a particularly muddy patch of ground, to the point where it was like they were sitting still.
Staring out of the window of the carriage Amalia spotted a quick movement out of the corner of her eye. It was a shadow, but of man or beast?
Standing and moving to the door, Amalia opened it and leaned her head out.

“My lord?” She called, her voice questioning. Any reply was cut off but a fast moment by her head. There was a sharp pain as an arrow nicked her ear as it shot past her, embedding itself into the carriage wall behind her. Amalia fell backwards to the floor of the carriage.

Amalia screamed in alarm, feeling her ear and pulling her hand back to show blood.

The lord who stood before her said nothing for an impossibly long time, studying her, scrutinizing every inch of her. Try though Nenra might, she could not stop herself from fidgeting, self-consciously smoothing her hair and puffing out her chest to try to give the illusion of a more ladylike figure.

Still he said nothing, not until he drew closer another pace. He slapped her. Only his fingernails caught her cheek, though the force of the blow still turned her head and sent her staggering. Four perfect crescent-shaped cuts slowly filled with beads of blood, stinging pain and ringing in her ears swelling in her head as she slowly straightened to face the lord, horror plain on her face.

“I demand a different tribute. Look at this one. Did you deliberately seek the least beautiful whore in all the land? Did you mean to humble me? Humiliate me?” The warlord’s voice rang out through the room. His hand went for the blade still suspended on his belt-

And as swiftly as he spoke in defiance, he was silenced, a silver spearpoint streaked in crimson suddenly protruding from the gap between his neck guard and chestplate.

Nenra gaped, wordlessly, silently staring as the lord (whose name she still did not know) crumbled to the floor, the faceless royal guardsman behind him turning an emotionless stare upon her.

“Come.”

She briefly thought to refuse- she did not want to wind up as the royal soldiers’ plaything, as she figured was the likely next step - but an iron grip clamped down on her wrist and all but yanked her along, her feet tangling in her skirts as she stumbled and tried to follow. The guard scarcely acknowledged the other Drakken in the room, guiding her from the dwindling crowd. Not a word was spoken but a scrap of parchment traded hands as they approached the main gate, the guard who guided her pausing to read by the flickering torchlight, his scowl apparent to even the mostly-blind bride he kept his death-grip on.

“Sire?” the questioning word escaped the bride’s lips before she could stop it, and she gasped in pain as his hand tightened to the point she could feel her bones threatening to snap. But the question bubbled out of her lips unfettered by the pain. “What is happening? Where- Where are we going?”

He didn’t seem to hear her for a moment, quickening his pace as they stepped out into the downpour - Nenra shuddered as the water drenched the lovely gown and her hair in mere moments.
It was not until they were well down a winding, narrow street that the guard spoke, his words monotone. “I am delivering you to your husband.”

“Husband?” She shuddered. “You killed the man who was to be my husband, I thought, sire.”

“I did. Your new husband.”

Despite her running effort to not get herself killed, Nenra quit walking, entirely confused. “Sir?”

The guard sighed, looking around to make sure no one was nearby and dropping his voice. It was clear he did not want to be seen speaking to his charge. He slowed enough to turn to her, tightening his already-painful grip on her and leaning down to hiss in her ear. “Every year a handful of other lords are requested to attend the Capital city during the Reaping. Hard lords, competent ones, full of brutality and cruelness yet untempered by high society. Eager to claim a rejected bride. Does that make the current situation clear?” With that he shook his head, yanking her along and nearly dislocating her shoulder in doing so.

She wanted to ask even more questions, but now she had the grace and mental faculty to keep her mouth shut. Besides, they were nearly to their destination.

Proper terror filled her as they proceeded up the walk through the heavy iron gate. Laughter and the stench of strong beer was already wafting through open windows, and she faltered in her step. The guard yanked her along again with a muffled curse, approaching the door and pounding on it with a heavy iron knocker.

A small Drakkan who seemed to be some sort of footman opened the door, a wide, toothy grin breaking out across his face as he took in the royal guard and the fragile girl he pulled along.

“Lord Bandor will be very happy to see you.” He gestured for them to come inside, but the guardsman did not, instead pushing Nenra in before him. The footman turned, and wrapped his arm around her possessively, hand snaking around to her hip. She shuddered, but there was a strength in his arms that meant she should not pull away.

“You’re a pretty little thing…” he whispered in her ear. “Perhaps I could sample you, before giving you to my lord… I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think your lord would appreciate it if you soiled his prize.” The words caused a wave of revulsion to build in her throat but she swallowed it. She tried to push his hand away, a futile effort that made him chuckle. But she’d stalled him for long enough.

The corridor widened out into a great hall, a hall full of drunken laughter and too many bodies. The laughter stopped, at least, as they walked in. Nenra flinched, cowering against the doorman’s side, trying to hide from all the suddenly lustful stares turned on her and the clinging, soaking wet evening gown she wore. She didn’t have to be able to see to feel their eyes on her, mentally undressing her and ravaging her.

A low laugh from the high table directed her stare, and the footman kicked her in the backs of the knees, causing her to crumple to the floor.

“It seems lord Sorrak has blessed us tonight!” The call was met with raucous laughter. “Bring her up here, my good man.”

Fingers grasped at the wisps of her hair, tangling at the back of her head and nearly dragging her off her feet. She let out a soft cry of pain, squirming and trying to get her feet back under her, finally managing to and being half dragged, half-shoved forward onto the dais.

The lord pulled her down onto his lap, his breath soured with the stench of heavy mead as his teeth grazed her throat, his calloused hands dwarfing her slender neck and waist as his fingers settled there, roughly pulling her against him.

Two of his fingers hooked into the back of the gown, and with a simple motion the fabric was torn, loose halves of the dress falling down and tangling around the legs of the chair. She let out a yelp, squirming to cover herself, but the lord quickly seized her already-abused wrists, a laugh escaping him as he pulled her arms away from her exposed body, looking her over hungrily.

It took several moments for what happened next to be processed. He shoved her off of him, pushing her to a group of his soldiers - saying something about how they’d earned a night of fun, and since he was such a benevolent lord, they could have their fun with his prize, so long as they didn’t do too much lasting damage.

Fear seized her, fear and revulsion, and she tried to flee, scratching and kicking at the guards who caught her, kicking and squirming like a rabbit caught in a trap-
A trap that was suddenly motionless. There was a clattering bang of a door being flung open, and the raucous hollering that had filled the room stopped, the room drawing so silent a mouse’s sneeze could have been heard.

True bellowing filled the room, screeching words that Nenra’s brain refused to process, and the soldiers that held her let go in a hurry, shoving her to the floor and scurrying away, no longer nearly as brave as they had been just moments previously.

The stone floor was cold on her naked body. She shivered, not daring to get up, waiting for the sudden ringing in her ears to subside enough that she could stand.

A large hand settled on her back, another under her elbow, seemingly helping her up. She scrambled to her feet and whirled around, terror making golden-green eyes wild and harsh, her arms hovering in front of her like she couldn’t be sure whether to cover herself or take a fighting stance. But the imposing armor-clad figure in front of her chuckled, removing his helmet to reveal a young Drakken with rather short horns, very clearly just out of his youth. “Relax, child. I mean you no harm.” He settled his helm over her head, holding her up as she nearly buckled under the weight of it and the fact that it now rattled loosely on her head, and in a smooth motion removed his cloak and tied it around her shoulders.

He admired his handiwork, nodding slightly. It wouldn’t pass any sort of proper scrutiny, but to a quick glance, she could have passed as a recruit soldier.

Realizing the girl was still flinching away, the youth extended a hand. “I’m Baeloth. Recruit, as of a few weeks ago. In service to Warlord Vannoth Mors, whose estate this actually is. You will suffer no harm within these walls, so long as he maintains his dominion here.”

She gaped up at him dumbly, finally managing to spit her name out. “N-Nenra. Nenra Corislen. I- thank you. I...”

The man clapped her on the shoulder, the sheer strength in his form nearly buckling her knees again, and guided her over to one of the tables. Four other young men of similar stature and bearing waited, starting to help themselves to the remains of the feast that had been laid out.

“Shouldn’t I go speak w-with the lord of the house? Sir?” the words welled up timidly, and he looked her over. Several of the others looked at her, throwing their heads back and laughing.

“Ye need t’ give ‘im time to cool down, pretty Gem. E’ll take yer ‘ead off, if ye go t’ talk to ‘im now.” That was an older soldier, denoted by the artful engravings on his suit of armor, who scarcely seemed surprised as he walked by their table. The youngsters snapped to varying stages of attention as he walked past, but quickly focused on Nenra again.

“You’ll likely be bunking with us tonight, we’ll have you talk to the lord in the morning.” Baeloth spoke quietly, guiding her to one of the benches set at the table and handing her a roll, which she chewed on automatically, not tasting it. The bread was coarse and rather bland, but it was food. She hadn’t properly eaten since well before Shadow Worth, which now seemed a lifetime ago…

“Vonnath is not going to be happy.” That was one of the other recruits, who’s name she didn’t know yet.
“Crix is going to get his head handed to him.” one of the others agreed. Silence soon lapsed, Nenra very carefully focusing on the rough wooden table and feeding herself slivers of bread underneath the helm, and not on the five recruit soldiers who now sat around her like there was nothing at all out of the ordinary.

“Oi! Little lady! Baeloth here’s bein’ a twat, didn’t bother to introduce us. What’s yer name?”

“Nenra.” She blurted, her face coloring. “Nenra Corislen, and I’m hardly a lady, sire.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, little lady. Now, Baeloth, mind yer manners and introduce us.”

Baeloth nudged her shoulder, causing her to turn around to look at him, and started introducing his other comrades. Their names were becoming hopelessly jumbled in her head already - Talon, who’d just spoken, Zerin, and-

“You imbecile! Six weeks together and you still can’t recognize us? I’m Riccar!” One of the burlier recruits shook his flagon of ale. The one sitting across from him, quite identical in appearance and demeanor, rolled his eyes.

“Whatever he says. I’m Riccar. That’s my little brother, Biccar.”

“Little?!”

After several minutes of looking back and forth like it was a particularly-enthusiastic tennis match, Nenra shook her head, slumping down in the seat and drawing the cloak tighter around her. She was still shivering, but whether from fear, exhaustion, or cold, she wasn’t quite sure. Chatter had resumed in the hall but it fell on scarcely-hearing ears and nearly blind eyes.

Some immeasurable amount of time passed, before a heavy hand on Nenra’s shoulder startled her out of her reverie. The room was emptying, the cacophony quieting as soldiers trailed off in companies and pairs to find their barracks, and Baeloth (She could tell it was him from the sandy-russet mop of hair on his otherwise bare head – most of the others had put their helms on after eating, but she still wore his.)

“We don’t have an extra bunk in our barracks, unfortunately, so I think you’ll be sharing my bunk.” The hulking youth’s expression was arranged in some apologetic expression. Seemingly he saw her freeze, forgetting how to breathe as she considered all those implications, and he extended a hand in an effort to calm her. “I stand by my promise of earlier. No harm will come to you in the halls of my lord, so long as his soldiers are here. I will place a blanket roll between us so that there will be no accidental contact, if that will put your mind at ease? Come, let us retire – the morning dawns early and I’m certain my lord will have questions for you.” He put his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of companionship, causing her to wince and her knees to nearly buckle as he leaned a portion of his mildly-intoxicated weight against her.

She did not recall the walk to the soldiers’ wing of the palace, nor did she recall being handed the rough linen shirt, the recruits all turning away while she removed the heavy cloak and put on the tunic. It was designed as a proper shirt but fell past her knees, the shoulder seams falling halfway to her elbows and the sleeves draping down over her hands. It was undeniably designed for a brawny Drakken youth, not a gem of her own especially-slender form, but she was grateful for the yards of heavy clean fabric that now draped loosely over her, masking her figure and preserving her modesty.

As promised, Baeloth constructed a barricade of extra bedding between them, splitting his bunk in two. After bidding her goodnight he fell asleep almost in the same breath, and gradually the recruit barracks settled in to the sounds of soft snoring and deep, even breathing.

Nenra couldn’t sleep. How could she? Even with the words that Baeloth had spoken, as much as she thought she should try to trust him…. She could not bear to fall asleep and be left defenseless and unaware should someone decide to take their pleasure on her.

The bunk was lumpy and hot and her body floppy and cold. After much restless contorting and flailing about, she had just begun to find a comfortable position when she heard a loud, slurred voice outside. She could not recognize the words, but her blood ran cold as she recognized it as belonging to the man she’d been given away to, and in a panic she flung herself from the bunk, fumbling with the straps of the recruit’s armor until his sheathed sword and long dagger fell to the floor with a clatter, causing her to hiss and duck into a corner, but no one stirred. She reached for the sword but the flimsiness in her feeble arms made it so she could scarcely lift it. With the long dagger removed from its sheath in hand, she crept to the door, pressing her ear against it so that she could hear the words.

Heavy thumping of boots, as though the speaker was pacing. His words were muffled now, but some were distinguishable.
“….the liver-rotting maggot….show him….first his girl….find the sniveling whelp….make her take…”

Thunder roared in her ears and she felt she might topple over backwards, but she tightened her awkward grip on the long knife, hand inching towards the door that separated them. She had to tell someone. Not the recruits, no – they wouldn’t know what to do. This lord had an air of battle about him, something her new friends lacked, and she couldn’t make them risk their lives. Baeloth had said that he was merely fifty – still a child by his people’s standards. She couldn’t make children fight what sounded like a drunken berserker.

A breath she didn’t know she was holding escaped her, her feet relaxing and her heels coming back into contact with the cool wooden floor. With that contact came a rushing wave of calm, and she shut her eyes and thanked the Mother for the sudden epiphany.

Rushing back to the armor stand, she lifted the helm and cloak as quickly and quietly as she could manage, settling them over her thin frame. Steeling herself, squaring her shoulders, she eased the door open, sliding out into the hallway with silent footfalls. Having made it a good ways down the hall to what she could only assume was the noble’s wing, she was then stopped by a heavy footfall catching on her borrowed cloak, yanking her around and nearly off her feet.

“Where do you think you are going?” The words were sharp and gruff and filled her with terror. But she turned, glad the tangled cloak obscured her body and knife-wielding hand, and glad the helm covered her face. There was a chance he thought she was just an exceptionally runty recruit, right? “State your name.”

In desperation she pitched her voice as low as she could, making a raspy, quiet croak. “Baeloth, on orders from… Warlord Mors.” The petty lord stepped menacingly closer and she quickly, without properly thinking, added, “My lord Crix.” That seemed to appease him for a moment, and he stepped back, removing his foot from the cloak.

She hurried off, making it all of five paces before a blade shot out of nowhere, razors’ edge carving through cloak, tunic, and sending white-hot pain into the point of her shoulder, causing her to cry out in agony and stumble, losing her footing entirely and hitting the floor with a clanging noise. The helmet, far too large for her, rolled off her head, leaving it suddenly plain for all to see that she was clearly a Gemmenite.

The momentary spell was broken and the warlord snarled, drawing his arm back again, spitting something so horrible Nenra’s brain refused to comprehend the words he spoke. In pure desperation she scrambled to her feet, keeping a death-grip on the dagger, and bolted down the hall.

A guardsman burst out of one of the corridors, sword arcing down towards her, and her vision went white as she brought the dagger up, blindly slashing at him to make him stop in his advance. A yell of pain and spatter of blood against her face and chest was her reward, soon followed by a numbness in her arm and a dimly-realized clattering of her dagger hitting the floor.

Her feet seemed to carry her of their own accord, flinging her down the hallway towards the ornate doors that she prayed led towards the warlord’s rooms. As she flung herself against them, Crix and a few of his retainers hot on her heels, they opened with almost-no resistance and sent her half tumbling—

Into a bloodbath. Time seemed to stop as the flickering torchlight from the hall revealed the scene. Everything was washed in crimson, crimson Gem’s hair indistinguishable from the crimson that still slowly seeped into the blankets and dripped onto the floor from pale, extended limbs, emerald eyes glassy and wide in fear and death.

The lord of the house slept beside the corpse, unaware of the carnage – or perhaps the cause of it.

But before she could process that particular thought, the state of suspended animation shattered. A shrill scream bubbled out of somewhere- was she screaming? – and her legs began to crumple as her body stopped, falling towards the crimson-red floor as though sinking through molasses.

A hand seized the remains of the cloak, yanking her back and causing her cry to be strangled off, moments later replaced by a glowing red-hot hand closing around her throat, slamming her against the wall, cutting off her air with a touch so hot it froze her and enveloped her entire form in agony. In the seconds before her vision went completely dark she at last glimpsed the cruel vassal lord’s face in perfect clarity, features marred with hatred, fury, and lust.

The sickening taste of charred flesh and gritty ash coated her mouth, those few seconds stretching out into an eternity of agony as the lord leaned in as though through molten earth, flames licking at his face and clothing and eyes as his rage consumed him.

“You would ruin me, so I have ruined you….”

The darkness settled across her vision, and with its coming all thought and pain faded into oblivion.

---

---

The pretty dark-skinned gem, now introduced as Tempest, came to sit beside her. Scyrven flashed a slightly toothy grin at the gem, offering her strips of roasted meat and a thick slab of the heavy, doughy flatbread dusted with bitter herbs and spices. Ordinarily Scy would have scarfed down her plate and likely half of what was left on the table, having had such a light supper and a healthy day of fighting besides, but she was attempting to control her appetite. She was to fight in the day’s opening match, the way the brackets had fallen, and at least two more rounds besides.

Dimly she became aware of Hestia, wearing the soft dress that had been left out for her, sneaking down the stairs and settling beside Alfhi. The poor girl seemed entirely too focused on her plate, but she was being well-tended by Alfhildr. All would be fine for her.

Scyrven made an attempt at small-talk with the pretty Gem beside her. “So where in Gemmenia do you come from?” she asked, between bites.

After the breakfast plates had been cleared away, Alfhi’s petulant words circled at last into Scyrven’s head, pushing out the idle thoughts of fights and the soft bed that awaited them when they at last traveled home. Copper eyes turned to evenly regard her pleading daughter.

To permit Alfhi to attend… She’d need to be under watch, of course – Drakken women were just enough of a rarity that other lords, especially those thirsting and without a bride to soothe them, would likely try their luck if they saw a child unprotected, and Alfhi lacked both the brutality and finesse to ward off an attacker.

Sighing through her nose, Scyrven considered the situation. Bringing two brides and her daughter would just be asking for trouble… but she supposed it would be as good a reason as any for the entire Gunnvaldr family to have an outing. No one would trifle with them, not with their family nearly as large as a warband itself, and their most brutish retainers. Of course, there was no guarantee the people at the gates to the arena would permit them all admittance, but a bit of gold would surely ensure their way in. And Alfhi was right, it would be educational.

With a grunt, Scyrven unfolded her long form from the table. “We’ll have to see what your father says, but at this point we might as well bring the entire clan. I do hope they put up the extra seating structures...”

With that comment, she stepped away from the table, climbing the stairs to return to the bedchamber. The others would ensure the Gem women and Alfhi didn’t stray too far, and she did need to put her armor on for the day.

Soft copper eyes met her husband’s gaze briefly, her full lips curling into a brief smile as they went about their respective daily preparations. The silence that hung between them was a companionable one.

She quickly pinned her mass of twists and braids in a tangle around the back of her head, low enough on the nape of her neck to tuck neatly under her helm, and proceeded to tug her hardened leather tunic on, groaning slightly as her faintly-sore muscles objected. She’d have to stretch once they got to the arena, but otherwise she was optimistic about her physical condition and level of fatigue. She’d certainly do well today, even though it would probably be better politically if she sabotage herself, rather than winning all the glory. There were too many powerful people at play to risk an accident… though perhaps a well-timed one could be beneficial for the cunning social climber.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she finished lacing up her armor and returned to the great hall, helm under her arm and kit slung over her back, an optimistic (and feral) look on her face while she waited for the rest of her household to mobilize.

---

---

Hearing Zak go off at Ro, at her sass and bitterness of tongue, was a welcome change, though Miry’s stomach turned all the same at the acerbic quality Zak’s words had taken on. As Zak handed a goblet of Mazjamma to Aurora, she took the moment to reach for a goblet and the pitcher herself. A drink would be helpful to dull her emotions, though she knew she could hardly hold the spirits of Zak’s people. Little more than a splash was usually enough to set her into a state of vague complacence with the world around her.

A quiet hiss from beside the table distracted her, and one of the many serving-folk hurried forward, fresh goblet filled of water in her hand and a disapproving scowl on her face as she whisked the barely-filled glass away and shuffled the water into the small Gem’s hand, a second servant reaching out under the guise of refilling Zak’s goblet, placing the pitcher down much further up the table so it would be out of Miry’s reach. “Milady, water for your morning. The lord’s orders for your current state.”

The words were a bit loud, the servant’s tone matter-of-fact, and Miry’s face colored as she chanced a guilty glance at Aurora, praying the other Gem was too entranced in Zak’s words to have paid mind to the brief exchange.

For her part, Miry tried not to pay attention to the words being spoken. Try as she might to focus on anything else, the detailing carved into the pillars around the hall, it was not enough. Images of that morning bled into her head, bled into her heart like the numbness and pain that filled her from the moment she’d seen her sister’s battered body, like the heat from the whirlwind of air and steam that had torn her own flesh—

Zak’s hand settled on her thigh, warmth flowing from his fingertips into her skin, even through the multiple silk layers of her skirts. She was trying so hard to not disturb the recounting but she nonetheless seized his hand in both of hers, wrapping the fingers of one hand through his and kneading knots out of his palm with the other, tracing over every callus and scar and crease and imperfection in his hands and using that to ground herself.

His Blackguard, Gaikus, had spent hours working on her, his expert skill with both magical and mundane (after well over half a millennia, he had enough experience to perform feats of the intersection of water and air and herbal remedy that most would rule impossible) being the only thing keeping her alive. The trap that she and Aery had set, combining all the might of their respective elements, would have likely done little but slow down the Drakkan brute, but for their more delicate Gemmenite constitution it was nearly a death sentence.

Zak had spent a surprising portion of those hours, and the weeks of her recovery, at her bedside. Much of the time he sat motionless, his face unreadable, hand always fidgeting nervously around the hilt of his sword, eyes flicking back and forth from her face, to her injuries, to the door, to the room, to her. He’d held her still when Gaikus’s ministrations caused her to be wracked in pain, and used his magic to draw the heat of her fever away and soothe the fire of the burns.

That was a peaceful memory, at least – she and Zak had scarcely spoken at all of what had transpired in those weeks, and her fevered memory was likely tricking her, but she remembered him reading books of poetry and prayer alike, epic stories and fiction. He had maintained a careful distance of course, but it was clear he was trying to bond with her – trying to atone for what had happened, perhaps, and make sure nothing like it could again.

Her fingers tightened around his again, the tiniest ghost of a smile gracing her lips as she thought wryly that lo and behold, they’d managed exactly that.

Of course, that ghost of a smile faded as her brain picked up on what was left of the conversation – Zak was. Apologizing? To Aurora. And perhaps rightly so, for letting her sister die, but… begging that all blame be taken away from Miry herself? That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

None of this mess would have happened had Aery not been admitted into the room. None of it. She bowed her head slightly, tears pricking at her eyes (and she’d done so well at not crying for all of ten minutes!) and pressed back into the chair, holding tightly to Zak’s hand as though it was her lifeline. A clot of words settled in her throat, words she wanted to speak, but she would hold her tongue until she knew how Aurora would take what had just been laid bare, until she knew how the other bride would respond. She did not want to open her mouth and risk undoing all of Zak’s careful expression of goodwill. So she said nothing, watching the other bride out of her too-bright eyes and clinging uselessly to her husband’s hand.

The long noisey day and night made staying awake intolerable. Vannoth wanted to sleep and be gone from this den of and disrespect sooner rather than later. He had been content to leave the estate to Bandor most of the time and, and only sent some of his men here just to ensure they didn’t burn it down or raid the historic trophies. He did not however expect the betrayal that night. He woke to the smell of burning flesh, blood and shouting… Someone was slashed or stabbed, someone’s shouting about worthless slaves, and a croak of a scream that was cut off? Who was so brazen to wake a warlord?

He sat up and looked about his room. It only took him a moment to realize what had happened. In that moment the room, and a part of the hall outside of the door was intolerably hot. It choked the air and dried the eyes. The air itself made it feel as if one would be standing directly under the desert sun with nothing to shield you from the heat. As he stood, he reached to his nightstand, drawing his sword. His voice breaking the already disturbed silence of the night with a thunderous bellow. “BRING ME BANDOR- IN CHAINS OR IN DEATH!” he knew the mans blade- the cuts it makes. Too sharp to rip, too dull to slice. Like an axe it was more of a chop, and Kuki’s throat was clearly chopped- hacked and slightly sawed as the cut couldn’t, and wouldn’t ever, be clean. He stormed out of the room and to his grim delight found the vassal preoccupied. In a rush of motion Crix Bandor, the vassal who had attacked Nenra, let go began to lower his arm for his sword to find his arm drastically misplaced, no longer attached, still twitching as if trying to clutch Nenra’s throat. As the man screamed Vannoth swung a heavy handed fist, the smaller lesser man crumpled under the force and weight of the Warlord’s wrathful blow. He looked to Nenra for a moment, the poor thing passed out form the abusive attack.”Time to correct a problem. Someone come take care of this one. See her to a bed and well treated, she’s been burned.” that was the last thing he said before continuing his warpath as his mean began to wake and take care of a problem long since overdue for rectifying. Bandors men were put to sword or chain, and a messenger sent to the Princes, to inform them that a vassal had decided to murder his gem, and marr his own. It was enough of an insult to kill a Warlord’s bride, but to kill one and harm another on the exact same night they were gifted? The Princes would see to it that the rest of bandor’s ilk were well punished, but these here in this estate? They were his to punish as he saw fit. It was his duty to show all what happens to those who waste the gifts of their superiors, especially since the gifts were from the Princes themselves, and while they were an inferior people, the Gem’s were a very necessary part of society. To waste the life of a Gem was an infuriating and disgusting act. One that provoked the invention of a new punishment, an example and a warning.

That same night after Bandor’s men and the vassal himself had been put to chains and the dead had been put to pyres, Vannoth ordered his men to start putting frames together in the shape of an X. These frame would, in the morning, be stood out in front of the estate. These prisoners would be strapped to them, beat with clubs until either they renounced Bandor or died. If they chose bandor they would die by stoning still strapped to the Frames. Those who chose Mors would survive but suffer humiliation and stay strapped to the Frame for the rest of the day; Any that survived would be forgiven. The dead would be left for the day then burned on a pyre. Crix himself however was to be the prime example, set in the street before the estate, upside down on his frame, words of the qualities he lacked carved, burned, and singed into his flesh, immediately beaten and stoned to near death, left to die in the sun. This is all, of course much later.

After the culling of the estates residents, Vannoth returns to his room and sees Kuki off to a proper Burial, A gesture of respect for someone who was not willing and died for putting up with it anyway. He then went to look in on Nenra. A few of his men having taken her to a clean bed no longer owned by another. One of the servants was tending her throat with water and bandage to clean and prepare it. Soon an herbal ointment was applied, something to help it heal in time and dull the immediate pain. “That’s all I can do for her now, Mors”, The warlord was so used to the elderly servant calling him by that, an order from his father before his death, that he hardly even noticed anymore “Thank you. Keep an eye on her, if anyone bothers you or her call for Kathar. He’ll be placed near the door and the hall. If Kathar bugs you, call for Me.” The servant gave a nod and began cleaning up his mess of supplies and items, “Here… you’re getting too old to be carrying all of it.” the old servant merely looked at him and scoffed “Is that respect or is that pity? Don’t get too soft” he quickly smacked the mountainous man over the wounded shoulder and it was everything Vannoth could do to not bellow like a wounded beast. Through gritted death “Don’t push your luck- you are as close as a friend as you can come, dont waste it one foolish acts of stupidity.” the servant just chuckled and walked off down the hall with his goods leaving the wincing and teary eyed Vannoth in the room with Nenra, at least just for the time being.

The runt wiggled its way closer to Bree’s chest, but after that seemed more than content to simply nest in her arms, rather than move around and be forced to walk like his brother. Just as Bree made to move closer to Kagan, the woman merchant reached out and grab her arm.

Bree stopped, alarmed for a moment, the woman’s face taking on a much more serious expression “Fret not sister, for Drun was born last,” She then gave Bree a sideways smile before releasing the girl’s arm and sliding back behind her booth.

Bree opened her mouth to respond, but she found that there was nothing she could think of to say to such a statement. The woman waved a final time before Bree turned to catch up with Kagan and Adora at the next stall over.

Adora seemed entrapped by a notebook she swore she didn’t need, but clearly wanted badly. It was painful to watch her put the notebook down. Clearly Kagan wouldn’t have a problem purchasing the object should she had wanted it.

Another sound drew Bree’s attention, They had wandered to the far side of the market now, to where the crowd had gathered. She could see clearly now that some type of platform at been raised, high enough so that even the tallest drakkan’s horns stuck above it. The crowd was restless. After a moment, a large drakkan came on stage, his words were muddled by the distance.

Standing off to the side of the drakkan was a creature, not a gem or drakkan, something different.

The pup gave a sequel of distress as Bree’s arms tightened around it and she felt herself move closer to Kagan, her eyes wide as the realized what it was she looked at.

The slaves market.

A guard entered the room and crossed to Ineraz with purpose. Sera’s watchful eye landed on the pair as the guard handed over a sealed letter. His name was Senn. The young Gem would forget it entirely once she exited the room, as it served no purpose to her to remember their names; they were all the same.

Sera watched as a manic grin spread from ear to ear on her Husband’s face upon inspecting the letter. In the day she had known him, this was the most excited she had seen him. The mark on the letter was clearly well-known, important, maybe even sought after? The Gem had never been exposed to such social situations before and was lacking a basic understanding of such things… but she was smart enough to know that whatever was in the letter was exciting to Ineraz given his expression. She wondered if she would ever see him like this again.

The thought of Ineraz sprawled out over his bed crossed Sera’s mind. His exposed skin revealing a hardened muscular tone. His black tunic hugging the most intimate part of his body. His eyes excited with lust as he looked at her and Zeldria. “And three, you may sleep with me,”
“I will show you the kinds of pleasure you wouldn’t have had chance to even dream of until now”
Would she be able to see him as excited as he was looking at that scroll again when he was finally able to touch her? Take her? Have her? Sera thought back to how he looked at her with such anticipation when she kissed him and wondered just how he would look when her naked body was before him.

Ineraz’s arm came around Sera’s shoulder, jolting her out of her momentary daydream. She looked up at him as he assured her that they place they were going to play was not consumed in darkness. Sera simply nodded in acknowledgement and followed her husband, carefully walking closer to him than the guard who had struck her.

The manner was bigger than she had discovered already. There was a labyrinth of corridors that one would easily lose themselves in. The trio came to a halt in front of an iron doorway. The door itself did not match the rest of the architecture of the home and was an eyesore amongst the beautiful paintings, tapestries, and rugs.

Doors like these exist for one reason only…

The door swung open and revealed a staircase which led the group deep underneath the manor. Each step brought them further and further away from the gracious decorating of Ineraz’s home. This place was made of cold grey stone. This place was never touched by sunlight. This place was filled with the lingering cries of people past. Sera’s eyes wandered to the guard as she wondered if he was frightened. Did Drakken scare?

We will scare him.

Their second stop was in a room filled with terrible looking instruments and a single Drakkan leaning back in a wooden chair in the corner of the room. The Drakkan was older and paid no attention to them, merely grunting at their arrival.

This one won’t scare..

Sera moved closer to Ineraz and snaked her arm around his. He retrieved a single whip and a cell key before leading her and the guard through yet another iron door and down a corridor. The corridor was lined with cells. The dirt ground was littered with blood stains. The underground was damp, poorly lit, and carried the stench of iron. Sera’s grip tightened around Ineraz’s arm.

...but you scare.

Ineraz opened the door to a cell and pushed the guard in. Sera followed closely behind him. Her husband handed her the whip he retrieved from the first room. She looked down at the leather item in her small, pale hands. Her eyes transitioned from the whip to the guard, who was now being restrained and stripped. She watched quietly as his face was pressed against the cold stone and his mouth gagged with his own belt. His face was beginning to perspire as beady eyes shot around the room. He was terrified.

You like this. You like watching him

”Suffer.”

Ineraz took the whip from her and began. Sera watched, wide-eyed. Her husband’s instruction to observe was not needed. She did not flinch away from the sound of the whip cracking against the guard’s skin. With each lash, her eyes lightened. It drew her in. The pain, the suffering, the screaming, the tears…


”Be a dear and cauterize those for me?” Ineraz’s voice shook her from another memory. Sera looked up at her husband hesitantly but nodded in agreement. ”Yes sir.”

Sera took a few slow steps toward the guard. As she drew closer, he looked more and more scared. She stopped a mere inches from him and observed his battered body. The guard was sweating profusely and his entire being shook in terror. His back was littered with lashings and covered in blood. The Gem reached toward the gashes the knife had made but stopped before making contact with them.


Serafine’s hand radiated heat as it pressed into the Drakkan’s exposed flesh. The guard whimpered in pain, attempting to scream through the belt in his mouth. His body jolted from side to side, desperate to escape the searing pain against his back. Sulphur filled the air as smoke boiled over the girl’s hand pressed into the guard’s back. A wicked look overcame the Gem as she pressed harder and harder into the Drakkan…


Arms fell at the Gem’s side, hands stained with blood and shaking. She took a few weak steps back and stared at what she had done. The guard’s body was limp, hanging like a piece of meat that had been cooked. Sera turned quickly and joined her husband’s side, however; she didn’t look at him or speak a word. She simply waited until Ineraz escorted her out of the room.

Ineraz led her to where Zeldria and a new guard was. He mentioned the market before leaving her with them. Sera glanced toward the new guard and then over to Zeldria who quickly looked away when Sera’s eyes fell on her. She knew the look well. It was the same as the one she had received from dozens and dozens of people her entire life. It was the look of fear. Sera leaned her head to the side in curiousity as she observed Zeldria. The auburn haired girl had done a phenomenal job of remaining relaxed, however; it was the small glances out of the corner of her eye toward Sera that gave her away. ”Are you frightened?” she asked almost rhetorically.

Sera lazily walked toward Zeldria and stopped where she was sitting in a chair, looking down at her with a classic blank expression on her face. Her sister bride was afraid of her and yet, she had no idea of the horrors that followed her or the shadows that lingered. Zeldria didn’t know about Serafine.

”There are darker things to be scared of…” Crimson eyes fixed on Zeldria as she waited for a response before simply turning and walking away from her. The snow haired Gem sat on the floor with her back against the wall on a side of the room that had no doors on it. She couldn’t help but continue to look back at her sister bride, like a moth drawn to a flame.

...we could show her.
”Show her what?”
Serafine.



Zeldria sat opposite to her in the wagon that carried them to their destination. Neither Gem spoke to each other and although Zeldria had no intention of looking at Sera, Sera had every intention of keeping her eyes on her. Sera’s sister-bride was interesting to her, as most people who were weary of her were. What made them tick. What made their hair stand on edge. What made their heart race. What made them scared. She had learned the power of fear over another person at a young age. Fear could control others. Fear could drive them to do maddening things.

Daziel. Sera winced at the thought. Fear could drive someone to do unspeakable things…

The wagon came to a halt and the girl’s piled out quickly. The two emerged into a world unlike their own. There were massive figures all around and the streets moved so quickly with the bustles of business. Vendors yelled at prospective customers and people fought over certain wares. Ineraz didn’t appear to be bothered by the high-stress environment, though it was a world he was used to.

Sera looked around nervously, she had never been around so many people before. In Shadow Worth there were hundreds of them but they were already dead; empty caskets going through the motions. The market was different, the people here were alive and there were more than just Drakken. Sera found herself next to Ineraz, her small hand holding on to his arm. Her big red eyes looked up toward him for reassurance but her husband seemed different than earlier. He was quiet and didn’t seem as relaxed as normal.

The group began to walk leisurely walk through the market. Zeldria was more accustomed to such busyness, an obvious observation by how she browsed the vendors. Sera, on the other hand, needed more encouragement to explore. Eventually the small Gem wandered to a few stalls and looked at the garments available. The items meant nothing to her, she had no preference of what she wore and really could care less about shopping. Sera looked over to her sister-bride who was picking pieces and seemed all too pleased about it. The small Gem sighed and began to pull a couple items off the table without much thought to it. By the end of it, she had acquired an assortment of tops in blacks, and mute purples, blues-greens, and blues. She also had a few plain coloured skirts in varying lengths, shorts, and few casual dresses. Lastly, she acquired something that actually caught her eye; a long white cloak with gold embellishments and an oversized hood.

Sera returned to her husband’s side with a few bags of new items. She hadn’t brought anything from home. Even if she had time to gather things, she wouldn’t want to. Sera wanted to leave that place behind and forget that it ever existed. She wanted it to burn. Drakka was her new home. Her new beginning. Where no one was afraid of her… Sera looked over at Zeldria who was admiring something.

Almost no one.

They soon made it to the markets, Ineraz leading the group, while Senn kept pace at the rear of the wagon, the four hounds split between them. Next to Ineraz was Nor, a huge black one, the ends of a few patches of his fur already greying. He was a behemoth even by drakkan standards, and though old, he could still stand his ground against many a creature and win with sheer power and ferociousness. The multitude of scars on his body where the fur never had never fully grown back told quite the story of what he was capable of surviving. The other hound was a much smaller, sleeker, and faster, a grey female by the name of Nea. She was nowhere as tough as Nor, but could easily outrun him, and took longer to tire due to her younger age, a definite advantage to her hit-and-run tactics.

Next to Senn were a pair of siblings, one hound as beige as the desert sands and the other a darker brown. These two were about the same size as Nea, though they were males, and were most useful in hunting, though they did respectably in war-fare when paired up. Ineraz wasn’t as bothered as he otherwise might have been by Senn – a Drakkan not in his employ – accompanying them; partly because of the pulsating fiery pain in his back keeping his grumblings to his own mind, and partly because there was no point trying to hide the meeting with Lord Kereg-Kor from his father when his sire already knew about it. Well, if he honestly thought about it, the two reasons were strongly correlated. Thankfully, his brides were both inside the enclosed wagon and wouldn’t get to observe the way his expression wavered between a pained grimace and an attempted scowl to mask the ever-present pain in his whole back, the agony insidiously seeming to spread even to the parts of him he knew to be undamaged.

The relentless sound of clip-clop, clip-clop of the two horses pulling the wagon was soothing to Ineraz. The myriad of Drakken wasn’t unusual for Železna Kri, and just about what one could expect in celebration of the Reaping. However, having got used to the relative solitude of a sparsely populated fort to the north, surrounded mainly by desolate forests prowled by some dangerous creatures here and there, and a tiny village or two the only nearby settlements, Ineraz was honestly somewhat uncomfortable with the mingling crowd. But ignoring them was easy enough, especially with the way his injured back proved to be a nice distraction, offering a background of aggravating searing sensations whether he was walking or standing still or being bumped into by the occasional careless Drakkan. He weaved from street to street, keeping away from the main and most populated ones, though the smaller ones were only marginally less packed. The shabby wooden stalls were littered to the sides of the paved pathways, and amongst the merchandise one could truly find almost anything one wished to. Ineraz headed to the nearest section of clothing stalls and alerted his brides to get out of the wagon and browse the offered array of garments.

Almost immediately, Sera settled herself at his side, her small hand holding onto his left arm, clutching at the elbow, barely above yesterday’s burn from the tournament. The feeling paled in comparison to his poor aching back but only reminded him of the indignities he had suffered. Preoccupied as Ineraz was, he didn’t entirely miss Sera’s beseeching gaze, but for the first time in their acquaintance, he did not meet her enthralling blood red orbs. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed forward while he waited for Zeldria to come out as well. Before they started a leisurely walk down this part of the market, however, Ineraz repositioned Sera’s hold on him so her grasp slipped into his hand, and he gave her a belated comforting squeeze.

Zeldria wandered slightly ahead of them though not out of Ineraz’s or Senn’s line of sight, the latter of whom was following the trio of Drakkan and his Gem brides, the white-haired male now the one directing the horses and wagon. Ineraz’s red-headed bride was the first to make her picks, simple light-coloured tops and several darker skirts, adding one formal dress and a light blue scarf or whatever the neck accessory was properly called. “Good choices,” he complimented her and paid for the selection. He noticed she had to carry the apparel by hand and decided to buy two bags or suitcases or something of the sort later on. He had to release Sera while he was paying, and the next thing he knew, she was already browsing, though seemingly with much less enjoyment than Zeldria had.

Trusting Senn to keep an eye on Sera while he focused on his other bride, Ineraz once again considered Zeldria’s choices, taking note of what other pieces of clothing may do her well. His gaze landed on the only accessory she had wanted, that piece of clothing easily the unique one among her assortment. “An interesting item, that one,” he commented. He picked the blue neckwear from the top of the pile Zeldria was holding onto with a purposefully slow movement, staring into her eyes with a neutral expression, then unfolded the kerchief and tied it loosely around her neck with a simple knot. He cocked his head judgingly to the side and found he appreciated the contrast. “It suits you,” Ineraz told Zeldria.

Without further ado, he turned on his heel and stalked to where Sera had just picked up the last piece of clothing she seemed intent on having him buy, a beautiful white cloak with golden accents. By the time Ineraz made it to her side, the shopkeeper was already putting the wide variety of attire she had chosen in several bags and Ineraz wondered whether they provided her with those because she had taken so many articles or because she had managed to intimidate the merchants. The young Evrenarth heir paid for her collection as well. He let her carry the bags to the wagon, keeping a guiding hand on her upper back, and only took over the bags from her to store them inside the wagon, then linked his left hand with her right once again. He turned to face Zeldria with Sera on his side.

“Put those on a bench for now,” he gestured with a head movement from the clothes Zeldria was still carrying to the wagon and its narrow wooden but fur-lined seating. “I will get you each a suitcase for the various items you may acquire. Zeldria, you might consider a travelling cloak of your own. A pair of riding breeches would not be amiss for the both of you. And Sera,” he now turned to face her instead of the red-head. “I will try to find a hunting outfit for you, preferably a leather one, though the closest we will probably come to that here is some durable cloth apparel.”

And that having been the most he had spoken since his punishment, Ineraz remained mostly silent for the rest of their shopping trip, interacting with the Gems only as a reply to any prompt either might give. If Zeldria decided to get a travelling cloak, he would let her get one before moving on. The same went for the riding pants; he’d pick a pair or two on the way if either Gem expressed an interest in having them. After that, Ineraz directed them towards travelling-oriented goods. He oversaw the kind of suitcase they picked and approved of the choice as long as the items were durable but not needlessly pricey.

Lastly, Ineraz led the group to the stalls dealing predominantly in weaponry and armour. He bought a leather vambrace for his left arm to replace the one that had been destroyed the previous day, then wandered from stall to stall to see if there was anything appropriate Sera could eventually use for hunting. The only leather apparel that would possibly fit her were some tight and skimpy pieces obviously meant to be pleasing to the eye rather than protective. With a disappointed shake of his head, Ineraz gave up on the endeavour, and simply purchased Sera a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a tunic made of thick cloth, its fibres one of the highest quality ones around here. Once done with the purchasing, Ineraz roamed the markets to find Keregar; the Drakkan warlord would be impossible to miss if he had already arrived at the meeting location.

Travel through the marsh was slow to begin with, and it only grew slower as they went deeper in. The potholes multiplied, the swamp water encroached further upon the road, and the grass grew taller with each yard. Wilhelm kept his eyes and ears open, searching for any sign or sound of the foul play he suspected was afoot here. Little could he anticipate that it would come from his own brides.

The carriage lurched to a sudden halt as the horses pulling it suddenly reared up in panic. Before Wilhelm could look to the driver, however, the distinct noise of an arrows striking wood resounded in the marsh, followed swiftly by the screams of one, then the other of his brides. His head snapped about in the direction of the scream, and there amid the twisted trees stood a pack of shadows, one of which was open and holding aloft a bow. Another swiftly approached that one and an arm lashed out to strike it.

"Oi!" cried a voice, clearly no longer concerned with concealment, "We was told to not 'arm the merchandise!"

In the time it took him to say that, Wilhelm had reached to his belt and pulled a dagger from it, pulled back his arm, and hurled it forward, using his mastery over the air to guide it over the swamp. It struck the archer directly, embedding itself in his neck and causing him to collapse, sputtering blood as he attempted to speak.

"Cowards."

Wilhelm's voice sliced through the air as he dismounted and rounded to come between the carriage and its assailants. He strode out into the wet ground by the road, standing as a challenge to the men who dared slight him with a cold, merciless fury in his eyes. Another shadow stepped out from behind a tree with bow in hand, but as he made the movement another of Wilhelm's knives flipped through the air to strike him in the shoulder. He lived, but he would not be wielding a bow any further.

"You would rely on ambushes and trickery to claim a prize. Pathetic," his voice called across the swamp again, "If you would have what is mine, then bare steel and come take it from me."

The central assailant looked about him, then nodded to his companion with the injured shoulder and stood. Three more joined him, and all four soon held weapons in their hands; an axe, twin shortwords, a spear, and one held a mere hand sickle. They began to walk closer, slowly and cautiously, and revealed themselves to indeed be Drakken. By their clothes they were peasants, nameless fools with no military training. Which explained why none of them simply picked up their comrade's bows and quivers.

"We got ya surrounded, milord," one of them called as the began to fan out to enclose him.

"All I am surrounded by," Wilhelm declared as he drew his sword, "Is fear and dead men."

And then the battle erupted!

The puppy happily accepted the petting given to it by Adora, back half wagging due to the dogs inexperience with its own bodily responses and the sheer momentum of its tail. Kagan sighed as Adora attempted to brush off her desire for the book, his ambient annoyance palpable enough to quell the excited pup at his heels enthusiasm for a moment (though, only a moment as it began to wag again as soon as the wave had escaped its tiny attention span.) "Its a gift. Not a test." He says, picking up the book with a small grimace of disgust, looking it over before finally spotting a price tag on its side and dropping the coins unceremoniously onto the stand. The keeper barely looked up at him before snatching the money away, just thankful than the agitated Drakken had decided he was no longer in the mood to haggle. With little cermony, he handed the book to Adora gingerly, glaring down at the girl as she took possession of her gift. "There. You are offically gifted. Many congratulations." He huffs, the tiny puppy yapping at his heels in agreement.

Kagan stared down at the dog before muttering. "Please try to conduct yourself with something approaching dignity..." He grumbled, the pup looking up and continuing to wag side to side, heedless of the order. Kagan sighs, grabbing Adora by the shoulder and turning to leave. Bree was dutifully close to his side, which had not been expected, and the Kinner had to stop abruptly to avoid from slamming into the gem. She was staring, eyes wide and arms tightened around her newly acquired pet in a death grip, into a lightly murmuring crowd not too far away. "...If you kill that dog, I'm not getting you another one." He said, more out of a need to break the girls fugue than actual concern for the animal.

There was a...cursory attempt to figure out what had the girl so transfixed, but there was little to Kagan that really seemed out of place. The slave market was many things, but an object of concern was hardly one of them. Though it did atleast seem a bit busy today, and possibly the warning he'd issue earlier was causing the delay. Either way, Kagan wasn't in the mood to deal with Bree's paranoia, cultural dissonance, or whatever else might have locked her in place.

"We're done here. Move." He grunts, pushing both gems towards a more cleared exit away from the market and trying not to be entangled by the variety of dog and gem leashes hanging off of him. The latter of which he achieved only with mixed success
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle is generally a word which is synonymous with fortress with in Gem society, though generally considered a more refined wording. There is a preconceived notion that, amongst palisades, arrow slits, and barbicans there would be an equal, if not greater, presence of ornamentation, murals, carvings and other such minutiae of decor. Fine carpeted floors and arching fireplaces standing along side stalwart knights and bowmen. Drakken had missed this memo.

...Well, that was not entirely true. It was more apt to say that the Drakken had recieved this memo, read it. Read it again. Argued a great deal about the word ‘synonymous’. Engaged in a fist fight. Read it a third time. And then slaughtered the messenger and his family summarily because the meeting had run late and, frankly, everyone just needed the stress relief. After which, the adjourned for the evening (and then spent a long night arguing the definition of ‘adjourn’ because Drakken politics were basically a series of increasingly petty arguments).

And then the following morning all got up at the same time and decided, in a fit of celestial bodies aligning and no small amount of base instinct, proceeded to build battlements, barbicans, more battlements, enough arrow slits to constitute a ventilation systems, solid iron gates, and many many spikes. After which they would dig up the messenger, kill him again, and build yet more battlements. With flaming spikes this time so “they would go faster”.

In short, to call the royal palace a ‘castle’ would be insulting to castles everywhere. To call it a bastille would still come up short. It was a paranoid, blood soaked, war mongering races panicked fever dream of defensible ledges, sniping positions, choke points, and spikes that was held together through military superiority, liberal applications of iron, and sheer unassailable will.

Many in Drakka agreed it was probably the most beautiful building in the whole damned capital. Which, for any gem present, was not saying much. But Kagan probably would have agreed with them if it were not for the fact he and his gems were being ushered through a small side entrance to his (likely) unenjoyable meeting with one of the castles primary residence.

He was wearing his most priestly scowl, face resting somewhere between patronly disapproval and general piousness. He was going to deliver his assessment of Ehkota’s request plainly, elaborate on the potential consequences of going forward (good and bad) and hope to all the gods that the young prince had enough good sense to decide that dying like an idiot was simply not in his immeidate desires. As it stood? Kagan felt like it was a 50/50 shot....so by Drakken standards, things were going swell.

She watched him lift the book she had just placed aside and ignore her words. Well. In a way. Her eyes followed his hands as he studied it, found the price tag, and placed the monies upon the counter. The book was thrust toward her, but carefully. As if afraid of wounding her any further but she knew this not to be true. He was merely of mind enough to know of the delicateness of a Gem. It was almost as if he were afraid he would break her in his annoyance at a great many other things. Just as gingerly she received the beloved item and pulled it toward herself as if in shock.

Adora wondered if perhaps she had been a bit too meek. By comparison to Bree she had seemed outright subservient. Perhaps her place here was not so shaky as she imagined it to be. She did not dance so close to the edge that would lead to her demise. Perhaps she could be a bit more demanding and call upon the self that had been so delightfully frank last night. She smiled at the book and pressed it against her stomach. Maybe she had been acting a bit more afraid than she had realized. Adora thought to herself that she should take a few more liberties. Maybe her more natural, outgoing and feral nature would be more appreciated than this childish acceptance had been.

Looking from beneath her lashes, a coy smile formed on her lips. “Thank you, Kinner Galegar,” she half whispered in a bedroom promise. He did not seem to notice. His attention had been put elsewhere on more interesting and demanding notions. There was no need for her to waste the effort. She did not allow the look on her face to last long before a wiggling puppy demanded attention again. She was more than overjoyed to bestow upon it the delights of a vigorous stroking. The next words he spoke to the dog and it was almost as if it were a reminder to herself. Don’t be so afreard in her own talents and abilities. She need not bow and demean herself in this way. Adora reminded herself that enough was enough. Either she could be appreciated for what she could give, or she would be given back to the prince to die.

Did she really want her last hours to be meek and mild when her soul called her to a hurricane?

His attention was called back to Bree and she was almost thankful of it. She was just beginning to find her solid ground when she had been so afraid of falling over a cliff’s edge to her doom. Adora had been so ready to sacrifice it all in order to live that she had forgotten why it was the Prince had chosen her in the first place. No, he had not tasted her last evening. At least, not in any meaningful and lasting way. A mere appetizer. The young noble knew she had it in herself to prove to be both main course and dessert.

As she stroked the puppy, a feral smile played across her face. Seeing a creature so happy with itself and those around it made her realize her error today. Finally she looked up to see what had held both Bree interest so raptly and Kagan’s derisive comment.

People.

Other beings were being sold into the same sort of slavery as the brides. The only difference was the pomp and circumstance behind it. Her stomach trembled, and she held the book closer. It was more like shouting and pulling. Less of the gentle leading and offering that she could only imagine the gifting of one of the hard-earned brides could be. The difference modestly being the action of money against service.

She shivered and then felt the large, hard hand on her shoulder. Adora could not help herself and cried disparagingly as the hardness of the hand pressed down upon her and the fingers brushing the fresh burn which caused her to cry out in pain. She attempted to bite her lip; attempted to foil the sound in her throat but to no avail. Adora did not look up at him and did not show any sign of her weakness, as she had previously. She could not afford weakness any longer. Instead she focused her eyes ahead of her and walked. No longer would she play the fool to her fears. Not if she truly wished to survive in a land that favored strength.
-------
Her eyes fell upon the keep… the castle…. the home…? for the first time. She had been inside of it before but had never truly looked upon it. It was all spikes and stone and hidden places. In a sense she felt it very well befitted what the stories told and what she had seen of Drakka so far.

She paused for a brief moment to take it all in - before the tug on her leash called her to humbly walk behind her master. As she moved her legs mechanically and the book she had cherished held flat across her stomach, she began to think upon the castle’s visage. It was a stark and violent outline against mountain and sky. It demanded attention, whispered it’s intentions, and pushed feeling into the heart of all who saw it… even if it was a daily sight.

Adora considered the countenance and decided she would need to become more like the castle in order to truly survive Drakka. For truth, her meekness had been but her fear of death and rejection. As the early hours of the day had betrayed she had not yet been rejected. The fresh blister on her chest and the collar around her neck spoke deeply otherwise.

She had been but a foolish child, thinking much too far ahead. But as she thought of the castle outline, she began to realize that Drakka never looked too far into the future and neither should she. The time was now. And if she wished to live in this place she would only think in terms of the present.

Grim determination beset her face as she walked along silently. She would either live or die. And this was the Drakka way. So too would she embrace it. A feral smile slipped across her mouth and she looked toward her sister. Bree spoke her mind and demanded. Bree had the right thought of this place already – even if she didn’t know it yet. She should take a page from her sister’s book and stop being so foolish.

Her head was held high and she thought no more beyond the steps she now took. Later, when things were quiet she could think and consider and wallow. For now she was a part of Drakka.

In fact….

In truth…

Forever.

She was.

Zeldria stood quietly as Ineraz looked over her clothing selections. She was nervous about his pending approval, but she was determined to quell it as she waited. Her fear was the greatest enemy she had at present, and if she did not conquer it she would only receive more misery. Mercifully it seemed she'd made good choices, and Ineraz found little reason to object. Then, however, he came to the scarf. And as Ineraz commented on it and began to slowly lift it, her heart crawled into her throat and began to rapidly beat. His expression had stayed neutral as he examined it; that was not a good sign. Approval was what she wanted, and anything less was worrisome.

Just breathe Zel, she told herself. Don't let him see the fear. If he doesn't see it, he can't use it. Remember the fire. it flares, it shrinks, but it never leaves its cage. Just keep breathing, let the fire rise and reduce in time with your breaths. In, and out. And as she directed her mind to focus on her breath and the image of the small flame in her hands she looked back at Ineraz, as calm an expression as she could manage on her face. She wouldn't let him see her concern. She refused to let him see it.

The seconds stretched themselves far more than should have been possible, but finally Ineraz broke the statuesque scene. He placed the scarf around her neck and tied it, quite gingerly, and then examined how it looked on her. “It suits you,” he said.

"Thank you my lord," she replied, "I'm glad you find it so."

After the girls loaded their purchases into the wagon, Ineraz advised her to seek out a suitcase for her goods as well as a traveling cloak and some riding breeches. It certainly seemed prudent, and it was good to have the choice. Before much longer they were perusing cloaks, and while a simple black cloak would have done, something compelled Zel to seek a more interesting color. Of course, since practicality was the goal she couldn't go too outlandish, but perhaps a nice grey to compliment the scarf's color. The shopping made her feel more comfortable, somehow, as it was something she knew and could spare a little revelry in, and for a time she had forgotten some of her circumstances.

"Hmm. I can't quite decide between these two," Zel voiced aloud as she examined too cloaks, one a lighter shade of grey closer to silver and the other a little more like a dark winter's grey. "Sera, what do you think?"

The words had left her mouth before she thought of them, before she could consider who she'd be asking the question of, and before she could remind herself of everything that had been happening so far. But, even as she recalled all of these things, it was far too late to rescind...

The young blonde was quick to calm as she felt Arden’s presence draw nearer, a comforting hand pressing into her back easing her sobs into mere hiccups. Sorrin attempted to clean her face up a bit with the hem of her skirt, but the red eyes and flushed facial features were not so quick to dissipate. She exhaled slowly, trying to acclimate to the rolling motions of the vessel but to no avail. It would seem the girl would develop little love for the sea.

So completely lost in her thoughts, Sorrin was deaf to the rustling sounds that drove Arden closer to her. It wasn’t until the ground around them was enveloped in shadow that Sorrin turned her head up at the man she had pushed past. The warden descended upon the two girls with collars and chains, removing the old ones with ease to make room for the new ones. Arden was tossed rather roughly against the wall opposite her, the thud loud enough for even Sorrin’s ears to register. She squirmed a bit within the man’s grasp, squeezing her eyes shut in preparation for the impact she thought was to come.

Her attachment to the wall was far from gentle but she didn’t feel as if she had been tossed as recklessly as her sister-bride had been. Perhaps her earlier sickness had been enough to earn her some pity for the time being… Sorrin’s ears perked up as the food was mentioned, the pale girl sighing audibly with relief as the man said the meat was not for their consumption.

As a new platter of food was carried in from another room, Sorrin fought with the urge to mess with the collar around her neck. Something about it was driving her insane, the material scratchy and uncomfortable on her delicate skin. She turned her eyes to the platter as it was set down between her and Arden, the warden stepping up to chain their hands to handles on the sides. For a few moments she looked onward with confusion, lacking any clue as to what the purpose of the chain served. Thoughts of the plate sliding away or a measure to keep either girl from eating too much played through her head, but it wasn’t until a particularly rough wave hit the boat that she started to glean an idea.

The sudden motion of the boat tossed Sorrin over, she could feel the inside of her new collar digging into her neck. She yelped with alarm, a hand shooting up to tug at the device with panic. Sorrin pricked the tips of a few of her fingers as she attempted to wrap them around the collar, swiftly giving up her efforts as small domes of blood broke the surface of her skin.

“Your naivete is… unwelcomed Sorrin. But I sippose your enthusiasm is something worthwhile. Arden however, what about you? Are you so willing?” The man spoke up, Sorrin’s face falling further as he addressed her.

She couldn’t grasp what it was that she might have said wrong, but clearly she had displeased the man greatly. Her mind flashed back to all the times people at home had referred to her as naive. They had never bore her any hostility, at least as far as she knew, but she had eventually learned that each one of those people had been making fun of her to her face. She never spoke up about it, instead continuing to smile and pretend like she hadn’t noticed. After all, it gave her the illusion of having friends.

Moving slowly, Sorrin collected a few items and set them down in front of her on the floor before pushing the platter closer towards Arden. She didn’t speak anymore words, simply exhaling a sigh before picking at what little she did select.

Sorrin spent the remainder of the journey with her head down, continuing to push the food close to Arden while rejecting her ‘turn’. Despite moving slowly, she could feel the tiny beads of liquid bubble to the surface as the collar made their mark on her neck. She began to realize that it was designed in such a way where injury was inevitable but death would only be granted by the person who placed it in the first place; a cruel device to say the least.

While she couldn’t understand the purpose of such antics, Sorrin didn’t dwell on it for too long. The man didn’t seem pressed to get a reaction out of either of them, maintaining his statuesque position in the room… Watching them all the while. A few hours went by in this state before something in the air shifted, Sorrin raising her nose curiously in an attempt to figure it out.

The air seemed to get thicker as they approached their destination, becoming more oppressive the closer they got. Sorrin could tell from the sounds that they were getting closer to a landmass which should have excited the girl more than it did, instead the weight of the atmosphere filled her with a great deal of dread. With her neck bound and body chained to the wall as she was, there was no telling what it was they were approaching.