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

[McBadgere]

Aw hell, troubles of being busy...Forgot to comment!!..

Loved it...Brilliant stuff...

Shavaash is still not done with them is he?... ...

The Bosmers are cool, I like them...But one of them is obviously getting a bit down over their hanging around with Kraven... ...

Brilliant stuff...

Loving it muchly...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[mALX]

Imagine her offspring being the product of a lowly slave!

Aah, the movie "Mandingo" - Loved it !!

The Bosmer brothers made this chapter, Kraven has increased their torment since they befriended him but they take it in stride and remain true to the friendship - love that about them! Awesome Write !!!

This post has been edited by mALX: May 24 2012, 03:58 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

McBadgere:Well, who knows, this maybe Shavaash's last time messing with the food . Thanks, my Badger friend. The quality of the updates are a bit dragging and not as good. I admit I wasn't in my brainstorming days and with the lack of internet, I just scribbled and scrabbled about. Though I got it back now! So I can write quality posts hopefully.

mALX:Indeed they did! Though next the chapter they will have some "mature" elements about them. I guess we better take things to the next level after this one, paving the way for some arena battles.

~Chapter Eleven: Procuring The Trainer of Gladiators.~

All around the arena, shouts and bellows erupted, with spectators that argued vehemently. Various fists and hand gestures were waved in the air at that tumultuous point. The gladiators below came to a draw, neither effectively destroying the other, but both showing true skill and dedication. The people shouted for their enemies’ bets to be slain, while others simply wished one of them spared for the sake of another fight. It was chaotic.

Eventually, the match ended when both men were proclaimed victors, and were given a chance to fight later that day. The promise of the announcer that the bets would remain unaltered until the next fight seemed to calm the rowdy crowd, and a hushed noise soon replaced the tedious roaring. It was now break, and some of the entertained guests left the arena to purchase food outside of the canton.

Fights in the Arena were typically for settling feuds, and the regular entertainment was spectacles and plays of humor and drama based on Dunmer history and Vivec. Yet some Imperial influence has seeped into the culture, and gladiator matches happened few times during a single month. Andrano found them fascinating.

Bratheru Andrano sat along the south corner in the highest row. Beside him was the Breton Lashun, who was undoubtedly relieved the match came to an even climax. He sat idly, chewing on small almonds as he awaited Jumba.

Eventually, Jumba was seen walking toward them, in the company of two Ordinators. Lashun explained to Andrano that Jumba was the name only spoken by his dearest allies and friends. A nickname. Jumba’s real name was in fact was Nachael, which was often used by acquaintances. The Dunmer looked upon the approaching Redguard, who indeed deserved his fame in Hammerfell. The son of a Forebear, Nachael was born and raised in Redguard culture, and did not look upon the Empire with favor. Like the Telvanni, he saw the Imperials as nuisances and a troublesome lot, which made him a prime candidate to train the slaves which most were beasts of different tribes. It was one thing in common, though Nachael would be more suited for House Redoran and their warrior ways.

The Redguard himself was tall and muscular, his built obvious by the brown shirt that encased his torso. His skin was dark as ebony, arms graced with the bulk from physical training. His head was covered by a red turban, His eyes were dark and penetrating as he looked down upon the arena, his gaze serious as he studied the two resting gladiators.

Andrano and Lashun stood up from their seats to greet Nachael, who grinned without showing his teeth. He firmly grabbed both the hand of the Breton and the Dunmer, shaking It with a hard grip.

“Nachael,” Andrano started to say. “The man I was looking for. Come, sit.”

The tall Redguard sat near Lashun and Andrano, grabbing a cup of water from a servant girl as she passed on by. “ It is a pleasure to meet you, Andrano.”

“Likewise, Nachael. You hold considerably reputation as a fierce warrior of the Alik’r and a former gladiator. A fulfilling life.”

“The reputation is true. Lashun speaks to me of your desires to have your gladiators trained.” ANswered Nachael with certainty.

Andrano settled in his seat, bobbing his head in acknowledgement. “It is my desire. I am occupied with pressing concerns regarding my studies and my laboratory that I have little time to see to my mercenary gladiators. I have a daughter that I must also exhaust my attention to.”

Nachael seemed unsettled. His voice was filled with concern. “You seek to train slaves?”

“The cost of wasting drakes on mercenaries has become increasingly taxing, for they can be bought and bribed by other Great Houses, and I have no time to wager my coin to appeal to their greed. Slaves, on the other hand, cannot bargain with gold.”

Clearing his throat, Lashun entered the conversation. “Eh, Andrano offers much coin in advance. What he means is that as a Telvanni, he is occupied with procuring knowledge of the mundane, the supernatural and the arcane. He has a great number of slaves that--”

Andrano interrupted. “That are overpopulating my territory. I have more than enough working in the mines and the plantations, and a considerable amount in my own manor. I would not seek to free them or sell them to others, not when I can profit from them.”

Nachael tensed his jaw, reflecting on Andrano’s words. He leaned forward to the Telvanni nobleman, finding his next words. “With due respect, Andrano, I think training slaves for battle can be dangerous. What can stop them from revolting against you?”

Nachael did have a point, one that Andrano often pondered himself over the centuries. Could his slaves seek to hone their skills and eventually use their knowledge of combat to turn on him? In his extensive studies he found that if his servants were given privilege, rewarded with charity for their hard work, the chances of rebellion could be minimized. He sought to put this to the test a hundred years ago, and to this day there has been no incident. His slaves, as base as animals as some of them are, were kept in chains under that illusion.

Andrano knew if they were always scorned, beaten and punished there would be a greater hatred of their master, yet if they were somehow were given more food, a bed and sometimes a mother of mine or two for the evening they could work harder without complaint. It has proven effective for decades. If one could miraculously could escape the stronghold and somehow manage to get past the guards, they would be hunted down, and depending on the circumstance, killed. Fear of being punished severely or murdered was enough to keep them in line, and the promise of reward would steel their obedience…and their respect.

Adding to that was the reality that his large home was over a hundred feet high, build with elaborate halls and corridors that intersect with one another. To get to his room and his floor they would require a potion of levitation or a spell to fly. Him and Tivela would always be safe, and his slaves knew any attempt against their safety would be futile.

“I worry not about my slaves. My guards are well armed. Their training in the art of the sword will always be a step ahead of those beneath them. The slaves on the other hand, shall be given wooden equipment. They will be receive training in the grounds of my stronghold, and when the quality of each warrior is determined, they will be transported here under the watchful eye of the guards.”

“Simply stated,” Nachael said with his hand resting on his scimitar. The gesture seemed to have given him reason to ask a question. “Do you hold any slaves with reputation of battle in your possession?”

Andrano fixed the sleeve of his robe as he tried to remember the countless slaves he purchased. He pictured the innumerable barbaric animals he had purchased; Khajiits, Argonians, Bosmers, an Orc or two. There was perhaps an Imperial in there as well. He scarcely kept the identity of his slaves in memory, as they were meaningless. He barely even recalled the names of the ones whom he has in his own home working under Tivela.

A Telvanni generally would have devoted his or her life to the studies of the arcane, secluded in their towers while their Mouths served their every whim and desire. It was an oddity to witness a proclaimed Telvanni nobleman far from his home, and procuring gladiators and seeking to participate in battles. Though being part of a Great House did not mean one was forced to abide by their customs, and Andrano was no mere Telvanni. His secret

“I believe I have a few saplings which have seen their share of war.”

Nachael sipped from his half-empty cup. “The warriors will have advantage over the other ones, and perhaps should be considered strongly for position. They less experienced would only slow them down.”

“If I may,” Lashun added. “They could be set as an example for the other slaves wishing to be elevated. With all due respect, of course, there must be something to keep these slaves fighting for their lives in the arena. Good training is not enough to guarantee a victory. Conflict alone between combatants is not won by force or skill alone…but by will. They will need inspiration to fight, motivation to face death in the eye.”

Nachael glanced at Nachael, his expression one of agreement. “In Hammerfell, our gladiators were granted a sum of coin for their victories in the arena, even if the contest did not end in death. Though being men, they favored the concubines and the wine. For them, such things is much appreciated.“

“The prisoners that were forced to fight in the arena were promised freedom if they did not die an honorable death in the sands. They perform for treats.” The Breton bookie added. He was intelligent in different cultures, and worked in Hammerfell for a year, mostly in the gladiatorial field.

Andrano rubbed his temple with his fingers. “They fight for their lives and yet their happiness is of benefit, as always. Days off of hard labor and additional bowls of porridge already holds them with amicable feelings towards their master. When can you begin training them?”

“In a month’s time.“ The Redguard said.

Problems in the Foreigners Quarter? Andrano assumed. “ I shall take my leave. In a month I will contact you. In the mean I shall procure your quarters within my stronghold so that the slaves can commence training.”

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 25 2012, 04:59 AM

[McBadgere]

Cool stuff!!...I like this Nachael...He sounds cool...Does like a scimitar does I...

Definately loving the Arena vibe you've got going here...

Looking forward to your doing much more in th'Arena...

Methinks you fell foul of your dreaded censor mate...

yet if they were somehow were given more food, a bed and sometimes a mother of mine or two for the evening they could work harder without complaint

Mother of mine!!...Took me a moment...I know what you meant, Wh0re right?...

And one other tiny thing...

Though being part of a Great House did not mean one was forced to abide by their customs, and Andrano was no mere Telvanni. His secret

“I believe I have a few saplings which have seen their share of war.”

His secret what?...



Love this story...

Nice one!!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[mALX]

I was caught by the same two places McB was - the auto censor took one and the other looks like it got chewed up in an edit, lol.

Love how this is leading into Kraven hopefully getting to fight for his freedom. Something tells me that promise won't be kept if he fights well and makes money for his owner though, lol. Great Write !!!

[Acadian]

’Bratheru Andrano sat along the south corner in the highest row. Beside him was the Breton Lashun,’
Given my slight bout of confusion from the last episode, I had to chuckle as you made it crystal clear who is who here.

Nachael is an intriguing and exotic character that you’ve done a great job with so far.

Nicely done how naturally you convey Andrano’s attitudes toward his slaves as simple beastly possessions.

Like mALX, I see the possibilities of a path (albeit a bloody one) to freedom for Kraven.

[Lady Saga]

Love how this is leading into Kraven hopefully getting to fight for his freedom. Something tells me that promise won't be kept if he fights well and makes money for his owner though, lol.

I concur. It seems like this is possibly might happen, but I have a feeling something else might happen first. But I'm not saying what it is. I'll just let DE tell the story.

[Darkness Eternal]

McBadgere: Nachael is a nice character I had to come up with, he had to have an exotic weapon. Don't worry about the arena stuff. There will plenty of arena(s) and plenty of battles! Damn, the censor. I'll have to be more careful next time. I just didn't know which words are censored and which ones aren't.

mALX:Yes, the fight for freedom will begin soon. I hope to write more on Tivela and the slaves and what she is all about(other than just sex).

Acadian: Yeah, I took time to read and reread this to make sure Bosmer wasn't in his description. Made sense for Nachael to be a Redguard since they are really skilled in the art of the sword. And Redguards characters make good exotic characters. Andrano, as nice as he may be to his slaves, he can be a burden. Of course, as a Dunmer he still sees everyone beneath his as animals. The path will be bloody.

Lady Saga:Are you onto something, Lady Saga? Many things will happen . Yes, let me tell it

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 27 2012, 04:43 AM

[Darkness Eternal]

~Chapter Twelve: Pissed Poridge.~

The long-haired Imperial sat along a bench, breathing heavily as he finished his last rounds on the mine. He was sweat-drenched more than he naturally would be, for he sought to end the day’s labor as soon as he could. With the permission of being let off early granted, Kraven left the mines to breath upon the fresh air once again.

It was late evening on Azura’s Coast, with the sun setting below the horizon. The slaves working the plantations were just finishing up their day’s work, yet some were already throwing their rakes onto the crates to prepare for the final meal of the day. Few slaves walked by Kraven, one of them an Argonian adolescent which greeted Kraven as he passed by. He didn’t recognize the Saxhleel, they all tended to look the exact anyhow like any other slave: forbidding, unsmiling expressions, grim eyes, and with features as if they were on the verge of collapse. Though in the midst of these men, there were often ones who were always energized. Individuals such as Dangor, who sprinted toward the seated Imperial.

“Up!”

Kraven exhaled with his nostrils, knocking his head back on the rocky mountain. “Just awhile longer.”

“Up!” Dangor said in a higher tone.

With a great effort, Kraven forced himself to stand up, twisting his waist as his back cracked loudly. Dangor searched around suspiciously, as if he did or perhaps, was going to do something wrong. Kraven moved to a corner to urinate, but the elf grabbed him by the arm before he could lower his undergarments. He averted his gaze to the strong Bosmer with an inquisitive look, but the Wood Elf simply told him to follow.

Kraven did as commanded, walking behind the Wood Mer. Both slaves went to the pavilion where food was still being prepared by the servant cook. Kraven realized it was early in the evening and the other slaves had not yet arrived. Besides him and Dangor, there were two to three other workers who already met their quota for the week, though they were elderly.

From the interior of the building, Daenlin arrived holding three bowls of porridge, balancing them on his arm as his eyes darted back and forth. Unlike the other times he looked upon Kraven, he was not smiling. The sarcastic expression on his face was gone, replaced by a mirthless countenance. This told the Imperial that he was planning something out of the ordinary. He handed Dangor a bowl, and then Kraven one. He kicked his head to the side, motioning his brother to go to the corner.

Looking down on the bowl and to Daenlin, Kraven’s mouth slightly opened. He was confused. “What are you doing?”

“Seizing opportunity,” Daenlin whispered harshly. “For two years we were treated as curs, working hard to be gained position. Now we feel as if we went back in time to suffer the ill jesting of a boy-loving lizard and the cocky cat and his motley dregs!”

“What do you ask of me?” Kraven said, to the point.

“Urinate,” he said. “Do it!”

Kraven scoffed, exhaling as he looked to the side. Is this really what he asks of me? He shook his head slightly. Daenlin sought to exact his revenge by urinating on the food of Shavaash and Polish-His-Spear, as well as the other Suthay-Raht, El’Cateez. For days, Kraven was victim, yet he never spoke back, not after the day he was beaten by the other slaves. Yet the odds were in his favor, with Dangor and Daenlin on his side.

In the slave cast there was a division between servants and workers. Some respected other groups while others had a tenuous relationship between them, but rarely did a fight ever break out. Kraven heard of a particular incident that happened many years before his arrival, but everyone assumed it would happen again. Not until today, however. Noticing Kraven’s pause, Daenlin pressed the issue further, raising his voice.

“You want to be respected around here? Then you must do this. You are accustomed to pain, are you not? Now is the chance to at least stand up for yourself.”

“We will be punished.” Kraven retorted. He did not want to face the wrath of his master. If him refusing to call Andrano master was enough to be lashed for hours, then what would be the outcome of fighting with other slaves?

“Andrano is not here. Better to act before he arrives.” Daenlin said quickly, swirling the white porridge with a spoon. Kraven could see yellow liquid within it as it was being mixed with the food, though the smell was too faint to detect. Dangor released his bodily fluid already, and sat on the corner with eyes scanning the distance to see if the victims of his prank were around.

If he kept cowering and shrugging off the constant torment, he would be insignificant in this place. He could wait until the mockery was over, or he could prove to everyone that he was not going to take it anymore.

Kraven chose the latter, snatching the bowl. He hurried off into a corner, far from the sight of the guards. He angled his body at the wall, and at last began urinating. His heart began to pound at the act of bravery, or was it stupidity? At this point the did not care at all. He pictured himself being whipped repeatedly, his body pummeled by other slaves, his food being tainted and refused. It was all going to stop.

****

Shavaash walked under the golden glow of the setting sun. El’Cateez stood at his left while Polish-His-Spear walked by his right side. He did not blame them for following him in his wake. How couldn’t they? He proved himself a capable man. Unlike the countless farmers, hunters, paupers that these men were, he was a warrior, and thus earned the right to stand above them. His every step was confident, the air about him teeming with the aura of overindulgence, one that the others could look up to. Yet he didn’t feel as a leader should. Inside he felt humiliated and ashamed for his poor showing with Tivela.

A myriad of thoughts swam across his mind, flooding it with doubt; did she enjoy it? Will she summon me again? Will I be discovered by Andrano? For over two years now he was a slave in the place, but never before he slept with a Dark Elf, let alone the master’s daughter. He never looked at the Dunmeri people with any love, but when he first laid eyes upon Tivela…when they shared a bed in that overly brief moment…he felt something else. Perhaps something greater than lust. He not only saw the mistress of the house…but a goddess in the form of a mortal. Her perfume…her flesh…it was memorable. Painfully so. And it hurt him to think she would be disappointed in his performance. Had he known he would be called to her bedchamber, he would of better prepared himself in the way only a man could.

Luckily, no one knew of his moment. And he would be sure to keep it a secret as long as he drew breath. It did not take long for him to realize that worrying about sex was not worth his time. And to Shavaash, what truly was worth his time was the food he was going to eat. After a long, tedious day, all he wanted to do was to sit and dine.

He saw the Imperial handling out food to the other slaves, just as he did yesterday morning. He appeared timid as he always did, never speaking to other slaves other than the two Bosmers and some of the other older Khajiits. Suspicion crept into Shavaash’s mind. Is he attempting to throw the food at my feet just as I did to him? Unlikely. For one, the Imperial lacked courage to do anything. Secondly, the pot was nearly empty of food. There were only three bowls left.

Stepping ahead of the others, Shavaash swept up the bowl of oats and water from the table. He stood a moment, looking at the Imperial with a deep, hateful stare. Kraven, as he was called, looked straight at him with a bold look, but otherwise reserved. The Suthay-Raht had to smirk at him, he was yet the insecure little human man. A pup bearing his teeth.

El’Cateez and Polish-His-Spear took the remaining bowls and followed him to the benches. And there they sat, exchanging stories about how the day went. Shavaash looked around, analyzing the other slaves intently. They were solemn and quiet, as always. Save of course for the minority that laughed and teased one another without spite. The Wood Elf brothers ate alone with Kraven. The three of them frowning angrily as they shoved spoonfuls into their mouths.

Still bitter because of last morning, Shavaash noticed.

He shoveled his wooden spoon down onto the bowl, scooping up a large portion of his food, which was half of the bowl. He opened his mouth wide as he clamped his teeth around the tool. He chewed quickly and swallowed. For a brief moment he felt the sweet taste of the food he always known for two years, but there was an extra ingredient amidst the vegetables and fruits. The tincture was salty, bitter and utterly disgusting, the taste was just as the smell. Urine!

He rose to his feet immediately after, looking at El’Cateez and Polish-His-Spears, who also seemed to taste something in their food.. It was no coincidence that the three of them were targeted.

The entire chamber was filled with an even greater silence, everyone looking at the three enraged beast-folk. Among them, three others stood out. Three who did not raise their eyes from the table’s surface. Kraven, Dangor and Daenlin. With his keen eyes, he spotted a growing boyish smirk slithering along Daenlin’s face. Anger filled Shavaash now, for he knew who the culprits were.

“You fetid curs!” Seethed the enraged Suthay.

Written To.

Dangor craned his neck. Daenlin smirked as he slipped a spoon into his mouth. The Imperial had his attention fixed on the air ahead of him, nodding slowly. The human was the one that spoke, standing up to his full height.

“You make us look like fools,” Kraven said before shouting. “Why should we not soil your food!?”

“Ah!” Shavaash roared as he jumped at the human, claws extended to shred his flesh. He leapt at him, who slamming him onto the table, though Shavaash quickly grabbed hold of Kraven and shoved him over to the side. As the human fell to the ground, he collapsed onto the man like an enraged lion. But no blows were given as Kraven used his foot to flip the accelerating Shavaash over him. The cat fell on his back, yelping in pain.

Not a second later, Polish-His-Spear attacked Dangor while Daenlin was focused on El’Cateez. The entire kitchen area exploded into a brawl when all sides collided. The young Bosmer grabbed the lower front of his undergarment, shaking it as he raised the other arm into the air. “Hah!”

El’Cateez tackled Daenlin, throwing his fists at the Wood Elf. Blows were exchanged and kicks were delivered as a good number of the slaves in the area joined the brawl. Where some aided Shavaash and the others, some offered to help the Bosmers.

Shaavash jumped to his feet and charged againt. He was relentless on the Imperial, pinning him down with his weight after he pushed him to the ground. He curled his hand, raising his elbow past his head as he slammed his closed fists at the Kraven’s nose three times. The Imperial’ nose bled, as did his bottom lip. Shavaash was going to raise his clawed hand until he felt an arm grab his by the neck and head, hauling him back. It was Daenlin’s brother, Dangor. The human’s food aided the Mer by pushing Shavassh with his foot.

Trying to capture all that was around him, Shavaash saw nothing but blurs of figures all engaging in a physical contest of strength, releasing their stress by pummeling others. It took him time to try and removed the blows that were hitting him from behind. He used his body strength to shove the Bosmer off of him with a push of his shoulder, but as he turned around he glimpsed an incoming human fist flying straight toward his face. The angry human landed a blow that seemed to knock the air off of him. Shavaash felt his teeth weaken, and his vision bear white blinking stars as his consciousness temporarily abated. He lost control of his body, feeling himself plummet to the dirt. His last vision was a sandaled foot traveling at high speeds toward his face.

****

Kraven was able to knock the awareness out of Shavaash with a kick, and he was absolutely lost in the moment. His lips may have stung and his nose throbbing in pain, but otherwise he felt strong in that brief moment of pride. As he kept hitting the downed Khajiit repeatedly, someone yelled from behind him. A skinnier khajiit sprinted at Kraven, clumsily kicking his leg at him with a clumsy form of a khajiiti martial art. The Imperial grabbed hold of the leg, and embraced the lithe feline in a hug, flinging the cat over to the side with a throw.

A firm touch grabbed Kraven from behind. Another one? He thought on instinct. That same moment he acted on it as well, throwing his elbow back at the person behind him. He heard a loud smack sound off into the air along with the cries and cheers of the slaves. He was thrilled with the action, and overflowing with glee as he took matters into his own hands. The fight finished just abruptly as it started when the loud barking of the slaves died down the moment Kraven struck his unseen opponent. He saw Daenlin and Dangor stare at him, along with El’Cateez and Polish. Turning around, Kraven saw the man he struck. It was one of Andrano’s bodyguards!

He felt his heart jump not only because he had struck one of Bratheru’s men, but because the nobleman himself was standing right there! Andrano had arrived the moment the fight reached it’s conclusion at actions of Kraven. He quickly lowered his hands and looked around. By the Nine! He finally thought of the gods. Andrano’s arrival came as a surprise. He appeared from behind the building, rendering all expectations of his appearance unexpected.

“What fever seizes your wits!?“ Andrano shouted, his voice unusually loud and shrill. He finished his sentence with a menacing hiss, crimson eyes wide and analytical.

Kraven did not know if he spoke to the other slaves or him directly. Either way, the fingers would be pointed at him in an accusation. He knocked Shavaash unconscious, and he managed to bring down a guard with a single blow of the arm. And he stood out as the only human among these slaves. Once again, misfortune smiled on him. He conjured words to justify his reasons, but the furious Telvanni noble raised his voice even higher in an interruption.

“Do not speak!” Berated Bratheru.

Daenlin braved the situation and walked besides Kraven, summoning an excuse. “Sera, this was---”

“Enough,” he snapped, looking at Dangor, who was standing over a withering El’Cateez. “Is this what my house has succumbed to? Mindless baboons braying about with arms raised against each other? Have your senses fled? Remove yourself to the quarters, you base animals! All of you!”

For the first time, Kraven saw Andrano’s uglier side. He tried to slip away by stepping back slowly. Shaavaash seemed to be moving, returning to his senses. Andrano pointed his finger at the Wood Elf couple. “Both of you have lost your privileges! I turn my back for a single moment only to find you S’wits defecating on my damn gratitude?”

He turned to the rest, particularly Kraven.

“Human! You overstep! You will not lay a hand upon my guard again or you will be lashed until your flesh has been stripped from your bone! You will be taken to the depth of the mines for a week without seeing the light of day until your senses have returned, and a three weeks in the plantations. Your work will be divided!”

Kraven felt his frustration increase as he saw that Shavaash may walk away unscathed from the confrontation when he was the reason this all began. Every fiber of his being wanted to strike out against Bratheru Andrano. But he managed to defeat the rising impulse, tempted by a verbal attack. There was no point in discarding his life away for a fit of anger. “Fie! This is unjust!”

Andrano would not have it. He puckered his lips while baring his teeth, veins nearly exploding from his dark forehead. “ I alone decides what is just and what is not. Two months in the mines for speaking out of turn! You say a single word more and you will be punished by the whip! You do something beyond that, and you will receive far worse!”

The guards took Kraven to the mines, leaving the rest of the slaves to be judged according to Andrano’s law. He could hear him still screaming in the background as he was being taken away to his prison. “I will see the universe fall to ruin before slaves run this place!”

[Lady Saga]

Yummmm...yellow porridge! Bet that tasted good. For a moment. And then.... :yuck:

That fight scene is intense! I bet everybody's Hand to Hand skills raised a point or two.

[McBadgere]

OOoh, that was cool... ...

I'll never look at porride the same way again... ...

Excellent fight...Nicely done...

Wonder how long before Andrano figures out how good that fight actually was?.. ..

Well done matey...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[mALX]

"Don't eat the yellow snow porridge!"

Finally Kraven gets revenge and it is yanked from his grasp instantly !!! URK !! Awesome Write !!

[Darkness Eternal]

Lady Saga: Definetly. A good backup from the future spear and sword training .

Mcbadgere:Yeah, I won't either haha. Luckily, the porridge scenes are done. No more food-tainting overload business.

mALX:Unfortunate for the young Kraven. Thanks. I suppose the story dragged on a bit, but a little time skip will put things back into order! I Better go write.

Acadian:Yes, the porridge conflict was of course, to Kraven's benefit as he was able to strike out against his tormentor. Yet that might be one of the many things the fight brought out.

Colonel Mustard:When will this madness end, you ask? Considering it resulted in a full blown fight between slaves, it's safe to say it is over. For now. Thank you, by the way. Andrano has a keen eye, and the attack against his guard will not be forgotten.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 30 2012, 04:07 PM

[Acadian]

This seemed to be a welcome interlude and much needed release of steam for Kraven and company, even laced with humor - until Andrano showed up. Well, the Dunmer has just gotten a glimpse of what the ‘puny human’ slave is capable of. Given his pending arrangements involving gladiator training for some of his slaves, the implications are clear. Perhaps after Andrano cools off some, he will make the connection.

[Colonel Mustard]

And the porridge-based warfare continues. When will the madness end?

Anyway, a very enjoyable chapter indeed, especially with the brawl towards the end. And I'm wondering if Andrano will see some potential in a slave who managed to knock out a fully-trained guard in the middle of a brawl, and perhaps drag him from the depths of the mine.

And poor old Shavaash...

[Darkness Eternal]

~Chapter Thirteen: The Past Upon The Mines.~

Kraven was lost in the agony of labor, barely even attentive to his surroundings. His arms complained from the endless hacking of the pickaxe. Small pieces of stone shot off the mine’s wall as he cut through, stinging his exposed face. Dust floated about in the air around him, obscuring his vision, tuning out every other noise as it cut through centimeter by painful centimeter into source of the stone before him, which was intertwined with precious ebony. Strong and expensive, ebony was prized in the forging of shields and weapons by commercial and military forces of Tamriel. It was even used for more plain things such as sculptures, instruments and board games.

Ebony could supposedly withstand and endure hits of weapons made from lesser material. Sadly, the same properties that made it valuable among Vvardenfell’s trade also made it a burden to mine. Most often the ebony was located beneath the mines, near the boiling lava. The was only a single efficient manner to mine it, and that was through the brute strength of hard workers pounding merciless at the vein, cutting through the ebony one piece at a time. Ebony, next to glass and Daedric material, was one of the hardest materials in Tamriel. The force of the hacking was enough to destroy the tip of the pickaxe, making it far more blunt than intended. Mining ebony was harsh on the tool itself, and it was even harsher on those that used them.

The Imperial had been pounding away for nearly five hours now. The minutes within the passing time was nothing more than him carrying his weight, and setting them upon a wheelbarrow only to return to attack the wall once more. He has been in the mines for two months now, and his arms trembled from the endeavor. His lungs gasped for air and coughed on the clouds of dust. His mind rattled, he felt as if his brain was melting within his skull. Amidst the suffering, he could not hope to stop.

The overseers kept a tally on each and every slave and their amount of work they did over the month. If it was below average, there would be severe punishments. He felt as if dust encrusted the bones beneath his flesh, and he could taste them in his throat. There was only rest when he is locked in his cell for the night. Few hours and food were provided to serve as respite, enough to give him energy for the coming hours. Kraven tripled his work over the other slaves, the work completed was enough to render a man weak for many jours. Yet he saw this not only as punishment but as a test of strength and perseverance.

Each of the slaves were rewarded based on how much ebony was harvested, given large portions of food and even at times, more days off. If Kraven stopped there, another slave would take over and begin working on the vein, receiving credit to receive the benefits. Kraven wasn’t too keen on sharing his food with the other slaves, not since the brawl. And those who mistreated him were also not receiving much of the share, either. He has been a slave for two months and two weeks and he barely even knew Andrano, and when he faced the man he was always punished. Yet he understood now that the man rewarded slaves for hard work, and it seems it indeed had paid off.

Due to the previous historical account of the Arnesian War, where a slave revolt ensued, the nobleman was unwilling to mistreat his slaves. Even so, some of the slaves abused his hospitality and were punished accordingly. Andrano was not cruel. He was just, or at least according to the other servants toiling beneath his “mercy”. It was so easy for one to order others without hesitation, to hold the power of life and death over them. Those same men and women would not last a single day being slaves themselves, and it only made him loathe them even more.

Kraven’s vision was blurred for a moment as dust went into his eyes. He could feel his drained mind and body fighting to drift into a dreamless slumber. This was how it is done in slavery, Kraven realized. Labor a man to exhaustion, null their senses, subjugate their spirit into submission . . . until they accepted their fate and wasted their years in meager relentless servitude under illusions. It was an effective snare; it worked on men like Shavaash and Daenlin. But it wasn’t going to work on Kraven. He may have lost two months of seeing day’s light, but it did not mean he would succumb to insanity. He held onto that flame of hope that he would be something significant. That he would be someone.

He continued to mine, chopping down at the wall of the mines with all of his strength which was being drained by the minutes. When he felt a pain on his side, he dropped the pickaxe, trying desperately to massage his hardened hips before anyone would catch him.

“Get off, Dung-heap," a voice said. “Off!”

Polish-His-Spear, one of the Argonian slaves, appeared and attempted to shove Kraven out of the way in order to work on the ebony. A boy-lover and a bully, Polish-His-Spear had been a slave for nearly seven years, and his work in the mines had made his body into a mass of hard, scaly muscle.

Kraven was less muscular, but two months of working in the mines had transformed his body. His legs bulkier, his biceps larger, more cut. His abdominal was starting to harden. His appearance was that of a dirty tribal barbarian with long, uncut hair and heavy facial stubble. In due time, he would be in his prime physical shape, sculpted as a statue. But for now, he could only continue his work without provoking another. It was not out of fear of losing that Kraven did not strike out against Polish, it was the cautious mind that told him he would face more grueling ours in the mines if Polish were to suffer a severe wound.

"I am not finished,“ he said. “I am just catching my breath.”

"You understand the rules, human. When you stop, others continue. Now move aside.”

In a way, he was correct. But the Argonian already earned more than his share this week. He wasn’t here to continue working, but rather, to start a confrontation. Being best friends and somewhat of a brother to Shavaash, Polish-His-Spear already had quarrels with Kraven before they even had shared words.

Kraven glanced around quickly. The room was empty with the exception of them two, standing a few apart. This wasn‘t a surprise; Kraven always picked caverns far off the main tunnel. Polish-His-Spear was looking for something more than work.

“You already had your fill of work. I have not yet reached my quota.” Kraven aid, attempting to sooth the man down.

The argonian shoved him to the wall with his hand, then holding his neck with his elbow. Polish-His-Spear was inches away from Kraven’s face, putrid breath blowing on his nose. “You should not even be called a human. You look like an animal.”

His scaly hands reached down onto Kraven’s garments, grabbing hold of his intimate parts with a very strong grip. Kraven squirmed, utterly disgusted and also pained from the clenching fingers of the lizard. He curled his hand into a fist, and like a hammer, bashed the Argonian in the head. Hard. It could of been harder, but Kraven used the hit as a warning sign.

Polish backed away, gritting his teeth, snarling as he rubbed his scaly scalp. “While you are of an impressive size, you are yet a repulsive creature. You‘re lucky to survive these mines.”

He was going to charge, to teach Kraven a lesson. Yet the surprise presence of a guard halted the attempt. With a whip in hand, Polish did not dare touch the Imperial. In the mines, beatings were common between slaves. Yet if a guard was near, it rarely happened at all.

The lizard walked away from the chamber, leaving the Imperial alone for now. Polish lost his chance today, but Kraven was sure he would try so again. He hoped by that time, he would be ready somehow to fight back. He reached in between his legs to ease the pain. While it subsided, another, more deeper pain lingered; emotional agony. The words of Polish had hit home, reminding Kraven of his painful years before slavery. Those very words which were used to describe him ever since he was a child, ever since he was sold, and every since he was here. Claws of past dragged him to the very depths of his memories which he had tried desperately to forget.


******
Months prior to slavery, Cyrodiil

“Hmm! This is the best deer I‘ve had,” Alessia said softly. “You truly did well.”

Kraven smiled, chewing on the finely seasoned venison. “I simply brought down the creature. Your hands is what sends my palate to the heavens and beyond.”

From the moment he had brought the game to the house, his mother had been working all day on preparing the dinner for the evening. The table was decorated with brightly lit candles and different plates. A bowl full of different vegetables lay in the mix. Tomatoes, lettuce and onions all sat together in a single bowl. A plate of roasted fish sat alone, nearly emptied. Dining time was one of his favorite moments of the day. Where he could sit and eat with his mother, sharing old stories and dreams of the future.

A peaceful atmosphere until he heard the front door burst open. Startled, Kraven rose from his chair to respond to the sudden intrusion. As he peeked in the corner, he saw his father enter the house. Kerstus was a large man for his age. He was nearly dark-skinned, bearing tousled hair that was unnatural for a man of his color. His mother was a Redguard, and his father an Imperial, giving him the traits of both. His face was rough and bearing a few distinct birthmarks along his cheek and chin. A former member of the Fighters Guild and a retired warrior, Kerstus was able to hold his own with the sword and any other manners of combat. Though he held knowledge, he was unwilling to pass them to Kraven. In his lifetime, Kraven only had four to six lessons on using the sword, then he was deemed unworthy of even trying.

“Alessia! Is my food ready?” He bellowed, marching into the kitchen, past Kraven. He had the same tone of voice as when he was angry at his mother and him, and prone to throw things around the house and punish Kraven with the rod for no reason. There was one day where he viciously Alessia over a petty argument regarding the ruckus of the farm animals.

“We did not know if you would return tonight,” Kraven justified. “We assumed you were going to sleep at the Waterfront.”

“Did I ask you, boy?” Snorted Kerstus, inspecting the table only to be disappointed. “Gluttons. All of you. I don’t believe this. No wonder why you have grown to big for your dress, Alessia. Even to big to lay in bed!”

Kraven was already peeved by his father’s lack of respect, especially concerning his mother. She was a timid woman, a reserved lady. She did not deserve this at all. Jumping into the mix, Kraven protested. “I was hungry, I ate most of the food.”

"I‘m hardly surprised," spat the father. "Look at how much food you eat! Your worse than a damn minotaur! You look like one too.”

Kraven did his best to ignore him. He sat back down at the table and concentrated on the meal before him, forcing down forkfuls into his mouth, very slowly. He glanced at his mother, noticing how she was going to say something against Kerstus. But Kraven’s slow shake of the head kept her argument at bay.

"Did you hear me, kid?" Kerstus snapped. “You think that food you eat is for free? I always pay for the food! For the damn cattle! For the damn farm! I worked every damn day this blasted week and I still owe more coin to the tax collectors! By Akatosh, you better pull your head from your @ss and begin helping out.”

It was no surprise, Kerstus was once again drunk. His eyes were red and glassy. And he reeked of alcohol. He did not even bother to shower. This has been happening for over a year now. Though Kraven felt this would be the worst night of that kind.

“You want me to spend my entire life in the damn waterfront carrying crates all day? For you and your mamma?“ he screamed.

Without averting his gaze from his empty plate, Kraven muttered silently. "I am the one who helps around the house. I am the one who helps mother. You do nothing.”

“What?” Kerstus said, his voice collapsing into a malicious whisper. “What did you just say to me?”

Instead of holding his tongue as he always did, Kraven looked up from the table and straight into his father’s beer-tainted eyes. “I said I am the one who helps around the house. And I am younger than you are.”

“Please.” Alessia began, near to tears. “Not tonight. Please.”

Kerstus marched over to Kraven. “Young and yet an idiot to know when to keep your mouth clamped!” He analyzed Kraven from his hair to his face. “Damn animal is what you are. Look at that hair! And that growing beard. You should be outside with the livestock!”

Animal, beast, creature. They symbolized everything spiteful, pitiful and sad about him. It summoned the innermost fears of every young kid: fear of disappointing, fear of being abandoned, fear of being ostracized. As a child, those names had tortured Kraven than all the beatings from his father’s merciless hands. But Kraven was no longer a boy. He came to strike it from his thoughts, as well as all the venom that spewed from the mouth of his paternal figure. He was not going to change his appearance to please others.

Slamming his fist onto the table, Kraven pushed himself back from the table and rose up. He was still considerably weaker than Kerstus, who was a monster of muscle mixed with fat. “Your going to lash at me now?“ Kraven seethed. “Going to enforce the rod?”

His father‘s jaw dropped, and opened wide. “What in Oblivion is wrong with you, boy?”

“Kraven,“ Alessia whispered. “Let it go.”

Her plea was heard, but ignored. “I tire of this! All of this! You blame all your problems on me, but you are the one who gambles and drinks away our coin and forces us to live in poverty. You come here to eat the food I bring home, the water I fetch from the river! I tend to the animals. I help at the farm. I pay the tax collectors! You do nothing! You come home only to berate us and to complain for your misfortunes. To beat on us for our hard work!”

“You bile-mouthed, rotten little whelp!” Roared Kerstus, flipping over the table. He grabbed Kraven by the wrist and dragged him along. The young man attempted to pull away. But his father’s grip was strong. His mother began to cry and shout, trying her best to break the fight. “You forgot who raised you, cur? Who fed you!? Who was the man of this house when you suckled on your mother’s breast like a suckling pig?”

Knowing he could not do anything, Kraven stopped struggling. But he was not going to plead and whimper. Not this time. “If you are going to beat me,” scowled the son. “Remember, that this will not change anything. And that one day, the tables will turn.”

Kerstus did not spare the rod. He punished his son with the spitefulness of a desperate, pathetic man. He blackened his eyes, cracked open his lips, bruised his skin and broke his nose. And Kraven did not say a word, save to tell his mother to go away. He endured the endeavor, shedding a tear for his mother, but not for himself.

Later that night, as Kraven was stretched upon his bed too swollen and too beaten to sleep, he fantasized. He dreamt about a future where he was happy, where his mother lived in a better place free from his father’s abuse. Where they had septims to pay for a better life. But the words kept echoing through his head, rousing old scars that were thought to have been already healed.

You are an animal. You are an animal. You are an animal.

Kraven never hated his father as much as he did in that singular moment. Even Kerstus’ drunken snored in the corner could not erase the words writing themselves on his mind, nor his mothers whimpering in the adjacent room.

You are nobody. You are nobody. You are nobody.

Those words sparked as embers within Kraven, nearly exploding into an inferno of negative emotions; sadness, hate, anger, self-disappointment.

You are an animal. You are an animal. You are an animal.

The tears he fought back during the confrontation at last came, warm drops streaming down his face, onto the pillow next to him. The words swelled within him like a dark mist.

You are nobody. You are nobody. You are nobody.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 30 2012, 07:02 PM

[Acadian]

The first scene is an excellent tutorial on ebony – its mining and uses. The confrontation with the spear polishing Argonian fit right in and was not unexpected.

The second scene began with hopes of showing better days but soon turned darker as it showed some of Kraven’s insecurities and where they come from. Don’t call him an animal and don’t call him a nobody!

[mALX]

Loved the description of how things were done in the mines! Kraven's idea to work harder and not let another finish his vein so he'd have to share the reward shows a strength and cunning in him. Loved Kraven's reflection that the noblemen wouldn't last a day in the mines, too - nice touch that! What a terrible childhood he endured! Awesome Write !!!

[Colonel Mustard]

Yet he saw this not only as punishment but as a test of strength and perseverance."

This is what I love about Kraven; you just can't keep the guy down, no matter what you throw at him. The scene in the mine with both getting the Ebony ore and also dealing with Polish was an excellent showcasing of his character, and the source of this determination and stubborness was excellently illustrated in the childhood scene with his father. Very nice indeed!

[Lady Saga]

Damn. That sucks for Kraven, his daddy's an @$$. I don't know which situation is worse: his family life or being in those wretched mines.

On the subject of slavery, I've been reading a book called The Year 1,000 lately. It's interesting because our concept of slavery is that it's a bad thing. But 1,000 years ago, sometimes becoming a serf or a slave (basically, turning your life over to a lord or land-owner or whatever) was better than not being one. At least you would be guaranteed food and perhaps a better establishment to live in.

Kraven is not in this situation, though. Sucks for him. He's just a "work till you drop or else" kind of slave.