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Crossroads
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| Servius_Nero | Date: Tuesday, 07 Aug 2012, 11:17 PM | Message # 16 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 9
Status: Offline
| ((So sorry, thought I posted on this the other night.))
"My views of the Jedi are set in facts. Observable and measurable evidence. If there is information to the contrary, I consider it and readjust my views... an attribute the Jedi severely lacked. I find it interesting that someone of your intelligence does not do the same. The Jedi Order is gone, the last of its members hunted down for their treason against the Republic, which shattered it so severely that the reform into the Empire was necessary. Yet, that very same government has allowed the Jedi a place within in the Inquisitorious. However now, we do not limit ourselves to a rigid and archaic view of Light and Dark; there is merely the Force," he said as he walked with her. They would likely get many strange views and looks, if it weren't for his application of the Force as they walked. He shut them out of the minds of the others that walked past, and with little to no effort being shown. She would likely feel this, but how she felt about it was another matter entirely.
As they stood at the steps of her home, he looked at her, observing her for another moment. She certainly left on wanting, and was at the same time memorable and forgettable is she wanted to be. One was left wondering how she could possibly be a Shadow, and yet at the same time was left to believe her to be an excellent one. She would do well in the Inquisitorious. Before she stepped in, he posed a question to her, "Tell me, what is the different to you between the Light Side of the Force and the Dark Side of the Force, and why do you believe the Dark Side should be eradicated?"
Inquisitor Servius Nero
Imperial Intelligence
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| Devenne_Ozera | Date: Thursday, 30 Aug 2012, 11:12 AM | Message # 17 |
 Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 75
Status: Offline
| She paused in front of the doorway, with her left forearm pressed against the frame. She let the question hang in the air, taking the time to consider her words and what they meant to her. "Some believe that the Force is neutral. Like a Blaster. It is not how it is used, but most importantly why. The difference is the heart and mind of the person. I respect that belief, but I do not share it. There is only the Light Side of the Force and the Dark Side of the Force. I can feel the difference. As one would by touching something hot or cold. I have felt the Dark Side in people, places, and things..." she said, her right hand instinctively reaching for her pendant. "I have seen what it has done, and what it's capable of doing."
Glancing over her shoulder, she fixed him with a hard gaze. "If you are not going to bring me in for treason. You can go now," she said. Without waiting for his response, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. With her back pressed against the door, she slid down until she met the floor. Her slender fingers curled up into her hair, losing them within her blonde locks. The silence of her home felt good. She would take this time to appreciate it, because in a few hours, everything would change.
The Uscru Entertainment District was like the gateway into the Underworld. The saying "...the Underworld is never traveled alone," was said for a reason. A warning, that Devenne did not take pause for concern as she took her first trip down into the unknown.
((Sorry. I wanted to work on this more, but I have a bit catching up to do.))
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| General_Adenn | Date: Saturday, 20 Oct 2012, 12:34 PM | Message # 18 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| [Just a little something until I can get the Shadows of Thosa request up]
The beat of his heart thudded inside his chest, it's pace unnatural, violent. His lungs burned as he gasped deep, exhausted breaths. His legs were weak, barely able to hold his small body upright. Tiredly he extended a gaze across more than half of the circle he and his opponent were enclosed in.
It was a sunken pit he had grown quite used to over the last four years of his young life. The Seh'lehk'zha. A ritual dueling pit of his Clan, and part of the training ground of the T'am'arin Tehk'la. An elite group of Assassins that his people had formed many generations before the Tof oppressors had come to Nagi. The only way in to their ranks was by birth, and the only way to full status was through a ruthless training program that lasted ten years. A program that would see the young Nagai through many many death duels, just like this one, against other T'am'arin hopefuls. These duels ensured that the number of these Assassins not only stayed light, but that only the strongest and most skilled from each generation would come to bear the title.
Za'al'iht finally returned his gaze to the opponent placed before him. Both were bloodied, and exhausted. The boys were quite well matched, and thus far neither had proven to grasp the upper hand of combat for more than but a few brief flurries. Za'al'iht was agile and precise, N'ehl'zi strong and relentless. Twenty minutes in to the combat, and neither had yet drawn a blade.
N'ehl'zi, after the short pause, was first to attack. Voraciously lobbing his fists one after the other towards Za'al'iht. To which he leaned with haste backwards, his feet grinding deep pools of dry, white sand with each step until his instincts tutored a powerful attack from the boy.
When Za'al'iht gauged that his peer had achieved the full extension on one of his many direct strikes, he stepped down hard on his lead foot, pivoting with a powerful swing of his hip a single kick to the outside of N'ehl'zi's leg. Forcing a distressed yelp of agony from the boy, before taking him down with a heavy slam.
On the ground, both boys struggled violently. Their limbs twisting, and intertwining with each other like pale serpents as Za'al'iht fought to better his position on top of the child, and N'ehl'zi continued to try and resist. The fight was not pretty, not fast. Not professional by any means. Merely a part of the process that would hone one of them in to the assassin they would one day become.
Za'al'iht could feel every grain of sand that clung to his body in thick bloody, sweat soaked clumps. He had finally mounted his young peer, and sat heavily on the boys abdomen, his position quite secure as N'ehl'zi attempted, but could not accomplish a number of bridge and roll escapes.
Tired from this lengthy exchange, Za'al'iht did not even attempt to strike his pinned opponent. And instead found both of his small hands wrapped firmly around N'ehl'zi's throat squeezing with every ounce of strength he had left to give. N'ehl'zi began to flail awkwardly, one hand lunging out and grasping Za'al by the face. His mouth was covered by the palm of N'ehl's hand, and he could see very close to his eye the blood and dirt encrusted fingernail of the boys index finger dig deeply in to his white flesh just below his lower eyelid. He was numb to the pain. Heavily Za'al'iht leaned his weight down, his lips curled up to bare tightly clenched teeth which unleashed sparse drops of blood and spit as he growled primitively at the sickening act no child should ever be expected to preform.
"Rrrrrggghh!" The sound continued from the young boy, and as N'ehl'zi's hunger for precious air began to fade, so did his struggle. What first was wild bucking and tossing, with fiendishly flailing arms soon became minor bursts weak struggle, until finally the boy hit Za'al'iht twice, once on the chest, and then on his left shoulder. Neither had any strength, neither did much to help his plight. Then, in the final moment the boy's legs straightened, his arms went limp and his body, with mouth agape attempted one more final breath. And then all life from his eyes withered, and N'ehl'zi was no more.
Za'al'iht's hands trembled uncontrollably as he released the now red neck of N'ehl. His teeth no longer clenched, and bottom lip now quivering as he gasped in what felt like vibro-blades on his lungs. His eyes were full of tears, his brain not able to process the brutality, he couldn't move only stare. He'd done this before, but somehow this one was different.
Before he could look up from the boy he had once known, Lord Zaal's eyes peeled open and he sat upright in his bed. Both sheets and body drenched with sweat. A dream, another dream. He couldn't remember the last time he slept peacefully. No, for years it was the same thing. An hour here, maybe two there. And then the dreams. Children he had grew with in the T'am'arin, and that face. The face of a Draethos, the Archlector Issommir as the creature had named himself.
But why did these things haunt him? He tiredly pondered as he rose from the mattress and lightly waded across the dark, empty room. He was no honourable man, some could go as far as saying that even among the Inquisitorius -- no, the Empire as a whole -- Lord Zaal was perhaps one of the most cruel and unrelenting.
Whatever the cause it had to be pushed from mind, he felt as a pale hand pulled back a thick fabric curtain, bronze rings screaming in the quiet of his room. And as he fanned the cloud of dust that had been left behind he now stood in the flickering pink and green neon glow of the Uscuru Entertainment District.
He knew the girl would be here tonight. She couldn't resist. But he also knew from the incident he had silently observed earlier, that he was no longer the only one watching her.
Message edited by General_Adenn - Saturday, 20 Oct 2012, 12:36 PM |
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| Devenne_Ozera | Date: Sunday, 30 Dec 2012, 6:40 PM | Message # 19 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 75
Status: Offline
| "I'm ready," she said, her voice calm despite what she was feeling inside. "What changed your mind?" he questioned. He didn't hold his breath for an answer. If he learned anything about the pink-eyed Kage over the years, the more one tried to figure her out, the more reclusive she became. He didn't push her for an answer, but he did warn her of the decision she was about to make. "I never thought I would see this day," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know what...or who, you are running from kid. Just remember, you can never go back. Everything that you once were. Your name, hopes, dreams...they don't belong to you anymore. Is this really what you want?"
"I didn't say it's what I wanted," she said, pausing a moment as she un-shouldered her bag. "I won't be needing this," she said, holding it out to him. "What's this?" he asked, his eyes meeting her steady gaze. "It doesn't matter anymore," she said as she turned away, leaving him nearly frozen in thought. She was already gone before he got the chance to say goodbye. He'd done this so many times. As the Broker, he recruited thousands to a life of misery and death. He was good at his job. There wasn't a weakness he couldn't expose and use to his advantage. He promised Glory. A way out of gambling debts. Protection. Favors. Any empty promise that you would believe. In exchange for one thing. Your freedom. What Jaden couldn't understand, in all the years, he never felt an ounce of remorse. So why did his heart feel heavy the moment he locked the gate behind her.
The Pits of the Underworld, was an underground fighting arena. It was just as enigmatic as the individuals who abandoned everything they once were. Before one could be allowed to fight in the arena, they had to prove themselves capable. With a new identity, the recruit would be placed into a vigorous training regimen. If they lived to tell about it, they would then be placed into a guild, their fate thereafter would then be decided by how well they preformed in the arena.
The initial process was degrading. Her Pendant was pulled from her neck. She was stripped of her clothes and scrubbed down until her skin matched her pink eyes. Her hair was combed until it resembled soft gold spun silk, and then it was sectioned into small individual braids. Her nails were trimmed, teeth checked, and blood drawn. The physical was extensive, and left her with a feeling she had not experienced before. However, she didn't have the time to dwell on it, because once they were finished with her, she was taken to a room filled with nine others that had undergone the same process. Out of the nine there was only one other female, who looked as though she were ready to bolt for the door. She didn't need to reach out to the Force to understand the emotions that filled the room. Hopelessness, despair, uncertainty, anxiety.....fear.
"A Kage Warrior," someone finally spoke, breaking the silence that consumed the room. But before she could protest, the doors opened, perhaps she was not the last?
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| General_Adenn | Date: Wednesday, 23 Jan 2013, 11:03 AM | Message # 20 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| Aches and pains, they were all the young Nagai could focus on as he lay there silently. From his head all the way down to his toes, agony. He was laid on his side, wisps of morning fog slithering along the ground on all sides of his body, his heavy cloak clung tightly to his lean frame. Sodden with morning dew.
Long, purple, spider-like fingers suddenly began to tease gently across his scalp, the padded tips were warm on his pale, clammy skin. Sending a trickle of warmth spilling down his forehead. Soon after another beck of heat washed over the sharp curve of his cheek, and over the top of his lips. It's taste that of iron, and salt.
It was in that moment that young Za'al'ihts eyes went wide, his mouth tore open to shout, but the words were heavily blotted out by the overwhelming wave of excruciation that radiated from his skull.
"Rrhh!" He panted, as he slowly began to writhe back and forth within the tight confines of his cloak.
He suddenly began to realize just how much he was in fact bleeding now. With steadily flowing streams creeping ever faster down his face and neck as he continued to struggle, it flowed in to his eyes, drops catching and clinging on to his lashes as he tried to blink them away rapidly. More washed down the back of his head, through his long hair, it were as though his skull were little more than a broken jug of fine Veronian Berry Wine.
Panting furiously, Za'al'iht eased his wild thrashing in the slick, dewy loam. Half-blind from the blood that had been gushing in to his eyes, he silently began to gather his wits. And allow the training he had undergone to take control of his terrified body. With his eyes closed, and battered head resting on the damp earth beneath him, he slowed his pounding heart. Then purposefully untangled his shaking limbs from the confines of the heavy cloak that had been holding them. Unwary of the sharp, early morning chill.
Finally free, the Nagai laggardly rose from the ground. His usually pallid flesh painted sickly with both fresh and dry, rotting blood. What had happened? He began to question. Unfocused eyes frantically darting from one side of the clearing he had been laying in to the next. Trying to make sense of his situation. Think! His inner-voice demanded, what were you doing? The Tof General, you killed him. Yes. But what happened next?
It was just barely past dawn here, and the weak sunlight, try as it may, could hardly penetrate the close-set branches of the trees around him. He could not have been captured, the Tof would have surely killed him. And these plants? Not even in the deepest valley of Nagi had he ever seen plants such as these, he thought while analyzing one of the many green, dripping ferns that stood with a lazy bend in their stem from the earth below.
"Where am I?" the sixteen year old questioned, surrounded by what seemed to be, as of right now, an endless forest.
Rubbing his bloodied face with grimy palms, Za'al'iht spent a few more moments examining, before he settled on what appeared to be a well traveled game trail to journey down, ever conscious that his Tehk'la Blades and the Tof War Axe he knew he must have taken, were nowhere to be found.
Za'al'iht followed the trail for what seemed an eternity, his mind still confused, and unable to recall the exact course of events that had lead him here. If this were still his homeworld, it was a corner of that planet he had yet to be trained for. As he continued on many signs began to pile up in a show of display that he had been following a set of paths in a circle more than once. Shallow footprints -- his footprints -- broken sticks, and branches.
Sighing in complete disgust Za'al'iht stopped as he rounded out towards the clearing he had awoke in for a seventh time. Scanning the small space warily, he quickly discovered something had changed. His cloak was gone, and where he had rolled out of it, now laid a single Tehk'la Blade, and the Tof War Axe.
Quietly he weighed the risks of retrieving the weapons. He was injured, how bad he couldn't place, but the deep pain in his bones, and the sheer amount of blood he had lost from his head did indicate that were a hand-to-hand battle to ensue, he would be at a large disadvantage. However, on the other side, would he be strong enough to wield the Axe? Or agile enough to work his Blade? It was a risk he'd have to take.
Like smoke, the Ta'am'arin trained Nagai wafted through the treeline, and back in to the clearing. Sheltering the single Tehk'la blade in to a small holster behind his back. Then, with a muffled grunt he lifted the heavy War Axe slapping the shaft down in to his opposite hand. To the Tof this massive weapon was wielded with a single hand. For Za'al'iht however, it took both, and he knew already after a mere one or two swings he would not have the strength, in his current state, to continue an attack with it.
Then as if on queue, a sudden eruption of overwrought movement thrashed through the forest, snapping branches, and leaving others to slap heavily against tree trunks. And to make matters worse, more sounds of movement, these from the south.
Without a second thought wasted, Za'al'iht again tried to let his assassin honed instincts take him over. Rolling with the Axe over the top of a fallen log, his back facing East. Scarcely daring to breathe, he held perfectly still, straining his senses. Trying to feel, as he had so many times before, how many were out there. With his eyes closed a familiar sense began to wash over him, and slowly it began to feed him information. However, being untrained with this particular sense the only feeling he could decipher was his escape route.
After everything Za'al'iht had been through in his short life, he knew there was more going on here. This was a test. He hadn't simply stumbled his way here, and they hadn't simply returned weapons to him. These were no Tof, and he doubted this was the T'am'arin. They had clearly bested him once, and despite being injured, he would make them work for this.
The Nagai's hands tightened over the haft of the Tof Axe, staring over the top of the log with black, blood crusted eyes. Gazing deeply in to the shadows of the thick treeline, his sights set South, the closer of the two advancing parties. When suddenly there came a sharp snap of a branch directly behind him, no more than 12 metres behind him. The hairs behind his neck bristled, they were trying to surround him. He hadn't even picked up on it.
He had to make his move now. Sliding over the top of the log, and still crouched low to the ground. He scuttled rapidly towards the Western side of the clearing, the direction that he had been given the uncanny feeling of safety towards.
"West!" A voice seemed to whisper through the air.
And at this Za'al'iht straightened upwards. Picking up speed, he ran and ran. His muscles tight, and he could not tell if he were covered in sweat, or blood. He had no time to stop. On and on he pushed his body, until finally crashing headlong in to a massive thicket of thorned vines and bushes.
"Ah!" He yelped painfully, trying to power his way through. Barbed branches lashed at him from every angle. Tearing deep, bloody gouges in to his chest, neck, face, head and legs. "AH!" He yelled again, trying to swing the large Tof weapon to and fro. Hoping a few simple strokes would hew his way through. But the thin, brown and black branches did little more than rebound from the blade. Whipping even more fearsome canyons of blood in to his ghostly white flesh. Worse yet, the noise was a considerable giveaway to his exact location.
But perseverance won the day, at what cost though, he couldn't afford to find out. Not yet. Trembling, he pushed on more. With concealment no longer a worry, he opted only for speed. Faster! He demanded of himself. His bloody hands barely able to hold on to the heavy axe as he sped on, narrowly avoiding protruding roots, and fallen logs.
After several long minutes, Za'al'iht came upon a small wooded hollow. On sheer impulse alone he flew inside of it, rather than attempt to skirt around the edge. The darkness inside, from what he figured, meant only that he'd have less undergrowth to worry about. And if worse came to worse, he may be able to hide.
Upon coming to the centre of the Hollow, he folded over. His hands inadvertently dropping the axe to the ground with a dull thud before clutching on to his shaking knees. Panting violently heavy breaths in and out of his burning lungs. Much to his dismay however, not only were these would-be assailants not giving up. They were almost matching his pace.
Sinking down in to a crouch once more, his uneasy hands refitted themselves on to the axe. Hastily he began to size up his surroundings. Was this where he would dare make his final stand? Or should he keep running? No, this terrain would not be to his advantage. Tired, outnumbered, weak, and now he could also even barely hold on to one of his two weapons through the thick, crimson slime that seemed to gush from every inch of his body.
Intellectually he knew that he would have to stop and fight at some point. For no matter how far he ran, the blood that poured from him in rivers would always keep them aware of his trail. Which is why he had to hope for luck, and take advantage of the darkness. Moving in haste the Nagai headed towards the far Western edge of the Hollow, before doubling back and skirting the treeline towards the southwest.
Silently he melted in to the thick vines and brambles. Resisting any and all temptation to swipe them back as they yanked and pulled on his hair and body. Instead he burrowed deeper and deeper in, hoping despite the stains of blood, that this vegetation would cloak him enough to remain out of sight.
"Find him." He heard a voice suddenly, it was strangely muffled yet melodic and clear. Despite his isolated beginnings on Nagi he did understand Galactic Basic, and knew that this was spoken in a manner he'd never heard. As if it somehow transcended any reality he knew.
Not pausing to debate the origin, Za'al'iht continued on until finally he came in to yet again another clearing. This one however was bathed in a soft, warm sunlight. As he stumbled out further, he could not help but shut his eyes, and and sigh at the soft warmth that washed over his torn and tattered flesh.
However the short pause in which he lost himself. Also proved to be troublesome. A flicker of movement to his right, snapped him back to his senses. And he quickly heaved the Axe up in to a ready position before slowly beginning to circle. There! There it was again. He could barely make it out, but it seemed as if it were some avian creature. Swooping through the shadows just beyond the treeline. His suspicions were answered when the strange beast let out a terrible shriek. And now Za'al'iht knew the time for evasion had passed.
Panting still, he stumbled backwards -- seeing at once he was not alone. Three figures emerged from the darkness directly in front of him. They wore black, hooded cloaks over black and red robes. With what appeared to be silver breastplates that bore at their centre a great sorcerous eye with intricate runes spiraling outwards from around it. Three female faces, worked in what he could only surmise to be the same metal as the breastplate, regarded him curiously with their mirror-polished features from the black abyss of their raised hoods.
Za'al'iht had been so caught off guard by these individuals appearance, that he never heard the air slice behind him until it was too late. Something heavy struck him directly between his shoulders, and some sort steel web quickly enveloped his arms and legs, and all the way around his chest. Pinning the axe tight to his body. Barbed hooks latched in his flesh, and locked him in tight. Off-balance, the Nagai stumbled, furiously trying to regain his footing and struggle against the net with the Tof axe -- to no avail.
On the ground, three more masked figures now loomed over him. Dressed in the same garb and fashion, save their masks were distinctly male. The first grabbed Za'al'iht by his ankles, while a second began yanking on the sides of the net, digging the barbs deeper and deeper in to his flesh.
"Grrraahhh!" Za'al'iht bellowed painfully. Pulling one foot free, as the man with the net began to straighten upwards, he violently kicked the side of his knee. Stumbling him. But as he fell, he had yanked the net in such a way that the Nagai was able to power forward with the Tof weapon, splitting the fine metal braids on it's edge.
With a single, merciless sweep he drove the individual at his feet backwards just long enough for him to tear the rest of the way out of the net. And lunge backwards, away from the three men, and with the three women off to his left at an angle.
Za'al'iht was in a complete daze, his body was savagely torn, and battered. His wounds were beginning to ooze a viscous mucus like liquid, and he was exhausted. But if this were to be his grave, the young assassin would not fall without taking at least one of these dogs with him.
"So much fight, in this one." a voice suddenly echoed. Through the incredible blur in his eyes, he could just barely make out a seventh attacker. This one was different. He wore no cloak, no mask. His skin was purple, and his head grotesquely misshapen. "He will make an excellent addition." It spoke again, commanding the six to rise from their bowed position.
With one last rally of strength, Za'al'iht roared like a wounded beast and surged forward. Unaware of just how he was harnessing this amount of speed. Each of the six were poised in the motions of rising, as if he had somehow slowed time to little more than a crawl. But before he could even manage a strike on the purple figure, blackness.
******
No, the young Devenne had not been the last to enter. That honour belonged to Zaal, who soon after walking in to the cell where the fighters were held. He had chose to rest his eyes, a process that never failed to thrust him back in to the nightmares of his past. A process that was slowly beginning to rob this Nagai of his sanity.
But. He. Needed. Sleep.
Startled awake, he opened his eyes wide. Glancing through the dark of their cell, and at every one of them individually. Why was he doing this? Why not just kill this girl, and be done with this? He thought about it, but the only conclusion he could come up with was that he needed more sleep. More nightmares? Ugh. . . . just five minutes. Just five more minutes.
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| Devenne_Ozera | Date: Wednesday, 06 Feb 2013, 10:05 PM | Message # 21 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 75
Status: Offline
| "This one has yet to break words" he said. With his right arm extended out, he motioned toward the Kage girl.
"Bring her to me" the other man answered, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. Rough hands gripped her by the forearms, pulling her from formation, and before a man who's face was obscured by his robes. He moved with a predatory grace, walking around her as a saber cat would circle their prey. He stopped in front of her, reaching out to cup his hand beneath her chin. He tilted her head back, forcing her gaze upward. Her eyes had haunted him once before, but they always seemed lost beneath her hooded lids. Recognition flashed across her bright pink pools, followed by a startled gasp.
"Jaden" she said, her voice was barely above a whisper. "And so the Kage speaks" he said, releasing his hold on her. "But does she listen?" He studied her for a moment, while making a silent decision to himself. "Kneel" he ordered. When she did not move, he turned toward the man that brought her before him. Without saying a word, he nodded his head once. She was struck from behind, with a heel to the back of the leg, bringing her to her knees. A tight grip on her hair quickly followed, forcing her head back so that she could look at him. "Aaaah...the Kage finally learns her place. On her knees."
She did her best to stay on her feet for the remainder of the day. But that proved a difficult task for everyone. They sparred with training swords, and when a fight went on too long, it tended to progress to the ground. Ground fighting was not something one learned during Jedi training. It was barbaric, and she didn't want any part of it. She had only one equal when it came to dueling, and that was the Nagai. She had yet to face him one on one, but before that could happen, she was going to have to learn how to fight on the ground.
When it came time for everyone to turn in. She stayed out on the training grounds. Trying to make sense of everything she had learned. She was troubled by what she had observed. Even the veteran fighters, while they did not lack technique, it was not a priority. Aggression dominated here. Aggression first, and then technique. She sprawled out in the center of the floor. Her back pressed against the ground, and arms stretched out over her head. She embraced the silence, and the now darkened room, hoping to clear her thoughts of the day.
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| General_Adenn | Date: Saturday, 23 Feb 2013, 4:39 PM | Message # 22 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| "Better learn to live in your head, this was just day one." A voice suddenly lifted from the shadows of the small training room, "These places have a way of. . . " he hesitated, memory lost in a swirl of emotion as he recalled the very first time he had found himself in a place such as this. The very place where much of Za'al'iht had died, and Zaal was born.
The first thing he remembered were the rough hands that had quite suddenly lurched him backwards from across what ever muscular beast he had been strewn over for the long journey his barely conscious mind could recall. The chains that bound his wrists and ankles firm, giving a great rattle before the young Nagai had been discarded on to the ground as though he were little more than a sack of grain. Za'al'iht had hit the ground with such force that the young boy could do little to fight off the yelp of pain as the wind fleeted from his lungs with a deep gasp.
"Filthy maggot!" a man yelled at Za'al'iht, aiming a spiteful kick in to his right side.
Again the Nagai grunted, chains giving an awful shiver as they dragged over the dusty stone ground with Za'al'iht as he curled in to a helpless ball. For the first time in some days the battered and beaten Nagai managed to open his blood gummed eyes, flinching momentarily as the sun touched his bloodshot orbs.
Where was he now? Last he could clearly pinpoint in his foggy mind he'd been in some forest. But now it was a city? Or was it a town? Or perhaps a compound of some sort? He could hear no rustle of countless civilians, nor the smell nor bark of disenchanted street merchants and vendors as they peddled their goods or food. No. All he could make out through his blurred vision were the very square, block-like structures that seemed to flank his every direction. They were white, and dusty, with a very bright, golden sun casting the narrow alleys that separated each thick-walled fort like building in total shadow.
"Be still, boy!" Za'al'iht's captor bellowed, dropping the heel of his boot down upon the side of the Nagai's head, painfully knocking the other side of his skull down on to the ground with a flat, echoing thud. "There is business that needs attending, I will not have you ruin my standing with Issommir."
After firing another vicious series of kicks in to the helpless body of the former child assassin, the man seemed content enough to turn his back on him without fear of the Nagai attempting to flee -- or strike. This man was no combatant, nor was he an official part of Issommir's growing following here. Merely a sycophant, deluded with ideas that one day he would be embraced as brother by the Draethos and his wildly loyal cult.
Approaching the massive building directly to their front, the man banged with a closed fist on the heavy, and thick double-doors. Then paused, only to once again smash his fist on their face a moment later. And finally, after several long minutes, a small window on the left door slid open.
"Mistress Sitalia is away on business, " A mans voice hissed. "Come back later."
"Open the door, you wretch!" Za'al'iht's retainer shouted with authority. "I've a prisoner for your Mistress, compliments the Archlector himself."
"Issommir?" the man croaked.
Without another word, the spy window was flung shut with a loud clack. Then a series of bolts began to click and snap as locks were disengaged one by one until finally one of the large doors swung noisily open. From it's threshold a grotesquely thick man stepped outside. He wore deep, emerald green robes drenched with sweat under both arms and down the centre of his wide back. His head was round, cheeks fat, and red.
"Why would Issommir send us a prisoner?" he sputtered, staring down at Za'al'iht with a perked brow. "Better yet, why would we accept him? The Archlector's power and influence is of little meaning here. Moreover, this runt doesn't look like he'd survive a day. Let us not even begin to speak on the current state of him."
"I'm not here to haggle with you, fool! I'm here only to conduct the business I've been set to task for. And do not play, everyone knows that Issommir and his Shadows will crush the K'ovari. They were fools to revolt against His will."
"You dance around my question. Why would 'He' give us this prisoner?"
"I'm not here to question the Archlector. But he did have this to say to your Mistress. He's giving you this Nagai as a boy, but wants him back when he's a monster. Break him as only she can. And she will see herself as Fleshmaster of his Empire."
"Break him by what means?" The fat man questioned, fingers scratching through the shadow of hair under his chin.
"By any, and all."
"All right." Sitalia's servant said firmly, turning on his heel before leaning his head back through the doorway and releasing a sharp whistle. "Remove his chains. I shall like to have a better look at him."
Za'al'iht, still lost in a daze from the repeated kicks his former retainer had thrown in to him laid perfectly still as the shackles were slowly removed one binding at a time. First from his wrists, then from his ankles. For a moment he had thought perhaps now, if he could muster any strength from within, he may be able to escape. But the feeble dream quickly was butted out as two very large, heavily muscled slaves emerged from the compound Sitalia's man had came from.
Firmly they took him by both arms, raising him to his feet as though he were little more than a doll a small child would play with. "Urgh. ." Za'al'iht winced weakly, letting much of his own weight sag on the two slaves that held him.
"Hmm. . " Sitalia's obese servant breathed while circling, his beady eyes studying the Nagai boy critically. "Looks like he put up quite the struggle." He finally said, ceasing his stride in front of Za'al'iht he reached out with one hand, pudgy fingers adorned with gem encrusted rings clutching the boy by the chin. Leaning his head backwards just enough so he could further examine his face. "Tell the Archlector we will teach him obedience, although we can't guarantee he will not come out of this without a certain degree of. . . mental scarring." He said with a revolting coo just before passing his tongue through the crevasse of his thick, dry lips. "Take him inside. Let's get him acquainted with how things will be working here."
"Your will, Master Sait." both slaves said in almost perfect unison before dragging Za'al'iht through the doorway and in to the Slaver's compound.
For a moment the Nagai had lost consciousness, only regaining some small semblance of sense when Sait's cruel voice bellowed loudly for the two slaves to stand back.
"Do you speak Basic, runt?" Sait asked.
Confused, Za'al'iht lifted his head and turned it to the side. His chest was pressed loosely against a gleaming, black marble pillar, decorated with various scenes of what he could only guess were Gladiators and Pit Fighters that had been trained in this very Compound over the years. He tried to retract his arms from around the sides of it, but he found out quickly that he was once more shackled. He pulled against the chains once, there would be no way he'd ever break them, not even in the best of conditions. Shifting his gaze to the other side now, he saw that aside from this one pillar, the entire room was empty.
"No bother." Sait whispered, his full, round, sweaty body now suddenly directly behind Za'aliht. The unnatural bulge of his belly pressing on the teenaged Nagai's back, as he placed one hand on Za'al'ihts waist. Pressing his body tighter to the pillar. "I don't care what you are. . . " He breathed in to the blood encrusted hair on the back of Za'al'ihts head. "Or where your from." He continued, laying his heavy body even more firmly on to the boy. "When my Mistress is gone, you belong. . to. . me. You. . are my property." He grunted madly, his groin now making small circles against the backside of the Nagai.
As if some sort of lost reserve of energy had suddenly welled through his very being, Za'al'iht tried mightily to knock this heavy man off. Struggling as strongly as he could, if he had thought fear was what he had experienced in the forest, he knew not what this was. Sheer terror?
"Mm, yes. I do love it when you lot think you can deny my advances. Let this lesson be your first." Sait huffed, eyes lustfully gazing down over his own hooked nose at the dirty, pale flesh of the Nagai. "Hold his shoulders!" He demanded, slowly working himself free of his lower robes.
"A way of changing you!" Zaal gasped hatefully, his entire demeanor momentarily changing, he shook his head left then right. Before he began to retreat towards the exit of the training room without another word.
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