The slave: Kraven Desselius., A short novel. Options

[Darkness Eternal]

Acadian:Thanks, Acadian. Spot on! A bit of Kraven's past will be unraveled from time to time to where I guess it shows just how he was sold into slavery and why.

mALX:Thanks! Glad you noticed Kraven's subtle cunning and knack for perseverence. Yes, quite the horrible childhood under the abusive father.

Colonel Mustard:Gratitude Colonel. I am pleased to see that you took notice of his slowly changing personality. Kraven can be stubborn, but he also is strong-willed and determined, which in the end will result in a turn-around for him personally.


Lady Saga:Things will improve for Kraven. There will be a large turn around for him and his position. And that is an interesting piece, Lady Saga. It was what I was talking about a few pages ago with McBadgere. We see slavery as something horrible and inhumane. And yes, slavery here in the United States against the black community was the worst. In the times of the Romans it was much more humane, but nevertheless still bad. For example, there was a national slave day in the time of the Romans where the master honored the slave by trading places with them, it was called the Saturnalia. The master served food, cleaned the house all while the slave simply relaxed. Not to mention what you said, they are fed, clothed and given a place to sleep. In the chapter "The Telvanni Stronghold" much of this is established.

Time and time again, throughout the ages, there have been a sort of pyramid within the slaves themselves. In the Roman times there were household slaves and body slaves(which were women and men who were basically the shadow of their masters, following them wherever they go, even in their most intimate moments). There were slaves that were scribes, which helped the master with the financial field and etc. There were slave gladiators as well, though not all of the combatants themselves were slaves. And of course, there were plantation slaves. Though gladiators, slave or not, were often considered as ancient sex symbols. Like the modern day rock star, they were praised for their perfomance and rewarded with wine and women and food, mostly in an event called the "Cena Libera", a banquet hosted for them the night before the games in the arena.

Even in the south here in America, the field slave and the house slave where completely different. The houseslaves knew what went on with the masters because they were practically living with them. They knew who were going to be sold and who was bought, they had to deal with the ups and downs of the master's family every day. And there was a distinct difference from household slaves and the ones that worked in the plantations. Here is one link.

I studied slavery for a few months and my thoughts on it lies with everyone else. But depending on the master, slavery was more tolerable when they were treated. In the plantations, of course, it was much more difficult to cope with the situation when they are being whipped from time to time under intense weather and heat.

In Morrowind we see houseold slaves and plantation slaves, but seldom gladiator slaves, mostly because the Dunmer culture are not to keen on such things. Yet we have an arena in Vivec City, though used to settle bets, has been known to host gladiator fights against men and beasts. I had to work around the slaves in the story to make them fit lore as much as possible, while taking influence from our world.

[Lady Saga]

Wow. A national slave day? Slaves and masters switched places? That's amazing. Thanks for the info, man.

Even in the south here in America, the field slave and the house slave where completely different.

This I knew from that TV show Roots. They had slaves who worked in the house (usually females and elderly folk) as well more able-bodied sorts out in the plantations.

This post has been edited by Lady Saga: Jun 2 2012, 04:13 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

Note: This is random, but for those who have not yet played Morrowind,this is what a Telvanni Stronghold looks like. And the smaller house pods. In any case, a timeskip was nescessary for proper pacing.

~Chapter Fourteen: "Become A Gladiator."~

Tivela did not care too much for the games as her father did. Many powerful Dunmeri outlanders did, however, and if they wanted to improve their political career. And what better way than to become a patron of the Empire’s favorite pastime? With the increasing population of tourists and Imperial influence, gladiator matches were accepted within the city of Vivec, bringing forth an influx of warriors and combatants.

It was mid-day, the air was fresh and the sky was a beautiful azure. Over a hundred feet below, she could see the groups of slaves in different locations; the plantations, the entrance to the mines, and the courtyard. The ones in the dry field were the ones appointed to become gladiators. It would take time and drakes before her father would be willing to risk any of them in the arena. Men fighting in the games in the peak of their skills was one matter, this was something entirely different. Most of them were not familiar with the sword or the spear or even the shield.

Accompanied with Elsavia and another slave woman, Tivela was at the center of the bridge that led to another branch of the fungal tower. Her, her slave and a retinue of maidservants strode from the bridge down to the short tower that led down to the training courtyard. A powerful, tall wall extended from the southern edge of the stronghold, securing both the courtyard and the new sleeping quarters. She had often viewed the courtyard the window of her room, watching few of the men on occasion. Her father had made great expenses on the condition of his slaves, even after a brawl had broken out. And I was sleeping in my room, Tivela reflected, annoyed that she had missed the entire ordeal.

Standing at the end of the courtyard was her father, flanked by four armed guards. He watched closely as the other slaves began to set up the small tubs within the Imperial-styled building. Wooden benches had been brought in and a stack of clean simple attire, along with basic oils and a bucket full of strigil, one for each of the slaves training to become combatants. Crates filled with wooden weapons and shields were also brung in, as well as securely locked crates of steel sword.

“Father,” Tivela said as she approached him, her eyes on the working slaves. “Are the slave pens ready?”

“They have been completed and ready to house the future gladiators.”

She shuddered. A bunch of filthy animals housed up in their individuals cells, which at least were better accommodating than the small shacks. The idea that her father, a self-proclaimed member of the Telvanni, was training gladiators was ridiculous and would surely raise unwanted questions by the other Telvanni. And as backstabbing and power-hungry as they were, they had nothing to gain from Andrano. It was a clever move.

****

Andrano knew Tivela would arrive from the top of the tower, her slaves hurrying after her, fanning their mistress in the midair heat. She pointed her fingers at the slaves. “Ugh, they are dirty and scrawny, most of them.”

Her voice bespoke incredulity and though there was some truth to her statement, it still raked Andrano’s spine. His slaves were his prize possessions, among other things. He knew her disdain came from her lack of love for the opposite sex.

Nachael was among them, having arrived one standard week ago. His living quarter was within the pod that the Bosmer brothers had slept in. He seemed eager to train the men. Andrano was sure that they were enraged, but with their recent spark of rebellion, he had to steal away their privileges and make an example.

The large Redguard was without his turban, revealing a shaved and glistening hairless head. To accommodate to the heat, he was wearing a simple vest absent sleeves, showing her large ebony arms. He looked at the hand-picked slaves, each and every one. “They will be working to gain strength, and in due time they will be in prime condition to begin in the arena.” Nachael said Andrano’s daughter.

Tivela cackled, the sound grating. “Gain their strength? They look as if they are about to drop dead.”

Lord Bratheru turned back to the slaves, counting various scars and bruises concealed under layers of dirt. His mouth tensed. Undoubtedly pensioned with food, those men had paid the price with their bodies. During the process of rearranging the work of the slaves, Andrano had to give additional work to the workers for their infighting. Two months had passed and they seemed eager to return to their regular routines. It was then that he recalled the Imperial he had sent to the mines for the first time.

Andrano summoned the overseer of the mines, Gro-Grosh the Great. A brutish Orsmer of worthy stock. Two minutes upon sending out a messenger, the Orc had arrived with his whip in hand.

“Yes, my lord?” Bowing, the Overseer inquired.

Bratheru hid his hands within the pockets of his long robe. “The Imperial I sent to the mines. Has he met his quota?”

The Orc took a moment to reply when Tivela and her slave maidens went to inspect the other slaves. He lowered his head, retrieving out a parchment in the pocket of his shirt. His eyes ran through it and he nodded. “He tripled it, my lord.”

Andrano’s eyes widened. “Tripled it?”

The pariah-man seemed baffled as well, nodding with widened eyes. “Imperials are stubborn, but naturally hard workers. Yet I was surprised to see this man continue even after he had doubled his required labor.”

The Dunmer considered what to do next. He would have to keep his promise of releasing him from the mines. Yet the man had strength Andrano had never witnessed in over three years. He had worth more than the other laborers, which by now were old and meek for such things. He cupped his own chin to reflect on the day he sentenced the man to punishment. The enraged Imperial, attacking the other khajiits and managing to knock a guard unconscious. Exhausting him in the mines would be too bleak and not as rewarding compared to training him as a gladiator.

True, men like Shavaash, El’Cateez and even the Bosmers were trained in combat, but the Imperial had a streak of determination that could be of benefit. A determination that could be inflated with promises of wealth, freedom or more baser desires that a man could ever hold. Among his slave possessions, this man was unique because of his race. An Imperial savage, transported by cage to fight in the arena! Andrano had pictured the glorious imagery in his mind. He would be popular among the Dunmeri crowd if he survived the training. And in surviving, he would fill Andrano’s pocket with pounds of drakes.

“Bring the Imperial to me when the sun sets. I will not have his eyes blinded by the light of the sun.”

“Yes, my lord.”

****

That night, Andrano Bratheru awaited under the darkness of light, awaiting the arrival of his servants. Sure enough, they materialized from the caves in the distance, escorting a bewildered Imperial through the field. His head was lowered, curbed down. Eventually, the strong guards had brought Kraven to his presence.

The Dunmer Lord eyed Kraven’s body, it was not as wasted or as marred as the others, though it was obvious he had lost weight. Even so, he appeared just as ragged, but he yet displayed a fair physique.

He gestured to one of the younger female slaves he kept close by for messages. “You, girl. Take yourself to the kitchens and have food and water brought. Inform the staff to send more in a few hours.”

Then he turned met Kraven’s eyes and saw a certain suspicion there. Though what was to be expected from his master, gratitude? Not after he was sent to the mines for two months. He was not born into slavery, that much was certain, and Andrano came to suspect he was just as untamed now as when he had been brought to the stronghold. It was stunning however, especially with those eyes and angered face. Bratheru said nothing as he looked at the human from his head to his toe. It was a marvel, seeing the hated Imperial in such a base form.

He turned around and snapped his finger, a unspoken command to follow. And so he walked to a better location within his stronghold, once of his main offices in the first floor. The interior was made entirely from the organic wooden matter. He was sure the Imperial must of felt as an insect crawling inside of an open chestnut. Most of his slaves felt that way.

They had reached a large circular door, though it was sealed and locked from the other side. The host reached out and placed opened it from within, admitting Andrano and the others entrance. They then walked past the inner sanctum, walking up a flight of stairs and reached one of the main offices in the second floor.

The office was part library, part museum. Shelves of old books, and scrolls, and endless lines of used parchments lined the walls. Several extended display cases ran across the center of the room, boasting the collection of treasures Andrano had spent the past two decades acquiring: strange glowing azure gems, sharp jewel-encrusted daggers and swords, a variety of Dunmeri artwork. The Imperial gaped his mouth in awe, to which the prideful Andrano smiled.

The two guards held him on the shoulder tightly, but at Andrano’s command, they removed their hands from Kraven, and left the room to stand at the door. “Do not see me as an overlord or an evil master. We are not so different. We both breathe, eat, sleep and defecate. I am just a simple man trying to make his way into the world.“

He paused. “You are called Kraven, are you not? Such a strange name for an Imperial.”

The Imperial met Bratheru’s eyes. No subtly in his hostile expression. Though equipped with a bracer, he was also chained at the wrists, impeding him from using his hands to inflict any injury or attempt to murder his master. “That is what I am called.”

Andrano nodded. It was plain obvious that the Imperial still held a grudge at his master. He did not share the sense of gratitude the other had over the years. Yet to Andrano, these things would come in due time. “Why do you stand before me? Under the charity of my household? Do you understand why?”

The man seemed unsettled at first, but his tense movement soothed down. “Because fate often is unfair, bestowing cruelty on the most undeserved.”

The Dunmer tapped his hands on his desk and shook his head. “You are here because you are slave. You stand before my stronghold because of my great grandfather. He built this place long ago in the backs of slaves. And I inherited it. My father held the belief that even slaves held worth. Even servants could rise to fame. I honor those beliefs.”

Kraven was silent the entire time. Andrano took the opportunity to continue, gesturing to himself and his surroundings. “I am Telvanni. Lord of the Arcane and the unknown. This is my home. For decades, slaves had labored under the whip, yet I have given them purpose when they earn the right.”

The word sparked an inquisitorial hostility on the human. “Purpose?”

“Under my house, no slave is to be punished unless he or she deserves it. In the world you came from, you break a law and you are punished. Here, it is the same. You stay your hand, do as your told and you are rewarded.”

Kraven maintained his fixed eyes on Andrano. Silent. Analytical.

“I foresee things in the hearts of men that they have misplaced. Things that could be seized with the dedication of a warrior.”

“You are no warrior.” Kraven whispered.

Andrano shrugged. “You understand little about me, Imperial. I may hold the name of Telvanni, but I am much more. My interests lay beyond the secrets not of this world. Do not compare me to the others. These things matter not, however. What matters to you? You wish to be given a better living space?”

No answer.

“You wish to be given coin? Or to cause me more trouble?”

Kraven held his tongue.

“What do you wish, Imperial? Freedom? Purpose?”

The man tensed his jaw, clenching it slightly so that his cheeks hardened. Bratheru could read the facial gesture and knew that liberation and an identity is what the Imperial desired. His face failed to conceal the implication.

“Of course. Freedom and self-identity. To be someone in this life. I recall your tale from the ledger; involvement in gambling, betrayal, poisoned and kidnapped. What if I told you that you have a chance to put your past away and forge a glorious future?”

Kraven’s lip curled in distaste, his throat raspy. “I would be a fool to place trust in the man who condemned me to the mines, Who had me whipped for hours on end because I failed to bow. Why would I commend?”

“Because with pain comes pleasure. With suffering and trial, comes success. I saw a determination in you. You labored beyond any of my other slaves in the caves. You excavated pounds of ebony from the jaws of the mines when most would have died of fatigue. You displayed to me a rebellious bravery. But you hold onto something significant. You have not yet given up your hopes. And I can see that.”

“What could you possibly offer me?”

“Everything; glory, fame, coin, women...” Andrano said with strong desire. He made sure his words embedded themselves in the man’s mind, and remained there. Most slave masters from the Great Houses did not treat their slaves well, and therefore lacked determined servants. And in that truth, the sparks of rebellion were unavoidable.

There was the option to abuse his slaves until they were beaten and bruised, their egos destroyed entirely. But such things were unethical and unnecessary. With promises and rewards, his slaves would see themselves as something greater, something more. “The lowest animal can float above the heavens and beyond! Tempted with the lusts of this life!”

Beneath the dirt, the grime and past the long unkempt black hair, there was a fire growing. A slow nod of the head, the strong working of the jaw. The deep inhale and the long exhale. Andrano’s words breathed flames into Kraven, and in that knowledge the Dunmer smiled, his face mousy and welcoming. “Fight for me, human. Become something more than a farmer in my plantations, become greater than a common miner.”

Kraven lifted his head high and proud, eyes squinted. His eager countenance speaking when verbal dialogue could not. “Become a gladiator. Fight for me in the Vivec City Arena! With time and training, you will be given the rewards of your heart’s desire. Through this journey of trial by fire, you might just be given your freedom!”

“Freedom…” Kraven whispered. He seemed to ponder on that single, meaningful word.

“I have slaves that remained in servitude for eight years, nearly a dark decade. Yet for you, I shall make an exception. Three years as a gladiator in my stronghold. Train with the others, bleed and survive! Then you will be given your freedom. Would you do it? Take the life of many men to be secured a place in this life?”

"All that stood in the way." He whispered. Though his words came as unmerciful, his eyes sparkled with tears. Bratheru saw among that consuming resolution was a hidden pain.

"Train with the other slaves under the command of Nachael, with servitude and honor. Henceforth, call me master, erect yourself to the acme of the apex and be compensated. The final choice is yours."

Summoning the guards, Andrano had Kraven escorted out of the stronghold. He would allow his words to seed in the Imperial’s mind, and bear successful fruit. He watched intently as Kraven left the building, the manner in which he walked was far more energetic than before. Bratheru grinned, knowing well his words sunk in.

This man would find a way to survive. Senseless beatings, whippings and bitter punishments would surely give the man a sense of determination, but Andrano knew the worth of sweet promises, that would eventually manifest themselves into actions. Kraven would surely be a candidate for one of the greatest gladiators of the slave cast. Even so, thoughts on Kraven consumed Andrano. This human intrigued him, challenged him in the beginning, and he wanted him to fight as a gladiator. To most it would be beyond idiocy. But even the most savage of animals could be tamed with the proper rewards.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jun 4 2012, 05:06 PM

[Lady Saga]

Excellent! Can't wait for the next one...

[quote name='Darkness Eternal' date='Jun 4 2012, 12:02 PM' post='142952']
Note: This is random, but for those who have not yet played Morrowind,this is what a Telvanni Stronghold looks like. And the smaller house pods. In any case, a timeskip was nescessary for proper pacing.



That looks freaking awesome for what is supposed to be turn-of-the-century computer modeling. It looks tastefully-done, too.

[Acadian]

So the die is now cast and our Imperial has glimpsed at the possibility of freedom!

I see that Andrano has beaten Tivela in claiming Kraven for a purpose. Still, I do think that she will want him bathed and oiled up at some point. . . .

I think Andrano actually has a fairly accurate perception of what makes Kraven tick and the correct buttons to push.

Let the gladiator training begin!

This post has been edited by Acadian: Jun 5 2012, 12:15 AM

[mALX]

*

First, AWESOME screenshot !!! Absolutely LOVED that !!!!

I don't know if he'll keep his promises or not, but this is the chapter I've waited for - knew it would be here. Still, Kraven surprised me with his responses as did Andrano. Absolutely AWESOME Write !!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Jun 5 2012, 02:37 AM

[Colonel Mustard]

That was an absolutely superb part; the conversation between Kraven and Andrano was excellently written, and it was an intriguing read to see Andrano picking apart Kraven's motivations while Kraven is attempting to get some bargaining leverage even though he's in a massively disadvantageous position.

That looks freaking awesome for what is supposed to be turn-of-the-century computer modeling. It looks tastefully-done, too.

Seconded; one of the things I love about Morrowind is that, even with its rather modest graphical capability, it still looks damn good, even today. Mainly, I think, it's thanks to the hot, muggy, tropical aesthetic that it has going for it, which makes it look great because, paradoxically, its short render distance makes even more pronounced by making everything look like it's shrouded in fog.

[Darkness Eternal]

Lady Saga:Thanks! It does look great, doesn't it? A perfect representation of a Telvanni Tower.

Acadian:Thanks, Acadian. Andrano has indeed got more involved with Kraven directly than his daughter did. And I think you may be right on the scented oil part. Andrano does have some skill on reading people and understanding them. Especially slaves. Considering there is some Imperial-influences in him that will be written about at a later point, Andrano likes to show his servants into something that will influence them to fight and do his dirty work. For him it is a "win win" thing.

mALX:Thanks for still sticking around mALX! Good friend, you are! . There will be many surprises on Kraven and Andrano's personalities. Especially for Kraven. The conditions he is faced will surely transform him into a different man. Thanks again!

Colonel Mustard:I appreciate your feedback! He's an Imperial, it is in his nature to try and bargain. But as you said, he is at a disadvantage. His life is at risk and this is no simple gamble for coin . As for the art, you are spot on! It is what makes the work itself beautiful!

~Chapter Fifteen: "Gladiator Training."~

The courtyard was massive in size, and securely built within the hillside. It was surrounded by Imperial-like stone walls that kept all of the trainees within a square training ground. The outside was protected by guards, as was the interior. Kraven was shoved into the large pit by the guards. All of the slaves were huddled in the corner, awaiting the training to begin. He recognized some of the men; Rasheeva, Teegla-Lei, and a few others. El’Cateez, Shavaash and Polish-His-Spears stood alone in a corner, all staring hatefully at him. Some looked at him with suspicion, others gazed with empty expressions. A few hung their heads, toiling beneath the heat of the sun.

Kraven’s endless endeavor in the mines had alienated him from the rest of the slaves. He found the new slave work quite surprising, he was sure though that the others who were here for years would take some time to get accustomed to the changes as well. Dangor and Daenlin also present. Unlike last time, the older Mer had completely shaved his scalp. The only hair on his head was the brow above his eyes and a braided goatee that hanged in a pair beneath his chin. Daenlin retained his gregarious and boyish look.

From the interior of the newly slave pen, another man emerged. A human! This other human was darker in skin, shorter in stature, but far more aggressive looking than the hostile expressions that befell on the two elven brothers. This man had an aura of authority and pride within him that seemed to radiate from his chocolate flesh. Beside him, was Andrano himself.

All of the slaves rose to their feet in respect and deference, and fear. Nodding, the tall Redguard inspected each and every one of the men. Kraven hurried himself to stand beside the others as well. He felt this human would recognize him as a fellow man, but when he passed by him, the Redguard simply shook his head in disdain. He turned and stood at the head of the single-file line of slaves, Andrano next to him.

“Where do you stand?” The dark human asked, particularly to anyone.

There was a long silence before an anonymous man from the line spoke. “Morrowind?”

The answer was replied with mocking laughs from Shavaash and his comrades. Nachael apparently disagreed. “You stand in the bowels of your torment, Oblivion on earth where your own tragic lives can be given worth. Here you will listen, learn and bleed. In these trials, you will survive to become gladiators. Now, attend your lord!”

All of the slaves pumped their fists into the air, chanting Bratheru’s name repeatedly. Andrano stepped forth, his crimson gaze even and neutral. “Each and everyone of you has been graced. To find yourselves in this place, in this very day. To become the greatest gladiators the city of Vivec has even witnessed. In the hard days to follow, I expect each of you to prove that you are worthy than a base slave! More than a common servant! Titans forged by the sweat of your brow and the spilling of your lifeblood! Heed Nachael’s instructions and you will be guaranteed to survive in the coming months.”

Those were all his last words. He nodded at Nachael and left the courtyard, retreating into the metal gates that led into another great section of the stronghold. Kraven was curious, much so that it reflected on his appearance. His mouth was habitually ajar, as if he was dumbfounded.

“Boy,” Nachael shouted suddenly, gaining the attention of a lithe adolescent slave that stood idly beside a wooden crate. “Give the men wooden palus!”

And so every slave was given a wooden sword to begin their perilous path into glory. There were other weapons as well, but in the beginning, only a sword and a shield were provided. This was the start of a new dawn for Kraven, a glimpse of a bright hope in the damning darkness that was his life.

The gladiators in training were motivated by many things; promise of freedom, endless waves of the finest women and whöres or amassing enough coin for their own ends. Kraven was one of the few who strived for honor and glory among liberation. To be someone in his life. He had all the motivation he required; an unloving, cruel father; hardship in the mines; victimization of the self-proclaimed seasoned fighters such as Shavaash and Polish. His thoughts on his mother and his father grew increasingly distant as his attention was refocused to his training. The dream of returning to his home was slowly being buried by the promise of glory. There was nothing for him outside those confines, any more than there was inside of them.

Kraven had stressed himself on acquiring the physical prowess over the past months. As he earned this skill, he learned the different combat techniques of battle on the defensive; blocks, parries, evasion, shrewd maneuvering. These prevented the increase of chances of being killed prematurely in battle.

Yet in these past months, he had redoubled his efforts. He learned new forms quickly, and when Nachael congratulated him on his devotion, Kraven grew more confident to attempt a different set of offensive skills against the other slaves; thrusts, charges, strikes, overhand strikes and counterstrikes. Though he was not on par with the more experienced warriors, he was slowly climbing up the ladder. As a wise student, he simply watched and learned and practiced so that he may better stand a chance against them. The error of the other slaves would be his own lesson.

Perspiration tickled down from his scalp to his eyes as he forced his body into the rigorous pace. He increased his blinking to soothe the stinging sweat, for he refused to allow petty discomfort to halt his exertions. As the hours passed, he practiced with the other fighters, carving the hot air before him over and over and over. Everywhere else the other slaves did the same in a similar routine.

Nachael began instructing the future gladiators by giving them new weapon replicas made of wood; short-swords, long-swords, tantos, spears, shields and even axes with blunted edges. By observing the instinctive inclination of his trainees as they learned the essentials, the Blademaster determined which form of combat would best match their style. For Kraven, three were chosen; long blade, spear and the shield. He was also given chance to practice with armor, both medium and heavy. His ways emphasized strength, power, and endurance, allowing him to make use of his muscles to the best of his abilities.

Presently, along with the other slaves, he spent the better part of three hours each morning, from nine to eleven, practicing his different styles with his wooden weapons of training under Nachael’s gaze. In the hot afternoon there was a half hour break when food was served. After fifteen minutes, training commenced throughout the evening.

The day was full with the grunts and the shouts of the slaves and the swishing-swashing-swooshing and wood clamoring as their training weapons cut the air and clashed against one another. Although the aspirant gladiators practiced against each other, there was a sense of brotherhood among them, a camaraderie. It seemed that this had brought the slaves together, though even in that fact there was still a hierarchy among each group.

There were rivalries between the skilled warriors who experienced battle and lowly farmers and hunters who are training for such thing. As before, Shavaash was at the helm, proving himself an asset or to some, an äss. Like Kraven, some saw him as competition. Unlike Kraven, he was emulated as a leader and as a future champion. A title that was beyond tempting.

As he trained, he pondered on how Shavaash would fall on the arena, and thus resulted in a fault in his form. The other slave who sparred with him, Daenlin, was able to smack the side of his wooden weapon against Kraven’s cheek. The blow was hard enough to make him tumble to the dirt, with Daenlin laughing at his minor victory. A simple distraction was enough to give his enemy the upper hand.

“Kraven!“ Nachael shot at the Imperial. He had been walking left to right as a disciplinary teacher through the dueling slaves, but now he stopped right next to the rising human. “You lower your shield when thrusting. Have it raised!”

“Yes, Blademaster.” Kraven said after he spat a glob of blood to the sand.

He remained at Kraven and Daenlin’s side for a short time, giving him hints on footing and stance. He stayed a moment longer to ensure the lesson had been well-learned. After several thrusts and blocks by the Imperial, the Redguard nodded, blinking in approval as he proceeded to watch the other gladiators.

Kraven repeated a single maneuver again and again, cautiously maintaining the height of the shield and angle of the sword just as Nachael had instructed him, training his muscles under an endless series of repetitions until they could be repeated subconsciously. In intergrading these sequences into his mind, he would then move onto utilizing more complex moves. In no time he was breathing heavily from his single period of exercising.

Physically, the gladiatorial training was no comparison to working exhaustively in the mines. But it was more demanding in other areas. The sparring alone required superior use of the mind, a close attention to even the minimal of details. True mastery of combat came after a combination of both intense mental focus and physical prowess. Somewhere in between those lines was the desire to fight.

Using a move in battled allowed gladiators to liberate their mind from thought as they adjusted through the sequences. Using pre-learned styles was far more efficient and faster than considering each attack or defense alone, allowing tremendous advantage over an adversary that is unfamiliar with the procedure.

Yet, adopting a new series of combat moves so that it could be executed effectively, was a long and strenuous process. For many it would take up to three to four weeks of practice and training if the slaves struggled to master these sequences. And even the tiniest of errors in the smallest of strikes could reduce the entire sequence worthless.

There came a moment where Kraven and the other lesser slaves had to work their bodies rather than their knowledge with the blade. In a process that was called “devouring ashes”, Kraven and the other recruits had to push their bodies from the dirt to the air, and back to the dirt once more. These were also known as push-ups. On other times the slaves had to work their arm strength by curling a rectangular wooden block by holding onto the straps. To work the shoulders, large wooden barks were carried upon their backs and laid upon the ground, only to be picked up once more a few seconds later.

Kraven’s arm felt as if it was on flames the moment he was on his eight repetition on his curls. His buttocks pained him also, feeling as if they had sat upon a seat of fire. His neck tensed, his jaws clenched as he lifted the block above his head and brought it down only to do it again. And he was not the only one. The others growled, seethed, shouted and hissed as their bodies were put to work. Their vigor had enabled them to continue throughout the day. Yet, it was a guest appearance that had the men truly inspired.

The daughter of Bratheru Andrano graced the area with her magnificence. Though strangely, she was alone. Her hair was tied into a bun, bringing out her extravagant facial features. Pierced on each of her ears was a golden earring, and on her neck was a glowing pendant of sorts that fell to the slopes of her bosom. She leaned against the balcony of the suite area where other nobles would be granted a visual of the working slaves. On her hand was a silver goblet, which she took sips from time to time. It was obvious it was wine.

Most of the men ignored, or at least, acted like they did not see Tivela watching them. As far as Kraven was aware, none had slept with a woman for years now. Shavaash may have been the only one rumored to have been granted a woman’s touch, but if the rumor spread, there surely would be conflict. He could tell some of the men stared from the corner of their eyes while others engaged their sparring partner with new resolve to boast their skills to the foxy spectator.

Kraven on the other hand, looked up to stare at Tivela. She did not notice him right away, her eyes was starring directly at Shavaash, who was walking toward him. Before he turned to the approaching brute, he seemed to catch the Dunmer mistress’s gaze for a split second.

“I would not let gaze linger, human,” Shavaash said. “You would be parted from that shriveling cöck before it rises an even inch. Such a woman would not waste a moment of her time with the likes of you.”

Shavaash was yet the pestering brute, and all this time he had particularly had an interest in Kraven. A negative attraction that seemed to magnetize and grow forth. He knew this stemmed from his earlier lock of horns with the khajiit in that awful brawl. It was no mystery that Shavaash is a cat with a grudge. This time, Kraven had the courage to confront the khajiit in a non-hostile manner.

“If you hold words of importance, speak them.” He said.

“Words fail where action succeeds. I would have you ready for tomorrow, Imperial.” Polish-His-Spear materialized from behind him, speaking loud and clear. “You face me in the challenges.”

“I never issued forth a challenge, Polish. You are mistaken.”

Polish snickered, shouting. “The human is yet the coward!”

While he was not acting out of cowardice, he did indeed felt embarrassed as all eyes were on him. He looked up to see Tivela standing on the balcony, staring directly at him. His heart sunk in self-consciousness. He was being made a fool. He normally did not concern himself with the jests of others against him, but the woman’s presence inflated his shame. Prior to even answering, Shavaash and Polish shoved him with their shoulders as they walked past. Few laughs were heard as the men found the bullying amusing. With good reason, they had laughed. Kraven was a man trying to rise, but he was not yet a warrior. Not like Shavaash or Polish.

Tivela had seemed to follow Shavaash’s lead with her red eyes. To him, it appeared she was lusting after him while he was given a dissaproving stare. Who could blame her? He was everything he was not; a warrior, a leader and a man of stature.

Daenlin and Dangor joined together to console Kraven as he sat pathetically near a barrel full of water. The younger Bosmer stared disgustingly at the fiendish friends. They spoke in their native tongue. “Damn the swamp-scum and his fur-licking lover. They think themselves gods.”

Daenlin folded his arms to answer Dangor as Kraven stared at them. “We will show Polish and Shavaash they are but men.”

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jun 11 2012, 04:54 PM

[mALX]

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Oh no, Kraven! Not again! URK !! This chapter held me riveted from beginning to end !! Your world-building and also with bringing the same antagonists into the Arena with him was a stroke of genius - that will keep Kraven pushing harder than he may have otherwise, as if freedom and a name didn't push him hard enough. LOVE this chapter !!!

[Acadian]

Down to work with the gritty business of gladiator training. The Redguard seems a fair authority on his craft. That Kraven is humble, listens and learns quickly will serve him well. I suspect his pair of tailed foes have capped their own ability to improve by their cocksure attitudes. As long as Kraven retains his humility, he will continue to improve.

I perhaps see a hunger in Kraven for the pits of combat that may grow to exceed even his hunger for freedom.

Nicely done.

[Darkness Eternal]

mALX:Thank you very much! Trouble always finds Kraven, sadly. And Shavaash's gang will stick around a bit as well, but there will be some surprises coming their way. Shavaash is one of the main characters, so he'll be around for awhile, as will be Polish.

Acadian:The training indeed has begun. I always imagined Nachael to be as a teacher, fair and with authority. But also willing to enforce the rod to correct his students. Kraven's humility? Serves him well for now. And you may be right on that matter. Or not. It greatly depends on what happens to him. Thanks very much Acadian!

~Chapter Sixteen: "Tivela's pampering."~

Mistress Tivela admired herself for an extended period of time. She ran her hands over her black hair, inspected the quality of her nails, and the perfect size of her twin breasts and the distinct birthmarks on her cheeks to analyzing her golden earrings and applying makeup to her face. Elsavia contained a sigh and held back the roll of the eyes as she was forced to bear witness to a strenuous display of vanity. It was plain obvious that her Dunmeri lady bore a coquette personality that never ceased to go away. Her perfume was far too heavy, and it cloyed in her nostrils. Elsavia simply stood there, awaiting her mistress to make use of her. And so as the hours passed, the Redguard summoned the other maidens by command to enter Tivela’s extravagant room to tend to Tivela’s needs by giving her a massage.

Compared to other Dunmer, the Bratheru family was an odd one. Tivela did not even bother to pay her tribute to the family shrine, telling Elsavia she was not concerned about her culture. All that was in her mind was exotic adventures to far away lands, to fall in love and to brag about the latest fashion and accessories. And considering Dark Elves were not fertile until they reached nineteen or twenty, Tivela would take advantage of her seventeen years of age to sleep all she wants.

A bowl of fresh strawberries and one of scuttle sat atop of stool that was ahead of a large table-like bed, each being picked off individually to be nibbled upon. “Hmm, I could use a cup of wine to wet my tongue.” Tivela snapped her finger to Gwenabeth, the Breton girl. “Slave, fetch me some drink.”

“Yes, mistress.”

"Wait, do we have any Brandy?"

"Yes, mistress."

“By Azura, Gwenabeth, you do not need to say ‘yes mistress’ for every little thing. When I need a drink, some food or even some clothes, you do not say ‘yes mistress’. Am I clear?”

Gwenabeth began to stutter. The poor slave lass was often confused at Tivela’s bipolar problems.

“Now you can say ‘yes mistress’”. Tivela spat. “Go! Hurry and fetch me my mine, damn it!”

The Breton kept her head bowed in submission as she went to commend to the command. Elsavia kept running her hands against Tivela’s smooth back and shoulders down to her legs. She felt relieved her mistress would not scorn her for her fragile hands since she was too relaxed to complain, and in a good mood, at least for her.

“Here is another one. A Dark Elf man killed his wife after catching her making love with another man. When the magistrate asked him why he killed her instead of her lover, the man replied, ‘I considered it better to kill one woman than a different man every week.’”

Elsavia forced a laugh at Tivela‘s joke. “I never heard that one before! Ha.”

“It is an old one,” Tivela sighed to her slave, setting her head on the pillow to moan as the massages positively affected the muscles of her back. “Do not stop, Elsavia.”

At the command of Tivela, the Redguard slave once again dipped her fingers into the small cup of lotion made from different scented ingredients. She began to spread them around the back of her mistress and slowly began to knead her shoulders.

“Elsavia, you do not understand how stressing it can be to not spend western holidays here. Everything for the Dunmer are about spirits, worshiping our damn ancestors and wasting hours on sermons. Why can’t it be like Sun’s Dawn on Heart’s day?”

“Apologies mistress, I do not know.”

Tivela turned her body to the side to rest her head on her hand, which in turn was supported by her elbow. “Those books I gave you, did you read them?”

The slave girl remembered the novels and scrolls Tivela provided to her. Being born into slavery, one would not know much about their culture save for being acquainted with a member of the same race, tribe or person. Thankfully, Tivela was gracious enough to provide her with books that touched upon many subjects on her people, including holidays. Elsavia named them; Divad Etep't, Fiery Night, Koomu Alazer'I, Dirij Tereur, Baranth Do and many others.

“Even your dry culture strikes me as exotic and splendid.” Tivela confessed.

“With all due respect, mistress, but your people have a beautiful culture.” The Redguard said truthfully, pausing for a few brief seconds.

As expected, the young Dark Mer cackled loudly. “Oh you are too modest. Dunmeri people are as drab as the tumbleweed that float in the wilderness. Father wants me to marry some fop from Vivec City.”

“We all must do what is required of us, mistress Tivela.” Elsavia said to her. “Otherwise we may be punished or scorned for our failures.”

“Oh, I would not call such thing a failure…more like…disobedience.” She sat up on the bed now, giving Elsavia room to move away as she grabbed a towel. “I have a question for you.”

“Ask away,” she said softly to her master, washing her oily hands in a nearby basin. “I will answer it the best way I can.”

“I came to notice Shavaash’s gaze upon me; his eyes lingering of late. Do you think he has any feelings for me? Few days ago I spotted him making an attempt to impress me. Of course, there are much more heart-rippling men underneath our feet than just him.”

Elsavia wondered the opposite. Tivela seemed to show genuine interest in Shavaash, even after their last encounter, which she came to learn was an utter disappointment for the master’s daughter. And it was the gossip among the household slaves as well. Shavaash surely held feelings for the mistress, for it was rare that a slave would bed their superiors. And as Elsavia understood, men are easy to fall for a woman, especially if they have been celibate for years.

“I cannot say, for it has been a long time since you had shared a bed with a man. There is a possibility he does have affections for you.”

The Dark Elf considered it as she wrapped a towel around her waist to prepare for a bath. “Hmm, oh my. Imagine such union. It is absolutely depraved, for my father at least. But you know what is truly deprived?”

“No, mistress.”

“A Telvanni nobleman training gladiators. You realize how blasphemous this will be to the others?”

Remaining silent, Elsavia quietly lit a candle with incense. She couldn’t help but agree wholeheartedly with Tivela. Bratheru Andrano was not known for being overly reclusive as his Telvanni brethren, and he had occasionally visited Vivec City, though not the Telvanni’s canton. As she came to understand, Andrano was not born in Morrowind. He was born and raised in a town called Cheydinhal in the Imperial province, adopting many Imperial customs as he matured. Being of Telvanni bloodline, Andrano inherited what was left after the death of his father. And so the years followed when he began to take advantage of Dunmer customs to purchase slaves and live his life as what Tivela blatantly called “a king”.

The fact that an Imperial-raised Telvanni nobleman stood in Vvardenfell training gladiators was an anathema to the others from the same House. While they would not look upon him with jealousy, they would surely have qualms about a man “tainting” their true nature and ways, or so Elsavia understood. And this bothered Tivela immensely, though Elsavia found her reasons to be a tad bit hypocritical.

“Whöres! My father plans to offer whores occasionally to the men if they fight in the arena! A good sum of them being summoned from the lowest pit of Desele’s Earth Delights! And even whisk away drakes from his own purse to give to those animals. Does he think magical coins shoot out from our ässes?”

Elsavia looked at her with a timid concern. She was not use to hearing her mistress use these vulgar words, as she always composed herself as a proper Dunmer noble, at least in a verbal sense.

“I only live in this stronghold because I love my father dearly, and he would be depressed if I ever had left. But if the day that I decide to leave comes, you would leave with me? We can go to an island in Valenwood or perhaps the Summerset Isles! I would not have to marry and you could be my personal servant.”

The Redguard was not sure if she liked the idea or resented it. The province of the Altmers was a beautiful place, according to the books written on it. But the people were reserved, prideful and also xenophobic, as the Dunmer. She would be trading a life of servitude for another, the only difference being the environment and the colors of her masters. As always, she had to lie to not disappoint her mistress. “That would be gratifying, mistress.”

The bath was filled by Gwenabeth who used a bucket full of warm water. After twenty minutes or so, Tivela discarded her towel and slipped into the ceramic-style bath and collapsed into the water, sighing comfortably as she settled herself. “That man, Nachael, what do you think of him?”

Nachael was the Redguard who was tasked with training the gladiators in preparation for the games in Vivec City; Elsavia remembered who he was now. True, she saw only one Redguard in her life before, thus her initial thoughts on the man was born out of curiosity and fascination. Yet there was no true sense of love that was between a husband or a life or even two lovers. He was far too old for her, and she knew he must of felt the same manner. “Nothing, mistress. Curiosity, perhaps.”

“Would you not want to marry him?”

“No, mistress, I would not.” Elsavia confessed.

“Nor anyone in this stronghold if you were even given permission?”

Yes, Elsavia told herself. The prospect of being truly loved and firmly in love was far too pleasing to her that it seemed like a far-fetched dream. As a slave, she couldn’t see herself getting married or even falling in love. Some slaves married, yes, but body slaves to masters and mistresses seldom were given into such a ceremony. But admitting as much was not fit for a lowly slave. “I have not given it much thought, mistress.”

Tivela sunk lower, resting her head down as she looked up to the ceiling. Gwenabeth and the other slaves tended to her arms and her legs with soap and sponges. “Has my father told you anything about sending his Mouth, Lashun, to Vivec?”

“He mentioned such thing a day ago. He plans to send his best gladiators to Vivec City to begin their first match in honor of the magistrate.”

“When?”

“In just a few days.”

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jun 14 2012, 05:05 PM

[mALX]

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This chapter was a fascinating mix of lore and the workings of Elsavia's mind as a slave. Hugely revealing about the life she leads and the extinguishing of her own dreams because of duty. I LOVED this !!

Tivela's joke had me roaring, as did this line:

Tivela seemed to show genuine interest in Shavaash, even after their last encounter, which she came to learn was an utter disappointment for the master's daughter. And it was the gossip among the household slaves as well.

I find it hysterical that the whole household knows of Shavaash's "shortages," (IE: minuteman/2pumpchump) while he rules over the outside slaves.

Awesome chapter and write !!!!


*

[Acadian]

So Tivela (she is quite the piece of work) has strong thoughts on the subject of training slaves as gladiators. I’ll be interested to see where this goes.

These two quotes are not only heartbreaking reminders of the impact of slavery on Elsavia, but display either the arrogance or ignorance of Tivela by asking her property for its opinion:
- ‘As always, she had to lie to not disappoint her mistress. “That would be gratifying, mistress.”
- ‘But admitting as much was not fit for a lowly slave. “I have not given it much thought, mistress.”

You continue to bring to vibrant life the inner workings of this plantation.

[Darkness Eternal]

mALX:Thank you much! Elsavia is a wonderous character, and there will be more of her in the story, definetly. She plays an important role and her personality was fun to write. As for Shavaash, yes, it is a comical thing when he is the imposing brute to the others and the laughing stock of another. I can say that you will get a better understanding of Shavaash, Polish and El'Cateez as well in the next chapter.

Acadian:Oh, tell me about it. She's one of those teenagers you hear about . She does harbor different feelings towards the gladiators, potentially because her father is not a "real" Telvanni, per se. And I am happy to see that you have noticed the horrible effects of slavery, even if it wasn't as depicted strongly here as it will in the next chapter .

Note:Kraven's training need to move along, I did not want to rush things at all, so I compressed the time a bit into his training, as the story spans three years. A few months already had passed.

~Chapter Seventeen: "Kraven's Challenge."~

Nachael understood the life of the gladiator, because essentially, he had lived their lives. No one in the entire stronghold had yet fought in the gladiatorial matches and the Blademaster himself had a reputation for winning many battles in the arena until he retired. Nachael was an enlightened, intellectual and very reserved. During the months that Kraven had fought, the Redguard was sure to form a friendship with the slaves, but he was also a fair teacher. And if he needed to, he would discipline the other slaves without hesitation. His past, however, was a mystery. No one knew about him, for he refused to create a personal relationship with any of the slaves that would lead to attachments.

Kraven had the opportunity to spar with the man himself, as all others had before. Unlike the others, Kraven was chastised for being an Imperial. He felt that Blademaster himself disliked him for being from Cyrodiil. The slave combatant felt he should of explained his Redguard grandparents and how he had their blood flowing in his veins. But he found it unnecessary at the time.

The black teacher stood with a confidence poise, holding his wooden shield and sword in hand. A tilt of the head confirmed his readiness. With a quick burst of speed, the Imperial attacked Nachael with a fury, swinging his sword left to right, up and down, desperately trying to find an opening. No failure in his form could be exploited, and the Redguard blocked each attack and parried each blow without any effort. Kraven found himself trying to press the advantage by getting closer, which soon resulted in his abrupt defeat the moment Nachael disarmed him and used his own sword to smack Kraven’s cheek. A second later, Kraven raised his shield, but was quickly subdued to the ground by the Redguard’s power attack, dirt shooting up into the air around him.

“You charge at me as a frenzied Kagouti, void of thought.” Nachael told the recovering Imperial, lowering to pick up Kraven’s training sword. He then approached Kraven, who began to feel the coppery taste of blood in his own mouth. “When you face a stronger adversary, you must draw him to you, then you proceed to counter.”

Young Kraven breathed heavily as he exhaled through his mouth, his bedraggled hair which draped down the side of his face casually being blown by the air coming from his lungs.

“Once more.” Nachael said.

Taking time to think, Kraven dwelled on his next attacks, instinctively putting all that he learned into motion. There was a burst of speed that exploded from his legs, and he found himself accelerating toward Nachael with newfound resolve and vigor. He began with a standard side-attack as he raised the wooden palus to catch the Redguard’s side, but Nachael blocked him. Striking once more, he sought to pierce the Redguard’s flank, which was parried.

The Blademaster countered the attacks, just as he had told Kraven beforehand, yet he fell into Kraven’s trap. The Imperial purposely had his side left open, giving advantage to the muscular teacher. The opening was exploited as Nachael pushed his sword forth to impale Kraven, who in turn closed the gap between his hips by using his arms; he spun around, disarming Nachael, only to retaliate with only his shield. The wooden defense tool was used as an offensive weapon; Kraven swung it hard at Nachael, crashing the round wood against the Blademaster’s jaw. The moment he sought to make attempts to overpowered the other human, Kraven acted upon it and drew him closer, proceeding to truly counterstriking against Nachael. The lesson was learned.

Nachael touched the tip of his mouth and picked up small drops of blood. While it was even the closest of being a fatal, the reaction of the other slaves told otherwise. Polish, El’Cateez, Dangor, Daenlin and all the other warriors all turned to stare at the two fighters. The Imperial glanced at Shavaash, who looked surprised as the rest of them. A timid surprised-grin on his face as he noticed the others gawking at his small victory over the Redguard.

“At last,” Nachael pointed out, seeming a bit disappointed but otherwise unfazed. “My instructions were meditated in your thick, addled skull.”

Kraven felt a minor surge of pride when he heard those words. The stares and nods of respect from the others filled that confidence a bit more. He stood tall, breathing heavier than before. Soon, he thought, I will take on Shavaash himself and begin my path to glory and freedom.

“Rest,” The Redguard added after he dismissed Kraven. “Then we shall begin the competitions.”

At the conclusion of each training session the slaves would gather in a wide, anomalous circle at outskirts of the training ground. Any slave could walk into the circle and announce forth a challenge to another slave. Nachael would analyze the duels closely, and once it was finished he would observe the action for the entire group. Those who were proclaimed victor would be praised for their performance, and their status in the unofficial hierarchy of the stronghold would ascend. Those who faltered would be chastised for their failure, as well as losing their reputation.

When Kraven had initially begun his training, many of the slaves had challenged him. They understood he was a neophyte in the art of the sword and they were eager to defeat him in front of the others. At first he had declined the offers. He knew they were the quickest way to gain reputation and prestige, but he was not foolish enough to be lured into a confrontation he was guaranteed to lose. Yet he was climbing up the ladder and today he felt ready to take yet another step. This was the challenge that would prove which slaves were ready to begin their lives as gladiators.

The others were standing four rows deep, forming a circular ring of bodies around a clearing in the middle circa eleven meters in diameter. Nachael stepped into the center. He did not speak, but simply nodded-a display that it was time for the sparring to begin. Kraven stepped into the ring before anyone else could say anything. “Polish! Bring sword and shield to purpose!”

“I accept, Land-strider”. Was the grim reply from within the large crowd of men. The slaves parted to let the single challenged one to walk freely. Nachael bowed slightly to both combatant and stepped away to give them space.

If there was any type of foe Kraven got in trouble with, it was Polish and the other Argonians. At first, he never had any problems with their kind. He occasionally gave coin and exchanged warm words with some of them in the Waterfront District back in Cyrodiil. These bipedal saurian humanoids all looked the same to him; covered in leathery green scales with a mixture of other colors. And striking against one was as attacking the rest, for they were a close-knit group in a tribal sense. This would be the second time he faced Polish-His-Spears in sword combat, not counting the other brawls they had.

A chill wind swept across the area, but though both fighters had stripped off their shirts to fight bare-chested, neither suffered from the cold. They might have been as stone, paused and hard as statues, were it not for the fire in their eyes. The two slaves circled one another, wooden weapons in their hands in standard ready stances. Polish’s spine puffed out and a strange scent clouded the air which Kraven breathed; he recognized this as an Argonian’s natural attempt to intimidate his human opponent. He ignored the posture, for it has been used before on him before, though at the time it had worked.

The Imperial charged out with a basic side strike, but Polish responded with a rapid parry to deflect the blow away from him. Immediately the combatants stepped away from each other to regain their positions only to resume their attacks. Once again, the human attacked, his wooden sword rising diagonally from left to right in a long, efficient arc. Polish-His-Spear managed to redirect the incoming strike with his own palus, but lost his balance and took a few steps back. Kraven made an attempt to press his advantage, his sword ascending from left to right. His Argonian adversary walked backwards to create room. Kraven concluded the half-completed sequence and returned into the ready position.

The last time he fought against Polish, Kraven was a novice. He had only learned a few techniques. Now he knew tons of them, and he was also able to move swiftly from one sequence to another. Twirling his sword in a rapid flourish, Kraven jumped high in the air and fell with a crashing roar. Polish parried the blow but was forced to the dirt, rolling onto his back and scarcely managing to raise his shield in time to block the human’s slashing move. A chorus of wood on wood played away as Kraven’s relentless attacks descended as rain. The Argonian kept him from landing a direct blow with a masterful defensive maneuver, then dismantled Kraven with a leg-sweep, leaving both of the warriors in a supine position.

There were various whispers and muttering gossips from the gathered spectators, but Kraven tried to tune them out. They had imagined the bout to be over as the Imperial himself. He was annoyed that he was not able to finish his fallen opponent in that second, but he knew victory was within reach. Polish had shown signs of near-defeat; he was breathing in large gasps and his shoulders were slumped over. It was time to finish him.

Kraven attacked once again. This time, however, the Polish never gave ground. He jumped forward with a hard thrust, switching his form of fighting. Kraven was caught by surprise by the unexpected change and was less than a second in recognizing the shift. The tip of the weapon made its mark true on the side of Kraven’s cheek and the right of his eye and as he twisted his body to try and deliver another blow, Polish performed an uppercut with his shield, knocking the Imperial back a few feet.

The slaves roared, Polish bellowed in sure victory, and Kraven cried in pain as parts of his front teeth were shattered by the force. He was baited once more into trying to force his way through, and he paid dearly for it. With his mind blinking, his senses failing and consciousness fading slowly, Kraven realized the terrible truth; the fight was over.

He crawled, picking up the white and red pieces of his front teeth to save for later as the pain grew. Polish walked from behind him, tail swinging back and forth. He grabbed his sword and began to poke at Kraven’s rump, right between the cheeks of the subligaria; he was embarrassing him, taunting him in front of the other slaves. The agony in his mouth was so intense that Kraven felt his mind floating away at the laughter and the jokes from his adversary.

“Why do you wince from my long, hard weapon?“ Polish chuckled perversely, basking in his humiliating mockery. "Huh, little human man?”

No words could be shot back by the fallen Imperial. Kraven spat more blood to the ground, before a single and final stomp to his face mended his grief.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jun 16 2012, 05:29 PM

[mALX]

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striking against one was as attacking the rest, for they were a close-knit group in a tribal sense.

Polish’s spine puffed out and a strange scent clouded the air which Kraven breathed; he recognized this as an Argonian’s natural attempt to intimidate his human opponent

These two details were huge examples of your ability! You have a gift of timing that is incredible! I knew Argonians were tribal, but it never would have occurred to me just before that bout had you not slipped it in there as an errant thought of Kraven's - it made perfect sense that he would realize he was taking on a race and not one, especially given Kraven's lack of self confidence since the beginning of the story. He is just beginning to develop and the first challenge he makes is to the biggest foe - a moment of combined bravado and stupidity, but so very Kraven. He wouldn't challenge someone he had no anger with.

The second detail was a stroke of genius, the puffing spine and odor emitted - you floored me with that one! I absolutely LOVE your attention to these tiny details, they make your stories come to life !!

Totally Awesome Write !!


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[Darkness Eternal]

mALX:Thanks mALX! I really really appreciate the kind words and feedback! The odor and the spine thing was something I read in one of the novels, I suppose. It explained that argonians often do that when angry or threatening someone. I am pleased that you noticed Kraven's first big step into being something a bit bigger than he was. More confident, I suppose. I do try to make this realistic in a way. . The argonian tribes thing was pretty interesting, since I was playing Morrowind and I noticed all those argonian slaves together. It makes sense they would be together even in those horrid times.

~Chapter Eighteen: "Reality Bruises Deeper Than The Flesh."~

It was late evening and the slaves were getting bathed in the short time that they could. They were free to roam the bath area and dining places until a certain time but after the sun had set, all slaves were locked into their quarters at night. If one disobeys the rules, they would be whipped and flayed for their rebelliousness. Shavaash was already in his cell, preparing for the night, pondering on what transpired in the evening hours ago with the human.

Shavaash was well-aware Polish-His-Spear was cruel to the lesser slaves for a reason. His stance would not be the same once they had proved themselves as he and Polish had done when they first arrived. Respect was given to those who earned it. The lack of respect he and Polish had for Kraven was due to the lack of respect that the Imperial had showed to them in the beginning. Now times were changing, and the Imperial did certainly show some skill against Nachael; he survived the longest in a duel against Polish, below Shavaash, of course. If Kraven proved himself in the challenges to come, certainly he would be granted a measure of admiration, but until then, he was lower than the dirt he spat upon.

The life of a slave was nothing below hardship and suffering; pain and agony, both emotionally and physically. If they were not laboring in the mines, the plantations or the training they were contemplating tragedy. It seemed everything he knew and loved was replaced by a bitter reality. And it always had been for those who became slaves. On the other hand, the ones who were born into servitude dreamt of a reality where freedom was granted and liberty was cherished rather than truly remembering the happier days of their lives. Shavaash had trouble discerning which cast of servant was truly cursed; ones who never experienced freedom and thus never were disappointed but yet dreamed with heart-aches or those who were free only to be given chains later on.

Slaves live different lives than their masters, someone once told him. Shavaash knew there was truth to that; they lived completely opposite lives. Not just gladiator and master, but as true men. Back in Elseweyr, there were servants who did their duty, but not to perform each and every bodily work for someone. From what he had heard, the Telvanni did not wash themselves, they did not dress themselves. They never cleaned anything, they never had cooked anything, their hands were unstained at all times. Shavaash could not imagine living his life in that manner. It did not even seem like life at all to him. Next thing he knew, they would ask to be wiped as infants would be upon defecating.

Polish-His-Spear entered the large slave cell, singing in his native language of Jel as his tail floated behind him. He had just taken a bath in the washing area of the slave building where the gladiators were kept. His scaled were bright and washed from the grime and sweat of training, though he still smelled as a wet lizard. He began searching for his poor set of clothes in his chest in the Southside of the quarters, just near his bunk bed. He was completely nude, sans any cloth on him save for the towel hanging from his shoulder.

The cell was indeed large and spacious, but grimly darkened. There were no windows save for a tiny one at the top of the entrance’s door. There two beds; a minor wooden one and a bunk bed. The only room that had them, as the others had bedrolls rather than their comfortable sleeping confines. There was a small table on the side that had a few stray pieces of cloth and that supported plates for the three warriors with two candles that served to illuminate the shadowy room. Other than the two candles, the only light that entered the chamber was the one coming from the small window at the door.

“A fine showing today, Polish. You should of let me fight the Imperial instead. I could of bested him blindfolded, stripped naked and absent a leg and one hand.“ Shavaash said.

“Kraven is beginning to show promise,” Polish remarked. “The man always rises. Such thing is to be admired. But what defeated him was his hubris. Something you should get rid of.”

“You have eyes for the Cyrodiil, now?” Shavaash scoffed, raising his brow. “You fancy the man?”

“Makes them wet as Rain’s Hand….” The Argonian sung, a smug grin on his face as he ignored Shavaash‘s comment. “We drink as the Hackwigs and Fleshflies soar!”

Shavaash was seated in the corner of the room, resting with legs stretched forth on the floor. He was already washed from his feet to his head, though he was not as enamored as Polish was when it came to water. The boy-loving Argonian obviously had enjoyed his time in the baths, teasing and rough-housing with the others of his kind. But as strong as he tried to make himself appear to the others, he could not hide his true self from his closest of friends and brothers.

As the Argonian sang the song he himself created, Shavaash only pondered on what he was truly feeling. For a man such as Polish, his history could never be ignored and forgotten. From what Oppress knew, Polish had a wife and a child back in Black Marsh before him and his tribe was captured and shipped to Tear. As strong as him and his tribesmen fought they were still unable to resist the Dunmeri raiders. His child died in the swamps, only months after from being a hatchling. His wife suffered injuries and died aboard before even reaching Morrowind. The emotional toll on Polish was too grand, but he masked it well. Most even assumed he had been a boy-lover from youth, but in fact his preferences were from the suffering he endured sometime ago.

El’Cateez came into the cell as Polish was dancing, swinging his manhood by shaking his hips and body. The stunned younger Khajiit could only stared in mild disbelief and disturbance as his face crunched into disgust.

“Hear me future foes of the arena! The song that is my victory! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!” The Argonian sang in unison as the noise. More or less as an immature child who drank a dose of Skooma.

“By the sands Polish, that is something I didn’t need to see.“ El’Cateez grumbled as he shielded his eyes. Despite his trying to look away, the sound of the lizard’s genital member smacking again his legs was very audible. El’Cateez could only bite his lip before bursting out in laughter. Polish joined in and continued to dance as a child, lifting a jug of water he kept nearby to pour into his mouth, acting as if he was a drunkard. The young cattish boy reluctantly joined in, dancing for apparently no reason other than the contagious joy of an Argonian jester.

Shavaash began to think on El’Cateez as well. The young Suthay was nothing but skin, fur and bones the moment he was sold away to Andrano’s stronghold. His past was on par with Polish’s. He was but a younger child at the time, sold by his own parents in order to bring food to their houses and water. Being one of the other offspring in the litter, his purchase brought great discomfort to the family, but was necessary loss, at least to them. Nevertheless, El’Cateez acted as if nothing had ever happened to him and he concealed his feelings well by looking up to Shavaash and Polish for guidance.

“We shall become gladiators! Gladiators! Ha! Aha! Wine! Coin! Women! And freedom!” Polish goaded the young khajiit into singing with him. Both now looked as prancing fools dancing and jesting as if they were in a drunkard’s theatrical play. Shavaash found it amusing, and he smiled to see them in such good spirits. But deep inside he knew that being a gladiator meant much more than promised splendor. Being a gladiator still meant being a slave, at least this is how it was done in Morrowind. It was the same deal, different currency; they traded a set of chains for another.

“Join us, Shavaash!” The younger Khajiit called out.

But the larger khajiit was lost in circumstance, pulled into his complicated mind. There was no more purpose in his life. The manner in which El’Cateez laughed and Polish smiled was truly a cherished thing in that moment. He came to realize that those who were truly free did not enjoy life as it was. Always complaining, chastising, whining and pouting. He regretted deeply that he did not smell the fresh air as strong as he should have done. Meditate on the beauty of nature as he should of did or laugh and dance with his family as he was supposed to do.

Ignorance is bliss, Shavaash reflected, but only when you never knew the truth to begin with. And the truth was that their fates would be the same. It did not matter if they were miners, plantation workers or gladiators…they would all die as slaves. The friends he knew for years, the bonds he shared and the brotherhood between them all would be shattered and missed the moment they breath their last breaths in the arena, Young El’Cateez could perish, Polish-His-Spears could perish, he himself could die against another gladiator.

“Shavaash Saran Oppress!” El’Cateez cried out in happiness. “Join us, brother!”

“He is of a somber mood ever since Tivela closed her legs at him.” Laughed Polish.

Tivela, Shavaash remembered. The beautiful daughter of Bratheru Andrano who summoned him out of all the others to share a bed with her. He wondered if he held any meaning to her other than to just sate her lascivious appetites. He never wanted to admit it, but the prospect of falling in love with a noblewoman was beyond gratifying. He even dreamt of her a few times as he slept. In honesty, he wasn’t sure if the idea of being free was his true love or the woman who could provide him such things. True, in history there were unions between Dark Elves and Khajiiti people but in a slave nation as Morrowind, such things were born of the impossible.

The reserved khajiit got to his feet, rousing more yells from the dancing duo. If he said anything about how he truly felt, he would surely put them into depression, for their reality would come to them sooner than anticipated. He felt compelled to do so, to wake them from their moment of ignorance. But then would such things be something a friend…a brother would do? To emotionally slap a trusted companion in the face when all they did was indulge in a moment of happiness in a world mired in excrement? This was the time where he wanted Andrano to begin giving away his “rewards”. Shavaash felt he could do nothing else but to drink as much wine and copulate with as many women as he possibly could, to drown away his secret sorrows which he kept hidden in quiet moments.

In slavery, holding onto the joys of being imbibed, sharing a bed with a woman and spending coin was similar to the habits of a free man. And if they could do it as servants, somehow blissfully living in base desires, they were touching a bit of that freedom. The truth lies therein. While he was no scholar or priest, he knew if there an afterlife for him, it would be in the twilight country of Moonshadow, the realm of Azurah(Azura). His mother promised so. At least there it is beauty that blinds a man, not ignorance. He prayed that after a lifetime of meager servitude, there would be meaning for him in the next one.

To keep his mouth busy from trembling with remorse, he grabbed a loaf of bread from the table and parted it in half to eat it. He handed the other to the sweating El’Cateez, who in turn received it with a rapid snatch as he twirled about. Sighing deeply, Shavaash sought to erase all signs of sadness and pity from his expression, for he did not seek to spoil the moment his greatest friends were having. He held the knowledge that in this long dangerous road, times of celebration would be seldom. Unlike the times where he failed to advantage of his freedom, Shavaash joined with his beastly brothers in a rejoicing dance…to step away from the inescapable reality of being a slave.

[Acadian]

Kraven has really made some great progress with both his fighting skill and confidence. Besting Nachael had to be a wonderful boost for him. The defeat by Polish was heart breaking – so close, yet so far away.

‘Shavaash had trouble discerning which cast of servant was truly cursed; ones who never experienced freedom and thus never were disappointed but yet dreamed with heart-aches or those who were free only to be given chains later on.’
This, like Shavaash’s earlier rumination about giving earned respect go a long way to develop him into much more than the brute he can sometimes appear to be on the surface.

Once joined by the other flopping members of his tent, it was interesting to get Shavaash’s take on their history.

[mALX]

This bears repeating twice:

Shavaash had trouble discerning which cast of servant was truly cursed; ones who never experienced freedom and thus never were disappointed but yet dreamed with heart-aches or those who were free only to be given chains later on.

Powerful insight into what makes Shavaash tick in this chapter - Awesome Write !!!

[Colonel Mustard]

Excellent part; I love how you've managed to set Shavaash up as a well-established character with his own realistic motivations and goals (which seem to be rather similar to Kraven's...) and that was a great piece of looking into what makes him tick. In fact, the way you've been taking the time to flesh out Kraven's rivals is something I'm liking a lot as well; makes things much more interesting than a simple black-and-white 'they're the bad guys and he's the good guy' take on a story.

[Darkness Eternal]

Acadian: The little man seems to be progressing along. It was a boost, which obviously served to result in his ego going a bit too high. Thanks. Shavaash indeed is more than just a brute. I would say he’s more of a man trying to escape his reality of being a slave. He’s more of a slave that fights for his fleeting moments of grandeur; attention of women, wine to drink away, etc. More or less trying to hide himself from reality using self abuse. At least that is what he seeks to do.

MALX: Thanks! Many things makes Shavaash tick, but that is one of them.

Colonel Mustard: Thank you, sir. I would say each and every main character has their own set of motivations and personalities. As for Shavaash’s motivations, they indeed may be similar to Kraven’s, but also different. As I mentioned above, freedom is something he would love to have, but he won’t risk it away in a “meaningless” escape. Kraven on the other hand will fight for freedom, but through the course of the story his intentions of being free might take a large turn for other motivations that will be contrast to Shavaash and the others. Indeed, their rivalry will be much more than “black and white” or “good or evil”. The stronghold is not a city of angels, per se . Each of them will have their negatives and their positives that will skirt them in the grey area.