[quote=@Odin]
[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mho5SaMWf84]The sentencing[/url][/center]

Ketill grinned to himself when Najla had responded to his words, as it was not hard to see her anger, much less hear it. Although she had always done a good job of hiding who she was, what she thought and what she felt, she would do no such thing now. He wondered if he had struck a nerve while she walked away. It seemed to be the case. When she was gone, he considered taking the wine – but, on the other hand, he also realized that she would likely know. And that would harm the point he was making. So, he just threw back his head and attempted to return to his uncomfortable slumber. For two weeks he had been here, but he had only managed to sleep whenever he had gotten too exhausted. Otherwise, the cold walls and floor kept him up.

But not today. A few minutes later, his eyes closed, remaining shut for the duration of the day and night.

During his sleep, he dreamt of his two homes – Broacien, and the cold harsh North. He relived his youth in mere moments, the images flashing before his very eyes. The cold white snow, the momentary lapses of the white snowscape when it melted in the summer. For those brief two months you could see the ground, which was covered in a grass which none had seen south of the mountains. It was a dark, greyish green, a sign of grass that managed to survive against the odds – no sunlight, no nutrition. It was a good metaphor for the Northern people, who lived in much the same way. 

They lived in a place where man wasn’t meant to live – not for long at any rate. 

But Ketill’s visions of the North soon made way for the large mountain range, and the gigantic castle that was beyond. When he had first crossed those mountains as a boy, he had done so out of desperation. His oncoming death would have been certain if he had not crossed, as no boy could survive on their own in the north. If the creatures of the night did not get you, the other tribes would. So he made that trek, alone, for two days, until he reached the other side. And no imagination could match the sight of that large castle.

When he was found, he was taken in, and tutored in the arts of warfare and religion. It seemed that the lord had seen fit to turn Ketill into his own guard, though none would have expected it to pan out so well, not even the lord himself. And with the arrival of ‘Princess Winter’, his new wife, who had an almost unhealthy obsession with the North and the people that lived there, Ketill’s education would soon expand far beyond the reach of the lord. The princess tutored him personally in matters of religion that extended beyond the scope of the local priest – she was a princess, a daughter of the Monarch on Earth after all. 

The dream continued to his journey to Coedwin, but he never saw what happened beyond that. A kick in the leg woke him up, and before he could react, he was already picked up by his arms and dragged out of the cell. He did not fight back. He did not even realize it had already been the next day – though, truth be told, Ketill had lost track of time some weeks ago, during his first week in the prison. They bound his arms quickly with a rope, making sure he was properly tied by pulling the rope in a rather painful way once or twice.

He was once more dragged to the throne room, where he would be placed in front of the sultan once more – this time with noticeably more spectators. For some that might have been interesting. For Ketill, it was merely a flow of faces he did not know or recognize, people who had come here to watch as he got sentenced to death.

For Ketill, things almost seemed to slow down now, time becoming slower, movements becoming slower, as he watched the sultan converse with Najla idly while he was forced to kneel again. They had made sure he could not pull any stunts this time, and they made sure to hold onto his shoulders. Though it was not required, as Ketill had already come to terms with his fate. No, he wished merely for Najla to execute it.

His vision still slowed, Najla got up and began speaking – though he did not hear her words, could not even understand even if he had heard her. When he turned his head, left to right, all he could see were the faces of the Sawarim nobles. They had come to watch him, and some were looking at him closely. No doubt that they would cut him down if they could. But for most of them, they were paying attention to Najla. They did not seem angered. Not even annoyed at the presence of a Servant. Those that did look at him seemed to look with a look of indifference.

Though, that was worse. The look of hate could explain many things. A look of indifference could explain nothing. 

Unsatisfied with the answers he found on the faces of these people, Ketill turned his attention back to Najla, whom was still holding her speech. She paraded around, in her clothes and jewelry, those fine luxuries that placed her above the rest. Oh, if only they had seen her when she stood in the chamber of the Hochmeister, pleading for her life. What they would think of their Sultana… Had not had the decency to cut her own throat, much rather lied and deceived her way through Broacien. And now, repaid the favour to her would-be protector. 

Slowly Ketill’s mind caught up, waking from the haze of sleep and emotion alike. He heard more clearly, now, when he heard the voice of a man from the crowd interrupt. There was a back and forth momentarily, but Ketill did not think of this new face as important enough to remember. Perhaps he would have, had he been able to decipher what the man had said. But no such luck – after this back and forth, the Sultan took over and seemed to make the final decision. 

Before Ketill knew it, he was being hoisted onto his feet again, and the bustle and talk of court indicated that they were done. Najla marched down towards him, intending to pass him by. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask her how he would die. But she was quicker. She informed him he’d keep his life – that he’d best not make her regret it. Normally he would have smiled at her, informed her that she had been scared to execute him herself. But now the realization came over him of what precisely was meant with this. He would suffer a fate far worse than execution, a fate worse than even an execution that was dragged out over the 364 days of a year. An execution that would take years upon years to occur – the life of a slave. 

[i]‘’This is not what you had promised me,’’[/i] he said, softly, slowly, still coming to terms with his new fate. Death had been stayed, and exchanged for servitude. As the emotions grew within him, so did his strength. [i]‘’Tell me at least that you are the one that will take my life and command it? That you would be the one to execute this command? Do not- do not walk away from me, you…’’[/i]

With violent thrashes and turns, Ketill began resisting. His tied hands made it no easy feat, resulting in him violently trying to chase Najla to continue speaking with her. But the guards made sure he did no such thing – all Ketill could do was push against them. But the tied hands gave them a good way to control him. It was useless. Najla’s family followed her, and Ketill looked at them all. They passed him – paid him mind, but did not offer him any words. Not even an insult. Just silently… silently passed him and judged him. And Ketill stared back, slowly settling down with the realization that this battle between him and Najla had finished and that there had been no winner. As he watched her family pass by, he swore to himself an oath – an oath of survival. He had to survive this, and show the Sawarim that he was no weak-willed man that would bend and contort himself to meet their demands. Whatever he had to do, he would do it. For that one chance. That one chance of revenge.

[hr]

One year had passed since, and Ketill had been placed into the clutches of one ‘Tahir’. Despite the familiarity with some of the members of the Sultan’s court, to Ketill, this name was not known. Never the less, Ketill did not see Tahir often – he found himself too important to deal with slaves and instead, had numerous slave masters on his estate that were in charge of the slaves in his name. 

At first Ketill had been made into a house slave – the prestige of having a Servant serving you wine and food like a true inferior had been too much to pass up on to Tahir, but he quickly realized the mistake he had made when Ketill proved to be unreliably uncooperative, and above that, unable to speak the Sawarim language. When Ketill spent an hour holed up in a room with a dagger to the throat of a regular servant, the decision was made to relieve him of his slave duties and instead, force him to become a labourer.

Ketill was still unwilling to work, but it was hard to give the illusion of working in this situation. Besides the frequent crack of the whip when hauling stone, the guards also seemed to find it rather amusing to beat the slaves for no reason. Ketill was a frequent target, mostly due to his faith, but also because he stood up for himself and occasionally fought back, which gave them a reason to punish him even harder, and even drag him to Tahir himself, who usually opted to have him lashed. Lightly, of course, as to not harm the physique of his prize slave too much. 

After three months, the palace temple had finally been constructed, and Ketill was sent back to the estate of Tahir himself, where he continued to serve. Most of the time he was merely used as a prize object – kept around for visitors, to show them how Tahir had somehow managed to keep a Servant slave in check. This was parallel to the truth, which would show you that Ketill was still rebellious as ever, but the visitors would only see Ketill briefly after all. 

During this time, Ketill began seeing Tahir more often, as you’d expect given he was on his estate now. This also meant an increase in beatings and punishment, with or without reason, meant to keep the slave in check. For this reason, none of the other slaves dared to fraternize with Ketill, afraid they might get the same treatment, leaving Ketill alone throughout much of his year as a slave. 

Two months before Najla’s visit, Ketill had been beaten severely – left in the open of the courtyard at night, beaten half to death, bruises all over his body. He had laid there – conscious, staring at the stars in the sky. He had wondered if the Monarch was there, looking down upon him. But rather than feel hopeful, it made him feel angered. It had been a lie. What God would offer it’s hand in times of need – or make promises to do so – but then not follow through when it was needed? Had Ketill not been a good man? Had he not [i]served[/i] without question? Had he not followed the orders of the Hochmeister, of the Monarch himself, of the exalted daughter of the Monarch? Was he not [i]good[/i] enough? He had endured hardships in his name. He had gone on this expedition in his name. What [b]more[/b] was required? 

And in that moment he found his answer. In the sky, the stars aligned to show the symbol of Auðrun, the God of the North. Even now in the darkest of time, Auðrun was there, watching over him. Had he been praying to the wrong God the entire time? As far as he could remember that formation of stars in his symbol had always been there – always watching over him. He knew what he had to do – finally, he knew.

[hr]

<[i]‘’What is this?’’[/i]> one of the slavemasters asked, holding up a clay pot in his hand. He and Ketill were standing in the courtyard of Tahir’s estate, near the small granary in the corner of the walled off area. Ketill had been working in the granary today, moving some of the items around per request of the household cook. Normally, they’d have a regular slave do it – but it seemed like they were all preoccupied, and Tahir had seen fit to assign Ketill to do more manual labour. ‘Show him his place’ as he had put it to his slavemasters. He’d been dressed in nothing more than a set of pants, his feet uncovered as he walked upon the scorching hot stones, his torso glistening with sweat under the sun that beamed down. Not even the decency to offer him a headscarf they had offered him.

[i]‘’What?’’[/i] Ketill breezed at the man, looking at him from the corner of his eyes while he lifted a box and turned around, walking to a large pile of crates and putting it on top. The chore almost seemed useless. He was just moving a set of boxes from one side of the granary to the other. What difference did it make?

With a loud crack the slavemaster threw the pot onto the ground, spilling the grain inside all over the dusty floor. <[i]‘’Look what you did! Clean it, now, you filthy dog!’’[/i]> he yelled, pointing at the grain. The man’s face spelled anger, despite the fact that [i]he[/i] was clearly the one to throw the pot onto the ground. It was almost like he actually believed Ketill did it.

In the back of his mind, Ketill wondered if this was why all of the other slaves had been ‘occupied’ randomly, and why Tahir had sent him to do this useless job. Did he want to hassle Ketill today, to show him his place as a Servant of the Monarch? He looked at the slavemaster angrily, not caring enough to follow the order. He had shed the mantle of a Servant some months ago now. The only remainder of that mantle were the three crimson red dots on his forehead. 

The Monarch had abandoned him - [i]’the Monarch saves those that duly serve him and follow his word’[/i] the princess had told him once, when he was younger. A lie, it had turned out to be. A fat lie. The Old Gods would protect him – they always did. He didn’t know how he would gain back their favour – not in this desert, anyway. But he’d do it. He’d ask for their favour, ‘lend me your strength’ he’d tell them, no, demand it, ‘that I may shed the Sawarim blood in your name; to sate your bloodlust.’ 

But try explaining that he was no longer a Servant to these ignorant fools. 

<[i]‘’Clean!’’[/i]> the slavemaster yelled again. Ketill ignored him and continued walking with the boxes, moving them from one side to the other. He was waiting for the inevitable. And it came – without question, it came. He felt the strong grasp of the slavemaster’s arm on his bare shoulder, pulling him back and causing him to drop the box. It shattered and the grain inside spilt even further, covering the floor entirely now. 

With a wide swing the slavemaster tossed him towards the courtyard, sending Ketill to the ground, tumbling and rolling across the sand covered tiles. Normally, Ketill would’ve been able to keep standing from such a swing, but he had not been fed properly for months, and his strength was waning. His face had sunk in even further and his body was beginning to show signs of weakness.

The slavemaster reached him within moments, instantly setting upon him and beginning to beat him. His face got hit a few times before Ketill tried to defend himself, reaching for the man’s throat. He found himself unable to grab it, his eyes shut to protect them against the man’s fists. He lowered his hands momentarily to try and shield himself before he reached out again, his fingers trailing across the man’s face and finding his eyes. The nails dug into his eyes but Ketill lacked the strength to properly gouge them, and he ended up making a half attempt to do so. This only solicited more anger in the slavemaster as other guards began showing up to help. Soon enough he felt the punches of not only the slavemaster, but also the kicks in his side and his head from the guards.

[/quote]