[quote=@Odin]
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYfb4Xbco5M[/youtube][/center]

Ketill did not reply to her words after she spoke them – he found little use in it, and besides, she ‘’agreed’’ with him. Even though she had not been genuine, he knew that if he continued the argument, he’d be seen as the person that wanted to argue. As much as he wanted to tell her what he really thought, how much he wished her dead, how he’d like to rip her stomach open and trail her entrails from one end of the palace to the other – he did not tell her that. While the ‘old’ Ketill might have done such a thing in much more knight-fitting words, the new Ketill realized his position. He’d become more sharp, using his experiences with the slavemasters as a whetting stone to sharpen himself upon. His body was weak, surely, but his mind was that much stronger. It had to be.

He was left alone once she left – only some midwives showed up, talking among themselves in their language. They mentioned nothing he could understand except the word ‘dog’ which he had heard a few times too many in his brief stay in the Sultanate. Other favorite swearwords he had heard were mostly related to animals, as it seemed that the Sawarim did not particularly like most animals. The midwives pushed some salve towards him, and then left immediately. 

He did not touch the salve.

The Gods’ wills would help him.

During whatever days he spent in the estate of this Tahir, he was left alone. Occasionally he would be fed, which was a welcome change at least, but besides that, nothing really changed. Despite that this change of master would appear to be a positive thing, Ketill himself was not convinced. He would rather spend whatever was left of his days in a quick manner, finding his death soon at the hands of these brutal slavemasters. Instead, he would be left a real slave, a man with no shred of own determination, instead bowing to every will and whim of the same woman he once protected from death. … he’d be dead, before that. The Gods would will that, too.

They left not too long after that, seemingly headed for the palace. While they moved, Ketill’s eyes bore into the back of Najla’s head, his mind occupying him with creative ways in which he would end her life now. A recurring theme in this was the regret he felt for defending her in Redsand, in the Coedwin castle. 

When they arrived, he was taken away rapidly, and immediately sent to the entry hall for new slaves. He was measured, top to toe. They took most of his sizes, chest, legs, length and width, everything, and then put him in a bath. It smelled okay – not as glamorous as the baths of the Sultan and his relatives, but better than no bath at all. Which was something he had had to deal with ever since their expedition began. The other slaves, whom were most likely considered very trustworthy, and were therefore designated as the managers of the other slaves, bathed him rapidly. He was given barely a minute to soak before he had to get out and was given new clothes. They looked nice, perhaps. Useless splendour for people that did not require it, Ketill found himself thinking, but he had little input in the matter.

As it was yet early in the morning, closing in on the afternoon, he was brought to the gardens for work. Here he joined a group of some four other slaves, who were busy pulling and cutting weeds from the garden and from between the tiles. He was handed a small knife, too dull to cut with, and was made to kneel and spend the entire day in the burning head, doing useless labour. It was made worse upon the realization that the weeds would likely have grown back next week, and he’d most likely be made to repeat the process then.

[hr][hr]

The very next day already, he was called to Najla’s room, escorted there by a servant. He was taken through the largest and most gold-decorated halls of the palace. How the Sawarim had managed to get all this fine ore out of the ground remained a mystery, and Ketill mused that perhaps they had a set of mines far away, in the stone-heavy areas of the desert. 

In these two days, he had cleared up immensely. He had been fed properly and while his body still looked malnourished, you could already see the effects a gentler treatment was having on him. His cheeks were no longer fallen in, his eyes were clear, and they had even made sure to trim his beard and hair while he was bathing. 

He looked like he fit in – if he had been granted an olive skin at birth rather than his pale Northern appearance, he’d be a Sawarim, that much he could be sure of. Instead, his tall stature, blue eyes and skin color merely made him stand out in this golden hall. But this love of gold, of splendour and wealth, it’d be their ultimate downfall, Ketill knew. It had to be.

When he was brought before Najla, now accompanied by a guard instead, he did not bow or kneel. She would forgive him – he knew that, because she had taken him as her slave, knowing that he was not a meek sheep that would follow orders like a timid child. He was more akin to a trapped bear – prod him with a stick and he would not be ‘tamed.’ He was merely biding his time. He expected Najla knew this, too. [i]“You look better too,”[/i] he replied. It would sound strange, as Najla had not looked ‘bad’ in years now. She had spent her time here clad in gold and silk, and so it was not quite possible for her to look ‘better.’ He was referencing her time spent in rags of a slave, or the simple Broacienien dresses that didn’t equate to Sawarimic dresses. But he knew she did not remember that time – did not care to remember it.

She mentioned his wounds, and despite the fact that he hadn’t used the salve he’d been granted, nor had he ever sought aid of healers in the palace, and despite the fact that the wounds on his chest that were earned from the slavemasters were still in the process of healing rather openly, she could not see that. While she might have believed that the salve and healers had done their work, Ketill had merely offered sacrifices to his Gods, the Old Gods, in the privacy of his small quarters that he shared with other slaves. He had kept it hidden, in the dark of the night, mumbling chants to himself while he pushed meat onto the small opening in the wall that lead outside, and in return for his sacrifice, the Gods had healed him. The Gods would grant him what he needed to do what he needed to do. 

[i]“I require nothing you can offer me,”[/i] he answered. In his mind he added, ‘except for your own death.’ She continued to talk and lead him, but he did not really listen to her words. The mention of the Sultan immediately made him form plans, but none were formed well enough for him to act on them quite yet. When she arrived at her destination, Ketill was made to wait outside. He felt the awkward stares of the guard that would disappear whenever he looked back at the man. 

While he had been beaten and cussed out before, he had also earned a reputation for fighting back – even being as bold as to talk back to the Sultan. Most guards knew better than to target him by now. No, instead he was seen as little more than a chained beast. By everyone.

Bar that one person – the fool that would later prod him with sticks time and time again. He approached down the hallway and his eyes immediately were trained on Ketill, who did not look back but instead busied himself with looking at the other people around him. This man was Osman, who would later reveal himself to Ketill as Najla’s new husband. For now, however, he was unaware of the man’s position, and did not think to connect Najla’s visit to the Sultan with his arrival quite yet.

Thus, when the man spoke to the guard, and mentioned the word ‘dog,’ Ketill did not feel pressured to defend himself. He had learned to pick his battles, and had learned long ago that fighting against everyone that called him a dog was a war he’d never finish. The rest of the conversation between the guard and Osman was unclear to Ketill. His lack of being called anything other than swearwords meant he did not quite grasp the meaning of most Sawarim words.

But Osman meant to correct that, to make clear just what he thought of the Servant. When he stepped closer he asked if the Servant was grateful, and while Ketill did not think of himself as a Servant in any form or capacity of that word much longer due to his change of faith, he knew that the Sawarim did think of him like that. He remained quiet, however. Even the mention of skinning beasts did not cause Ketill to do much other than to look up at Osman with his cold eyes, wondering just what kind of idiocy this man could spew.

The mention of rape however, caused Ketill to smile. It was not a smile filled with humour – or rather, not the funny kind. Rather, it was filled with venom – the kind of smile that betrayed that Ketill would be prepared to slit this man’s throat in his sleep if need be. He waited for the man to finish his little ‘speech’ before retorting. [i]“In my countries we do not marry off princesses if they have been raped or otherwise dirtied. If I am a rapist, then that means that whoever is getting to marry your prized Sultana is getting a beggars left-overs. I feel bad for him, this dishonour he’s been set up with.”[/i] He turned his head slightly, looking back at the door, hearing footsteps approach. Before the door opened he looked back at Osman, turning his head sideways a bit like a dog does at times. [i]“I did not beg, no. She requested my presence. Perhaps it was not rape after all, and she wishes to see me again at night.”[/i]

Of course there had never been a rape, but Osman would not know that, as he had just insinuated that Ketill was a rapist after all. But had Ketill known that Osman was her betrothed-to-be, he might have held his tongue. Regardless, when Ketill finished speaking, the doors swung open, and Osman was not given a chance to retort. Perhaps for the best – Ketill’s words would have been enough to cause any man to slit Ketill’s throat. When Osman approached Najla, Ketill followed him with his eyes, and watched as the two engaged in their conversation. Their interactions made it quite clear that the two were lovers and, in fact, that Osman was her betrothed. While any man in Ketill’s position would’ve feared Osman’s retaliation for his words…

Ketill merely laughed, loudly, until the guard pushed him in his back to force him to shut up. It seemed like Ketill was rather amused to have insulted Osman to his face, as this amount of joy had not been seen in Ketill for many years. When Osman left to speak to the Sultan, Najla took Ketill with her again and asked about what Ketill had done to anger Osman. Ketill did not defend himself, even if Osman had been the one that sought out the argument. [i]“He told me I was a rapist. I told him that that meant whoever got to marry you was buying used goods.”[/i]

[hr][hr]

The night of the party, Ketill was prepared by other slaves. He was dressed differently – he was not given a tunic or shirt, and instead was sent out bare chested. Apparently this was to show off his stature, to make the ‘taming’ of this beast even more impressive. Over the time spent in the palace, he had gotten back much of his physique and had become quite hulking again. He was even given a set of two bracelets made of gold, with golden chains running between them. He was given a set of silk pants and shoes with long, pointy ends. It looked ridiculous, but expensive and extravagant, which seemed to be the recurring theme in the party of that night. 

He had been bathed again and his hair and beard trimmed once more. He could not tell the time from inside but he felt like he had spent two hours, maybe more, just getting dressed for the party. When he was finally brought out, he was brought in through the stream of guests that had arrived early, and put down beneath the balcony of the Sultan’s seating, and that of his family. When he was put down below the balcony, he was made aware promptly that there were guards on each side of him, preventing him from doing much other than stand there and ‘engage’ with whomever decided to stand close to the brute and mock him.

But not many people dared stand that close to this ‘Broacien dog’ and most opted to look at him from a distance, gawking at his stature, size and scars, as well as look at the three dots. Most people would then immediately forget about him and return to conversing with the other guests. Perhaps this was a boring way to spend time, but Ketill imagined it was better than sitting in the heat in Tahir’s estate, being beaten for no reason. Time passed and more people dared to get closer to him once they realized he was not dangerous purely by distance. The two guards standing next to him perhaps also added feelings of safety. 

Most noticeable were the harem girls, however, who seemed not to care too much. They might have assumed that Ketill was a man, Monarchist or not, and they knew better than anyone that men were weak-willed when it came to beautiful women. They came quite close, and seemed to amuse themselves by looking at him and talking about him. The few that were from Broacien made a point out of it to talk about him in his own language, seemingly trying to see if he’d reciprocate their talk. But he didn’t – not yet. 

After a while, they got bored, and when the time came for Najla and Osman to be blessed, they left the area and made place for more important people. It was then that they began making their god-awful sounds, that Ketill likened only to a battle. His fists trembled as he closed his eyes, and began seeing a desert in front of him. 

It reminded him of the first battle he ever fought against the Sawarim. He had been sent out on patrol with four other Servants, four veterans that were meant to take him as a recruit and teach him a few things. They had expected to go over some basics – finding water, dealing with Sawarim villages, and finding your way back through the desert. Instead, they had gotten trapped in a sandstorm, and throughout the storm they heard the Sawarim scouts shouting these very same sounds, sounds that he couldn’t even place in his mind as having any meaning at all. During the storm they were attacked and, from seemingly nowhere, arrows came flying at them. One by one his companions fell and it was only when the sandstorm died down that the last remaining Servant grabbed Ketill by the shoulder and dragged him out of there that they did escape. Three of them died that day. 

For a moment he felt like he was going to pass out but then they stopped, and instead he heard the talks return. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring into the same room he had just been standing in too – not a sand storm, not with the blood of dead comrades on his hand. Instead, he was still a slave. He did not see anything that was going on above him near the Sultan, but he was made aware of the exotic drinks and drugs when the harem girls returned. They talked among themselves for a while, holding cups in their hands. Continuously they pointed at him and talked, until one of them worked up the courage to go talk to the man that they had dubbed ‘Bear of Broacien.’ A fitting name perhaps, and a name that he only knew he’d been given because the woman that approached him was from Broacien herself – had it been in Sawarim, he would not have understood that name. 

[i]“Here, this is for you, from me and the girls, oh Bear of Broacien,”[/i] she said, batting her eyes at him seductively while handing off a cup with a grey swirling drink inside. Ketill thought about it for a moment and his pride demanded he did not take it, but he quickly realized that if he didn’t take any of the drink or food he was offered, he’d likely go to bed parched and dead from hunger and thirst. He grabbed the cup, nodding at the woman as a form of thanks, before raising the cup to his mouth and taking a sip.

Without realizing it, the eyes of the court were upon him, and when he drank down a whole sip of the drink, the whole court seemingly gasped. It wasn’t until he tasted the foul drink that he reacted, looking down and spitting out the drink onto the floor. An insult in any other scenario, but it seemed like the court could see the humour of it, and had entirely expected him to dislike the drink. The harem girl covered her mouth as she laughed, taking back the cup quickly and walking back to her group of harem friends, her hips shaking left to right and back out of habit, perhaps intended to seduce Ketill, but he was not paying attention anymore. Ketill continued to spit out whatever was left of the drink, but the taste remained and would likely remain the rest of the night. 

The harem girls continued to hang around him, though did not engage with him anymore besides the obvious glares and words they spoke about him. It was quite some time before someone else approached him, or rather.. a group of people. Some of the nobles had taken an interest in him, and three men and two women approached then. One of the men wore ceremonial weaponry, the others wearing only a gold-clad dagger on one hip. The women were dressed in finery, though not as fine as Najla or anyone of her stature. 

<[i]“Tell me, guard, have you fought his kind before?”[/i]> one of them asked one of the guards at his side, while the others admired his stature. The guard nodded, indicating that he had indeed fought Broacieniens. 

<[i]“He’s massive, not like our soldiers. Are they all like this?”[/i]>

<[i]“The Servants at Coedwin, yes. The regular Broacieniens, no.”[/i]>

<[i]“I see, I see. I take it that they are good fighters, then?”[/i]>

<[i]“The Servants, yes. They understand warfare. Worthy enemies of the Sultan.”[/i]>

<[i]“Infidel, none the less.”[/i]>

<[i]“Yes, sir,”[/i]> the guard answered. He wouldn’t wish to infer that he had any compassion for the Servants. 

By now, the women had started prodding at Ketill’s body, before one of them dared turn to the guard to ask for a favour. <[i]“Show us how strong he is, please.”[/i]> 

The guard complied without a counterword, turning himself towards Ketill and attempting to push him off his spot. Ketill moved slightly, changing his foot position slightly, but ultimately remaining more or less where he was. He didn’t understand what was going on, but the women seemed amused, clapping softly and talking among themselves, giggling happily. The men stroked their beard while looking at him, enthralled by the fact that a man could be so strong as to withstand a Sawarim royal guard so easily. The one with the weaponry turned around and called for a slave, and then reached for some food and a glass of wine. 

<[i]“For the slave,”[/i]> he said when he handed it off to the guard on the other side, who promptly handed it to Ketill. <[i]“Tell him we are pleased.”[/i]> 

The guard handed Ketill the food and the cup of wine and let him know that the guests were pleased with whatever they had wanted out of the Servant. Ketill was confused and offered a slight nod, before he ate and drank quickly. When he was done, the nobles walked off and when he followed them with his eyes, he noticed Najla dancing with Osman, her betrothed. [i]Well,[/i] he thought, [i]at least someone is having fun.[/i]

He watched them for some time before Osman spoke to Najla and disappeared, walking up the stairs to his side. Najla remained. Ketill watched her closely, following her movements. What moron married a woman and then left her alone the night of the betrothal? Najla seemed very out of it, too, and Ketill had no doubt in his mind that it was from the alcohol and other dubious substances they took here. While she walked to and fro, he could not help but feel pity for her, though it was clearly misplaced.

Not a second later, gold coins rained down around him. The harem girls immediately jumped on them, picking them up, and when Osman informed them of the chance to earn more, they jumped on that chance too, immediately circling around Ketill. He ignored them. Instead, he searched the crowd again, looking for Najla. When he found her, he stared her directly in the eyes as she seemed to look at him being swarmed by the girls. Perhaps she would feel his anger then, though undoubtedly she had felt it before and had not cared then. But it was all Ketill could do.

[hr][hr]

After countless hours the party had died out and most people had returned to their rooms. Finally, Ketill was guided out of the room by guards, who lead him through the courtyard through the countless halls. At first he seemed to be getting brought back to the slaves quarters, but after a right where they should’ve taken a left, he was faced with the fact that they were bringing him to Najla’s quarters. Why? She hadn’t showed interest in him before. 

Above that, she was drunk and clearly intoxicated. What could she want out of him at this hour? To explain to him how useless he was, or something of that calibre? But when he was brought in he quickly realized the truth, when he saw Osman there. It was undoubtedly the case that he had called him in here, or made Najla do that.

For a moment Ketill’s eyes crossed Najla, scanning her body involuntarily. She was barely clothed, and he did not have a hard time making out what she looked like underneath what little she wore. When Osman approached his eyes peeled off of the woman for which he held such contempt, and instead he looked at the man that hated him for no reason at all. He stood there as Osman drew closer, before he walked around him, clearly taunting him.

It was not hard to see that Najla was still intoxicated as she blew the smoke from the pipe. The regular sharpness in her eyes and body were gone, replaced by complacent laziness. Osman was much the same, though instead of complacent laziness, he had found idiotic and misplaced bravery. Something that was perhaps much more dangerous. 

Ketill understood little of what the man said – he lacked the courage to speak in Ketill’s own language now it seemed, though he had done so earlier. This indicated to Ketill that he was scared where as in reality, it was probably more so the case that he was merely trying to impress Najla, or take out his anger. The first word that caught his attention was ‘rat’ and though he felt himself angry at the mans audacity, he did not reacted, only turning his cheek to the man, looking to the right so as to not have to look this ugly runt in the face. The man continued his rant, and again Ketill understood merely one word. ‘Dog.’ Again he didn’t react, letting Najla attempt to soothe her husband to be. 

When Ketill looked however, the man was balling his fists and his face was turning red with anger. It was quite clear why Ketill was called in here – a repeat of what Tahir had done to him, except this time seemingly Najla had wanted to see for herself. Well, she’d see just what would happen. When Osman replied to his betrothed, Ketill reacted even swifter and caught him mid-sentence, his fist catching Osman right in the jaw. The man stumbled backwards and nearly fell over, but before he could even get that far Ketill had swung at him again, this time hitting him straight in the eye, which was sure to leave a blue spot. 

Ketill was about to lunge forwards and reach for Osman’s blade when the guard jumped in and grabbed Ketill’s neck and forcibly pulled him back, then grabbed his arm with one hand and holding him close in a locked grip. Osman was laying on the ground now, breathing heavily, though Ketill was unsure if the man was still conscious or not. His eyes were closed, but perhaps he was just catching his breath. <[i]“Sultana, what do you want me to do?”[/i]> the guard asked, but before she would be able to reply, Ketill spoke up.

[i]“This is why you called me? To beat me? Had Tahir not done a good enough job? You’re marrying a coward. If he comes close to me again, I promise you, I will jam whatever knife I can find so far up his crotch that you will never bear his children.”[/i]





[/quote]