Forty years of blood, sweat, and boredom. He could have been miserable, that was easy enough, but when you had spent as many years on the earth as he, forty years was but a tiny fraction of his life. That said, forty years slaving away on a galley bench would get to anyone after a while. The wood seat was never comfortable, the food was always terrible, and the water brackish. In short, it was a piss poor way to live the last four decades. At least he had plenty of fresh air and exercise.

The breeze was fresh and strong on his face as he leaned a shoulder against the warm wood of the hull and stared out at the passing waves. The shackles around his ankles clinked and clacked with the roll of the hull as they pushed through the gentle summer swells under full sail. The remainder of the galley slaves snored around him, slumped over their oars, shackled much as he was. A few troublesome slaves, a bit moutheir than was probably wise, also wore metal collars about their necks with a flat metal hook forced between their teeth so they could not talk.

Even the Oar Master and his attendants seemed to be a good mood, joking about something as they stood around a small overturned barrel and idly rolled dice. He might have told them he shared their good mood, but for a very different reason.

For the past year he had began to feel the pull of the stone once again. It had vanished, almost gone to nothing and he feared it might be lost forever. Then the vessel master, a self proclaimed Prince of Merchants, had ordered them south with a cargo of enchanted Elven arrows prized by the adventurers of the deep south. At first it had meant nothing to him, just another journey on his wooden bench, but then he felt the surge of power again.

It had grown stronger as they travelled south, the feeling, there was no other way to describe it. Perhaps the best he could do was compare it to the feeling one had when they were walking into a bedroom with a sexual partner, the increase in pulse, the tremendous flush of excitement, the knowledge that good times were coming. That was how he felt.

Another bark of laughter came from the Oar Master and he shot the big man a glance under his bangs. The man was immensely fat, and immensely strong. Tattoos covered his arms, legs, and neck, short cropped black hair made him look tougher than he probably was. That bastard would be the first to die when he got free.

He turned his attention back to the waves, cleared his throat and spat into the scuppers. To his delight the liquid struck the wood and gave a soft hiss. The smell of burnt wood drifted up to him for a moment and then faded away into nothing as water sloshed over the small charred spot. Yes, he was vengeful.

Pari lay languidly in one of the inner courtyards. Her tiny body was sprawled over soft pillows and nearby a canter of incense burned. At the center of the courtyard was a gorgeous fountain with sirens singing and spilling water from upturned hands. All around was a magnificent garden of exotic and colorful flora. Beautiful tropical birds came to visit and sing their songs to each other. A slave held a huge umbrella over her while two others had large fans of bird feathers cooling the sleeping girl.

The young princess dreamed fitfully. The city was burning in her dream. Something was tearing it apart. She felt the fear of her people and the animals which lived there. There was death. Destruction. And blood. She was covered in blood. Something wet and rough rubbed against her face and woke her from her dream. Lavanya towered over her, licking her face. Pari giggled and pushed the beast away. "Stop, stop my darling heart. Please, I am fine." The tiger shifted and lay down next to her on the pillows. The Maharajani sat up and stroked the great beast, rubbing her ears and scratching beneath her chin.

"Thank you, my sweet sister. I did not dream well. Perhaps this new incense was not a good purchase, hmm?" She kissed Lavanya as the tiger chuffed and rubbed against her. The girl leaned back against the pillows and stared up into the blue, cloud-bespotted sky. She hoped the dream was not a sign of things to come.

"Maharajani!" a voice called from the halls leading to the courtyard. She did not move as a servant of her father appeared. "Most beautiful and precious of princesses, an Elven ship is approaching. Your excellent and gracious father wishes you to get ready should this be an envoy of good tidings." Pari sighed and sat up, looking the servant over.

"As he wishes," she responded. She was much too comfortable to want to move, but when father commanded all obeyed.

"Ready oars!" The crashing bark echoed throughout the hull, snapping him out of his reverie. His face was wet from the waves and his tongue tasted salt as he ran it along his upper lip. For the last hour he had lain quietly against the hull enjoying the sensation that was like a slow heartbeat inside his chest. It had been so long since such an immense power had been near at hand and he wanted it, wanted it badly enough that he missed the call to "Out Oars" and so took a heavy lash across the shoulders.

His assailant did not say a word but simply turned and lashed out at another chained victim. The slaver crew, many of whom had been on the ship twenty years fewer than he, had long ago learnt that he did not feel pain as they did, was not afraid of their lash, and healed far quickly than some of the others. They often joked, calling him "Elder", which was fair enough. Some even developed a bit of a rapport, bringing him extra food, and listening to his stories of far away lands. He did little to cause trouble and never joined in any agitation from the other slaves. The slavers had noted his reluctance to get involved and gave him some leeway as a result.

Rippling biceps flexed and his shoulders bulged as he dug the heavy oar into the sea, pulling with the beat of the drum. His fear, for the last few days, had been that the stone was in another vessel and would begin to draw away again. But those fears had been laid to rest when he had glimpsed the land on the horizon and the pull of the jewel grew more powerful. He was getting closer.

The drum beat was steady and ceaseless. Above him he could hear the rush of feet as sailors brought the sails rippling down, the galley turning into the wind for its find approach to a yet unseen city. Though he had seen much of the world before this would be his first visit to the far south and he was curious despite himself. There was no shortage of legends about the beauty of the women here, the wealth of the great city, the extravagance of its Marharaja.

Even if he hadn't been feeling the power of the stone growing, he would have enjoyed other changes that were being brought on by the nearness of such a powerful artifact. His senses were slowly heightening. He could see more clearly than he had in decades, his hearing was more acute, and his sense of smell told him that the city had recently seen some heavy rain. It was maddening that he was still chained in the stinking hulk of a ship.

Therein lay his ultimate problem. While he might heal more quickly, feel less pain, and have ever improving senses, he was still mortal. He could be killed like any man or elf. There was no protection against a sword through the ribs or having your head hacked off without some powerful magic and at the moment the best he could do was even less than a con-artist magician. It was infuriating.

He chided himself quietly. Counselling patience. He had been this way for almost four hundred years, forty of them on this damn boat. Another few days, weeks, months, even years, would not matter. He would have his revenge.

Pari came to her room, Lavanya padding quietly behind her. The slaves from before dismissed to do other jobs around the estate. When she entered the room her three personal maids began their flutter. Each was in a different stage of life. There was the youngest, just learning the ways one must dote and care for a princess. She was just barely sixteen and learning her new job to care for her family. Her name was Fatima. There was the mother. She had birthed three children so far and if her belly were any sign another was on the way. Though the bump was still small, it was unmistakable to another woman. She was called Rosa for the distant land from which she had come. Finally, there was the older woman. She had cared for Pari's mother and even her grandmother in the later stages of her life. She was a woman who knew the courts and its needs. She was the master of the two girls and nothing passed by her without her say so. The woman was called Naem.

Between the three women, she was bathed in luxurious scents. her body was soaped and cleansed of the sweat one tended to accrue in such a humid and hot climate. From there she was dried and oiled down in earthy scents such as myrrh. Her body was to fully dry naked as the women worked upon her hair. Intricate braids were created, curls curated, and a style only a noble could wear decorated her head. The women then removed excess oils with towels, leaving the girl bare and open to the world while they picked a dress.

Lavanya lounged on a couch, used to this waiting period. She watched the flurry, head laid upon crossed paws. Her eyes never left her mistress and sister. She would watch for the final invitation to come. If the tigress did not approve of the outfit, Pari would not wear it. The three women fluttered and hovered. A soft sky blue skirt of silks with carrying lengths was wrapped around her waist. It did not show any leg but made for an interesting layered appearance. Her stomach was left bare while the matching sky blue shirt was buttoned at her back - a small thing which covered her shoulders and breast allowing the mere hint of cleavage to peek through. Finally, a lace shawl of deep, navy blue was wrapped over her head and thrown over a shoulder while one end dangled down her front. All were embroidered with gold. Some kohl was placed around her eyes and gold applied strongly to her eyelids but also dusted across her high cheekbones. Bangles, necklaces, and rings were added to accent the outfit.

The young Maharajani admired her form in the mirror. She found it quite decadent and pleasing. Perhaps whoever the Elven ship contained would find her quite irresistible. Pari hope, for her own sanity, he would be a competent and delightful suitor. She did no have high hopes though and imagined perhaps her father, if not herself, would send away such a bore. Pari spun and showed her figure to the tiger on the couch. "Well, my darlingest love, what do you think?" The tiger lifted her head and after a pause came down from her throne. She moved around the young princess, sniffed and nuzzled before finally sitting and giving the chuff of approval. Pari hugged the beast, pleased to not have to go through such a procedure again, before making her way down the hall. Lavanya padded behind her as they approached the greeting throne room.