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

[Darkness Eternal]

"Touch of a woman" can mean many things. I am not a spoiler-giving type of guy, not that much anyways. But Kraven did feel the touch of a woman, but never went "all the way". If you know what I mean. Like you said "almost nearly".

And I thought no one would catch that. His last name Shavaahs Opress. Don't worry, he's not a carbon copy from the Clone Wars character.

Lady Saga:I wonder too. While I won't say Morrowind is like Pandora, it does have an alien feel to it. Giant mushrooms and fungus and giant tree-houses mixed with middle eastern influences and a few other things.

[mALX]

"Touch of a woman" can mean many things. I am not a spoiler-giving type of guy, not that much anyways. But Kraven did feel the touch of a woman, but never went "all the way". If you know what I mean. Like you said "almost nearly".

Er...as Bill Clinton may say, "Define sex...I did not have sex with that woman..."

This post has been edited by mALX: May 4 2012, 07:22 PM

[McBadgere]

Fair enough...Thought it might be something like that...After I'd thought a few seconds more... ...

And the Opress thing...Don't worry about it...I'm only joking with ya...I only caught it 'cause the boy loves Clone Wars...He's on a 2 hour marathon right now... ...Hence why I'm sitting here going though all of these in the headphones... ...

It's just a name...And a good one at that...Well done...Love it...

[Acadian]

This was a nice little respite (as in no one got hit, kicked or whipped ) as you show us some more about the nature of these characters via their actions and dialogue.

We have a good feel for the Bosmer brothers and now, the big Khajiit and his spear-poishing Argonian friend. A little more of a glimpse into the promiscuous daughter and we’re even getting to learn a bit more of the mysterious plantation owner. And of course your development of Kraven continues to be great.

[Darkness Eternal]

Note: I have no internet at home now, so I will be a bit slow on updates and feedbacks. I will have to spend at least two hours catching up on everyone else's story. Now, this update here is a bit..erotic. As hard as it is to believe, I tried to make it as "clean" as possible

~Chapter Nine: Summoned For Pleasure~

In the darkness of the slave shack, Shavaash tossed and turned on his hammock, trying desperately to get a measure of sleep. The snoring and flatulence from the other two slaves was enough to keep him up. One of the reasons why he hated those Bosmers. They did not even work as hard as he did and they were yet granted a small building to retreat to when their work was done. At least the slaves here do not give them peace, he thought. Because none is deserved.

For too long the Khajiit and the Bosmeri tribes had battled each other in the Five Year War. And while some were innocent in the conflict, some were entirely guilty and responsible. He remembered Daenlin and his brother stood among the scouts who fought in the skirmishes on the borders of Torval. It was an odd coincidence that two members of opposing tribes were sold to the same master.

And now the newcomer to the slave cast, Kraven, arrived some time ago. The man was decent sized, and with a voice that sounded as if he spoke within a bucket. If he had kept his mouth shut and did as his superiors commanded, he would have been spared a beating. A punishment that could have been far worse if the guards did not interfere. At least there was a damn Imperial among th slaves. The Empire did nothing to abolish slavery, their efforts not enough. It was good that one of their own could experience what it means to be a servant.

“No sleep, Shavaash?” The raspy voice of Polish-His-Spear inquired.

“El'Cateez overate his fill of porridge. The smell of it escapes his backside and seeps into my nightmares.” Shavaash whispered.

There was a comical snort coming from the Argonian. “You would not last a week in my lands, then. My old village is surrounded by a gassy swamp.”

“Khajiit are not bred for swamplands. As your kind is not bred for Elsweyr. Our sands would scorch the feet of any water-bred creature.”

The Saxhleel sighed, pushing the wall with his feet so he could swing on the hammock. “You ever dream about returning to your home? To return to your family?”

He thought for a moment, feline eyes searching the ceiling…or perhaps something more. Memories? “We all do at a certain point.”

“There are moments where I have visions that me and my people are free. At times I am in a massacre against the Dark-skins. Our feet marching upon the ash…like the drums of battle.”

“Dreams, Polish. Not visions. We are not worthy of any visions. We’re slaves. The gods and the Daedra forsake us enough already.”

“I believe one day we can be free. You and I together. Returning to our lands…living as free men do.” Polish-His-Spear continued.

“You are a fool.” Shavaash said nonchalantly.

“You both are fools! For not keeping your mouths shut and eyes closed when presented opportunity.” El’Cateez, another Khajiit slave, suddenly blurted out angrily. He did not bother lifting his head from the pillow.

Shavaash closed his mouth, more out of sleepiness than respect. Polish had also taken to slumber, quickly falling to sleep. His snoring also grew louder, joining with El’Cateez, forming an obnoxious musical duo.

As his tail wagged back and forth out of boredom and irritation, Shavaash stared at the ceiling while resting his hands behind his head. He heard a scrib crawling around nearby as well, though he didn’t think much of it. Then in that moment he heard the door open, and in the sound he sat up quickly. His ears perked up as fresh air swept in the room. Standing outside was a large silhouette, presumably one of the muscular orc mercenaries . A shadowy hand beckoned at him. He tilted his head. Was this really happening? Is it not Fridas? Last time he checked, he did not work that day. But he feared if he didn’t, the whip would devour his back. Sighing greatly, Shavaash swung his legs over the hammock and forced himself to stand up. He snatched a clay cup of water from the top of the crate to sate his nocturnal thirst.

The brutish khajiit poured the water down his throat by holding the cup high above his head, as a water. After the water fell, he carelessly tossed away the clay cup toward his bed as he marched out into the exit of his shack. What in the name of Azura do I have to do now? Face punishment for beating that human slave?

He stepped out, scratching his hardened stomach. The Orc closed the door behind him, slowly as if not attempting to awake anyone. The green Mer walked on toward the giant Telvanni stronghold, looking back to see if Shavaash was following. The khajiit quickened his pace as he caught up. It was too dark, but his eyes could see in shadow just as well as he could in the day. The twin bodies stood high, both in their fullest and their brightest, illuminating the world below. For a sad moment, Shavaash thought about home. And his people.

Awaiting just at the entrance of the large tree-like building was a hooded figure. Shavaash could not tell if it was male or female, as it was heavily shrouded by thick layers of clothing. Though undoubtedly rich. He assumed it was one of the house maidens.

Unwilling to ask, Shavaash did not speak at all. He only observed. The Orc nodded at the hooded individual, and the cloaked figure nodded back. And after the gestures, the Orc returned to his duties while the figure motioned for Shavaash to follow forth into the building.

There were many doors and structures of the Telvanni stronghold, though the one he entered was linked to the Imperial-styled building, made from brick and stone. As he entered past the doors, the figure locked it with a set of keys. Then the concealed one pulled back the hood, revealing a young fresh face of a Redguard woman.

Feeling more comfortable around other slaves than he did one of the castellans, he finally broke words. “Why am I summoned at this hour?”

“It is better if you do not ask questions. But the mistress will want to see you. Do not speak until spoken to, and do not look around too much. Keep your head down at all times.”

What does the mistress want with a khajiit? “I do not require lessons, maiden. I know where I am.”

“Then follow me.” She said rapidly as she quickly led the man around the fortress through flights of stairs and hallways, finally entering a completely new corridor made of organic material. As the sight, the smell had also changed. Spice and scented flowers, wines and opium all conveyed a picture of tidiness and wealth. Shavaash, hailing from his lands, was not estranged by these smells. He recalled a similar scent in ancient brothers and the palaces in Elsweyr.

He was led into a room where he saw many other slaves, young and old women, presumably the maidens. They were all gathered, standing nearby a bath made of stone. The clear water was filtered through small holes on the walls, water falling down onto the thigh-deep bath.

“Remove your clothes, Khajiit.”

All the other women stared at him. Shavaash tried to contain a smile. Is this really happening to me? Perhaps the gods have blessed me He did as he was told, dropping his garments to the ground as he stepped forth onto the bath. It did not take long for the grime and dust to be washed off of him. From head to tail to feet, he was completely bathed. The twenty minute wash transformed the once-clear water into a black sea of dirt. And as he stepped out, he felt both smooth and rough hands grace his fur with smelly plants of different kinds. One of them told him to open his mouth, shoving a handful of scented herbs for him chew on. It gave his mouth a strange feeling, almost as if stars sprinkled his tongue and teeth. He felt like a young boy again, being prepared for a Khajiiti ceremony. Only difference is that he now was a man, and his ceremony is more personal.

*****

Tivela waited in her room, dressed in an exotic and silky nightgown of the finest quality. A small shrine of Dibella stood before the mirror on the south side of the room. A beautiful queen-sized bed, blanketed with the cover made from soft leopard’s fur, stood as ready as she did. She hoped it would not insult the khajiit, with the consideration that he was also feline. The man himself appeared at the door, grouped by her personal slaves. As she predicted, he kept looking around in curiosity. His tail sweeping the ground behind him. She could detect the scents on his fur, though he was not oiled at all, but simply washed in water and sload soap and bathed in scent-changing foliage. She was more than excited! She finally will get to sleep with a khajiit!

From the moment she laid eyes on him, she could see the leadership and the manliness radiating off of his flesh. While he bore a few scars along his hardened body, the man himself was the most attractive beast-man she ever saw. And the inflated tales of Khajiiti men in bed was legendary. She even dreamt of it. And now, her heart quickened nearly jumping off of her chest at the thought. I have him all for myself now, she thought. The maidens were dismissed from the room, their ignorant giggles sounding off from the halls.

She approached the one called Shavaash, her eyes looking into his. He partially grinned as she swept up closer, hips rocking as she slightly danced herself out of her gown. Her physical appearance, coupled with the Telvanni bug-musk, made her in the likeness of a goddess. From his stare, and his not so timid manhood, she knew he was already attracted to her.

“Tell me, Khajiit. Do you know why I summoned you?”

He nodded slowly. “I do.”

She circled around him, touching his shoulders, reaching to his back and to his long heavy tail. She then walked back to the front, feeling his chest and everything below. “If any word of this escapes your tongue, it will be cut out. And you will also lose what defines you as a man. Am I clear on this?”

Shavaash widened his eyes. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, mistress.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled his body closer to hers, and forced their mouths to meet. He made a startled sound. She softened her grip and licked the enticing curves of his. The sound he made told her he was aroused, as she was. He tilted his head and his mouth separated from hers. His strong arms slid around her back. Tivela was unable to contain her moan. And Shavaash answered with a similar sound of his own. His swam across her shiny short hair. He then dragged his claws across her head and the kiss had grew deeper, slow but hard. He tasted of fresh and of mentha.

An ocean of fever consumed her skin. Tivela had to touch him, had to grab him. She held onto his shoulders moving her legs so that they could catch his thighs. His went rigid, then collapsed forward. He slowly pushed her onto the foot of the bed, his groin being introduced to hers. Shavaash was unable to conceal his arousal. His solid, barbed and prickly member launched within her. Tivela then racked his back with her nails, holding onto his firm buttocks just near his tail.

“By Azura,” Shavaash said at last, breaking free from to kiss to breath in some air. He looked into her crimson eyes. Searching for something. He will stop, she thought. He thinks I am a crazy harlot. But he did not say a word. He swallowed, jaw line strong and sturdy. His head lowered forward. Their breath met and they kissed once more, much harder than before. It was a longing kiss. His teeth gave bruises to her lips. His hand crawled toward her soft rump, grabbing and squeezing them. His other caressed her stomach smoothing the way up to her perfectly sized breasts. He cupped the left one, holding the soft tissue within his hand.

“Yes!“ she whispered, clutching him. “Enter me,”

A command his member was surely eager to follow. And so he did as commanded, without pause. Hard. She yelped, gasping in pleasure. The pressure had risen, insanely high. The ecstasy was beyond intense, but the pain was impossibly strong. He grabbed her sides with a strong grip, and heaved fast and hard, purring as a beast. But the sudden rush and amazing pain suddenly faded. She felt his member slide away from her in a single instant. Do not stop! She thought angrily. Why have you stopped?

The Khajiit pulled away from between her legs, unable to withhold his seed. Already?! She thought furiously.

“I am sorry,” he began. “I…we can...”

She waved her hand in dismissal. To oblivion with your apologies, she fumed. Quickly jumping off of her bed, wiping the sweat from her brow. She knelt to collect her clothing, furiously summoning her handmaiden. “Elsavia!”

Not a minute later, Elsavia entered the room. “Shavaash and I are finished. Please, escort him back to the slave quarters.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Shavaash was quickly taken away from her chambers, his large member diminishing. He kept looking back, confused, mesmerized, ashamed? She could not read the expression on his face. But hers was loud and clear; she was disappointed. How can a man so large in physical size climax so quickly? The tales of Khajiiti men were greatly exaggerated, it seemed. Or perhaps the fault lies with the man himself and not the entire stock. She sighed angrily, with frustration. What a tragic shame! My father seldom leaves the house and when I get an opportunity such as this, it returns to spit upon my face in mocking tone! Is there no other slave more worthy of my time!?

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 12 2012, 11:33 PM

[Acadian]

Can’t a cat get any sleep around here? Work all day, then pull the night shift as well only to get yelled at.

Love how Shavaash's bath darkened the whole tub of water!

‘Is there no other slave more worthy of my time!? ‘
I wonder how long it will be before Tivela has the Imperial cleaned, oiled and fetched to her chambers for duty.

[McBadgere]

Oo-er!! ...

Brilliantly done there...

Loved the quiet talk before he was dragged away...And then when he was dragged away...Wha-hey!!...

Brilliantly done...Excellently...Um...Handled... ...

Awww...We can always try again in a while?...Bless him... ...

A brilliant chapter...Well done!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...



"Khajiit is quicker than the wind"...

"Yes, that's the problem isn't it?"...

This post has been edited by McBadgere: May 14 2012, 06:38 AM

[mALX]

LOVED this chapter! You could have written Barenziah's story and done it justice, Awesome Write !!! Tivela's final question may be answered with Kraven, lol. AWESOME WRItE !!!!

[Darkness Eternal]

Acadian:Always the first, I see . Yes, poor Shavaash had a long day, and a bit of a quickie in the nocturnal hours. His darkening of the water made sense, since he is a very dirty individual(No pun).

Mcbadgere:Thanks. I wanted to skip to the sex scene, but I realized it would be unwise. It was better to establish Shavaash's and Polish's bromance moment. Yes, they're still a bunch of bullies. But you get me

mALX:Thanks!!! You suspect the same as Acadian . I think it may be sometime before our future champion is called up to do some domestic work...or maybe not. We'll see. But the arena thing will happen very soon. I don't want to rush it, so I want to make it a bit flexible.

[Darkness Eternal]

~Chapter Ten: Vivec City Headaches~

The air was flowing through Andrano’s short hair, sending chills through his head and face. His red eyes shooting to the landscape below him as he sat in the moving creature above the skies. He did not say a word to the caravaner save for the introduction and the destination. The Dunmer noble set his foot above his belongings as he tried to sleep for the remainder of the trip. It was a simple ride that would take him two days, perhaps even three depending on the weather. Even so, he found that mounting on a Silt Strider was much more comfortable than riding a Pack Guar.

The Silt Strider stood as giant arthropods that were over sixty feet in height, and were cherished for their ability to provide civilian transport throughout the province in connected networks stretching between towns and cities. It was a regular creature, considered odd and peculiar by outsiders. Tourists to Vvardenfell would look upon the flying animal with disgust and awe, and even curiosity. The Strider has a hollowed out shell which bore exposed organs and tissues, allowing for the pilot(or caravener) to take control and maneuver the beast around the air. Most Telvanni did not use Silt Striders as a means of transport, since none of the Telvanni towns stood at those routes. Yet Andrano was not heading to Tel Aruhn or Tel Branora. He was heading to Vivec City.

For a long, extended time after leaving his stronghold, Bratheru sat motionless in the Silt Strider, eyes now shutting, resting his head against the wall of the Strider’s shell. The passing wind graced his face; he didn't feel it. Nix-Hounds barked and Cliff Racers screeched, sounding off their appetites and animal tendencies; he didn't hear them. This was now the second day of his travel, and the sounds of the world around him had all but tuned out from his range of attention; he didn't care.

He was more concerned with his life than simple things around him. He allowed his daughter to take care of the house for him in his absence, something he felt he would regret. But there were important matters to attend to, such as the procuring coin and overseeing the progress of his gladiators in Vivec City. Yes, his daughter’s body was changing, as any young woman would. It was a universal thing, as all youth of every race faced temptation and carnal desires. In a part, he thanked Azura that her daughter was not a trollop, seeking to spread her legs to allow any man to enter. That would taint his family name and his honor, though he would be a hypocrite to speak of honor in regards that the name Telvanni cannot mix in that sense. In other part, he felt he would never have grandchildren due to his daughter’s love for her own gender. He did not care much what she did with the slaves, as long as it wasn’t abnormal.

He suspected her mother’s exit of the family was the cause of her different desires, the divorce had probably traumatized the poor girl. And in that fact, Tivela was uninterested in ancient artifacts, magics and wizardry, excluding the Great Houses from her subject of interests. Sacrificing them for stories of love and adventure, old tales of Dibella and her arts. He was disappointed. If only I had sired a son…such things could have been different.

It was afternoon already, and Andrano was wide awake, eating his fill and drinking his water that he had brought along with him. In the near distance, large fungus stood high as giant mushrooms that dotted the land. Farther, cloaked in the brown haze, he was able to spot spires that made up the ziggurat of Vivec Palace and the archipelago structure that was Vivec City.

Named after one of the living gods of Morrowind, the holy city housed the deity himself in the metropolis. It was no coincidence that the city stood the greatest town in the lands of the Dunmer, comprised of big structures named cantons, each settlement unique and different. Each of them intersected with bridges made of the same stonework, birthing water canals which flowed between them. Approximately three stories high, the highest level bore manors and blessed traders, while the lower levels belched the less prosperous and more of the simple merchants and dregs.

Andrano chose to skip his trip to the Telvanni Canton, instead he chose to take himself to the Arena District in the great city. After an hour of paying a tip to the caravener, Andrano walked for fifteen minutes on land until he reached the entrance of the holy city. As he stepped forth, he looked onto the grand settlement itself, seeing a great number of people both native and foreign to the city. In every block the Ordinators policed the streets, keeping their eyes open for any potential lawbreakers and threats to peace, while also seeking out enemies of the Tribunal. Fortunately for him, he was no dissident to the Temple. He kept to his own, as he should. His main concern was at this time, his gladiators. And so he made his way to the Arena Canton.

Bratheru reached the large gates of the Arena hall. From the outside he could hear the endless cheer and howls of the crazed spectators, and the clashing of swords. Eager to see who was fighting, he opened the door and entered. The Arena Canton was a buzzing wilderness of merchants, gamblers and blood-thirsty spectators. Bookies handled bets and coins while the vendors sold food and merchandise to the excited people. Souvenirs made of clay and other material, often small statuettes of the gladiators themselves or paintings of the best duels that had been documented.

The smell of blood, cooked foods and sweat was all around. The faint odor, however, did not bother a man who was surrounded by slaves. He looked around his familiar settings, gazing at the covered roof of the establishment. The giant dome housed hundreds of people, and a large pit in the center that would bind men, women and beast to their destined fate. While larger than the arena in Hammerfell, it was considerably smaller than the ones in Cyrodiil such as Kvatch and the one in the Imperial City. Nevertheless, the Arena in Vivec City was large enough to host a beautiful showing.

Presently at that moment, two fighters battled each other for victory, A Dunmer and a High Elf. He recognized the Dunmer as one of his own warriors, Jarkadyus Scourge of the Ascadian. The other was an unknown warrior, possibly from House Redoran. The Dark Elf, Jarkadyus, was equipped with a small round shield and a Steel Broadsword. He also was encased in chitin armor, which was both durable and light. The Altmer fought with a steel wakizashi, and was severely protected with a raiment made of iron. Yet Andrano knew the Altmer was severely outmatched.

The Nobleman kept his gaze at the match, trying to analyze the possible death of his adversarie's man. He did not anticipate an interruption, one that came too soon for him to realize.

"Ehem..." a timid male voice said. "Lord Andrano."

Bratheru turned to see a bookie he knew as Lashun. A Breton of high quality and intelligence, Lashun was fit for the job, and was hired to deal with bets. With his fox-like appearance, braided goatee and his short pony-tail, Lashun stood out among the others of his kind. If someone wanted to make a bet or collect payment, they speak to him. He was also responsible for notifying the gladiators of their next fights and who they were going to battle.

"What of my men, Lashun?" Bratheru said with a welcoming tone. He was fond of the Breton, for he was always honest and loyal. But he was never a brown-nosing boot-licker. And that alone had earned him Andrano's respect.

From the Breton's stance and his cautious expression, Andrano saw that something was wrong. "Akabertu fell last night at the axe of the Nordic warrior, Singrid. Hegavax was slain by Gro-Grash the Orc. Kelbo lost his life from sickness. You are only left with Jarkadyus, Velashaa, and Thraccenia."

A scowl crawled on Andrano's face, twisting his wrinkles about as he stared angrily at the Breton. "And how many on the opposing sides?"

Lashun cleared his throat, checking the parchment once again, scanning the ink with his keen eyes. "House Redoran employed seven of their greatest warriors to fight against the free-lancing gladiators from the southern lands. The recent resurrected Deathbringers and War Eagles from Hammerfell number to eleven combatants, both skilled and well-trained."

Andrano could not believe what he was hearing. I am stuck with three gladiators? Three! In a single week my warriors were slain.Too enraged to even speak, Bratheru ignored the cheers of the crowd and the victory of his own man. What am I to do?

"I must speak to Krognak at once! He is no longer going to train my gladiators." Raged Andrano.

"I am sorry, Sera," Lashun said. "Krognak fled the province as soon as Hegavax lost his head. I sent a message to you as soon as it happened, but I fear it did not reach in time."

"Argh! Do the gods not piss on me enough already? They give me a woman-loving daughter, lame workers and incopetent trainers who flee with tails between legs! What is next? A sweeping plague upon my body?"

Lashun lowered his head, his gesture was an attempt to try and sympathize with the nobleman. "There is someone that can be of service."

Andrano looked at him and spoke in poetic sarcasm. "Speak! Shower the flames of my dissapointments with sprinkles of hope!"

Other people began to shout at the match concluded, most pointing at Lashun and making an attempt to summon him by calling out his name, to settle the bet and to collect their winnings. The Breton raised his hand to try and calm the multitude. He looked back at Andrano, nodding with a smile. "There is a man I knew from Hammerfell. A warrior from Mesopada. He comes in response to invitation, to watch the games."

"He can fight for me." Andrano concluded.

"His name is Jumba. And he fought in the sands of Hammerfell. He was also a gladiator of fierce renown in those parts. But he no longer fights in games."

Andrano puckered his lips in an angry fashion, raising his hands to the air. "I am to sip drink with the man and speak to him of past glories? What worth is this Jumba to me, then?"

The Breton motioned for Andrano to follow him as he quickly tried to seek refuge from the barks of the mob that wished to collect their winnings. Bratheru followed behind closely, his green robes fluttering about as he rushed after the Lashun.

"He cannot fight for you," said Lashun. "But he is a trainer of gladiators. And often the best. I am sure you heard of Thalaxos of Whiterun, Erralor of the Summerset Isles and Grasha of Orsinium were all trained by his hand and they were the best of Vivec City. He can train your gladiators for a small fee. No one else but you and I are aware of his presence in the city."

Andrano sighed. He was tired of having his mercenaries trained over and over due to their habits of leaving unnoticed. Most had always concluded their services to him, easily promised with greater coin in other adventures in Daedric ruins or other Provinces. He would waste his fortune just training the countless replaceable mercenaries that came and went. He needed true warriors, men who would be enflamed with a cause to fight. Fighters that would hold onto a promise, a promise that could motivate their every battle. He had a stock of these people back at the stronghold. A batch of hardened males.

"My slaves," Andrano said, smiling. "I can have some of my slaves trained for the gladiatorial arts. I have Khajiiti and Bosmeri warriors, and Argonian spearmen. They can be tried and tested and killed. Expendable."

Lashun stroked the twisted hair beneath his chin. "You are sure of this? Giving slaves weapons and training them for battle is a bad idea."

"I know just how to handle the situation." Bratheru grinned widely.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 22 2012, 11:05 PM

[Acadian]

A wonderful trip to the Vivec Arena. I enjoyed the tour and insights into travel and wildlife in Morrowind. It was fun, along the way, to hear Andrano’s thoughts about his daughter and how far off base he is.

We see graceful but notable progress on what might be ahead for Kraven and how his path may cross with the Arena. It seems Andrano might hire a gladiator trainer for some of his slaves.

I do confess some confusion over a couple areas within this episode. Both took place during Andrano’s encounter with the bookie. I was disoriented by the name Bratheru. Eventually I came to suspect it is Andrano’s first name? Similarly, unless I missed something, you referred to Lashun as a Bosmer in a couple places and as a Breton in several others. Since Breton references outnumbered the Bosmer ones, I’m guessing he is a Breton?

[mALX]

Wait, did I just read that the father knows Tivela has been "sleeping" with the slaves? And also knows she is drawn to women? What is she keeping it secret and in his away times for then? This chapter feels like a foretelling of Kraven's return to the Arena - Awesome Write !!!!

PS: The description of the Silt Strider grossed me out pretty badly right after eating a baked potato with diced ham and cheese ... urk...bleah..., lol.

This post has been edited by mALX: May 16 2012, 02:15 AM

[McBadgere]

So, right, you sit next to its organs?... ...*Shudders*...

The scenery of the journey was well done, and loved the feel of the arena...

Must have been a total b!tch having to keep replacing Gladiators when they died... ...

Excellent chapter...Had visions of Batiatus in there...Brilliant stuff mate...

Loved it...

Although, I got confused by the Breton/Bosmer thing, I did wonder if there was two people at one point... ...Hey-ho, I suspect your limited time on the internet is messing up yer editing... ...Other than that...Brilliant stuff...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[Lady Saga]

I'll be honest. Chapter 9 disgusted me. Yiich! I"m not saying it's bad; just saying that as a story, it's doing what it's supposed to do: cause a reaction. It certainly did this in my case!

Was relieved to read Chapter 10, and get away from that awful slave camp! I have a feeling I know what's gonna come next.

This post has been edited by Lady Saga: May 16 2012, 07:37 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Well, I'll be honest, I ended up skipping past a good chunk of chapter 9 there; not because you're writing was bad, mind, but just because I'm not really keen on the whole erotic stuff. That's just me, though, so it's an entirely subjective critique that you can safely ignore.

Chapter 10 was an enjoyable read, and a nice setup for the scene in the prologue. I'll be intriguiged to see how Kraven manages to get himself picked as a gladiator seeing as the main contenders currently seem to be most of the Khajiit slaves, Polish-His-Spear and Shavaash of the Severly Bruised Ego. Currently Kraven hasn't really been noticed, though then again he hasn't done much that is noticable.

[Lady Saga]

Well, I'll be honest, I ended up skipping past a good chunk of chapter 9 there; not because you're writing was bad, mind, but just because I'm not really keen on the whole erotic stuff.

One thing I would like to add, and this goes for all the stories I've read here so far, and probably most stories at similar sites all over the Internet, is that it's interesting to read stuff that hasn't been censored by a publisher. Know what I mean?


The erotic stuff, while it disgusted me, at least is being told straight from the writer's mind, with no form of censorship from a 2nd or 3rd party. I'd rather be disgusted by something that's really being told as it happened, than a dumbed-down version of the same story that has been affected by an invisible editor.

[Darkness Eternal]

Acadian:I realized the mistake only after. You must hate me for accidentally comitting these errors. I was going to make Lashun a Bosmer, but since we have two of those in the story already, I figured I made him a Breton. And they make good diplomats.

Bratheru Andrano is his full name, I just wanted to avoid writing the first name all the time all the time. Indeed, things will move along for Kraven and the slaves.

mALX:It was written that Andrano suspects that Tivela might be doing something with the slaves, but he is convinced her desires lay solely on members of the same gender. He thinks she does not like men. So Tivela took advantage of that to her benefit by sneaking in male slaves. Considering the Dunmer are racist to an extent and very strict, she knows the risk of doing so under her father's house Imagine her offspring being the product of a lowly slave! The horror to Telvanni honor! But the Telvanni themselves are largely free in what they do, and they can get away with what they can get away with. Silt Striders are nasty things, aren't they? Yucky.

McBadgere: Thanks. Yes, you sit by the organs. Think of it as a public bus without the roof, though it can breathe and eat. In regards to replacing gladiators, yes, it was a burden I reckon. In the old times though, like in Ancient Rome, gladiators did not die all the time. There was a period where both combatants walked away alive from the battle if they both displayed a good showing. The slave masters and owners of gladiator ludii knew the cost of training and replacing their gladiators. So there was indeed rules within the fights. Though yes, many times there were fights to the death at the demands of the crowd.

Lady Saga:Hehe, seems I get that a lot when I write the erotic and sexual parts of a tale. Don't worry, the slave camp won't be there for too long, as there will be other locations. Hey, the prologue is in the Imperial City arena, greatest arena in Tamriel! I think the publisher's won't stalk around too much, so many things can go unmodified and uncensored(Except the use of vulgar words).

Colonel Mustard: No problem friend, we all have our own tastes when it comes to reading. Fortunate for you, there won't be too many sexual chapters in this story. And thanks a lot! That is what I am aiming for, Kraven's progression to becoming a seasoned gladiator. The underdog theme, though original it may be, can be used in this scenario .


OOC: A bit long, but I promise next chapter will be a bit smaller . Yes, I know, the bullying can get tiresome. Not much for this chapter, though. But things will run along, I promise. I already wrote some juicy fighting chapters

~Chapter Ten: A Ruined Breakfest~

Morning sunshine brightened down from a blue and fair-clouded sky, a welcome difference from Morrowind's stormy weather. It was early in the morning for the slaves to take part in the breakfast. At this time of hour, slaves were given food to eat in the morning for the sole purpose to keep their minds sharp and their bodies full of energy so their work can produce favorable results. Yet today was Loredas, and no work was going to be given that day. For the first time, Kraven would spend an entire day on break.

He took himself toward the kitchen area, stretching his legs with each passing step. Other slaves were beginning to leave their pens as well. To his chagrin, he could see Shavaash and Polish-His-Spear walking side by side to each other. The Argonian laughed heartedly while the Khajiit kept his angered expression to a maximum, frowning even as his Argonian comrade placed his arms over his shoulder to cheer the vexed cat. The Imperial tried to hurry his way to get his morning meal before it was soiled, but a touch on the arm halted him.

“Friend! Why you in hurry?” Dangor said in poor Cyrodiilic. Daenlin spoke to another slave in the distance, but his mannerisms suggested he was speeding up his conversation to reach his brother.

“I seek to fill my belly with food before it is tainted by sand.” Kraven replied, keeping his eye on the dining table in the kitchen area. While it was no banquet, it did indeed seem a marvel to look at by hungry slaves.

“Wait for me,” Daenlin shouted. “We eat together!”

If there was anyone who helped him tolerate this place, it was Daenlin and his brother. For the days that he was there, they were the ones whom he respected and began to regard as friends. It made his time there worth the while.

His smile turned to disappointment when he spotted Shavaash stepping up behind the table to serve the slaves. He suspected this was another ill jest meant to spite him, Dangor and Daenlin. But he considered the way the other slaves were being fed. If they ate the food, then there was nothing to worry about, he convinced himself. As the three approached the table, they grabbed the empty bowls. They were all greeted by Shavaash, who smiled generously as he lifted a large spoon overflowing with porridge. His eyes yellow with intensity, jumping to the three friends. “Today is not the day for quarrel. Eat your fill, brothers.”

The Imperial was confused at the act of charity, but he was famished enough to accept anything. Kraven gave Daenlin a heedful glance, who in turn shared the same look. It seemed the Bosmer was also perplexed by the gesture. Handing over the bowl toward Shavaash, Kraven patiently awaited the Suthay’s service.

Shavaash‘s smile morphed into a disgusted look in an instant. He shoved the large pot of porridge to the ground with his . The metal fell atop of his feet, while Shavaash flicked the spoon, sending the remaining porridge to the dirty ground along with the overflowing black pot. The slaves in the tables once again began laughing, cheering loudly as they did last time. Shavaash raised his arm into the air and cried out triumphantly. The prideful khajiit shoved his way past the angry trio to greet Polish-His-Spear with a shake of the arm.

Fuming with anger, Kraven marched off back to his slave shack, knowing well there was dust-filled water and stale bread awaiting him. And as always, he was followed by the two brothers, who were immeasurably more frustrated than him, considering they had dealt with these problems for years and now they had felt for it. He heard the footsteps behind him, and spoke over his shoulder. His rage overtook his conscious, controlling his tongue, which spoke more than it should have.

“This will not go on for much longer." He spat on the ground, speaking in a threatening tone.

“Human fault we no get food. Shavaash hate us more now that we walk with Kraven.” Dangor complained.

Kraven chose to ignore Dangor’s bitter comment. But he couldn’t help but realize that his company increased the tension between them. When he finally reached the slave housing, Kraven stopped at the wooden door. “I shall retreat to my bed.”

Daenlin looked at him. “But you just awakened.”

“I seek a distraction. Some sleep is desired when food is denied. I would fare better in my dreams than endure a minute longer in my reality.” Kraven clarified, opening the door to his small cottage. He did not hide his hostile feelings toward everything. Dangor kept the door open from closing by itself, while the other ran inside.

The slave shack in which Kraven lived decent sized. There was room for three people to sleep in, equipped with three hammocks. Two in the south corner and one in the north. In the far side of the house in the center was a table which came along with a wooden bench. His bore few candles and meager food.

“Nice room,” Daenlin nodded, holding his hands on his hips. “Ours is better.”

“I care not for the quality of abodes.”

Dangor closed the door behind him, keeping the three in the same room once again. Daenlin swiftly jumped atop of the hammock, freely swinging on it as he yawned loudly. “ Of course not, all you care for is freedom.”

Sitting down on the bench, the human took a piece of mold-encrusted bread. His chin wrinkled in disgust at the green fungi that crawled over the food. He exhaled and threw the bread across the room. He yelled. “I desire freedom! I desire to return to my lands, not toil beneath the sun and the dust. I wish to feast on roasted foods, not be spurned by slaves who hold themselves as gods!”

“Calm yourself, calm yourself. The less you complain, the better,” Daenlin smiled, chewing on a piece of grass he received from the kitchen. “The Big Cat’s tease was a new one. But not to worry, we will rectify this food problem very soon.”

Kraven kept his mouth clamped, allowing Daenlin to explain further intentions.

“Tomorrow I shall speak to you after the evening has passed. The cook always prepares the around five o’clock, we can be done by then. Just pray that you are in good condition in the mines.”

“We are to eat before the other slaves?” Asked Kraven with naivety.

Daenlin and Dangor exchanged looks once more, snickering at each other. “Yes, something like that.”

Kraven frowned. Whatever they were planning was beyond his knowledge, but he did not press any further. He was still feeling bitter over his ruined breakfast, and even more so at the others laughing at him. He leaned back, sighing. He wondered of the state of his mother, and his farm and his dog back home. And so he reminisced of the times of his youth. He told stories, and shared them with the Bosmers for the remainder of the morning and afternoon.

For a moment, his stress was relieved by the jokes told and secrets about his master was revealed. Andrano and his bad habit of gambling in the arena, and overseeing the training of his gladiators in a city called Vivec. Then things were more familiar as Kraven reacquainted with his past. He even told a story when he was a young adolescent boy being chased away by a girl’s father who caught them together in a bed, though he had not slept with her and she only treated Kraven as a lover out of pity rather than love.

“You are a virgin?” Daenlin laughed, slapping his knees repeatedly as if he was beating upon two drums. “You are an unfortunate one, are you not? A twenty year-old man yet to feel the warm thighs woman. You find yourself among countless sweaty men for sometime to come with little possibility to copulate. Who knows? Andrano can oblige by giving you a mother of mine. If it helps you work better, then you can expect something like that.”

“I only desire to lay with a woman who has never laid with another man” Kraven confessed.

“You should pray for that one goddess of yours. The one of love, I think. Kynareth?”

“Dibella.” He corrected.

“Yes, that one. Perhaps she can look down upon you in pity and shower you with accolades.” Daenlin’s eyebrows danced.

“Women are not my concern.”

The topic jmped from Aedra to Daedra, going to a tale of how Daenlin’s third brother was cursed with by priestess of Sanguine for loving women solely on their looks, and insulting a priestess which lacked beautiful physical attributes. Kraven was amused by the tale, but he was more interested on his situation.

“I seek advice for coming days, I would ask a question.”

“Ask away, Kraven.”

“Has a slave ever been freed?”

Daenlin rolled his eyes, averting them to Dangor as he mocked the Imperial. “Pfft. Has a slave ever been freed, he asks. Is there no end to his obsession?”

“How could you not?“ He without raising his voice. “There is no honored position among lowly servants."

“There is a reason why we feel safer here than in our land.” Daenlin replied.

“That is an odd claim.“ He was not understanding Dangor nor Daenlin. Perhaps both were enchanted with a spell of illusion of their own. A spell of ignorance, he wanted to say.

Daenlin got to his feet, stretching his limbs. “Dangor and I are wanted men for some of our stupidity we committed years back. We were also exiled from our home for breaking the Green Pact. So we are to be executed if we return to Valenwood for our dishonor. We got caught up with Dres mercenaries and now we're here.”

Kraven scratched his hair. The weight of their situation is far more than mine, he began to realize. He wanted to probe the nature of Daenlin’s eviction from his own province, but the Bosmer shrugged off the story as uninteresting.

“To answer your question Imperial, you may spend years here before you are freed. The only true escape is suicide.” Daenlin shrugged. “There were ones that tried to escape. They were brought back a day or two later and were lashed until their body was marred beyond recognition.”

“So no one has ever escaped…” Kraven didn’t make it a question.

“And lived? No. It is a thing of the impossible. If the wilderness does not devour you alive, then you will be killed by bandits or even the Daedra. Try your luck in the sea, and the aquatic predators will swallow your bones. You see that bracer on your arm? Nothing but a key can unlock it, and the key is kept under lock in the stronghold above. If you were to flee this place and somehow miraculously escape the guards, those in the outside will see the bracer and you will be have to face the authority. Think about it, is it worth to try and to die?”

Kraven patted the dust off of his legs, vexed by the impossibility of escape. “This is it then. No hopes beyond these walls.”

“You have courage, Kraven, I‘ll give you that. This freedom of talk on your tongue did not last on the mouth of others. You were also beaten twice in just a single week and yet you speak as if it never happened. Not many would share your tolerance.”

Kraven squinted his eyes at the Wood Elf. “I am accustomed to pain.”

“And yet you seek to return to the place of your suffering. We flee from our problems and you go to face them.”

Kraven could not explain it, but he knew he was destined for something greater than this worthless, insignificant life. He knew this with a pure certainty, and it was this understanding that granted him the strength to follow through on the face of the impossible odds. It gave him the strength of determination, even when the other half felt like giving up.

He raised his head to Daenlin, looking at him with the eyes of a man envisioned, but with the pinch lack of confidence in his words. “I dream of giving my last breath, of closing my eyes for one final moment in this world. I welcome the afterlife, but it is not the time. Not yet…”

[Acadian]

Oh no! More porridge abuse. The elf brothers are quite fun. I’m sure Kraven finds them both comforting and irritating at the same time.

You did a fine job of painting despair here, then finishing on a somewhat optimistic and prophetic note. There is a fine sense of nobility about Kraven.

So the race is on to see if Kraven is going to get tapped for boudoir or arena duty first. Hopefully not both simultaneously.

[Lady Saga]

Poor Kraven. I feel for him. Story is moving right along, though...I'm looking forward to whatever comes next.

OTOH, the more I read this story, the more I wanna get Morrowind, even if I suck at it. I am getting an Xbox this weekend (they're so cheap nowadays! Note to self: Look for Memorial Day sales at Best Buy...) which means I'll finally be able to try TES: III. That assumes I can find a working copy of the game, of course. It's hard to find TES: III, not that I've been looking much...but whenever I go to GameStop, I haven't seen Morrowind on the shelves in years.

This post has been edited by Lady Saga: May 23 2012, 02:40 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

Acadian:Yeah, Kraven initially is a noble guy. The Bosmer Bro's have their moments, yes. I did notice there is despair in like every chapter, I promise it will not be the case in the future ones following "The Mines". His gladiator training may be sooner than expected.

Lady: I actually bought mine on Ebay(or was it Amazon?). Eh, I do not remember. You have a much greater chance of finding them online rather than retail. Old PC games are more rare these days than they ever were before.